We are thrilled to announce our partnership with Whole Planet Foundation!
Whole Foods Market founded this inspirational nonprofit organization whose mission is to create economic partnerships with those in need throughout the developing-world who supply Whole Foods Markets with products.
The organization provides grants to microfinance institutions that in turn develop and offer microenterprise loan programs, trainings, and other financial services. The Whole Planet Foundation currently supports 52 microlending projects in 46countries across the globe.
Please head to your local Whole Foods Market to stock up on your favorite GoodBelly products during that time. Whole Foods Market also carries our newest products including, GoodBelly Tropical Green, GoodBelly Probiotic Coconut Water, and GoodBelly StraightShot, which all qualify for this special program.
Whole Planet Foundation also welcomes donations at any time. To learn more, please visit www.wholeplanetfoundation.org.
The entire GoodBelly team is honored to be part of this initiative and to help provide assistance to budding entrepreneurs across the globe. Each loan the Whole Planet Foundation provides approximately six people with the opportunity to achieve something that would otherwise not be possible with such limited resources.


Contemporary spatial information systems concentrate on the outdoor space, while humans and things reside both indoors and outdoors Klepeis et al. (2001) report that humans spend approximately 87% of their time indoors. In recent years, GIScience has been focusing on indoor spaces. This resulted in contributions ranging from positioning approaches, indoor tracking of humans and objects, to ontologies of indoor environments and modeling of human behavior.
In this talk, Scholz will highlight the special case of indoor manufacturing environments, using a semiconductor manufacturing plant as an example. In this context, GIScience can contribute to Industry 4.0 or smart manufacturing initiatives. He will elaborate on modeling the indoor manufacturing space with the help of ontologies and affordance-based approaches. In addition, the interaction between humans, manufacturing devices and production assets are of particular interest, as production assets are manipulated by humans. As a result, workers in the facility could be supported in their decision-making process and the production could be optimized.
Johannes Scholz is an Assistant Professor at Graz University of Technology, Austria, Institute of Geodesy, Research Group Geoinformation. He was previously Senior Researcher at the Research Studios Austria—a non-profit research institution—Associate Faculty of the Doctoral College of University of Salzburg, Austria, and PostDoc at the Institute of Geoinformation, Vienna University of Technology, Austria. Johannes received his Ph.D. in Geodesy and Geoinformation from Graz University of Technology. He holds a Dipl.-Ing. (FH) in Geoinformation from School of Geoinformation, Carinthia University of Applied Sciences. Johannes teaching includes courses on GIS, spatial databases, spatial analysis, spatial optimization, and mobile GIS & LBS. Johannes' research interests lie in the areas of modeling indoor space, ontologies, and semantics, Linked (Open) Data, geolinguistics, and spatial optimization focusing on transport planning. He serves as reviewer for numerous journals in the field of GIScience, served as member of the organizing committee of Linked Open Data Workshop @ GIScience 2014, and is a member of the program committee of AGIT and GI Forum conferences and journals.
Please contact Werner Kuhn (805-893-8224, kuhn@geog.ucsb.edu) to review and schedule possible discussion topics or presentations that share your disciplinary interest in spatial thinking.


Caren has more than 20 years of experience as the head of recruitment, development, and diversity with law firms such as Arnold & Porter, Cooley, and Weil Gotshal. In addition to co-founding Lawyer Metrics and serving as President from 2010-2013, Caren created and launched the OnRamp Fellowship — the first "Returnship" ever launched in the legal profession for women lawyers — through the Diversity Lab. Her work has been featured in Fast Company, The New York Times, Harvard Business Review, Bloomberg BusinessWeek, The National Law Journal, and on Fox News.


They say every adult person is still a child inside. Is your full-grown dog a puppy inside? Well, watching how he jumps, runs and have fun during the walk this thought is probably crossing your mind. Children as well as puppies adore toys, so if your pet is a puppy, this Rubber Ball with a Bell inside is probably the best training toy for your doggie. However, if you have developed massive dog, we are sure he will joyfully participate in any activity, that involves the usage of this toy. There is always something new and interesting to try! Get today our Bright Rubber Ball with Bell and make sure your deterrent giant is a sweet little dog inly!
This Ball has a bell inside, so you will always know if the dog is playing with it and where exactly. It's very convenient, because the toy won't likely get lost during the game and you will hear if it rolled under the sofa or behind other things. Note! This Ball isn't meant for chewing, so please don't leave your pet alone with the ball and don't let him masticate it! Choosing this Training Toy you care about your dog's gums, because the Ball has rubber bumps, that help to clean the teeth of your dog and moreover massages his gums. Choosing our Interactive Rubber Ball you care both for the health and entertainment of your pet!


text:
Q: Get the input on the same line java I have this to ask the user a command but I want the input to be written on the same line the user is asked.
public class Controller{

private Scanner in;

   public void run(){

    String line;

    System.out.print("Command > ");
    line = in.next();

}

So I get this:
Command >
help

And I want this:
Command > help

A: Your IDE is lying to you a bit.  The current context that you have written will prompt on the same line when you run the .jar, but IntelliJ breaks the input and output between 2 different lines.  Rest assured that your prompt is working properly.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


Every step is a dance party in the Sophia Webster™ Riko Low Top.
Color block leather upper with glitter toe cap.
Product measurements were taken using size 24 (2 Years), width M. Please note that measurements may vary by size.
We can't currently find any similar items for the Riko Low Top (Infant/Toddler/Little Kid/Big Kid) by Sophia Webster. Sorry!


Buy Ray-Ban RB3507 CLUBMASTER ALUMINUMsunglasses online today at a friendly price. Originally made in 2014, Ray-Ban RB3507 CLUBMASTER ALUMINUM sunglasses are lightweight metal frames. They are comfortable to wear and are designed in signature Ray Ban sunglasses frame style.
After the order is placed, sunglasses Ray-Ban RB3507 CLUBMASTER ALUMINUM will be packed and shipped to you via fastest shipping method to your location.
Please note that when buying eyeglasses online that were manufactured in more than one size, you need to be attentive, especially if you are buying eyeglasses frames for replacement. Prescription lenses from old frames will only fit when the size matches. Size is written on glasses temple or sometimes on inside the nose bridge. Size does not matter if you are buying Ray-Ban RB3507 CLUBMASTER ALUMINUM with prescription lenses.


The Township of Woolwich hosts many special events; the biggest of which being the Elmira Syrup Festival. Whether you are looking for food, family fun or a sporting event, there's an event in Woolwich for you!
Supported by the Township, volunteers plan and organize special events in our community throughout the year.
If you are wishing to organize an event on Township property, we are here to help. Our team can answer your questions about food, vendors, fireworks, tents, and alcohol at an event.
Special Events are activities that take place at, in or on a Township owned/operated road, park or facility. Please see below for details and application form.
The application must be submitted to the Engineering & Planning Services Department a minimum of 8 weeks prior to the commencement of the event. No person or persons shall stage a Special Event on Township property without first obtaining a Special Event Permit from the Township of Woolwich.
Full requirements and details are outlined in the Special Event Application Form, please fill out and submit the form prior to making any plans.
Below are upcoming special events!


text:
package br.org.olimpiabarbacena.client.formulario.midia;

import br.org.olimpiabarbacena.client.Principal;
import br.org.olimpiabarbacena.client.rpc.MidiaService;
import br.org.olimpiabarbacena.client.rpc.MidiaServiceAsync;
import br.org.olimpiabarbacena.shared.dados.Midia;
import br.org.olimpiabarbacena.shared.dados.Tipo;

import com.google.gwt.core.client.GWT;
import com.google.gwt.event.dom.client.ClickEvent;
import com.google.gwt.uibinder.client.UiBinder;
import com.google.gwt.uibinder.client.UiField;
import com.google.gwt.uibinder.client.UiHandler;
import com.google.gwt.user.client.Window;
import com.google.gwt.user.client.rpc.AsyncCallback;
import com.google.gwt.user.client.ui.Button;
import com.google.gwt.user.client.ui.Composite;
import com.google.gwt.user.client.ui.DialogBox;
import com.google.gwt.user.client.ui.Hidden;
import com.google.gwt.user.client.ui.Label;
import com.google.gwt.user.client.ui.ListBox;
import com.google.gwt.user.client.ui.TextArea;
import com.google.gwt.user.client.ui.TextBox;
import com.google.gwt.user.client.ui.Widget;

/**
 *

 * Este é o formulário para inserção e
 * edição de Livro.
 *

 *

 * Esta classe está no pacote formulario porque é
 * onde se encontram todos os formulários do cliente. No cliente,
 * nós permitimos o fornecimento de informações para serem
 * enviados por uma requisição RPC. No servidor, nós
 * inserimos os dados fornecidos caso não possua uma
 * identificação ou salvamos caso exista uma
 * identificação.
 *

 */
public class Livro extends Composite {

	private Principal principal;
	private DialogBox dialogo;
	private Midia livro;
	private DialogBox dialogoEmprestar;
	private static CDUiBinder uiBinder = GWT.create(CDUiBinder.class);
	@UiField
	Hidden hiddenId;
	@UiField
	TextBox textboxTitulo;
	@UiField
	TextBox textboxAutor;
	@UiField
	TextBox textboxEditora;
	@UiField
	TextBox textboxEdicao;
	@UiField
	TextBox textboxLocalidade;
	@UiField
	TextBox textboxCondicao;
	@UiField
	TextBox textboxISBN;
	@UiField
	TextBox textboxMARC;
	@UiField
	TextArea textareaDescricao;
	@UiField
	Label labelIdioma;
	@UiField
	ListBox listboxIdioma;
	@UiField
	Label labelCategoria;
	@UiField
	ListBox listboxCategoria;
	@UiField
	public Button buttonEmprestar;
	@UiField
	Button buttonSalvar;
	@UiField
	public Button buttonFechar;

	private final MidiaServiceAsync midiaService = GWT
			.create(MidiaService.class);

	interface CDUiBinder extends UiBinder<Widget, Livro> {
	}

	public Livro(Principal principal, DialogBox dialogo) {
		this.principal = principal;
		this.dialogo = dialogo;
		initWidget(uiBinder.createAndBindUi(this));

		labelIdioma.setVisible(false);
		listboxIdioma.setVisible(false);
		labelCategoria.setVisible(false);
		listboxCategoria.setVisible(false);
	}

	public void get(String id) {
		midiaService
				.obter(id,
						new AsyncCallback
() {
							@Override
							public void onFailure(Throwable caught) {
								Window.alert(caught.getMessage());
							}

							@Override
							public void onSuccess(
									br.org.olimpiabarbacena.shared.dados.Midia midia) {
								if (midia != null) {
									livro = midia;
									hiddenId.setValue(midia.getId());
									textboxTitulo.setValue(midia.getTitulo());
									textboxAutor.setValue(midia.getAutor());
									textboxEditora.setValue(midia.getEditora());
									textboxEdicao.setValue(midia.getEdicao());
									textboxLocalidade.setValue(midia
											.getLocalidade());
									textboxCondicao.setValue(midia
											.getCondicao());
									textboxISBN.setValue(midia.getISBN13());
									textboxMARC.setValue(midia.getMARC());
									textareaDescricao.setValue(midia
											.getDescricao());
									// ListBox listboxIdioma;
									// ListBox listboxCategoria;
								}
							}
						});
	}

	@UiHandler("buttonEmprestar")
	void onButtonEmprestarClick(ClickEvent event) {
		dialogoEmprestar = new DialogBox(false);
		dialogoEmprestar.setWidth("450px");
		dialogoEmprestar.setHeight("113px");

		Emprestar emprestar = new Emprestar(livro, dialogoEmprestar);

		dialogoEmprestar.setWidget(emprestar);
		dialogoEmprestar.center();
	}

	@UiHandler("buttonSalvar")
	void onButtonSalvarClick(ClickEvent event) {
		br.org.olimpiabarbacena.shared.dados.Midia midia = new br.org.olimpiabarbacena.shared.dados.Midia();

		midia.setId(hiddenId.getValue());
		midia.setTitulo(textboxTitulo.getText());
		midia.setAutor(textboxAutor.getText());
		midia.setEditora(textboxEditora.getValue());
		midia.setEdicao(textboxEdicao.getValue());
		midia.setLocalidade(textboxLocalidade.getValue());
		midia.setCondicao(textboxCondicao.getValue());
		midia.setISBN13(textboxISBN.getValue());
		midia.setMARC(textboxMARC.getValue());
		midia.setDescricao(textareaDescricao.getValue());
		// ListBox listboxIdioma;
		// ListBox listboxCategoria;
		midia.setTipo(Tipo.LIVRO);

		midiaService.salvar(midia, new AsyncCallback<Void>() {
			@Override
			public void onFailure(Throwable caught) {

			}

			@Override
			public void onSuccess(Void result) {
				principal.getPesquisar().limpar();
				principal.getPesquisar().listarAcervo();
				dialogo.hide();
			}
		});
	}

	@UiHandler("buttonFechar")
	void onButtonFecharClick(ClickEvent event) {
		dialogo.hide();
	}
}

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


text:
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No vaccinations are required for entry into Germany.
However, between spring and autumn there is an increased risk of contracting illnesses caused by ticks, such as Lyme disease and tick-borne encephalitis (TBE). Ticks are usually found in ground-covering vegetation. The best protection against them is to wear clothing that covers as much of the skin as possible. If you are bitten, you should seek medical attention as a precaution.
The areas of highest risk are Baden-Württemberg and Bavaria, as well as certain regions within Hessen, Rhineland-Palatinate and Thuringia. In these areas, TBE vaccinations are recommended for anyone likely to spend a lot of time outdoors.
Around two thirds of Germany's population are Christian. They are fairly evenly split between Protestants and Catholics, but there are more Protestants in northern Germany, while the South has more Catholics. Germany is also home to around four million Muslims and about 100,000 Jews.
To enter Germany you need a passport that is valid for at least fourth months from your date of arrival. For citizens of EU countries a valid identity card is sufficient.
Goods from other EU countries do not incur duty as long as you carry them with you and they are intended for your own personal use.
Goods imported into Germany from a non-EU country are duty-free up to a value of €175.00. There are restrictions for specific goods, such as tobacco, alcohol and perfume.
The main language is German, of course. However, you should be aware that there are many different regional accents and dialects, although High German is understood everywhere.
Many Germans also speak good English, so there should not be any language barriers for foreign visitors.
Overall, Germany has a warm, temperate, wet climate with westerly winds. Extreme fluctuations in temperature are rare. Rain falls throughout the year. Mild winters (2ºC to -6ºC) and moderately hot summers (18ºC to 20ºC) are the norm.
EU citizens do not require a visa. Citizens of all other countries will generally need a visa, with the exception of some countries for which the European Community has abolished the visa requirement. Nationals of those countries do not require a visa for visits to Germany lasting no longer than three months in a six-month period.
Traditions and customs from A to Z
all Food and drink Arts and crafts Inventions Living traditions
Aachen Printen
Absinth 66, Magdeburg
Ahle Wurscht, Hessen
Altbier, Düsseldorf
Apfelwein, Hessen
Asparagus, Lower Saxony
Asparagus, Münsterland
Aspirin, Leverkusen
Baumkuchen from the Altmark region
Blue printing, Lower Saxony
Bollenhut, Black Forest
Thuringian bratwurst
Bremen Town Musicians
Brothers Grimm, Hessen
Card games, Thuringia
Cars, shipbuilding and aircraft, Bremen
Harz cheese
Cheese, Schleswig-Holstein
Choco Leibniz, Hannover
Goldhelm chocolate manufacturer, Erfurt
Christmas tree decorations from Lauscha
Christmas tree, Baden-Württemberg
Circular villages, Wendland
Cloppenburg museum village
Clärchens Ballhaus, Berlin
Coffee, Bremen
Cowbells from the Allgäu region
Curly kale, Ammerland
Currywurst, Berlin
Domäne Dahlem estate and museum, Berlin
Doner kebabs in Berlin
Dresden's Christstollen, Saxony
Döppekuchen potato flan, Eifel
Eels, Lower Saxony
Eiergrog, Schleswig-Holstein
Embroidery, Spree Forest
Fish market, Hamburg
Fish specialities, Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania
Frankfurter Kranz cake
Fruit from the Altes Land region
Fränkische schneeball pastries
Fürstenberg porcelain manufactory
Gemstones, Idar-Oberstein
German Beer Purity Law, Thuringia
Gifhorn Mill Museum
Pulsnitz gingerbread, Saxony
Glass manufacture in the Bavarian Forest
Green sauce, Frankfurt
Grünhainichen angels, Saxony
Halloren Kugeln, Saxony-Anhalt
Handkäs cheese, Hessen
Heidschnucke sheep, Lüneburg Heath
Herrnhut advent stars, Saxony
Hessenpark open-air museum
Jägermeister, Wolfenbüttel
Kannenbäckerland ceramics, Westerwald
Thuringian kartoffelklösse dumplings
Kellinghusen, town of ceramics
Kiekeberg open-air museum, Harburg
Kindergarten, Thuringia
Knife blades, Solingen
Kölsch beer, Cologne
Labskaus stew, Wilhelmshaven
Lederhosen, Berchtesgaden
Leica, Wetzlar
Lüftl art, Bavaria
Markthalle Neun, Berlin
Marzipan, Schleswig-Holstein
Mask carving, Baden-Württemberg
Maultaschen (Swabian ravioli), Baden-Württemberg
Mining, Freiberg
Mining, Ruhr valley
Mining, Saarland
Neunerlei feast, Saxony
Otto Lilienthal, Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania
Perfumery, North Rhine-Westphalia
Villeroy & Boch, porcelain, Saarland
KPM Royal Porcelain Manufactory Berlin
Porcelain, Saxony
Pork grills, Saarland
Pretzels, Baden-Württemberg
Punt building, Spree Forest
Puppet theatre, Magdeburg
Riesling, Hessen
Ritter Sport chocolate
Salt production, Halle (Saale)
Sea buckthorn (hippophae), Rügen
Seafaring traditions, Hamburg
Sorbian Easter traditions, Saxony
Sound recording media, Hannover
Spreewald gherkins
Tea time, East Friesland
Teddy bear, Baden-Württemberg
The MP3 format, Bavaria
The airbag, Bavaria
The car, Baden-Württemberg
The computer, Hessen
The cuckoo clock, Baden-Württemberg
The draisine by Karl Drais, Baden-Württemberg
The garden gnome, Thuringia
The grand piano, Braunschweig
The printing press, Mainz
The refrigerator, Bavaria
The smart card
Thermos flask, Brandenburg
Traditional Schwalm costume
Traditional Sorbian costume, Spree Forest
Traditional home cooking, Saarland
Tram, Berlin
Vacuum pump, Saxony-Anhalt
Vintner's taverns, Baden-Württemberg
Vintners' taverns, Rhineland-Palatinate
Watchmaking in Glashütte, Saxony
Weck jars, Hessen
Weisswurst, Bavaria
Welfenspeise dessert, Hannover
Wicker beach chairs, North Sea and Baltic Sea
German wines, Bremen Ratskeller
Woodcarving, Erzgebirge mountains
Worpswede artists' village
Fresh asparagus for sale in the Münsterland region
©Oliver Franke, Tourismus NRW e.V.
Fresh asparagus from the Münsterland.
The Münsterland is renowned for its wide range of places to eat, from country inns serving traditional dishes to Michelin-starred restaurants focused on regional produce. But come April, one dish is always on the menu: asparagus. And it generally remains there until June 24, Midsummer's Day, also known as Spargelsilvester ('Asparagus Eve'). Then its brief season is over and it's time to look forward to next year's crop. The best asparagus farms and farm shops can be found on the North Rhine-Westphalia Asparagus Route.
100 Castles and Palaces Route
Ibbenbüren summer toboggan park
19.05.2019 - 01.09.2019- Dusseldorf Kunstpalast Museum in Düsseldorf: the Elector's passion for art...
The fact that Düsseldorf, North Rhine-Westphalia's region capital, has an art museum of international renown today is thanks to the former Elector Palatine Johann Wilhelm II, who began to build an art gallery here in 1710. A generous patron, he was able to bring numerous artists to the court and transformed the city into a European centre for art. Although the Kunstpalast Museum itself was only founded in 1913, it would not be what it is today had the Elector not been such a passionate collector of art.
The museum underwent two major renovations to reach its current form – from 1925 to 1926 to plans by architect Wilhelm Kreis and in 1999/2000 to plans by Oswald Mathias Ungers. The building now provides an exceptional setting for its painting collection, which focuses on Old Masters, paintings of the 19th century and the modern age and paintings and sculptures from the Middle Ages to the present day. These works are complemented by arts and crafts, design, graphic art and a renowned glass collection. Among the collection's masterpieces are 'The Ill-matched Pair' by Lucas Cranach the Elder, 'Landscape with Tobias and the Angel' by Jan van Scorel, 'Flight into Egypt' and the famous 'Cross on the Mountain' by Caspar David Friedrich. The section on Modernism features important works from the early 20th century by Paula Modersohn-Becker, Wassily Kandinsky, Walter Ophey, Franz Marc, August Macke, Otto Dix, Emil Nolde and Ernst Ludwig Kirchner.
Ehrenhof 4
40479 Dusseldorf
All information on prices, dates and opening times are subject to change without notice.
www.smkp.de
12.07.2019 - 21.07.2019- Dusseldorf The Biggest Funfair on the Rhine: beer tents, brass bands and millions of visitors...
The Biggest Funfair on the Rhine is organised by Düsseldorf's St. Sebastian shooting club, which dates back almost 700 years and currently numbers more than 1,500 members. It's held in celebration of the club's patron St. Apollinaris, whose feast day is on 23 July. The highlight is the historical parade, one of the biggest and most spectacular in Germany, with over 3,000 uniformed marksmen, marching bands and horse-drawn carriages.
St. Apollinaris was declared Düsseldorf's patron saint when the city acquired some of the martyr's relics in around 1300. A beautiful shrine, now in St. Lambert's Church in the old town, was built in his honour. Eventually the annual commemorations evolved into a fair at which it was customary for the club St. Sebastianus Schützenverein 1316 e.V. to shoot dummy birds. Whoever shot down the bird was named shooting king for that year – a tradition that still continues today. Apart from this, the fair has changed dramatically. Nowadays the 165,000 square metre fairground on the bank of the Rhine boasts masses of rides from Germany and abroad, which are all geared up to thrill more than four million visitors from all over the world. Everyone looks forward to the historical parade – and the sensational fireworks above the city. Those in the know will tell you that the best place to view the fireworks is from the middle of the Rhine on board the MS Riverstar, an elegant vessel whose wood and brass fittings hark back to the glory days of travel. Sadly the boat can only accommodate around 170 passengers – so early booking is advised.
Festwiese in Düsseldorf-Oberkassel
Kaiser-Wilhelm-Ring 30
www.duesseldorf-tourismus.de
other search criteria
www.nrw-genuss.de
» Towns, cities & culture » Traditions and customs » Asparagus, Münsterland
E-Mail Newsletter( USA )
Travel Destination Germany

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
Conman Damian Smith ripped off brain tumour victim after faking granddad's death
He spent the stolen cash on cannabis and up to 40 cans of cider a day
Joel CooperChief Reporter
A conman who was banned from entering Bideford caused his victim 'shock' when her family spotted him working in the town.
Damian Smith was subject to a restraining order forbidding him from going to Bideford to protect a vulnerable woman who he swindled out of £3,200 last year.
He broke the order because he was sent there to work by his employer and felt he could not refuse.
The breach of the restraining order put Smith at risk of going to jail because he was subject to a suspended sentence for his original offence of conning his ex girlfriend.
Smith, aged 27, of North Road, High Bickington, Barnstaple, admitted breach of a restraining order and was fined £150 with £350 costs by Judge Timothy Rose at Exeter Crown Court.
Exeter Crown Court
He told him: "I accept you did not try to contact the woman who the order was there to protect but she was still very upset and concerned because it got back to her.
"You will understand that if she thinks you are hanging around Bideford and would worry she may bump into you, causing her a lot of shock and concern."
Miss Emily Pitts, prosecuting, said the order was made in July last year when Smith received a 12 month suspended sentence.
He was banned from contacting the victim for ten years or going to Bideford for two years.
Much-loved guitar teacher Des Miles was 'burnt out' before he 'walked out in front of truck'
He was seen working there by a relative of his victim in December last year. He also failed to keep two probation appointments.
Miss Rachel Smith, defending, said Smith has stayed out of trouble since December and received a glowing report from the probation service for the way he has worked with them over the past few months.
In the original case, heard exactly a year ago, the judge heard how Smith ripped off a vulnerable single mother by lying about needing money to pay for his grandfather's funeral.
Fears that dog leg found on rooftop
Thunderstorm warning
Devon's seagull cull
Man, 18, found dead by dog walker
The woman gave him her bank card and PIN number so he could take out £200 but he ended up looting more than £3,200 and leaving her with just £9 in the bank.
In reality, his grandfather was still alive and he spent her money buying cannabis and drinking up to 40 cans of cider a day.
Smith was in a relationship with the woman, who had physical and emotional issues after recovering from a brain tumour, for just two months.
Relief as expert says bone thought to be Gizmo the Chihuahua's is actually a rabbit bone
He carried on sending her texts and Facebook messages signed with rows of kisses throughout the time he was stealing the cash which she had been saving to spend on her six-year-old son.
He was branded as merciless and despicable by the judge but spared an immediate jail sentence after he promised to repay the £810 which has not been reimbursed by the bank.
Smith, aged 27, of North Road, High Bickington, Barnstaple, admitted 12 counts of theft and two of fraud and was jailed for 12 months, suspended for a year, ordered to pay £810 compensation, do 200 hours community service and receive 20 days supervision.


Adobe Photoshop offers a variety of versatile tools that you can use to create unique, custom text effects for your personal and business projects. Below are two tutorials, each of which will show you how to use these tools to design custom text effects.
Create a new page by pressing the [Control + N] keys on your keyboard.
Use the text tool to type in the text that you want to work with.
Rasterize the text: click Layer from the menu, select Rasterize and then click Type.
Select the text color you want to use. Add a rainbow gradient scheme in to it. Use the "transparent rainbow" scheme from the gradient palette.
The resulting image will be similar to the one shown below.
Make any necessary adjustments and then save the final image.
Use the text tool to type in the text that you want to work with. Use white for this text.
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Do not cancel the selection as you move to the next step.
Fill the selection with white color.
Shift the opacity to 8%.
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Fill the selection with White color and reduce the opacity to 14%.
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Invert the selection y pressing the [Control + Shift + I] keys on your keyboard.
Make any necessary adjustments and then save the final image. And you are done!
This series of Adobe Photoshop tutorials provides step-by-step instructions on how to create unique text effects.


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Author's Note: Enormous thanks to lim and astolat for beta work. Featuring amazing art by Alby Mangroves! This story is for her because LOOK WHAT SHE MADE, *dies.* Please tell her how gorgeous.
Someone sat across from him and put a book down on the rickety cafe table: POW Heroes: The History of the Howling Commandos. The jacket had a photograph on the cover, but only Gabe had noticed the camera. The rest of them were just standing there—doing mission prep, it looked like—but pictures of the Howling Commandos together were so rare that even odd frames of film had become valuable. Steve had never seen this one. He was saying something to Jim, and Dum Dum was fumbling with the straps on his pack, and Bucky was frowning down into that little leather notebook he always carried, pen in hand. You could hardly see Bucky's face, but Steve knew his every expression. Bucky always took notes, strange little scribbles that were damn near incomprehensible: shorthand thoughts.
Steve stared down at the picture: Bucky's holster wasn't on properly. His jacket was unbuttoned. He—
Steve was going to have to look up now, across the table: face him. He was going to have to look up.
He looked up. The man on the other side of the table was the same and different from the man in the photograph; he was right there and yet far away, magnified, focused: at the end of a rifle scope. He was unshaven and faintly grimy, dark hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. He was wearing a faded green parka, and his face had settled into deep lines of exhaustion; Steve knew that kind of tired from missions: it was from going weeks without sleep in enemy territory. He had been Bucky Barnes, and maybe he still was.
The man shifted slightly. "Steve," he ventured; it was like he was speaking a foreign language.
Bucky, Steve thought, but stopped himself from saying it. He had no right—he'd learned that during the long and terrible night he'd spent reading the Winter Soldier's file: every word of it, doggedly looking up and writing down the translations of the Russian phrases he didn't know, electroshock, biological agents, sleep deprivation, and words that turned out to be names of intravenous drugs. It had been the worst night of his life: worse even than the night after Bucky died, because he'd only cried for himself, then.
Steve tapped the book cover instead and said, a little unsteadily, "I don't know this one. Any good?"
The man shrugged; it was Bucky's shrug. "I guess," he said, stilted. "It's hard to know. The places and names, maybe. I guess they're right. It's better than the other one, the one with the mural on the cover—"
"Captain America's Howling Commandos," Steve said, grimacing. "Like they were mine, or America's—"
"Yeah, Dernier would have cursed you a blue streak, "Vas te faire mettre—mon Dieu, j'en ai ras le cul, les Americans, nous ne travaillons pas—"
"—pour vous, mais pour la France—eh, je m'en fiche, je m'en fous, va te faire foutre—'" Steve rattled back.
Bucky's mouth twitched. "Yeah, that's right: it was always 'I don't care: go fuck yourself.'"
"Imagine if he did care," Steve replied, and when Bucky's weary face cracked into a grin, Steve went momentarily lightheaded: it could be okay: this could maybe all be okay. It came to him that he was sweating; he could smell his own stink rising up from the neck of his shirt: flopsweat, terror.
"I'm not ready to come in," Bucky said, as if this had been the conversation they'd been having all along.
"Okay," Steve said, straight away.
Bucky's eyes were on him: intense, almost fascinated. Steve tried to stay still and let him look. "I know you've been looking for me."
"Yes," Steve said.
Bucky's face gave nothing away, but Steve could feel him weighing something, deliberating. Finally Bucky swiped his tongue over his lower lip, then sucked at it with his teeth, a low wet sound. "I've been reading a lot," he said finally, roughly; hurt somehow, "but you—you're not in those books. You and me, we're not—Not the way I remember," and Steve felt another wave of dizziness : I remember.
Steve's throat tightened; he could barely get the words out. "No. We're not."
Buck stared for one last second, then let out a breath and sat back, slinging his arm over the back of the chair, his flesh arm. "This isn't a good place to talk," he said, suddenly casual, and Steve looked down and saw a cheap brown key fob on the cover of the book. It had a number on it stamped in flaking foil: 612. A hotel key.
Steve covered the key with his hand and drew it toward himself. "I don't want to talk," he said.
Bucky vanished between one blink and the next, aided by the crowds of hurrying people; Steve supposed Bucky'd chosen to make his approach here for the same reason that he came here: you could be invisible in midtown because nobody ever slowed down to look at you. Inside his pocket, Steve was clutching the key fob so tightly that it was digging into his hand. He debated ducking across to Stark Tower to change, shave, maybe grab some things that might refresh Bucky's memory, then decided not to; instead he walked straight into the train station and caught the subway going downtown.
The hotel was far downtown and all the way west, a real rat-trap of a place with an old neon sign that had three letters out; BELNORD. The sidewalk outside was cracked, and many of the neighboring buildings were crumbling: there had been a lot of gentrification around the waterfront, the old meat packing districts, but it hadn't reached here yet. Steve pulled open the grimy glass door and walked straight past the battered registration desk; he had a key after all. The guy on duty was watching a tiny television and paid him no mind. Steve supposed that a lot of things happened here that he wasn't too keen to see.
He bypassed the tiny elevator and took the stairs to the sixth floor, which was the top floor, then found 612. He knocked and said, quietly, "It's me," but when there was no answer, he unzed the door and stepped inside. The room was small: there was a bed, and some furniture that had seen better days. The bathroom was so small he could barely fit his whole body into it—but there was a black satchel on the desk and an army blanket spread out over the bed, both of them Bucky's: he knew that immediately.
Steve took off his jacket and sat down on the edge of the bed to wait, fingers laced together; he was trying to keep his thoughts unfocused, trying not to worry too much about what could happen.
It wasn't long before the door opened and Bucky came in. He closed and locked the door behind him, then pulled out an almost invisible coil of wire and looped it around the doorknob. Steve didn't stand up.
Bucky took off his parka, never taking his eyes off Steve. He was wearing a lot of layers underneath: a jacket, a long-sleeved shirt, a t-shirt beneath that. "It's strange seeing you here," Bucky said finally.
"Yeah," Steve agreed. "But we've been in lots worse places, haven't we?" and that turned out to be the right thing to say, because Bucky's eyes flashed with amusement: "Yeah, that's the goddamned truth."
"And not just Henry Street," Steve said—and the room on Henry Street had been so terrible, so cold, so roach-infested that they'd abandoned it before the end of the week and gone running back to Bucky's house; Bucky's ma had let them sleep on the floor in the living room for a couple of days until they could raise the next week's rent between them. "But all the places we slept rough during the war," and something on Bucky's face was unlocking, softening; he was coming close and murmuring, "Yeah, that's right. That's right... We squatted in bombed-out ruins, abandoned houses, barns and haylofts and horse-stalls—"
"—in the backs of trucks, the tail sections of planes—" Steve rattled off.
"You were there for that," Bucky said, a little wonderingly, looking at him. "We did that together."
"We sure did," Steve said, and now he did stand up, and suddenly there wasn't much room between them: just a couple of feet and the bed. Bucky hesitantly touched Steve's arm, and that seemed to make it okay for Steve to let his hands skim Bucky's waist—and then Bucky jerked back, shuddering.
"It's—" Bucky stammered, sounding a little breathless. "Hold on—" and then he was turning and fumbling in the black satchel and—Jesus, that was a lot of pills. Bucky seemed to have a whole pharmacy in there, plastic baggies full of white and orange and gray tablets. He picked out what he wanted and then turned and looked the question at Steve—and Steve knew that look of old; will you trust me, pal? will you come with me on this?—and before he could second-guess himself, Steve held out his palm.
Then.
"Buck," Steve said hesitantly, drawing back; the others had already gone in, and sure, Steve could see the attraction of the place: there was warm light flickering around the edges of the heavy curtains, and he could hear music and female laughter, though he wasn't sure if it was a piano or a gramophone. It seemed like a little island of warmth and safety in this part of France. "You should go if you want to, but I'll just—let me—I'll meet you back at the—" and normally Bucky was with him, reading his moods and understanding everything he couldn't say, but tonight Bucky took him by the arm on the threshold of the maison and said, soft but oddly insistent, "Let me give the orders, pal, okay? Just for one night?" and pulled him inside.
It was like a party, really—with a roaring fire and a piano and pretty girls smiling and drinks being passed round, and if some of the girls weren't wearing as many clothes as maybe they ought to be—well, he could try to keep his eyes to himself. Dum Dum was standing near the piano, a be-feathered girl on each arm, singing; Dernier was sitting on a loveseat in the quietest, dimmest corner of the room, whispering into the ear of a pretty brunette; Monty was holding on to Gabe's arm the way Bucky was holding Steve's, keeping him in a conversation with two girls in shimmery dresses that were very nearly see-through. There were other girls, too, sitting alone or in pairs on worn velvet divans around the room. They were smiling invitingly, trying to make eye contact. Steve didn't know where to look. He kept his head down.
Bucky threw back a glass of whiskey; he was scanning the room methodically, and Steve could feel it the moment he settled; knew it from the way Bucky's hand tightened on his arm. Steve didn't look at the girl; instead, he planted his feet and said, with soft urgency, "Buck. I can't, I—" but he could read Bucky's face like a book—will you trust me, pal? will you come with me on this?—and so then of course he had to. Bucky's hand slid down his arm and curled, actually, into his hand, and then Bucky was tugging him toward a petite blonde who was wearing a lace dress that had seen better days. The girl had a wry face, a pointed nose and a clever expression. She stood and smiled coquettishly as Bucky dragged him over; she was obviously trying to keep herself open to both of them at the same time, not sure which of them was the client or whether they both were. "Come on, let's go," Bucky said to her, low and rough.
Her smile never faltered; she just turned and led them out of the room. Bucky squeezed his hand and yanked him along, and Steve became aware of grins and approving glances in Bucky's direction; Barnes is going to make sure the Captain gets laid; well, finally; somebody had to. Steve had heard versions of this his whole life, from guys who thought that it was a man's duty to make sure his son lost his virginity before his 18th birthday and pitied Steve for being fatherless. But Bucky'd never been one of those guys—or okay, sure, Bucky'd set up dates for him, had introduced him to girls and made encouraging noises when Steve was passed by or passed over—but he'd never been one of those guys who judged you, who equated manliness with sexual experience. But maybe Bucky was one of those guys. It made Steve feel heart-heavy.
They followed the girl up two flights of stairs and down a hall with creaky floorboards to a heavy oak door. Beyond was a dimly lit room that was both lavish and threadbare at the same time. It was swathed in fabric—the floor was carpeted, the walls covered with silks; even the lamps had frilly pink shades on them, not to mention the coverlet spread across the enormous bed—but everything was faded, ripped in places, though someone had clearly tried to brighten the place with new pillows and a vase full of freshly cut flowers.
Bucky closed and locked the door. Steve thought this was maybe his last chance. He said, with soft urgency, "Bucky, please. I—" but Bucky shot him a sharp look and lifted a finger to his lips. Then he turned to the girl. She reached for him with her slim, white arms, but Bucky gave an irritated shake of his head, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a roll of bills. The girl's eyes widened as Bucky grabbed her hand, yanked it up, and pressed the money into it. He closed her fingers around the wad of cash and squeezed.
"Your job here is to keep your mouth shut," Bucky told her. "What's that, the WC? You go in there and you stay in there till I tell you. Reste la, s'il vous plait, comprendez-vous?" and Steve flushed with embarrassment as the girl shot him a sharp, impossibly-knowing look before turning back to Bucky and nodding seriously.
"Oui," she said, and tucked the money into her brassiere. "Tu peux me faire confiance, je ne le dirai à personne. C'est bien d'etre pris en charge," and Bucky showed her his teeth and said, "Smart girl," as she sauntered past him, went into the tiny room, and shut the door. It locked with a soft click.
Bucky turned to Steve, unknotting his tie. Steve couldn't breathe; he was frozen in a kind of terror. "What, you think I don't know?" Bucky asked and there was something accusatory in his voice. He came toward Steve, and the room was suddenly very small: just a couple of feet between them and the bed. "Didja think you were gonna keep this from me? Put one over on me," and Steve gritted his teeth and shook his head.
"No, Bucky, no," he said, almost pleading. "I just. I didn't want you to know."
"Yeah, well. But this is it, pal." Bucky shucked his jacket and threw it onto a nearby chair, then slid his tie out from his collar and coiled it on top. "We could be dead tomorrow, either of us. Both of us." He touched Steve's arm, and Steve reached out instinctively, almost helplessly, fingers crooking around Bucky's belt. Bucky nodded slowly, seriously. "So if you want to try this..." and Steve couldn't help himself: he tugged, and they stumble-bumped into each other and kissed, noses knocking together awkwardly. The whole world narrowed down to Bucky's mouth—the taste of whiskey and the scrape of beard, his soft lips and the sweet wet slide of his tongue. He impulsively slid his hands into Bucky's thick hair and sucked and bit at his lips and kissed his stubbled cheeks until his own mouth was tingling and sore, scraped raw with it. Bucky was clumsily unbuttoning Steve's shirt. Steve was breathless, his balls as aching and tight as his lungs. He was rubbing himself against Bucky helplessly, rutting, every nudge a small explosion.
He let his hand drop, searching—and oh, thank God, Bucky was hard too. He could feel the hard length of him through his pants, and traced the shape of him, rubbed him with the heel of his hand—Bucky gasped, and their mouths skittered and parted. They pressed their faces close, skin to skin: nose tracing cheek tracing lips, hot breath in his ear. Steve gripped Bucky through his pants and gently bit his earlobe, wanting to hear that soft, desperate sound again, and oh, there it was. He'd taken Bucky at his word when Bucky said that he knew what Steve'd been keeping from him, but now he wondered if Bucky really did know: if he had any idea as to what Steve had been keeping leashed. He could sense Bucky's uncertainty, the hesitation in his touch. Bucky'd probably thought that he was going to be in charge of this—and so when Bucky leaned in to kiss him, Steve let him; just moaned softly and opened his mouth and let him.
He let Bucky decide when to break the kiss, too. "What," Bucky began, a little breathlessly. "Steve, what do you want?" but Steve had what he wanted: Bucky's cock in his hand, Bucky's mouth against his. He couldn't stop himself giving little hungry kisses, licking and gently biting. "I want," Steve gritted out, and then he tightened his fingers around Bucky's length for emphasis, and Bucky huffed out a nervy laugh.
"Christ, I won't argue," he said, and wow, that was a first.
"You're probably going to throw up," Bucky told him, and Steve barely had time to blink and say, "Wait, what?" before Bucky grabbed him by the arm, towed him into the tiny bathroom, and flipped the toilet seat up with a bang. "It's all right," Bucky said hastily. "It's good, it's going to feel good: trust me," just as the first convulsion took him, and then he was lurching, falling toward the toilet. Bucky's metal arm came around him, steadying him, and that was good, because he might have gone over otherwise: he was throwing up everything in his body, throwing up from his toes. Emptying himself with every heave: not just lunch but what remained of breakfast, and not only that, either—he was throwing up sadness; he was throwing up sickness and horror and despair: his mother's last illness and the massacre at Bydgoszcz, the plane crash, the ice, the endless terrible smell of food gone rotten and unwashed bodies during that terrible June of 1930 before he'd really understood what was happening—and it was like some kind of dream, a miracle, that Bucky was holding him and murmuring in his ear, calm and solid like always, "that's it, honey—there you go," and he was heaving Bucky's death into the toilet, too; purging that, everything.
Then he was reeling upright, dizzy as the blood rushed from his head and stumbling over to the tiny basin to rinse his mouth out with cold water—the coldest, more refreshing water he'd ever tasted. Steve let the cold water run over his wrists, then thirstily drank from his cupped hands, then washed his face with it, then shoved wet fingers through his hair till water dripped from his nose. Beside him, Bucky was bent over and heaving, though he seemed in control of it, hand braced against the tile wall. When Bucky straightened up he looked different, calmer, more himself—and then he showed Steve the smile that Steve still saw in his dreams, sometimes; a smile Steve hadn't seen for real since, oh, had to be 1943, maybe. Steve smiled back.
Bucky lifted his eyebrows. "You all right?"
"Yeah." Steve couldn't stop smiling. "I feel great," he said honestly.
"Good." Bucky bent over the basin to scoop water into his mouth and scrub at his teeth, and Steve couldn't resist the impulse to press up against him, just lie down on him. He folded himself over Bucky's broad back, put his arms around Bucky's waist and pressed his cheek between Bucky's shoulder blades. Bucky was warm and spicy-smelling. The splashing water sounded musical. He could hear Bucky's heartbeat.
Bucky hummed contentedly and turned off the tap. Then he straightened, turning carefully, not breaking contact; holding on to Steve—which was a good thing; a very very good thing. Steve felt a little wobbly at the knees. Bucky's hands were on him. Bucky was touching him easily, unselfconsciously—like before.
"You're high. You know that, don't you?" Bucky said.
"Oh really, do you think so, tell me more." Steve was fingering the hemmed neckline of Bucky's shirt, and he couldn't seem to stop. The cloth felt amazing. "I just figured I might lick your shirt collar for absolutely no goddamned reason," Steve said. "What is this stuff?"
"Some guy at the VA gave it to me." Bucky leaned in, the smile still ghosting across his face, and dragged his nose along Steve's cheek. Steve's heart pounded and he moaned: it felt so good. He turned his face into it. "I had to triple the dosage and add some other things to it to get it to work—but it works, doesn't it?"
"It works," Steve murmured. "Yeah," and then Bucky was turning his face and kissing him, but it was like he was feeling it everywhere, in every nerve in his body. He was compulsively dragging his hands down Bucky's back, smoothing over and over, feeling the shape of him, the warm sculpted muscles. Bucky's mouth was lush and stubbled around the corners where his beard was growing in, and he was fascinated by the contrast and sort of lay there, licking and kissing Bucky's mouth at its prickly corner—he was on his back, lying down, the mattress thick against his back. Bucky was half sprawled on top of him, kissing him and rhythmically stroking his hair—and when had that happened? But who cared? He felt great.
Steve said: "Dyarmir," and then he was laughing up at the cracked ceiling; the crack was shaped like a hippo. He licked his lips and rubbed them together and then tried again; it was strangely hard to speak. "Do you remember," he managed, making himself shape the words properly. France, he'd been going to say. The brothel—except for the first time in forever, his memories weren't better than where he was now. Oh, that particular memory was still pretty damn good, but he felt emptied out, cleansed; bleached. That was the past. The past was the past, like a fading picture. Because Bucky was here, now. Here and heavy on top of him. It was now, it was finally now—and Steve reached down to tug at the hem of Bucky's shirt, and then they were blindly worming out their clothes piece by piece. His hand was down Bucky's undone pants. Bucky's mouth was wet on his ear. He was mesmerized by the gleaming plates of Bucky's arm, couldn't stop looking at them moving, whirring in patterns—and he only realized he was about to come mere seconds before he did, because his breath caught. Every muscle in his body was tight from whatever Bucky was doing, he couldn't even figure out—everything was—and Steve squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his cock against—into—and something built and built and then exploded deep inside of him and he came in a rush, panting, and it didn't stop, it came in waves, it kept coming. Every time he thought it would stop, it kept coming. He was wild with it: couldn't stop moving his hands, touching everywhere he could reach, kissing everything he could touch—collarbone, elbow, flesh, metal—rubbing, grinding with his hips.
Air was rushing gently past his ear, the wind, breathing, Bucky breathing, panting, "Steve...Steve..." and Steve turned his head, eyes still closed, and found his mouth, and then he lay back on a sea of gently moving water, and Bucky was kissing him, swirling his tongue, and crooking his metal arm under his leg, drawing it up, and Bucky was on top of him, inside him, and the whole world was moving around them.
He tried to keep his mouth on Bucky's even as they tumbled together in stages down onto the brothel's enormous bed, the taffeta coverlet vaguely unpleasant against his skin. Bucky seemed to have recovered himself a little—he was cupping Steve's face and kissing him, worming his solid thigh between Steve's legs just like Steve'd seen him doing to Mary O'Brien on their beat-up old couch that time that Steve'd come home early on what turned out to be Bucky's day off. "Oops," Steve had said, immediately backing up and pulling the door shut, but it had been too late: fifteen seconds later, Mary'd come flying out the door, fixing the combs in her hair, her pleated skirt smoothed down and her jersey jacket buttoned all the way to the top. Steve had jammed his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders, turned to the wall, trying to pretend he didn't exist. Still, she glared at him, chin raised, as she strode past. "I didn't see nothing," Steve blurted anxiously. "I got—you know, astigmatism," but still she glared as she huffed down the stairs. Steve had wrinkled his nose and gritted his teeth and gone back to the apartment. The door was ajar. "Hey, Buck," and Bucky had thrown a shoe at him. Stick that in your Captain America comic book.
Steve rubbed his face against Bucky's cheek and then tipped Bucky's chin up and kissed the stubbled underside of his jaw. "I think you're so beautiful, Buck," he murmured. "I always knew why the girls liked you—and why they didn't like me, because they knew that I wanted you for myself, that I was just wishing them gone the whole time," and he could feel the lopsided grin tugging at Bucky's face. Steve sucked gently against the line of his jaw and added, softly, "I would have been a girl for you, if you wanted—"
"You're no girl," Bucky said, and Steve sucked in air through his teeth, because Bucky was groping and fondling his cock. "You'd never have fooled anybody, even when you were small. But I like you more than any girl I ever knew," Bucky said with rough, unexpected honesty, and Steve ached, he wanted him so much. "And it's now or never, pal, so come here, I'm going to—"
"No, let me," Steve scraped out, and then he was sliding down Bucky's body, kissing his collarbone, the flat hard plane of his breastbone, pressing his face into the hard muscle, the bones, the packed strength of his chest. Bucky's ribcage was rising, falling—Bucky was panting, realizing what Steve was going to do; most girls wouldn't do this, not even the fast girls that Bucky sometimes ran with.
"Oh God," Bucky breathed, as Steve scraped his fingers through Bucky's pubic hair and tipped the velvety tip of Bucky's cock into his mouth. "You dirty little punk," but his hand was gentling over Steve's head, thumb stroking his cheek and cupping the back of his neck and coaxing him into the right rhythm—and Steve moaned softly and gave himself over to it, losing himself in the long-desired intimacy of it. Mouth, cock, hand, the musky smell and the scratch of hair and the soft, soft skin below Bucky's belly-button, and he was lost in it until suddenly Bucky was gasping raggedly and pushing at him, shoving him away and then roughly dragging him up and over, face-down and slicking between his thighs.
Steve groaned and held his legs together as Bucky pushed between them, hands clenching his shoulders, and then he was driving forward, holding Steve down and fucking between his thighs, and god, Steve tried so hard to make not make noise, because Jesus, it felt good: warm drag of skin and flexed muscles and Bucky's rough thrusts sending little electrical flashes up into him, warmth pooling low in his belly. Bucky was kissing and biting the back of Steve's neck, and then he was muttering, low and rough, "Shit, fuck, Steve—" and Steve was right there with him and gritted out, "Yeah, do it," and Bucky was dragging him up and forcefully spreading his thighs and pushing into him. Steve heard himself whining, high-pitched and embarrassing, and tried to muffle it against his braced arm but he couldn't, just fucking couldn't—but Bucky was panting and cursing softly in his ear, hips pumping helplessly, and then his hand was gripping Steve's dick and Steve came blindly, choking, sputtering, throat working, and he couldn't hold himself up anymore, and Bucky tumbled down heavy on top of him, still fucking, before he shuddered and came too.
Bucky's fingers closed hard on Steve's arm; his voice, in Steve's ear, was hard, too. "You're mine, now," he said. "You belong to me now," and Steve, sweaty and exhausted and happier than he could ever remember being, said, almost irritably: "I always was, you idiot. Just you kept leaving me places, like lost luggage," and then, with as much threat as he could put into it: "Don't you goddamn leave me, Barnes."
"Christ, I'll do my fucking best," Bucky said.
Steve woke up sweaty and sticky and thirsty and with Bucky sprawled on top of him. He closed his eyes and snugged down in the worn sheets, intensely happy: that had been a good drug, whatever it was. In his arms, Bucky was unmoving, breathing deep—and awake, though Steve didn't know how he knew that.
"Is this," Steve murmured gently, "us the way you remember?" and Bucky rolled off to the side and peered down at him, propped on his metal arm. His brow was furrowed. He was taking it as a serious question.
"Yeah," Bucky said finally. "Or..." He shrugged. "You, maybe. Me...?" He shook a long lock of hair out of his eyes and shot a sardonic glance at his metal arm. "I don't know. What about you?" he asked with a fast, hard smile, and that was a dare: the Winter Soldier daring him to say he hadn't changed. But what was funny was that it was near about the most Buckyish thing he could have done: Bucky Barnes all over.
"I don't know," Steve said, and smiled again—he couldn't remember ever smiling so much. "I mean, you look like I remember you looking—it's not like I didn't recognize you," and Bucky jerked a nod: that was true. "You look like you and you sound like you. And you feel like you. And..." Steve licked his lower lip then sucked it in with his teeth, and what was left of the Winter Soldier dissolved into Bucky's familiar grin. "But nothing smells the way I remember," Steve concluded, sighing and tucking one arm behind his head. "Mostly things smell better—they changed the gasoline or something, and I feel like there was a lot more rotting fish and chemical smell at the waterfront—but I find that I miss the smell of your cheap eau de cologne, Barnes," and Bucky barked out a laugh, and so Steve pressed on, "—and whatever rotgut you used to drink, plus there was always some girl rubbing herself all over you," and Bucky, now grinning like a loon, bent, naked, to grab something—his jacket—off the floor and fish something out of the pocket.
A crumpled pack of Luckies, and Bucky bent his head and cupped his hands. There was the sulphuric whiff of the match, and then Bucky was sitting back against the bed's gray-white pillows with the lit cigarette dangling from his lips—and Steve thought he had been joking about missing the scent of Bucky's cologne and the smell of fish and all that, but the drifting curl of smoke made the world around him spin and the years fall away—and he closed his eyes and was home, really home, right here in this rat-trap of a hotel.
"Oh, you bastard," Steve said, under his breath, and then he lifted his hand. "Gimme that," and Bucky immediately plucked the cigarette from his mouth and handed it over. Steve took it, the tip still wet from Bucky's mouth, and inhaled deeply—and immediately broke out coughing, laughing. Christ, it turned out that there was more than one way to go home, and he saw from the longing on Bucky's face that he was feeling it, too: the rightness of them. This could be any of the places they'd bunked together: Henry Street, Grace Street, Alameda Avenue, or the fire escape at Bucky's house where they'd crawled out the window to share cigarettes before bed. Bedrolls, barracks, safehouses. During the war, after their night in the brothel, they'd smoked in bed together, just like this. Steve got his lungs under control and took a shallower drag. The smoke was thick and heavy on his tongue. He let it escape slowly and handed the cigarette back.
"You know what these cost now?" Steve asked. "More than we used to earn in a week," but Bucky just made a face and shrugged that off as irrelevant. Steve remembered the way cigarettes could keep you going when you were tired and hungry, and hadn't they all been, back then? He wondered if the crushed packet of cigarettes in Bucky's pocket meant that he was still tired and hungry: still living from hand to mouth.
"You want to eat something? I could eat a horse. I mean, we don't have to go out," Steve added quickly, not sure how much Bucky knew about this part of the modern world, "they'll bring it here to us: anything we want. Chop suey or—spaghetti," but something flickered across Bucky's face, something uncomfortable. "I've got cash," Steve added abruptly, wondering if that was it, but Bucky's face creased into a grin, so no.
"I've got cash too," Bucky said, taking a deep drag of the cigarette. "So yeah, let's get chop suey, but then—" His lips were still curved but the smile was gone from his eyes. "I've got to go," he said. "I can't—I mean, I'm not ready to come in, so I've got to keep moving. I can't stay in any one place for too long."
"Sure, okay," Steve said; and of course: he should have thought of that. "I'll come with you."
Bucky visibly started. "What?"
"I'll come with you," Steve said, and then more forcefully, "I'm coming with you."
Bucky's mouth was working. "Steve," he began, and this time Steve recognized the thing flickering across Bucky's face; it was pain. "The way I'm living now, I—it ain't living. It's not a life. I got nothing to offer y—"
Steve shook that off. "Just let me be the judge of that."
"I came up for air because I wanted to see you. I had to see you. But I'm not just underground," Bucky gritted out, "I'm below ground."
"That's all right," Steve told him. "Bucky, I—"
"It's not all right." Bucky sounded agonized. "You don't know what the hell you're—"
"I do," Steve insisted. "I do know," and he could see it in the dirt under Bucky's fingernails, in his uncut hair and the deep creases of exhaustion in his skin; the thin film of grime over everything. The pack of crumpled cigarettes. The fact that Bucky had been wearing so many clothes, all the clothes he owned, and how all his other things (cash, pills, guns) fit into a single black satchel. Bucky had been living rough.
"I don't care what you say. I don't care where we go. If you're a hobo, I'll be a hobo with you—don't argue with me," Steve said, pointing a finger at him when he opened his mouth, and Bucky whuffed out a laugh and sank back on his pillows again, regarding Steve with a baleful expression as he lay there, smoking.
"Some of the things I do are illegal," he told Steve, and Steve, staring at him, slowly let one eye cross over the other; a trick he could do since he was a kid. The hotel room blurred, doubled: Bucky's smirking face.
"Do tell," Steve said, and Bucky blew out a cloud of smoke, unwinding, and said, "fuck, I missed you."
If--ahaha. Yeah. If you liked it, please leave feedback at the Archive of Our Own and consider reblogging on Tumblr.


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Twitter erupts over Rosa Parks storyline in latest episode of Doctor Who
Susan Devaney
People have a lot of thoughts on the latest episode of Doctor Who, which focused on civil rights activist Rosa Parks.
Having graced our small screens for decades now, it's not surprising that a fair few historical figures – such as Charles Dickens and Hitler – have popped up in Doctor Who.
But last night's episode was a little different when the Doctor and her sidekicks travelled back to Montgomery, Alabama in the Fifties to the meet civil rights activist Rosa Parks (Vinette Robinson).
The episode, which was co-written by Noughts and Crosses author Malorie Blackman and Chris Chibnall, centered on the Doctor arriving in the city moments before Parks refused to give up her seat on a bus for a white person. It was a defining moment in history which sparked the civil rights movement.
However, in this episode, a time-travelling white supremacist named Krasko (Josh Bowman) attempts to alter the course of history by changing small historic details to ensure the moment didn't happen. Thankfully, Krasko fails in his mission due to the Doctor's successful efforts to keep history on its original course.
Other historical figures who were instrumental in the civil rights movement – like Martin Luther King and Emmett Till – also make appearances in the hard-hitting episode.
Doctor and her sidekicks travelled back in time to Montgomery, Alabama in the Fifties to the meet civil rights activist Rosa Parks (Vinette Robinson)
And the episode didn't shy away from highlighting how prevalent racism still is today, with Ryan delivering the line: "It's not like Rosa wipes out racism from the world forever. Otherwise, how come I get stopped way more by the police than my white mates?"
The episode has left some viewers calling the storytelling "powerful" and "emotional".
The Doctor even commented at the end of the episode that Rosa, who died in 2005, not "only changed the world, she changed the universe" as she showed her companions an asteroid named after the activist.
Since airing, many fans have taken to Twitter to claim the episode as a triumph.
And several people have likened the episode to the recent alleged racist incident that happened on a Ryanair flight involving two passengers. The incident, on a flight from Barcelona to Stansted on Friday (19 October), was recorded by a fellow passenger and shared on social media. Many people have criticised the airline for failing to properly intervene.
Ryanair said it "will not tolerate unruly behaviour like this" and has subsequently reported the incident to Essex police.
Doctor Who continues to air on Sundays on BBC One.
Images: BBC
Susan Devaney is a digital journalist for Stylist.co.uk, writing about fashion, beauty, travel, feminism, and everything else in-between.
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BMW Claims Its New Motorcycle Chain By No Means Needs Lube Or Adjustment
Version fra 26. jul 2021, 23:40 af EdgarMenendez77 (Diskussion | bidrag) EdgarMenendez77 (Diskussion | bidrag) (Oprettede siden med "<br>Retaining a motorcycle upright at high speeds is simple -- mostly you simply must grasp on. But when a bike is slowly cruising by way of a parking lot, in visitors, or a...")
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Husqvarna could also be a familiar identify within the motorcycle world, but it surely hasn't finished a lot to embrace electric bikes. You may have to attend some time to get one, that's for certain -- the EE 5 will not reach dealerships until summer 2019. For many, the big unknown is when Husqvarna will offer electric bikes meant for the street. A few of our stories embrace affiliate links. All merchandise really useful by Engadget are selected by our editorial team, independent of our dad or mum firm. If you buy something by way of one of those hyperlinks, we could earn an affiliate fee. The distinction, after all, is the selection of powerplant -- it is using a 5kW (6.7HP) electric motor paired with a 907Wh battery. The company hasn't mentioned much about the finer details, but noted that the EE5 supported would support quick charging and 6 totally different experience modes. It is going to soon, although -- it is launching its first e-motorbike in the type of the EE 5. The machine is ultimately a classic mini dirt bike with knobbed tires, durable forks and an exposed motor.
People who journey motorcycles are further probably to endure critical injuries as a result of any collisions with different road customers as a consequence of the fact they're much much less protected. Numerous accidents happen when automobiles don't see the bikes when pulling out of junctions, overtaking and altering lanes on motorways. Added on high of this actually is the fact that the vast majority of accidents involving bikes are as a result of collisions with different vehicles, and also the distinction in measurement, power and strength can have a devastating influence on the bike and its rider. Their bikes are extra susceptible to any faults on the highway, which embody potholes and spillages, and in addition the awareness of other motorists just isn't usually as very good accurately. Accidents sustained on a motorcycle are extremely hardly ever anything other than severe, as a consequence of the excessive speed capabilities of the bikes and in addition the tiny safety they offer you when something goes unsuitable.
This can help the engine and other elements of the vehicle. Loads of manufacturers have made it their mission to hide the system in the engine. The crankshaft is among the core parts of its engines the place the force needed for it to propel is produced. Get the information and details you will want to choose one of the best bikes Miami has to offer. This a part of the bike provides it help and steadiness that a rider would need. This may be achieved by a motor battery that is specifically designed for such autos. Nevertheless, there are some that uses a composite materials which is claimed to be higher and durable than the latter. It could come in different sizes but it surely retains its familiar circular form. There has obtained to be a line of difference between the tires and the wheels. Tires are the rubber portion that is a part of the wheel. Additionally it is present in cars and trucks, in motorcycles it should no less than comprise three. This is completed by changing power that the cylinders produce with a view to create a robust energy. The cylinders inside such contraption strikes up and down. The automobile would additionally need a energy supply. There are a lot of people, particularly foreigners, who're beginning to become involved with these bikes Miami. It's comfortable and comes with really interesting designs that is certain to draw each male and female clients. The wheel is the general part wherein the rubber tire is included. Different components of the wheel include its spokes which are the rods that help the wheel and keep it in its circular shape. Manufacturers use steel or aluminum.
Hentet fra "https://geowiki.wegge.dk/w/index.php?title=BMW_Claims_Its_New_Motorcycle_Chain_By_No_Means_Needs_Lube_Or_Adjustment&oldid=55055"
Denne side blev senest redigeret den 26. juli 2021 kl. 23:40.


Words like soft and hard are relative terms.
People may have a different opinion of what soft or hard means to them.
It's obvious to me that Callaway and I have differences of opinion on what a golf ball named soft should feel like when hit by a golf club.
I'm not sure about you, but I always take advertisements and claims by manufacturers with a grain of salt. Maybe it is the scientist in me, but testing is the only way I'm convinced that a product lives up to the hype.
In this article, I will give you my honest opinion about the performance of the Callaway Chrome Soft golf ball.
I compared the Chrome Soft to a Titleist Pro V1X for distance, ball flight, spin, stopping distance, and feel around the green.
The performance is based on my observations and is not a data-driven scientific investigation.
Callaway didn't give me golf balls to test; I purchased a dozen chrome soft from Amazon.
As I mentioned in my review of the Bridgestone Tour B330 RX golf ball, I compare golf balls against the Pro V1X because I believe the ProV as the standard of premium golf balls, and almost everyone has hit a Pro V1 or Pro VX.
What Does Callaway Say About the Chrome Soft?
The Callaway website says that the Chrome Soft is a 4-piece construction golf ball and has a Tour urethane cover.
I'm not sure what a "Tour" urethane cover is exactly, but I will say that it is a tough cover.
The Chrome Soft has a Dual SoftFast Core™ that provides fast ball speed and low spin for players to optimize their ball launch off the tee.
The dual core, mantle, and cover provide ball control for all clubs, especially for the wedges from 100-yards and in, as the ball has more spin so players can be aggressive around the green.
Callaway says the Chrome Soft has low compression for a soft feel, both with irons and for those shots around the green.
Here is what Phil Mickelson has to say about the Callaway Chrome Soft golf ball.
Weather, course conditions, and who is hitting the golf ball matters in a review. Below is some information about me and the course conditions when I tested the Callaway Chrome Soft.
The majority of my driver swings (based on Flightscope radar data) are in the 102 to 103 mph range. My handicap index is between 4 and 6.
My golf clubs are a Ping I20 driver with 9.5-degrees of loft, my fairway wood is a Ping G25 4-wood, and the hybrid is an 18-degree Ping G20, G-25 irons, and Ping Glide wedges. My putter is a Taylor Made Spider Ghost Mallet.
I tested the Callaway Chrome Soft so many times it isn't funny. I really wanted to like this golf ball.
Course conditions were for the most part hard and firm as the Northeast hasn't had much rain during the late spring of 2016.
I compared the Chrome Soft with a Titleist Pro V1X, which is the golf ball I usually use during competition. I used a GPS for driving distance but since I am comparing two golf balls against each other that's not too awful important.
For iron shots, I hit both balls from the same distance, not from where they ended up after the drive.
The Callaway Chrome Soft did go further than the Titleist Pro V1X when both balls were hit square. On level or wet fairways, the Chrome Soft was about 5- or 6-yards pass the Pro V1x.
The biggest difference was on fairways that sloped away or toward the tee.
The difference has to be the lack of spin. The Chrome Soft flew lower than the Pro V1X and would chase down the fairway.
There was no noticeable difference in how straight the ball would fly.
One would think that I'd be all over the Chrome Soft as it went farther for me. But that isn't the case; the ball felt like I was hitting a rock.
Not only when I mis-hit the ball, ALL THE TIME off the driver it was like hitting a rock. I can't think of one time that it felt like I compressed the ball.
I don't like the feel of the Chrome Soft off the driver.
Maybe my swing speed is too low?
The ball moves off the tee, no doubt about it, but it's not fun to hit.
I know this is a Callaway Chrome Soft review, but I'm going to have to go with the Pro V1X off the long irons.
The Chrome Soft felt better off the fairway wood and long irons than it did off my driver, but the ball flight was too low and didn't have any spin when they hit the greens.
The ball seemed to skid and run to the back of the green. I got no bite on the second bounce.
The Chrome Soft might be the ball for you if you run the ball onto the green with these clubs.
The response of the Chrome Soft off my wedges was good.
The golf ball would jump high off the club and stop or spin back on the second bounce.
The ball felt soft like the grooves were biting into the cover, and the ball made a nice click when hit.
I was pleased with the performance and characteristics of the ball when I used my short irons and wedges.
The Callaway Chrome Soft is a good short game performer.
I especially liked to putt with the Chrome Soft. The response off the insert on my Taylor Made Spider putter felt good, and I like the click the ball makes when it hit the club.
I had excellent ball control when chipping (both high and low ball flight) with the Chrome Soft golf ball. The ball flew consistently (both distance and height) off the clubface, so it was easy to pick landing areas on the green.
The golf ball was comparable to the Pro V1X. I'm not sure performance was any better, but I liked the feel of the Chrome Soft when chipping and putting.
How Did the Chrome Soft Hold Up?
An important part of golf ball performance for me is how well the ball held up during the round.
Not sure you are old enough to remember how quality golf balls used to be, but it was almost impossible to play 9-holes and not replace it. The ball would be all scuffed up and most likely cut if you hit it a little thin.
Take a look at the photographs of the Chrome Soft after playing 18-holes with it.
Not a mark on it. I played with a couple other Chrome Soft balls for more than 18-holes and they held up great. No marks until they hit a cart path or tree.
Even the tree damage was minor and didn't take away the shine of the golf ball or cause me any thought of taking it out of play.
Even though the Titleist Pro V1X's have gotten much better as far as holding up to play in the last couple of years, they aren't even close to being as tough as the cover on the Callaway Chrome Soft.
After 18-holes, the ball is as white and bright as when you started the round.
Big win here for Callaway over the Titleist Pro V1X.
You can see the current price below, the Callaway Chrome Soft is between $9 and $15 cheaper (prices vary for Titleist). That is quite a bit of money if you play a lot of golf.
Callaway also has color options. Several people at my club like to play with the yellow colored golf ball and the Chrome Soft also comes in yellow, and a yellow & black as well as a white & red Truvis pattern. The Truvis pattern is to make the ball more visible and allow you to focus on the ball better when you are hitting it.
Not sure if that is true or not, I haven't hit any of the Truvis patterned golf balls.
I really wanted to like the Chrome Soft. That is why I choose to write a Callaway Chrome Soft review.
In the end, the Chrome Soft is not my favorite golf ball. In fact, today I gave away the last sleeve of the dozen I bought to someone that likes them.
Even though I got good distance with the Chrome Soft with the driver, I never felt like I was compressing it.
It always felt like a mis-hit or I was hitting a one-piece golf ball.
The lack of spin with the long irons is another problem for me, I play from the back tees and have many long and mid-irons into the greens. I need a ball that gets up higher and bites with those clubs.
The Chrome Soft performed well with short irons and chipping. I especially liked to putt with the Chrome Soft. The ball has an excellent sound and comes off the club face consistently each time.
Callaway Chrome Soft is a winner in the price and ball options category for sure. It is much less expensive than other Tour quality golf balls and comes in a variety of colors.
All that said, and the fact that a lot of people do like the golf ball, I will not be playing the Callaway Chrome Soft.
Right now I am sticking to the Bridgestone B330RX or the Titleist Pro V1X. Next up on the golf ball review schedule is the Taylor Made TP5 golf ball.
By the way, you can still get the Callaway Chrome Soft 2016 golf ball on Amazon.
Have You Tried Any of The Golf Balls Listed Above?
I'd love to hear your experience with any of them. Leave me a comment below so we can get other golfers opinions.
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let me start by saying…I am a Titleist guy through the entire bag, from my 917 D2 to my Newport 2.5 and have played titleist balls back to the balata days. With that said, I switched to the chrome soft when they came out and have compared ProV1 vs Chrome soft every year of changes. In the end you get the same performance, better feel, better durability and lower cost (avg 6 to 10 dollars a dozen) from the Chrome soft. I find that those who stick to ProV 1 are usually brand snobs and tend to have ego handicaps….
Thanks for the comment, Doug. Each and every one of us has their own opinion and I'm glad you voiced yours. I think mileage varies depending on the golfer, weather, and course conditions. I had no problem with the Chrome soft of old other than I didn't like how it felt off the driver. The latest version is maybe a little better but not much for me. I'll stick to the ProV1 or Taylormade most days and Bridgestone when it's windy. If liking the ProV1 over the Callaway makes me a brand snob so be it, but to post a comment like you did and not respect other's opinions and calling them snobs or having ego's, well, maybe you should look at your own ego.
I was very loyal Titleist user for years and years. Liked the ProV1 on full shots but find short pitches can be great to fly and stop, but hard to pitch and run consistently. I switched to the ProV1X and found that it solved that problem, also less "ballooning" into the wind, but felt hard and tough to get feel on less than full shots, including putts. Switched to the Chrome Soft and love it. Flies every bit as well as the Titleists, more consistent control on less than full shots, stop extremely well on full shots. I have had even the hybrids and 5-wood actually back up a foot or two, and have hit a choked down driver on long par 3 that hits the green and stops within5-10 ft even on completely dry and newly mown green. I tried the Chrome Soft X and found the same difference as with Titleist X's. Felt a bit harder, maybe less command of how quickly it stops/or not on less than full shots. Chrome Soft works every bit the way I want and durable as well, no reason to change to anything else on the market at this time.
Thanks for your feedback and opinion Tom!
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Burial and memorial service were yesterday. Taking J.C. to the airport tomorrow before driving up to take my mother out for her first Mother's Day without my father.
Falling behind on exercise but trying to fit some in when I can.


text:
Get John Galsworthy from Amazon.com
John Galsworthy Biography
This Biography consists of approximately 10 pages of information about the life of John Galsworthy.
(approx. 10 pages at 300 words per page)
Dictionary of Literary Biography on John Galsworthy
John Galsworthy has earned an undisputed place in the history of the short story. A skillful and prolific short-story writer, he claims a place in the memories of freshmen for his much-anthologized short stories: "Quality," "The Japanese Quince," "The Apple Tree," and "A Stoic." Shortly before his death he was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature.
Galsworthy's childhood was privileged and prosperous. The second child of John Galsworthy, a London solicitor, and Blanche Bartleet, he was educated by a string of governesses until at the age of nine he was enrolled in school at Bournemouth. He was apparently happy at school, but not particularly noteworthy--a typical boy among other typical boys. Mr. Galsworthy decided that his son was to practice law, and the young man obediently, if not enthusiastically, studied for the bar. When an early love affair ended unhappily for Galsworthy, his father sent him to Canada...
More summaries and resources for teaching or studying John Galsworthy.
John Galsworthy from Gale. ©2005-2006 Thomson Gale, a part of the Thomson Corporation. All rights reserved.