#or if you’re struggling with a browser clear your history

[existence-is-a-curse2021]

I have encountered the opposite problem, where people older than me get all uppity about how my generation (gen z) doesn’t know cursive, doesn’t know what a VCR is, etc. Gen Z is roughly defined, depending on the country, as people being born between 1997 and 2012. While older technology from the early 2000s and before may be foreign to the younger half of gen z, the older half of us literally grew up with that shit. Like I remember getting VCRs from our local library and playing cassette tapes and CDs in the car.

I think a big factor in why older generations assume Gen Z is unfamiliar with tech that’s from around 20 years old or even older is probably due to a delightful mixture of COVID and lockdowns generally fucking with people’s sense of time. I know that it fucks with me and people my age immensely. Lockdowns hit in March of 2020 for me while I was finishing grade 11, and within the next year or two I’m going to be applying to master’s programs. My sibling was in grade 9 when the pandemic hit which pretty much nuked the majority of her high school experience, after April 30th of this year she can work as a certified nurse’s assistant and be able to legally drink in every province and territory in our country.

Also, my section of Gen Z is very into y2k and vintage stuff generally. There’s a reason why major artists like Taylor Swift are releasing records and CDs, there’s a demand for it. I got a record player for Christmas and this weekend I’m taking my partner to a record store for a belated Christmas gift. My almost 19 year old sister got a record for her birthday and another one for Christmas.

Gen Z, like every generation that has become before and after us, is not a monolith, quit treating us like we are. Besides, if y’all keep talking smack about us to our faces or behind our backs, don’t come crawling to us because your computer doesn’t work properly and you can’t be bothered to call IT.

[duckprintspress]

How can I write quickly?

I (hi, I’m @unforth) have been asked frequently over the years how I write a lot quickly. I’m a pretty fast writer - for example, I wrote the 5600 words of my May Trope Mayhem fill from yesterday in under 2.5 hours. 

First, a little of my personal history for context. I’ve always written, starting from when I was able to string letters into (very poorly spelled) words and (horrible un-grammatical) sentences. When I started trying my hand at serious, professional-level fiction writing, I joined a community called novel_in_90, which was founded by the author Elizabeth Bear. The purpose of novel_in_90 was “to be NaNoWriMo but more realistic.” Instead of 50,000 words in 31 days, it was 67,500 words in 90 days, or 750 words a day. I participated in multiple rounds of novel_in_90 starting in mid-2005, and in 2007 I completed my first (godawful) novel. When I started, even writing a couple hundred words of day took me forever, but it got easier with time. 

During those same years, I also got a job that required I do professional writing on a deadline: I was a grant writer, and I only got paid when the grants won. That often meant working fast under high pressure, culminating in the weekend I wrote and edited an entire 40 pages grant that was due on Monday. I think, if I hadn’t had a solid foundation of “regular daily plodding writing,” I’d not have been able to marathon when the moment came...and it came because I had to, not because I wanted to. However, I learned a valuable lesson: I could. Subsequently, I found that, when I had the time and space and was rested enough to use my brain, I could bust out a huge amount. Like, I wrote an entire 150,000 word novel in 17 days.

My personal record is about 200,000 words in one month (it was the month I wrote that novel; I wasn’t tracking when I did that so I don’t know exactly), 25,000 words in a day, and I’ve topped out around 3,000 words an hour. I do know people who can do more...but not many.

Not everyone will be able to do this. Flat out, I MUST preface the rest of this post by saying that. Some people will find that writing fast fits their brain, and for others, it just won’t, and that’s okay. Fast doesn’t equal better, and it isn’t inherently “good” to write fast. Furthermore, even for those who can write fast, not everyone will find the same strategies helpful. I can share what works for me. Try out one item, some items, or all of these - if writing faster is something you want to be able to do, which it certainly never has to be. Use what works for you, and discard the rest.

Sit in your chair, put your fingers on your keyboard or touch screen, and write. You can’t write 1,000 words in half an hour until you write one word, however long that one word takes. I know saying this is obvious, but I’ve been asked “how can I write fast” by people who struggle to write at all...fast can’t be your priority until you’ve got a foundation of just writing. (Honestly...fast should never be your priority, but it might be helpful to you regardless, which can make it worth learning.)

Start small. Set an achievable goal, and make yourself meet that goal (daily, weekly, whatever) come hell or high water, no matter how long it takes you. Keep the goal small at first; you’re not trying to torture yourself, you’re trying to build a skill. If you set the goal high enough that you consistently fail, you’re not teaching yourself anything. And, if you find the goal IS too high...lower it. There’s no shame in working within your limits. Think of it like starting a new work out regimen: you wouldn’t try to run a 10k at a record time if you can’t run a mile slow. Treat your fingers and your brain the same way you’d treat your legs and joints. Give them time to grow, learn, and improve before you try to push yourself.

Trying to write daily is worthwhile if you want to work on your writing speed, because you’ll be forced to try to fit it in as you’re able - that might be ten minutes in your morning, or an hour in your evening, and it might vary from day to day, but making it daily means you have to fit it in somewhere.

Building skills takes time and isn’t easy. For some people, it will come easier than for others, and even when you’re fast, going from “I can write words fast” to “I can write damn good words fast” takes practice and dedication and accepting constructive criticism - speed alone will never be worth more than writing well.

Having a community can help. Ya’ll will check in on each other, cheer each other on, remind each other that missing a day or a goal isn’t the end of the world, and keep each other’s spirits up. If you don’t know other writerly folks online, I recommend Weekend Writing Marathon ( @weekendwritingmarathon ) as a good place to start (I used to be a mod there). Once you’re trying to work up to larger word counts in a day, remember that even writing fast will take minutes or hours. You can’t write 2,500 words in an hour if you don’t set an hour aside. Make sure you’re giving yourself the room and time you need to succeed.

You will probably never be able to do high, rapid word counts every day, every week, every month. The best runners in the world don’t run marathons every day. Set realistic long term goals.

Work on projects where you have a clear idea of where you’re going. I’m not saying “pantsers” can’t write fast, because of course they can, but if you want to write fast, and well, and coherently, to create a first draft that’s in pretty good shape, you’ll do better if you have a good sense of what you’re trying to accomplish with your story. That doesn’t mean you need to do all your world building up front, or have a complete outline (I never have either). All you really need is what happens next. I tend to plan projects - and write them - one full scene at a time, with only a vague idea what’s going to come after. (I’m personally a “plantser,” and the strategies in this post will likely be most effective to other plantsers.)

Visualize ahead of time what you’d like to write...but don’t get too attached to what you visualize. When I go to bed, I plan the next scene I’m going to compose, often to the least detail. I then forget all of it overnight, at least all the specifics, and I’m left with a general sense and shape of what’s to come. You’ll never be able to replicate the “perfect” dialog you pre-conceive, so give up on trying to. Instead, play through the scene and think about the emotional beats you want to hit and plot points you want to forward. If you keep that in mind, you’ll be able to get the words out faster than if you’re agonizing over every word or regretting the “oh-so-great” idea that you’ve since forgotten. 

Practice different work styles. If writing every day doesn’t work for you, try instead saying, “this is my writing day each week,” and aim for a lot that specific day, and write little or nothing other days. Try writing at different times of day and on different days, fitting it into your schedule. If you’re beating yourself up for not writing when you “should,” it’ll be that much harder to succeed, so instead, as I said for point 2 - set a reasonable goal that fits your life and working style, fitting it around your other responsibilities, and push yourself within that framework, instead of trying to shoehorn into a style that you “think you should” use to succeed. 

Track your word counts, and take notes on how much you did and what project you were working on. If you’re also experimenting with different times of day and different days, make sure you note that too. I personally use a simple Excel sheet (well, Google Sheets, now) - column one is the date, column 2 is “starting word count,” column 3 is “ending word count,” column 4 is “=column 3 - column 2”, column 5 is notes. Pay attention to when you succeed at writing faster, and when you don’t, and consider what factors might have played into your success...and then try to replicate those factors next time you’re doing a sprint. Control as many variables as you can while you’re “training.”

If you find social media distracting, trying getting a web browser extension that prevents you from connecting to websites for a set period of time.

If you find you tend to dither before starting, I find it helpful to run through everything that I might do to procrastinate (check my social media! grab a snack! make some tea! set up my playlist! check my social media again! finish making the tea! check my social media for what I swear will be the last time!), and when I’m done, it’s like, well, I’ve done all those things, I’ve got no choice left, time to write, no excuses left.

If you find you struggle with picking up a WIP, try leaving off in the middle of a sentence at the end of a session, one where you know exactly how it ends - or, leave off mid-paragraph, or when you are positive you know what happens next (and I mean literally next, as in the very next sentence.) It’s much easier to “pick back up” when your first words are super clear. (Do not do this if you think there’s any chance you’ll forget or end up in a situation where you won’t return to your WIP for months!) 

If you find you struggle to maintain continuity across multiple writing sessions, try rereading what you wrote the previous day before you proceed. Resist the urge to edit it!

Avoid stopping when you get stuck, even to do research. Don’t know a fact? Add a comment to your manuscript flagging the relevant text, “LOOK THIS UP LATER.” Can’t think of a word? Put in something you can use the “find” function on easily (I personally use “XX” since there are no words that have a double x in them) and so you can come back later, search for your chosen placeholder, and fill in the blanks. Not sure how a scene ends but know the next scene? Jump ahead.

That said, if you really don’t know what happens next, you don’t do yourself any favors by pressing on. As I’ve said previously, speed alone should never be your writing object. It’s better to slow down, consider your plot, figure out where you’re going, and then write, than to just plow ahead - or at least, that’s better if you want a manuscript you’ll actually be able to use for something at a later point. If you’re truly just practicing, you can also say “screw it, who needs coherence?” and keep going. I’d personally never have finished my first novel if I’d spent a lot of time worrying about making the pieces fit together and yeah, it’s a mess, but it’s a mess I wrote instead of a mess I got stuck on and never completed.

Don’t move the finish line. If you’ve set the goal of 500 words a day, don’t beat yourself up if you get 550 because you think you think you could have done more. If you say you’ll write five days a week, don’t get mad because you DID have time the sixth day but chose to use it on something else. If you make yourself feel like shit when you succeed, what’ll happen when you fail? And when you’re comfortable and really think you’re ready, change the goal - reassess every month, say, and up your goals. While working for speed, trying upping your word count goal without changing the amount of time you allot for working.

Your need to adhere to the above suggestions will change over time. Once, I always had an outline; now I often don’t need one. Once, I wouldn’t let myself stop even to use a thesaurus; now, I find I can look up words without breaking my flow or significantly slowing myself down. This is not an “all or nothing” prospect, nor is it a “do things the same way forever once you’ve found one (1) thing that works” prospect - you’ll experiment, and find strategies that work for you, and then at some point, your needs will change, and you’ll experiment more, and find new strategies that work for you, on and on, as your skills grow. 

To reiterate: writing fast should never be your objective in and of itself! Greater writing speed will come with practice and as a general side effect of improving your craft. Simply being able to write fast is useless; being able to write fast and well will enable you to get more of your ideas out there, so if that’s something you’d like to accomplish, focus on building your general skills and training yourself to be able to use those skills rapidly and in tandem with each other to produce decent writing, in a first draft, at a decent speed.

Once you try, you may find none of this works for you! That’s okay. That’s good! You tried, which means you learned something about yourself and your own writing style, and that too will help you to improve. Keep experimenting, keep learning, and find what does work for you - and accept that no two writers will ever be the same, and one of those differences will be writing speed. Some writers will never write fast, and that’s doesn’t make them any less awesome or valid. And some writers will always write fast, and that doesn’t make them inherently awesome or valid. Only with a suite of skills that suit your individual life, personality, work style, writing capabilities, goals, etc., will you succeed as a writer (for various, personalized definitions of the word “success”); speed is only one of those potential skills, and not one that’s particularly important in my opinion...yet I still get asked about it fairly often, so here we are, these are my suggestions

Go forth, and write some words! <3

[liquorisce]

reading between the lines (High School Years, Ch 2)

pairing: eren x mikasa (shingeki no kyojin) // mild erehisu, yumihisu

rating: t

summary: (modern au) Junior year is difficult, especially for Mikasa, because it turns out Eren’s decided to test the dating scene. 

(banter, jealousy... and lots of feelings)

part 1 | read on ao3

A/N: this chapter has been a long time coming (5 years omg), and tbh I have a lovely anon to thank, who messaged me asking for a sequel to hsy, which made me actually want to put down my scrambled headcanons on paper. if you're reading this anon, i'm truly grateful for the push you gave me. 

NOTE: although i intended a sequel, this is a COMPANION fic to chapter 1, it is meant to fill up the gaps in the story that the previous chapter didnt tell you. i hope you enjoy :)

Today was not one of Eren’s favourite days, for 2 reasons. For one, the day started off with … an encounter. Two, today they would be getting the results of their final trig assessment, which Eren knows perfectly well he didn’t have a chance of passing.

The ‘encounter’ happens pretty much without preamble.

…

i.

“… Hey, it’s Eren, right?” He turns around from his conversation with Armin, to see the same guy from a couple of weeks ago, the one who was talking about Mikasa, and her pretty hair. (he wasn’t wrong)  

“Yeah?” He does his best not to let the subconscious irritation seep into his tone.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot the other day,” the guy with the oddly horse-shaped face says, “… My name’s Jean.”

“… Nice to meet you,” he says awkwardly delivering his dishonest words.

“… So, I wanted to be straight up with you,” Jean says, cheeks oddly pink. “About Mikasa… and you. I’ve heard some rumours, and I thought it best to address it with you directly, because I really don’t want to cause any trouble.”   Clearing his throat, he says, “Are you guys… y’know, together?”

It’s in the way Jean speaks, he thinks, or the way he talks about Mikasa (or even thinks of her?) - it makes him want to ram his fist right in the middle of his ugly face. And because he was too busy clenching his fists to actually respond, Armin says with a laugh, “… Ah, don’t worry, Mikasa is totally single.”

And then proceeds to wink at Jean.

Eren can barely believe his eyes and ears. And once Jean is out of earshot he hisses, “… what the fuck, Armin?”

Armin blinks up at him innocently. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

 “… You didn’t have to encourage him,” Eren mumbles petulantly, when he admits to himself that Armin did, in fact, say nothing wrong.

 “Erm, why not?” He sighs, “Look, I know you… worry about Mikasa,” Armin keeps his tone as neutral and veiled as possible, because worried is definitely not all Eren feels for Mikasa, “… but Jean is a good guy! And if anyone deserves attention from a good guy, it’s her.”

…

 ii.

 She finds him lurking near his locker, stuffing his crumpled papers in, probably wishing away their existence.

“That bad, huh?” She asks, hiding away her grin at his predictable reaction. Eren has always been predisposed too sulking - whether he was a 7-year-old who wasn’t the fastest on the field or 16-something and having just received his trigonometry results.

“… You look like you did just fine,” he mutters, not having to see the A+ on her paper to know that Mikasa had no problem acing the trig test (or any other test).

“You could just ask me for help, Eren. I could help you out for the retakes,” she offers softly, not for the first time.

He sighs. When he glances at her, dark eyes offering earnestly, he knows she means it without any pride or arrogance, but he isn’t able to suppress the prick of his own ego that has him mumbling, “… the mandatory remedial lessons should do just fine.”

…

iii.

When he shows up for class, he sees only a couple of others unfamiliar faces, so he curses under his breath at his own ineptitude towards mathematics for getting him in this situation and takes a spot at the back of the class.

The Support teacher - Erd, he calls himself, apparently too young to be addressed ‘Mr.’ or any of that - seems just as tired as the rest of them, sighing at the lack of answers, obviously frustrated at the complete lack of interest or gratitude of the teenagers in front of him.

So, 20 minutes into the 1-hour lesson, when the short blonde walks in, out-of-breath and apologetic, the sarcasm in his tone is biting. “You’ve already missed 1/3rd of this class, you might as well have stayed out entirely and practiced your cheer routines.”

Eren watches sympathetically at the visible cringe on Krista’s face and offers her an empathetic smile as she takes the seat next to him.

Later when they’ve been informed that the retake is just an assignment filled with proofs and average difficulty problems that they can do in pairs, he looks at Krista, the only known person in the room.

They weren’t that close, but they had quite a few mutual friends what with him playing basketball and her being part of the cheer team. So, when she says, “… see you at the library tomorrow evening?” with a pretty smile across her pretty features, he grins gratefully.

..

She doesn’t struggle with trig even half as much as he does. In fact, she seemed to be happy to do most of the work herself and explain her solutions - if he actually had the interest to understand them.

“I don’t understand,” he admits after she solves the 5th problem in a row effortlessly, “you seem to have everything down already. How come you didn’t pass the test?”

Her eyes skittered nervously away from him. “I was… sick,” she mutters. “I couldn’t really focus.”

He eyes her closely, observing the sudden change in her countenance. Usually Krista was all easy smiles, twinkle in her blue eyes. Now, she looks uneasy, unwell almost. Deciding it wasn’t his place to pry, “… Well, I guess I turned out to be the lucky one in all this,” he grins, “… I get to hang out with you and have you do my assignment.”

She rolls her eyes. To be honest, she’d enjoyed the past couple of evenings with him. Eren was easy to talk to, despite being somewhat of an airhead and being completely incapable of anything remotely math related. But regardless, he made her laugh and just about forget what happened the morning before she showed up for this test, with fresh tears choking her throat, and purpling bruises on her thighs.

“I guess you owe me then,” she quips back, smugly.

“… I definitely do,” he says smoothly, green eyes watching her in a way that makes her feel warm. “How can I make it up to you?”

Flustered, because she hadn’t expected his easy response, she mumbles, “… Dinner?” And with red cheeks hidden by her blonde bangs, she whispers, “I like pizza.”

…

iv.

She finds him at the end of the day, on one of the wooden tables outside the basketball court, chin resting in his hands, eyes glued to his laptop.

“… Hey,” she breathes, giggling when startled green eyes flash up to her, body jerking in surprise.

“Damn, you got me,” he grins, pushing his laptop away and leaning up for a brief kiss. She’s happy to return it, and she lets her fingers wind into his hair, enjoying it for a moment longer.

“Mmm,” she mumbles, “I saw you closing that browser window,” she teases, wrestling control of his laptop, “watcha lookin’ at?”

When she manages to open his browser history – much to Eren’s protest – her eyes widen. “Women’s dresses, spring collection??” She waggles her eyebrows at him.

“… It’s not for me,” he grumbles, deciding to make it painstakingly clear before Krista enthusiastically begins to tell him what dress would suit him the most – he knows his girlfriend, crossdressing would be absolutely acceptable, if not encouraged – and he watches her eyes feign disappointment.

“… Boring,” she sighs, rolling her pretty blue eyes, “I don’t see how you’re not curious about how you look in a dress,” – she gasps, hand flying over her mouth, “Wait… was that… a surprise… for me?”

“… Um,” Eren starts, intelligently, because the situation that was already awkward in his opinion, just became even more so. “Well,” he gulps, taking in the sparkle in her eyes, knowing fully well just how much she likes surprises, feeling guilty even thought he needn’t be, “itsformikasa.”

He hangs his head in apparent apology, but more so because he doesn’t want to see the disappointment flit across her features.

“… Oh.”

He chances a glance at her, and there’s no particular emotion per se, and it worries him, because she gets this faraway look in her eye sometimes, and he can’t really tell what’s going on, and they’ve only been together a few months and he’s not an expert in reading her silences –

“I see, is it for her birthday or something?” Her tone is measured, and she’s looking pointedly at the screen.

“Um… yeah.” Eren sighs, wondering what the hell was up with his own reaction. He had nothing to feel guilty about – where did that even come from anyway? – Mikasa’s his… family (or something). Shopping for her was normal. He did it every year. This isn’t something he needed to hide.

“Yeah, it’s next month,” he says, giving her a smile. There was no need for this to be awkward if he didn’t make it so. Besides, it wasn’t like he was buying her lingerie or something! (he brushed this thought aside faster than the red blush crept up his neck)

“Do you think, you could help me with it?” He blurts this out, partially in an attempt to distract the weird atmosphere, and also partially because he could really use the help.

Krista blinks. “Err, yeah. Sure.” She pulls up Mikasa’s profile on Instagram. “Let’s see,” she murmurs… Turtlenecks… Jeans… a ridiculously modest swimsuit that she wore to a pool party two years ago. The sexiest outfit on her entire profile was probably her in her tennis shorts and that had more to do with Mikasa’s undeniably ripped body than anything else.

She looks up at Eren, who’s still looking at her tentatively, green eyes unsure.

This whole thing was silly anyway, she thinks, offering him a genuine smile. He and Mikasa were close (and they lived together, which she did her best not to think about), but this wasn’t a surprise so it’s about time that it came up in some way in their relationship. In any case, she hadn’t felt any hostility from the raven-haired beauty and Eren was usually quite forthcoming about everything, so she didn’t really have anything to worry about.

“So, um, does she have a favourite colour or something?” She’s eager to kill the awkward mood and is grateful to see his shoulders visibly relax as he ponders.

“… Red, I think. Maybe, like, a darker shade. Sort of… maroon, y’know?” He thinks of the scarf he gave Mikasa when they were younger. It was a ratty, yet fluffy maroon thing which she was absolutely terrible at tying, but she wears it everywhere during the winter, even though his father had a bought her a better one at some point.

They peruse their options for a bit, and Krista picks out a deep red number, a shimmery satin one, with slinky straps and a slit that travels up an already high hemline. It wasn’t really a spring dress but more of a cocktail night outfit, and Eren is weirdly embarrassed thinking of Mikasa in it.

He eyes the screen incredulously. “… Somehow, I just can’t picture Mikasa wearing something like that.” He opens up another link, to a denim overall dress, “… now this, she would wear.”

“And that,” Krista retorts, “is why she’s still single. She has an amazing body; she should flaunt it.”

“… What would she wear it to?” Eren asks, unconvinced. (Also, what was wrong with Mikasa being single?) “… Student council meetings? Debate competitions?! I just,” –

“Parties, Eren,” she says, exasperated, “… it’s high school!”

“You know she doesn’t” –

“Drag her to some! C’mon, we’re going to be seniors soon. She’ll thank you for it!”

…

v.

Six hours later, she’s closing up her shift at her part-time job. It’s a job she’d rather keep hidden – from her friends at school and the law – because she isn’t sure what the age policy was in these kinds of establishments. It worked out because it was close enough to home, and between her and the bartender, the tips compensated the poor wages. Plus, the bartender – a slightly older girl named Ymir with a pretty fringe and a sharp tongue – was genuinely fan to hang out with. And she was surprisingly protective of the small blonde, particularly with the rougher customers, whom Ymir scared off quite effectively with her glares.

“So,” she says, as she scrubs the counter clean, “… I helped my boyfriend buy a dress today.”  

She doesn’t turn back to see her, but she can hear Ymir’s raised eyebrows as she says, cheekily, “… I didn’t realize you guys were into that stuff.”

Snorting, she replies, “Well that would be interesting. But no, it was for his, um, friend. Or something.” Or something, because sometimes Eren refers to Mikasa as his best friend, sometimes his family, and sometimes it just felt like… something else, basically.

She turns around to look at Ymir, who says nothing, continuing to rinse the rest of the glasses. “Her name’s Mikasa,” she continues, her voice getting oddly unsure, “They’ve known each other forever. They even… live together.”

“… What,” Ymir stares at her in disbelief.

“It’s not like that,” Krista finds herself sounding defensive, “Eren’s dad is her guardian… or something. Has been for some years. So, it’s not like they moved in together…”

She elects to skip the part where Eren’s dad is a doctor with Doctors without Borders and is barely home for more than a couple of months a year. She didn’t like the look Ymir was giving her anyway.

“So… they’re like brother-sister or what?”

“No,” she says, realizing that the word came out more vehement than she intended. But she knows that was definitely not the way Eren saw their relationship.

“… Krista,” Ymir starts, and the blonde can tell by the tone of her voice that she’s going to get all protective on her, “… I know you’re in high school, and… you’re dating – as you should – but you don’t have to waste your time on shady boys.”

At this she laughs because, “Eren’s not shady, he’s a nice guy,” –

“… You could get anyone you want; I mean look at you, you’re beautiful.”

The defense that was bubbling up in her throat suddenly stilled, because there’s something about the way Ymir just said that – called her beautiful – earnestly, quietly, and it made her feel funny. It took her breath away for a very brief second and replaced it with a warm flush that creeps up her neck.

It’s strange, she’s heard it before from so many boys with obvious motivations; Eren’s always calling her pretty, and complimenting her eyes or whatever… But when Ymir said it, and looked at her like that, honey brown eyes, deep with unnamed emotion, all she could do was avert her eyes.

…

vi.

It’s 7pm and the library’s home only to the nerds by now. The librarian is lax (and underpaid) enough to ignore the low buzz of two over-enthusiastic AP chemistry students that grates on Mikasa’s ears.

Ordinarily she’d just plug her earphones in and ignore the world to focus on the assignment at hand. But today she accepts anything to distract her from the scene earlier at home. And even though Armin’s sitting right next to her, supposedly doing his own thing, she doesn’t miss the worried glances he sends her every now and then, which she really doesn’t want to address.

Her feelings for Eren were a well-known secret by now, just as well-known as the fact that he clearly didn’t return those feelings, so she wasn’t particularly in the mood for Armin’s indulgent pity… regardless of how well-intentioned it was.

So, when its 8pm and the librarian is shooing them out, and she bumps into Jean, she’s grateful for the few extra minutes of conversation surrounding absolutely nothing important.

When they continue to the parking lot, their conversation having progressed from awkward conversation starters to an animated discussion on Jean’s tennis form, Armin’s well and truly realized that he has no place here.

After Armin’s said his goodbyes and Mikasa recognizes that she doesn’t mind staying away from home and possibly Eren and Krista in the middle of their 5th round, she asks Jean, “… so do you like Chinese food?”

…

When she walks in a little after 10 pm, cheeks cold from the night air, there’s a small grin on her cheeks, because she’s made a new friend today, whose company she genuinely enjoyed.

But when she enters the living room to see Eren fast asleep on the couch, she finds herself staring in the face of the reality she’d tried so hard to escape. It’s difficult to ignore the ruffled quality of his brown hair, mussed up in a way that could only have been achieved by someone (a very blonde, very beautiful someone) raking their hands through it.

She can’t help the wave of irritation that sweeps through her - so she doesn’t bother to soften her footsteps as she walks up the wooden stairs.

Minutes later, she hears his sleepy voice at her door. “Hey,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice, “you were out pretty late, so I left you some dinner. We made pasta, it’s not as good as yours but,” -

“… I ate already,” she says, tone clipped.

“Oh.” He’s quiet, just watching her put her things away, and there’s irrational tears pricking at her eyes, anger, and frustration that she knows she doesn’t have the right to, so she doesn’t turn to acknowledge him. “… Mikasa, are you…,” he clears his throat, “… is something wrong?”

When she says nothing, he sighs, turning, “… Well, if you want to talk about it, you know I’m always here,” -

“… Could you please go over to Krista’s house next time?”

She colours, surprised at herself for her outburst of honesty. But her blush pales in comparison to Eren’s as he processes what she’s saying. “… This is my house,” he sputters, “… I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to want to bring my girlfriend over.”

“Well, it’s not just ‘bringing her over’, is it?”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “… What I do with Krista, in my personal space, is definitely not your business, Mikasa.”

“It is when I can hear it, Eren,” she retorts, as he shuts the door forcefully behind him.

…

vii.

It’s been two weeks since that… confrontation, and Mikasa’s barely spoken to him since.

She leaves before he does, makes sure dinner’s left out on the stove for him, whether he needs it or not, and locks her door when she’s done. And although he’s found himself staring awkwardly at that shut door multiple times, he’s never had the courage to actually knock.

He simply cannot comprehend this situation because despite the numerous arguments they’ve had in the past - it was always him, whining about something like a petty child and sulking till he got his way - she’d never truly been mad at him. And she’d never, ever, gone days without talking to him. And as he stares at the locker next to his (it was Mikasa’s) with a horrible ache in his chest, he is well and truly sure that he loathes this situation.

So, when small hands reach around his waist, enveloping him in a tight embrace, his subconscious reaction is to jerk back in annoyance. “I didn’t realise it was you,” he murmurs apologetically, rubbing her hands softly.

“… Who else would it be?” Krista asks, somewhat thrown off by this mood that had been festering for days now.

“You ask some very valid questions there, babe,” he mutters, a distracted half-smile on his face.

Taking a deep breath (determined to shake him out of his pensive aura), she whispers, “… You know, I don’t have work today.” She leans against him, reaching up to murmur in his ear, “we could hang out at yours for a while, if you want?”

She makes it clear what she means by “hanging out” by the way she presses up against him, and even though he’s responded with fervent enthusiasm to a similar invitation in the past, today he just averts his gaze, awkwardly.

Swallowing the rejection with a graceful exterior, she puts an arm’s length of distance between them. “… What’s going on, Eren? Your head’s been somewhere else all week.”

And before he starts to stay that it’s nothing, just that he has some stuff going on, she says, “… does this have something to do with Mikasa?”

His green gaze jerks up at her, startled with unfortunate honesty. “… I haven’t seen you talk to her all week.”

“…I,” he starts, but his throat closes up, for some reason, unsure whether he should really tell her what happened. He doesn’t want to put her in the middle of something that was clearly between him and Mikasa.

But with every passing second, the guilty look on his face only begins to feed the fears that she had successfully kept dormant all this while. “… Did something happen between the two of you?”

And when he looks into her eyes, bright blues seeping insecurity, he says, hurriedly, “… wait, I hope you aren’t thinking that we,” - he inhales sharply, wondering how he manages so successfully to upset the women in his life - “God, no. We had a misunderstanding, that’s all. She said something, I was pretty rude to her, and I shouldn’t have been.”

“And,” he murmurs, admitting it to himself, finally, “I’ve just taken too long to apologize.”

…

She’s barely finished washing the vegetables for dinner, when she hears the thud of the front door closing loudly.

(She remembers Carla reprimanding him every time, for not being gentler)

Mikasa has managed to avoid Eren successfully these past days, because she knows his schedule, knows that despite his complete lack of organization, he’s fairly predictable. And with his recent interest in a particular cheerleader, he almost invariably never comes home before 8.30 PM. So, when she hears him enter their kitchen at little over 7, she isn’t prepared.

She isn’t prepared because she’s been quite cowardly, saying things that she had no business saying, and then being unable to own up to it, unable to apologize to him. Because she knew that when she looks at him, she’ll feel the way she feels right now - taking in the sight of him, drizzle droplets fresh in his brown hair, as he runs a hand through it, his mouth twisting into an awkward grin. She knew she’d realize that her feelings for Eren were never really much of a choice, they just were.  

“… I brought your favourite dumplings from Li’s,” he announces. “And I brought an extra serving of the spicy soy sauce so we don’t have to fight over who gets the last bit.”

…

He’s grateful for the small smile that forms on her face when she accepts the dumplings (the peace treaty as he calls it in his head), and for the small banter that she indulges him in as they eat.

After they’re stuffed with dumplings and inconsequential conversation, he clears his throat, because he remembers he came home early tonight with a certain conviction.

But as she does with most things, she beats him to it. “… Eren, about the other day,” she looks at him earnestly, “… I had no right to demand that of you. I’m sorry.”

And when he’s still quiet, she mumbles quickly, “I don’t know what got into me that day, honestly, I,” -

“Don’t apologise, Mikasa,” he says, a strange disquiet taking over him as he replays her words, “… the last thing I want, is to make you feel uncomfortable.” Or to make you feel like you can’t demand what you want from me.

This is the part that settles into him slowly, that somehow, the one person in his life that he’s always felt he could ask anything of, could demand anything of, and actually receive it without fail… she didn’t feel that she could count on the same from him. And it twisted painfully inside of him.

“I appreciate that, Eren. But honestly, I’ll get used to it… so don’t worry.” She smiles, in that genuine way of hers, small lips, curving shyly, “… and who knows, maybe someday I’ll want to ‘bring someone over’ too.”

She laughs as she does the air quotes and even though he manages a small grin in response, all he can say, without really meaning it, is –

“Yeah… Of course, yeah.”

…

 viii.

 She takes her frustration out on the cash register. “… Damn thing doesn’t open when I need it to, and doesn’t close when I want it to,” she mutters under her breath.

 “You just need to show it some love,” Ymir says, amused, promptly closing the problematic register without any difficulty. “… Go sit, I’ll close up here.”

 She does as she’s told, pouting slightly, but she’s grateful for the older girl’s help and understanding. “So… want a beer before I close the tap?” Ymir asks with a wink.

 “You need to stop offering underage girls alcohol,” Krista whispers, scanning the room hastily.

 The brunette rolls her eyes. “You need to stop with the innocent act every time. You’re a hot cheerleader for god’s sakes, everyone knows what goes on at your high school parties,”  -

 “Ok ok,” she acquiesces, suppressing the blush at Ymir’s offhanded compliment and deciding that that there was no point in panicking every time they did this, “… but only if you join me.”

 “Cheers,” Ymir says, offering her glass to Krista’s and taking a generous gulp. “So, tell me. Boy trouble, again?”

 Krista nurses her drink slowly before taking a sip.

 To Krista, Eren was a breath of fresh air. He didn’t hover, he didn’t foam at the mouth every time she spoke to another guy, didn’t hound her if she didn’t pick up his phone call.

 Does he even care? Ymir had asked her once scathingly, but she had disregarded it, grateful for the freedom she felt in his embrace. Freedom from toxic attachment, from past trauma or unresolved baggage like the one she was destined to carry. When she was around him, she had felt different. Lighter almost, as if this persona that she had created for herself could actually have a shot at happiness after all.

 But lately she’d begun to wonder if she’d just been fooling herself… again. She’d begun to question if she had just convinced herself to see the promise of something that was never there.

 “… I thought this guy was one of the good ones,” Ymir says, watching Krista closely.

 “He is…” she sighs, “He is one of the good ones. It’s just…” she trails off, unsure if she should give voice to her thoughts. “Ah fuck it, I’m just feeling a little insecure, it’ll be fine…”

 “… Is this about that sexy flatmate of his?”

 She winces, feeling exposed. It often felt that way with Ymir. Like there was no point to any of the barriers she had worked so hard in constructing.

 “She is attractive,” Krista admits, begrudgingly. “… I’m only surprised Eren hasn’t noticed that.”  

 “… But that’s what you’re worried about, aren’t you? That he has noticed that of late?” Ymir narrows her eyes at Krista. “You should just ask him about it!”

 “I did,” she states defensively, “… and he said there was nothing,” -

 “… Oh, sure there’s nothing. I can’t believe he thinks he can lie to you and get away with it,” -

 “Ymir, I trust him, he’s my boyfriend,” -

 “But that’s the problem with you. You just trust everyone, and you let them walk all over you. You did this with Reiner and now with,” -

 “Ok,” she whispers, “Stop it, Ymir.”

 “… Krista, you need to trust your gut about this sort of thing. If your gut is telling you that he’s a lying asshole, then you should just dump his ass and,” -

 “… See this is why I didn’t want to tell you about this,” she cries, her voice rising In frustration. Because this is how it’s always been with Ymir, no one she dates is ever good enough, no decision she makes is ever smart enough.

 “You’re always shitting on my boyfriends. And I know you were justified about the last one, but,” her voice cracks just a little bit, because at the end of it all, she just feels weak, “… it feels like you’re just taking a massive crap on me as well.”

 “I didn’t mean,” Ymir starts apologetically, brown eyes remorseful, “… look, that wasn’t my intention.”

 She takes her hand, slowly, lets her long fingers intertwine with Krista’s smaller, dainty ones.  The crumpled expression on Krista’s features has her regretting ever opening her big mouth. But she was tired of seeing one person after another, enter her Krista’s life, and undo the progress she was trying so desperately to make.

“… The truth is,” she takes a deep breath, ready to unleash a truth that’s been stifled for so long, she can’t even remember when it first sprouted, “I think you’re pretty fucking amazing. And I see you wasting all your time and your feelings on these stupid boys who don’t deserve you.” The words come out quickly, rushed almost. A sharp contrast to how long they’ve festered in Ymir’s chest, growing and growing until these feelings knew no reason.

 Ymir doesn’t look at her, she keeps her gaze focused on Krista’s hand, afraid of what might happen if Krista understands the depth of feeling behind her words. But more important than her feelings, there were some things she wanted Krista to see clearly.

 “Did you tell him about your father, Krista? What he does to you when his wife isn’t looking?”

 Krista tugs on her hand, a wave of unbridled panic spreading at the mention of her father. “I trusted you with that information, Ymir, you promised you’d never bring it up,” -

 “… Did you tell him your real name?”

 She can’t answer this question, even though she knows the answer, knows it’s an emphatic ‘no’ - but she cannot answer because there’s an overwhelming lump in her throat, and it’s taking everything from her to barely keep it together.

 “… Let go of me, Ymir,” she pleads, and that’s when Ymir loosens her grip.

 “… You trusted me to keep quiet about your secrets - and I’m fine with that. I’m fine with doing anything you ask of me,” her teeth grit together, because she doesn’t know, Krista doesn’t know just how much she would do.  

 “You asked me not to do anything about the fact that your father is hurting you, and it even though it kills me, I listened to you. But now I see you hurting yourself in this farcical relationship with fabricated feelings for some boy who doesn’t treat you the way you deserve, and I don’t know if I can be quiet about that anymore.”

 And because it’s grown too large, too much to keep inside of her anymore, she whispers, “I love you, Historia. And if you want me to let go of you, I will. But,” she brushes her lips gently against Krista’s cheek, “… You can trust me with your secrets, and your heart, if you’d let me, because I could take care of you.” She feels a warm tear roll down Krista’s cheek and her heart clenches, “… I could make you happy.”

 …

ix. 

 “… I really appreciate you making time for this,” she murmurs, as she watches him lay the white lilies at her parent’s grave.

 He always remembers, without her prompting, because the first time he’d come with her, she’d spent hours crying at their gravestone, telling him tear-filled anecdotes of the dishes her Mama cooked, the bedtime stories her Papa told, the flowers that they used to grow in their garden together (white lilies).

 “C’mon Mikasa,” he rolls his eyes at her, “… we do this every year. Why wouldn’t I make time for this?” And why the hell are you thanking me?

 She can’t really explain it to him, the possibly childish notion that she thought he might be too busy with his girlfriend to remember the death anniversary of her parents. She regrets doubting him, regrets that of late she’s been so clouded by petty jealousy, that she hasn’t truly appreciated how little he’s changed around her.

 “It’s ridiculous,” she confesses, softly, “… you’ve given me everything. A home… A family.” She smiles at him, somewhat blurry. “But I can’t help it, every year on this day, my mind always goes back to that… moment. I lost them… in what felt like the blink of an eye.”

 He tenses, as he always does when he sees her upset, or shedding a tear. There is a fundamental part of him that deeply despises the sadness on her features; it makes him feel helpless. So, he does the only thing he can - he wraps an arm around her, tucking her face into his shoulder as she snuggles into him.

 “I miss them every day. But you saved me, Eren,” she whispers, dark eyes looking up at him with a gratefulness that he has never known how to accept, and never felt worthy of. “… and now I have you.”

 Her voice trails off, almost wistful. “… I guess the world really can be cruel but beautiful at the same time.”

 …

 x.

 When he stops to think about it, he supposes it really is ridiculous it took them so long to get here. And by here he means - Mikasa wrapped securely in his arms, in his lap, on their couch, taking advantage of the privacy they’ve had all along.

 He feels her tongue flick against his - it makes him shiver - and he can do little more than just wrap himself around her tighter, and sigh into her kiss. Her fingers make their way into his hair, cradling his head, pressing sweet kisses on the side of his mouth, on his jaw, and on the sensitive spot beneath his ear.

 And because Mikasa’s always been a quick study (she’s learnt what he likes, what he’s weak for), he stills her exploration (very reluctantly) before she goes too far.

 “Are you okay…?” He whispers, rubbing a thumb along the dried tear stains on her cheek – a reminder of her tears, of knowing the pain that he’d caused her, bubbled quietly within him, having been quelled temporarily by the glorious feeling of having her in his arms.

 She laughs, shaking her head, “… I love you. I can’t believe I finally get to say it.” She rests her forehead against his, a happy smile forming on her lips.

 “… You could have said it ages ago; you know. No one asked you to keep it inside for this long.” Even though he teases her with his words, his lips drift back to hers, brushing softly, unable to stay away for too long.

 “… Well, you never know, I actually might have said it. If it wasn’t for, you know, you having a girlfriend.” He senses the eye roll, the teasing lilt of her voice, but he can’t help but regret the time he wasted. Because even though Krista was a dear friend, and there were no ill intentions there, now that he is here, chest to chest with the girl he loves, he only wishes he’d been here sooner.

 “You’re going to use that against me forever, aren’t you?”

 She grins in response. “… I have a question though.”

 “Shoot,” he murmurs, nibbling against her lower lip.

 “… Why’d you guys break up?”

 He groans, kissing her jaw testily. “… Do you really want to go into that right now?”

 She hesitates, torn between potentially ruining the mood and needing to know what happened. God knows, she had spent countless nights losing sleep over the details anyway. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay, I guess…”

 “It’s fine,” he says quickly, realising that if he wanted to set a precedent where she could ask him anything, then it‘s best he starts now, “… She’s in love with someone else. A girl, actually.”

 Her eyes widen, not having expected that turn of events. “… Please tell me you didn’t ask for a threesome.”

 “What the fuck, Mikasa, of course not!” He pulls back, offended.

 “Good,” she murmurs cheekily, “I’ve raised you well.”

 “Hmm,” he hums, “Speaking of ‘raising me’, you should probably stop saying stuff like that. Do you know that Connie asked if you were like a ’sister’ to me?”

 He grins, seeing the shocked expression on her face. That’s exactly how he had felt when he was posed that question, with a little mortification added to the mix. “… Is that really how everyone sees our… relationship?”

 His fingers drift to hers, where they rest on his chest. “We’ve been living together for a while now,” he caresses her knuckles absentmindedly, “Kids our age… they don’t really understand it, I guess. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

 “My turn: I have a question for you,” he murmurs. This is a question he’s long considered, stopped only by his embarrassment, fielding it from others only to put the vaguest labels on it.

 “… What am I to you, Mikasa?”

 The question throws her, because even though she’s told him candidly how she feels, that she loves him, she always has, he is asking her, right now, to define their relationship.

 The very notion, the expression that flits on her tongue, bubbles up in her heart with an exciting warmth, even though she hopes this is just temporary, that it will grow, that Eren is so many things and will be so many things to her that she cannot possibly define right now - “… My boyfriend, of course.”

- fin - 

A/N:  i've been really nervous to post em, because its just been so long, and the writer that wrote chap 1 is different from the one that wrote chap 2, and honestly i dont even know if there are inconsistencies. so my request to you, dear reader, is to please let me know if i have made any fuck ups in writing this - or if you have any ideas for pacing, or storytelling that could possibly help me improve.

also there will be a chapter 3 focusing on eremika’s sexual exploration~

[ellaenchanting]

Hypnovember Day 18: Monster

Ellen sat in the back room of the coffeeshop quietly sipping her tea. The other members of the hypnosis meet up group were slowly gathering after their break,  chatting and catching up before practice portion of their group officially started. She strategized about what it would be helpful for her to practice tonight. Her traitorous brain eagerly supplied some silly power fantasies. She quickly suppressed them. That kind of stuff wasn’t fair to think about here. It wasn’t everyone else’s fault that she was so warped.

Ellen both loved and hated the group. She wasn’t just into power fantasies- she was genuinely interested in hypnotherapy and doing hypnosis for fun. She had been very surprised to find a local hypnosis practice group existed at all where she could practice her skills and learn more . (It was tiring having to work up the nerve to bug her friends to volunteer to be practice subjects.) Of course, she was the youngest person there and usually the only woman but- that was OK. She had long ago accepted that that most actual hypnotists were middle aged men and she was an odd aberration.

She felt like an aberration in other ways too. Few of the hypnotists here seemed to struggle with nerves in the way she did. Group practice often brought those nerves on . She hated the way they would make her words come out stilted and wrong, her gestures awkward, and her metaphors so mixed up until they ultimately went nowhere. When it got really bad, Ellen’s childhood stutter would return in full force. It felt important and meaningful to her that she got it wrong so often- like she had failed to perform in some cataclysmic way.

 It also felt meaningful when she got it right. Ellen would feel proud of herself  for her mastery of something and then almost immediately the thought would sneak in- “if only they knew”. It’s not that the hypnosis she was doing with the group had a sexual charge- group members ranged from kinda- to very- not-her-type- but she could only imagine the disgust her subjects would feel if they knew the full range of thoughts she had about hypnosis internally. Or, even worse, if they could see her web browser history. How would they feel being taken advantage of by such a perverted monster?

In a lesser but still meaningful way, Ellen also felt annoyed that she had never quite been hypnotized yet despite many, many attempts. Usually practice time involved pairing up and switching turns being the hypnotist and the subject. Ellen would usually go along with others’ inductions and give them some technical feedback afterwards, but the truth was she rarely felt anything besides plain, comfortable relaxation. She knew there was more- she could see it in the reactions of some of the people she hypnotized and the incredible mental feats they performed. She had evidence that this kind of deep hypnosis existed. She just couldn’t access it herself. 

Ellen was shaken out of her reverie by a voice.  

““Hi! I heard your name was Ellen?””

She looked up to see the group’s newest member. He was a little older than her- probably mid- to late-twenties- and had a nice dark beard. When she replied with the affirmative, he extended his hand and shook hers confidently. 

“Hi, I’m John.  Do you have a practice partner yet?” 

Ellen and John socialized a bit before starting their practice. This was normal at the meetings- partially because of mutual nerves but also because everyone  welcomed the  opportunity to geek out about an unusual personal interest. John said that had been doing hypnosis for about 5 years- around the same time she had- but he had already started a stage show and was planning on turning it from a hobby into a career. She was impressed. She found herself feeling surprisingly connected to him. She wondered if he had that effect on everyone he met. If so, it was a neat trick.

When they finally got down to practice, Ellen started by doing a modified Flowers induction. She had come in with the intention of throwing in a lot of language patterns into her induction- she had been drilling her Zeebu cards lately- but an odd change of mood happened as she watched John start to sink into hypnosis. Something about the way he responded to her words, melting and  seeming to almost to throw himself into trance, triggered something in her. She found herself hovering closer to him, her voice going softer as she spoke closer to his ear.

She almost reached out and touched his arm when she remembered- no. That would be inappropriate. She caught herself and reminded herself to be professional. She gave John a few generic positive suggestions and then brought him back up out of trance.

John took a surprisingly short amount of time to recover, his expression showing alertness almost immediately. When she remarked on it, he told Ellen that he was actually a very practiced subject- that he had purposefully worked on his ability to be hypnotized. Ellen hadn’t even known that was possible to do- the research she had read strongly suggested that someone’s ability to be hypnotized was pretty static and unchangeable. She confessed to John that she always had difficulty being hypnotized and envied people who could access that state easily. She worked to keep the longing out of her voice as she described her desire for the experience of knowing she was deeply and truly hypnotized. 

John paused for a moment after she spoke.  He gave her a curious, searching look. Then his face cleared as he seemed to decide on something. 

“Hey, do you mind if I try something a bit different?” he asked.

Ellen nodded. She switched positions with him and made herself comfortable as per his instructions. 

“Can I touch you?” John asked.

All things considered, Ellen thought she hid her spike of excitement quite well. She nodded again.

John started steadily and confidently speaking to her as he traced a finger lightly up and down her hand. He wanted her to focus on the feeling of the finger going up and down, he said. Ellen gamely focused her attention. It felt nice, that light touch.

John continued to talk to her, telling her she didn’t have to worry about going into trance or getting sleepy or being hypnotized- all she had to do was focus on his touch. That was good- Ellen had historically bad luck with those concepts.  She dutifully focused, even as she had some stray thoughts about how amazing John’s voice sounded. John’s fingers started to move to trace her arm up and then back down, all the while continuing to talk to her about focus and enjoying how the touch felt. Ellen still noticed some of the clever words he said, but the specifics were fading. It was all beginning to feel like a general wave of instruction washing over her. She was vaguely aware he was speaking to her more directly now and telling her how good she was doing and enjoyed how pleasant those things were.  Suddenly-

“Sleep!” 

John’s hand grabbed her arm and pulled it gently downwards. Ellen felt her eyes close as her head nodded forward. Her whole body slumped. Fortunately, John was kneeling in front of her and waiting to catch her. Once he did, he took her shoulder and rocked her deeper and deeper into trance with his words and his touch.

It felt amazing- just like she had always hoped that it would. John finally stopped rocking and took her hand. That gesture felt so right and lovely and perfect that Ellen felt herself quietly moan in response.

And then....she noticed she had done it.

Suddenly thoughts flew back into her mind. What was she doing? Did everyone else hear her? Were they watching her now? Were they realizing what a creepy pervert she was?

Ellen violently sat up, opened her eyes, and yanked her mind awake. Shaken, she took a moment to clench and unclench her hands, reminding herself that she had power over them. She was up. She had control of herself. She was OK. 

After a few breaths, she looked around the room and noticed that no one else seemed to be looking at her. She resisted the urge to cry in relief. 

She finally noticed John was there, still on his knees and giving her a concerned look. “Ellen?” he asked firmly. “How do you feel? What happened?”

She took a moment to respond. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to....I made a noise and I didn’t mean to be...awkward. I’m really sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he replied, going back into a more soothing voice. “Being hypnotized feels good sometimes, yeah? It’s ok to enjoy it. Is that what happened? It felt good in..in a way you weren’t expecting?”

Ellen nodded. “I’m sorry. I’m..weird, I didn’t mean to be weird,” she replied, still very flustered.

He looked at her gently. “You’re not...you’re not that weird. Listen, I get you might not want to talk about this here but- we could talk about it after practice maybe? I think we may have some things in common.”

Ellen thought about everything she had seen about erotic hypnosis online. All the misogyny. All of the shame and degradation people wrote about. She pictured the sexy stage show she had downloaded parts of and how much the hypnotist seemed to relish in people’s genuine embarrassment. 

She remembered that she didn’t really know John at all. 

“No!” she replied sharply. Then gentler-  “I mean, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s OK. I’m OK.”

He nodded. “You are, you know. And it’s OK if you’re....if you’re not ready yet to talk about it. But- “ He made sure she was looking at him as he said the next part. “There’s nothing wrong with you. And- if you do ever want to talk more about it or even ask questions, here’s my card. Call me anytime, ok? I mean it.”

He produced a business card out of his pocket. Ellen hesitated, then took it.

Just then, the leader announced that their practice time was over and moved onto wrapup. Ellen waited for everyone’s attention to be gathered, then snuck out the back on the building. She needed some fresh air. She was done with hypnosis for tonight. 

But she thought of the card, still in her jacket pocket, the whole bike ride home.  

[bluescreening]

Internet Safety

Yeah, I know, you’ve all sat through the talks at school telling you never to tell strangers your credit card details or whatever. But it has come to my attention that there are a worrying number of people who don’t know the actual practical things you can do to stay safe and secure while on the web. These tips cover invasions of privacy from anybody including big companies and hackers. It’s probably worthwhile to give ‘em a go.

Personal Safety

Password Safety - Use a different password for every website. I’m not kidding. If you think you’ll struggle to remember that many, you have two options. Firstly, you can use a password manager such as OnePassword, which is probably the safest option. If you’re like me and can’t quite bring yourself to trust one (there’s no reason not to, it just doesn’t sit right with me) you can use variations on a password for unimportant sites, and then come up with secure ones for sites you share more personal info with. 

Have I Been Pwned? - This is a website which tells you if your email has been involved in a data breach. Don’t worry if you have been pwned - you have different passwords for everything, remember! Just be aware of what data has been leaked, and change a password or two if necessary. Sign up for their email notifications to stay on top of recent breaches.

ProtonVPN - A VPN, if you don’t know, stands for virtual private network. Picture all the different connections between devices in a network, linked through WiFi or cables, as highways. VPNs section off a lane for your own private use, so nobody can see what you’re sending or receiving. It’s unlikely that anyone will be looking on your home network, but on public WiFi networks it’s important to prevent anyone seeing anything they shouldn’t - it’s not hard to packet sniff! You can also use them to bypass school and workplace website blocking, and access sites blocked in your country. Obviously ProtonVPN isn’t the only one, but I’d recommend em as they encrypt everything and have some pretty beefy systems in place to prevent tracking. It’s available on all devices for free.

ProtonMail - Yes, yes, more ProtonStuff, but this is a really good one. I’ll get onto why Google tracking you is a bad thing later, but if you want to break out of Google’s ecosystem, ProtonMail is a good alternative to GMail. It encrypts all your emails, which means nobody intercepting the email will know what it says. That means it’s great for private matters that you want to keep secret or avoid Google telling people about, like banking and stuff. It’s also a bit more customisable than GMail.

Social Media Checkup - Do you know exactly how much someone can find out about you, just by looking at your social media? Facebook is a special offender for that one (I don’t even have an account there anymore - and dear lord was deleting it a struggle) but Insta, Snapchat, Twitter and yes, even Tumblr, might provide a creep more info than you bargained for. Think about how much you want to make public, or how much the app has on you at all. There are plenty of tutorials on how to adjust your settings.

HTTPS Everywhere - A very handy extension that forces websites to encrypt all your data as you send it back and forth.

Avoiding Tracking

Why? - I know it might seem weird that a large company, or even the government, might want to keep track of little old you. Sure, they can target you with relevant ads, but whatever, you use an ad-blocker anyway. That is, until you realise that behind the scenes, on almost every website you visit, data-brokers are collecting info on you and what you do online, and building a profile of you. It’s not anonymous. And it can be used for anything from determining your creditworthiness and insurance premiums to detailed surveillance. Yeah. With all the protests going on lately, it would make sense to keep these people from learning about you for your own safety and your future.

DuckDuckGo - Start by using this search engine instead of Google, and installing the Privacy Essentials extension. It’s a good search engine, for one thing. For another, it prevents tracking and lets you know whose schemes you’ve foiled, you meddling kid. It gives each site you visit a privacy rating, and lets you know how much it’s increased that by. For example, Tumblr usually receives a D, but DuckDuckGo has blocked some trackers and improved it to a B. It has also informed me that trackers have been found and dealt with on over 50% of the websites I visit. Google is unsurprisingly the main culprit.

Alternative Browsers - There are lots of things you can use instead of Chrome, and many of them work really well! I recommend Firefox, since it’s almost exactly like Chrome but open-source, and it also protects you from trackers and has lots of fun extensions. There are some other good PC ones too like Opera and Vivaldi, but I haven’t used them before so I wouldn’t know how good they are. DuckDuckGo has its own mobile browser which is currently my main one.

Adblockers - You can’t get targeted ads if you don’t get ads! You can choose who to show ads for too, so if you want to support a certain site you can whitelist them. Try UBlock Origin, or Adblock Plus. Install ‘em as extensions for whatever browser you’re using.

Privacy Checkup - Go through your Google account with a fine-toothed comb and check what is being tracked about you. Pause your YouTube history, your Maps history, your Google Assistant history. Clear what you can. Check Amazon too. Also, never ever use Cortana or Siri or Alexa or anything like that. Ever. No matter how cool having a robot assistant is.

And that should be that! I’ll try to keep updating this post with new tips as I find them, but this is everything I do for the minute to ensure I’m protected online. 

UPDATE #1 (9/8/20): I started using Vivaldi and goddammit is it brilliant!!! Extreme customisation, it's chromium-based so you have all your fancy Chrome extensions and it has a lovely mobile app too. My current browser setup on both desktop and mobile is Vivaldi with Firefox as a backup, both with DuckDuckGo and adblockers.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Damage Control

Part 7 in Getaway Series

Warnings: nonconsensual sex (oral, vaginal and anal intercourse, violence), angst, general assholery. 

This is dark!(nomad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. I mean it, I’m not gonna tell you again.

Summary: The reader tries to figure Steve out.

Note: This is shorter than usual chapters in this series but we get the plot moving towards the end and we’re getting so close y’all. So I hope you enjoy this installment. I might not get to post much this weekend or whatever because I have a lot of ish coming up so thank you for reading and for your patience.

Anyways, hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think as always. Love ya <3

...

It was almost a week since the barbecue. Steve had yet to return for another night of torment. It was almost concerning. Before, he dropped in almost every other day to relish in your suffering. You wondered what kept him, not that you longed for his return. You even hoped, by some chance, that the world’s greatest fugitive had been caught. 

Well, you’d know if that happened. Everyone would.

You splendoured in the daydream as you sat at your desk. After what he’d done, you only wanted one thing. More than just him gone, you wanted him dead. He had taken more than just Ethan, now he’d turned your own family against you. You hadn’t spoke to Gia or your mother since Sunday. It was too humiliating.

You thought of the headlines; the new reels. Captain America in cuffs, the man’s arrogant blue eyes averted in defeat. You smiled and played with your pen. That would be sweet...if only. 

But why not? He was still the most wanted man in the world. Hunted by more than just his former comrades. Steve Rogers had made many enemies in this world. You sat up and your chair squeaked. You glanced around at the office as if another would see your thoughts. Was it possible to bring down the former Avenger? Not on your own, of course, but maybe there were others who could help.

In all this, you’d forgotten that this man was not supposed to be in your life. He was supposed to be in prison. He belonged there. He’d earned it since his exile. Yet, even if you ridded yourself of his oppression, you’d never get back what you lost. What he’d taken from you. But perhaps you could keep him from taking even more.

You slid your chair closer to your desk and minimized your task center. You opened the browser and peeked around again. You swallowed and typed into the search bar. News stories from months ago popped up. The search for Steve Rogers was still in effect but no sightings reported. You scrolled past the hashtags and image results and clicked on the first link.

Stark Industries. Iron Man himself was leading the manhunt for his former ally. The newly repentant superhero eager to atone for the collateral damage of his heroic acts. You tapped your finger on the mouse and read. If you did this, there was no turning back. If you did, it all became deadly.

Well, what was life when it was like this?

You scribbled the number on a post-it and cleared your history. You closed the window and turned your headset on. The first call was easy; second-nature. But with each minute you became more distracted by the pad. The nerves fluttered in your stomach and made you nauseous. 

What would you say? What could you say? Steve Rogers ruined my life. Oh, and I’ve been fucking him. Well...it’s complicated. You finished your sixth call of the day and excused yourself to the bathroom. You tucked the small paper up your sleeve with your cell in the other. You locked yourself in a stall and shakily dialed the numbers, hesitation as you hovered over the call button.

The line picked up and you blurted out the words clumsily. "I know where to find Steve Rogers."

-

When you got home that night, he was there. You didn't acknowledge him as you set your purse on the table and kicked your shoes off. You didn't even look at him; his presence a speck in the corner of your eye.

He was stretched across your couch, his feet propped up on one arm and his head against the other, arms up and bent behind it. You went about your after work routine. 

You changed out of your stiff pants and blouse and pulled on a pair of sweats and a loose tee. You doubted you'd keep them long. When you reentered the living room, he turned his head to watch you. His hand slipped down to rub his crotch. His jeans bulged with his anticipation.

You cringed and he reached out to you. "Come here."

You stared at him. You slowly walked over to the couch. He pressed his hand against your thigh and snaked it around to grab your ass as he drew you closer. He squeezed and you flinched.

"Still sore?" He asked. You didn't respond. "Don't push me now."

"No." You answered. He didn't need to know that you were still tender every time you sat down. That he had fucked you so hard that you didn't get off the mattress until your alarm for work. He didn't need to know you had cried in the shower too.

He smirked. "Good." 

He tapped your ass and pulled his hand back to his jeans. He lifted his ass as he undid his fly and pushed his pants down. His cock sprang forth and he fell back with a sigh. "Hmmm," He eyed you as he gripped his cock and reached to you with his other hand.

"I'm trying to decide…" He picked at the elastic of your sweats. "Pussy, I think." He poked your vee with two fingers and wiggled his cock. "Right, come one before I change my mind."

You clamped your lips shut as you shed your sweats. You hooked your leg over him and he grabbed your hip as he guided you into place. He aligned himself and pulled you down. It hurt as he entered you. You were dry and tight. He groaned as you strained against him until he finally bottomed out.

"Fuck," He hissed and held you down. He pressed his thumb to your clit and rubbed. "What's the matter, hmm? You miss me?"

You bit down and stared behind him. You couldn't look at him as the tingle began to bloom beneath his touch. Your thighs clenched around him and you let out a deep breath. He moved his hand back to your hip and guided you.

He rocked you slowly as your arousal spread. The noise of your wetness repulsed you but fed your body. You slid up and down his cock faster and faster. He grabbed your ass and kneaded it painfully before drawing his hands back behind his head.

"Keep fucking me," He smirked as you slowed.

You gripped your thighs and kept your hips moving. His eyes were on your pussy. He delighted in the sight of him inside you. You panted and puffed as you rode him, wishing for it to be over even though you knew once was never enough.

"Come on," He grabbed your hips suddenly and brought you down as hard as he could. He lifted you and slammed you back so that he hit his limit each time. It was painful and yet it sent ripples along your spine. "I see it. You're gonna cum. Go on."

You shuddered and wrapped your fingers around his wrists as you tried to slow. He kept you in motion, your flesh slapping against his loudly. Your muffled moans broke loose and you tossed your head back and whined. 

You squeezed his wrists as you orgasmed and your body shook wildly. Even as you descended from your high, he didn't quit. He fucked you harder, used your body without a care. Even as he grunted and came, he didn't stop. Not until your thighs were sticky with cum.

He eased you down and stayed inside you. His hands fell and lingered on your thighs. He reached up to tweak your nipple and chuckled at your flinch.

"When I was away, I watched our little video." He grinned. "Very hot."

You hung your head in shame but said nothing.

"I was just visiting a friend but fuck the time dragged by. Thinking about that ass. About those stubborn little frowns, the way you snarl when you know you're going to cum even when you don't want to."

You tried to push yourself off him but he held you there.

"Uh-uh," He warned as his fingers spread across your thighs. "You can't run away now, girl. You can deny it all you want but we both know you fucking love this." He tilted his hips and poked your cervix painfully. "Ethan knew it too."

"I told you not to talk about him." You growled.

He slapped you. Hard. He gripped your throat and threatened to squeeze tighter. "And you don't make the fucking rules here. Goddamn, you're a stubborn bitch."

"And you're an asshole," You rasped.

He chuckled darkly and let go of you only to smack you again. You batted away his hand and he caught your wrists. 

"You're fucking fiesty today." Your nostrils flared and you tried to pull away. He barely noticed your struggle. "Fuck, you really want me to send our little romp to the boy? Think he'll watch it all the way through? Or you think he'll cry like he did before?"

You stopped and stared at him. Disgust, hatred, despair. You closed your eyes and sighed. He let go as your strength drained from you. All your anger slaked away and you were left weak and pliant. He always won.

"Now be a good girl and clean me up," He patted your thigh and waited. 

You climbed off of him. More cum seeped down your thighs and his cock twitched. He was growing hard again. His length shone with your juices and you shuddered as you turned to him. 

You took his cock and bent over him, trying to hide your face as your lips met his tip. He stiffened as you opened your mouth around him. His fingers tickled your side as he hit the back of your throat. 

He hummed and you forced yourself to take all of him, almost gagging as he slid down your throat. Your entire body tensed and you drew back. His fingers danced along your skin and you pushed yourself back down.

"Don't stop till I cum... don't leave a mess now." 

You almost choked at his words. You hated the control he had over you, the way you so eagerly bent to him. You used your hand in tandem with your mouth, your jaw ached and your throat burned. You gulped and gasped as his fingers sank into your waist and he groaned.

His other hand went to the back of your head and he guided you faster. Your spit dripped down his cock and around your fingers. You struggled to breathe but kept going. Just be done, just be done.

He came with a sudden spasm. He sounded surprised and he pushed your head until he was down your throat entirely. You slapped at his stomach as you fought to swallow around his cock. His cum slid down painfully and he let you go only as tears pricked at your eyes.

You pulled back and stood. You touched your throat and coughed. You wiped your lips as you panted and your head spun dangerously. You were so dizzy you almost stumbled. Steve caught your hand and kept you from backing away.

He sat up and turned his legs over the edge of the couch. He released you and rubbed his thick thighs with a smirk. “Turn around.” 

You turned your back to him. You shook your head, thankful you could hide your grimace. He grabbed your hips and forced you back, nearly taking you off your feet. You bent your legs as they hit his and he brought you down into his lap. You hovered over him as he lined himself up with your ass. You planted your hands on his thighs and pushed but he didn’t relent.

“Just relax, it’ll be easier,” He pulled you down until his head slipped inside. It was just as painful as last time. You whimpered and he pushed further. “Fuck.” He swore as he sank into you. “You’re still fucking tight. Shit.”

You strained around him and whined. It hurt terribly. You still felt the pain of the last time. His hands snaked down your hips and over your thighs. He hooked his fingers beneath your legs and brought them up so that they were bent almost flush to your chest. He leaned back and lifted you easily.

He slid in and out as he thrust below you. Slow at first. Testing you. Relishing your feeble cries. You were helpless in his grasp as he rocked his hips into you. Helpless to the peculiar waves that began to build and build. The pain faded as it had before and you were stunned by the new sensation. The intense and overwhelming cluster of pleasure.

He sped up until he was slamming into you mercilessly. His breath was hot against your scalp and he worked below you. Your hands were on his as he folded you in half, your body bounced against his. 

“Steve…” You gasped. “Please...st-stop…”

“Stop?” He purred in your ear. “Why?”

“Please…” You were in a haze. You’d never felt this much pleasure at once and it scared you. It scared you that this man you hated so much always found a way to dissemble you entirely. “Sto--” Your breath rushed out and you were left speechless as your eyes rolled back. You quivered as you leaned your head forward and your orgasm constricted every inch of you. “Oh, oh, Steve. Steve…” He didn’t waver as your moans turned to sheer ecstasy, “Yesssss. Oh my god!”

You yelped as you were suddenly turned and he pushed you down onto the couch cushion. He stayed inside of you as he crushed you beneath him. Your legs were trapped under you as he pounded into you, a hand on your shoulder and another on your head as he pinned you down. 

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” He snarled. “You fucking slut.”

He rutted into you as his breath hitched and the entire couch shook beneath you. You clawed the cushion as another wave washed over you. You came again, your voice trapped in the couch as he held you down. He slowed but his thrusts were just as hard. Measured and sharp as he came with long growl.

He shuddered and stopped entirely. Your body spasmed as it buzzed in the afterglow. You plummeted back down as he pulled out of you and the couch shifted with his weight as he fell back. Slowly, you pushed your legs out from beneath you and kept your face hidden against the cushion. He slapped your ass and you squeaked.

“Don’t let me go soft now, girl.” He chuckled and your stomach turned. You opened your eyes and sat up shakily. 

It wouldn’t last forever. Just a little longer.

-

He didn’t leave. You sat and stared at the super soldier, his bare ass to the wind as he snored on your couch. You expected him to go as he always did, but he didn’t. When he finished with his desecration, he’d let you go and you’d gone to get your robe and hide the bruises and fingerprints that marked your skin. When you returned, he was asleep.

You waited an hour. He still didn’t wake. You frowned and retreated to the bathroom. You kept the door open and stared at him as you twisted the faucet. He was still there. You showered, sore and achy as the heat sank into your bones, and you emerged to find he remained. 

What was his game?

You tiptoed to your purse on the table and pulled out your phone. You gulped as he turned over. His hand fell to the floor and you were unsurprised to find him erect. In his sleep, he was insatiable. He snored even louder as he rolled onto his back. 

You unlocked your phone and opened your camera. Your heart raced as you watched him. Oddly peaceful despite his depravity. You neared him quietly and angled the lense to his face. You steadied your hand and snapped the picture. You quickly retreated and hid the phone behind you as if he would awake at the silent shutter.

He still did not rouse. You licked your dry lips and scurried to your bedroom. You sat on the edge of the mattress, a shiver ran through you as your towel threatened to fall away. You quickly typed in the address and opened the page. You scrolled past the phone number and clicked on the email. 

Submit your tips to our online support to aid in the hunt for dangerous fugitives.

You sighed and clicked again. Your phone call had been less than successful. It was hard to believe a woman from a small city in a different country had actually found the Captain America. They took your tip but sounded less than convinced and you doubted the phone call they promised in return would come. This would seal it thought. This was your smoking gun.

You attached the file and wrote out your claim. The same thing you’d told the operator. I know where to find Steve Rogers. You added your name and your phone number. You hoped this wasn’t some strawman helpline. Hoped it wasn’t some shell set up by Stark to keep his name pristine. You hit send and sighed.

You cleared your history and deleted the photo. You set your phone aside and stood to pull on a night shirt and hung your towel in the bathroom. His snores were almost comforting. He was asleep; harmless. 

A thought flashed in your mind. You looked at him from the doorway. You could do it. Take care of it yourself. But if he woke, you’d be dead. The whisper faded and you went back to your room. 

You laid down and let out a whimper. Your body hurt. You pulled the blanket over you and buried your head in the pillow. Sleep was unlikely but you just needed to rest. To try to forget.

-

You couldn’t recall falling asleep. It was late though and your head pounded as you came back to the surface. There was a weight across your middle. You were on your back, your shoulders cramped and your neck sore. It was an arm; his arm. Steve laid beside you, snoring as he had the night before on your couch.

You sat up suddenly. Recoiled from his touch. He growled and rolled over. He grumbled as he woke and his blue eyes found you. 

“Fucking Christ,” He swore. “What the fuck?”

“What are you doing?” You hissed. “Go.”

“I’m trying to fucking sleep.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Couch was too small.”

“Mmhmm,” You muttered doubtfully. “Well, I gotta work.”

You stood carefully. You gripped your back as it twinged and you gritted your teeth. You felt like shit, probably looked like it too. He draped his arm over your side of the mattress and you saw the twitch beneath the blankets. You turned away and slid open your closet.

“Call in.” He said. You froze and glanced over your shoulder. “Come on. You’re tired and...you’ve got work to do here.”

You shook your head and pulled out a pair of pants. “I can’t just call in. I need to pay my rent, my bills, buy groceries.”

“I said call in,” He barked as he pushed the blankets down. He cock stood and he stroked it with a sigh. “You’ve got two minutes.”

You hugged and tossed the pants on the floor. You snatched your phone from the night table and stormed out of the room as he continued to play with himself. You stopped dead as you saw the notification that bubbled up on your screen. 

Stark Industries. Re: Fugitive Report. [Urgent].

You quickly swiped away the alert and dialed your work number. As the line connected your mind raced. You’d have to wait until he left. What if he didn’t? Well, he had to go eventually, he always did. 

The other end picked up and you cleared your throat. “Hey, Donna, yeah it’s me, I can’t make it in, I’ve been sick all night. Yeah, yeah, I think it might be contagious. Okay, yeah, thanks.” 

You hung up and locked your phone. You turned and stared at your bedroom door. Could you really take on Steve Rogers?

[fire-the-headcanons]

Follow the Beacon Taiyang—Baking the Rules

[Link to Masterpost]

Tai’s dad started to laugh about a minute after Summer and Mrs. Rose disappeared around the corner, and he was still chuckling as he unlocked the truck. “I’ll give her one thing, she doesn’t miss an opportunity.”

Opportunity. He wanted to scream with frustration. They’d spent weeks planning this, volunteered for the dance committee, designed the decorations. And all they’d learned was that Azraq wasn’t in Solitas.

At least they hadn’t learned about their route around the school’s security.

“So how’d she convince you to help?”

“She needed me to distract her mom for two minutes, that’s all,” Tai slammed the cab door shut as his father climbed into the driver’s seat. “She just wanted to see if there was anything interesting on professor Azraq’s computer.”

“I wish you wouldn’t encourage her. I’m going to get an earful from Claret tomorrow.”

Tai leaned on the truck, glaring through the window at the trees as they pulled out of the school lot. A few seagull-sized Nevermores glared back from the edge of the forest, too small to hurt anyone but a lost kid.

“Tai?”

He sighed, long and deep. “Yeah?”

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

It took everything he had to not roll his eyes. “I’m sorry you’re going to get an earful.”

“Tai.” His voice was getting stern now. “Come on. You want to go to the dance tomorrow, don’t you? The least you can do is apologize for being an accomplice to breaking and entering.”

“Nobody broke anything, she walked into an open door.” Which was technically true.

“And invaded Azraq’s privacy.”

They’d been through—well, not this exact argument before, but close enough. His dad never let it go, and arguing was no use, which is why Summer had resorted to breaking and entering. Trying to sound genuine, Tai said, “All right, fine. I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have invaded Azraq’s privacy.”

Maybe he’d caved in too quickly, because his dad just sighed again. They rode in silence the rest of the way to the cabin and Tai kept watching the empty woods, looking for some sign of a Grimm larger than a cat.

Patch had to be the most boring place in all of Remnant.

His boots had barely hit gravel when his dad was calling after him again. “Don’t leave yet, I need your help in the garden for a couple hours.”

“Fine.” The word came out a little more aggressive than he’d intended.

“Taiyang…”

No. Screw it. “Well, maybe she wouldn’t do this stuff all the time if you’d tell us anything!” He tried not to shout, he really did.

“It’s not only my decision to make, Tai—”

“Yeah, and Mrs. Rose is even worse. We’re not kids, we’re not idiots, and it’s not fair for you to keep us in the dark all the time!”

“But you are kids. You’re only fifteen, and it’s Claret’s decision what she tells Summer about our work, and I respect that enough not to go behind her back and—”

“Then when can we know?” Tai demanded. “When we’re eighteen? Twenty-one? Graduated from Shade? When?“

His dad only scowled. It was like trying to reason with a brick wall. Always the same arguments, since he and Summer were little. Were they really surprised they decided to take matters into her own hands?

“Taiyang, we all love you both, and we just don’t want you getting dragged into this before you’re ready. There’s worse things out there than Grimm—”

Tai’s fingernails bit into his palms as he struggled with the waves of frustration threatening to sweep him away, speaking very deliberately even as he knew he was getting closer and closer to outright shouting.  “That’s what you keep saying. That’s all you keep saying. When can we—“

“All right, that’s enough!”

“Because I know nobody will tell us why if Uncle Azraq doesn’t come home someday, or Mrs. Claret, or YOU, because nobody will tell Summer what the hell happened to HER dad—”

“Do you really think shouting at me is going to change my mind?!”

“WELL, NOTHING ELSE HAS!“

Tai’s words faded out, replaced by only the rustle of the wind through the leaves. The world seemed to breathe for a moment as his dad just stared at him with sad, patronizing eyes.

Inside the cabin the radio whined to life, hissing out a message. Whatever they were saying was unclear, but they didn’t sound finished when the furious whine of the Grimm siren cut through their words.

“We’ll talk about this later,” his dad said, reopening the driver’s side door. “Fertilize the blueberry bushes while I’m gone.”

Tai’s mouth fell open. “What?! I’m coming with you!”

“No, you’re not,” his dad snapped, jumping back in the truck. “You’re grounded. Blueberries.” Without another word, he slammed the door shut and backed out to the street. The siren drowned out the retreating engine after only a few moments.

To hell with the blueberries. His dad hadn’t taken his gear yet—Tai retrieved it all from its place next to the door and ready to go in under a minute.

All the Huntsmen and Huntresses from the island would head to the harbor, including Summer’s mom. This alarm sounded like a big one—Signal would be utterly deserted for at least an hour. They’d probably be grounded until graduation, but they could try again to get something useful from Uncle Azraq’s office.

Mud splattered under his boots, spraying up his pant legs as he tore down the narrow path through the woods. At this pace he’d reach town at the same time as his dad driving all they way around the cliffs in the truck. A small Grimm scurried out of the brush onto the path ahead of him, but he didn’t slow down to identify the type. His foot met momentary resistance against its skull, the teeth and chains strapped over his boot breaking the bone with an audible crack. It didn’t get the chance to whine before vaporizing.

A couple more Grimm harassed him before he was out of the woods—his anger and frustration drew them in like moths to a light—but no monster on the island had posed a challenge for years. Ten minutes after leaving home he was banging on Summer’s door, gauntlet rattling against the wood.

It swung open to reveal Summer, wearing her mom’s apron over her favorite white hoodie and beaming down at him through a mask of flour. Her expression was so unexpected he took a few seconds to remember to put his arm down.

“Change of plans,” she announced. “We’re going to Beacon.”

His heart leapt, still pounding hard from his frantic run, and the corners of his mouth started to creep up to match hers. They’d been planning on Shade for a few years now. “You found something.”

“Yep.” She’d never looked so smug. “Come in, I’ll show you.”

“Uh, cookies going okay?” Tai asked, brushing some flour off her shoulder onto the porch as she leaned out to close the door.

“Just added the flour to the mixer too fast. Multitasking. Come on!” she demanded, dragging him toward the back of the house. Tai stumbled forward, retracting the teeth on his boot covers before they could ruin Mrs. Rose’s floors. Again.

“Balt caught me almost immediately,” she said, plopping down in front of her mom’s computer. Tai headed over to where she’d abandoned her work and continued scooping out cookie dough onto the tray while she explained. “But he let something slip. Whatever they’re all doing, Professor Ozpin is involved. Azraq’s on a mission for him right now.”

“...Ozpin?” Tai stared at her. “So, what, it’s government work? That’s why they can’t talk about it?” This was terrible news, they wouldn’t be able to get government work until they graduated and got their licenses. And probably held them for a few years.

“Ozpin may be on the Vale council, but if it were just classified stuff, why wouldn’t they tell us that?” Summer countered, her eyes glittering more than usual. “They’re hiding something. And now we know where to start looking to find out what it is.”

Tai clicked the lever of the ice cream scoop a few times, thinking. For years he’d been desperate to get out of of Patch, out of Vale, smallest and boringest of the four Kingdoms. Vacuo and Shade had seemed like a perfect way to get out in the world and do something worthwhile. But, if there really was worse than Grimm out there, and Professor Ozpin knew about it... “So. Beacon.”

“I-is that okay?” she stammered. “I know we all planned—”

“No, I’m in. It’s a good school, and this is a good reason to stay in Vale.”

“Hopefully we can talk Dan and Zaff into it,” she said, clearing the browser history and  grabbing the scoop from Tai’s hands before attacking the bowl of dough like it was the only thing standing between them and the truth. “Mom’ll be happy I’ve changed my mind, at least until Uncle Balt tells her why.”

“Yeah, Dad didn’t really like the idea of Vacuo either.”

“You should get home. We’re in plenty of trouble already.”

She had a point. If he left now he might get enough of the work done to hide his absence. “Okay. I’ll see you at school.”

It was nothing strange for a Huntsman to die on a mission. A tragedy, but not an unusual one, and someone had to fight the Grimm or life on Remnant would cease to exist. When Summer’s dad didn’t come home, everyone was heartbroken, but not surprised. At least until his teammates all packed up and moved to Patch as soon as he was buried, leaving most of their belongings behind.

Tai glanced over his shoulder as he stepped from the kitchen, over to where she was putting the tray in the oven with a scowl.  Had her mom ever noticed it? That anger that seemed to bubble to the surface in her when she thought no one was looking?

There’s worse out there than Grimm. The only explanation they’d ever gotten ran through his mind again and again as he ran back along the path, kicking at Grimm and using trees to navigate the hills and cliffs quickly.

What could possibly be worse than soulless incarnations of hunger, hatred and death?

[Thanks for your patience! The new job is great but the drive is not. I’m looking for a place that’s closer and then I can spend more time writing again!]

Next Chapter: Qrow—Desperate Times

[feynavaley]

Hetalia Fanfiction – Beyond the Breaking Point Ch 1

Summary: Caught between a rebellious teen fighting for his independence and an older brother struggling to be a parent, Matthew somatizes. Not drawing attention to his fake ailments seems the best way not to further stress the already precarious situation – but when Matthew takes his resolution a bit too far, all their lives are sent into a tailspin. (Human AU; ACE Family)

This story is the long-promised sequel of Arthur Kirkland’s Guide to Being a Big Brother [x] that I finally got around to writing, but it could be easily read as a stand-alone (plot-wise, the two stories aren’t related, they merely happen within the same universe). I hope you’ll like it, and any kind of feedback is greatly appreciated! (Full chapter under the cut, use your phone browser if you can’t see it from the app.)

AO3 | FFN | Next | List

———

Chapter One

On Friday morning, Matthew woke up to muffled yells coming from downstairs. He groaned, burrowing himself deeper under the blankets as if they could somehow block out the sound. The only accomplishment that came out of the movement was to increase the dull pain pulsing in his lower abdomen.

Matthew would have liked to call himself surprised, or even concerned, but there was no fooling himself. Over the previous months, the scenario he was facing had become a familiar companion to his days. Whimpering when his shifting once again made the pain flare up, Matthew turned to the side table and paddled for the phone before lifting it in front of his face. It was early, there was no need to get up yet – but Matthew knew that he wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep again, between the screaming in the background and the throbbing in his belly. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to gather the strength to face the day. Matthew was expecting it to be hard.

What he wasn’t expecting was the searing agony that pierced his lower abdomen as he sat up, making him double over with a small cry. White swallowed his vision, the acrid taste of bile singed his throat.

Matthew swallowed down and forced himself to take a deep breath before he attempted straightening up again – slowly, this time, and with his hands firmly pressed against his stomach. His body didn’t like it, once again rebelling with an intense burst of pain. Matthew frowned and looked down at his feet, nibbling on his lower lip.

In truth, he wasn’t new to random pains. He had started feeling ill and shaky the previous morning, with a dull pain pulsing around his navel that had ended up growing more and more intense over the course of the day. He had never imagined it could turn so bad, however.

How typical. Life’s always full of surprises, isn’t it? I don’t know how I could have forgotten this.

A couple of experimental shuffled steps told Matthew that standing straight was almost impossible, the pain intensifying with sharp stabs at each movement. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath, trying to collect himself. If his features showed any sign of discomfort, Arthur was going to notice. Not only he was going to keep Matthew home from school when he had already missed more days than it would be wise (his perfect grades weren’t suffering from it, yet, but for how long would he be able to keep it up?), Arthur was also going to worry to no end without ever finding a solution. Given his past history with illnesses, Matthew couldn’t blame his brother – and that was why avoiding the scenario altogether was imperative. Which was completely up to Matthew.

Trying to collect himself, he took his sweet time to prepare for the day. Half an hour later, he was cleaned up and dressed – presentable, in spite of the grey pallor that donated an unflattering ill hue to his already too pasty skin. Matthew elected to ignore it, just like he was desperately trying to keep his mind off the agonizing throbbing inside his abdomen, that hadn’t diminished.

I have had worse, and I was only a child. I can handle this.

Matthew kept repeating the words like a mantra, but once he got out of the room, his distress only intensified. That time, the pain only played a minor part in it – the ongoing argument was just too loud for him to push it to a remote corner of his mind.

“Just a stupid letter, Arthur!” Alfred was yelling, his voice heavy with all the disdain he was capable of. “What does it even matter? I cannot believe you’re making such a fuss over this!”

Matthew flattened himself against the wall as he shuffled to the kitchen, hoping not to be noticed and dragged into the discussion. He shouldn’t have worried about that, nobody had the time to pay attention to him.

Arthur’s voice joined Alfred, trembling with rage.

“Only a letter? Let alone the fact that this is hardly your first failing mark, which is an issue itself, why did I have to learn it by going through your graded essays? You should have told me as soon as you got home! Instead I—”

Matthew had reached the kitchen. He closed the door to muffle the sounds and let himself double over, clutching his abdomen. The pain had intensified in agony during the short trek, it felt like a knife twisting into his intestines. Matthew was perfectly aware of the cause.

In the living room, Alfred resumed yelling.

Matthew resolutely turned a deaf ear to the sounds, focusing on the array of cereals into the cupboard and pretending not to hear the hurtful words Alfred and Arthur were spewing against each other. In truth, Matthew didn’t even need to hear anything to know what was being said. He could have recited the entire argument by heart: the words might change from time to time, but the meaning was always the same.

Matthew’s stomach made a summersault that brought bile to the back of his throat.

Breakfast was out of the question. The previous day, Matthew had skipped lunch and his dinner had ended up making acquaintance with the toilet not long after having been ingested. With the pain plaguing his abdomen, that morning wasn’t shaping up to be anything better.

Out of habit, Matthew cast a furtive glance behind his shoulders. He shouldn’t have worried, Arthur was still yelling at Alfred in the living room. He was at the ‘wasted potential’ part of the lecture – Matthew didn’t want to hear it. He methodically took out a bowl, poured just some drops of milk into it, and smeared them over the surface to give the impression of an eaten breakfast. A pang of guilt flared up in his stomach at the thought of wasting food, but it was still better than making Arthur realize he hadn’t eaten. Trying to drown the sound of the discussion, Matthew took to methodically washing all the bowls already inside the sink. He turned off the water just in time to hear the door slam closed with a thud that made the house tremble and Matthew’s stomach coil in discomfort, increasing the pain in his abdomen. He had to bite his lower lip to restrain a moan, willpower alone prevented him from doubling over.

Just a moment later, dragged footsteps announced Arthur’s entrance into the kitchen.

“Oh, Matthew! Good morning. Have you already had your breakfast?”

The forced colloquiality of the words couldn’t hide the slight tremble in Arthur’s voice. When he turned, Matthew’s gaze was immediately captured by the violet shadows that were painfully evident on the tight skin under his brother’s eyes. Another intense spike of pain stabbed his stomach, accompanying the clenching of his chest. Matthew stubbornly refused to double over.

“Mmh…” he muttered in assent, doing his best to offer Arthur a reassuring smile.

There was no way he was going to trouble his older brother over something as trivial as a bad – no matter how excruciating – stomach-ache. Arthur certainly didn’t need another concern added to his plate – even less if it was nothing more than a product of Matthew’s too anxious mind.

Arthur reciprocated with a tired smile of his own and a small nod.

“Good. I trust you’ve taken your antibiotic, haven’t you?”

A lump surged in Matthew’s throat. He nodded, using all his willpower not to let the smile slip from his face. Not only he hadn’t taken the antibiotic that morning – he was feeling too nauseous for it, he knew he wasn’t going to keep it down – the dose from the previous evening had joined the rest of the meal down the toilet drain. Arthur didn’t know. He was imperative that he didn’t become aware of that second instance, either.

The young man’s exhaustion was written as clear as daylight in his slumped posture and drawn features. On the top of the already taxing concerns of a twenty-year-old having to deal with running a family, the constant fights with Alfred were draining Arthur to the point that Matthew was surprised he hadn’t collapsed yet. And how could Matthew add another weight to Arthur’s shoulders? The mere thought made his lungs tighten so much that he could hardly draw a single breath.

Moreover, it had been more than six years since Matthew’s spleen had been removed. Other two, and he would finally live like a normal person and be free to stop taking his prophylactic antibiotic. Missing two doses wouldn’t cause any harm, no matter how much Matthew’s skin crawled with uneasiness at the thought of disobeying his doctor’s orders.

Any doubt evaporated in front of the tired yet unmistakably earnest smile that blossomed on Arthur’s lips.

“You’re such a good boy…” he exhaled, “I know I can always count on you.”

Shame crawled up Matthew’s stomach.

“I have to go, I’ll miss the bus,” he muttered, ducking behind Arthur to rush out of the kitchen and ignoring the painful jolts in his lower abdomen.

He couldn’t stop himself from noticing how a bit of tension seemed to leave Arthur’s shoulders, allowing him to stand straighter. Matthew felt sick at the thought.

A good child? This couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m just an anxious, selfish wreck.

If Matthew were a good child, he would fully understand that Arthur just had more vital concerns than constantly paying attention to him – it just wasn’t possible, in their situation. If Matthew had truly managed to convince himself of that, his body wouldn’t rebel that way in order to be noticed, making Arthur waste precious energy over silly concerns. Matthew was aware of that. And, at the same time, dwelling over it wasn’t going to help.

With a tired sigh, Matthew hauled up his school bags and headed out of the door after saying goodbye to Arthur. The cold wind that bit his cheeks made him shiver, bothering him far more than it should have. On the flip side, the combination of cold and heavy bags allowed Matthew to walk slightly hunched over without anybody questioning it. It was a small blessing, the jolts of pain in his lower abdomen were getting more and more intense and harder to hide. Matthew would have been ready to drop to the ground and cry in pain.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and trudged on to the bus stop. By the time he reached it, he was dizzy and out of breath, the throbbing in his guts so intense that he feared he would pass out. Matthew let himself slump on the bench and hugged his knees in front of his chest, trying to find a position that would give him some relief from the pain.

“Woah, you look miserable. Did Art yell at you, too?”

Matthew started at his brother’s voice. He hadn’t realized that Alfred was still at the bus stop as well, sitting at the other end of the bench with his legs spread open and his hands folded inside the pockets of his bomber jacket. He would’ve been the picture of carelessness, if not for the thin lines of anger still creasing his forehead and the barely repressed fury darkening his eyes. Matthew missed their limpid blue. Every time he looked at that foreign rage burning behind them, he felt like he was being kicked in the chest.

He shook his head.

“Arthur didn’t do anything, I’m just tired. And…” The hesitation lasted only a fraction of a second. Matthew couldn’t bear his family arguing any longer. “You know, he wouldn’t yell at you, either, if you just talked to him instead of just him having to find out everything on his own.”

Alfred snorted and gave an exaggerated eye-roll.

“Who, Arthur? Don’t make me laugh, Arthur doesn’t do ‘talking’. He just decides what’s the best for us and demands us to follow through it. He has already made up his mind, there’s no way to make him reconsider. Hell, it’s not even about getting him to change his mind – he doesn’t even get to the ‘listening’ part!”

Another sharp burst of pain squeezed Matthew’s intestines. He hugged his knees closer to his chest, trying to breathe through the agony.

“But… he does have a point, Al. I mean… not with everything, but… you’re really smart, if you just… studied a little… You’d have better grades, and it wouldn’t even be so much of an effort… You really are kind of throwing away this opportunity…”

Matthew’s voice trailed off in a whimper, his chest tightening at the recognition of the fury that warped his brother’s features.

“Of course,” Alfred spat out, gritting his teeth. His hands clenched into fists as his entire body tensed. “Of. Fucking. Course. I don’t even know what I was expecting from you. Always Arthur’s little bitch, aren’t you? For fuck’s sake, Matthew! Can’t you see he doesn’t care for you in the slightest? All that that matters to him is appearance – to be seen as the perfectly proper big brother who takes perfect care of his equally perfectly proper and boring younger brothers. There’s nothing deeper behind it! Why are you still snivelling at his feet? It won’t change anything. Arthur won’t magically start caring for you just because you’re an obedient little goody-two-shoes! You’ll always be invisible to him, always a second thought!” Alfred gave a violent shake of his head. “By now, you should know that I’m the only one who truly cares for you. Why are you still siding with him?”

Matthew couldn’t breathe, Alfred’s word pressed against his chest with the weight of a stone. With his head swimming and his racing heartbeat pounding in his ears, Matthew could only look at the utter disgust spelt out in his brother’s features.

“And you know what? I’m sick and tired of getting blamed for everything as I wait for you to finally develop some critical thinking skills. You’re no better than Arthur, at this point. Don’t fucking talk to me until you’ve got some sense back!”

Alfred jerked up from the bench and walked in swift strides to the road, just in time for the bus to appear from the corner. He got into it without sparing a glance at Matthew, the tight fists around his backpack’s strings quivering in rage.

Matthew was paralyzed. Only when the bus driver cast him a questioning glance, he was reminded that he had to get in. He got up on shaky legs and automatically walked to the bus. Somehow, he managed to ignore both the agony raging in his lower abdomen and the tears scorching against his eyelids and offer the driver a shaky smile.

Without meeting anybody’s eyes, Matthew found a spare seat and curled into it as he tried to compose himself. No matter how much he forced himself to even out his breathing, however, he couldn’t soothe the ache in his chest or in his abdomen. He let his head rest against the window, savouring the feeling of the cool surface against his clammy skin.

When did everything start going so wrong?

In truth, Matthew had a quite precise answer: the downfall had waltzed into their life in worn-out and faded tennis shoes along with Allen and Allyson Jones. Alfred had always had a rebellious streak, but hanging around those twins he had bonded with because they shared the same surname had turned it into a meaner, uncontrolled force that had slowly taken over their lives. Well-meaning and trusting as ever, Alfred hadn’t been able to recognize the real malice hiding behind the façade of innocent, misguided teens with a rough past. When Arthur had urged him to be cautious, he had retorted that Allyson and Allen deserved a chance like anybody else. When Matthew had reported that they were vandalising the school properties, scaring and bullying younger teens and smoking weed, Alfred had laughed and told him he shouldn’t listen to every rumour that went around, that they were nothing but stereotypes.

The Jones twins must have seen something special in Alfred, something that could be useful to them. They had initially acted tamer around him, only to slowly lead Alfred into the mindset that society and norms were oppressive, that going against them was the only way to truly help people. They had taught him that school didn’t matter and that the rules Arthur put in place were only meant to hinder Alfred from letting his true potential shine. And Alfred had swallowed everything, changing bit by bit until he was just a shadow of Matthew’s brother.

Eventually, something had happened that had opened Alfred’s eyes. Matthew wasn’t aware of what had transpired, his brother hadn’t confided in him in a long time; all he knew was that Alfred had abruptly cut his ties with Allyson and Allen and hadn’t regretted their departure at the end of the summer. For a couple of weeks, Alfred had even been nicer to Matthew, almost back to his old overprotective yet well-meaning personality. Allen and Allyson Jones, however, had left a strong, dark impression that had seeped into Alfred’s mind and planted its dark root into his heart. The fights with Arthur had started to burst out again, more violent and frequent than ever.

Now, Matthew considered himself a quite forgiving person. Before casting any judgement, he always did his best to look into other people’s motives and try to understand their perspective. He would be able to say without hesitation, however, that he hated Allen and Allyson Jones. The mere recollection of those malicious smirks and those eyes, of such an intense warm shade of brown that they almost looked red, made hot fury surge inside Matthew’s chest. Allen and Allyson Jones had ruined his family and his life.

But, more than anything, Matthew was tired of getting caught into the crossfire. He was so tired that his body had started faking illnesses and pains in response. “There’s nothing wrong with him. It’s psychosomatic,” the doctor had said when Arthur had rushed Matthew to an appointment after four days of unexplained slight fever and stomach-ache (Matthew had tried to hide it from Arthur. He had done his best, but he hadn’t been expert enough to completely cover the signs of his too frequent vomiting and the weakness that accompanied it).

At that time, Matthew hadn’t known what the word meant, but he could perfectly recall how shame had crawled up his stomach as he lay on the cold bed, under the doctor's unforgiving stare. Later, he had realized why the doctor was judging him so badly: ‘psychosomatic’ meant ‘not real’. It was just Matthew’s body being whiny and claiming the attention its owner was so desperately trying not to ask for, knowing just how many more pressing issues Arthur had in his hands. Selfish. That was what Matthew’s illnesses meant.

Matthew gritted his teeth against another spasm of pain that was shortly followed by a wave of nausea. He refused to let even a moan go past his lips. In spite of the embarrassing display his body was giving, there was still one thing he had control over: his reaction. No matter how bad the pain might get, he wasn’t going to add other fuel to the fire.

Matthew’s resolve was thoroughly tested during the following hours. Normally, he would feel a bit better once he had left home, but that day, the pain wasn’t giving him a single moment of respite. If anything, it seemed to be growing worse. By midday, Matthew could no longer stand straight. He felt like a scorching knifes were embedded into his lower abdomen, twisting at every movement.

Matthew had never blessed so much his being unremarkable, he probably wouldn’t have been able to hide his discomfort from anybody truly noticing him. Fortunately, he didn’t share any class with Michelle or Emil that day, and Carlos was in Cuba visiting his grandparents. His luck extended to the fact that there wasn’t any test, but that was also where it stopped.

Matthew spent the entire lunch break curled up in a bathroom’s cubicle, getting rid of bile and doing his best not to bawl from the pain. He was quite sure he had never experienced something like that – and probably, the intense hockey practice he would have to face in the afternoon had something to do with it.

In theory, hockey practice should have been suspended as the coach wouldn’t be able to attend, but there was going to be an important match the following week; the team couldn’t afford to miss any training. Because of that, Ivan had elected to ignore the rules and follow with the practice even if there wasn’t any supervisor. The thought made Matthew’s chest tighten. He was uncomfortable with going against the rules, but he had already agreed to it, he couldn’t take it back.

‘You’re really trying to give up on me, aren’t you?’ he scolded his body, but he didn’t even have the energy to be truly angry anymore. He was just tired.

As he willed his churning stomach to settle down, Matthew let his head rest against the wall. The ceramic tiles felt icy under his skin. Matthew wouldn’t have been surprised to find a fever accompanying the general feeling of illness, it wasn’t unusual – but there was nothing he could do about it.

Somehow, Matthew found the strength to climb to his feet at the end of the break. With his head swimming and his abdomen screaming in agony, he dragged himself to his afternoon classes.

The following periods passed by in a daze. Matthew was hardly aware of his teacher talking, all he could think about was the pain consuming him. He mentally pleaded for it to stop, tried all the calming techniques he had even vaguely heard of, but to no avail. By the time the bell rang, the agony had only worsened.

Matthew wanted to curl up into a foetal position and sob out all the pain he was feeling. But that meant attracting the attention of the teacher. And feeling sick at school meant being sent to the infirmary. Then, the nurse would have to call Arthur, who would worry to no end. Matthew couldn’t forget how exhausted his older brother had looked that morning. He couldn’t do that to him, not over a fake ailment that shouldn’t have been happening in the first place. Matthew just couldn’t.

Mindful of that, he gritted his teeth, forced his body to straighten up ignoring the excruciating stabs of pain and walked with single-minded determination towards the changing room, trying not to pay attention to the way the floor seemed to tilt under his feet.

Fortunately, everybody seemed to be too concerned with the imminent practice to pay attention to the way Matthew wobbled into the changing room, and they were used to him changing inside the bathroom. Matthew didn’t like to think about the thin scar marring the left side of his abdomen, nor did he fancy the idea of other people seeing it – mostly, because it meant questions that would make his mind linger on something he only wanted to forget – but, for the first time, he was grateful for its presence.

Matthew had forgotten how many movements were required for an act as simple as changing his trousers, but he almost teared up several times when the agony raging in his lower abdomen increased to the point that it turned his vision grey. None of his teammates was there to witness that, nor did they see the several minutes Matthew needed to rest before he could even attempt straightening up from his crouched position, or how the searing pain when he finally accomplished the task distorted his features in a grimace.

By the time Matthew got out of the bathroom, everybody was already on the move.

“Come on, Matt!” called Mikkel, “On the ice! We need all the training we can get!”

In spite of knowing how important the upcoming match – and, consequently, training for it – was, Matthew found himself mourning the lost opportunity of a missed practice. Writhing in pain on his bed seemed a lot more appealing than a hockey match. At least, skating while slightly doubled over didn’t raise any question, and the headgear prevented his teammates from spotting Matthew’s pained expression, but that was about where anything positive stopped.

With each movement of his legs, Matthew drove a knife deeper into his abdomen. The searing pain was engulfing all his senses and narrowing his vision, it was all Matthew could think about. Not the game, the puck or the other players. There was only the fire eating him from inside.

Matthew was suddenly torn out of his stupor by a voice that rose above the general buzzing, calling his name in a panicked intonation. He raised his head to see Ivan coming at him at full speed, horror shining in his eyes.

There was no time to move away. Matthew barely managed to duck to his right. For a moment, he thought he had avoided Ivan – then, the end of the stick caught his left side at full force.

An agonizing fire exploded in Matthew’s lower abdomen. This time, the boy couldn’t restrain the raw scream that was torn from the depths his throat. He had no more control of any of his limbs, he couldn’t feel his legs or arms – all he could feel was the agony tearing his gut in half. Perhaps, that was exactly what had happened.

Mercifully, Matthew’s senses soon vanished in the black that swallowed his vision.

(word count: 4,299)

———

Notes:

Hetalia Human Names [x]

Allen and Allyson Jones are 2P America and 2P Nyo America (they won’t make any other appearance, they just belong to some key-elements of the backstory)

For people who hadn’t read the previous instalment – Matthew got his spleen removed after a car crash, when it was punctured by a broken rib.

Please keep in mind that the story is filtered through Matthew’s POV, and he has quite a skewed view of what ‘psychosomatic’ truly means.

English isn’t my first language. If you noticed any mistake, feel free to point it out!

Tagging: @ono-its-ryane (thanks a lot for asking me this, it’s really flattering!); @notice-me-hetasenpai; @aph-fanficchallenges (thanks a lot to you, too)

[siavahdainthemoon]

I’m a fucking hopepunk, and I will kill you with kindness.

‘Not all people are bad. The bad people are just the loudest.’

I think we’ve all heard variations of that truism by now. Of if you haven’t—there you go, you’ve learned something new, you’re welcome! But in either case, something clicked for me yesterday that I think I have to share.

(This is going to be a long one. Bear with me: I swear there’s a point to it. If you want to skip it all, @thebibliosphere says it all more eloquently and far more succinctly than I ever could here.)

About a month ago, I contacted an online seller, concerned that my package hadn’t arrived. I was polite, and made it very clear that I wasn’t requesting a replacement—it was stated very clearly on the seller’s site that if you didn’t purchase tracked shipping, items lost in the post couldn’t/wouldn’t be replaced. Instead I asked what information they had about the package, anything I could potentially use to figure out where it might have gone.

We exchanged several messages back and forth, during which I stayed polite (and so did she). I explained that I was worried the package would be forever MIA—the postal system where I live is not great, and it wouldn’t be the first time something had been stolen or lost—and given that the item was limited-edition, was there any chance she could set another one aside for me? If the package didn’t arrive, I would like to buy a second one. I understood if she couldn’t or wouldn’t do that—there was no obligation and I knew she had a store to run—but what did she think?

She said that was perfectly fine, no problem. I expressed great gratitude and relief.

A few days later she sent an email saying the package had been returned to her, so I paid for shipping again (tracked this time!) and all ended well.

What struck me—and upset me a little—was how relieved and grateful the seller was for my being understanding. She explicitly said as much. What upset me was the implication that other customers with similar issues had not been polite and understanding about it.

Last week, I reached out to another seller about a different missing delivery. (I told you the postal service here is terrible). She had already sent me one replacement free of charge, so this time I insisted on paying. The item was hand-made, and I said her time and skill, not to mention the materials used, ought to be paid for. So I did, and this time I paid for tracked shipping (I’m learning my lesson), and hopefully this one will reach me.

This seller also expressed what I would consider disproportionate relief and gratitude for my understanding and politeness. She said that she had been growing depressed lately because other customers whose packages had disappeared had left poor reviews on her store, and I think probably sent unpleasant messages about it (she didn’t say so explicitly, but that was the impression I got.) She said (she was very, very sweet) that I’d restored her faith in people, and in customers specifically, and she was grateful for that.

I sent back one last message thanking her for being so incredibly helpful and kind through the process of helping me. And I told her that she created beautiful things, something I couldn’t do, something none of her customers could presumably do, and that there were people who appreciated that, and anyone who didn’t were idiots and didn’t deserve her time.

Her last message said that I’d made her cry—in a good way!—and that she would remember this for the rest of her life.

I swear that knocked the breath out of me.

Over the last little while, I’ve made more of an effort to leave positive comments in my browser history—retweeting updates from my favourite authors with way too many exclamation points, leaving comments on the fanfictions I read, the videos I watch, the art I see. Even the Kickstarter projects I back.

And every single time, the (always positive) reaction I got was drastically, almost insanely out of proportion to the amount of effort it had taken me to make it.

I’ve heard ‘good people have to be louder’ many times in discussions about social justice, but always in terms of big, physical action. And those actions are incredibly important! Voting and showing up for protests and making blockades and calling out people who need calling out—it’s all incredibly important.

But yesterday it hit me that that’s not the only kind of ‘louder’ we need.

If you haven’t heard of hopepunk, it’s basically the idea that being kind is an act of resistance in a world that wants to grind you down. It’s the point-blank refusal to give in to either indifference or outright negativity, and about fighting to be good. Not good like saints—not good like perfect. We’re mortals; I don’t think it’s possible to be perfect, and to be honest I don’t think I’d like to be a saint anyway. But still good. Good as in kind. Good as in gentle, when gentleness is called for. (You are allowed to be fierce, you are encouraged to be fierce. But be gentle to yourself, and to others when you do not have to be fierce.)(Or maybe I’m phrasing it badly. Be fiercely gentle. Be gently fierce.) Good as in fuck you, I will not let you make me into someone who does not care, who does not love. I will be kind because you want me so badly not to be and you cannot stop me. I will be a light in the dark no matter how dark you make it.

And guys—yeah, that means protests and petitions and voting and everything else. It means the big things.

But if we forget about the small things, it doesn’t matter who is president or what laws get passed. If we let the world make us cruel—even casually, unintentionally cruel—then there is no world to fight for. Not one that’s worth fighting for.

We have to remember what we’re fighting for.

A few years ago now, I wrote a post that went kind of viral, the ‘you are not filler’ post. In it I talked about how we all make ripples with our every action, inaction, with our very existence. It’s basically chaos theory—the whole ‘a butterfly beats its wings, and causes a storm on the other side of the world’ thing. We all matter because we all make ripples simply by breathing. We are all irreplaceable because without any single one of us, the world would be different. You are not filler because if someone else was in your place, the ripples would be slightly different. Maybe almost imperceptibly different. But different. This world would not be this world without all of us in it.

Somehow I never made the leap to realising that it’s not just that you make ripples simply by living. You can make ripples on purpose.

You can be a hopepunk. You can make not just neutral ripples, but positive ripples. You can choose to be kind and set off a trail of bright gold dominoes that ring the earth. And it can be so easy! It can take only seconds; saying ‘thank you’ to a server, writing a quick comment on a fic you like, holding the door open for the person behind you. I’m a writer who’s struggled with depression for years; guys, those comments and reviews can change someone’s life. They can save someone’s life. I promise.

And it can be hard, too: you can swallow your frustration when you’re dealing with a customer service rep whose fault it isn’t, even when you’re tired and you’ve been passed between four different people already. You can not snap at someone even though someone else has just hurt or angered you. You can be patient when you’ve explained something a dozen times and need to explain it again. Those kinds of things are hard. They are.

But every time you manage it, you have managed to not make a ‘bad’ ripple. You’ve made a good one instead. You’ve cancelled the potential darkness and added a bit more light to the world instead.

Here’s another truism for you: ‘an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.’ Here is how to be a hero every day: when a dark ripple reaches you, don’t pass it on. Don’t be the next domino in the chain. Your boss snarls at you because he hasn’t been sleeping because the investors are anxious because and because and because—and you don’t snap or lash out at the next person who gives you an excuse. You don’t take it out on anyone else. The chain of small or not-so-small cruelties and meanness and indifference reaches you, and you break it. You are the one who says stop. You are the one who doesn’t take an eye. You are the one who says enough.

You are a fucking hero.

You are, though. Some of you are scoffing at me right now, but think about it. You know how hard it is to do that. You know that you say things you regret to someone who isn’t the cause of your pain or stress. You’ve had someone do it to you. Now think about the strength of will it takes to hold that pain or stress and not pass it on. It’s like a game of hot potato, only the potato is a burning coal and there is no music to make it stop. The burning coal has been passed from person to person to person and given to you. You’re the one who has to make it stop.

Think about what it takes to hold onto that coal and not pass it on.

Think about what it takes to crush it into nothing.

It is hard. It hurts, sometimes. How is that not heroic? You’ve stopped an evil. A little evil, maybe, but little evils build into big ones. And even little ones can break people, hearts, lives. You know that too, if you think about it.

I remember being about fifteen or sixteen years old, so happy because for the first time in my life, I’d gotten 90% on a Maths test. The highest mark I’d ever managed in that subject. I brought it home beaming because my dad had spent years frustrated with me for struggling with mathematics. It had been a low-grade, sometimes not so low-grade vein of disappointment and small miseries for all of my life, and now I’d finally done it, and he would be so proud of me.

He barely glanced at it when I showed him. He said something absently, vaguely congratulatory and continued on with what he was doing.

It’s been ten years and it still makes me want to cry.

And that wasn’t any kind of deliberate cruelty. That was just a father who was exhausted from working 5am to 9pm in the middle of the credit crisis, who knew his job was on the point of being terminated and who had to borrow from his father-in-law to make our rent. He had every reason to be that tired and absent-minded. Just like you have every right to be raw and snarly after a terrible day at work, to be maddened by the idiocy of that customer service rep, to feel like the whole world’s against you after a million tiny things go wrong in one day.

You have every right.

But you can choose not to pass on that coal.

It’s hard. We’re mortals: sometimes we fuck up. Sometimes we’re cruel by accident, sometimes we make mistakes, sometimes we don’t know the whole story. Sometimes we’re just so fucking tired.

But you can choose to try.

Even stopping just one evil makes you a hopepunk. Makes you a hero.

And what about being more than a hero? What about crushing that coal down into a diamond, and passing that on instead?* What about deliberately choosing to be kind when someone has been cruel, when the world has hurt you? By which I mean: what about turning around and doing something to make a positive ripple when a bad one reaches you? What about being a magic kind of prism, and turning the darkness that reaches you into a rainbow?

I’m not saying, do something good for everyone who hurts you. Like I said, I’m not a saint, and I don’t want to be. If you can be or are that good, then…then I can’t even. You’re something more than the rest of us, and you have my unfeigned awe and I am happy you exist. But for the rest of us—when your boss yells at you, maybe drop a penny into a charity box. Grab your roommate’s favourite treat for them on the way home. Write a positive review for an app you like on the app store. It can be anything. It can be tiny. Smile and say thank you to the person who makes your coffee at Starbucks, I don’t know.

But drop the coal on the fucking ground, and give something small and beautiful to someone else instead.

If you’re good, make your voice heard. Remind strangers that the world isn’t all bad, that the terrible people featured on the news are far from the only people out there. Give someone a moment of kindness that they might just remember forever. Help make a world worth fighting for by refusing to let Them make you into someone who wouldn’t.

You won’t always manage it. We all have bad days, we all make mistakes. That’s okay. But try. Do your best.

When you can, stand next to me—stand up with all of us—and when a ripple of casual cruelty or deliberate evil or just plain indifference reaches you, say no.

Say It stops here.

Because I’m a fucking hopepunk, and I will kill you with kindness.

(NB: I’m not advocating pacifism here. You have no obligation to be kind to - well, arguably anybody, I guess, but especially not to people who hurt you. And there are some kind of cruelties that you need to push back against, not just stand against. But I believe we need this kind of resistance as well.) 

(*Yes I know that’s not how diamonds are really made, that’s not the point!)

[pinerio]

Disk clean pro support

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When deciding which free PC cleaner to download and use, first consider what your actual needs are, as sometimes free platforms will only give you access to tools on a one-time basis, but for regular PC cleaning you may find a paid subscription is much more worthwhile. See how we test, rate, and review products on TechRadar.

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The aim was to push each software platform to see how useful its basic tools were and also how easy it was to get to grips with any more advanced tools. We then tested the service on an old PC to see how effective it could be at cleaning up old junk and files and optimizing performance. To test for the free PC cleaner we first set up an account with the relevant software platform, whether as a download or as an online service.

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Razer Cortex is available for Windows 7, 8 and 10, and while the differences won't make you jump up and down in astonishment - for most people the results will mean slightly smoother visuals rather than astonishing performance improvements - it does automate the fiddly process of turning off unnecessary software and services when it's time to play. This free PC optimizer suspends unnecessary system processes, clears out memory and defrags your system to get the very best game performance possible. If your system struggles when you're trying to get your game on, Razer Cortex could well be the answer. The only negative is that the free version allows you to run the software, but not any of the repair tools.

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This should be quite self-explanatory, but Restoro’s full money-back guarantee basically means that you can request a full refund if you’re not happy with the program’s performance. These are designed to help you keep tabs on your computer, identifying potentially dangerous apps or security breaches before any damage is caused. If you have one of the two unlimited use plans, you will benefit from the power of Restoro’s excellent real-time monitoring tools. Any suspicious files will be immediately identified, and you can decide whether or not they need to be removed. Numerous problems are scanned for, listed if found, and repaired with the powerful system repair tool. All Restoro scans include built-in malware (opens in new tab) detection. Restoro doesn’t boast the biggest feature list we’ve seen, but it does a great job of providing the essentials and managing those well without adding too many unnecessary extras. Read our full Iolo System Mechanic review. Read on for four more of the best apps around for speeding up your Windows PC. The genuine performance boost we saw after running System Mechanic made it our favorite PC optimizer.

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The free edition is excellent, but the two premium versions – System Mechanic and System Mechanic Pro – are well worth considering if you find yourself using it regularly – and Iolo is offering a 70% discount (opens in new tab) with the voucher code TECHRADAR. Its PC optimization toolkit really does make a difference whenever we've tested System Mechanic we've found a significant speed improvement, especially at startup. Not only does this free up key system resources, it also eliminates traces of your browsing activity to protect your privacy. Iolo System Mechanic removes junk files and unwanted apps, blocks bloatware and unwanted auto-run settings, clears out RAM and wipes various logs, browser histories and caches. This is a very large extra charge, so make sure to double-check before entering your payment details. Update: A recent change to Iolo's checkout process means you will be automatically subscribed to a $19.99 (about £15 / AU$25) per month support package when you purchase a product. It's worth noting that you can do much of what these free PC optimizers do yourself using Windows' built-in system maintenance tools, but that's time consuming what's really being sold here is convenience. However, if your needs are more straightforward, we've also rounded up four other excellent tools that will give your PC a thorough spring clean without offering an intimidating number of options. The best free PC optimizer available today is Iolo System Mechanic – a feature-packed toolkit containing everything you need to purge unnecessary files, fine-tune your PC's settings and protect your privacy at the same time. With Windows 11 rolling out to more users since its release in October, it's best to make sure that your PC is ready for the upgrade, as long as it meets the minimum requirements. That's why we've tested all the most popular options and rounded up the ones that we believe will give your PC a noticeable speed boost, with no hidden extras or intrusive ads. There are many free PC cleaners and optimizers that claim to deliver noticeably faster performance, but not all live up to the hype.

[questload814]

Why Is My Macbook Pro Sierra Download So Slow On The Internet

How many times have you seen the spinning beachball lately while browsing Safari on your Mac?

I have been seriously struggling with my WiFi every morning in my new office and could not figure out why. Speedtest was 'very slow' on my Macbook Pro 2015 and super quick on iPhone 8, it has been painful and driving me nuts!! It usually got quicker throughout the day, but unbearable in the morning. So how to fix a slow Mac. All Macs begin to slow down with age — MacBook Pro, iMac, it doesn’t matter. Performing several heavy tasks at a time, your Mac may get slower, and it’s okay. Although, when you’re facing unresponsive windows and slow load time more often these days, your Mac definitely needs a boost. Why is my Mac running slow? Actually, Mac becomes slower and slower with the age you use it, no matter it is MacBook Pro, Air or Mac mini. To speed up your Mac, you had better find out the reasons why Mac is so slow. In this article, we will show you 5 reasons that explain why Mac is running slow and give you corresponding advice to. Check your Internet connection. For many Mac users, a slow Internet connection is synonymous with a slow computer. That’s because almost everything they do—from surfing the Web to checking. From app downloads to emails, a lot of Mac’s performance depends on the network connection — a slow Internet can spell trouble across the board. I live in The Middle of Nowhere, where the maximum speed I can get is 4 Mbps, so I need to make sure my MacBook isn’t bringing that speed down even more.

For example, Safari is slow loading pages, it stops loading halfway with text strewn across the screen and images in the wrong place. Or some webpages are loading forever before you’re able to actually read the content.

Other times, it may be just that Safari runs extremely slow after Catalina update (remember the pitfalls of a shiny new macOS?)

All of these behaviors are typical symptoms related to Apple’s signature Internet browser. While Safari is a light-weighted browser optimized for use on all Mac machines, issues like above might force you to resort to third-party browsers (perhaps Chrome, stay away from Firefox) that tend to be faster.

But for those of you who are real fans of Apple and decide to stick to Safari, we’re going to help you get to the root of your Safari issues in this guide, starting with the possible reasons why Safari is slow.

Hopefully, you’ll have Safari back to normal in no time, and be able to use the browser flawlessly.

Note: if Safari is not just slow, but keeps freezing and crashing, read this post instead for more troubleshooting tips.

Important Tips

It’s normal for Safari to run slow on certain websites – By certain websites, we mean “heavy” sites that are loaded with flash or video ads on the pages you browse. Worse yet, some even auto-play without you clicking on. They tend to have your MacBook heat up quick. The best option is to close those pages immediately when you finish reading the content on it, or you could install AdBlock Plus (Safari compatible) to block the ads from displaying.

Stop excessively multitasking – You’d be surprised how much better 90% of programs work when you don’t try and use them at the same time as a dozen other apps. It seems like a simple solution, but it is often the best one.

Take care of Safari – Some methods are a matter of habit, such as regularly clearing your cache or making sure the app is up to date. Imagine your computer as a car that needs regular maintenance to run well.

Don’t neglect the computer – Macs are not immune to viruses, despite the common perception. They also aren’t immune to file corruption or errors. Make sure you haven’t picked up anything unwanted while browsing that could be affecting Safari’s performance.

Below are some common causes directly or indirectly related to those Safari performance issues. Also, we’ll show you how to fix it step by step.

Possible Cause 1: Overworked Cache

The cache is a location on your Mac’s hard drive where Safari temporarily stores data that you use frequently. Macbook pro download folder more info. The cache allows Safari to reference this information quickly and therefore execute actions such as loading a specific page more quickly.

However, if the cache becomes full then Safari cannot add newer, more relevant material and is forced to use slower methods to respond to your demands.

Here’s how to erase the data in the cache so that Safari can work smarter rather than harder:

Start by erasing your history from Safari by navigating the menu bar along the top and choosing HISTORY > CLEAR HISTORY AND WEBSITE DATA.

Once you click this, you’ll be shown a small pop-up window. Choose “All History” from the bottom of the drop-down, and then Clear History.

The next thing you can do is clear the cache using a more advanced method. First, go the Safari menu and open Preferences.

On the preferences panel, choose “Advanced” and then look for the checkbox at the bottom of the page that says “Show Develop Menu in Menu Bar”. Make sure this box is checked, then close Preferences.

You’ll notice a new tab has been added to your menu bar, called “Develop”. Click on this, and then choose “Empty Caches” from the list. You won’t be given any confirmation, but it will clear the cache and you can restart Safari and see if this has solved your problem.

Possible Cause 2: Bad Extensions

Most people are aware that Apple doesn’t play well with Flash, but this isn’t the only plugin that could be causing Safari to lag. Any extension or plugin that is outdated or not correctly optimized could be the “culprit”, and you should disable or remove as many as possible.

The easiest way to do this is to use CleanMyMac X, go to Extensions > Safari Extensions (the screenshot below), here you just select these unwanted plugins, and click the “Remove” button at the bottom to clean them all at once.

Of course, you can also get this done manually, though the process will be a bit time-consuming if you have a list of extensions to disable or remove.

First, start by opening Safari, and then navigating to SAFARI > PREFERENCES

In the preferences menu, choose “EXTENSIONS” icon. You’ll be shown a list of all your extensions.

If you don’t use an extension, you should uninstall it with the button on the right side. If you use it but infrequently, simply uncheck the “enable” box. This should significantly speed up Safari, especially if you have been running a lot of extensions in the background.

Possible Cause 3: Outdated Version of Safari

Because Apple makes Safari, it usually receives updates when macOS has a new version released or when there is a necessary patch. If you’re running an old version of Safari, this could be part (or even all) of your problem.

If you aren’t on macOS Sierra or higher, your Safari is definitely in need of an update (all MacBook Pros made after 2009 are compatible with at least macOS Sierra). To check what you’re running, go the Apple Menu in the top left corner and choose “About this Mac”.

If you’re on an older version, your window will look something like this, displaying the version of OS X you’re running:

If you’re already on macOS Mojave, it will look like this instead:

If you aren’t on the latest macOS yet, open the App Store from Finder, and navigate to updates. There will be at least one software update available, which you can expand. This will show you the update for Safari, which you can update separately or with any other updates you may have available.

Issues Related to your Network or Computer

Possible Cause 4: Your Network

You might argue that the problems inside Safari are simpler to deal with, but sometimes it’s surprising that Safari isn’t necessarily the “culprit”. Your network can have a significant impact on Safari’s performance.

To find out whether your Mac has network issues, the best way is to use this app called Advanced Network Care — run a quick scan and it’ll display the network issues (if they exist). Vmware fusion free download for mac.

To test the Internet speed, you can also use Google Fiber. First, open the link on your Safari browser, then press the blue “play” button, and watch as your internet speed is tested. The site will first test your upload and then your download speed.

Once you have your results, you can compare them with this link, which contains charts detailing what you should expect based on the connection type. If your results are below expected, it might be time to contact your Internet Service Provider (ISP), especially if speeds fall far below what you’re paying for.

Note: if speed seems normal and falls in the expected ranges, then this probably isn’t your problem, and you should try some of our other solutions.

Possible Cause 5: Your User Account or Mac Drive

Sometimes the issue runs a bit deeper than just a full cache- you could have a corrupted user account or your macOS version isn’t operating correctly. To determine if this is your problem, start by creating a second user account on your MacBook. Fl studio mac os catalina download.

On the new user account, open Safari and try using it as you normally would. If Safari suddenly runs faster, it’s time to repair your normal user account.

Use spotlight (top right corner of the screen) to search “Disk Utility” and open it.

Inside Disk Utility, select your account’s disk and make sure you’re on the “First Aid” tab. Then select “Repair Disk” from the bottom right corner (if this is unavailable, choose “Verify Disk” first).

Note: if your MacBook Pro is with 10.10 Yosemite or earlier, you have two buttons to click on like below.

However, if your MacBook Pro is with 10.11 El Capitan or later (including latest 10.15 Catalina), just click “First Aid” and run it to check and fix any issues it may find.

The Disk Utility will repair any problems with your account. If it isn’t capable of fixing the problem, reinstalling macOS is always an alternative if a bit tedious to do.

Final Words

No one enjoys staring at the colorful loading pinwheel when they just want to browse the web or access an important page for work. Hopefully, you won’t be experiencing the Safari slow issue anytime soon with our solution guide.

Still not able to solve your problems even after using the methods we’ve outlined? A good resource is the Apple Community forum, where you can get advice from other fellow Mac fans. You may also find bug reports and similar questions from other users.

Why Is My Macbook Pro Sierra Download So Slow On The Internet Download Manager

Alternatively, if you’ve already fixed the Safari problem, write a comment and tell us about it below.

[evanvanness]

Annotated edition for the May 24, 2020, Week in Ethereum News

Several people this week have told me they want a “drama” section in the newsletter and have asked me to annotate the Aragon and Autark Ado this week.  

Perhaps that’s why the Aragon drama leads the most clicked list:

So why is Aragon suing its grantee?  Aragon held a vote where the community approved these grants.  Aragon now does not want to pay, claiming breach of contract - presumably that they did not believe Autark was not delivering fast enough or that products that were up to snuff.  It’s a bit hard to follow the play-by-play but at some point Aragon decided that after spending 600k of the 1.6m awarded grant, they did not want to pay any longer, so Autark threatened to sue.  Aragon offered to settle for $250k of the remaining million in grant payments, but it appears Autark rejected because Aragon would cut off the ANT incentive payments.   So Aragon sued Autark, to make sure that the case happens on its home turf in Switzerland which benefits their deep pockets versus Autark’s (now unfunded) startup budget.

For what it’s worth, I believe I voted against Autark’s first request and while I thought I voted against the second one, it turns out I didn’t vote.  There were a lot of votes in that round, and it was obviously going to pass (it passed “unanimously” with only 1 ANT voting against), so i must have decided not to spend the gas.

This all seems pretty boring, it’s just back and forth arguing over a contract, why are other people commenting on it?

1.  Aragon has a reputation for not paying people.   

It has long been an open secret in the industry that Aragon routinely doesn’t pay people in full or on time.

Grants are hard!    I can empathize with both Aragon (presumably feeling like it wasn’t getting enough ROI) and Autark (presumably thinking that a community approved grant couldn’t be secretly overturned by Jorge and Luis).  

2. Aragon sold a token for tens of millions of dollars, but after 3 years the only use for the token was a tokenholder vote.  Now, the results of those votes are unilaterally and privately discarded. 

It’s been over 3 years since Aragon raised a crazy amount of money selling a token.  In that time frame, the only use for the token has been these votes. 

If Jorge and Luis could decide by themselves to countermand the results of any of those votes without even telling the tokenholders anything, then what was the point of these votes?   Why did I waste my ETH paying gas to vote in these things?

 [Digression: They also recently released an ANJ token that you can exchange ANT for, but I don’t count being able to exchange a token for another token as utility.  After more than 3 years, I cannot think of any other possible utility for ANT.  Note: i’m very bearish on “dispute resolution by tokenholder vote”]

3.  Aragon marketing hasn’t matched Aragon actions

The Aragon Manifesto was a clarion call.  In black and white terms it paints the picture of transparency and technology as a solution for society’s problems of centralization, censorship and oppression.

Yet the rhetoric hasn’t matched the reality.  They’ve declared that Aragon is the world’s court, yet go running to Swiss courts to claim jurisdiction rather than even attempt to use Aragon Court in parallel (since they can’t possibly lose in either venue).   

They’re the rich ones with deep pockets, yet they’ve repeatedly chosen not to pay grantees who have very little leverage in negotiation (with the exception of Prysmatic after they complained).

None of it has been transparent (though of course there are often good reasons).

----

The Aragon team so far has responded to all these concerns by saying things like “you’re questioning our good intentions” or “the courts will decide”. 

It is obvious that Aragon will win in the courts.  They have the deep pockets; Autark doesn’t.  They drafted the contract, and any decent lawyer will have drafted it so Aragon can’t possibly lose.  Even if the contract somehow wasn’t one-sided, Aragon chose to run to the home field courts.  It would be shocking if they lost.

Aragon’s intentions aren’t bad; that’s not really in question.  I’m 100% sure that Jorge and Luis’s intentions are good and that any individual decision is defensible.

What is in question is their decision making overall.  When you stake your brand on “transparency” and anti-oppression, then people will feel disappointed when your brand promises do not match your actions. 

------------------------------------------------------

Enough with the drama.  As with last week, a few things I think I’d read if i were an Eth holder interested in high level things.

Carl Beekhuizen’s Eth2 keys explainer

5 things crypto can learn from Visa’s struggle for adoption in the 1970s

Brave’s anti-fingerprinting v2, available in the beta releases but coming soon in the main releases

Working in reverse order, it’s always surprising to me how little people understand how much info your browser is leaking.  Fingerprinting basically lets people figure out who you are even if you switch IP addresses, clear your browsing history, etc.  I used to work in anti-fraud, and I was surprised how often you could figure stuff out from the fingerprints.  Good for anti-fraud, but bad for privacy.  Brave is changing the game on fighting fingerprinting!

I’m old enough to remember when Visa and especially Amex were not the ubiquitous things that they are today in America.  There were some interesting parallels around their ads “think of it as money.”   The more things change, the more things stay the same.

A good Eth2 keys explainer, definitely worth reading if you’re interesting in staking.  

On to the annotations.  The stuff that I think might deserve extra comment, not necessarily the stuff I think is most important.

Eth1

Péter Szilágyi’s snap sync, and some benchmarking of snap vs fast sync

Discovery peer advertisement efficiency analysis, also applicable to eth2

Sync improvements are a big deal, as the initial sync time is one of the things that most people find daunting around running a full node.

Depending on who you are, this may not be considered sexy, but it’s an important thing for eth1 usability.

Eth2

phase 0 spec v0.12 – added latest IETF standard. This is THE spec for the eth2 launch, barring any updates for bugs

Lighthouse client update – BLS key implementation, under Trail of Bits audit, 300mb RAM to run 2000 validators

Lodestar client update – syncing to both Schlesi and Topaz testnets

Prysmatic client update – Schlesi fork post-mortem, slashing client and protection

Fizzy v0.1 – WASM interpreter written in C++

Carl Beekhuizen’s Eth2 keys explainer

There’s been plenty of talk around “this is the spec” before, so I sorta can’t blame someone who says “but you’ve already said that before!”

Basically, they were all true, but with specific exceptions.   And that’s still true - there will likely be some kind of bug or clarification found so that that this isn’t THE spec that launches the eth2 chain in a few months.  But unless something crazy happens, this spec for the eth2 chain isn’t going to change except to fix bugs.

Layer2

Fuel does a demo of Reddit’s community points in an optimistic rollup that reduces transaction fees by 60x

Loopring to pass 1 million trades on its zk rollup in just 3 months of being live

Gazelle (formerly Plasma Chamber) alpha release with an API for deposit, transfer and exit

Fuel’s demo is pretty cool.  It’s obviously just a demo - they don’t have a way to withdraw back to the testnet where Reddit’s community points are house.

Dexes continue to improve!  Using their zk rollup, Loopring has a trading experience that is just as good as a centralized exchange, but with much cheaper fees and no risk of centralized exchanges getting hacked and losing your crypto. 

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Stuff for developers

web3js v1.2.8 with Ethers v5 ABI coder integration, ENS’s contenthash, and EIP-1193’s AbstractProvider

Mocking Solidity code with Waffle

A writeup of Solhint v3’s features

How to get randomness onchain using Chainlink’s VRF

Offchain voting for personal tokens, tutorial from Austin Griffith

Gas and circuit constraint benchmarks of binary and quinary incremental Merkle trees using Poseidon

Loopring’s new approach to generating frontend keys to sign offchain requests

Hegic had to shut down again because of an exploit that Sam Sun reported weeks beforehand

tBTC found a bug during their rollout; launch delayed

Matic’s mainnet is in the process of going live

I’ve seen some games migrate over to Matic.  

Matic is “in the process” of going live.  I note the “in the process” because I see a bunch of new blockchain projects saying that they are live, but....they aren’t really by any definition I would use.

But as I said previously in an annotated edition, it’s a process.  It’s not exactly some binary “we’re live now.”  Even Ethereum went live in July 2015 with less than full features.

Ecosystem

Tornado.cash non-custodial mixer is now trustless, with the admin function burned and the frontend available at https://tornadocash.eth.link

Ethereum Foundation q1 update, including how EF thinks about funding

Intro to dwebsites. dweb = ENS + IPFS (and equivalents)

Network usage is at an all time high. With similar use of the Eth2 chain, Ethereum will have negative issuance of ETH because part of every transaction fee is burned

I was surprised that gas usage is so high that we’d be in negative issuance if Eth2 was live.  

I’ve said before that I’m not sure how I feel about negative issuance.  On the one hand, the worry is that negative issuance means that no one has any incentive to use their ETH.  On the other hand, that’s already the reality today - hardly anyone wants to pay for anything in ETH at $200, because basically every ETH holder I know has obscenely high expectations for what the price is likely to do in the near to medium term.

Some interesting thoughts in the EF update about how EF thinks about funding.

Meanwhile it’s great to see Tornado continue to improve the trustlessness of their product.    Incredible work from the Roman S team.   (if you missed the joke, it’s because both of them are named Roman and have last names that begin with S)

Enterprise

Using Eth mainnet, Baseline Protocol privately and securely synchronizes data and business logic across SAP and Microsoft Dynamics

Hyperledger Fabric founder John Wolpert’s common sense statement on using blockchain and Ethereum mainnet

The Baseline Protocol as lean strategy

Depository Trust & Clearing Corporation’s Project Whitney using Ethereum mainnet to “support private market securities, from issuance through secondary markets”

I’m surprised by how quickly the use mainnet approach has taken hold.   If you rewind back to the last hype cycle, relatively few even considered the idea, even as enterprises were buying private chains that didn’t make much sense.  (hat tip to GridPlus CEO Mark D’Agostino’s seminal No Country for Private Blockchains article)

DAOs and Standards

Aragon sues to avoid paying grantee a community-voted grant

Exploring DAOs as a new kind of institution

MetaCartel is becoming a DAO incubator

ERC2665: ERC721 transfer fee extension

EIP2666: Repricing of precompiles and Keccak256 function

Application layer

Uniswap v2 launched, with more features – direct token pairs, price oracles, flash swaps, etc

UMA launches the ETHBTC synthetic token, so you can bet on The Flippening

idle v3 – stablecoin yield rebalancer adds dydx, USDT, and a risk-adjusted strategy

Maker changes USDC stability fee to .75% and WBTC to 1%. Also, how Dai became a favorite in Latin America

Argent launches v1 of smart contract wallet with one touch access to TokenSets,  PoolTogether,  Aave,  Uniswap V2, Compound, Maker and Kyber.

5/5 DeFi in the app layer section.  Of course what I put in the app layer section vs what I put elsewhere is certainly arbitrary.  

And hey, why isn’t Tornado Cash on DeFiPulse?  It’s got a decent amount of value locked up.

Tokens/Business/Regulation

5 things crypto can learn from Visa’s struggle for adoption in the 1970s

WBTC mints another 1500 BTC on May 21. There’s now 5200 BTC on Ethereum compared to less than 3000 BTC on Lightning and Liquid combined

Blockchain code as antitrust, Schrepel and Buterin paper

ETH to soon surpass BTC on Bitcoiners’ preferred stock-to-flow metric

Staking will turn Ethereum into a functional store of value

What’s interesting about that 3000 BTC is that Liquid is just a trusted sidechain, and it has 2200 of the 3000 BTC.   Now to be fair, WBTC definitely has some trust assumptions as well.   

Still isn’t it interesting to see BTC migrate to Ethereum, where it can be used relatively trustlessly, rather than go to Blockstream’s products? 

General

KYC puts lives at risk: BlockFi hack leaks client name, address, and crypto addresses. Similarly, a hacker claims to have exploited Shopify for Trezor and Ledger databases, though Ledger says the databases don’t match

Using zero knowledge proofs for vulnerability disclosure

World Economic Forum’s principles for a decentralized future (transparency, self-sovereign data, privacy and accountability)

JK Rowling jokes about trolling BTC because of her significant ETH holdings

The Winklevosses say they own a similar amount of ETH and BTC

Brave’s anti-fingerprinting v2, available in the beta releases but coming soon in the main releases

Using zero knowledge proofs for vulnerability disclosures is very cool.   It’s a pretty classic problem if you’re a whitehat hacker - how do you disclose the vulnerability and then trust that you get anywhere near the value back that you deserve from someone’s bug bounty program?   There are examples - even in the Ethereum space, where people should understand the value - of responsible disclosure not getting paid anything commensurate to what they deserved.

I’ll be interested to see if BlockFi suffers as a result of the hack.  They’ve certainly put at risk any whales which used their service and didn’t give a PO Box/false address/whatever.   Yet the history of database hacks even in our space is that most people just eventually return as if no hack ever happened.

Soon this annotated edition will be going paid, more details coming soon.

That’s all for this week!

Housekeeping

Follow me on Twitter @evan_van_ness to get the annotated edition of this newsletter, usually forthcoming in a day or so, as well as a real-time source of Eth news.

Did you get forwarded this newsletter?  Sign up to receive it weekly

Permalink: https://weekinethereumnews.com/week-in-ethereum-news-may-24-2020/

Dates of Note

Upcoming dates of note (new/changes in bold):

May 26 – last day to apply for Ethereum India fellowship

May 28 – EIP1559 implementation call

May 29 – core devs call

May 29-June 16 – SOSHackathon

June 16 – deadline to apply for Gitcoin’s Kernel incubator

[Post updated at night for accuracy.]

[eventuallyfall-blog]

Hiii! Can I request something? If so... Prompt: pippa x reader. Pippa offers a back massage to her tired friend the reader, but then regrets it once she sees the close proximity it puts her next to the love of her life. So now she's almost shaking especially when she grazes her bare skin by her neck. You choose how it goes, but please let it have a romantic and fluffy arc. Thank you!

this took me some time to get to! hope you like it i was stressing over it but it’s really cute imoalso is it a drabble if it’s 1.7k words???no warnings apply i think

Here was the thing about Phillipa and you: the two of you wentback to Julliard when you two had been put together as roommates.She’d been in the acting program and you’d been involved a theatertech program. She’d gone on to get involved in something calledNatasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 and you yourself startedpicking up odd jobs in various theater companies that needed help toput on a show. Occasionally you helped on her project, but for themost part you were freelance and not contracted out to anyone. Andhere was the thing about being involved in the behind the scenes workas a stage technician: it was exhausting.

You knew it would be exhausting yet you loved that about the job because it meant that not a single moment went to waste. Doublechecking lighting rigs, running around the stage to make sure thateverything was in its place… all it was pretty tiring. So it wasno wonder that you’d eventually developed a crick in your neck andyour back felt like you’d dropped a thousand pound weight on it. “Ithink my back is broken,” you complained to Pippa. The one thingthat hadn’t changed from Julliard to now was the fact you were stillroommates. The two of you just got along in way you never thoughtpossible. “I’m pretty sure I’m dying. Make sure my browser historyis cleared.”

She laughed, that same twinkling laugh you’d always loved. “I’mcertain you’re not going to die,” she said, plopping herself nextto you on the couch. She hesitated briefly, her eyes tracing alongyour neck and you didn’t eve notice. “If you like, I could give youa shoulder massage? I bet that’ll help.”

“A massage sounds great,” you said as you leaned back againsther with a bright grin, trying your best to ignore how nicely you fitagainst her. Phillipa was amazing with her hands, as it turned out.She didn’t need much further permission than that. “God, the stagemanager for this show was a real prick, too. He couldn’t make up hisdamn mind where he wanted one of the larger parts of the set – Idon’t even know how to describe it. And it weighs a good hundred andseventy-five pounds too. Carrying it was insane. And I would’ve hadit too – this stupid guy came along and stood in my way demanding Ilet him help me move it! So I dropped it on his foot by mistake causehe wouldn’t move no matter how much I yelled at him to get out of myway.”

You didn’t notice her eyes darting down to your bare arms or hercheeks turning red as she realized how close she was to you. What youdidn’t know was that Phillipa had been harboring feelings for yousince Julliard when she first entered the dorm and saw you assemblinga bookshelf on the floor of the dorm. And she’d been gone ever since.But she didn’t want to risk ruining the friendship. She’d rather haveyou as a friend than as nothing else. “Yeah,” she said, shiftingslightly as she thought about how you’d most likely be able to lifther up. “No wonder you’re so exhausted. You poor baby.”

You gave a soft sigh, nodding. “Very exhausted,” you saidsoftly.  Here’s what Phillipa didn’t know: you’d been crushing on herever since she entered the dorm room the two of you shared. Her kindeyes had drawn you in upon first sight. But you weren’t eager to makethings weird with a roommate situation the two of you would be stuckin and after the two of you became friends, you didn’t want to muckup that friendship. Her friendship meant the world to you. “Infact, all I can think is how some wine would be great.”

She nodded slightly, pushing you away to get up and rush over tothe fridge. “I just got this amazing shimmery wine,” she said,holding up a bottle with a red, shimmering liquid inside it beforeturning to grab two wine glasses. “I thought we could try ittogether.”

A shimmering wine with a  shimmering woman. “That soundswonderful,” you said, a slight hitch in your voice. “I mean, youcould tell me all about this musical you’re workshopping at thePublic. Rumor has it that whatever you’re working on is going to bebig.”

“Can’t really tell you much. But I can make sure you’re on thelist for previews come January 20,” she said with a light grin asshe handed you a glass full of the shimmering liquid and pouring aglass for herself. It was easy to get the guys who stood in your wayand treated you like some delicate little flower with her around. Shewas like pure sunshine.  “But when you see it, it’ll blow yourmind. It’s a bit wild, though. Most of this we’re literally learningthe same night Lin writes it.”

“That sounds exhausting,” you said as you took a swig of thewine with a slight grimace – it was much sweeter than you’d prefer.Then again, you thought as you looked at Pippa, maybe sweet wasn’t sobad. “Is that why you’ve been so busy lately? I feel I rarely seeyou anymore.”

“You’re one to talk,” she said with a slight smirk and youblushed – it was true. Between each of the demands of the plays andmusicals you’d gotten involved in, you were barely able to squeeze infifteen minutes to sleep. You were lucky the apartment the two of youchose was in the theater district – even if the main reason youwere barely home was to make rent. “I wish you’d let me pay more ofthe rent. I can handle it. It makes me sad to see you so overworked.”

You shook your head – Pippa was already generous enough when itcame to the rent. It was embarrassing enough that you barely couldcover your half. The idea of letting Phillipa pay more had came upseveral times over and the argument always ended the same way. “Ican’t let you do that. I mean, here you are massaging my shouldersand bringing me wine. I feel like I was taking advantage of you if Ilet you pay more. Maybe we should just get another roommate.”

You could never understand why Phillipa was so against the idea –the two of you clearly needed a third to cover the rent. What youdidn’t know is that Pippa didn’t like the idea of sharing yourdowntime with anyone else. “Absolutely not,” she said, farquicker than she’d like to. “We’ve talked about this already,”she started again, this time more gently. “I thought we agreed thatwe have… a sort of… chemistry and adding to the dynamic mightthrow the roommate flow off.”

Her cheeks turned bright pink at the mention of chemistry and yetyou barely noticed it. “It’s just that the rent keeps going up andwe never know if our next paycheck is going to come in. We work intheater for god’s sake,” you said in annoyance. “It’s not likewe’ve got steady television jobs going for us. Bringing in a roommatewho can be counted on to pay rent isn’t the worst idea in the world.I don’t know why you’re so against it! I’ll even have theroommate in my room if the idea of sharing a room is so awful toyou!”

“I’m not against sharing a room,” she said, getting up fromher spot on the couch and turning away from you. You hated when shedid that – it felt like she was doing it specifically to hidesomething big from you. “I mean, I’d rather share a room with youthen let some stranger be in your room where you could get hurt. It’sNew York City – I don’t want to share the place with someone wedidn’t know.”

Your cheeks heated up at the idea of sharing a room with Phillipa– you’d had nice dreams relating to that idea right there. “Well,with any luck, they’d be like us and we’d never see them anyway,”you said, standing up and setting your wine down. You realized yourtolerance must be lower than you remember – your head was alreadyspinning “We’re struggling, Pip. Having a roommate, even if it’stemporary until something pans out proper for us, will help. And thenmaybe I wouldn’t have to be riskin breaking my back carrying huge setpieces all over a stage!”

“It’s not that I want you to risk hurting yourself to make rent!Of course I don’t,” she said as she spun around her, her dark eyesthrowing you off guard – you couldn’t read them like you usuallycould. And she was so close, so much closer than you expected. Youtook a step back. “I just… I don’t… I don’t want to share,okay!”

“You’re being childish,” you said, reclaiming your ground anddrawing yourself up to your full height. “I mean, you share withme! What’s wrong with sharing with another person? What is the bigdifference between me and someone -”

You were cut off the minute her lips were on yours and your eyeswent wide. You thought the imaginations you had of kissing her wouldbe similar to reality but you realized very quickly you were wrong.You could taste the wine still left on her lips and traces of herlipstick. The shock wore of quickly as your own eyes fluttered closedand you reached up to cup her cheek, the other hand on her waist. Youquickly pulled her in closer. You weren’t certain if seconds,minutes, or hours had passed before the two of you broke apart. “Idon’t wanna share you,” she finally said softly.

“Sounds reasonable,” you said softly with a grin. “Though ifwe get a roommate, we can give them my old room and we could share aroom.”

Phillipa’s twinkling laugh was still every bit as beautiful –perhaps even more so on the other side. “I suppose we wouldn’t wantthe second bedroom to go to waste.”

[gamerszone2019-blog]

Phil Spencer Reflects On The Xbox One Reveal: "An Event That Was Very Much Focused On Xbox As A TV Platform"

New Post has been published on https://gamerszone.tn/phil-spencer-reflects-on-the-xbox-one-reveal-an-event-that-was-very-much-focused-on-xbox-as-a-tv-platform/

Phil Spencer Reflects On The Xbox One Reveal: "An Event That Was Very Much Focused On Xbox As A TV Platform"

At E3 2019, the current head of Xbox Phil Spencer spoke with GameSpot about the history of the Xbox One, the troubles the console faced at launch, and what’s in store for the future of next-gen. Though there’s a lot of anticipation for what’s to come with Xbox Scarlett, our discussion went back to the beginning of the Xbox One, Microsoft’s answer to Sony’s PlayStation 4. Back in 2013, online gameplay, connectivity, and the cloud was poised to see unprecedented growth in the next-gen–and Microsoft wanted to be at the forefront of the new console experience. However, the platform maker initially struggled to convey what the new console stood for, and it’s something that the current head of Xbox remembers all too well.

“If you go back and watch [the reveal], what you’ll see is an event that was very much focused on Xbox as a TV platform,” Spencer said. “We showed things like The Price is Right, for instance. In fact, I think the first piece of content that we ever showed on an Xbox One was a TV show.”

In May 2013, Microsoft revealed the Xbox One, a console advertised as the new nexus for home entertainment. Before the reveal, Microsoft and their new product–codenamed Durango–already faced something of an uphill battle. In the months before, the backlash from comments from former Microsoft executive Adam Orth, who downplayed concerns from consumers about the next console potentially being online only, was still fresh on the minds of many. So going in, Microsoft had some ground to cover. Taking place in Redmond, Washington at the Microsoft campus, this event–also possessing a codename, Newcastle–was meant to be the console’s big moment. But as history shows, things didn’t work out as intended. Spencer went on to describe the mood following the event, and how employees weren’t satisfied with what they saw.

“If you were an employee in team Xbox, then you were [a part of a team of] thousands of people that work on the Xbox. But there’s like a handful of people that stand in front of cameras, on the stage and talk about things. There can be a divide between, ‘Why is that person saying that? That’s not the product I’m building,’ or, ‘Why are we doing that? That’s not what I think we should be doing.'”

As the console’s first showing, it was a heavily promoted event. In the opening montage, developers and gaming personalities alike talked about the potential of the new platform, and even film directors like Steven Spielberg and J.J. Abrams heaped praise on the new hardware. The key takeaway from the reveal event was that the Xbox One was presented as more than just a videogame console, but rather, a new home entertainment experience. This sentiment was made abundantly clear during the first half of the event, which treated viewers to a deluge of films and TV shows viewable on the Xbox One. The first games to make an appearance at the showing would be titles from EA Sports, well after 30 minutes had passed. Spencer stressed in our interview that the reveal missed the mark in properly showing what the console was all about.

The feedback we got from the employees, maybe said and unsaid, was, ‘We’ve been working really hard for two years to ship this product. You stand on stage at this event and blow up all the good work that we’ve done by talking about the product in a way that’s not really matching what the soul of an Xbox console is about and what our customers are looking for from us.’

At the time, he was the VP of Microsoft Studios, which entailed overseeing upcoming platform-exclusive games. Once he took the stage at the event, it marked the beginning of the games part of the presentation. During his talk, the event showcased upcoming games like Forza Motorsport 5, Call of Duty: Ghosts, Halo 5, and Remedy’s Quantum Break–which also had a focus on the TV angle. Though Spencer understood the intention of showcasing the new Xbox as a home entertainment console, he expressed that it only led to confusion and frustration from the general audience. This sentiment was evident when he and other executives at Xbox observed the reactions from consumers and their employees.

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“The feedback we got from the employees, maybe said and unsaid, was, ‘We’ve been working really hard for two years to ship this product. You stand on stage at this event and blow up all the good work that we’ve done by talking about the product in a way that’s not really matching what the soul of an Xbox console is about and what our customers are looking for from us,'” Spencer said while describing the frustration from employees. “I think the team just gets disappointed because they feel let down by the leadership team and I’d say that’s the feeling I heard the most from the team. I had people come up emotional, like they’re reading the forums and people are accusing us of being dishonest with them or having bad intent with why we were building the product that we were, and if you’re a member of the team, you don’t necessarily see across everything that’s going on.”

The reactions from the reveal event prompted management to pivot away from the home entertainment angle and focus on games for E3 2013. The game that opened the show was Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain. Don Mattrick, Microsoft’s former president of Interactive Entertainment Business, would even state that E3 2013 was “all about the games.” Throughout its first year, the Xbox One struggled with its messaging, in particular to the concept of always-online functionality. In the following year, Phil Spencer was promoted to the head of Xbox, which marked the beginning of some significant changes for the platform. This included the controversial decision to drop Kinect from the console, thereby selling the Xbox One at a lower price.

More Exclusive Phil Spencer Coverage

Throughout our interviews, the head of Xbox had more to say about several topics in the current world of gaming. In addition to talking about the present state of cloud gaming and the so-called console war, Spencer also detailed what the future holds for next-gen consoles and the Xbox brand. Check out all our coverage in the stories linked below.

Source : Gamesport

[jurgenmeister-blog]

El Matador (Chapter 51)

Sergio's POV: Frank Ocean's Self Control playing in the background. Hearts pounding, breathing heavy, pure ecstasy. That's what it's like when Alexia and I are together and we make love. Impossible to imitate and unlike any other. Its sensual and seductive. It's hot and active. When I'm inside her it's like I'm someone else, something else. It's just us in the world and the only sounds are our pleasure. She takes me to a higher place, a place I've never been. "Fuck Alexia, this- unreal." I stumbled through my words as Alexia sat herself on my lap, aggressively grabbing my face and forcing her lips to mine. My hands struggled against the restraints she had managed to get me in. Only a few hours earlier we had been enjoying a low key day in the park as an early birthday celebration for me. She had found a secluded spot in Casa de Campo park and set up a small picnic for us. Sure we couldn't show any PDA, but it was nice to just have her with me enjoying a normal date, our first actually. She had picked me up from my house, not telling me what she had planned, which I guess in its own way was revenge for all the times I had done it to her. It was a simple, late lunch Alexia had organized for us and I was touched by the gesture. Some of the girls I had been with had always put the pressure on me to figure everything out so It was always nice when she took the lead. She kept mentioning something about a surprise while we were enjoying our lazy lunch, both of us hidden behind sunglasses and baseball hats. I couldn't help but smile as I watched her talk about her team and all the friends she was making. It was really nice to hear because it was something Xabi was worried about when she transferred. "So Madrid was a good move for you then huh, babe?" I smiled, taking a bite of a sandwich. Alexia giggled a little, the light through the trees catching her just right, making her eyes sparkle. "I'd say it was one of the best moves." She winked. "I ended up getting a pretty handsome guy out of it too." Alexia added, before sipping her water. I feigned embarrassment, placing a hand on my chest and scoffing, "I'm flattered." I spoke and she laughed a little, shoving my shoulder. *** "And how do you feel about that?" The therapist asked while I was still lost in thought. "Huh? Sorry I didn't hear that." I muttered in a soft voice, looking back up at her. "The hesitancy you still have with Alexia. It's affecting your relationship, isn't it? How do you feel about that?" My therapist questioned. I rubbed my eyes a little tiredly and yawned before answering. "Yeah I guess." I mumbled. "Mr. Ramos, you seem rather apathetic today, this only helps if you want it to. Just showing up won't get you a passing grade here." She warned me. "I know," I groaned, "it's just hard, trusting again. I love her, but that scares me so when I feel that way, I try to isolate myself and push her away. I don't want to get hurt again." I spoke, with more emotion and attention this time. She sat back and nodded, "uh huh, and have you tried reminding yourself she is not your past girlfriends?" She asked. I nodded a little, "I have, but I don't stick with it enough and she's noticed it." I responded honestly. "Mhm, and the intimate aspect of your relationship, has that changed since you began pushing Alexia away?" She asked, shifting slightly in her chair, eyeing the marks on my neck that had started to fade. "A little, well, maybe more than a little." I said, I was never shy about that, especially with my therapist. How could I be? I would only be cheating myself if I wasn't. "How so?" She posed the question as I reached for the glass of water on the table in front of me. "It's certainly less frequent than it used to be, and I'm not sure if she's as into it anymore." I shrugged, setting the glass on the table. *** Alexia's hands matted themselves into my hair, creating nothing but a mess of my brown locks. "Only the best for my birthday boy." Alexia smirked and held my face. "Just you wait." She winked and got off my lap. "Baby come back." I whined, pulling at the restraints that held my hands in place. Her hips swayed as she strode away from me and I couldn't take my eyes off her ass in those tight jeans. I don't know where Alexia had gotten this idea to spice up our sex life and give me a memorable early birthday present, but whatever she did, she can go back any time. Alexia looked over her shoulder mischievously as her hands moved to the hem of her shirt. My eyes widened at first but soon shifted to a hungry gaze. I licked my lips in anticipation as Alexia turned to face me, removing her shirt slowly in the process before tossing it to the bed side. She returned to my lap, her hands moving to the back of my head as she pressed me to her chest. I couldn't help myself as I kissed and nibbled at every spot I could. Alexia let out an echoing moan, unlike any other I had heard from her. Slowly at first she began to grind against me as she moved my head to the dip between her breasts. There's no way she came up with this on her own, her research methods must've been the reason the browser history on my laptop was cleared. "Fuck." I mumbled against her chest and she pressed a little deeper into my groin. Gently at first, I gripped her bra with my teeth before tugging at it. Looking up pleadingly at my beauty she smirked and pushed my head away. Despite all the teasing and the waiting, this was the best lap dance of my life. "You need to have some patience and take things..." she paused, resting her hands on the back of the chair for support, grinding deeper against me at frustrating pace "slowly." She finished before ruffling my hair and getting off my lap. *** "Mr. Ramos? Are you with me? Or should we just stop today's session?" My therapist startled me out of my thoughts, forcing my eyes to move from the window to her less than pleased face. "Huh? S-sorry I did it again didn't I?" I rubbed my face and shifted my position in my seat to get more comfortable. "Where are you going? When your mind wanders like that." My therapist questioned, having found a new topic thankfully. "Uh, like today or in general?" I scratched my neck uncomfortably. "Today, and judging by your body language you don't want to share too many details." She gave me a small smile. "Just the last time Alexia and I were intimate together. It was a few days ago, an early birthday present she said since she had a lot of work related things to do today." I blushed a little as I admitted this to her. "That's right, it's your birthday, happy birthday Mr. Ramos." My therapist smiled wider this time. "Thanks." I mumbled, hoping she wouldn't ask more about what had happened. "So this last time, what was it like, compared to recently?" She, much to my dismay, inquired. "It was, it was different, Alexia changed things up, we tried a few new things..." I shrugged, rubbing my slightly bruised wrists before she motioned for me to continue. "Well, it was better, if that's what you're asking; we were both really into it." I added. "Mr. Ramos, I think the problem here is, now that sex is a very regular occurrence for you two, it's easy to fall into a routine, regardless of whether you're mentally into it at all. I would suggest working on making sure your head is in the right place for those intimate moments and if it isn't, then maybe it isn't the right time to be intimate. While you may have less, moments, with Alexia, they will be better." My therapist responded. *** I watched Alexia hungrily from my seat, wishing for nothing more than to take her right there, hard. She turned away from me again and reached a hand behind her back. Quickly she unclasped her bra, then painstakingly slow, she slid the straps off her arms before letting the silky material fall to the floor. "Just untie me already Ali, please, it's my birthday." I groaned, shoving my crotch forward in the chair in an attempt to both relieve the strain my hard cock was experiencing and hopefully entice my girlfriend. "Baby, your birthday isn't for another 5 days. I should just make you wait." Alexia teased. Her confidence was unbelievable at this point and I couldn't wait to see where she would take this next. Seductively she took a seat in my lap again, resting her arms on my shoulders. Gently she began to grind against me again. Glancing down at our jeans I let out a whimper and bit my lip. "Aww is my baby uncomfortable?" Alexia asked in a teasing tone, grabbing at my hair, pulling me to look at her. I nodded quickly, "mhm, your baby needs some relief." I responded. Alexia flashed a wicked smile before gripping my face and kissing me roughly again, my tongue immediately forcing itself into her mouth. The whites of my knuckles were clearly visible as I clenched my fists in frustration. There was bound to be marks on my wrists after this little escapade. By now I was painfully hard and could feel myself throb with every little motion Alexia made. She was a wild kisser when she got like this and I loved it. Her tongue was aggressively battling with mine as our mouths molded into one. Alexia slowly pulled away, her hands still holding my face and neck as we struggled to catch our breaths. Her lips were red and slightly swollen as she focused on unbuttoning my shirt. "Let me so this muscles." She smirked as she finished opening it. Without waiting for any indication from me, Alexia began to slowly, way too slowly, kiss down my neck. I whimpered and thrusted against her hoping for a little satisfaction. Much to my surprised, her hands gently trailed down to my jeans. Still kissing my neck and collarbones, Alexia undid my pants. "You like that baby?" She smiled and rubbed me through my boxer briefs. I nodded quickly and let out a sigh of relief. Alexia leaned down, kissing and delicately sucking on my neck. My mouth feel agape as I lost myself in all the pleasure and attention. Soon she dipped her hand into my boxers and gripped me. I could feel her leaving marks on my neck and it drove me wild. Having her in control, completely in control, was new but if this is what she could do to me then I wanted it a lot more. "How do you want it?" Alexia whispered seductively against my ear before nibbling at my earlobe, her free hand running through my hair. "My god," I gulped heavily. "Any way you want it." I managed to get out. Alexia leaned back and bit her lip, giving me a smirk. "I was hoping you'd say that." She softly giggled, getting off my lap and stripping off her jeans. Forgetting about the restraints, I tugged at them and growled. "Do you wanna be set free?" She asked me, pulling my jeans down to the floor. "More than anything." I said without hesitation. "You will, but not yet." She smiled and pulled my boxers down as well, taking me into her mouth without missing a beat. "Fuck Alexia good god." I moaned, wanting nothing more than to grab her head and throat fuck her. She pulled away and looked up at me innocently. "What do you want Sergio?" She asked, staring at me intently. "Choke on me." I answered, my eyes completely dark with lust. Without an answer she leaned forward and took me as deep as she could. I lifted my hips slightly to force myself in more. I felt Alexia gag on me as I did so. "Breath through your nose, don't you dare take it out." I commanded in a growl, trying in some way to take a little control. Alexia gave me those innocent eyes before bobbing her head along my shaft, sending waves of pleasure through my body. I leaned my head back, "best early birthday present ever." I breathed out. Alexia had pulled away from my stiff cock, causing me to look back down at her. She had moved over to one of the restraints and was untying it. "You're allowed to touch, but you still must do what I say." She said, focusing on freeing my hands. "I'm so close to cumming I'll do whatever you want." I answered, rubbing my wrists slightly to get the feeling back and moving to get up. Alexia placed her hand on my chest and gently pushed me back. "No, sit back down." She said softly handing me a condom after I took a seat. Slowly she slid down her panties, stepping out of them and into my lap. I fumbled with the wrapper and tossed it to the side after pulling out the condom. Alexia lined herself up with me and gently took all of me. I bit my lip and watched, the relief of pleasure washing over me. She grabbed my hands and placed them on her waist. "I want your hands and lips all over me, I'll do the rest." She whispered, pulling me in for a deep, sensual kiss. I did as I was told, my hands running up her sides to her shoulders before I softly scraped my nails down her back. All the while, Alexia gently took the lead, riding me. My lips trailed along her neck and collarbones as her hands moved to my head, directing me and pulling gently at my hair. This had to be one of the most surreal, sensual encounters I had had with Alexia to date. Candles all around, soft music, and our breaths. Slowly leaving marks on each other as we took our time together. We were lost in each other, who knows how long we were in her room that night. The kisses going from firm, to gentle, to rough and then slow. Like I said, it's unlike any other when we're together. Certainly that was a sign that I didn't need to be so guarded. I could learn to trust, in these deep, intimate moments and move forward with Alexia by my side.

[andburning]

The Exhaustive Train of Queer Decision Making

I remember watching Night of the Living Dead for the first time in my mid twenties and thinking to myself that I empathised deeply with those terrified people, trapped in a farmhouse late at night, surrounded by a horde of ghoulish creatures, shambling around looking every bit like normal people at first glance . I thought to myself — this is what it feels like to be at odds with society. This is how it feels when you’re the ones who don’t fit in. It feels like being locked in a small house, surrounded by a mob of ghouls, hungry for your flesh. It is difficult to express sometimes how it feels to have such a core part of your being be regarded as outside of what is ’normal’.  A lot of my experience of being queer, gender non conforming, or a faggot in general, is just being tired. Tired all the time. Everything is exhausting. Unimaginably so. I imagine that the experiences of all oppressed peoples align on this at some point. I used to be angry, and hold my ground, and speak my mind. But more and more these days, it feels like a war of attrition. It feels like a siege. I feel like those people trapped in that farm house in Night of the Living Dead, hounded by ordinary looking people, pounding at the doors and clawing at the windows. Once I had the desire to fight but now, I am older, and have lost the belly fire, and I’m just so, deeply, deeply tired.

Small things become huge ordeals when you do not conform. Things that for many people are utterly inconsequential for me have associated mental risk-assessments. Just a simple thing as mentioning a partner in passing becomes a small puzzle to navigate. Which word should I use? Should I use ‘partner’ in order to obfuscate my meaning, or should I just bulldoze the status quo and just say boyfriend? This again becomes even more calamitous if my current partner is also gender non-conforming and doesn’t want to be called a boyfriend or girlfriend because of the gender implications. I have learned to make these risk assessments very quickly. Who am I talking to? Is the conversation casual or formal? Who else is in the room? How likely am I to be grilled on my life experience? This is all the work that goes into the sentence: “I’m having dinner with my boyfriend tonight”.  Simple things. The way we sometimes frame ‘coming out’ is as a thing you do once, at sixteen, when you sit down with your mum and dad or parental guardian or whatever, and you admit that you’re a massive faggot and that you want to kiss boys instead of girls. Or vice versa. Or maybe you want to kiss both. Whatever it is, you have a sexuality (or gender identity) which is outside the heteronormative expectation.  It is, however, not as simple. It is sadly not something you can pluck up the courage for (what a brutal thing to expect young queer kids to go through by the way) perform once (and it is a performance) and be done with.  Coming out is something that must be done over and over and over again. It is something that happens whenever we meet new people. Whenever we start a new job. Whenever we join a new school. Whenever we take up a martial arts class, or a pottery class.  No matter how far in life we get, how comfortable we are — in any new experience, any new group, any new situation — until we have revealed that we are gay or queer or transgender or whatever — we are back ‘in the closet’; and it is as uncomfortable and lonely as it was when we were thirteen years old deleting our browser history on the family computer at one o’clock in the morning.  Isolation, and loneliness, and fear are part and parcel of being queer in the world we live in.  

And once again, every time we have to come out all over again, even if we want to, even if we are excited and proud to do so, we must make another internal risk assessment. Usually we will leave it a while before we admit to our sinful difference when starting a new job — scoping the territory, getting the lay of the land. We scope out who seems like a safe bet — “that person seems not too stern, they’re fairly young, they wear fashionable clothes, they seem like they’re probably not a bigot — not like that old grim looking man with the too tight necktie and the corduroy — he seems like a real fag basher”. I am being hyperbolic but also not quite. Sometimes it is often that black and white.

 In the workplace — or in school — these things matter but there are levels of protection.  There are rules in place that everyone needs to abide by. It’s unlikely that someone will just get up and sock me in the jaw in the middle of the office. Unlikely but it could still happen.

Coming out in public is an altogether different experience. The risk assessment process has to be completed quickly, and repeated, over and over, on a street by street basis.  It’s impossible to walk down the street side by side with my partner without constantly thinking about what everyone around me is thinking. Very small things, things we should take for granted, are calculated and considered. Holding hands, a peck on the cheek, hugging before they step onto the train, an arm around the waist.  It’s so deeply tiring to not be able to do these things without having to first scan the crowd around me and think about the consequences of my indiscretion. I have held many of my boyfriends’ hands in public and every time it felt like I was breaking some rule, engaging in something taboo — something filthy and sinful. It’s taken me a long time to realise that this is not my own personal moral failing but the moral failing of the society that ostracises and makes pariahs out of gays, lesbians, and transgender people. 

 The way queer people have been depicted in culture has been by and large a vision of Sodom and Gomorrah: fornicators, sexual deviants, something that needs to be cured, or wiped out, or punished. We are to be kept away from children, and the vulnerable. Growing up with this as a framework is hard work.  I remember feeling so utterly alone as a teenager, not knowing anyone who was like me, not knowing who I could talk to, not knowing what to do. I very clumsily came out quite early at school.  I remember ‘gay’ being thrown around as a pejorative in the same way I imagine a lot of people my age remember it. I was in a fairly unique position in my school in that I was exceptionally tall for my age and pretty much as open about being gay as a fourteen year old can be (in that I didn’t understand it at all but it was 2002 so we all knew who Graham Norton was).  Gay was something to be avoided. It meant you were lesser. It meant you weren’t a real boy. It meant you were a pansy, a girl, a sissy.  The truth is we were all of us working on the information we had at hand.  We all heard our family members subtly reinforcing this narrative at home whenever Dale Winton or Lilly Savage came on the television on Saturday Night.   All of us grew up in families that had lived through the AIDS crisis and the moral panics of the 60s and 70s. I heard stories about how my grandmother refused to visit her local hair salon for months after she found out her hairdresser was gay. I remember watching a television programme when I was a teenager. A gay character on screen kissed his partner. My grandfather, whom I loved dearly, said nothing and simply walked out of the room. It hurt me very deeply.

Both my grandparents are dead now and I never told them that I was gay.  I never felt I had the time, or the words. It never felt like the right place. I never felt like I had the right reason. It always felt narcissistic of me.  I remember when my grandmother was dying I visited her one last time in hospital and I regretted not talking about it then. I regretted it at the time but now, nearly ten years later I think I probably made the right decision. It was as my grandmother lay dying though that I came out to my mother. I was twenty-one. Something about the situation made me feel like I should be open finally about who I was.  I don’t regret not telling my grandparents I was gay — firstly because it would have caused extra tension and emotional difficulties which I already had enough of as a teenager to be perfectly honest, and secondly because it wouldn’t have made me feel much closer to them anyway.  What I do regret however is that it’s something that I even had to consider. I regret growing up in a world where that was something I had to keep secret. I regret growing up surrounded by people who made it very clear to me that they would be ashamed of me were I to reveal myself to be ‘one of those’.  I resent that I had to put up with that.  When I came out to my mother, both of us sat on my bed while everyone else was downstairs, she said something to me that glanced off my hardened emotional armour at the time, but that has since wormed its way inside me like an ancient piece of shrapnel in an old soldier — she said “I always knew”.  It meant nothing at the time. These were words I had come to expect.  The more I think about it, and I think more about it the older I get, I start to wonder to myself — if she always knew, why didn’t she help me? Why wasn’t she the emotional support society and the media and my school and my friends weren’t? It hurts now to think how much she left me to suffer alone in the darkness of my bedroom at night, thinking I was never going to feel the sort of love that everyone else got to. 

I still feel like those people trapped in the house, surrounded by zombies. Sometimes I worry that the further we progress towards liberation, the more precarious our situation. The height we climb is equal to the potential distance we could fall. In the last couple of years the struggle for queer liberation was focussed specifically on so-called ‘same sex marriage’ — the right for someone to marry a person of the same sex as themself.  It was a fight for me that felt like it had no particular weight.  Of course I feel I should be able to marry another person of my sex, should I choose to, and so should everyone else, but it felt like it didn’t address the real and tangible inequalities which add to a profile of persecution. A gay couple, married, perhaps even with children, will walk down the street making those same risk assessments as I do with my boyfriend, to whom I am not married. Very little has changed.  I still don’t feel safe. Every time I see a news story from the United States about the moves that administration is making towards curbing LGBTQ rights, when I see fascists being elected on ‘family values’ tickets in Brazil, or when I see opinion pieces in the Guardian claiming that giving trans people the right to claim their own identity is a moral dilemma here in Britain, I am reminded that we have so much to lose, and our victories are precarious and must be defended.  When the National Socialist party burned books in Germany in the 1930s, many of the books they burned contained over a decade worth of progressive research into sexuality and gender studies from the library of Dr. Magnus Hirschfeld and the archives of the Institute for Sexual Sciences in Berlin.  It is impossible to not remind myself of this, when my thinking gets complacent, when I think that what we have achieved can never be taken away. It is a terrifying thought, but it keeps me vigilant, and lights the fire within me to push harder always for the liberation of people like me. I think always to the future when we might live in a world where queer people can kiss in public, hold hands in public, and feel shame only for the tweeness of showing affection in public, not for who they are showing that affection to.  I don’t want the next generation to grow up feeling like those people trapped in a house, surrounded by ghouls, I want us to be able to grow up feeling comfortable with who we are, to be who we are without fear of reprisal.  I want to live in that world now.  There is still much work to do but I am no longer a scared and lonely little boy who can’t tell people who they are.  I want to know that there is a time, not long from now I hope, where we won’t have to worry about being who we are, and we won’t have to regret not having been honest and open about who we love.