#maybe not even then. unreliable maybes were given. if not monday then it might be wednesday

[lunarflare64]

Y'all ever miss food? And eating? We miss it. Not sure how long thats gonna last, our feeling-hunger cut-off happens very early on. Going back to eating normally when we can afford food again is gonna be rough

[songsoomin]

Let Me Down  Part 2 (A, S)

Synopsis: CollegeStudent!Mingi x CollegeStudent!Reader, Friend!Yunho. After you left Mingi due to his neglect of you, you’re both finding it tough to move on

Song inspiration: ‘Need You Now’ Lady A

Genre: Angst, smut and eventual fluff (but not yet)

Warnings: Drunk unprotected sex, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), mentions of using alcohol to cope with the pain, threat of sexual assault (by random character, of course not any of the boys), physical violence (towards same random character). 

Word count: 9K (sorry)

Posted: 27th June 2020

Part 1 Part 3

It was the third time you'd heard the gentle knock on your bedroom door and for the third time you ignored it.

"Y/N...." Jina's worried voice filtered through, "...please come out and eat something."

You buried your head further under the covers.

"You haven't eaten properly in days. Not since -"

"Jina...let her be. She just needs some time." Suzy interjected before Jina could mention him. Both your roomates had been tip-toeing around what happened three days ago. The day you finally broke up with Mingi. They'd both been waiting for you to see sense and dump your selfish, unreliable boyfriend of five years but hadn't forseen the fallout from that decision. Now they were both worried for you.

When they came home from their lectures that day to find you lying on your bed, red-eyed from crying all afternoon. They had thought that as you were the one who broke it off, you'd cry it out and then get over it - after all, it wasn't like you were the one who'd been dumped...you'd chosen to end it. They had got it very wrong, though, because you still loved Mingi, despite leaving him and you felt like your world had caved in on you. You left him because you couldn't stand knowing he didn't love you the same way anymore, knowing you just weren't that important to him. You had to leave because you knew the way he was treating you was wrong. It didn't mean you didn't love him anymore, though, and right now you were starting to question whether this pain you were feeling was worse than the hurt you felt while you were with him.

"You did the right thing, Y/N." Suzy said with confidence later that evening when you had finally given in to Jina's worrying and come out to pick at some toast. "You can't allow yourself to be taken for granted like that."

"I know it hurts now but you'll start to feel better soon and one day you'll find someone who isn't too stupid to see how lucky he is to have you." You almost rolled your eyes at the cliched line coming out of your best friend's mouth but you didn't want to offend her; you knew she was trying her best to cheer you up.  

"It might not be too bad, Y/N..." Jina added, "At least you don't have any shared classes with him and there isn't long left before graduation anyway. You'll never have to see him again after that."

The feeling you got when Jina spoke of never seeing Mingi again was like being punched in the gut. You felt sick so you ditched your toast and made an excuse, trudging back to your room to lay on your bed, willing this feeling to go away.

By Monday you had come to the realisation that you couldn't stay in your room forever so when Suzy - the 'mother' of your trio - came in to ask if you were going to return to your classes, you surprised her by already being awake. It was wholly unlike you to be up and dressed early but you hadn't been sleeping properly for the last week anyway.

As the weeks went by you found that you could return to life as normal for the most part; you went to classes, your part-time job, even a few social gatherings and you seemed almost normal again but Jina and Suzy could see it. You weren't ok. You did a good enough job of pretending in order to get through the day but you weren't quite the same anymore. You also knew this but the only way you knew to manage was to ignore the pain; you buried it as far down as you could until it was just a dull ache in the background, a constant reminder that he didn't love you.

                                                   ********

Mingi POV

"So she finally dumped your sorry arse?" Hongjoong asked once Mingi told him why he was slumped on the couch staring blankly at the TV screen. To be honest he hadn't paid any attention to what was on and now he looked at it properly it appeared to be some kind of gardening programme - certainly not what he would normally watch and what must've caused his friends such confusion when they came back to the dorm Mingi shared with Yunho and Hongjoong.

"You did have it coming, though..." Yeosang said matter-of-factly, earning a glare from Mingi but he continued undisturbed, "I mean, did you think she would put up with being neglected forever? You barely made any time for her, at all."

Mingi contemplated that and realised he had never thought about it. It would be a lie to say he was unaware that he prioritised his friends over you but he just assumed you were ok and would always be there.

"You ok, bro?" Yunho asked, jolting Mingi out of his thoughts suddenly. The tall blonde, as his best friend, was more worried about how Mingi felt than the others were.

"I'm fine." Mingi said trying to sound a lot more happy than he felt. "In fact, I'm great. I can do whatever I want now, spend as much time with you guys as I like without being nagged about it. Now I can enjoy our last months at college before we have to join the real world."

Yunho looked at him as if he was crazy and maybe he was but if he kept telling himself that this was a good thing for him then maybe he would start to believe it and get rid of this painful aching in his chest.

"You know, you really didn't deserve her." Yunho muttered as he walked away.

It had been about two months since Mingi had really seen you - not that he hadn't looked but he seemed to only catch a glimpse of you as you crossed the campus grass or disappeared into one of the lecture halls. He thought he'd at least see you in the cafeteria or eating lunch with your friends on the grass as the weather was so nice now but he never did - it was almost like you had completely disappeared from his life. He hadn't spoken to his friends about you at all - still stuck in his delusion that if he pretended to be happy without you, he would be - but eventually he asked Yunho, who was on the same course as you, if you were still attending lessons.

"Yeah, of course she is." Yunho answered, not thinking much of it as he was distracted with the choice of pizza in front of him at the lunch counter.

"Do you talk to her much? Is she ok?" Mingi attempted to seem nonchalant but the questions caught Yunho's attention now that he'd settled on his usual pepperoni and a diet coke to wash it down with.

"Why?" He asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Mingi kept pretending he was having a great time single, going out to clubs, drinking, flirting with girls, but Yunho had been his best friend since they were five years old and he wasn't swallowing that crap. It didn't escape his attention that Mingi was drinking too much and, as much as he flirted, never accepted any of the girls' advances.

"No reason. I just hardly ever see her around - I just wondered." Mingi looked away fast, not wanting Yunho to see just how much he wanted to hear anything about you.

"Uh-huh, sure." Yunho shook his head at Mingi, "Just go try to win her back or something. The others might not notice but I know this is tearing you apart."

"Hey! She dumped me! If she loved me so much she wouldn't have left." As his voice faltered on those last words, Mingi couldn't help but let slip how he really felt. There was no point hiding it, anyway. Yunho already knew.

"You're so stupid, Mingi." Yunho replied, sighing because what he also knew was that you looked like shit all the time because you weren't sleeping or eating properly. He knew you were just as unhappy but Mingi was still just as self-absorbed, only thinking about how hard this was on him when really he should just take some fucking responsibility for how he treated you and realise it was all his own fault.

                                                      ********

In truth you very much had been avoiding any place you knew Mingi would be; you knew his schedule and his habits so you simply made sure you took a different route if your classes ended around the same time. You always went off campus for lunch, as well, somewhere you knew Mingi wouldn't go. Jina and Suzy were really supportive, they knew that it was still hard for you to see him and would do anything to help you through it. As time wore on you actually found that not seeing Mingi helped a lot and slowly you were starting to feel better. Your best friends were also delighted to see you starting to eat better, taking it as a sign you were getting over him. It didn't always work, you were bound to see him occasionally as you were at the same college. When you did see him, though, he would be laughing with his friends, looking so carefree. Sometimes you would see him talking to girls, though, and that same dull ache that never really went away clawed its way back to the surface.

"We're going out tonight!" Suzy announced as she breezed into the living room of your shared dorm.

"Who is?" You asked, confused.

"We are. The three of us." She threw you a look that dared you to say 'no' and carried on so you wouldn't have time to protest. "Lucas invited us to a bar with his friends tonight so I've decided to take you out to have some fun."

"Fun?" You weren't sure about Suzy's idea of fun; it usually involved a lot of drinking and dancing and, more often than not, making fools of yourselves.

"Yes. Fun. That thing you never have anymore. It's about time you got back out there instead of moping around this place. You might even meet someone nice - Lucas has a lot of hot friends, you know." She added with a cheeky wink. "So get in your room and get ready now. I want a hot-looking Y/N in one hour. Jina, that goes for you too!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Jina mock-saluted and headed towards her room, laughing.

You weren't opposed to going out; maybe it would help but you didn't care about meeting anyone. You knew very well how good-looking Lucas's friends were and you used to think Johnny might have a thing for you but you weren't there yet.

The bar itself was really nice and the music wasn't too noisy so you could still have a conversation without having to shout. It had an 80's vibe with coloured neon tube-lights and music of the era but didn't overdo it, still being able to pass for a normal bar rather than a themed one. As soon as you were there, Suzy made a beeline for Lucas and virtually leapt into his arms, kissing him passionately; given their size difference he easily caught and lifted her up when she jumped, wrapping her legs around his middle. They were a really cute couple, you thought; him tall and blonde and Suzy smaller with dyed red-hair. You and Jina followed along, greeting him once she'd let him go and getting introduced to any of his friends that you didn't know already.  

You were actually having a pretty good time, surprisingly, Lucas's friends were fun and made you feel welcome. Some of them might have been a bit too eager to make you - and Jina - feel welcome and you suspected it was to do with what you were wearing and you knew you looked good. Your blue dress wasn't too revealing but it clung in the right places and emphasised your curves and you'd completed the look with a pair of high heels. You may not have been interested in catching anyone's eye but you still liked to look nice because it always made you feel more confident. Jina, however, was loving all the attention she was getting from the boys and was flirting shamelessly, making you laugh to yourself - something you hadn't done much of in months. An hour or so in the drink caught was making it's way through you and you decided to head to the bathroom but, as you wound your way through the crowd of people, you heard something that made you stop in your tracks. You knew that familiar, deep voice all too well and it cut through you like a knife.

You looked to where the voice came from and saw Mingi sitting with some blonde girl on one side of a booth with Seonghwa and a brunette on the other, looking very much like they were double-dating. Your heart twisted painfully as you watched the blonde girl very evidently flirting with him and taking every opportunity to stroke his arm or put her hand on his broad chest. As you stood there dumbstruck, Mingi looked around and you could see the shock cross his handsome face as he registered you standing there.

"Y/N." He called your name almost apologetically, like he'd been caught doing something but you weren't hanging around to find out what he had to say; you almost ran to the bathroom and flew into one of the stalls breathing hard. You sat there processing the situation - so what if he was on a date with some girl? He can do whatever he wants - he's a free man. It wasn't for you to care anymore, you said 'goodbye' to him. You can't afford to care now, you'd come so far trying to move on. Like this you reasoned yourself into a kind of calm and made your way back to your friends, taking a route in which you wouldn't walk past him again. It must have been a little obvious that you weren't quite ok as Johnny seemed to notice but then he had been paying you a fair bit of attention tonight.

"Are you ok? You look a little pale."

"Yeah, I'm fine..." you lied as best you could, "Just need another drink is all."

"Comin' right up!" Johnny smiled and ordered you another Purple Rain cocktail while you forced yourself to look happy and normal. You drank the drink pretty quickly and ordered another, hoping the alcohol might ease the ache in your chest that had now returned with a vengeance.

                                                     ********

Mingi POV

"Mingi....Mingi!"

"Oh.. uh.... what?"

"Dammit, Mingi, I've been talking to you for the last five minutes - why are you never with it anymore?" Hongjoong asked, exasperated with his roomate's behaviour.

Yeosang snorted, "We all know why he's never with it anymore."

"Shut up, Yeosang!" Mingi spat back at the smaller blonde man.

Hongjoong sighed and looked at Mingi with concern in his eyes, "Mingi, we're all worried about you. You don't sleep properly, you either mope around the dorm or you stay out partying all night long.....and we've all noticed how much you're drinking these days."

So what if he was? Mingi was tired of his friends' interfering. Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

"You know what you need?" Seonghwa added as he plopped down on to the couch next to Mingi, "You need a good fuck."

"Oh my God - that's your answer to everything, Hwa!" Hongjoong despaired, throwing his hands in the air at the oldest member of their friend group. "He needs to deal with his feelings, not hook up with random girls."

"No, it's exactly what he needs." Seonghwa turned his attention over to Mingi now, "Get back on the horse, bro; you haven't been with anyone since Y/N." The mere mention of your name caused Mingi's heart to clench and the pained look on his face didn't go unnoticed by his friends.

"Getting back out there and meeting girls is the best way to forget about her and move on." Except Mingi didn't want to forget about you.

"How on Earth would you know, Hwa?" Yeosang interrupted, laughing, "You've never had your heart broken. In fact, do you even have a heart to break?"

Yeosang laughed harder at the rude gesture Seonghwa threw his way as he replied, "You're just jealous I get laid so much more than you do, Sangie. It's the safest way - if you don't get attached, you can't get hurt."

"Hwa's right!" Mingi jumped up, surprising them all, "If that's what it takes to prove to you all that I'm fine and stop you nagging at me, I'll do it."

"Great! I'm seeing this new girl tonight so I'll ask her to bring a friend along for you." Seonghwa grabbed his phone and started texting, "Go get ready, Min."

A few hours later Mingi was seated in a booth next to some blonde girl he'd just met with Seonghwa and a brunutte opposite them. He had started to realise that Hwa was not right, after all. He didn't want to be here with this vapid girl that was meant to be his date and, to be honest, he'd already forgotten her name. The girls Seonghwa hung around with were all very pretty but he didn't look for much more than that - why would he when he never intended to get to know them? To him, the girls he dated were just for a fun night - maybe a few if he liked them enough - they never lasted long. Seonghwa was tall, dark haired and, arguably, the best looking of them all; his aura just seemed to attract girls without him even trying.

Mingi couldn't help but compare this girl to you; you were beautiful and intelligent. You could have fun together and proper conversations, you had a connection - this girl was so dull, just talking about celebrities and clothes...he really didn't know how Seonghwa could bear it just to get his dick sucked at the end of the night.

He really was trying his best to be friendly and polite but this stupid girl just kept pawing at him, laughing at anything he said as if it were the funniest thing she'd ever heard. He downed his third drink and ordered another just to try to get through this ordeal.

As he was getting through the fourth drink, Mingi felt eyes on him, turning around he saw you standing there looking back at him and the girl. You looked so beautiful to him, in the blue dress he used to love on you the most but he couldn't look away from your face and the look of utter hurt in your eyes.

"Y/N..." He called out, throwing the girl's arm off himself, but to no avail. You darted towards the bathroom and away from him.

"Is that girl someone you know?" The blonde asked him with almost a jealous tone to her voice.

"Just...stop talking." He ground out, annoyed at her very presence, and stalked off towards the bar, downing his drink as he went.

Once there Mingi ordered another drink and two shots; he didn't want to feel what he was feeling and alcohol had become the only thing that came close to helping. Why did he feel like he'd been caught cheating on you? It was you who left him! He laughed bitterly at himself for ever thinking that if he just pretended to be fine, he eventually would be. It had been months now and the hole in his heart was still just as raw.  

"Min..." Seonghwa appeared beside him, "What are you doing?"

"Hwa, I know you're trying to help but I can't do this." Mingi said, downing the shots one after the other as  Seonghwa stood there, eyebrows raised in concern.

"You're going to have to move on at some point, Min... It looks like Y/N is." Seonghwa said gently, tilting his head in your direction.

Mingi looked to where  his friend nodded and felt anger rise up in his chest as he watched you take a purple cocktail from Johnny, laughing at something he'd just said. He couldn't stand this; just the thought of Johnny - anyone - taking his place at your side, holding you, kissing you, touching you..... No! He wouldn't even think of it. He couldn't bear to. Mingi downed his last drink and marched towards the door, leaving his friend just staring after him.

Next morning, Mingi woke up feeling sick, not knowing if it were more from the alcohol or the memories of seeing you looking happy and carefree with Johnny. As far as he could see, you didn't look close enough to be an item but who knows? The thought of you with another man still filled him with anger but you weren't his anymore. He had to get used to that.

He texted Seonghwa to apologise for running out so suddenly.

It's ok, bro, I understand why you didn't want to be there anymore. Came the reply, followed quickly by,

Oh.. and don't worry, I made sure your date had a good time ; )

Mingi laughed to himself, thankful for Hwa's easygoing nature.

                                                     ********

You sat with Suzy and Lucas at the breakfast table next morning, Lucas had stayed over and made pancakes for the three of you and you sat eating and chatting about the night before.

"Jina really went home with Jaehyun?" You asked wide-eyed. You'd thought she was sleeping in and that was why you hadn't seen her yet this morning.

"Yeah," Suzy giggled, "...She's had her eye on him for some time; I guess she must've felt brave enough to make a move last night."

"Wow, good for her, I guess." You said forking another bit of maple syrup covered pancake into your mouth.

"Jaehyun's a nice guy," Lucas added, "he'll be good to her."

You sat quietly as Suzy and her boyfriend talked together about the events of last night. The ever-present dull ache throbbed as your mind replayed the image of Mingi with the blonde girl's hands all over him. He wasn't yours anymore, you told yourself, he could see anyone he wanted to.

Your only concern now had to be trying to get through your exams and graduate and you couldn't afford to be distracted by anything else if you were going to do that. You finished up your pancake and cleared your plate into the sink, thanking Lucas for making it as you went.

"What are your plans today, Y/N?" Suzy asked.

"Oh, I think I'll just study; I'm still a little behind on my coursework and I'll have no hope of graduating if I don't get this done."

"Ok...work hard!" Suzy chirped as you wandered back into your bedroom.

You'd done it. You'd got through your exams and were graduating. It had been really hard and you'd had to keep forcing yourself to concentrate on your studies because Mingi was never far from your thoughts. It was easier being without him now than it was in those first months but the dull ache never entirely went away - always reminding you of it's presence if ever you caught a glimpse of him around campus. Jina and Suzy had done their best to pull you through it but you found yourself having to accept the reality that the pain would now always be a part of you. You ached for Mingi, to be back in his arms, but you knew he wasn't right for you. He didn't feel the same.

The actual day of graduation passed by in a blur - the calling of names and collecting of certificates had been terribly boring but you'd daydreamed your way through most of it, having to be nudged by Jina when you missed your name being called. Your parents had come along and taken you out to dinner - just like everyone else's parents so the restaurants were packed. Despite trying your best not to think about Mingi over the last few months you had decided to talk to Yunho about him briefly during class.

"Yunho?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you could do me a big favour?" You ventured nervously. You were close to Yunho from sharing classes with him all throughout college but he was still Mingi's best friend so you weren't sure how this would go down with him.

"Uhh...sure. Well...depends what it is." He laughed, flashing his blindingly bright smile at you. You'd always thought he was kind of cute but now his dyed blonde hair started to grow out and his natural black peeked through he was even more good-looking.

"Could you try to find out where Mingi and his parents are planning to go for his graduation meal?" Yunho looked a little surprised so you tried to explain your request. "It's just that...I don't want to run into him because I know it will be awkward. Our parents will probably start to chat because they used to be friends when we were dating and I don't think I could deal with that."

A look of sympathy crossed Yunho's face and he reached out from his seat next to you and rubbed his had up and down your back in a reassuring manner. "Sure, Y/N. I'll do my best."

Yunho had come through so you were able to relax at dinner, knowing you wouldn't have to deal with the unwanted situation.

Although the dinner was nice and it was lovely to see your parents after a long time, you were more excited about the bigger celebration tomorrow; it was generally tradition for the graduates to go to out clubbing the day after (given that the parents wanted to celebrate on the day itself) but the next night you could really unwind and enjoy yourselves. You were a bit sad because the end of college meant your best friends would be moving on with their lives but you were trying to see it as an opportunity yourself - you felt like this city was your home so you wouldn't physically be moving but, metaphorically, you could move on from this last painful period of your life.

The next morning you saw your parents and wished them a good journey home; they had moved since you started college so they were further away than they used to be and didn't want to make the drive home late at night. They stayed in a hotel overnight and you met them for breakfast before seeing them off but once they were gone you started to get excited about the evening to come. You, Jina and Suzy had made reservations at a salon to have manicures and pedicures, and get your make up done; partly because you wanted a treat but also to spend the day being pampered with your two best friends before you wouldn't have them in your life so much anymore. You also went to get your hair done - nothing drastic, just a trim and professional blow dry - you wanted to look great tonight and you'd never felt you were any good at doing your own hair. A new dress and heels and you were ready.

The chosen club was the favourite one for the students to visit, it played the best music and didn't charge a fortune for drinks - best of all though, it had a 2-for-1 offer on cocktails and shots, knowing all the students would flock there for their post-graduation celebration. As you walked in you felt amazing, your dress was a black, sparkly material, fitted in all the right places and shorter than you normally went for. You matched it with strappy, black stilettos with a glitter heel and subtle silver jewellery. It wasn't just your look that made you feel amazing, you just felt better than you had in a long time; maybe it was optimism for a fresh start.

As the night wore on, the drinks kept flowing and you were well on your way to being drunk and having a great time with your own group of revellers. You, Jina and Suzy were there with Lucas and his usual friends but he'd also brought along some others from his course who you'd never met before. You'd normally be shy around new people and keep to yourself but the alcohol and excited atmosphere made you braver and you were all happily dancing together. There was one guy in particular who seemed to have taken a liking to you and was dancing very close, trying to grind on you; you were happy to dance with him but politely tried to keep a distance between you. After a while he was getting a bit too handsy so you excused yourself to go get a water from the bar. It was there that you spotted the one person you had hoped not to see and he was heading in your direction right now. As he approached you noticed he had cut his black hair slightly shorter than before and had a fringe. A lot of students chose to dye their hair bright colours but you loved Mingi's naturally black hair - with that and his beautiful dark eyes and plump pink lips, you'd always thought he looked stunning.  Just to make it harder for you he had worn a dark blue shirt with the first two buttons undone so you could see the thin silver chain he wore draped across his well defined collarbones and it made your heart beat a little faster.

"Y/N, can we talk?"

You looked up at Mingi, wishing all the feelings you had been trying to supress for the last few months weren't trying to claw their way to the surface.

"I don't think that's a good idea." You said, looking away from him, still waiting for your turn to get served.

"Oh, but dancing provocatively with your arse in some dude's crotch is a good idea to you?"

You snapped your head up and stared at him in shock. Was he really doing this?

"What has it got to do with you if I do, Mingi?" You were starting to get angry, he can't just decide to start caring now after taking you for granted for so long.

"Maybe I just don't like seeing some other guy with his hands all over my girlfriend." He said, raising his already naturally loud voice a little, making the few people in earshot look round curiously.  

"Except I'm not your girlfriend, am I?" You spat at him and the look of hurt that flashed over his features sent a pain through your heart - or was it really the fact that you weren't his that was hurting you?.

"Y/N...please." He looked like a hurt puppy and your resolve wavered - only for a moment, though, because you remembered the blonde at the bar and anger rose up in your chest again.

"You think can go out and date random girls with Seonghwa but get to tell me who I can and can't dance with?"

"What? That stupid girl from the bar? I just went on that date to stop Hwa bugging me about it and I left just after I saw you there. I never wanted her - I only want you!" The look Mingi gave you was so earnest you wanted to believe him but the truth was he had hurt you so much.

The bartender came then to take your order. You should've just asked for the water you came for but the dull ache you had come to live with was turning into a sharp, tearing pain again.

"Two shots of tequila, please." Mingi waited silently beside you while you got your drinks and paid. When you were done he grabbed your arm, trying to stop you from leaving.

"Y/N... Please give me another chance." He looked so broken but you couldn't go back to him, back to being neglected and ignored.

You downed both shots and put the glasses back on the bar. Steeling yourself against the pained look he was giving you, you turned and looked up into the face of the man you knew, deep down, you still loved but were still too angry at.

"No, Mingi. I can't."

You walked back to the dance floor, knowing full well what you were doing was petty, and started dancing with that same guy whose name you didn't even know. This time you did dance provocatively and you let him grind against you. You knew Mingi was watching you, you could see him looking over at you while he drank with his seven friends. It was a bad idea, you knew that but you wanted Mingi to know that he didn't own you. You were his once but he ruined it.

You were having a lot of fun but eventually you started to feel the alcohol catching up to you as your movements became less co-ordinated. It was pretty late anyway so you told Suzy and Jina you were calling it a night.

"Do you want us to come with you?" Jina asked but you knew they were still a long way off from being done.

"I'll be fine; there are still lots of people on the streets and I won't go through any secluded areas." You promised.

Hugs were exchanged and you stumbled you way through the mass of clubbers to get to the door. Outside you stopped a little way from the club and enjoyed the feeling of the cool night air on your hot skin.

"Hey." You turned in the direction of the male voice to find the guy you had been dancing with had followed you out of the club.

"Oh. Hi." You said uneasily, hoping he didn't want what you thought he might.

"So I thought we could go back to my place and have a little more fun, yeah?" He took a few steps closer to you with a look in his eyes that made you uncomfortable.

"I'd really rather go home alone, thank you." You said as confidently as you could despite feeling anxious, hoping he would accept your refusal and leave you alone.  

He closed the distance running his hand down your arm and closing his hand around your wrist. "You see...I don't really think it's fair for you to tease me all night like that and then not give me a little something." You swallowed nervously, looking around and trying to think of how to get out of this awful situation.

"Don't you agree?" He added a little menacingly, leaning in closer to you.

The male tightened his grip on your wrist and started to pull you in the direction of a nearby side street; it was dark with no one down there and panic started to rise up in your chest, causing it to tighten horribly.

If you were able to think rationally you would have screamed to alert the other people on the streets that something was wrong but the fear had gripped you and all you could manage was a futile attempt at breaking free of this man's hold. He wasn't huge but you were still small compared to him, in height and build and his grip was firm.

As he pulled you, stumbling because of your stilettos and the alcohol, into the side street you managed to find your voice and, as loudly as you could muster with the fear still constricting your throat, you tried to shout, "Let me go! I don't want this!"

The man didn't listen to you, he simply stopped some way down the dark street and pushed your back up against the wall, holding you in place.

"Get your hands off her NOW!" His voice was low and full of anger but it was so beautiful to you in this moment.

"Get lost. She's mine tonight." The man said not even looking in the direction of the intruder but still looking directly at you with a nasty smile on his face.

All of a sudden he was yanked back away from you; he still had one of his hands on your wrist and pulled you over as he flew back.

"Are you ok?" Mingi asked, scanning your face. His voice held none of the anger it had a moment ago as he spoke gently to you. You let Mingi pull you up and steady you on your feet, feeling just a slight pain in your knee as it had been grazed by the fall.

"What's your problem, dude? I'm just trying to have a little fun."

The anger flashed over Mingi's face again as he straightened up and turned to the man and before you knew it he punched him hard in the face, the man stumbling and falling to the ground. Mingi turned back to you and gently said, "Let's go." and you could see he was doing his very best to hold in his fury. It already made him angry to think of another man touching you but to do so without your consent - and to hurt you, as well - took him beyond angry.

"She's just a tease anyway. If she's gonna act like a whore, she'll get treated like one." The man angrily called out after your retreating backs but Mingi couldn't let that pass, he wanted this scum to be sorry he ever touched you. He let you go and strode back to the man who was still sitting on the pavement, he grabbed his collar roughly in his left hand and started raining punches down on him. You stumbled your way over the uneven paving stones to try to calm him before he did any real damage but Mingi was in a rage; the man now lying on the ground having his face pounded by both of Mingi's large fists as he straddled his body.

"Mingi, please!" You cried out, worried someone would see this. The man was scum and didn't deserve any better given what he would've done to you but you didn't want Mingi getting into trouble because of his temper.

"MINGI, STOP!" He finally stopped, breathing hard and looked down at the bloody man under him. He was nowhere near calm but he let you lead him away.

You walked mostly silent back to your dorm, holding Mingi's arm for support with just the occasional query from him as to how you felt and if you were hurt, to which you tried to reassure him that you were fine now and it was just a graze. At your dorm you invited Mingi inside, partly because you didn't want him going off still so angry and partly to clean him up - his knuckles were cut and bloody and, at some point, the man must've got at least one punch in as you could see a fresh cut on Mingi's lip.

You sat Mingi on the couch as you prepared some water, cotton wool and antiseptic spray to treat his wounds. As he sat there with his head in his hands you could see the amount of anger still bubbling inside him.

"Mingi, I'm ok. Really." You said gently, startling him as he hadn't heard your approach.

"I'm not." He said simply. "I wanted to kill that guy for what he was trying to do to you."

Not knowing what to say to that you simply took one of Mingi's big hands in yours and started to clean the blood off his knuckles before gently drying them and spraying a little antiseptic over the cut skin. You laughed lightly when he hissed at the sting of it.

"So you can take the pain of repeatedly punching a man in the face until your knuckles bleed but you can't deal with a little stinging?"

Mingi smiled but it didn't reach his eyes, "You've calmed me down a bit now. The anger overtook me so much back there, I guess I didn't feel the pain."

You didn't reply, just moved quietly on to his other hand, cleaning it as he sat on the couch with his eyes closed and his head laid back. You smiled to yourself when he fussed about the antiseptic again.

Mingi looked up when you gently started to dab at the cut on his lip with wet cotton wool. While you were concentrating on cleaning off the blood, you could see that Mingi was staring intently at your face. A couple of times you looked up at him from you position next to him - kneeling on the couch but sitting back on your feet - and each time your eyes met you could see something blazing in his beautiful, dark eyes. It was definitely affection but you didn't know if it was love; that was something you had been sure he didn't have for you anymore. You looked closer at Mingi, looked into those intense, dark eyes that you loved so much and thought that maybe he did still love you.

Although, you knew it was a bad idea, you slowly leaned up and gently kissed the corner of his lip where he was cut. "Thank you for saving me." you added softly.

Mingi looked at you for a few seconds before grabbing your face with his large hands and pulling you in for a kiss; asking for entry with his tongue as he licked across your bottom lip. You knew it was wrong but you gave in and melted into it, kissing him back eagerly. You'd never been able to let go of your feelings for Mingi, even though you'd tried to bury them and, in your still slightly drunken state you didn't have the strength to deny him.

Mingi placed his hands firmly around your waist and pulled you onto his lap so you were straddling him, your short, black dress riding further up so the only barrier between you and the growing bulge in his trousers was your delicate underwear. He left your lips and kissed along your jawline, moving to your neck, pulling a gasp from you as he sucked hard against your soft skin. You couldn't help yourself and started grinding your core against him, feeling the bulge grow harder still underneath you. Mingi grabbed a hold of your dress and pulled it over your head in one fluid motion, almost growling as he took in the sight of you in your matching black lace bra and brazillian panties.

"I've missed you so much, Y/N. You have no idea how much I want you right now." His rough voice was deeper than you'd ever heard it and it sent shivers down your spine, the excitement making your core clench instinctively and wetness start to pool. As you moaned his name, Mingi unclasped your bra and tossed it to the floor, immediately latching his mouth onto one of your hard nipples while his large hand caressed the other breast before pulling harshly at your delicate nub with his thumb and forefinger. You let out a loud moan and ground down harder against his clothed erection wanting to feel more friction on your heated core and Mingi, knowing what you wanted so well by now, lifted you slightly and slipped his hand under the waistband of your panties and entered your warm, wet hole with his long fingers, reaching deeper than you ever could yourself.

The only thing you could hear was your own moans of pleasure and the wet sound of Mingi's fingers fucking in and out of you harshly. Suddenly Mingi lifted you into his strong arms and carried you into your bedroom, while you kissed down his neck, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne. He laid you on the bed and slid your panties off you, groaning as he took in the sight of your bare, wet pussy. Mingi crawled between you legs, firmly grabbing one in each hand and spread them further apart. Slowly he placed wet kisses along your inner thighs but gradually something more animalistic came over him and he started to mark you, biting and sucking hard and making bruises start to appear almost instantly. He ran his mouth all the way up from your soft inner thighs to the delicate skin between your thighs and your aching pussy and, finally, pulling you closer to him roughly he marked his way over your hips. He was like an animal that had fought and won for his mate and you loved that he was now marking you as his own before he took you as his own, too.

Marking complete, Mingi dove between your legs and licked all the way up your smooth, wet folds. You moaned out loud in pleasure as he finally slipped his tongue between them and straight into your tight hole, lapping up your juices and moaning against you.

"You taste so sweet, Baby. You don't know how badly I've wanted this." The vibration of his deep voice quickly drove you to the edge and when Mingi moved his mouth up to suck hard on your swollen clit you thought you were going to explode right then. Mingi shoved two of his long fingers back inside your entrance, which was now soaking with both your own wetness and his saliva, curling them up to hit your sweet spot and you couldn't contain it any longer. Intense pleasure flooded over you as Mingi continued to suck and lick sloppily at your clit while pumping his long fingers into you at a maddening pace, forcing your release to continue on for longer and longer. As you finally started to come down from the high, your body shuddered at the overwhelming sensitivity and you had to gently push Mingi's head away from your abused clit.

"Did you enjoy that, Angel?" He growled out lowly, "I've missed having my tongue inside you so much."

"But I'll bet you've missed my tongue on your cock so much more." You teased, blinking up at him through your lashes. Mingi always loved when you looked innocent but said the dirtiest things. He quickly undressed, stripping everything off entirely and you felt a thrill of excitement as you took in the sight of his hard dick standing against his lower stomach, pre-cum glistening on the tip.

"Let me take care of you, Mingi." You purred as you took his hands and pulled him down to lay on your bed. You crawled between his legs and gave him a long, sultry look as you lowered your head and kissed his wet tip. Mingi groaned at the sight of his pre-cum staining your lips and grabbed the back of your head, pulling it down, desperate to feel those soft lips around his cock. You happily obliged, wrapping your wet lips around the head and licking at the sensitive spot just under the rim. You felt his dick twitch in response but pulled away, only to lick all the way up the underside and finish with a flick against the rim again.  

"Oh God...please!" Mingi was never good at being teased, always desperate to be inside you already so you gave him exactly what he wanted and, in one smooth motion, took his entire length in your mouth.

"Oh...fuck!" Mingi's cries of pleasure filled the air as you bobbed your head up and down, dragging your mouth almost all the way up to the tip only to slide right back down until he was hitting the back of your throat.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" The sounds of you gagging on his cock were the most beautiful to Mingi and you knew how much he loved it so you deep-throated him as best you could, which wasn't easy given how big he was. You pulled away for air when you felt him start to twitch more, knowing he was close and you crawled up to straddle him, rubbing your bare heat against his throbbing member.

"Mingi, I want you inside me." You whispered in his ear as you bit on his earlobe then moved down to bite and suck on his neck, leaving marks of your own.

He groaned in frustration, "Baby, I don't have any protection on me. I didn't expect this to happen."

You didn't have anything either, having not been with anyone since him but drunken desire took over you, drowning out the tiny sober voice in the back of your head which told you this was an incredibly stupid idea.

"Mingi! I need you. Please fuck me."

Being somewhat impaired himself, Mingi didn't have the willpower to resist, he flipped you over and held himself above you with one hand beside your head and the other stroking his hard dick. He positioned himself at your entrance and stroked his tip up and down your wet slit to lubricate himself before slowly sliding in to you. The feeling of sheer pleasure overwhelmed you as you felt his thick cock stretching your walls to accommodate it and you clenched around him instinctively.

"Shit...I forgot how tight you are." He breathed out as he pushed all the way in as far as he could.

"And I forgot... aaahhh...how big and thick you are...." you cried out as Mingi hit your G-spot perfectly. He had always been big - and perhaps it was just because you'd missed him being inside you so much - but right now he felt huge and you wondered how on Earth he was fitting in your tight little hole.

Mingi leaned down and kissed you deeply, never stopping his hard, deep thrusts. His soft lips moved down to your neck leaving wet kisses down your hot skin until he reached your collarbone and resumed marking you.

"God, I love your tight cunt." He growled out between kisses as he continued to thrust hard and fast. The feeling of Mingi's big, hard cock sliding in and out of your aching core was more than you could bear and the intensity of it overtook all your senses until you couldn't feel anything else but him.

"This sweet little cunt belongs to me." He said as he continued to fuck you roughly. "Tell me you haven't let anyone else touch you. Tell me you're still mine." Mingi's voice was a mix of possessive and desperate as he begged you for reassurance.

"Mingi..." you panted out as he continued to rock his hips against yours, "There was never anyone else but you."

"Tell me you're mine." He demanded, his deep, powerful voice forcing you into submission.

"I'm yours, Mingi. I'm all yours." A tiny part of you knew this was all a bad idea but it felt so right. Mingi being inside you made you feel complete and, for once, you couldn't feel that dull ache in your chest anymore.

Mingi could feel you clenching around him and, knowing you were getting close again, he reached down between your boddies and began to circle your still very sensitive clit while whispering praises to you.

"That's it, beautiful girl, cum for me again." He let out a deep groan as he felt your walls convulse around him and your warm, wetness release all over his thick cock.

Chasing his own high, Mingi lifted your legs to rest over his shoulders so he could reach deeper inside you and his thrusts got harder but sloppier as he came ever closer to orgasm.

"Baby, you feel like Heaven...I wanna fill you up so badly." He was so close now and you desperately wanted him do it.

"Mingi, cum for me. Fill me up. Make me yours, Mingi." It was all he needed to hear and with a couple more thrusts he released deep inside you, filling you up with his hot, thick cum.

Mingi remained inside you as you both breathed heavily, coming down from your highs, before pulling out and laying beside you on the bed. He pulled you into his arms and, as you were succumbing to sleep, you could hear him murmuring,

"You're mine, Angel. You'll always be mine."

                                                    ********

As you woke to the sun's rays filtering through your window, you had a mixture of thoughts running through your mind as the memories of last night came flooding back. Mingi was laying next to you, still with an arm wrapped around you and he roused as he felt you moving to sit up.

"Good morning, Baby."

You smiled at him but it didn't reach your eyes. You were so confused; what happened last night had felt so right but now you were entirely sober and could think about it clearly, you were scared. Mingi had hurt you before and it had taken so much to get over it that you were scared to let it happen again.

"Y/N, what's up?" He could see by your expression that something was wrong but didn't know where your thoughts were taking you.

"Mingi...What happened last night. It shouldn't have."

"What are you talking about?" He asked, confused.

"We can't be together. You hurt me before, I can't go back to that - I can't go through that again."

"Baby, you're mine." He said desperately, "You said you were mine." In his eyes you could see tears forming, shaking your resolve. You couldn't bear to see him like that so you looked down at your hands which were in your lap, playing with your fingers anxiously.

"I can't be yours anymore, Mingi. Last night...we were both drunk." You said it gently, willing him to understand.

"I may have been a little drunk but I know it wasn't a mistake. I love you, Y/N."

"I'm sorry, Mingi. Please...just go." The words sounded wrong in your ears but you were so scared of being hurt again.

"Don't do this to me again. I can't be without you, Baby." His deep voice sounded so desperate but you couldn't look at him, couldn't afford to let him change your mind.

"I'm so sorry." Despite the tears falling, the finality in your tone told him that you meant it. You felt the bed move as he got up and heard the rustle of his clothes as he picked them up and silently dressed. You held in your sobs until you had heard the front door close, knowing if he heard how broken you were he would come back. Once you were all alone you let all the pain debilitate you and sobbed into the pillow which smelled so much of the man you still loved.

                                                      ********

Mingi POV

Hongjoong and Yunho looked up as their other roomate walked in the door looking disheveled.

"Hey! Where did you go last night? You suddenly disappeared." The shorter of the two asked.

They watched as Mingi silently walked to the kitchen side and picked up the half-drunk bottle of bourbon sitting there. Unscrewing the cap and tossing it onto the side, he took a long swig. He hissed slightly as the alcohol stung the cut on his lip, causing some of the brown liquid to drip down onto his shirt.

As your ex-boyfriend walked towards his room, the bourbon bottle gripped tight in his hand, his two best friends really took in the state of him - cuts all over his knuckles, a cut on his lip which was starting to bruise.

"Mingi, what the hell happened to you?" Yunho called out, alarmed.

"Just....leave me alone."

[shingekicornwrites]

Agricultural Werewolves, pt 2

Fandom/Tags: Hero Academia, alternate universe/werewolves, mentions of past bullying, Counseling, Bakugou Katsuki Faces Consequences, modern fantasy, unreliable narrator, Katsuki is kind of an asshole please don’t take his commentary as my opinion or truth

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki/Anger Management Counseling, future Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou, future Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto

pt 1

It’s not that Izuku doesn’t remember Kacchan. He does. He remembers Kacchan really well, because Kacchan was his first friend and was super cool and everything he did was so much better than anything Izuku ever did no matter how hard he tried. It’s hard to forget someone like that. Especially since when he first moved, he talked about Kacchan all the time.

It’s just. He hasn’t so much as seen Kacchan since first grade. No letters. No texts after he finally got his own phone. He knows his mom still talks to Auntie, because Auntie was the one that told them about Kiyashi and got them in contact with the people here, got them their first home set up before Mom was given the hostel, but Kacchan has been…well, a non-entity in all the years since they packed up and left the city behind. He may as well have not existed outside faint memories.

He’s not even sure how to talk to him now.

Kacchan grew up pretty well. He’s bigger, still taller than Izuku is by a few inches. He still screams every word like no one will hear him otherwise. He’s still strong, and he’s got some muscle packed into his arms that shows he’s put in some serious work to stay in shape. Mom also told him some stuff, like how Kacchan has been at the top of his class for years and got accepted into a really nice school. Which matches up to all the memories just fine, Kacchan is still just as amazing as he was when they were little…

It only takes a few days for Izuku to kind of...want to wring his neck.

Like really bad.

Really bad.

“Kacchan, can you check on the chickens?” Izuku asks one morning, only a few days after Kacchan’s arrival. School doesn’t start until Monday and he’s spending most of his spare days at work with Gran, getting extra money. The return to after school hours is always a hit to his paycheck and he’s trying to savor every spare yen he can.

“No,” Kacchan replies. He stays seated at the table, nursing a cup of coffee and scowling.

Izuku sighs. That’s been the response he’s gotten every morning. He hasn’t told Mom yet, because she’s already so busy getting ready for the heavier tourist season and he doesn’t want to be some kid tattling, but Kacchan isn’t a customer so he really needs to help around the house. “Kacchan—“

“Stop calling me that, Deku.” Katsuki growls. “I’m not your errand boy and I’m not touching your chicken shit-covered eggs!”

He growls even more than Izuku remembers him doing.

When they were little, it meant it was time to bare his neck and stop talking. He remembers that much. He still has the urge to do it, to cower and make him stand down, but it’s...less than it was, before. It’s not a command. He doesn’t flinch like he used to.

If anything, there’s a flare of something in the back of his head telling him to growl back that he has to forcibly tamp down. That’s not normal for him.

“Okay then, no breakfast,” a new voice chimes in, right before Kacchan’s coffee vanishes out of his hand.

“Hitoshi, don’t—“ Izuku tries.

It’s too late. The coffee cup reappears across the room, in the hands of the other permanent boarder. Hitoshi comes into focus like smoke before he drains the cup all at once, which really is impressive since Izuku knows Kacchan takes his coffee blacker than tar, and slams it back down on the table with a wry grin.

“No. If he doesn’t do his chores he doesn’t get to eat,” Hitoshi taunts, before spinning to head for the back door. “I’ll get the eggs, and he can suck my dick if he wants an omelet.”

Izuku blanches. “Hitoshi!”

“Oi, you wanna die!?” Kacchan screams, knocking his chair over when he shoots up to possibly vault the table. Izuku hopes he isn’t going to. The table is an antique, he’s not sure it can take the strain.

“No, I want lazy assholes to do their share, “ Hitoshi sing-songs as he escapes the kitchen to the safety of the chicken houses out back. They can hear the clucking as the hens notice he’s coming.

Any day now the peace will break and they’ll fight. Izuku knows Hitoshi too well to think he’ll give up. He wishes he’d stop, but no matter how many times he tries to tell his kind-of-brother that Kacchan’s just rough around the edges and needs time to get used to things the more Hitoshi has to push his buttons.

Maybe he’d let it go if he wasn’t worried Kacchan would bring the hostel down on top of them just to get Hitoshi’s neck in his jaws.

________________________________________________________________

He’s filling grocery delivery boxes when he breaks. He has to ask somebody.

“Did you have trouble getting along with Yagi, after he grew up?”

Gran doesn’t move, when Izuku asks him this. He remains behind the counter of the store, perched on his stool and flipping through a booklet of tractor parts to fill out some customer’s mail order. He barely gives a signal that he heard Izuku at all. The only hint that he’s about to get an answer is Gran carefully putting his finger down on a row of information before his eyes grow unfocused from the page.  

“What’s this about?” Gran asks, in a tone of voice that anyone else might think means he barely cares. Izuku knows different. Gran cares a lot.

He’s just also kind of a dick about caring, so he makes sure no one can tell he does. That’s why he works Izuku to the bone every shift instead of admitting he’s the old man’s favorite employee. The crotchety bastard barely lets anyone work at his general store but Izuku’s been allowed to drive his truck for two years now. That in itself is a miracle.

“Um. We have a new long term boarder. He’s my old friend—have I told you about Kacchan?” Izuku pauses while throwing carrots into one of the boxes.

“Not me, but you told Toshi plenty.” Gran rolls his wrist, motioning for him to get on with it. “I’ve heard some secondhand bits.”

“Right. Uh,” Izuku flushes and gets back to filling. “He’s staying with us now. It...it’s been kind of bad? I don’t know how to talk to him. He just yells at me.”

It’s an understatement, because Kacchan can barely even stay in the same room as him. It hurts, because Izuku has been trying to be as nonthreatening as he can be to make him feel comfortable, but Kacchan just tells him to get the fuck out every time Mom isn’t around.

“Why’s he here?” Gran asks.

Izuku blinks. “Uh…”

Gran heaves a sigh and reaches for the tea he’s left cooling near the register. “Well he’s gotta be here for a reason, boy.”

He knows that. Kacchan has made it clear he doesn’t want to be there, so it’s not really his choice. His mom hasn’t talked much about it but she seems stressed; she’s had a pinched look when she hears Kacchan’s screaming. She’s been making phone calls to the therapist, too...it all comes together to form a picture, but he can’t be certain of what it is without asking questions he’s pretty sure no one wants him to ask.

“I’m not sure,” Izuku admits slowly. “It’s not my place to pry. Mom said it’s pretty serious, and he had to turn down a really nice school to come here, and he’s been so angry that I can’t even really ask—“

“That so?” Gran interrupts. His tone has shifted. He’s serious, now. He watches Izuku like a hawk from the counter and it takes a lot not to hunch his shoulders in shame as he nods.

“...is he growling a lot? Baring his teeth?” Gran asks.

Kacchan growls more than he speaks. He always makes sure his teeth are showing so that Izuku shuts up, so that Izuku leaves, so that he’s left alone to scream and kick things.

“...yeah. Every day,” he admits.

Gran rolls that over in his head, wiping his face with one hand and looking so much older than he already is.

“Shit,” he sighs. “Sounds like he’s a bite risk.”

Izuku’s hand twitches, at that. The scar tissue aches with an old memory he’s mostly forgotten.

“He can’t be,” Izuku mutters, more to himself than to Gran. “He’s always been so in control.”

Kacchan was the first wolf he ever knew. Kacchan taught him so much; how to eat, how to smell, how to deal with the weird way his brain had started to work; he owes a lot to Kacchan’s help when they were little. Kacchan had always had such perfect control of himself. Not like the mess Izuku was. Kacchan never made his family have to move.

Kacchan never had to uproot all their lives so that he could function. If anything, it proved Kacchan was a better wolf as a kid than Izuku was at fifteen.

“You and I both know that isn’t all there is to it.” Gran cuts off his thoughts, bringing him forcibly back to the present. Izuku rubs at his hand and frowns, anxiety bubbling in his stomach.

“It’s just—he already learned once, right?” he tries. “He should know better. He knows what happens. He knows how serious it is. He saw what happened to me, so—”

Gran silences him with a glare. “You can’t speak for him, kid.”

Izuku’s mouth snaps shut, and he slouches. He knows that. He can’t put words in anyone’s mouth.

He just...he really doesn’t want Kacchan to be a bite risk. That’s the kind of thing he could go to jail for. That’s not the kind of person Kacchan is.

Gran watches him, losing some of the sternness in his face, and beckons him forward. Izuku comes with only a mild hesitation toward the cane hanging from the countertop. Gran makes sure their eyes are level and he’s got all of Izuku’s attention before he speaks again, low and serious.

“Toshinori and I had some issues, but that’s because our personalities aren’t that great to each other. At the root of it, he’s afraid of me and I see him as a little snot and not a grown man. But we manage because at the very least, we respect each other,” Gran explains with a patience Izuku hasn’t seen in years. Not since he was a lot younger and deathly afraid of the man. “You’ve got a little snot of your own who’s gotta learn to respect other people. That’s not something you can fix.”

“I—I know he can do better, though—“ Izuku tries, an old admiration at the tip of his tongue that he wishes he could make people understand.

“Maybe he can. But it ain’t your job to get him there. Just stand your ground and don’t let him bulldoze you.”

Izuku breaks and looks at his feet. He doesn’t think he can do nothing. He can’t stand the thought of doing nothing.

“He was my friend. I want to help.”

Gran pats his shoulder with a gentleness that doesn’t match him at all, becoming the anchor keeping Izuku tethered to the present.

“Kid, if you really wanna help him then do exactly what I said. He’s not gonna get any better until he’s told ‘no’.”

Maybe so.

But Izuku, somewhere deep inside, is afraid to be the one who has to tell him.

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

D’Un Nouvel Oeil- Chapter Six

Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five

ORADOUR-SUR-GLANE, HAUTE-VIENNE, FRANCE JANUARY 1944

For nearly a year, at the beginning of her twenties, Dana Scully had lived in terror at the idea of becoming an orphan.

Her mother's illness had come on suddenly- on Monday, she'd been hale and healthy, single-handedly managing both the Cafe Pequod and the farm, and by Friday, she'd been too weak to write to her daughter in Paris. Scully had received a letter from her mother's neighbor, instead, summoning her home from medical school, and she'd come immediately to assess her condition. When it had become apparent that Maggie would require long-term care, she had sent letters to her brothers, who were living in America, and to her sister, who was living in Greece with a man she had met while traveling through Europe.

Bill had written that he couldn't possibly leave his naval posting, because he could not honestly tell his commander that no one else was available to care for his mother. As to her suggestion that he send Charlie, newly graduated from high school and with no definite plans for his future, absolutely not. What would be the point in paying for Charlie to travel all the way to France when Dana was there already, primed and equipped with more than enough medical training to nurse her mother far better than Charlie ever could?

"The family has indulged your ridiculous idea of being a doctor long enough," Bill had written, "but now, it's time for you to shoulder your share of the responsibility and make the same sacrifices that the rest of us have made." What, exactly, those sacrifices were, Bill had neglected to mention. She couldn't say how taking their youngest brother and running off to America, leaving the running of the family business to their mother, qualifies as a sacrifice, but she'd known Bill well enough to know that writing back would be useless.

Melissa had not even bothered with a response.

So Scully, with less than a year left until the completion of her medical degree, had returned to Paris just long enough to gather her belongings and withdraw from school. She had hired two local men, one to manage the cafe and one as a dishwasher, allowing the manager to rent the upstairs flat, and she had moved into the farmhouse with her mother.

Maggie's condition had been touch and go for awhile, and Scully had lived in daily fear of losing her, of being left essentially alone in the world. Her father had been gone for years, her siblings were so distant and unreliable, and for those first months Scully had floundered, trying to cope with overseeing the farm, the cafe, and her mother's care. The man she'd hired to manage the cafe had, at first, refused to take her seriously, making decisions without her input until finally, she'd threatened to replace him.

When Maggie's health had returned, Scully had briefly nurtured the hope of returning to school, of finishing her medical degree and finally becoming a doctor. With someone managing the cafe, and the farm employing enough hands that Maggie wouldn't have to do any of the physical labor, it didn't seem unreasonable that she might be able to leave long enough to complete the required classes. She could even come straight back to Oradour-sur-Glane when she'd finished and be a doctor there, so that she could help her mother, should she need it again.

But then had come the war.

When her dishwasher had been called up, Scully had been able to replace him relatively easily... but when the manager had left to go to war, a replacement hadn't been quite so readily available. Scully had taken it over, telling herself that it was only temporary, that the war would end soon, the men would come home, and she could resume her studies.

Instead, the Occupation had begun... and once it had, Scully had no longer felt safe leaving her mother alone. She had moved into the flat above the cafe, resigning herself to learning as much of her remaining studies as she could from whatever books she could find. When the replacement dishwasher had suddenly disappeared from town with no indication he'd be returning, Scully hadn't bothered hiring a new one. She'd received a letter from Melissa, saying that she was travelling further east, trying to find a place the war had not yet touched, and Scully hadn't even been able to bring herself to be angry.

By then, she'd learned: the only person in the world that she can really and truly count on is herself.

And now... now, Mulder wants her to trust him. To let him in. To let him help. And she wants to, she really does.

She's just not completely sure she remembers how.

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

"Do you think there's any way you can handle the morning milking yourself tomorrow, Maman? Scully asks Maggie, as they finish Saturday morning's work at the farm. Maggie raises her eyebrows at her daughter.

"You have somewhere you need to be?" Maggie asks, and for a moment, Scully worries her mother can see right through her.

"No," she says, "I'm just exhausted, that's all. I think I may just skip Mass and try and get a good night's sleep, for once." Maggie looks stern.

"I can have Paul do your share of the milking," she says, referring to one of her farm hands, "but I don't see why you need to miss Mass, as well." Scully sighs.

"Maman, I've been up until nearly three in the morning for the past three nights running," she says. "Between the work at the cafe, the work here, and the... other things I'm responsible for, I can't remember the last morning I woke up feeling the slightest bit rested." She's not lying about any of this, at least, and Maggie's face softens somewhat.

"You do far too much, Dana," her mother admonishes her. "I thought that maybe now, with Fox helping you, maybe you would be able to stop spreading yourself quite so thin." Scully thinks of Mulder, of the real reason she's planning on skipping Mass.

Spreading myself, indeed, she thinks, and instantly goes red. Her mother looks concerned.

"Darling, you're flushed," Maggie says. She puts a hand on her daughter's forehead. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, Maman," Scully insists, brushing her mother's hand aside. Her mother looks at her critically a moment longer, then shrugs and returns to her work.

"Perhaps a little extra sleep wouldn't be the worst thing for you," she admits. "I'll tell the priest you weren't feeling well." Scully smiles, relieved. Her stomach twinges with the tiniest bit of guilt- both her mother and the priest would be heartbroken if they knew her true plans for this evening- but she quells it immediately.

She's been alone for so long. Not lonely, of course. Never lonely... or so she's told herself, repeatedly, during long nights in her empty flat, the abundance of unoccupied space in her too-large bed seeming to mock her. She's always believed strongly that loneliness is a choice, that being content to be alone is a sign of strength, not weakness, and for a long time, she has been content... but now, a day that she doesn't see Mulder, doesn't speak to him, doesn't flush with warmth from head to toe at the way he smiles at her, seems to be a day that's somehow not complete.

It's not a level of dependence she's comfortable with... but whenever she tries to take a step back, Mulder takes another step forward, and she's finding it harder and harder to keep him at arm's length.

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

He's begun heading to the kitchen during the last hour of every evening, getting a head start on the dishwashing, cleaning, and food preparation that used to keep her downstairs well after closing. She continually tells him that he doesn't have to, that she can handle the work herself, that she can do it after he leaves, but he insists on continuing.

"My motives are purely selfish, Scully," he reassures her. "The less you have to do before bed, the later I can stay, right?"

"I suppose that's true," she agrees cautiously.

"So really, I'm doing it for myself," he says. "An hour washing dishes now means an extra hours with my hands on those-" he nods at her breasts- "later. Completely selfish." She swats at him with a dishrag on her way back to the dining room, but she's laughing.

She does that a lot more often, these days.

Tonight, as she's finishing tending to the evening's final customers, she feels as though her entire midriff is full of butterflies. It's not nerves, exactly- she knows he's not going to turn her down. No, this is purely excitement, anticipation for what she's almost certain is going to be something amazing. Mulder sets her on fire with the simplest and most chaste of touches; she can't wait to see what kind of sparks they throw off when he's finally given free rein.

When the last customer has been shepherded out into the cold January night, Scully returns to the kitchen and hangs up her apron. For a moment, she contents herself with merely watching Mulder as he finishes drying the evening's dishes, appreciating the firm, clean lines of his body, his long legs, his muscled forearms under the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. As he finishes, he catches her looking, and she smiles coyly at him.

"What? he asks. "What's that look for?"

"I spoke to my mother this morning," she says. "I arranged for a farm hand to help her with Sunday morning's chores again." Mulder sets the last clean mug on its shelf and turns to her.

"Oh?"

"Mm-hmm." She nods. "And I told her I've been tired... and not to expect me at mass tomorrow morning." She can't stop the playful smile that spreads over her face, and Mulder answers it readily.

"And what did you have planned?" he asks. She crosses the room, never breaking eye contact, and leans against his chest. She can feel his heartbeat thudding at a gallop where she's touching him.

"Why don't we go upstairs," she whispers, "and maybe you'll find out?" She draws away from him with difficulty, already craving his touch, and walks towards the stairs.

He takes her by the arm and pulls her back against him, suddenly and roughly. His lips cover hers, his tongue delving deeply into her mouth, and when he slides one strong arm under her and lifts her up, she can't suppress a cry of surprise. At the sound she makes he looks as though he's going to put her down, but she can't have that, and so she encircles him tightly in her legs and kisses him again. Before she has time to think about it, she's going positively feral on him, scratching at his scalp and grinding her hips against him, desperate for more contact. Already he's hard and hot underneath her, and she wants to get at him so badly she doesn't know how she's going to wait for him to take off his clothes.

Suddenly he breaks away from her, and she whimpers in protest as he tries to still the rocking of her hips

"Scully," he gasps, "if you don't stop that, we're never going to make it upstairs." She doesn't care. She kisses her way back along his chin towards his ear, then whispers into it, loving the way he shudders against her.

"Going upstairs was just a suggestion, Mulder," she says. "You can feel free to ignore it, if you'd like." As badly as she wants to resume seeking friction from his stiff member where it's pressing against her, she waits to see what he'll do.

For a moment, he's perfectly still, and she can see him running over the options in his mind: the floor? The butcher's block? The counter? Watching him, she feels her entire mouth go dry, and she licks her lips. That simply motion seems to set Mulder off, and with a groan, he strides across the kitchen and presses her up against the wall. There's a dull thunk as her head smacks into the boards behind her, but if there's any pain, she's completely unaware of it. She moans into his mouth as he kisses her again, her hands beating his to his belt buckle, which she undoes at top speed. She makes quick work of his button fly and uses both her hands and feet to shove his pants to the kitchen floor. She yanks at the bottom of her skirt, rucking it up and out of the way, and as she does, she feels the hand not cupping her bottom snaking its way up and under her blouse. Oh, yes, she thinks, as he strokes her breast, just this side of rough, nothing gentle in his touch at all. She presses her chest against him with a sigh, and he rewards her with a sharp pinch of her nipple that sets off a flood of wetness between her legs.

Scully locates the slit in the front of Mulder's boxer shorts and takes his cock firmly in her hand. He goes almost totally still as she draws him out- he's scarcely breathing- and privately, she thrills at the sheer size of him. She can't possibly wait another moment, and she can tell by the wild look in his eyes that neither can he, and so she spreads her legs wider, bracing her feet against him, and positions him, taking him by the hip and pulling him towards her until she's positively, achingly full of every last inch of him. He presses his forehead to hers, overwhelmed, and as badly as she wants him to move, now, she allows him this moment.

When at last he begins the smooth liquid slide in and out of her, his rhythm is slow, languid, unhurried. It's delicious, certainly... but right now, she's already nearly halfway there, and a sense of urgency hums through her limbs like electricity. There will be time for sweetness and slow caresses later, but now, this first time, it's not what she needs. And he must sense it, somehow, just by looking at her, because he speeds up. She whimpers gratefully into his neck, tasting his sweat, and clutches tightly at him. He's still holding back, though, and so she urges him on.

"Harder," she whispers. He draws back, looking into her face for reassurance that she means it, that she wants it, and she answers him with the tiniest of nods. He slides one hand between the back of her head and the wall, cushioning her, and sets up a bone-jarring, spine-rattling pace, slamming her against the wall again and again, the steady thud-thud-thud of her back against the wood and the wet slap-slap-slap of their bodies filling the entire kitchen. That's all it takes to send her flying, climaxing so hard she nearly blacks out, crying out his name as the wave overtakes her. Dimly she's aware that he's coming as well, bellowing into her neck.

Standing is suddenly too much for him, and she feels her back sliding along the wall as they drop slowly to the tiled floor. She curls her body against him and concentrates on getting her breath back, not quite aware that he's speaking... until she realizes that he's apologizing.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "This wasn't how I intended this to be." She shakes her head against his neck, still too weak to lift it.

"Mulder, don't you dare apologize," she says firmly. "I don't see how anything could possibly have been better than that. That was incredible." She feels him smiling against the top of her head and she snuggles closer... until a sudden, loud knock at the kitchen door makes her jump out of her skin. She jerks away from him and stands on legs that are still incredibly unsteady, hastily straightening her blouse and her skirt. Underneath, she can feel his seed dripping down her leg, and even in the midst of her fright, of wondering who's at her door at this hour, she suddenly realizes: they hadn't used a condom. Shit.

"Are you expecting anyone?" Mulder asks, his voice low. Scully shakes her head. Mulder's got his pants buckled, though his shirt is still untucked, and he's retrieved his pistol from the kitchen counter where he'd left it earlier. But as he's advancing on the door, a familiar shout comes from the other side.

"Scully," yells Frohike, "open up, it's us!" Scully motions to Mulder to lower the gun.

"It's all right, they're some of my contacts, they're safe," she assures him, crossing the kitchen. "I wasn't expecting them tonight, though." She opens the door, revealing not just Frohike, but Byers and Langly, as well. They troop into the kitchen, one after the other, and Scully closes and locks the door behind them. She turns back, ready to introduce him to Mulder... and finds that all three of them are gaping at him in total shock.

"Mulder?" Frohike's voice is squeaky with surprise, and Scully whips her head around to look at him.

"You know each other?" she asks. "How?"

"Oxford," says Mulder. "They were two years ahead of me. Frohike sort of adopted me as a long-lost little brother." Scully tries to think back. She'd known they'd gone to Oxford, but now she tries to remember whether any of the odd trio have ever mentioned exactly what years they had attended school. She draws a blank. They haven't exactly exchanged many personal details; it's all in the nature of the operation. Scully doesn't even know the names of some of the men who deliver refugees and supplies to her.

"We used to print a newspaper," Langly tells her, "and Mulder helped us distribute it sometimes."

"I don't know if you could call it a newspaper," Mulder intones. "It was a monthly five pages of nonsense refuting everything the actual school paper printed."

"Hey, somebody had to call the Cherwell out for printing nonstop lies," insists Frohike. Scully shakes her head slowly, a smile spreading over her face. Now that it's clear that there's no danger, the knot in her stomach has loosened, and her playful mood is returning.

"Mulder, you helped produce an underground newspaper?" she teases him, and he ducks his head.

"'Produce' is overstating things a bit," says Mulder. "All I did was occasionally drop a stack of them in the common room when nobody was paying attention, in exchange for Frohike buying me drinks at the pub later that night."

"Mulder is your new source in the German army?" asks Byers, and Scully nods.

"That's right," says Scully. Frohike beams and tries to clap Mulder on the shoulder, which he can't quite reach, and settles for thumping him mid-back.

"Good man," he says. "Always knew you were a troublemaker at heart. We taught you well."

"I'm assuming you're with Dutch-Paris, then?" asks Mulder.

"For the past two years," confirms Frohike. "Trust the Dutch to do what the French can't. No offense intended, of course," he says as an aside to Scully. She sighs and shakes her head- it's a long-standing joke between them, and she knows he's not insulting her.

"As much as I hate to break up the reunion," she says, "I need to know: what are you three doing here? Has something happened?" She desperately hopes not- aside from not wanting to spoil the mood of the evening, she's in no fit state to tend to anyone just now.

"We've got a group hiding off of the road a few miles north of town," says Byers. "We know it's risky, breaking curfew, but we were careful, and we need to move fast. It's cold and we need to get the little ones someplace warm. We came to find out if it's safe to bring them to your mother's for a few days, and we need you to help us arrange transportation for them." Scully lets out a relieved breath. This, she can handle. She won't even need to leave the kitchen.

"How many? And where are you taking them next?"

"A mother and three children. We only need to get them to Limoges," says Langly. "Our contact there is making identification papers for them, and then we're getting them on a train south. We had a truck arranged already, but they never showed up at the last meeting point." Scully thinks for a moment. There's no reason that she can think of why her mother shouldn't be able to help out- none of her current employees are living on the farm, and as long as Maggie is made aware of the family's presence before she leaves for mass, she'll be able to hide them in the house or in one of the outbuildings. Sighing inwardly, she realizes she'll need to go to church in the morning, to go to confession, to talk to the priest and make arrangements.

"Take them to my mother's and put them in the barn," she tells Frohike. "Wait until daylight to knock on my mother's door. She'll feed them and give them a room. I'll make the arrangements first thing in the morning and send word to my mother as soon as everything is set up." She turns to Mulder. "I'm sorry, Mulder, but it looks like I'm going to need to go to mass tomorrow morning after all."

"Why would he care about that?" asks Langly, confused. Byers digs his elbow into Langly's side. "What?" When no explanation is forthcoming, he frowns at Mulder and Scully... and then, suddenly, he seems to get it, and gives them both a decidedly lecherous grin. Scully decides that's the signal to send them off.

"All right, time to go," she states. She pushes Langly roughly back towards the door. Byers sighs, shaking his head.

"As you can see, he's about as mature as he was the last time you saw him," he says. "I've done what I can, but when you're already working with damaged raw materials...." He shrugs, and Mulder laughs.

"I take it I'll be seeing the three of you again?" he asks, and Frohike nods, grinning.

"Count on it," he says. He bows to Scully. "Mademoiselle Scully, a pleasure, as always." Scully responds only by pushing him out of the door; she's had quite enough of Frohike's charms for one evening. She closes the door, throws the bolt, and turns, leaning against it, eyes closed.

"Of course you know each other," she says. "They told me they met at Oxford and it never even crossed my mind that they might have been there at the same time as you." She shakes her head. "I didn't mean to announce our relationship to them like that. I'm sorry." Mulder looks anything but. His smile is warm and tender as he walks towards her, sliding his arms around her and pulling her close.

"Don't be," he reassures her. "You think I'm anything other than proud to call a woman like you my own?"

"Is that what I am?" she asks. "Your own?" In the past, the very idea would have rankled and raised her hackles... but somehow, when Mulder says it, all it does is make her melt.

"I'd like to think so," he murmurs, touching his forehead gently to hers, "but ultimately, I think you get the final say." And that's exactly why I don't mind when he says it, she thinks to herself. Because he would never assume it without my permission.

"You know what my answer is," she says. "I'm yours. Absolutely and completely." And as if to prove it she kisses him deeply, passionately, and then draws back. "And I think it's time for you to take me upstairs now."

---------

She leads him to her bedroom, where they stretch out languidly on her bed, kissing softly, slowly, all sense of urgency gone, replaced by a soothing warmth. He removes her shirt and camisole almost reverently, kissing each new inch of skin as he discovers it, and when he bends his head to take her nipple in his mouth, she moans and gasps. Once he's moved his attention to her skirt, divesting her of that, as well, she sits up.

"If I'm going to be naked, you are, too," she says, and he's more than agreeable to the idea. She rids him of his jacket, just as she had that first night she'd cared for him on her sofa, and he rips off his undershirt. Her eyes roam over the expanse of his muscled chest, and she likes the view, wants to see more of it. She's got his belt undone in seconds flat.

"You're awfully adept at that," he remarks... and for a moment she's scared, for the first time tonight. She's never led him to believe that she'd been a virgin... but, then, he'd never asked. She meets his eyes, her stomach clenched, but he's smiling.

"I was nervous you'd be upset that you weren't my first," she admits.

"Scully," he says gently, "who you've been with and what you've done before we met, that's your business. I don't care. All I care about is that you're here with me now." As he gazes at her, cupping her cheek in his hand, she sees something shifting in the depths of his eyes. "Scully," he says, "I love you."

It's too much. She can't meet his eyes anymore. She's not surprised, not really- she's known that he's smitten- but she hadn't expected him to admit it. She grasps about for something to say, something to lighten the serious mood.

"My mother told me never to believe anything a man tells you with his clothes off," she says, nodding at his bare chest.

"Hey, I've still got my pants on, haven't I? So I'm at least half-dressed." She chuckles, relieved he's going along with her, instead of being offended that she didn't immediately say it back.

"Does that mean it's only half-true?" she asks.

"No, Scully," he promises. "It's completely true. I'm in love with you. I've never felt this way about anyone before in my life."

"Neither have I," she whispers. The words are out almost before she can stop them.

"Really?" She nods. She can't quite bring herself to meet his eyes, to let him see the tears she's struggling to hold back. This is the part she's never been good at: the letting go, the letting in, the opening of her heart to another person.

Gentle fingers touch under her chin, bringing her head up to meet his gaze. In his eyes she finds nothing but naked adoration, understanding... and a tiny bit of fear. She realizes that he doesn't know, isn't sure how she feels, and she can't leave him in suspense another moment.

"I love you too, Mulder," she says. His eyes flood with tears and he gathers her to him, holding her close and rocking her back and forth.

When Scully finally sleeps, hours later, curled in Mulder's arms under the warmth of the feather duvet, she feels, for the first time, as if the bed is no longer too large.

Next Chapter  >

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

An Everyday Hero by Laura Trentham

Heart of a Hero #2

Eagerly anticipated and well worth waiting for! The second book in this series takes on a new set of characters living in a new town but continues to deal with life issues of military veterans and the people that are in their lives. In some ways it is the story of dreams and goals that were held dear for years and yet something happened in life to derail, detour or destroy the dream from appearing as reality. Greer had dreams of being a hit in the music business, Emmett dreamed of adding to the family military legacy in a big way, Ally and her mother dreamed of a family life with father and husband and yet...those expectations were not to be. And yet...when things don’t go as expected there is always the opportunity to do one of two things...wallow or move on and make the best of it. I really enjoyed this book!

What I liked:

* Greer: banged up and bruised and wallowing a bit she is given a job to do and in doing community service impacts Ally and Emmett in ways that improved her life, too. I liked the way she interacted with Emmett and with Ally...she is a person I wouldn’t mind having as a friend.

* Emett: withdrawn and nursing his wounds he is hermit-ting and wallowing until Greer shows up and begins to draw him out. When he started to emerge I really REALLY began to like him.

* Ally: an old soul that had more on her plate than a fifteen year old should have to deal with. She was tough with a soft center – was rooting for hermit-i

* The parents of Emmett and Greer – they were a soft place to land for their children even though their children might not have always realized it. It did take a bit to warm up to Emmett’s father but all’s well that ends well.

* The military persons from old and current wars that made appearances

* Eddie the horse and Bonnie the cat

* The big reveal...and how it impacted more than one

* Even the sad bits were heartwarming and gave a positive vibe for the future

* The “realness” of the story

What I didn’t like:

* The fact that sometimes people, for whatever reason, opt to escape and in doing so harm not only themselves but others...but...that is life. If those people are lucky they will have people come into their lives that can help them do a U-Turn.

I can’t wait for book three…

Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press – Griffin for the ARC – This is my honest review.

5 Stars

SYNOPSIS

Laura Trentham, the author of The Military Wife, is back with an emotionally charged novel about redemption and second chances. In the vein of Josie Silver’s One Day in December, AN EVERYDAY HERO (St. Martin’s Griffin, February 4, 2020, $16.99), explores the challenges of a relationship and ultimately discovering that love…and joy is worth fighting for.  

At thirty, Greer Hadley never expected to be forced home to Madison, Tennessee with her life and dreams of being a songwriter up in flames. To make matters worse, a series of bad decisions and even crappier luck lands her community service hours at a nonprofit organization that aids veterans and their families. Greer cannot fathom how she’s supposed to use music to help anyone deal with their trauma and loss when the one thing that brought her joy has failed her.

Then there's Emmett Lawson, the golden boy who followed his family’s legacy. Greer shows up one day with his old guitar, and meets Emmett’s rage head on with her stubbornness. A dire situation pushes these two into a team to save a young teenager, but maybe they will save themselves too. . .

BUY LINKS

Macmillan: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250145550

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1250145554?tag=macmillan-20

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/an-everyday-hero-laura-trentham/1131936712;jsessionid=B7619745B109010F501CA5500AB3BAF3.prodny_store02-atgap02?ean=9781250145550#/

Books-A-Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/product/9781250145550?AID=42121&PID=7992675&cjevent=1101dd10476711ea83cc00ae0a240614

Indie Bound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781250145550?aff=macmillan

Powell’s: https://www.powells.com/book/an-everyday-hero-9781250145550?partnerid=33241

EXCERPT

Chapter 1

“Disorderly conduct. Public intoxication. Resisting arrest.” Judge Duckett put down the paper, linked his hands, and stared over his reading glasses from his perch behind the bench with a combination of exasperation and fatherly disapproval.

Greer Hadley shifted in her sensible heels and smoothed the skirt of the light pink suit she’d borrowed from her mama for the occasion. “I’ll give you the first two, Uncle Bill—” The judge cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me—Judge Duckett—but I did not resist arrest.”

“That you recall.” Deputy Wayne Peeler drawled the words out in the most sarcastic, unprofessional manner possible.

She fisted her hands and took a deep breath. The impulse to punch Wayne in the face simmered below the surface like a volcano no longer at rest. But ten o’clock on a Monday morning during her arraignment was not the smartest time to lose her temper, and she’d promised herself not to add to her string of bad decisions.

She sweetened her voice and bared her teeth at Wayne in the facsimile of a smile. “I recall plenty, thank you very much.”

Truth was she didn’t recall the minute details, but the shock of Wayne’s whispered offer on Saturday night to make her troubles go away for a price had done more to sober her up than the couple of hours spent in lockup waiting for her parents.

Dressed in his tan uniform, Wayne adjusted his heavy gun belt so often she imagined he got off every night by rubbing his gun. Giving him a badge had only empowered the part of him desperate for respect and approval. His nickname in high school, “the Weasel,” had been well earned.

Unfortunately, she was the unreliable narrator of her life at the moment and no one would trust her recollections. Judge Duckett, her uncle Bill by marriage until he and her aunt Tonya had divorced, rustled papers from his desk.

The ethics of her former uncle acting as her judge were questionable, especially considering they had remained close even after he’d remarried, but if nepotism is what it took to make this nightmare go away, then she wouldn’t be the one to lodge a complaint.

“A witness claimed you were sitting quietly at the end of the bar until a song played on the jukebox. What was the song?” Her uncle glanced at her over his glasses again, which made him look like a stern teacher.

“‘Before He Cheats’ by Carrie Underwood.” She forced her chin up.

His mouth opened, closed, and he dropped his gaze back to the paper. A murmur broke out behind her.

She would not cry. She wouldn’t. She blinked like her life depended on a tear not falling. Later, in the privacy of her childhood bedroom, she would bury her face in the eyelet-covered pillow and let loose.

Beau Williams, her cheating ex-boyfriend, was only partially to blame for her embarrassing behavior. It was a confluence of setbacks that had had her holding down the end of the bar. Hearing Carrie’s revenge anthem had hit a nerve exposed by the shots of Jack. Rage had quickened the effects of the alcohol, and that’s when things got fuzzy.

“Yes, well. That is a rather … Let’s move on, shall we? The witness also claims after a heartfelt, albeit slurred speech about the vagaries of relationships and how the moral fiber of the Junior League of Madison was frayed, you fed five dollars into the jukebox and played the same song for over an hour. ‘Crazy’ by Patsy Cline, was it?”

Ugh. She didn’t recall how much money she’d fed the machine, but it sounded like something she would do. “Crazy” was one of her favorite songs. A master class in conveying emotion through simple lyrics. She was just sorry she’d wasted five dollars on Beau. He didn’t deserve her money, her heart, or Patsy.

“No one can fault my taste in the classics.” Greer tried a smile, but her lips quivered and she pressed them together.

Her uncle continued to read from the witness statement, “You proceeded to throw two glasses on the floor, shattering them, and attempted to break a chair across the jukebox.”

She swallowed hard. A vague picture of a frustratingly sturdy chair surfaced. The fact the chair remained intact while she was falling apart had sent her anger soaring higher and hotter. A glance from her uncle Bill over the paper had her giving him a nod. She couldn’t deny it.

He continued, “A patron called 911. When Deputy Peeler arrived, he pulled you away from the jukebox and forced you outside. That’s where, he claims, you kicked him … well, you know where.”

“Wayne dragged me down the stairs—”

“Deputy Peeler, if you please.” Wayne sniffed loudly.

“As Deputy Peeler escorted me down the stairs, I lost my balance and fell. The heel of my shoe jabbed into his crotch. Sorry.” Greer didn’t make an attempt to mask her not-sorry voice with fake respect.

If she accused Wayne of misbehavior on the job, he would deny it and spin it somehow to make her look even more irresponsible. Lord knows, she’d embarrassed her parents enough for a lifetime. Anyway, seeing him rolling on the ground and cupping his crotch had been sweet payback.

“I sustained an injury where that spike you call a heel caught me.” Wayne half turned toward her.

Instead of playing it smart and soothing his delicate male ego, she batted her eyes at him. “I’m sure that’s left the ladies of Madison real upset.”

Wayne took a step toward her. “You are such a—”

The gavel knocked against the bench and her uncle stood, looming over them. “I’ve heard enough, Deputy. Sit down.”

Wayne turned on his heel and left Greer to face her uncle Bill. This was where she would promise such a thing would never happen again, and he would give her a stern warning before dismissing all charges.

“I’m striking the resisting arrest charge. It was an accident.”

Greer forced herself not to look over her shoulder and stick her tongue out at Wayne. That left only two misdemeanors, which her uncle could expunge with a swipe of his pen.

He settled behind the bench and picked up his pen, his gaze on the papers. “You will pay for any damages.”

“I’ve already reimbursed Becky.” Technically, she’d had to use her parents’ money, considering she’d crawled home from Nashville broke. “And apologized profusely. You can be assured there will not be a repeat performance. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Good. As for the other charges…”

Her deep breath cleansed a portion of the tension across her shoulders, and a smile born of relief appeared.

“You will perform fifty hours of community service.”

Her smile froze on her face. It sounded like a lot, but she’d been stupid and immature and deserved punishment. “I understand. Clean roads are important.”

“Litter pickup? Goodness no.” He took his glasses off and smiled at her for the first time, but it wasn’t the jolly-uncle smile she was familiar with. “You have talents that would be wasted on the side of the road picking up trash, Ms. Hadley. You will spend your fifty hours working at the Music Tree Foundation.”

“I’m not familiar with it.” She swallowed. The mention of music set her stomach roiling. “Highway 45 was in terrible shape on my drive in last week.”

“The foundation is a nonprofit music program that focuses on helping military veterans and their families cope with the trauma they’ve endured serving our country. They’re in need of volunteer songwriters and musicians.”

“I can’t write or play anymore.” Her dream of hearing one of her songs on the radio had died. Not in a blaze of glory but from a slow, torturous starvation of hope. At thirty, she was resigned to finding a real job and cobbling together a normal life in the place she’d tried to leave behind.

“My decision is final. As far as I can determine, your brain—despite this lapse in judgment—is in fine working order. You can and will help these men and women heal through your gift of music. Unless you’d rather spend thirty days in county lockup?”

Would her uncle actually throw her in jail? For a month? “No, Your Honor, I don’t want to go to county lockup.”

“Good. Once you turn in your log with all your hours signed off by the foundation’s manager, your record with this court will be cleared.” He handed her file to a clerk. “Case closed. Next up is docket number fourteen.”

She stood there until he met her gaze with his unflinching one. “Go home, Greer.”

Her parents were waiting at the door to the courtroom. While they’d faced the horror of having to bail their only child out of jail stoically, her mother’s embarrassment and disappointment were ripe and all-encompassing. Greer wilted and trailed her parents out of the courthouse.

She felt like a child. An incompetent, needy child living in her old bedroom and dependent on her parents for emotional and financial support. She thought she’d hit rock bottom many times over the years, but her situation now had revealed new lows.

The silence in the car built into a painful crescendo.

“The tiger lilies are lovely this year, don’t you think?” Her mother’s attempt at normalcy was strained but welcome.

Her father’s hands squeaked along the steering wheel as an answer.

Greer huddled in the backseat and stared out the window, the clumps of flowers on the side of the road an orange blur. As a teenager, she’d chafed at her parents’ protectiveness and had wanted nothing more than to escape to Nashville, where she’d been convinced glory and fame awaited. Now she was home and a disappointment not only to her parents but to herself. Even worse, she hadn’t come up with a plan to turn her life around.

“Ira Jenkins is back in the hospital. I thought I’d run by and check on him. Since Sarah passed, he seems a shell of the man he once was.” Her mother turned to face the backseat. “Would you like to come with me? I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”

“He won’t remember me, Mama.”

“I’m sure he will.”

Greer scrunched farther down in the seat. The last thing she wanted was to make small talk with a man she hadn’t seen in years.

“You’ll have to get out eventually and face the music.” Her mother’s smile wavered and threatened to turn into tears. “So to speak.”

Her mother was trying, which was more than could be said for Greer at the moment. Her parents deserved a better daughter. Someone successful they could brag on at the Wednesday-night potlucks at church. Not a daughter they had to bail out of jail.

“I will. I promise. Just not to see Mr. Jenkins.” Greer leaned forward and squeezed her mother’s hand over the seat, needing to give her something to hope for even if Greer wasn’t sure what that might be.

Her father cleared his throat. “You need to think about the future.”

He ignored her mother’s whispered, “Not now, Frank.”

“A job. Or back to school. We’ll put you through nursing or accounting or something useful.” He shifted to meet her gaze in the rearview mirror. “But you can’t keep on like you’re doing. You need a purpose.”

“I’ll start looking for a job tomorrow.” School had never been her wheelhouse. She’d been sure she’d make it in Nashville and had never formulated a backup plan.

They pulled up to her childhood home, a two-story brick Colonial on the main street of Madison, Tennessee. Oaks had been planted down a middle island like a line of soldiers at attention. They had grown to shade both sides of the street. It was picturesque and cast the imagination back to a time when ladies lounged on porches with their iced tea and gossiped with their neighbors to escape the heat of summer. Air-conditioning had altered that way of life.

At one time, as a kid, she’d known every family up and down the street well enough to knock on their door for help or run through their backyard in epic games of tag. Now, though, the houses were being bought up by people who used Madison to escape the bustle of an expanding Nashville. They built pools in the backyards and fences and weren’t outside except to walk their trendy dogs.

The march of progress through Madison added to her melancholy sadness. There was a reason not being able to go home again was a recurring theme in books and songs.

“We love you, Greer. You know that, don’t you?” Her mother’s voice was tight with emotion, but she didn’t turn around, thank goodness.

Her mother never cried and if Greer witnessed tears, she would burst into sobs herself and embarrass everyone.

“I know. Thanks for everything. I’m going to do better. Be better.” It seemed a wholly inadequate promise she wasn’t even sure she could keep, but it was all she could manage. She ducked out of the car and skipped around to a side door of the house that was always unlocked.

Her room was both a haven and a mocking reminder of the state of her life. Posters of album covers papered the wall behind her bed, the colors faded from the sun and the edges curling with age.

In high school, she’d gravitated toward indie folk artists and away from the commercially driven country-music machine located a few miles south. Joan Baez was flanked by Patty Griffin and Dolly Parton. Even though Dolly veered more country than Greer, no one could deny the legend’s songwriting chops. The guitar Greer had hocked for rent money had borne Dolly’s signature like a talisman. Sometimes Greer ached for her guitar like a missing limb.

The flashing glimpse of a woman in a pale pink suit stopped her in the middle of the floor. She turned to face the full-length mirror glued to the back of the closet door. God, it was like glimpsing her mom through a time warp.

Greer touched the delicate pearls that had been passed down to her on her eighteenth birthday. They were old-fashioned and traditional and stereotypical of a Southern “good girl.” Not her style. She’d left them in her dresser drawer when she’d left home the day after high school graduation.

A tug of recognition of the women who had come before her had her clutching the strand in her hand as if something lost were now found. Was it her circumstances or her age growing her nostalgia like a tree setting roots?

She turned around to break the connection with the stranger in the mirror, stripped off the pink suit, and pulled on jeans and a cotton oxford. Her mother would appreciate seeing her in something besides the frayed shorts and grungy concert T-shirts she’d lounged around in the last week. She reached behind her neck for the clasp of the necklace, but her hands stilled, then dropped to her sides, leaving the pearls in place.

She stepped out of her room and was enveloped in silence. Her father had returned to his insurance office and her mother must have set off for her hospital visit. The house took on an expectant quality, as if waiting for its true owners to return. She was no longer a fundamental part of this world. Not unwelcome, perhaps, but a loose cog in her parents’ lives.

She tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen and made herself a ham sandwich. May was too early for fresh tomatoes, but in another month or two her mother’s garden would make tomato sandwiches an everyday treat.

Craving an escape, Greer grabbed a book and settled in her favorite window seat. The rest of the afternoon passed in the same expectant silence. The chime of the doorbell made her start and drop her book. If she pretended no one was home, maybe whoever was on the front porch would go away. The last thing she wanted was to face one of Madison’s gossips masquerading as a do-gooder.

The creak of the door opening had her bolting to her feet.

“Greer? I know you’re home. Are you decent?” Her uncle Bill’s booming voice echoed in the two-story foyer.

She propped her shoulder in the doorway of the sunroom. “Letting yourself in people’s houses is a good way of getting shot around here.”

“While your mama would have liked to have shot me during the divorce with her sister, I hope we’ve made our peace.” He closed the door behind him and Greer did what she’d wanted to do in the courtroom—she threw herself at him for a hug.

He lifted her off her feet and spun her once around. Her laugh hit her ears like a foreign language. It had been too long since she’d laughed from a place of happiness.

“You could have just come out to the house. You didn’t have to get arrested to see me.” Bill let her go, and she led him into the sunroom.

“Do you want something to drink?” Greer asked, already turning for the kitchen and the fresh brewed pitcher of sweet iced tea.

“No, thanks. Mary has fried chicken ready to go in the pan, so I can’t stay long.”

Bill had divorced her aunt Tonya more than a decade earlier and married the choir director of the biggest black church in town. A scandal had ensued not because he’d married a black woman, but because he, a long-standing deacon in the Church of Christ, had converted to a heathen Methodist.

“How is Mary?”

“Always singing.” He shook his head, an indulgent smile on his face, as they settled into their seats.

His comment sprinkled salt on an open wound. She’d begged off going to church with her parents because of the questions she was sure to face and the hymns she couldn’t bring herself to sing. Some of her earlier happiness at seeing him leaked out. “Good for her.”

“I came to make sure you weren’t mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I got the impression you expected me to dismiss the charges.” His smile turned into a wince.

“I wouldn’t have been upset if you had, but I get it. I was an idiot and deserve punishment.” She picked at the fringe on a decades-old needlepoint pillow and cast him a pleading glance. “I’d rather pick up trash, though, if it’s all the same to you.”

“It’s not the same to me.” He crossed his long legs and tapped a finger on the cherry armrest of the antique chair that looked ready to surrender at any moment to his bulk. “Do you remember Amelia Shelton?”

“Mary’s daughter? She was a couple of years ahead of me in school. We didn’t hang out or anything, but she seemed nice.” Greer couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Amelia. Greer’s side of the family had skipped Bill and Mary’s small wedding ceremony; the acrimony between him and her aunt Tonya hadn’t faded at that point.

“Amelia is the founder and director of the Music Tree Foundation and is desperate for qualified volunteers. You’ve been playing and singing and writing music since you were knee high. It was meant to be.”

“It’s not meant to be. I’ve got to get a real job.”

Her uncle made a scoffing sound. “You’re too much like my Mary. You could never leave music behind.”

“Music dumped me on the side of the road, gave me the finger, and peeled out.” Greer shook her head and touched the string of pearls, her gaze on his polished black dress shoes. “I’m a mess, Uncle Bill. I have nothing to offer. In fact, I’ll probably make things worse for whatever poor soul I get paired with.”

She expected him to argue, but he seemed to be weighing the truth in her words like the scales of justice. His shrug wasn’t in the least reassuring. “Amelia has done something really special with her foundation. It might do you a world of good to focus on someone besides yourself.”

“Dang, that’s harsh.”

He patted her knee. “I’ve seen all kinds come through my courtroom. The ones who turn it around are the ones who quit feeling sorry for themselves.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Beau is an asshole. Not the first or the last you’re likely to encounter. Don’t you deserve better than him?”

“Yes?” She wished she’d been able to put more conviction into the word.

Beau was successful, nice-looking—even though a bald spot was conquering his hair day by day—and respected in their town. They’d known each other since high school, but had only started dating in the last year.

He was solid and steady and comfortable. Three things lacking from her life. Catching him cheating with the president of the Junior League had been another seismic shift in her world, leaving her unsure and off balance.

“If you can’t believe in yourself yet, then believe me. You are talented, Greer, and you have the ability to help people find their voice.” He slipped a card out of his wallet. When she didn’t reach for it, he waved it in her face until she took it.

A tree styled with musical symbols of all different colors decorated one side of the card. She ran her thumb over the raised black ink of Amelia’s name and an address on the outskirts of Nashville. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“Not if you want to stay in my—and the court’s—good graces. She’s expecting you tomorrow at three.”

“No rest for the wicked, huh?” Her smile was born of sarcasm.

Bill rose and ruffled her hair like he had when she was little. “Not wicked. Lost.”

Greer walked him out, brushed a kiss on his cheek, and murmured her thanks. She leaned on the porch rail and waved until he disappeared down the street.

I once was lost, and now I’m found. She’d sung “Amazing Grace” so many times that the lyrics had ceased to have an impact. But, standing on her childhood front porch, having come full circle, a shiver went down her spine, and goose bumps broke over her arms despite the heat that wavered over the pavement like a mirage. Her granny would have said that someone had walked over her grave. Maybe so. Or maybe change was a-coming whether she wanted to face up to it or not.

Copyright © 2020 by Laura Trentham

AUTHOR BIO

Laura Trentham is an award winning romance author. The Military Wife is her debut women’s fiction novel. A chemical engineer by training and a lover of books by nature, she lives in South Carolina.

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Twitter: https://twitter.com/LauraTrentham

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Author Website: http://www.lauratrentham.com/

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[trentteti]

Your July 2019 LSAT Instant Reaction

Over nine months ago, LSAC announced that the LSAT would officially join the twenty-first century, becoming a digital, tablet-based exam. And today, that finally happened with the July LSAT.

Well, for only about half of all test takers. The exam will finally go digital for all test takers on September 21st. For the July exam, however, LSAC administered the traditional paper-and-pencil test in half of the test centers and then gave the same test in its new digital format to the other centers, in order to compare the results from both formats. This is known as “best testing practices” to the test administrators and “a total pain in the butt” to test takers.

To better understand the new digital LSAT, I came out of test retirement and signed up to take the July exam. Spoiler: I did not receive the digital version of the test. They say 50% of success is just showing up, but since I had a 50% chance of showing up to the location that was administering the digital exam, I suppose this plan had only a … checking my math … 25% chance of success.

But, fortunately, Blueprint’s crack team of LSAT-obsessed employees have been monitoring the experiences of as many people who took the digital exam as possible. With thousands of students to call upon, we were in a unique experience to get some second-hand report about the digital test, even if your faithful correspondent couldn’t provide that first-hand report.

The Digital Experience

So, how did the very first digital LSAT go? In all, relatively smoothly. But it was definitely not without incident. The main complaint is how long it took these test centers to finally get the tablets operational. We’ve heard reports that some proctors had trouble getting the tablets connected to the proctor-controlled motherboard that was used to start and stop each section, which meant that some had to wait almost two hours before the test finally commenced. Some test centers were given tablets that were already circling the drain battery-wise, which led to more wait times as proctors figured out how to charge those tablets. With a completely new format, it’s not exactly surprising that the roll-out wasn’t flawless. Hopefully, by September, proctors will be better equipped to administer the test quickly and seamlessly.

There were also reported issues with the styluses … or is it styli? At any rate, at multiple test locations, test takers were not even given the promised stylus. Someone just forgot about those. Oops. So test takers had to use their sweaty, shaky fingers to highlight and underline the text — which is not ideal, especially when one test taker reported having to use his knuckle to highlight, since his finger was too sweaty to do so.

Others report that the provided stylus wasn’t very good at underlining or highlighting the text — that it would rarely underline just one word, but instead would underline multiple surrounding words. Rather than balling out with the Microsoft-certified stylus made specifically for the Surface Go tablet LSAC is using, LSAC allegedly provided the kind of generic stylus you might get at a work conference or something. Test takers were allowed to keep their apparently not-entirely-effective stylus, though.

There were also reports that glare affected some test takers’ ability to see the screen. Allegedly, the adjustable tablet stand LSAC provided wasn’t quite adjustable enough, and the lighting interfered with test takers ability to see their screens.

Most concerning of all were the reports that at least two test locations had to cancel the LSAT altogether. Apparently, the recalcitrant tablets at these locations refused to work, and after much fussing, the test takers were dismissed without ever taking the exam. I suppose that means they never even got the opportunity to become test takers. Which is a huge bummer for them. Hopefully LSAC allows them to take the test soon, for free, with the option to cancel their score after seeing it, and will maybe wave some law school admission fees for good measure. It will not shock you to learn that both of these test centers were in Florida, incidentally.

And, finally, if you want to get really picayune, Logical Reasoning question stems on the traditional paper version of the LSAT often refer to the “information above,” since that’s where the main text of the question is. On the digital version of the exam, the question still said “information above,” even though the main text is now to the left of the question stem. Maybe that gets corrected in September, when the test is written specifically for the digital version of the test.

OK, you’re probably thinking that I initially said things went “relatively smoothly” but then spent six paragraphs outlining all the ways the test went demonstrably “not smoothly.” That’s a fair observation, but it’s important to remember that people for whom the test goes “not smoothly” are the people most likely to report their experiences. People who felt the digital test went fine wouldn’t need to vent their frustrations, and are hopefully on their third or fourth post-exam elixir at this point. And we heard many reports that the digital exam went well — where test takers had a decent enough time getting through the test, armed with apparently bountiful reams of scratch paper, some commonplace delays notwithstanding.

The July Test

So, with all the reports of the digital exam out of the way, what was the actual content of the test like? This I can provide with first-hand knowledge — this was a hard test! I can also relay some second-hand reports — nearly everyone we’ve heard from shares my sentiment!

Interestingly enough, everyone seems to have gotten a third Logical Reasoning section as their experimental section. Which is annoying, because it make it very difficult to figuring out which two Logical Reasoning were the real, scored sections and which were experimental sections. That said, that’s only a minor annoyance. The only reason you should bother trying to determine which sections were experimental is to figure out whether you should cancel your score. But that’s a moot point for the July 2019 exam. Test takers on this test have the option to cancel their score after seeing it, so there’s no pressing need to make that decision right now. Especially because it’ll take about three fortnights to get your score back.

The three Logical Reasoning questions on my sections included many dense, confusing questions that required you to identify formal aspects of an argument. These sections were also rife with many challenging questions that asked you to change an argument in some way — which has been the case for basically every recent exam. So, you know, normal Monday afternoon reading material.

The Logic Games section was fairly difficult — maybe the most difficult since the notorious-in-LSAT-nerd-circles-at-least December 2017 test. None of the games were totally leftfield, but they were all fairly complicated. The first game looked pretty straightforward — you just had to determine how different departments got arranged in a building — but ended up being quite time-consuming. The second game was one of those games that required a not-in-any-way-obvious deduction to crack things open. Games are never easy, but overall they’ve been more straightforward than these on recent exams. So this section was a bit of an unwelcome surprise.

Not as surprising, but perhaps just as unwelcome, was the difficulty of the Reading Comp section. The second, comparative passage was considered to be one of the most difficult passages here … at least among the top four, according to most.

The Curve Prediction

There’s no reason why you should fret about the curve on a test, especially on a nondisclosed test like July that will not publish the curve. But if fret you must, here’s my take: this exam really reminded me of the December 2017 exam. Except for the Logical Reasoning, which may have been slightly easier than that exam (though it’s admittedly hard to determine that, since we don’t know which section was experimental). I think that the curve of this exam will be forgiving, but not quite as forgiving as that one. Here’s my guess at what the curve will look like:

170: -12 165: -19 160: -27 155: -37 150: -46

(These all reflect how many questions you could miss and earn that score)

Conclusion

First things first, it’s time to accept that the Digital LSAT is here to stay. So, you will need to “digitize” your prep. We don’t expect you to run out and buy a Microsoft Go tablet, but you should be taking digital practice tests. If you don’t know where to find one, get a free tablet LSAT practice test here, or sign-up for a free trial of our Online Anytime course (sidenote: all BP students get access to digital practice tests).

Now, this is the point in these Instant Reaction posts where we talk about whether you should cancel your score, and we, in so many words, say you almost certainly shouldn’t cancel your score. However, for this July exam, you don’t have to worry about that decision now. You don’t have to worry about that decision for a long time, in fact — you’ll get your score back Wednesday, August 28, and you can decide then. So we won’t go through the formality of discussing score cancellation.

Instead, let’s end with a discussion of “difficult” tests like this one. When a test is more difficult than usual, it’s easy to feel utterly defeated. To feel resigned to receiving an underwhelming score. But it’s important to remember that our impressions of our exam performance are frequently unreliable. After an exam, it’s very easy to fixate on what didn’t go well; we rarely, however, remember what did go well. The dark thoughts have a tendency to crowd out the positive ones. And most test takers possess at least a modicum of social grace, so they don’t go around talking about how well they did on the test or how easy parts of it seemed. We overemphasize, both to ourselves and to others, the bad parts of the exam. So our impressions naturally incline us to worry about the worst-case scenario.

With the July exam, you’re going to have to wait a long time to get your score back. You’re going to be left with your thoughts and your LSAT-related conversations for a while — way longer than the usual three weeks. I encourage you to try, as hard as you can, to focus on what went well. Try to crowd out the negative thoughts by concentrating on all the parts of the test that you aced. And, hey, even if your score isn’t quite what you hoped, there’s going to be that voucher to retake the LSAT for free, waiting for you with a press of that “Cancel” button on August 28th. So, don’t wallow on the bad, try to focus on the good.

Or … you know … maybe try to forget about it entirely, perhaps aided by your post-exam beverage of choice. Congratulations, my fellow test takers.

Your July 2019 LSAT Instant Reaction was originally published on Blueprint LSAT Blog

[thisdaynews]

Decoding the explosive Ukraine text messages

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/decoding-the-explosive-ukraine-text-messages/

Decoding the explosive Ukraine text messages

The texts offer further evidence that the White House wanted to make the U.S. relationship with Zelensky conditional on Ukraine investigating his political rival—the subject of House Democrats’ deepening impeachment inquiry, and the biggest threat to Trump’s presidency so far. On Friday, Trump denied any quid pro quo, but the texts suggest otherwise.

Below, we annotated the behind-the-scenes negotiations led by Trump’s top Ukraine diplomats that have now become the latest exhibit in the House’s investigation:

Volker 4:48 PM July 19 Mr Mayor — really enjoyed breakfast this morning. As discussed, connecting you here with Andrey Yermak, who is very close to President Zelensky. I suggest we schedule a call together on Monday — maybe 10am or 11am Washington time? Kurt

Six days before Trump’s July 25 call with Zelensky, Volker introduced Trump’s personal lawyer, Rudy Giuliani, to a top Zelensky aide named Andrey Yermak. By that point, Giuliani had been loudly advertising his belief, for months, that Ukraine should investigate Joe Biden and his son Hunter for alleged corruption. Volker reportedly testified during his congressional deposition that he had tried to convince Giuliani that the Biden information he was receiving was unreliable. But Volker established the Giuliani-Yermak link anyway, and facilitated it through phone calls and, ultimately, an in-person meeting.

Volker 4:49 PM July 19 Can we three do a call tomorrow—say noon WASHINGTON?

Sondland 6:50 PM July 19 Looks like Potus call tomorrow. I spike [sic] directly to Zelensky and gave him a full briefing. He’s got it.

Sondland 6:52 PM July 19 Sure!

Volker 7:01 PM July 19 Good. Had breakfast with Rudy this morning—teeing up call w Yermak Monday. Must have helped. Most impt is for Zelensky to say that he will help investigation—and address any specific personnel issues—if there are any.

That same day, Volker circles back with the other diplomats and offers the first indication that he understands that a good relationship between Trump and Zelensky is predicated on “an investigation,” as Giuliani had been demanding. “Personnel issues” likely refers to who Zelensky will choose as the country’s top prosecutor—an important issue for Trump and Giuliani, who want Ukraine to reopen an investigation into the Bidens and examine any role Ukraine may have played to help Democrats in the 2016 election.

Taylor 1:45 AM July 21 Gordon, one thing Kurt and I talked about yesterday was Sasha Danyliuk’s point that President Zelenskyy is sensitive about Ukraine being taken seriously, not merely as an instrument in Washington domestic, reelection politics.

Sondland 4:45 AM July 21 Absolutely, but we need to get the conversation started and the relationship built, irrespective of the pretext. I am worried about the alternative.

Taylor, a career diplomat who served as the U.S. ambassador to Ukraine from 2006-2009 and was appointed interim chargé d’affaires for Ukraine in June 2019—following then-ambassador Masha Yovanovitch’s sudden recall from Kiev—establishes himself here as the skeptic of the bunch, Notably, he puts in writing for the first time the possibility that Ukraine is being used as an instrument for “reelection politics.” Sondland’s response suggests that the foundation of a Trump-Zelensky “relationship” is Ukraine’s commitment to pursuing the investigations Trump and Giuliani want.

Volker 4:27 PM July 22 Orchestrated a great phone call w Rudy and Yermak. They are going to get together when Rudy goes to Madrid in a couple of weeks.

Volker 4:28 PM July 22 In the meantime Rudy is now advocating for phone call.

Volker 4:28 PM July 22 I have call into Fiona’s replacement and will call Bolton if needed.

Volker 4:28 PM July 22 But I can tell Bolton and you can tell Mick that Rudy agrees on a call if that helps.

Sondland 4:30 PM July 22 I talked to Tim Morrison Fiona’s replacement. He is pushing but feel free as well.

Volker here further advances the Giuliani-Yermak relationship, despite it being abundantly clear what Giuliani wanted: The former New York mayor tweeted, just one month prior, that Zelensky should investigate Biden and alleged Ukrainian meddling in 2016. Volker, Giuliani and Sondland are now pushing for a Trump-Zelensky call in lieu of an in-person meeting, presumably to establish the terms of their relationship as Sondland mentioned the day before. Fiona Hill, who served as Trump’s top adviser on Russia, Ukraine, and the E.U. until June, had been urging the White House to delay a phone call or meeting between Trump and Zelensky as much as possible, according to a former NSC official. But her replacement, Tim Morrison, appears to have been more receptive to the idea.

Volker 8:36 AM July 25 Good lunch — thanks. Heard from White House—Assuming President Z convinces trump he will investigate/”get to the bottom of what happened” in 2016, we will nail down date for visit to Washington. Good luck! See you tomorrow- kurt.

This is a key exchange that Democrats are likely to present as further evidence of a direct quid pro quo between Trump and Zelensky. Volker, just hours before Trump and Zelensky speak on the phone, spells it out in black-and-white in a text message to Zelensky’s top aide: The Ukrainian president must convince Trump he will investigate alleged Ukrainian interference in the 2016 election before any Trump-Zelensky summit in Washington is set up.

Note: Trump’s belief that Ukraine meddled in 2016 revolves around a baseless conspiracy theory that the Russians did not hack the Democratic National Committee and that the Ukrainians have been hiding the DNC server that proves it. (The DNC sent images of its servers to the FBI, and they remain at DNC headquarters.) Giuliani has also alleged that Ukraine helped Democrats dig up dirt on Trump’s campaign chairman Paul Manafort, who was a top adviser to the exiled pro-Russian president of Ukraine Viktor Yanukovych. But during his trial, Manafort’s former deputy Rick Gates testified that his boss had indeed received millions in secret payments from various Ukrainian oligarchs on Yanukovych’s behalf.

Yermak 10:15 AM July 25 Phone call went well. President Trump proposed to choose any convenient dates. President Zelenskiy chose 20,21,22 September for the White House Visit. Thank you again for your help! Please remind Mr. Mayor to share the Madrid’s dates.

Volker 10:16 AM July 25 Great —thanks and will do!

By saying the call went well, Yermak seems to be saying that Zelensky successfully convinced Trump that Ukraine will investigate Biden and the alleged Ukrainian interference. “In addition to that investigation, I guarantee as the president of Ukraine that all the investigations will be done openly and candidly,” Zelensky told Trump, according to a rough transcript of the call. Trump had asked for the investigation as “a favor” after reminding Zelensky how much the U.S. supports Kiev both financially and politically.

After Trump asked Zelensky to investigate Biden and his son with the help of Attorney General Bill Barr, Zelensky reassured Trump he would select a new prosecutor general who is “100% my person, my candidate,” and he or she “will look into the situation, specifically to the company that you mentioned in this issue.”

A brief explanation: Biden’s son Hunter served on the board of directors of an oil and gas company, Burisma, that was investigated briefly by the chief Ukrainian prosecutor, Viktor Shokin, in 2015. Giuliani and Trump have alleged that Biden, as vice president, urged Ukraine to fire Shokin because he was investigating Hunter—but the probe had been dormant for a year by the time Biden, and the bulk of the international community, asked Ukraine to fire Shokin because he was seen as lax on corruption.

Sondland 5:25 PM August 9 Morrison ready to get dates as soon as Yermak confirms.

Volker 5:26 PM August 9 Excellent!! How did you sway him? 🙂

Sondland 5:47 PM August 9 Not sure i did. I think potus really wants the deliverable

Volker 5:48 PM August 9 But does he know that?

Sondland 5:48PM August 9 Yep

Sondland 5:48 PM August 9 Clearly lots of convos going on

Volker 5:48 PM August 9 Ok—then that’s good it’s coming from two separate sources

Sondland 5:51 PM August 9 To avoid misunderstandings, might be helpful to ask Andrey for a draft statement (embargoed) so that we can see exactly what they propose to cover. Even though Ze does a live presser they can still summarize a brief statement. Thoughts?

Volker 5:51 August 9 Agree!

This is an important exchange, in which Sondland reports that Tim Morrison, Fiona Hill’s replacement, has agreed to set up a Trump-Zelensky meeting—largely because Trump “really wants the deliverable,” presumably of Ukraine’s promise to launch the requested investigations.

By this point, the Ukrainians were extremely eager to arrange a White House summit because of the legitimacy such a meeting would confer on the new president and the symbolic importance of showing Russia, Kiev’s chief adversary, that the U.S. fully supports the new Ukrainian government. Sondland is indicating that dangling a date for the summit might spur the Ukrainians to take action sooner—but the U.S. also wants an assurance of some kind beforehand in the form of a “draft statement” that was first disclosed by the New York Times on Thursday night. The statement, which Zelensky does not appear to have ultimately given, would have committed Ukraine to conduct the investigations requested by Trump.

Volker 11:27 AM August 9 Hi Mr Mayor! Had a good chat with Yermak last night. He was pleased with your phone call. Mentioned Z making a statement. Can we all get on the phone to make sure I advise Z correctly as to what he should be saying? Want to make sure we get this done right. Thanks!

Sondland Good idea Kurt. I am on Pacific time.

Giuliani Yes can you call now going to Fundraiser at 12:30

Here, again, Volker brings Giuliani into the mix for advice on drafting a public statement delivered by Zelensky that would commit him to investigating the Bidens and the alleged Ukrainian interference in 2016. Volker is apparently trying to orchestrate the exact set of circumstances under which Trump would agree to work with Zelensky—on the one hand, doing his job to facilitate a better U.S.-Ukraine relationship, but on the other, allowing that relationship to be predicated on Trump’s personal political desires. Notably, this seems to confirm the whistleblower’s description in their complaint that Volker and Sondland “provided advice to the Ukrainian leadership about how to ‘navigate’ the demands that the president made.”

Yermak 4:56 PM August 10 Hi Kurt. Please let me know when you can talk. I think it’s possible to make this declaration and mention all these things. Which we discussed yesterday. But it will be logic to do after we receive a confirmation of date. We inform about date of visit and about our expectations and our guarantees for future visit. Let discuss it

Volker 5:01 PM August 10 Ok! It’s late for you—why don’t we talk in my morning, your afternoon tomorrow? Say 10am/5pm?

Volker 5:02 PM August 10 I agree with your approach. Let’s iron out statement and use that to get date and then PreZ can go forward with it?

Yermak 5:26 PM August 10 Ok

Volker 5:38 PM August 10 Great. Gordon is available to join as well

Yermak 5:41 PM August 10 Excellent

Yermak 5:42 PM August 10 Once we have a date, will call for a press briefing, announcing upcoming visit and outlining vision for the reboot of US-UKRAINE relationship, including among other things Burisma and election meddling in investigations

Volker 5:42 PM August 10 Sounds great!

Yermak gets assertive and plays a little hardball here, asking Volker to lock in a date for a Trump-Zelensky summit before Zelensky agrees to release a statement committing to any investigations. Volker tries to negotiate and offers a middle ground: show us the draft statement and we’ll use that as leverage with the president to set a date. Yermak then explicitly spells out the plan for the first time: After a date for a summit is set, Zelensky will hold a press conference announcing the visit to Washington and committing to an examination of both Burisma and election meddling as part of a “reboot” of the U.S.-Ukraine relationship. Volker, rather than express trepidation about this plan, says it “sounds great.”

Two days later, on August 12, a whistleblower filed a formal complaint with the Intelligence Community Inspector General alleging that “the President of the United States is using the power of his office to solicit interference from a foreign country in the 2020 U.S. election. This interference includes, among other things, pressuring a foreign country to investigate one of the President’s main domestic political rivals.”

Volker 10:26 AM August 13 Special attention should be paid to the problem of interference in the political processes of the United States especially with the alleged involvement of some Ukrainian politicians. I want to declare that this is unacceptable. We intend to initiate and complete a transparent and unbiased investigation of all available facts and episodes, including those involving Burisma and the 2016 U.S. elections, which in turn will prevent the recurrence of this problem in the future.

Sondland 10:27 AM August 13 Perfect. Lets send to Andrey after our call

Here, Volker sends Sondland some of the language he would like to see in the statement released by Zelensky—note: it includes specific references to both Burisma, the company that included Hunter Biden on its board of directors, and “interference” in the 2016 election,and a promise not only to examine the episodes, but to actually “initiate and complete” a full investigation. Sondland agrees and suggests they send it directly to Yermak, presumably to relay to Zelensky.

Sondland 3:06 PM August 17 Do we still want Ze to give us an unequivocal draft with 2016 and Boresma?

Volker 4:34 PM August 17 That’s the clear message so far…

Volker 4:34 PM August 17 I’m hoping we can put something out there that causes him to respond with that

Sondland 4:41 PM August 17 Unless you think otherwise I will return Andreys call tomorrow and suggest the send us a clean draft.

Volker reiterates that the “clear message” being sent to Zelensky is that the diplomats want “an unequivocal draft” that specifically mentions investigating both 2016 election interference and Burisma—again, the company associated with Hunter Biden.

Yermak 2:28 AM August 29 Need to talk with you

Yermak 3:06 AM August 29 Trump holds up Ukraine military aid meant to confront Russia

Volker 6:55 AM August 29 Hi Andrey — absolutely. When is good for you?

Trouble ahead for Volker as it becomes public from POLITICO reporting that Trump ordered his national security team to put a hold on military assistance aid to Ukraine. Up until this point, the Ukrainians evidently believed that the only thing being held over their head by the Trump administration, in exchange for a commitment to probing Burisma and 2016 interference, was a summit with Trump at the White House. As it turns out, financial assistance that Ukraine has used to fend off Russian aggression in the east was also frozen while the talks were ongoing.

Taylor 12:14 AM August 30 Trip canceled

Volker 12:16 AM August 30 Hope VPOTUS keeps the bilat — and tees up WH visit…

Volker 12:16 AM August 30 And hope Gordon and Perry still going…

Sondland 5:31 AM August 30 I am going. Pompeo is speaking to Potus today to see if he can go.

Taylor 12:08 PM Sept 1 Are we now saying that security assistance and WH meeting are conditioned on investigations?

Sondland 12:42 PM Sept 1 Call me

One day after POLITICO revealed that military assistance aid was being withheld, Trump canceled his trip to Poland where he was expected to meet with Zelensky, citing a need to remain in the U.S. to monitor an impending hurricane. One day later, Taylor, who has already established himself as skeptical of the way the Zelensky-Trump relationship is being handled, asks Sondland a pointed question following revelations that the aid has been frozen: “Are we now saying that security assistance and WH meeting are conditioned on investigations?” Sondland then suggests moving the conversation offline.

Sondland 11:20 AM Sept 8 Guys multiple convos with Ze, Potus. Lets talk

Taylor 11:21 AM Sept 8 Now is fine with me

Volker 11:26 AM Sept 8 Try again—could not hear

Taylor 11:40 AM Sept 8 Gordon and I just spoke. I can brief you if you and Gordon didn’t connect.

Taylor 12:37 PM Sept 8 The nightmare is they give the interview and don’t get the security assistance. The Russians love it. (And I quit.)

This is a particularly striking exchange—Taylor seems to threaten to quit if Zelenky does the requested press interview and commits to the investigations, but Trump still holds up the security assistance. He also says the Russians will “love it” if that happens, indicating how important the aid is both symbolically and practically for Ukraine to fend off Russian aggression.

Taylor 12:31 AM Sept 9 The message to the Ukrainians (and Russians) we send with the decision on security assistance is key. With the hold, we have already shaken their faith in us. Thus my nightmare scenario.

Taylor 12:34 AM Sept 9 Counting on you to be right about this interview, Gordon.

Sondland 12:37 AM Sept 9 Bill, I never said I was “right”. I said we are where we are and believe we have identified the best pathway forward. Let’s hope it works.

Taylor 12:47 AM Sept 9 As I said on the phone, I think it’s crazy to withhold security assistance for help with a political campaign.

Sondland 5:19 AM Sept 9 I Believe you are incorrect about President Trump’s intentions. The President has been clear no quid pro quo’s of any kind. The President is trying to evaluate whether Ukraine is truly going to adopt the transparency and reforms that President Zelensky promised during his campaign I suggest we stop the back and forth by text If you still have concerns I recommend you give Lisa Kenna or a call to discuss them directly. Thanks.

One day later, Taylor is still trying to convey how important the assistance aid is to the Ukrainians, and how the hold placed on the aid has “already” shaken their faith in the U.S. This further corroborates the idea that the Ukrainians didn’t know this freeze on aid was even on the table. Sondland then indicates that the best way to restore the relationship and get Trump to release the security assistance is for Zelensky to go ahead with the interview—again likely referring to a press interview in which he commits to the investigations.

Taylor then responds with a comment that’s been seen by Democrats as an elucidation of the exact quid-pro-quo disclosed by the whistleblower: “I think it’s crazy to withhold security assistance for help with a political campaign.” Sondland responds five hours later that there is no quid pro quo, and suggests “we stop the back and forth by text.”

Two days later, on September 11, Trump released the hold on Pentagon and State Department aid. On Wednesday, the State Department approved a $39 million sale of additional Javelin anti-tank weapons to Ukraine, which Zelensky had specifically requested in his July 25 call with Trump. On Friday, Ukraine’s prosecutor general, Ruslan Riaboshapka, announced that his office would conduct an audit of cases closed by his predecessors, of which there are 15 that deal with wealthy businessmen connected to Burisma. Notably, though, Riaboshapka did not commit to opening new investigations into Burisma itself or election interference directly.

Read More

[finsterhund]

Sunday, last day, is very slow. Watching the table and trying not to fall asleep.

I wish I had managed to save more money but alas. Mad at the skytrain and badge fiasco. But at the very least this con has been getting ROASTED for their poor management and money hungry ways.

I still feel really bad about not supporting the one day artists. But I really had no idea they were there. They were also put in a bad spot at the faaaar end of the alley. I don't want to go over there unable to commission them. I could collect buisiness cards to commission them online later, but there's already a ton of artists like that already.

Soon. Lmao.

We close at 5 today. So it won't be as long. I'm not looking forward to the drive back lmao. I am looking forward to being able to sleep in my own bed and not someplace noisy and dark though. I also really want to finally start scanning art again. Hope my scanner wasn't broken that one time it toppled over in the night.

I had that damn two and a half day computer task running while we were away and I really hope that it finished and something stupid didn't happen again like the power going out. One fear.

After that's over I don't really have any more really CPU intensive computer things to do. Then I can just play HoD and Minecraft and not have to worry. If you guys are wondering what I'm doing I'm backing up things. I have way too many files and every once in a while I reorganize some stuff. I technically have four (six if you count ones that I assume were given to me but don't actually know) more working hard disk drives to work with, but I'll leave that until after I've sorted my electronics tote. That's my last thing I need to sort before everything with the move is completely over. My next tech project will probably be salvaging what I can from my 90s scrap computer which has been lying in pieces for like two years. I want to keep the case for it but the metal bottom part is so badly rusted and I need to try some more aggressive rust removal techniques. I thought how neat it'd be if I built my brand new computer in that 90s case but it's not in the best shape.

I've sorta become designated tech guy, responsible for disposing of everybody else's electronic waste and hey, if it means I might finally get enough laptop ram ot of it sure. My issue is I don't know how to access the ram compartment in my current temporary laptop. Otherwise I'd have fixed the abysmally low amount by now. Maybe I'll be able to build something out of everybody else's old junk lmao. I have a pile of really old dingy flash memory sticks and I'm debating just throwing the poor things away. They're unreliable now, but I still feel bad. There's no good use for unreliable flash memory. It's a liability. I wanna get a small brand new flash drive that's just for having reference images on it. I technically already have one but it's so big it seems like a waste. These things have gotten so big in the past few years. We're talking ones that are terobytes of storage. At that point why not just get a solid state? I guess price? But it's so weird to me.

Now that there's no more cons and I'm no longer living off frozen food and unable to go outside I can finally recover from the move. Both physically and financially and I finally start saving up money again for my new computer.

I also need to buy a new USB charging port card for my phone. I can't check right now because no internet to see how much they sell for but it's probably not too bad.

Checked in on the artist. My commission is coming along really well. Andy is in a super actiony pose. Somewhat canonical too. Don't know if it was intentional:

When he does his little jump-run his hat bounces a lil bit off his head and it looks like that.

I really just want the con to be over so I can get back home and be in my own little world to be honest. But after the con it's like an eight hour drive :( please save me.

I just want to surround myself in Heart of Darkness fan art and stuffed dogs.

Turns out the reason why this con sucks and the reason why a con I used to really like started to suck is because it got bought out by a company called InformiCan. They buy Canadian conventions and then ruin them.

Ugh.

There's like four hours left and I'm surviving. No Andy cosplay because at this point it's be just too much work and my toe is still bad. If you guys want I could provide a photo but it's gross. The brusing and swelling have gone down a lot but it's still in pretty sore shape.

There's a stage on the other side of the artist alley and for the entire con they've been blaring really loud bad singing. I guess they received complaints because now it's just fandomy music that's still being blared very loud, but no off key pop songs and people yelling offbeat really loud that is apparently supposed to be rap.

Got the digital Andy. Or saw it. Don't have the file yet because no internet. He looks awesome.

One hour left of the con. I'm so excited to be going home lmao. I want to drown in drawings of Andy and eat junk food. I remember that I have popcicles in the freezer back home owo

Thirty minutes left and your table neighbors have gotten McDonald's. I can smell it and want to die. "I could eat a horse!" is in my head on loop.

Aaaaand it's 5. Time to pack up. Sad it's over because it's the end of an era but I really want some alone time once we get home... After over 8 hours... OOF

I hugged Sam goodbye because it'll probably be the last time I see them for a while because we won't be coming back to cons here. I managed not to cry until I was back at my table. My friend says that we'll probably go to cons here eventually again someday. It just hurts my heart to not see friends for a while.

I wish people aren't just freaking rude for no reason. For a while this con this person just kept fricking glaring and I don't even know why. It's like the guy who got physically confrontational to check badges. You're expending more energy just to be unkind.

Got internet at the McDonald's. Kinda had a mental breakdown and I'm embarrassed by it.

Will probably not have substancial internet until I get back home.

Apparently my package is missing. I'm scared. Hope it comes on Monday.

[cryptswahili]

Living on Bitcoin Day 4: The Uphill Climb

I woke up in a state of amazement: In my three days of living on bitcoin, I had managed to survive on a handful of services and the generosity of friends.

Hungry for any place that would let me spend it, I was more determined than ever to call up every single store in the Bay Area that might accept bitcoin. A few, like Bamboo Asia and Ramen Underground, were closed yesterday, so I still had a small, if shrinking, beacon of light at the end of a tunnel of rejection.

Most places weren’t open yet, so I had a call with my editor, who was keen to hear about how it had been both too simple and hopelessly difficult.

“Well hey, there’s the angle,” she suggested.

It was an angle, but it was also a dead end of sorts. I needed to find someplace to finally spend my bitcoin to make my day-to-day purchases different for a change (though going shop-to-shop in unsuccessful attempts to spend it and acting like a hungry lunatic on Haight street could also be considered “something different”).

A bit of work, a bit of coffee, a bit of social media trumpeting and it’s 11:00 a.m. Excited by the prospect of hopefully going out for lunch for once this week, I called up Bamboo Asia first.

“Hello, is this Bamboo Asia?”

“Yes it is,” a woman responded over the phone.

“Do y’all still accept bitcoin?”

“What?”

“Do you still take bitcoin?”

“Bit … coin?” she stuttered, a bit confused.

“I take that as a no, then?”

“No.”

“Okay, thank you,” I hung up.

Strike one.

Next up: Ramen Underground:

“Yes, hello, do you take bitcoin?”

“Bit what?”

“Bitcoin, the cryptocurrency.”

“Oh. No.”

Strike 2.

Then, I dialed Numa, a sushi joint that had slipped through yesterday’s round of solicitations:

“Do you accept bitcoin?”

“Do we have corn?”

Uh, no.

“No, no, do you take bitcoin — as a method for payment?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what that is,” she said hesitantly.

“It’s internet money. It —”

“Oh, no, no, no — no, not that, sorry.” She quickly cut me off.

Strike 3.

Well, in reality, there were many more strikes than that. I even called Siegel’s Clothing Superstore and Tuxedo, just for hell of it.

Over the phone, the question like an incessant recording (at this point, everytime I ask, I close my eyes and squinch my face up in embarrassed anticipation for the answer).

“I — I don’t think so, but let me check — can you hold on a minute?”

“Absolutely,” I answer, excited at the prospect of potentially something to go on.

“For the current sale, I’m sorry, no, they don’t accept bitcoin. No Apple Pay. Just Visa, Mastercard, American Express, and, of course, U.S. cash.”

Yep, I expected as much.

There was one last hope, but I was beginning to doubt that even Stookey’s, a bar I’d been told takes bitcoin by someone other than Google, would take it. If all else fails, maybe I’ll get to spend it there — eventually.

As night rolled around, I got ready to transition to the Crypto Castle. Queen Liz had granted me two night’s stay: On Tuesday, I’d be on the couches upstairs, but for Monday, I’d be sleeping in Jeremy’s room.

Oh. Ok.

The gesture took me aback for a second but it made sense for the bohemian-tech aesthetic that the house has going for it. That I would sleep in a millionaire’s bed one night and then a couch the next was humorous and exotic in a very benign way to me.

It was a short walk from Christian’s apartment, only half a mile, but distance can be deceiving when San Francisco's hills tack on a couple hundred feet of elevation gain. Lugging my belongings in a 50-gallon hiking backpack, my daypack slung over my right shoulder, I schlepped myself up the hills that were sloping at a crazy 45 degrees.

I was partially heaving when I topped the hill, turned right on Kansas Street and stopped in front of the castle’s telltale blue door with a “Bitcoin Prefered Here” sticker in the window. I pressed the buzzer.

“Yes, who is it?”

“Colin — the Bitcoin journalist,” I responded, and soon heard the door’s unlatching click.

Hans, an Italian expat developer with a machine-learning background who’s relatively new to the space, let me in. He has rich olive skin and curly black hair, and an apprehensive but affable personality.

We walked over to Jeremy’s room as Hans recapped some of what Liz had told me.

“I’m finishing up some work right now, do you mind?” he asked as we entered the room. Apparently, Jeremy’s room is a free-for-all space; he would likely have it no other way.

“Of course not — work away,” I told him. I mean, it’s not really my place to dictate what he can and can’t do in a room that isn’t mine to begin with.

The in-and-out style of the house’s residents made for some brisk but pleasant introductions. I would meet Teddy, a tall, lanky and balding Ethereum-to-EOS developer who works with Hans. He’s a bit jumpy and is into Soylent (and keeps offering me some to drink). Diego, another developer who used to play soccer at Boston College, would also come through with Kingsley, an Australian venture capitalist.

I posted up upstairs and did some work, shot the bull with Crypto Castle denizens and made plans for the rest of the week. I also reviewed Kashmir Hill’s 2014 living on bitcoin series. She had held on to some of her coins (she had a few left) and they had appreciated in value from 2013 to 2014.

Her second series is even more entertaining than the first. With her bitcoins’ increased purchasing power, she could access more exotic experiences: She spends it on winery tours, a nice (boy, I mean nice) dinner and even a riotous strip club experience.

Reading her accounts, I feel a wave of envy and the sense of a missed opportunity. She had so many more ways to spend her bitcoin; in reality, five years later, my bitcoin doesn’t have the same reach and San Francisco has basically zero merchant presence. Even if I had 2–3 bitcoin like her at the time of this experiment, I wouldn’t have a way to spend it (unless I wanted to drop it on bottles at Monarch, but that’s not really my scene).

Toward the end of the day, the reality that I hadn’t had one, in-person exchange with a merchant of any kind deeply depressed me.

Why the hell am I even doing this, and why I am spending so much money here?

I could be doing this anywhere. I could be doing this back home. Even there — in little ol’ Nashville with its tinkertoy tech scene — I could have at least bought dinner at Flyte, the only restaurant in town to accept BTC. But it’s a pricey dine, so by the time the week was up I would have been out a month’s rent (or a week’s rent in San Francisco).

Dinnertime approaching, I decided to use a Whole Foods gift card to stock up on provisions. It was a five-minute walk from the castle, and Kashmir had used gift cards she purchased from Gyft on her second go-around, so I thought it was permissible to buy one off of Bitrefill myself.

At least I could tear into the San Francisco Whole Foods’ hot and cold takeaway bars, an unmatched cornucopia of grocery store self-serves. Turkey pot pie, steak fries, tabouli, butternut squash, kale salad, chicken salad, couscous, shrimp, croquettes, yams, all crammed into the brown to-go box. I also got some Peet’s coffee and almond croissants for the house (should have gone for whole bean because of course this house would also have a grinder).

While the young woman at the counter dealt with the somewhat clunky process of redeeming my gift card — after I’d had to go through the even clunkier process of buying bitcoin before buying said gift card before being able to buy the groceries in store — something Hill observes in her article resonated with me.

The process was more time consuming and labor intensive than paying in fiat, but it was also liberating in its own way.

Bitcoin had provided me the opportunity to purchase those groceries, just as it had allowed me to buy all my Uber Eats food up till now. The merchant/drivers didn’t know where the credit came from, nor where or how it was bought.

For Uber, KYC is a given. But with gift cards, you can use bitcoin to transact in near complete anonymity. You can bank like a ghost if you want, and you can buy most everything you need without leaving a trail of credit or debit. Like cash, bitcoin can be used as an anonymous transfer of value — you just need to transmute it into a different payment method for real-world use first. If you want to increase your anonymity, you can take steps to mask your network activity. (e.g., I started using the privacy-focused Samourai wallet on the fourth day after my BRD wallet became too unreliable).

With these thoughts, I returned home (unfortunately, uphill again). After hanging with the castle’s crew and eating my meal, I took my rest in the bed of a guy who probably didn’t even know I was sleeping there but would doubtless not care.

This article originally appeared on Bitcoin Magazine.

[Telegram Channel | Original Article ]

[ellahmacdermott]

Living on Bitcoin Day 4: The Uphill Climb

I woke up in a state of amazement: In my three days of living on bitcoin, I had managed to survive on a handful of services and the generosity of friends.

Hungry for any place that would let me spend it, I was more determined than ever to call up every single store in the Bay Area that might accept bitcoin. A few, like Bamboo Asia and Ramen Underground, were closed yesterday, so I still had a small, if shrinking, beacon of light at the end of a tunnel of rejection.

Most places weren’t open yet, so I had a call with my editor, who was keen to hear about how it had been both too simple and hopelessly difficult.

“Well hey, there’s the angle,” she suggested.

It was an angle, but it was also a dead end of sorts. I needed to find someplace to finally spend my bitcoin to make my day-to-day purchases different for a change (though going shop-to-shop in unsuccessful attempts to spend it and acting like a hungry lunatic on Haight street could also be considered “something different”).

A bit of work, a bit of coffee, a bit of social media trumpeting and it’s 11:00 a.m. Excited by the prospect of hopefully going out for lunch for once this week, I called up Bamboo Asia first.

“Hello, is this Bamboo Asia?”

“Yes it is,” a woman responded over the phone.

“Do y’all still accept bitcoin?”

“What?”

“Do you still take bitcoin?”

“Bit … coin?” she stuttered, a bit confused.

“I take that as a no, then?”

“No.”

“Okay, thank you,” I hung up.

Strike one.

Next up: Ramen Underground:

“Yes, hello, do you take bitcoin?”

“Bit what?”

“Bitcoin, the cryptocurrency.”

“Oh. No.”

Strike 2.

Then, I dialed Numa, a sushi joint that had slipped through yesterday’s round of solicitations:

“Do you accept bitcoin?”

“Do we have corn?”

Uh, no.

“No, no, do you take bitcoin — as a method for payment?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what that is,” she said hesitantly.

“It’s internet money. It —”

“Oh, no, no, no — no, not that, sorry.” She quickly cut me off.

Strike 3.

Well, in reality, there were many more strikes than that. I even called Siegel’s Clothing Superstore and Tuxedo, just for hell of it.

Over the phone, the question like an incessant recording (at this point, everytime I ask, I close my eyes and squinch my face up in embarrassed anticipation for the answer).

“I — I don’t think so, but let me check — can you hold on a minute?”

“Absolutely,” I answer, excited at the prospect of potentially something to go on.

“For the current sale, I’m sorry, no, they don’t accept bitcoin. No Apple Pay. Just Visa, Mastercard, American Express, and, of course, U.S. cash.”

Yep, I expected as much.

There was one last hope, but I was beginning to doubt that even Stookey’s, a bar I’d been told takes bitcoin by someone other than Google, would take it. If all else fails, maybe I’ll get to spend it there — eventually.

As night rolled around, I got ready to transition to the Crypto Castle. Queen Liz had granted me two night’s stay: On Tuesday, I’d be on the couches upstairs, but for Monday, I’d be sleeping in Jeremy’s room.

Oh. Ok.

The gesture took me aback for a second but it made sense for the bohemian-tech aesthetic that the house has going for it. That I would sleep in a millionaire’s bed one night and then a couch the next was humorous and exotic in a very benign way to me.

It was a short walk from Christian’s apartment, only half a mile, but distance can be deceiving when San Francisco's hills tack on a couple hundred feet of elevation gain. Lugging my belongings in a 50-gallon hiking backpack, my daypack slung over my right shoulder, I schlepped myself up the hills that were sloping at a crazy 45 degrees.

I was partially heaving when I topped the hill, turned right on Kansas Street and stopped in front of the castle’s telltale blue door with a “Bitcoin Prefered Here” sticker in the window. I pressed the buzzer.

“Yes, who is it?”

“Colin — the Bitcoin journalist,” I responded, and soon heard the door’s unlatching click.

Hans, an Italian expat developer with a machine-learning background who’s relatively new to the space, let me in. He has rich olive skin and curly black hair, and an apprehensive but affable personality.

We walked over to Jeremy’s room as Hans recapped some of what Liz had told me.

“I’m finishing up some work right now, do you mind?” he asked as we entered the room. Apparently, Jeremy’s room is a free-for-all space; he would likely have it no other way.

“Of course not — work away,” I told him. I mean, it’s not really my place to dictate what he can and can’t do in a room that isn’t mine to begin with.

The in-and-out style of the house’s residents made for some brisk but pleasant introductions. I would meet Teddy, a tall, lanky and balding Ethereum-to-EOS developer who works with Hans. He’s a bit jumpy and is into Soylent (and keeps offering me some to drink). Diego, another developer who used to play soccer at Boston College, would also come through with Kingsley, an Australian venture capitalist.

I posted up upstairs and did some work, shot the bull with Crypto Castle denizens and made plans for the rest of the week. I also reviewed Kashmir Hill’s 2014 living on bitcoin series. She had held on to some of her coins (she had a few left) and they had appreciated in value from 2013 to 2014.

Her second series is even more entertaining than the first. With her bitcoins’ increased purchasing power, she could access more exotic experiences: She spends it on winery tours, a nice (boy, I mean nice) dinner and even a riotous strip club experience.

Reading her accounts, I feel a wave of envy and the sense of a missed opportunity. She had so many more ways to spend her bitcoin; in reality, five years later, my bitcoin doesn’t have the same reach and San Francisco has basically zero merchant presence. Even if I had 2–3 bitcoin like her at the time of this experiment, I wouldn’t have a way to spend it (unless I wanted to drop it on bottles at Monarch, but that’s not really my scene).

Toward the end of the day, the reality that I hadn’t had one, in-person exchange with a merchant of any kind deeply depressed me.

Why the hell am I even doing this, and why I am spending so much money here?

I could be doing this anywhere. I could be doing this back home. Even there — in little ol’ Nashville with its tinkertoy tech scene — I could have at least bought dinner at Flyte, the only restaurant in town to accept BTC. But it’s a pricey dine, so by the time the week was up I would have been out a month’s rent (or a week’s rent in San Francisco).

Dinnertime approaching, I decided to use a Whole Foods gift card to stock up on provisions. It was a five-minute walk from the castle, and Kashmir had used gift cards she purchased from Gyft on her second go-around, so I thought it was permissible to buy one off of Bitrefill myself.

At least I could tear into the San Francisco Whole Foods’ hot and cold takeaway bars, an unmatched cornucopia of grocery store self-serves. Turkey pot pie, steak fries, tabouli, butternut squash, kale salad, chicken salad, couscous, shrimp, croquettes, yams, all crammed into the brown to-go box. I also got some Peet’s coffee and almond croissants for the house (should have gone for whole bean because of course this house would also have a grinder).

While the young woman at the counter dealt with the somewhat clunky process of redeeming my gift card — after I’d had to go through the even clunkier process of buying bitcoin before buying said gift card before being able to buy the groceries in store — something Hill observes in her article resonated with me.

The process was more time consuming and labor intensive than paying in fiat, but it was also liberating in its own way.

Bitcoin had provided me the opportunity to purchase those groceries, just as it had allowed me to buy all my Uber Eats food up till now. The merchant/drivers didn’t know where the credit came from, nor where or how it was bought.

For Uber, KYC is a given. But with gift cards, you can use bitcoin to transact in near complete anonymity. You can bank like a ghost if you want, and you can buy most everything you need without leaving a trail of credit or debit. Like cash, bitcoin can be used as an anonymous transfer of value — you just need to transmute it into a different payment method for real-world use first. If you want to increase your anonymity, you can take steps to mask your network activity. (e.g., I started using the privacy-focused Samourai wallet on the fourth day after my BRD wallet became too unreliable).

With these thoughts, I returned home (unfortunately, uphill again). After hanging with the castle’s crew and eating my meal, I took my rest in the bed of a guy who probably didn’t even know I was sleeping there but would doubtless not care.

This article originally appeared on Bitcoin Magazine.

from InvestmentOpportunityInCryptocurrencies via Ella Macdermott on Inoreader https://bitcoinmagazine.com/articles/living-on-bitcoin-day-4-the-uphill-climb/

[theinvinciblenoob]

Matthew Carpenter-Arévalo Contributor

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Matthew Carpenter-Arévalo is a former Google and Twitter manager and current CEO of Céntrico Digital, a Latin American-based digital agency.

More posts by this contributor

Desperate for jobs, Venezuelan immigrants turn to ride-hailing services across Latin America

Eduardo Gomez started with Bitcoin in 2012, though he didn’t quite understand what he was getting himself into nor how it would change his life.

Back in his home country of Venezuela, the struggling computer science student signed up to manually process thousands of captchas at a time, and he received Bitcoin in return. Little by little, Eduardo became intrigued. He saw bitrapreneurs pop-up all around him as savvy hackers set up mining operations that took advantage of the country’s subsidized though irregular electricity. He started reading more, writing more, and pretty soon he became a recognized authority on all things crypto.

Eventually he would be hired by a company that allows people to purchase things on Amazon using Bitcoin. When Venezuela became unlivable, Eduardo’s company helped him and his support team relocate to Argentina. In a moment of euphoria, Eduardo wrote:

Though Venezuela crumbled around him, Eduardo found a way to opt-out of his government’s mass-imposed misery. He still worries about his family and friends, but he’s grateful to have had a choice. Unlike the Silicon Valley-based techno-libertarians and utopians who claim Bitcoin will save us from inevitable tyrannical government meddling, Eduardo feels Bitcoin actually did save him from tyrannical government meddling. He believes it can do the same for other Latin Americans, as well.

Since its triumphant arrival to mainstream polite conversation, Bitcoin and its underlying technology blockchain have promised to revolutionize everything from commerce to voting.

While blockchain appears to be fulfilling its promise, many wonder if Bitcoin will ever get around to acting as a viable currency rather than just a store of value or speculative asset.

While Bitcoin can be credited with spawning a new industry of cryptocurrency, in 2018 we still seem to be a ways away from purchasing ice cream or hourly parking with Bitcoin — or any other cryptocurrency for that matter.  

If Bitcoin is to become a viable means of exchange, Latin America would appear to be the currency’s first point of entry on its journey toward ubiquity. Indeed, the region’s long history of economic mismanagement makes Bitcoin adoption as much a necessity as a luxury.  

For example, when you arrive at Simon Bolivar International Airport in Caracas you’ll see an official exchange rate listed above the currency exchange kiosks, and you might be tempted to cash-in your U.S. dollars for whatever the local currency happens to be that month.

Maybe even before you leave the airport someone, possibly a taxi driver, will approach you and offer a completely different and far more beneficial exchange rate. Though the government purports to control the exchange rate across the country of 30 million people, it struggles to control the exchange rate inside the airport.

If you’re dining in Buenos Aires and you offer to pay in U.S. dollars, you’ll be happy to know you’ll receive a favorable exchange rate for your Benjamins. However, once you pull a bill from your pocket, you may find yourself in a seemingly nonsensical discussion with the waiter about the quality of the bill and how the slightly bent edges means a lower rate than the one initially offered.

Finally, if you arrive in Quito, Ecuador as a tourist, you’ll be delighted to see that the country has no currency of its own in circulation: the country has used the greenback since a financial crisis in 1999 destroyed the banking system and the country’s currency. In an act of desperation, the country switched to the U.S. dollar.  

Your glee may turn to discomfort after you ask a taxi driver to break a $20 bill and you’ll see him fidget nervously and probably ask you for exact change. Few things are harder in the Andean capital than breaking a $20. Never having the right mix of bills is one of the downsides of not controlling your own money supply.

For your average tourist, these encounters are befuddling. To economists, these incidents are both sad and bemusing: all of the worst-case currency management scenarios first-year economics students study in textbooks seem to come to life in the countries that are fed by the Amazon river and its tributaries — like a twisted Narnia for economists.

To the local populations of the aforementioned countries, managing currencies has turned common people into artisanal forex traders. While annoying, volatile currencies have been around for as long as anyone can remember, and people adjust their behavior in order to survive. If you want to buy an apartment in Buenos Aires, for example, you’ll be expected to arrive with the payment in U.S. dollars in cash. Best to invest in a good briefcase.

Unequal access to technology often means unequal access to the benefits of technology.

As crypto enters its peak or its decent, depending on who you ask, Latin America offers the perfect testing ground for the technology’s practical application. Specifically, Argentines and Venezuelans would appear to be the test group for the use of crypto currencies as an alternative to unstable and unreliable national currencies.

In a parallel world, both Argentina and Venezuela would be the region’s richest countries, were it not for their leaders’ penchants for mismanagement and corruption. With oil reserves greater than those of Saudi Arabia, Venezuela should be thriving. Instead, its experiment with socialism has resulted in more than two million people leaving the country, a wrecked economy and a humanitarian crisis that threatens regional stability.  

Argentina’s current crisis is far more complex, and yet also more predictable due to the country’s history of boom and bust.

Despite the initial optimism voiced by foreign investors when a right-leaning pro-market government came to power in 2017, such optimism has not been reflected in support for the peso.

The peso has suffered due to, amongst other factors, a strengthening dollar, dwindling foreign currency reserves and investor mistrust. Inflation caused by past policies of over-printing money to service local debt combined with the current government’s elimination of energy subsidies means that Argentines can’t be sure on Monday what their money will be worth on Friday.

The theatrics of Argentina’s politics also doesn’t inspire confidence, and breaking news can often send the peso on nosedives. Stories of corruption unfold like Emmy-winning soap operas.  

For example, the recently discovered notebooks of a government chofer reveal that businesses close to the current president are alleged to have paid bribes to its bitter rivals from the previous government. Regardless of their ideological differences, Latin America’s political class is often united in its penchant for corruption.

The cyclical nature of Argentina’s currency crisis is what gives some hope that the country can become the first to develop a thriving national Bitcoin market. Already a hotbed for blockchain-based companies such as Ripio, Buenos Aires has a higher percentage of businesses that accept Bitcoin than New York. By the end of 2018, Argentina will have more than 100 Bitcoin ATMs, a number expected to increase to 1,600 by the end of 2019.

For Agustina Fainguersch, an Argentine entrepreneur who helps companies, including many in Latin America as managing partner at Wolox, manage digital transformation through the adoption of technologies such as the blockchain, Bitcoin is a practical solution for the average Argentine just trying to make ends meet.

“In Argentina, we exchange pesos into dollars and then back again within the span of a week,” she says. Given that the peso has lost 50 percent of its value against the dollar since the beginning of 2018, most are changing money for the purpose of short-term survival rather than long-term savings. “Many Argentines are often just trying to make sure they have enough money to cover basic expenses.”

According to Fainguersch, the advantage Bitcoin has over other currencies is its increasingly availability, and as such acts as an alternative to the U.S. dollar. Fainguersch has seen how, over the span of a few years, more and more Argentines can access the cryptocurrency and easily exchange pesos. “So long as it’s less volatile than the peso, it’s attractive. Argentine’s have a long history of navigating volatility,” notes Fainguersch.

That volatility, however, is also a risk that places Bitcoin at a disadvantage when compared to the U.S. dollar. Also widely available, the dollar is relatively stable and relatively easy to exchange, though not without burdens and risks, such as falsified bills, hence the extra-value placed on crisp bills.

The future of Bitcoin will depend on which narratives become the meta-narratives.

For Matías Bianchi, the Argentine political scientist and founder of the regional think-tank Asuntos del Sur, the demand for Bitcoin in Argentina follows a familiar pattern: Like much technology that promises to democratize access to something, the benefits of said technology most likely end up helping a wealthy few at the expense of the increasingly hard-luck masses.

In the case of Bitcoin, Bianchi opines that its adoption in Argentina is driven in large part by a wealthy class that has always looked for ways to subvert the country’s institutions to protect its wealth and to benefit from speculative financial activities. “Bitcoin allows the elites to opt-out of the poor decisions made by the government they help install.” After all, unequal access to technology often means unequal access to the benefits of technology.

For Bianchi, talk of an alternative to the national currency is elitist hogwash. Even if a larger and larger percentage of Argentines use Bitcoin, Bianchi argues, 100 percent of Argentines still need to use pesos. As such, opting out of the peso is a luxury for some but not for a viable solution for all. In Bianchi’s view of the world, Bitcoin is more like a modern-day offshore account that removes wealth from the economy and shifts the burden of bad government to the poor. It’s like a Cayman Islands account on your phone, and in countries where corruption is rife and stability is rare, such technology is bound to thrive.

For Venezuelans arriving in Argentina like the aforementioned Eduardo Gomez, their new country’s currency woes are not unfamiliar. As previously mentioned, Eduardo was a student in Venezuela when he first discovered Bitcoin. As the bottom fell out of the Venezuelan economy, Bitcoin mining became a popular activity in a country where everything is subsidized, including energy. Eventually the government caught on and cracked down, but not before a nascent Bitcoin community took form.

Undemocratic Socialist governments tend to replace economic elites with elites who are connected to the sources of power, and, according to Gomez, people with connections in the government eventually took over the Bitcoin mining space. Venezuela even launched its own cryptocurrency, the Petro, whose value is tied to oil production. The Petro has been met with skepticism from both crypto-enthusiasts as well as average Venezuelans who have long lost faith that the government responsible for their problems is capable of solving them.

As previously mentioned, Venezuelans have been leaving their country en masse to escape the entirely man-made crisis that has engulfed their country, and more than 130,000 have settled in Argentina. Gomez sees the parallels between Argentina’s current predicament and the one he left behind in Venezuela, though he feels Argentina’s crisis is tame compared to the complete social breakdown suffered in Venezuela.  

Compared to Venezuela, trading Bitcoin in Argentina is much easier: users in both countries use LocalBitCoin.bom to connect with buyers and sellers to facilitate converting money to and from local currencies. The process is somewhat archaic and not without risks. Unlike in Venezuela, in Argentina many money exchangers also offer Bitcoin exchange services. Whereas in Venezuela buyers and sellers run the risk of the government discovering their Bitcoin activities and blocking their bank accounts, in Argentina the government is more concerned about individuals not declaring their income or capital gains.

Both Argentina and Venezuela have offered the ideal conditions for the development of national Bitcoin communities, including the two key ingredients: subsidized energy and unstable national currencies.

As a result, both countries have benefited from the emergence of developer communities focused both on cryptocurrencies as well as blockchain-enabled technologies. Nonetheless, neither country is likely to fulfill the Bitcoin fantasy of replacing their national currencies, nor even overtaking the greenback as an alternative to unstable national currencies.

Bitcoin’s ultimate use cases are more likely to appear along the lines of existing power structures. Wealthy people in Argentina will use Bitcoin to hide their money. Corrupt Venezuelan officials will find a way to enrich themselves at the cost of the struggling masses. Having said that, if Bitcoin becomes as stable as the U.S. greenback, its use as a store of value will continue to increase.

Other innovations will also emerge: as Gomez points point, the launch of Coinbase’s USD coin, a cryptocurrency pegged to the U.S. dollar, could make it a lot easier for people to move money between dollars, pesos and bitcoins without the need to carry physical cash. One of Argentina’s leading Bitcoin thinkers, Santiago Siri, has proposed to the country’s Central Bank that it hold 1 percent of its foreign currency reserves in cryptocurrency. Though the plan is unlikely to succeed, Argentina’s desperate circumstances has opened the door for out-of-the-box thinking.

Is it easier for technology to co-opt power than it is for power to co-opt technology?

The emergence of Bitcoin as an alternative to the U.S. dollar will not reduce the need for sound monetary policy, nor will the stability promised by the U.S. dollar become less attractive for the average Argentine or Venezuelan looking to make ends meet rather than speculate away their savings. In either case, Bitcoin does not replace the need for sound institutions.

Of course, if President Trump is successful in gaining control of the U.S. Federal Reserve in order to begin manipulating monetary policy to benefit his short-term political agenda, the U.S. dollar could lose its attractiveness. So far, however, U.S. institutions appear to be fairly resilient in the face of the type of intrusive leadership Latin Americans know all too well.

Though its proponents will continue to tout Bitcoin’s superiority vis-à-vis fiat currencies, Bitcoin’s ultimate challenge is that it is hard to understand and will therefore be defined by stories we tell about it. In other words, the future of Bitcoin will depend on which narratives become the meta-narratives: will Bitcoin be defined by the Eduardo Gomez stories of individuals who escape systems of tyranny thanks to Bitcoin, or the corrupt government officials who receive bribes in their anonymous crypto-wallet, or the drug traffickers who evades detection by shifting from U.S. dollar payments to crypto?

Over 50 years ago Marshall McLuhan wrote, “the new media and technologies by which we amplify and extend ourselves constitute a huge collective surgery carried out on the social body with complete disregard for antiseptics.” Bitcoin is the perfect example of a surgery we are undertaking on the body politic without necessarily understanding the far-reaching consequences. We have to consider that making policy decisions based on the currency’s theoretical promise may not result in a better world.

At the same time, we should also be open to re-thinking how the world operates for the sake of empowering people through technology. The challenge for democratizing technologies is that they must take on and overcome existing power structures. In Latin America institutions are often weak, which is part of the reason why Bitcoin can flourish there: the poison and the antidote spring from the same well. That doesn’t mean, however, that there aren’t powerful and resilient interests filling the voids left by those floundering institutions.

Ultimately the question for Bitcoin in Latin America and elsewhere in the world is following: Is it easier for technology to co-opt power than it is for power to co-opt technology? Argentina and Venezuela are putting that question to the test. The world watches.

via TechCrunch

[fmservers]

Can Bitcoin find its practical use case as a currency in Latin America?

Matthew Carpenter-Arévalo Contributor

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Matthew Carpenter-Arévalo is a former Google and Twitter manager and current CEO of Céntrico Digital, a Latin American-based digital agency.

More posts by this contributor

Desperate for jobs, Venezuelan immigrants turn to ride-hailing services across Latin America

Eduardo Gomez started with Bitcoin in 2012, though he didn’t quite understand what he was getting himself into nor how it would change his life.

Back in his home country of Venezuela, the struggling computer science student signed up to manually process thousands of captchas at a time, and he received Bitcoin in return. Little by little, Eduardo became intrigued. He saw bitrapreneurs pop-up all around him as savvy hackers set up mining operations that took advantage of the country’s subsidized though irregular electricity. He started reading more, writing more, and pretty soon he became a recognized authority on all things crypto.

Eventually he would be hired by a company that allows people to purchase things on Amazon using Bitcoin. When Venezuela became unlivable, Eduardo’s company helped him and his support team relocate to Argentina. In a moment of euphoria, Eduardo wrote:

Though Venezuela crumbled around him, Eduardo found a way to opt-out of his government’s mass-imposed misery. He still worries about his family and friends, but he’s grateful to have had a choice. Unlike the Silicon Valley-based techno-libertarians and utopians who claim Bitcoin will save us from inevitable tyrannical government meddling, Eduardo feels Bitcoin actually did save him from tyrannical government meddling. He believes it can do the same for other Latin Americans, as well.

Since its triumphant arrival to mainstream polite conversation, Bitcoin and its underlying technology blockchain have promised to revolutionize everything from commerce to voting.

While blockchain appears to be fulfilling its promise, many wonder if Bitcoin will ever get around to acting as a viable currency rather than just a store of value or speculative asset.

While Bitcoin can be credited with spawning a new industry of cryptocurrency, in 2018 we still seem to be a ways away from purchasing ice cream or hourly parking with Bitcoin — or any other cryptocurrency for that matter.  

If Bitcoin is to become a viable means of exchange, Latin America would appear to be the currency’s first point of entry on its journey toward ubiquity. Indeed, the region’s long history of economic mismanagement makes Bitcoin adoption as much a necessity as a luxury.  

For example, when you arrive at Simon Bolivar International Airport in Caracas you’ll see an official exchange rate listed above the currency exchange kiosks, and you might be tempted to cash-in your U.S. dollars for whatever the local currency happens to be that month.

Maybe even before you leave the airport someone, possibly a taxi driver, will approach you and offer a completely different and far more beneficial exchange rate. Though the government purports to control the exchange rate across the country of 30 million people, it struggles to control the exchange rate inside the airport.

If you’re dining in Buenos Aires and you offer to pay in U.S. dollars, you’ll be happy to know you’ll receive a favorable exchange rate for your Benjamins. However, once you pull a bill from your pocket, you may find yourself in a seemingly nonsensical discussion with the waiter about the quality of the bill and how the slightly bent edges means a lower rate than the one initially offered.

Finally, if you arrive in Quito, Ecuador as a tourist, you’ll be delighted to see that the country has no currency of its own in circulation: the country has used the greenback since a financial crisis in 1999 destroyed the banking system and the country’s currency. In an act of desperation, the country switched to the U.S. dollar.  

Your glee may turn to discomfort after you ask a taxi driver to break a $20 bill and you’ll see him fidget nervously and probably ask you for exact change. Few things are harder in the Andean capital than breaking a $20. Never having the right mix of bills is one of the downsides of not controlling your own money supply.

For your average tourist, these encounters are befuddling. To economists, these incidents are both sad and bemusing: all of the worst-case currency management scenarios first-year economics students study in textbooks seem to come to life in the countries that are fed by the Amazon river and its tributaries — like a twisted Narnia for economists.

To the local populations of the aforementioned countries, managing currencies has turned common people into artisanal forex traders. While annoying, volatile currencies have been around for as long as anyone can remember, and people adjust their behavior in order to survive. If you want to buy an apartment in Buenos Aires, for example, you’ll be expected to arrive with the payment in U.S. dollars in cash. Best to invest in a good briefcase.

Unequal access to technology often means unequal access to the benefits of technology.

As crypto enters its peak or its decent, depending on who you ask, Latin America offers the perfect testing ground for the technology’s practical application. Specifically, Argentines and Venezuelans would appear to be the test group for the use of crypto currencies as an alternative to unstable and unreliable national currencies.

In a parallel world, both Argentina and Venezuela would be the region’s richest countries, were it not for their leaders’ penchants for mismanagement and corruption. With oil reserves greater than those of Saudi Arabia, Venezuela should be thriving. Instead, its experiment with socialism has resulted in more than two million people leaving the country, a wrecked economy and a humanitarian crisis that threatens regional stability.  

Argentina’s current crisis is far more complex, and yet also more predictable due to the country’s history of boom and bust.

Despite the initial optimism voiced by foreign investors when a right-leaning pro-market government came to power in 2017, such optimism has not been reflected in support for the peso.

The peso has suffered due to, amongst other factors, a strengthening dollar, dwindling foreign currency reserves and investor mistrust. Inflation caused by past policies of over-printing money to service local debt combined with the current government’s elimination of energy subsidies means that Argentines can’t be sure on Monday what their money will be worth on Friday.

The theatrics of Argentina’s politics also doesn’t inspire confidence, and breaking news can often send the peso on nosedives. Stories of corruption unfold like Emmy-winning soap operas.  

For example, the recently discovered notebooks of a government chofer reveal that businesses close to the current president are alleged to have paid bribes to its bitter rivals from the previous government. Regardless of their ideological differences, Latin America’s political class is often united in its penchant for corruption.

The cyclical nature of Argentina’s currency crisis is what gives some hope that the country can become the first to develop a thriving national Bitcoin market. Already a hotbed for blockchain-based companies such as Ripio, Buenos Aires has a higher percentage of businesses that accept Bitcoin than New York. By the end of 2018, Argentina will have more than 100 Bitcoin ATMs, a number expected to increase to 1,600 by the end of 2019.

For Agustina Fainguersch, an Argentine entrepreneur who helps companies, including many in Latin America as managing partner at Wolox, manage digital transformation through the adoption of technologies such as the blockchain, Bitcoin is a practical solution for the average Argentine just trying to make ends meet.

“In Argentina, we exchange pesos into dollars and then back again within the span of a week,” she says. Given that the peso has lost 50 percent of its value against the dollar since the beginning of 2018, most are changing money for the purpose of short-term survival rather than long-term savings. “Many Argentines are often just trying to make sure they have enough money to cover basic expenses.”

According to Fainguersch, the advantage Bitcoin has over other currencies is its increasingly availability, and as such acts as an alternative to the U.S. dollar. Fainguersch has seen how, over the span of a few years, more and more Argentines can access the cryptocurrency and easily exchange pesos. “So long as it’s less volatile than the peso, it’s attractive. Argentine’s have a long history of navigating volatility,” notes Fainguersch.

That volatility, however, is also a risk that places Bitcoin at a disadvantage when compared to the U.S. dollar. Also widely available, the dollar is relatively stable and relatively easy to exchange, though not without burdens and risks, such as falsified bills, hence the extra-value placed on crisp bills.

The future of Bitcoin will depend on which narratives become the meta-narratives.

For Matías Bianchi, the Argentine political scientist and founder of the regional think-tank Asuntos del Sur, the demand for Bitcoin in Argentina follows a familiar pattern: Like much technology that promises to democratize access to something, the benefits of said technology most likely end up helping a wealthy few at the expense of the increasingly hard-luck masses.

In the case of Bitcoin, Bianchi opines that its adoption in Argentina is driven in large part by a wealthy class that has always looked for ways to subvert the country’s institutions to protect its wealth and to benefit from speculative financial activities. “Bitcoin allows the elites to opt-out of the poor decisions made by the government they help install.” After all, unequal access to technology often means unequal access to the benefits of technology.

For Bianchi, talk of an alternative to the national currency is elitist hogwash. Even if a larger and larger percentage of Argentines use Bitcoin, Bianchi argues, 100 percent of Argentines still need to use pesos. As such, opting out of the peso is a luxury for some but not for a viable solution for all. In Bianchi’s view of the world, Bitcoin is more like a modern-day offshore account that removes wealth from the economy and shifts the burden of bad government to the poor. It’s like a Cayman Islands account on your phone, and in countries where corruption is rife and stability is rare, such technology is bound to thrive.

For Venezuelans arriving in Argentina like the aforementioned Eduardo Gomez, their new country’s currency woes are not unfamiliar. As previously mentioned, Eduardo was a student in Venezuela when he first discovered Bitcoin. As the bottom fell out of the Venezuelan economy, Bitcoin mining became a popular activity in a country where everything is subsidized, including energy. Eventually the government caught on and cracked down, but not before a nascent Bitcoin community took form.

Undemocratic Socialist governments tend to replace economic elites with elites who are connected to the sources of power, and, according to Gomez, people with connections in the government eventually took over the Bitcoin mining space. Venezuela even launched its own cryptocurrency, the Petro, whose value is tied to oil production. The Petro has been met with skepticism from both crypto-enthusiasts as well as average Venezuelans who have long lost faith that the government responsible for their problems is capable of solving them.

As previously mentioned, Venezuelans have been leaving their country en masse to escape the entirely man-made crisis that has engulfed their country, and more than 130,000 have settled in Argentina. Gomez sees the parallels between Argentina’s current predicament and the one he left behind in Venezuela, though he feels Argentina’s crisis is tame compared to the complete social breakdown suffered in Venezuela.  

Compared to Venezuela, trading Bitcoin in Argentina is much easier: users in both countries use LocalBitCoin.bom to connect with buyers and sellers to facilitate converting money to and from local currencies. The process is somewhat archaic and not without risks. Unlike in Venezuela, in Argentina many money exchangers also offer Bitcoin exchange services. Whereas in Venezuela buyers and sellers run the risk of the government discovering their Bitcoin activities and blocking their bank accounts, in Argentina the government is more concerned about individuals not declaring their income or capital gains.

Both Argentina and Venezuela have offered the ideal conditions for the development of national Bitcoin communities, including the two key ingredients: subsidized energy and unstable national currencies.

As a result, both countries have benefited from the emergence of developer communities focused both on cryptocurrencies as well as blockchain-enabled technologies. Nonetheless, neither country is likely to fulfill the Bitcoin fantasy of replacing their national currencies, nor even overtaking the greenback as an alternative to unstable national currencies.

Bitcoin’s ultimate use cases are more likely to appear along the lines of existing power structures. Wealthy people in Argentina will use Bitcoin to hide their money. Corrupt Venezuelan officials will find a way to enrich themselves at the cost of the struggling masses. Having said that, if Bitcoin becomes as stable as the U.S. greenback, its use as a store of value will continue to increase.

Other innovations will also emerge: as Gomez points point, the launch of Coinbase’s USD coin, a cryptocurrency pegged to the U.S. dollar, could make it a lot easier for people to move money between dollars, pesos and bitcoins without the need to carry physical cash. One of Argentina’s leading Bitcoin thinkers, Santiago Siri, has proposed to the country’s Central Bank that it hold 1 percent of its foreign currency reserves in cryptocurrency. Though the plan is unlikely to succeed, Argentina’s desperate circumstances has opened the door for out-of-the-box thinking.

Is it easier for technology to co-opt power than it is for power to co-opt technology?

The emergence of Bitcoin as an alternative to the U.S. dollar will not reduce the need for sound monetary policy, nor will the stability promised by the U.S. dollar become less attractive for the average Argentine or Venezuelan looking to make ends meet rather than speculate away their savings. In either case, Bitcoin does not replace the need for sound institutions.

Of course, if President Trump is successful in gaining control of the U.S. Federal Reserve in order to begin manipulating monetary policy to benefit his short-term political agenda, the U.S. dollar could lose its attractiveness. So far, however, U.S. institutions appear to be fairly resilient in the face of the type of intrusive leadership Latin Americans know all too well.

Though its proponents will continue to tout Bitcoin’s superiority vis-à-vis fiat currencies, Bitcoin’s ultimate challenge is that it is hard to understand and will therefore be defined by stories we tell about it. In other words, the future of Bitcoin will depend on which narratives become the meta-narratives: will Bitcoin be defined by the Eduardo Gomez stories of individuals who escape systems of tyranny thanks to Bitcoin, or the corrupt government officials who receive bribes in their anonymous crypto-wallet, or the drug traffickers who evades detection by shifting from U.S. dollar payments to crypto?

Over 50 years ago Marshall McLuhan wrote, “the new media and technologies by which we amplify and extend ourselves constitute a huge collective surgery carried out on the social body with complete disregard for antiseptics.” Bitcoin is the perfect example of a surgery we are undertaking on the body politic without necessarily understanding the far-reaching consequences. We have to consider that making policy decisions based on the currency’s theoretical promise may not result in a better world.

At the same time, we should also be open to re-thinking how the world operates for the sake of empowering people through technology. The challenge for democratizing technologies is that they must take on and overcome existing power structures. In Latin America institutions are often weak, which is part of the reason why Bitcoin can flourish there: the poison and the antidote spring from the same well. That doesn’t mean, however, that there aren’t powerful and resilient interests filling the voids left by those floundering institutions.

Ultimately the question for Bitcoin in Latin America and elsewhere in the world is following: Is it easier for technology to co-opt power than it is for power to co-opt technology? Argentina and Venezuela are putting that question to the test. The world watches.

Via David Riggs https://techcrunch.com

[airoasis]

Kavanaugh vs. Ford: Why Isn't Inspiration Being Seriously Questioned by Our Side?

========= ========= Promoted from the journals by streiff. Promo does not indicate recommendation. ========= =========

President Donald Trump talks with Judge Brett Kavanaugh his Supreme Court nominee, and his family in the East Room of the White Home, Monday, July 9, 2018, in Washington. (AP Photo/Alex Brandon)

Over at the Weekly Standard a piece by Thomas W. Kirby What Memory Science Can Inform Us About Christine Ford and Brett Kavanaugh deliberately or not, produces a stalking horse to sidetrack us from questioning Christine Ford's memories. He begins with this declaration:

More frequently than many of us recognize, truthful witnesses genuinely testify things they clearly remember however just are not true

and, continuing, he declares that:

Importantly, witnesses typically are uninformed of possible defects in their memories. When we draw a blank or a blur, at least we understand we do not remember. That is not the only way memory fails us. An abject memory may seem brilliant and sharp, and witnesses with such memories affirm to them with complete conviction. Observers can't spot a lie due to the fact that there is no lie to be identified. We can be encouraged a witness is being completely honest, however that does not indicate the witness's testimony is true. Sometimes the memory is false.The Stalking Horse He quotes scholarly research on how memory, even memory from current occasions, can be flawed specifying: Emerging concerns over witness memories were resolved in a 2014 consensus research study report by a blue ribbon group of scientists assembled by the National Research Council titled Recognizing the Perpetrator: Evaluating Eyewitness Identification.The research study discovered that eyewitness memories were more vulnerable than typically presumed and were quickly distorted. It reported that"perceptual experiences"are both shaped" by expectations that are based upon prior experiences"and "stored by a system of memory that is extremely malleable and continuously evolving."He discusses:" Flashbulb "memories, recollections of severe events that seem burned into our minds for life.And argues that: First, these vibrant flashbulb memories end up being unreliable as time passes.and Second, witnesses with degraded flashbulb memories often

were securely and all the best encouraged their memories had not changed.He utilizes seemingly irrefutable examples to reveal that memory doesn't function the way many on the left want us to think, pricing estimate

example after example of when memory fails us. He prices quote studies, one where:"500 highly picked military personnel were provided

hard-core training in how to survive as a POW" and moves into more scholarly works,"These and other similar outcomes were gathered in a 2013

short article by Joyce Lacy and Craig Stark," The Neuroscience of Memory."" Continuing, he shows how this memory research associates with Ford's statement with this declaration Apply this science to Ford's reported recollections. She says she was a 15-yearold woman going to a celebration in a home with a number of older teens.Continuing later on: Notably, scientists now decline the old belief that memories are merely taped and kept undamaged, to be played back by the brain like a video. Instead, in a still-mysterious procedure

, the brain calls a few linked facts and integrates them with a sense of what typically happensto rebuild a memory. As the 2014 report warns, this process of memory restoration is intricate, open to error, and may erroneously integrate products that then get embedded in future restorations. In particular

, memories of the identities of assailants are easily damaged, as the report files. [Emphasis added] Huh, what does that mean here?While this is fantastic details for the curious of mind, as I see it, one of the fantastic failings of this piece is that he never addresses the problem of inspiration of the parties in having these'memories'. He mentions that:"it is not just possible however maybe even likely that errors crept in"and, thus, her statement might be seriously given as the truth as she remembers it and, hence, she isn't'lying!'Christine Ford and the other witnesses versus Kavanaugh are progressives and, probably, have strong inspirations for the creation of memories out of whole cloth.

In fairness, Brett Kavanaugh, if he were guilty of what he's being accused of, would struggle with the very same problems related to the memory mechanism that Ms. Ford may be guilty of, that is, "this procedure of memory restoration is intricate, open to mistake, and might mistakenly integrate products that then get embedded in future reconstructions "Bringing all of it together: Motivations Assuming Ms. Ford has"combined realities with a sense of what usually takes place to rebuild a memory "she appears to have the inspiration to let her mind develop

these memories for her. Consider: She had an activating occasion when she became aware of Kavanaugh being discussed for a SC position throughout Romney's run for president; She has a memory of parties and other parties throughout her high school years; She may, or might not, have actually experienced the occasion she remembers however, without a doubt, either somebody she understood or somebody in her tribe had experienced an event of that nature; She is ideologically opposed to conservatives and, because Kavanaugh is

one, discovers him offending or, at a minimum, extremely opposed by her tribe; She has had

a number of years for her mind to rebuild a memory that fits the narrative she needed; and Her people, the Democrats, needed something to hinder Kavanaugh's nomination.Unfortunately, her mind needed to complete facts to support the event her mind had actually recreated and her mind had to complete more detail than it had any realities for, so she called a number of other individuals and a time when it took place that the mind couldn't produce a trustworthy and/or complete history for.So, on the face of it, due to the fact that it might credibly be powered by the group imperative of her tribe, the'memory 'she has is more likely than not to have been recreated by her mind. On the other hand Kavanaugh, being an extremely focused specific even in high school, had the help of contemporaneously produced records in the kind of his schedule and other items plus the statements of the'recreated

identities' in Ms. Ford's statement rejecting any participation in the occasion she remembers.Leaving the sanctuary of the scholarly Due to the fact that the

The Weekly Requirement piece left out the crucial questions of inspirations for the Ms. Ford's memories it serves more as a lorry to sidetrack us from the question however, at the same time, presents us with the system to comprehend why these'memories 'have, and will continue to, surface area whenever the members of the progressive's people need to thwart a SC candidate that the tribe must

oppose.Questioning at Thursday's hearings not developed to understand whether the memories of both Ms. Ford and Brett Kavanaugh will be a travesty.The post Kavanaugh vs. Ford: Why Isn't Motivation Being Seriously Questioned by Our Side? appeared initially on RedState.

[junker-town]

Major League Baseball has a racism problem and Angel Hernandez is bad

Tuesday’s Say Hey, Baseball talks about Angel Hernandez’s lawsuit against MLB, ice cream, and an unlikely tale of the concussion of a Mets prospect.

Listen, we know it’s tough to catch up on everything happening in the baseball world each morning. There are all kinds of stories, rumors, game coverage, and Vines of dudes getting hit in the beans every day. Trying to find all of it while on your way to work or sitting at your desk just isn’t easy. It’s OK, though. We’re going to do the heavy lifting for you each morning and find the things you need to see from within the SB Nation baseball network, as well as from elsewhere. Please hold your applause until the end, or at least until after you subscribe to the newsletter.

* * *

The indisputable confirmation that balks only exist to wreak havoc finally arrived. Monday, Cuban-born 24-year veteran umpire Angel Hernandez filed a suit alleging racial discrimination against the Office of the Commissioner, in part because Hernandez alleges that Joe Torre held a personal grudge over him for almost two decades, dating back to when Hernandez called a balk on Andy Pettite. After the 2001 game, Torre told media that Hernandez “just wanted to be noticed over there,” a sentiment that has been echoed in his evaluations since 2001 when Torre joined as Chief Baseball Officer. However, Hernandez’s suit also centers around charges of racial discrimination in MLB’s promotion and postseason assignment policies--which, I mean, yeah, who’d be surprised. Hernandez has never umpired a World Series despite high internal ratings, and his four applications to become a crew chief were denied in favor of “less experienced, generally white umpires.”

First, we need to have a talk. The thousands and billions of times that Hernandez has probably screwed your favorite team over really, truly, honestly is not at issue here. The problem is that if for years Hernandez was passed up on for opportunities like a crew chief title or a World Series gig despite his relatively good internal evaluations, then MLB’s ingrained racism is probably to blame. Again. Hernandez believes that he is being discriminated against. It’s not a light accusation and it has implications about how the employees above, below and equal to him are treated as well.

It’s true: Hernandez is Not Great. In fact, he seems to have even come out of the proverbial umpire-womb making bad calls. The league can be racist at the same time; Amazing! Relish and seltzer water don’t stop sucking becuase you put them in the same room together. Also consider that the three truths of life are that you’re born, you die, and umpires blow it. Ask Armando Galarraga, any one of Joe West’s victims, or even ‘ole unreliable, C.B Bucknor. The Ohio judge isn’t going to hold Hernandez’s 2013 Cleveland Indians home run call against him. He’ll more likely care about internal evaluations, such as Hernandez’s 96.88 ball/strike accuracy in 2016. Or he might care that since 2000, each of the 23 umpires promoted to crew chief have been white. Or maybe he'll notice that in the past six seasons, according to the suit, 34 of the 35 World Series umpires were white.

Let’s not act like anything close to perfection is not demanded of crew chiefs, either. West is bad and has been for 49 whole years. He’s been a crew chief since 2002, and he has five World Series appearances. West worked his first full time season in MLB in 1978 (please retire, Joe) and was given the title of crew chief in 2003. Hernandez has been in the league as long as West was when he was given the promotion. Longitude isn’t a good measure of effectiveness, but it’s likely utilized by MLB and it’s one of the best available until or if umpire evaluations get leaked (@Snowden).

This whole thing will probably be good for baseball. The racism and xenophobia endemic to MLB is proven often, but in few places is it more clear than in the demographics of leadership. The hope is that this keeps pushing MLB in the right direction of necessary change. Though the suit singles Torre out for personal animus, it specifically discusses that the issue at hand is a systemic mistreatment of minorities, not limited to umpires. The number of minorities in leadership positions is a telltale sign of the discrimination at play. Selig’s Rule hasn’t brought about the change it needed to. There are only two black managers in baseball (Dusty Baker and Dave Roberts) and zero latino managers. The limited power that minorities hold is not only alarming but also makes the league less appealing and more difficult to grow.

--Mina Dunn

These All Star rosters are part of a balanced breakfast and are made possible in part by internet voting. Grant Brisbee takes you through how the internet voting process influences a vote. Please don’t show this article to a Baby Boomer. No one can handle a “Millenials Are Killing Paper Ballots” thinkpiece.

This headline calls it luck, but it is pretty clear that the ball knew it was destined for greatness and found its way into Dustin Pedroia’s glove and onto Carlos Gomez's back. Also note the number of people on the ground as the play concludes. The first base coach seems to be having the out-at-first equivalent of sympathy pains?

Mets prospect Logan Taylor was concussed in Salt Lake City by a homeless man wielding a tire iron. This is a real sentence. Holy Jesus Christ.

The Red Sox game was nuts. So is Dustin Pedroia. Sox won it in ten innings.

Major League Baseball is still denying that the baseballs aren’t juiced, which is kind of cute, actually. In other news, there are reports of the commissioners office jamming out to Shaggy’s “It Wasn’t Me.”

The San Francisco Giants are probably not going to lose 100 games anymore. Tune in next week for a new edition of “Good Job, Giants. We Are Very Proud of You.”

Orlando Arcia runs the bases like a punt returner, and the world is better for it. Here, he goes from first to home on a slap bunt, avoiding a litany of tags along the way. Arcia's Trip Home is now the title of my new children's book.

Orlando Arcia, living everyone’s best life, also got to eat ice cream on the baseball field, courtesy of some fans. Have yourself a day, Orlando.

Baseball’s greatest home run mashing machine confirms that he will perform in the home run mashing contest with Gary Sanchez, who also dabbles in the activity. Aaron Judge and Sanchez are in for the Home Run Derby.