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[ohnoitsjetster]

PLANT TODAY. WISH ME LUCK TRUSTY DENTIST

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[skinsharpenedteeth]

RNM After Dark - Friday - Down to Earth

Here's my submission for @rnmafterdark

Day 1 - Down to Earth.

It features... dom/sub behavior, discussions of kink and safewords, impact play, cock and ball torture (CBT), masochism, sadism, a little bit of humiliation, and a school bus converted into a sex dungeon...

it's 6400 words, rated E-AF for Explicit As Fuck.

Also posted on AO3 for your kudos-ing, commenting, and bookmarking pleasure!

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"What You Need and What You Want"

.

Alex didn't know why he needed it. He'd thought he was past needing to be yelled at after basic and living with his father, but the drill sergeants could only yell at you about the most superficial weaknesses. He could be called soft, pretty, or a mama's boy all day and it wouldn't even tweak a nerve. But late at night in foreign cities stateside and abroad, in clubs he’d found for people like him, people who needed something more, he had found other men who got closer to making him feel the way he needed to feel. Their rough hands, their sharp words, and the way they weren’t moved by his tears unless he said a word to make them stop, had turned out to be exactly what he’d needed that was more.

Then Alex had come back home from combat and anonymity. He’d tried to move into his old life, tried to fit into the version of himself that was normal, and found out that so many things were not what they seemed. But he hadn’t been able to get what he needed in a small town. So he’d driven to Albuquerque, looking for someone to fill that part of himself that needed to wallow in punishment and pain. But Albuquerque wasn’t big enough, wasn’t dark enough, wasn’t learned enough to know the difference between dominance and cruelty. It was close enough though. Close enough for Alex to fill in the gaps with his mind of the things he was missing.

Michael had noticed his trips. Michael noticed everything. He’d noticed that Alex wasn’t coming home calm, but haunted. He'd come home with the edge taken off, but not the need taken care of. Not fully. Never fully. The itch was always there, just sometimes more manageable if he'd let someone slap him around for a bit. The trips had been to someone who would do just that. But they didn't know him. Not really. He’d been the one to point out to Alex that he really wasn’t getting what he needed. Then, after an out-of-town trip that had left Alex with one too many bruises and scratches and a significant limp, Michael had begged him to let him help instead of continuing to go to someone who wasn’t treating him right.

"Just come to me for it," Michael had said, half order and half offer. Alex had scoffed initially. He hadn't thought Michael had understood what Alex actually wanted. Michael had leveled him with a glare and continued. "I don't like the idea of you going somewhere else for this. I don't like the idea of you trusting a stranger. And it's obvious it's not enough. Next time you have to scratch the itch, just come to me."

"Sure," Alex had agreed. He'd said 'sure’ like he meant 'not a chance'. Then he'd had a week of nights filled with nightmares. Caulfield, explosions, death, dismemberment, and ghosts plagued him whenever his body lost the fight to unconsciousness. The guy he'd been seeing was too far away and busy and Alex was almost trembling with the need for someone to bleed the tension out of him. So he'd called Michael just to see. Maybe he could do it. Maybe he could be enough until Alex could find another person or another way.

He’d never expected it to work, but he’d underestimated how well Michael knew him. Michael saw the way he seemed to bend towards harsh criticisms against him or his family. He saw how he warred with letting go of those terrible pieces of himself and holding onto them as tightly as if they were his security blanket. Michael had seen inside his mind and had rooted around for the most shameful things to use against him. Once Michael had figured out what he'd been going out of town to get, he’d made Alex an offer he couldn't refuse.

Alex stepped up into the old yellow school bus apprehensively. It sat near the Airstream in the junkyard, electric cables running to it and making it glow through the cracks. Michael had blacked out the windows with paint, making it look vaguely ominous in the blue hours of dusk. He wasn't sure what he'd find inside. What he found was a work in progress.

The cavernous space had been stripped of the seats and given a new floor. Michael had installed a drop ceiling down the middle of the bus and lined it with invisible lights around the edges. It made the ceiling dark, but the rounded walls and windows glow with subdued light. The effect was modern and sophisticated, and not at all what Alex would normally expect from Michael. Michael was watching him take in the bus's interior from a dark modular sofa that had been pushed along the side of the bus. He was wearing a loose, distressed pair of jeans and his ever-present plaid-over-tank combo. Alex felt his apprehension tighten the muscles in his back, but he pushed forward until he was standing in front of Michael looking down at him. He shoved his hands into his pockets and made a show of looking around the bus.

"So, starting an escort service?" Alex asked, watching for Michael's reaction.

"Maybe. Nothing wrong with sex work. It wasn't what I had planned for this space, but maybe there's a niche market for a mobile brothel in Roswell," Michael answered, spreading his arms over the back of the sofa and leveling Alex with a look. "I assume you didn't call to insult my decorating."

Alex scoffed. He shook his head slowly and gave Michael a wry smile.

"No. I guess I didn't," Alex replied. "So are we going to do this?"

"Sure. But sit down. We need to do some quick housekeeping," Michael said, waving to the empty space next to him. Alex sat and tried not to fidget. He didn't want to talk right then. He wanted to hurt and have the demons inside him go silent and be sated. Michael watched him silently, gaze intense and laser-focused to the point that Alex stilled himself, suddenly self-conscious.

"Okay. So, first I need to know what you want out of this," Michael started. Alex rolled his eyes, but Michael just kept looking at him, even and steady.

"I want… release," Alex bit out. He could feel a flush starting to heat the skin of his neck. This wasn’t what he wanted to talk about.

"I'm assuming you don't mean orgasm...well, or not just orgasm. How do you want me to give that to you?" Michael asked. Alex's knee bounced and he scratched his thumbnail over the inside of his palm, letting the sting settle him enough to answer Michael's question.

"Yes, orgasm would be nice. But, what I need isn't just physical. I want to… I need you to… I need someone to make me make my physically feel as shitty as I need mentally. I need someone to strip me bare and then flay me alive. I need to hurt. I need to feel… empty at the end of it. Quiet, ya know?" Alex explained. His thumbnail scratched over and over, dragging across the same spot. Michael's hand closed gently over his wrist, startling Alex out of his thoughts. Alex looked up to catch Michael's eye and felt Michael pull his hand away and lay it on his thigh before taking the hand Alex had been scratching and holding it in his own.

"Do you need this to be verbal or just physical?" Michael asked, carefully. Alex tried not to let his shame overwhelm him. He wanted both. He needed both so badly and he hated how weak that need made him feel.

"Both," Alex replied just as quietly. Michael waited for a moment before speaking again. Alex watched the gears turn behind Michael's eyes, but he didn't see any pity in his expression… or disgust. A small part of him was surprised. He'd expected one or the other.

"So, hard limits?" Michael continued. He had started to rub his thumb sweetly over the red line Alex had made in his palm. It was at once painful and soothing.

"Nothing permanent. No choking, for obvious reasons. No broken skin. Don't call me ‘soldier.’ Don't call me ‘son.’ Don't make me…" Alex broke off, suddenly feeling ashamed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Michael paused his thumb over the scratch and pressed down firmly. A bright flare of stinging pain gave Alex the resolution to continue. "Don't make me feel good about any of it til we're done. And I don't need aftercare."

"Aftercare isn't optional, Alex. Not for you, not for me. That's a hard limit of mine," Michael replied, voice low and serious. Alex stared at him before huffing out a little laugh.

"How would you know what your limits are? Have you done this before?" Alex asked, removing his hand from Michael's. Unconsciously, he'd started to turn his body more towards Michael's. One leg was folded in front of him on the couch seat, his prosthesis still resting on the floor of the bus.

"You're not the only person who's found themselves with a need that wasn't fulfilled by what was easily obtained. You're not the gatekeeper to kink. You were gone for ten years and I had plenty of time to experiment and learn on my own. Stop acting like just because I've never been off the continent, I'm a fucking narrow-minded moron." Michael's voice was sharp at the end, making Alex flinch internally. He couldn't imagine a world where Michael had explored BDSM or kink. He'd just assumed Michael was drinking and sleeping around like a college frat boy the entire time. It stung Alex that he hadn't even imagined Michael really living a full life without him. He always just thought of Michael biding his time, waiting on him, perpetually looking over his shoulder and waiting for Alex to appear on the horizon. What a selfish, egotistical dick he was to assume Michael had nothing better to do than cool his heels dreaming of an idolized version of Alex (the version of Alex that he wished he was in reality, that he tried to be and failed to be every single day).

"Sorry," Alex said after a quiet span of minutes where he manually adjusted his mental image of Michael Guerin.

"Try again, Alex. And look me in the face while you do it." Alex raised his head and looked at Michael. He looked older and calmer than he had a moment before. He looked like he was wearing all the years of his life on his shoulders and he was used to the weight of carrying them. Alex felt younger somehow. He felt chastened.

"I'm sorry, Michael," he repeated, keeping his eyes locked on Guerin’s. Michael nodded once before continuing.

"What's your safeword?"

"Finland," Alex replied without hesitation.

"Mine's ‘orbit.’ Are you okay with using the stoplight system?" Michael asked easily. Alex nodded.

"So, do you want a trial run tonight?" Michael asked.

Alex took a deep breath and nodded again before clearing his throat, knowing he had to speak it out loud. "Yeah, sure. Let's give it a go."

"So stand up and take off your clothes. I'll be right back," Michael said as he stood up off the couch. Alex stood also and waited for Michael to disappear behind a partition that presumably hid the way to the bathroom. Slowly, Alex undressed himself, feeling nerves and anticipation start to flutter behind his bellybutton. He folded his clothes and laid them on the couch. Before he had to figure out if Michael wanted him to be kneeling or not, Michael came back into the room. He'd stripped off his plaid shirt and was just in jeans and a tank. Alex watched him walk across the room and pick up a remote from one of the window ledges. He pointed it towards the ceiling and the lights turned from a warm golden light to an almost sinister red.

"Going to murder me?" Alex tried to joke. Michael gave him a quick grin.

"Want a different color? I've got the full range. We can disco through the whole pride flag if you want," Michael joked back.

"No. Red is fine," Alex assured him. While he spoke, Michael had discarded the remote back onto the window ledge and moved to stand in front of Alex. He reached up and brushed some of Alex's hair behind his ear, watching his own action contemplatively.

"So what brought this on tonight? What are you feeling?" Michael asked, eyes seeming to float back to meet Alex's while his hand rested on the side of Alex's neck, fingers gently playing with the too long curling pieces near the nape of his neck.

"Just… stuff. Nightmares," Alex mumbled, dropping his eyes and staring at the dark patch of chest hair that showed above the scoop collar of Michael's tank. He wanted to get started. He was doubting his decision to come. Why didn't Michael just do something already?!

"What would you tell your anonymous Dom in Albuquerque or Santa Fe if they asked?" Alex's eyes darted back up to meet Michael's and he scowled. Through tight lips, he managed to spit out an answer.

"They wouldn't have asked about why I needed it, they’d just give it to me."

"Well, you gotta give me something to work with here. What feeling is causing the nightmares?" Michael asked patiently. He let the knuckles of his left hand drag down the side of Alex's bare stomach, reminding him that he was standing naked in front of Michael while he stood there fully clothed. Maybe they should've just had sex. Maybe that would've been enough.

"Guilt. I feel… guilty about a lot of things," Alex finally confessed, shame filling his cheeks with heat and color. Michael nodded, almost to himself.

"Okay. I can work with that," he replied. Then his hands slid away from Alex's body and he stepped back. He let his eyes travel down every inch of Alex's skin and back up. "I thought I told you to get naked."

Alex furrowed his brow in confusion and looked down at himself. He wasn't wearing any clothes. Michael smiled and bent down slightly to tap at Alex's prosthesis. Alex looked at him, still confused.

"Take it off. I'm going to have you kneeling on a pillow when you're finished. Arms up and behind your head," Michael instructed. Alex sat back on the couch and began to remove the prosthesis. Michael produced a square floor cushion and sat it in the middle of the bus floor, then stood in front of it and waited on Alex to finish. The floor cushion was just far enough that Alex would have to crawl to get to it from the couch. Humiliation bloomed in his stomach, and his cock twitched with interest. Michael was testing him.

Lowering himself down from the couch, Alex crawled the short distance to the floor cushion and then began to arrange himself. He sat forward on his knees, widening them for easier balance, and then slowly he lifted his arms up and interlocked his fingers behind his head. He was bared for the cool gaze Michael was giving him, and it thrilled him how very vulnerable he was in the position he’d been asked to hold. He could and would hold the position easily, but Michael could also just as easily knock him to the ground if he chose to. Alex let his eyes lift only as far as Michael's best buckle, brain beginning to quiet and settle as he did so, and then he waited.

"Very good, Alex. You look good like this," Michael complimented with a slightly mocking edge to his tone. He made a slow half-circle to stand behind Alex so that Alex could see them. "So you're feeling guilty, huh? Think you need to earn your forgiveness? Want someone to take your penance out of your flesh?" Michael asked from behind him. Alex nodded briskly, not sure if he was allowed to speak. "What do you feel guilty for? Because I can't punish you for having dreams."

"Just… everything. I'm so angry at myself for not being over shit. For failing you, for failing my dad, for failing everyone," Alex choked out, feeling like fleeing but forcing himself to stay still.

"How did you fail me?" Michael asked, voice cool and impartial. Alex appreciated the lack of emotion. It helped him keep going. He wouldn't be able to continue if he could tell he was hurting Michael with his honesty.

"I always underestimate you. You’re better, smarter, and more capable than I think you are a lot of the time," Alex admitted. Michael hummed thoughtfully.

"How many hours of sleep do you think you've gotten this week, Manes? Sixteen? Twenty?" Michael asked. Alex did the rough mental math in his head. He cleared his throat before he spoke.

"Fifteen-ish," he answered. His lower back muscles were starting to quietly let themselves be felt as they were continually used to keep him upright, the muscles in his thighs and arms warming up from holding him still. He felt Michael step up close behind him, legs on the outside of his own and cool belt buckle pressing into the bottom of his interlocked hands. Michael's hands slid through the gaps between his arms and shoulders and smoothed down his chest before scratching back up, nails dragging red lines into his tanned skin. He shifted into the sting, wishing for Michael to scratch harder.

"Color?" Michael asked quietly as his hands once again smoothed down Alex's pecs.

"Green," Alex answered through a harsh breath as Michael scratched back up, but harder. The bite of pain had Alex gasping in surprise, and he felt his cock starting to plump up from the attention.

"How about I give you ten on your ass and give five to your balls? If you take your punishment good, I'll help you cum. Does that sound fair?" Michael asked, thumbs rubbing roughly over Alex's nipples. The low thrum of arousal was starting to build under Alex’s skin from Michael’s words. The low level sting from Michael’s nails was already starting to put him in the right headspace. He closed his eyes for a moment, just enjoying the rough push and pull of Michael’s fingers on him.

“Yes,” Alex agreed out loud. Michael brought his hands back up to rest on Alex’s shoulders. He bent close to his ear before speaking again. His breath was warm where it tickled over Alex’s skin.

“Then get on your elbows and knees. I want your ass higher than your head,” Michael instructed. Alex took a deep breath in and nodded before unclasping his hands from behind his head. Gingerly, he moved until his head was resting on top of his forearms against the floor. He tucked his knees under his hips and presented himself. He was keenly aware of how exposed he was. The cool air from the A/C unit fluttered over his backside. Michael hadn’t moved as Alex had gotten into position, so he could also feel the threat of someone lording over him. He could almost feel Michael’s eyes trailing over his naked skin, taking his time, mentally caressing every curve. After what felt like an eternity, Michael moved. He knelt down next to Alex’s side. When his fingertips started to skim down Alex’s side, it made him jump.

“None of that now,” Michael said, though his tone was soothing instead of harsh, like Alex was a spooked horse he was trying to calm. His hand continued stroking gently over Alex’s side and then down his back, around the curve of his ass and down his leg. The touch almost tickled and Alex had to fight not to flinch or shy away from the sensation.

“You always think you know better than me, don’t you, Alex?” Michael asked quietly. He shifted his body, moving further down Alex’s body and behind him. He started to use both hands to tickle over Alex’s back. When he got to his ass, though, Michael paused. Carefully, he spread Alex’s cheeks to look at his hole. A light touch of Michael’s thumb trailed down the center, barely glancing over Alex’s hole, and then down over his taint until Michael could cup Alex’s balls in his hand. He massaged them gently in his palm, pulling gently at the skin of his sack. Circling his thumb and forefinger around the base of Alex’s scrotum under his cock, he used the other three fingers to cup around the fleshy sack and began squeezing gently. Discomfort and heat prickled at Alex’s skin, making him whimper softly when Michael’s hand began to tighten and loosen in a slow rhythm. It wasn’t rough, wasn’t painful, but it was uncomfortable in the way that triggered his most primal instinct to escape. Alex stayed still and breathed deeply against his forearms. The feeling was mesmerizing, so it caught Alex off guard when Michael reached down with his free hand to stroke his cock.

“Fuck!” Alex burst out, shifting restlessly knee to knee. Michael held still as he settled. The electricity of that touch crackled along Alex’s nerve endings, pins and needles under his skin.

“Color?” Michael asked, not moving.

“Green,” Alex replied, feeling suddenly out of breath. Without warning, the hand that had touched Alex’s cock came down with a crack on one of his ass cheeks. This pain too was electric, but more like a quick strike of lighting, localized and bright. Alex swore, but tried to stay still.

“One,” Michael counted. His hand rubbed over the stinging skin before he removed it. A moment later, he was using it to loosely stroke over Alex’s cock. The hand around Alex’s balls tightened, again threatening the violence that Alex wanted. He moaned, wishing for more. “I was just never good enough for you, was I? But you kept coming back. Kept slumming it with the foster kid. Did you think I didn’t notice the way you kept me secret?”

Another slap against Alex’s ass, another sting, and another gentle caress by Michael’s hand over the heated skin. The next one came faster and harder than the first. Michael learned forward over one side of Alex’s back, the roughness of his jeans irritating and wonderful over Alex’s heated skin. He leaned close enough to be able to rest his chin on Alex’s shoulder.

“Two and Three. You’re an arrogant piece of shit sometimes, Alex. You’re wrapped up in classism, just like your father was. At least you can recognize that you’re a fucking asshole for it and that you deserve for someone to take you down a peg.”

He kept his voice calm and the words stung all the more for it. Alex held his breath against their effect until he couldn’t any longer and then let it out in a long, slow breath. Michael took his hand away from the base of Alex’s balls.

“Do you think you’re better than me, Alex? Smarter? Think you need to always be the white fucking knight for everyone?” Michael asked, fingers dragging up Alex’s perineum in a firm line.

“No,” Alex said, shaking his head. A hard crack sounded and fire lit up the previously untouched ass cheek. Alex felt a throb run through his body as the heat started to radiate. His cock hung heavy between his legs. He looked down the line of his body and could see it hanging, tip wet and threatening to drip onto the floor.

“Are you lying to me, Alex?” Michael asked, nails scratching over the abused spot on Alex’s ass. His voice was quiet, threatening, teasing and starting to make Alex feel unraveled. Alex shook his head weakly. Another lick of fire, another crack, and Alex was moaning into his forearms.

“I think you’re lying to me. You think I’m stupid, Alex? Your actions speak louder than words. You think you’re the only one in the room who's aware enough to notice other people. You think we don’t have you pegged? You think you’re better than your friends, your family and me and you always have, haven’t you?” Michael asked, right before pushing up off from Alex’s back to sit back on his heels. His hands came to rest on Alex’s waist, pulling him back to center Alex’s hips back over his knees and correct his position. A hand slid up Alex’s spine and then pressed between his shoulder blades. Alex followed the unspoken direction until his chest was resting on the floor. He laid his cheek against the cool flooring and closed his eyes, letting his mind sink into Michael’s words.

“We’re halfway through your ass punishment. Your skin is getting so pretty and pink for me. And your cock is making a fucking mess on my floor. You look so fucking shameless right now. It’s a good look for you, Alex. You just needed to be reminded of how good you look when you’re being put in your place,” Michael praised from behind him.

Michael’s hands slid back from Alex’s hips to grip his ass. Alex felt himself being spread wide, Michael’s thumbs pulling at the skin next to his hole gently. The feeling of something warm and wet hitting his pucker and starting to slide over his entrance confused Alex for only a moment until he realized Michael must’ve spit on him. Hot shame and arousal flushed through him at the mental image. One of Michael’s thumbs moved in and he massaged his spit over Alex’s hole, pressing firmly but not truly trying to penetrate. Alex groaned, pushing back against the pressure of Michael’s thumb, vainly wishing he’d open him up and fuck him. He wanted to feel pinned open under Michael’s cock.

“Maybe next time. If you’re good,” Michael assured him before he took his hands away. Alex shook with need. He needed pain or pleasure or words or something. He was rewarded with a quick series of slaps, two on each ass cheek, one right after the other, heavy enough to thud through his muscle. These weren’t the stinging, surface slaps of earlier. When Michael finished, his hands massaged roughly across the skin. Alex felt a dizzying rush of blood and emotion coursing through him a moment before he felt the warm wet of Michael’s mouth and the sharper sting of his stubble as Michael nipped and kissed over the abused cheeks. His final slap on one cheek was quickly followed by a sharp bite to the other. Alex cursed and his foot flexed against the floor, toes trying to dig against the hard surface as Michael used his jaw’s grip on Alex’s skin to coax a whine from Alex’s throat. Alex didn’t need to see the floor under his cock to know it was sticky with a pool of his arousal.

“Mmm,” Michael hummed, rubbing his stubbled cheek over his bite mark, sounding well-pleased. “So warm.”

“Michael, please,” Alex managed to choke out. Michael hummed again, but Alex felt subtle movement behind him. A moment later, Michael’s hand wrapped around Alex’s cock, wet and slick and tight. His hand slid up and down Alex’s shaft and it was all he could do not to hump forward into the pressure. It felt so fucking good. Michael was still rubbing his bristled chin and upper lip over Alex’s ass, mouthing at the inflamed flesh.

“You’re doing so good. I love hearing you beg, Alex,” Michael murmured against his skin. Alex almost didn’t hear him, his attention so wrapped up in the slick sounds and tight hole Michael’s fist was making for him. He was getting close, he could tell, but he knew he hadn’t finished his punishment. Abruptly, Michael let go of Alex’s cock and sat up. Alex wailed into his arms, eyes stinging at the loss. His cock ached where it swung, newly neglected and dripping between his legs.

“You still need to take the five to your balls. Then I’ll let you cum,” Michael reminded him, tone lazy. He said this while wrapping his hand around the base of Alex’s sack again and pulling back towards him. Alex whined at the stretch, his balls had been tightening close to his body in preparation for cumming and now Michael was stretching them away. He’d stretched them far enough that Alex could imagine they looked like two pink plums in Michael’s grip, skin tight over the swollen orbs, looking fit to burst. He felt Michael’s hot breath against them a moment before the blunt pressure of his teeth resting on either side of one of his balls. Some heady mix of fear and arousal shot through Alex’s body making him tremble, his stomach tightening and hips hitching forward. “So full. I bet you haven’t cum since your last trip to Albuquerque. Maybe I should make you wait longer, see how big of a load you’ll save up for me.”

“Please, Michael, I need…,” Alex started, only to yelp in surprise at the first three-fingered smack to his testicles.

“You need,” Michael started, voice harsh and admonishing; another smack, wringing out another, higher-pitched yelp from Alex, and then Michael continued, “to let me make the decisions here. I know what you need, Alex. I’ve got you all figured out. You need to stop,” SMACK! “Underestimating,” SMACK! “Me.” SMACK!

Alex's breath was heaving from his body. He didn’t even realize he was speaking until Michael was pulling him up to sit back onto his lap, hands around his waist to help support him and Alex’s back pressed against Michael’s chest.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Alex continued to mumble thickly. Michael was shushing him softly, arms tight and comforting around him, lips delivering soft kisses to Alex’s shoulder and neck. Alex’s cheeks were hot, his eyes tight, and he knew he was crying.

“I know you are, sweetheart. I know,” Michael murmured against his skin. Alex’s breath hitched under another sob. Michael gently maneuvered him to half turn so he could wipe at the tear tracks on Alex’s cheek and kiss the corner of his mouth softly. “You did so good. I know you’re sorry cause you followed all my directions and took your punishment. So good, baby.”

Alex found himself turning more until he could cling to Michael’s neck and hug his body close. Michael stroked one of his hands up and down Alex’s spine while the other combed through his hair. The new position trapped Alex’s aching balls and still-hard cock in between their bodies. The cotton of Michael’s shirt was irritating against Alex’s sensitive skin, but Alex couldn’t bear to pull back.

“Did you want me to help you cum, Alex?” Michael asked, nose gently bumping against Alex’s, lips a hair's breadth away. Alex took a deep breath in to steady himself before nodding. He moved forward, hoping to capture Michael’s mouth in a kiss. Michael let him, opening obligingly when Alex smoothed his inquisitive tongue along Michael’s lips. Michael let Alex kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. While they kissed, Michael’s hands wandered over Alex’s naked body until his hands came down onto Alex’s ass cheeks. Alex had almost forgotten about them until the flare of fire was reignited under Michael’s grip. The pain only served to excite Alex further.

“Michael, fuck me, please,” Alex begged, lips against Michael’s cheek as he pressed his body back into Michael’s strong grip.

“Not this time,” Michael responded gently. “But I’ll help get you off. You did so well, I can let you cum.”

“Please,” Alex said again, writhing softly in Michael’s lap to get some much-needed friction against his cock.

“So impatient,” Michael griped fondly. Removing one of his hands from Alex’s ass, Alex watched as he went to a previously unseen pump bottle of lube. He pumped twice and then brought his hand between their bodies and wrapped it around Alex’s cock. The lube was slick and sticky, and Alex immediately hitched his hips to push his cock through Michael’s grip.

“Oh, it’s like that?” Michael teased, tightening his grip to slow Alex’s quickening thrusts. Alex whined, hands flexing against Michael’s shoulders. Slowly, Michael started to move his tight-fisted hand over Alex’s cock. It was too tight for Alex to get off on it, but the edge of pain kept him hard and hoping. “If you keep acting greedy like this, I’m going to strap you down and edge you until you’ve learned some patience. Would you like that, Alex? Want me to keep you hard and begging for hours? Or do you want me to just make you cum until you’re dry and begging for me to stop?”

“Both, please,” Alex gasped out after a particularly cruel twist of Michael’s wrist. Michael loosened his grip then and paused, letting Alex catch his breath.

“You insatiable creature,” Michael praised. He kissed along Alex’s jaw to his shoulder where he bit harshly into the meat of Alex’s muscle. Alex groaned and tried not to writhe against the pain, but couldn’t seem to stop his body from rocking gently against Michael’s fist.

“That’s it. You can fuck my hand now.” He continued to kiss and bite Alex’s flesh after he said it, causing small fires everywhere his teeth touched. His mouth moved down from Alex’s shoulder to his chest, causing Alex to lean back. Alex held onto Michael’s shoulders tightly, but didn’t stop thrusting into Michael’s perfect, slick grip. Michael sucked Alex’s nipple into his mouth and let his teeth scrape over the sensitive flesh as he pulled his head back. Alex moaned and cursed at the feeling, throwing his head back. The tension in Alex was building quickly. He wanted so badly to cum, wanted to feel himself released from reality into oblivion if only for a few seconds.

“Please, Michael. Just a little tighter, please,” Alex managed to pant out. Michael kissed across his exposed throat.

“Show me, sweetheart,” he insisted. Alex pulled one of his hands from Michael’s shoulder and wrapped it over Michael’s. He squeezed until the pressure was perfect and then let go, replacing his hand on Michael’s shoulder. The hand that had been harshly kneading at Alex’s ass, encouraging his rolling hips and sloppy thrusts, came around to stack itself on top of the hand gripping him. Together they created a deep channel for Alex to thrust his cock into over and over again.

“Shit, shit, shit, Michael. I need to cum. Can I? Please?” Alex whined, even as he kept pushing his body towards the edge.

“Sure, darlin'. You can cum,” Michael said agreeably. Alex let go of any restraint, pressing close and letting his thrusts get quick and out of rhythm as he felt the pressure building behind his balls. When Alex was only a few thrusts away, Michael continued, “But I’m going to make you clean up the mess you make with your mouth.”

The last bit did it for Alex. With a strangled, silent yell, his cock swelled against Michael’s hands and then erupted white, sticky streams that dripped and smeared along the insides of his fingers and palms. When Alex was able to move, Michael let go of his slowly softening cock and Alex lowered himself onto his back on the floor. The coolness of it felt good against his overheated skin. Carefully, Michael crawled over him to straddle his stomach, careful of his oversensitive cock.

“Open up,” Michael demanded, tapping two sticky fingers against Alex’s lips. Obediently, Alex opened his mouth and felt Michael plunge his salty, spunk-covered digits in. Alex moaned at the taste of himself on Michael’s skin, using his tongue to trace every inch of skin to find more of his leftover pleasure. Michael made him lick and suck all of his fingers and then palms. When he was finished, he swooped down and took Alex’s mouth with his own, plunging his tongue in for any traces left for him to taste. When the taste dissolved into nothing they parted. Michael helped Alex up onto the couch, where he held Alex against his chest and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Want some water? Dinner?” Michael asked a little while later when Alex was practically dozing off against his chest where he was sprawled. Alex hummed noncommittally and nuzzled his head against Michael’s shirt, laying a kiss against his cotton-covered chest.

“How was it? Everything you expected?” Michael asked easily. Alex nodded, eyes still closed and mind still wrapped in a blanket of satiation.

“Anything you didn’t like or would like me to do differently next time?” Michael asked next. Alex thought about it. His hand drifted down to Michael’s crotch, completely covered, but still half hard from their scene.

“I want you to use this on me next time. Mouth, ass, hands, whatever. I want you to get off too,” Alex replied, voice drowsy but firm. He opened his eyes and locked eyes with Michael. His hand stayed resting over Michael’s crotch and he could feel it twitch against his palm. Alex raised an eyebrow in question. Michael smiled, bent his head down to kiss Alex’s mouth, and brushed his hand away.

“Next time. Promise,” Michael responded easily. Alex knew it wasn’t a real rejection, so he nodded and turned his head to lay it back down against Michael’s chest, his ear pressed to where he could hear the steady thumping rhythm of Michael’s heart. He drifted and with faint surprise, realized he was really falling asleep. He wondered how long Michael would let him lay like this if he fell asleep. Would he wake up to warm sunshine tomorrow morning? Would Michael only let him nap for a while and then wake him to get dressed so he could go home to his own bed? As if hearing his thoughts, Michael ran the back of a finger along Alex’s cheek bone.

“Do you want to sleep here, the Airstream, or your house?” Michael asked softly. Alex considered it.

“Let’s go to the Airstream. I don’t wanna sleep alone tonight,” Alex said through a yawn. Michael nodded and hugged his arms around Alex’s shoulders.

“Sure. Whatever you want,” Michael concluded. Alex only hummed a vague response before he was oblivious to anything else. He didn’t have nightmares that night.

#rnmafterdark2021 #rnmafterdark #rnm after dark #smutty #malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes

[sweet-symphony0]

Despair

  Hey hey, guess who’s back and finally had time to write! Happy Twin Tuesday! This one is...current, I’ll say. That’s all I’m going to say.

Summary: 01/06/2021. Rami and Sami can’t believe their eyes. They cope the only way they know how.

 Tags: @the-real-ramimalekpeen @xmxisxforxmaybe @killerqueengigi @txmel @laminy @ramimedley @rathernotmyname @ramilicious @sherlollydramoine @edteche2 @hah0106

---

Sami’s phone was ringing, he could hear it vibrating in his bag from he stood next to his desk, surveying his thirty students, their attention quickly diminishing. He ignored it, even as it rang a second time. 

“Alright guys-hey, don’t pack up yet, this is important-reading for tonight is chapter 12, your essays on Slaughterhouse Five are due Friday, so don’t forget.” There were groans heard from around the room, and Sami continued, “and no, I won’t be accepting any late papers; I gave you a month and a half for this. That’s more than generous, get it done.”

There were more groans and Sami smirked inwardly to himself as the bell rang and students began shuffling out the door, with a few calls of “see ya, Mr. Malek!” and Sami smiled. “Yeah, have a good day guys. Nice work today.”

When the last student was out the door, Sami took a moment to himself, glad he now had a free period before his next class. He cleared his throat, and began erasing the notes from the smartboard in preparation for the next round, when his phone vibrated and he remembered someone was trying to reach him, idly wondering what was so important that someone would call him at work.

Skimming his notifications, he frowned. Three texts from Rami, a missed call from him, and two texts from friends which he ignored for the time being, instead reading Rami’s messages:

“I know you’re at work, but you need to see this.” and underneath, in a separate message, a link to a CNN article that read “Rioters break windows and breach US Capitol.”

Sami stared, bewildered, and then read the third message Rami had sent.

“Turn on the news.”

Sami reread the headline, clicking the link Rami had sent, and he skimmed the article, his mind reeling.

“What the fuck...?”

Rami’s response was instant:

“You need to turn on the fucking news. Now.”

Sami wasted no time in rushing to the staff room, thanking his stars he had a break for the next forty minutes. It didn’t surprise him that nearly a quarter of the staff were already there, and he slipped inside, spotting a few of his colleagues from the English department. Even though the second bell had rung, no one in the room bothered to move, their eyes transfixed on the news coverage blaring from the TV. And as Sami turned his gaze to watch too, he felt his stomach sink in dread.

There were a cacophony of murmurs around the room, Sami catching tidbits here and there.

“What are we going to do?”

“There’s nothing we can do right now-”

“No, we can’t just-someone has to explain to the kids-”

“No, they’ll find out soon enough, we keep teaching like normal-”

“This is a high school,” one of Sami’s friends in the history department finally sighed tiredly. “You really think those kids don’t know by now? They have social media and cell phones. They know. And we can go about like usual, but this is something we’re all going to be talking about tomorrow.”

Sami’s eyes drifted back to the television, watching intently as he drowned everyone else out. They were inside the building now, hoards of them, a never ending sight. Sami watched with wide, disbelieving eyes, horrified as people scaled the building walls, smashed through windows, and he couldn’t help but think frantically: why wasn’t anyone doing anything?

He snorted to himself. Right. You know why.

He didn’t think he’d be able to go back to work after this. Slowly, one by one, his colleagues filtered out as most of them had classes to attend to that period and couldn’t push being late anymore. Once he was alone, Sami sank into one of the chairs, eyes glued to the newscast, feeling frozen from what he seeing.

He felt sick.

He texted Rami back and forth, a steady stream of furious conversation, not even realizing when the bell rang. Scrambling out of his seat, he rushed back to his room, just in time for when kids started filing in.

“Hi guys,” he pasted a smile on his face. “Settle down, and we’ll get started.”

He taught on autopilot, the forty minutes going by without him realizing, and before he knew it, kids were standing up and he was calling out the same thing from before: “read chapter twelve tonight, your essays are due Friday...”

Whatever previous intentions Sami had about sticking around the rest of the school day to get his work done, he threw right out the window. Racing home, he dug through his fridge for a beer, and then after better judgement, grabbed another, before he turned his TV on and called Rami.

Sami didn’t even let him say hi. “Are you safe?”

“Yeah,” Rami nodded. He was moving through his apartment, Sami could see, presumably to get to a quieter spot, and his gaze was off to the side, watching something. “I’m fine. Nothing here has happened yet, thankfully.”

“Listen,” Sami said urgently. “Stay inside okay? Don’t go out today if you don’t have to. You don’t-no one knows what will happen. Please.”

“I’m not moving,” Rami said. “I can’t-fucking after this, I can’t concentrate. I’m supposed to be rehearsing lines for tomorrow but fuck that. This is insane.”

Sami watched as the mob of people made their way inside the Rotunda, and he sank onto the couch. Then a few minutes later, they were inside the Senate chamber, pushing things around, and when he changed the channel to find another possible view, there was a photo up of a man carrying a confederate flag.

“Oh my fucking god.”

Rami’s voice was low. “I know. It gets worse.”

“Oh no, don’t say that.”

“They-they took down the American flag,” Rami said with barely restrained rage. “And replaced it. With a fucking Trump flag.”

Sami choked. “You’re not serious.”

“I wish I weren’t. And our president,” Rami scoffed. “is encouraging it. Fucking-” he stopped short, thinking for a moment on whether or not to complete what he wanted to say, before he shook his head in exasperation. “It’s all so exhausting.”

“That’s unconstitutional,” Sami murmured, flipping channels again, and he dropped his beer when he saw the constructed noose on the other side of the Capitol, staining the carpet, but he didn’t care. “Who is that for?! What the fuck!”

“What? What am I missing?”

Sami didn’t answer, still rooted on the spot, watching as officers finally brought out tear gas. “Fuck...is there any update on the Senators?”

“Not that I can tell. Though they are saying a few Republican ones are agreeing with this bullshit.”

Suddenly everything clicked, and Sami realized why today, of all days, this was happening. As he watched the coverage of Trump’s tweet, the rally earlier that morning, he idly wondered how much damage had already been caused, and whatever else he’d missed.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” he sighed, and Rami chuckled flatly.

“I’ve had a bottle of wine open for the last hour. Wish you were here to join me.”

“Well,” Sami stood up, grimacing at the mess he’d made from the spilled beer. “I can join you from afar. What are you drinking?” Rami gave him the name of a Cabernet they were both fond of, and Sami grinned triumphantly when he found a spare bottle in the back of his wine cooler. Propping his phone up on the counter against the block of chopping knives, he made quick work in opening and pouring himself a generous glass. “Cheers, man.”

“Cheers. What are we cheers-ing to?”

Sami hummed, licking the bit of wine that had dripped down his finger. “To the compete and utter fuckery that has been...the six days of this new year.”

“That works,” Rami was silent for a moment, both of them lost in their thoughts, watching the news again. “You know, I...obviously after the last four years there’s been a lot of unrest and contempt. But to this extent, for thousands of people to..to believe-”

“Say an election is rigged and then stop the process in almost every way they can?” Sami took a generous sip of his wine. “To destroy the Capitol? Yeah. I know.”

“Unbelievable,” Rami said succinctly, and after a moment: “I should’ve stayed in London.”

“They’re not much better,” Sami snickered, glancing at his twin. “Besides, London doesn’t have me.”

Rami laughed. “You think I plan my life around you?”

“What, you mean you don’t? I’m shocked. That hurts.”

“Definitely not,” Rami smirked and Sami laughed.

“Alright hot shot, don’t let that hair gel go to your brain too. There’s enough on your head already.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Rami was grinning, and Sami grinned back.

“Just trying to keep you humble, you know. I don’t give a shit if you have a shiny gold toy now.”

“Wow,” Rami muttered. “You wish your hair looked as good.”

“A greasy mess? Yeah, no thanks.”

Rami laughed again, and Sami grinned, pleased at the fact, sipping his wine again as they turned back to the news. “Fuck, it really is a shit show isn’t it?”

“I’ve always said he would leave the White House, but he’ll burn it down with him as he goes.”

“Yeah,” Sami sighed, his anger boiling all over again. “Looks like it. I wish you were wrong.”

“Me too.”

Glancing at the clock, he saw it had been a hour since he’d gotten home, which meant it was around 4pm on the east coast. Tuning back to the coverage, the mob outside the Capitol had grown, more people were scaling the wall to get inside, and Sami couldn’t help but think how all too easy it was for them.

“So uh...where’s the tear gas? The rubber bullets? The arrests?”

Rami snorted. “You’re fucking kidding, right? C’mon. Like that applies to them.”

Sami snorted too, and then laughed weakly, which turned into a laughing fit, and he could hear Rami calling his name. “Sorry...it’s just...fuck all of them.”

Rami raised his glass in a toast before he downed it in one go, pouring another serving. “Amen.”

“God, how am I supposed to explain this to my kids? You’re telling me I have to go to work tomorrow after this?”

“Same here,” Rami said. He was moving again, and Sami could see he was back in the kitchen too, digging through his refrigerator. He produced a bunch of grapes, a platter of salami, and a block of cheddar cheese, and Sami watched as he began to assemble an antipasti platter for one. “I don’t want to head to work. Seems pointless, after this.”

Sami bit his lip thoughtfully. “It’s not...useless. Use it. You’re angry-”

“Angry? No, I’m well passed pissed off at this point.”

“There you go. Use it, use that rage towards your scenes and whatever your character is. It’s...” Sami shrugged meekly at Rami, who was watching him intently. “It’s the only thing we can do at times like this, right?”

“I suppose,” Rami muttered, a tired expression on his face, and popped a grape into his mouth. He turned around, opening the fridge again and came back holding some hummus and olives in his hand. “I imagine it’ll be the only thing anyone will talking about for the next week. Rightfully so.” He opened the olives, laying a few of them out next to the salami, and stuck the jar back into the fridge. 

Sami was bemused. “How much are you eating?”

“As much as it takes to get through this shit show. I’m supposed to be on a diet right now, but I don’t give a shit. If I’m going to wine and dine watching this, I might as well do it properly.”

“Now I really wish I were there.”

“Yeah, me too. It would make it more bearable. But...this will do for now.”

Sami went silent, watching the TV again, which was now reporting about gunshots and a woman wounded. “Jesus Christ.”

Rami was muttering under his breath. “Shit, shit, shit, shit-”

They didn’t speak after that, both of them too lost in watching the news coverage, and Sami gripped his glass tightly as took a breath in to ease his anxiety.

Swallowing, he poured another glass, knowing he wouldn’t be finishing the bottle, and instead capped it and placed it in the fridge for tomorrow. It was an odd feeling, one that “scared” wouldn’t be able to cover. It was a looming, threatening feeling; something like this was so deeply entrenched in the fabric of the country. It wasn’t something that would go away on January 20th, as much as he wished for that. He wasn’t surprised that people had so much hatred for anyone other than themselves were coming out of the woodwork, blindly following what their commander in chief told them. The repercussions of this day would be something that would take a long time to repair.

“I’m tired,” he said suddenly. Rami’s voice was quiet, and though Sami didn’t elaborate, Rami seemed to understand what he meant perfectly.

“I know. So am I.”

---

When the crowds eventually thinned out, and Sami went back to work the next morning, he read the highlights of things he’d missed, flipping through the photos of the wreckage before the first period bell rang. When students trickled in, he was met with a sea of somber faces, and he knew he wouldn’t be teaching his regular lesson plans for the day. He felt enraged all over again.

Instead, he hopped up onto his desk, sitting cross legged and observing his students. “Alright. I would be...a very poor educator if I didn’t bring up what happened yesterday to all of you. And I know you’ll hear about it later in the day, I’m sure, but what we do here as teachers affects you guys for the rest of your lives. Now I don’t really care if you can’t tell me the imagery themes in The Great Gatsby, but I do care if you can’t think for yourselves. You’ll be reading and hearing a lot different things in the next coming weeks from people who think they’re right. And you’re all old enough, in my opinion, to have your own opinions on this. That being said, we all know what the banned book list is, correct?”

There were students nodding, and Sami nodded too, and he hopped off the desk to pull said list up. “Good. Pick a book from here, read it. There’s a reason all these books are banned from certain school curriculum, and I want you guys to pick one, and tell me why. It’s January. For every book you manage to get through from now till June, if you give me a one page analysis on your thoughts, I’ll give you extra credit that counts towards your final.” His students perked up at that, and he smiled inwardly. “Five points for every book, sound good?” There were murmurs of approval, and Sami continued, “it’s not mandatory, so don’t feel pressured to this. But I would...appreciate it if you did.”

“What if we read them all?” Someone asked.

There was always one.

Sami’s lips quirked up in amusement. “Good luck. You’ll notice there’s plenty of books on there we’ve read already.”

His students started chattering excitedly, and Sami cleared his throat, glancing at his copy of The Color of Water, which is what they were studying now. They would be finishing that tomorrow, the test for it was Monday, something which Sami had to make over the weekend. He hadn’t decided what to teach next, his gaze drifting to the copies of To Kill A Mockingbird in the back of the classroom, which was what he was planning to start Monday, after the kids took their test.

He debated on it, and then Rami’s words came back to him from the night before.

“He’ll leave the White House, but he’ll burn it down with him as he goes.”

He cleared his throat. “Guys, we’re just going to finish reading for the rest of the period, and we’ll go over the whole book for tomorrow before your test. So if you’ve got your books, take ‘em out.”

Later, once his classes were over for the day, he headed to the library, intent on finding Maria and asking for his next lesson plans.

“Hey Sami,” she greeted. “Back again? How’d they fare with Color of Water?”

“Not bad,” Sami said. “We’re finishing it up, test is Monday.”

“So, you’re here for Mockingbird?”

“No I’ve got Mockingbird,” he murmured, scanning the bookshelves. “That was what I was going to go with originally, but I’ve had a change of heart. Do you know if any of the faculty is teaching Orwell at the moment?”

“The freshmen, some of them are doing Animal Farm. But none of the AP classes right now. Which one?”

Sami spotted what he was looking for, and based on the piles of books they had, no one else had taught it yet, or he was late to the game.

“1984.”

#twin tuesday #twin tuesday fic #sami malek #rami malek #malek twin appreciation #this might not be people's cup of tea #but i've been so angry #come chat with me about the fuckery that is known as the united states government #I tried not to make this too on the nose or preachy #hopefully I succeeded #A note: this doesn't take place in a quarantined zoom classroom obviously #even though LA is awful right now #teachers in this fandom #please tell me if I did the school setting correctly or not

[specialmindz]

“huh?”

“Hey Snas, how you spell yo’ name? Is with an S or a Z?”

“what are you talking about?”

“Is S-N-A-S or S-N-A-Z? It sound like da’ latter, but I’s a baby, so I don’t spell good.”

“what exactly are you putting my name on?” asked Sans, eyeing the piece of paper in his brother’s hand.

“Is a flyer.”

“what’s on the flyer?”

“Letters.”

“bro-”

“Letters and a picture of you that I taked. Lookin’ fine in dat lab coat big Buther...”

“seriously pap, what are you putting my name on?”

“Is a job wanted flyer! I knows you doesn’t like working for Daddy for no monies, so I’m gonna get you a new one!”

Sans took the paper from his brother and began to read it out loud. “big-ass baby looking for work. cute butt, cute head, cute everything. has experience in being daddy’s slave-bro you’re not posting this.”

“Why not?!”

“many reasons.”

“You like being Daddy’s slave?”

“no, but if we’re starting with the obvious, this picture is inappropriate.”

“It’s yo’ butt!”

“i can see that-”

“I took the picture so they knows I’s not lying. There be a picture of your head and your feets underneath like a flippybook-”

“what is it with you and butts lately papyrus? you keep bringing them up and it’s weird!”

“Pooburty.”

“babies don’t go through puberty.”

“Oh.”

“...”

“...”

“...I needs a doctor big Buther...”

Sans ignored him and continued to read the book he was holding, crumbling the paper Papyrus had made into a ball and shoving it into his coat pocket. He had hoped the act would make his brother get the message and go away, but the baby didn’t seem to care that his hard work had been destroyed. Instead, Papyrus merely pulled out another sheet and began to scribble on it with a pen.

“Okay, how’s dis? Big-ass baby looking for work, lossa experience being Daddy’s slave. No butt stuff.”

“papyrus, no. i appreciate what you’re trying to do, but no. it sucks that i don’t get paid, but i enjoy my job, so it’s fine.”

“*Tch* Lazybones! Work not supposed to be fun!” Grumbling, the infant angrily scribbled out what he wrote and started again. “Kay’...big-ass baby looking for fun. Lossa experience being Daddy’s slave, but still needs to be punished. He’s been real bad-”

“what?”

“He’s use to abuse and likes to abuse others-”

“i’m abusive? i’m abusive because i don’t want another job?”

“He be very obee-di-ant and likes to act like animals when he play. He go ‘WOOF WOOF! ARRROOOOO!”

“gimme that freaking paper.”

“Dis be Snas’s number, call if you gots any kestions or weequests.”

“don’t put down my number.”

“No number...? Kay’, I go change it to yo’ email.”

Sans paused. “’go?’ what do you mean ‘go?’ where are you go-ING?”

“Undernet.”

“the undernet?”

“Yep!”

“you put my cell number on the undernet?”

“I putted the job thingy and yo’ cell number. Now I gots to copy dis stuff and then post da’ flyers so ERYBODY knows about you. ”

“...”

“Also I didn’t know how to spell Snas, so I put Sans kay’?”

Sans’ sockets went dark.

RING RING!

“LOOK SNAS! An employer...”

RING RING RING!”

“Isn’t you gonna answer your phone big Buther? They might has a fun job for you...”

RING RING RING!

Looking at his pocket warily, the comedian reached inside and took out his phone, looking at the number.

“*sigh*”

It’s just Dad.

“hello? hey dad, sup?”

“You know what’s ‘sup’ child...”

“nooo, can’t say that i do actually. you realize i’m in the next room right? you can just come talk to me.”

“Well yes, I suppose I COULD do that, but there’s a slight problem.”

“you’re busy?”

“I’M DETAINED!”

Sans pulled the receiver away from his head. “what?”

“SOMEONE FOUND YOUR POST ON THE UNDERNET AND NOW I’M BEING QUESTIONED BY THE ROYAL GUARD!”

“wh-heh heh ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

“IT’S NOT FUNNY SANS, THEY THINK I’M SELLING MY CHILDREN! WHY WOULD YOU PUT SOMETHING LIKE THAT ON THE WEB?”

“did you actually read the post or...?”

“OF COURSE NO-it was your brother wasn’t it?”

“NYEH HEE HEE HEE HEE!”

“Put that little shit on the phone.”

“alrighty,” turning around, Sans held out his cell phone to his little brother who grabbed it with both hands.

“Hellwoe? What you want?”

“TAKE THAT POST DOWN RIGHT NOW PAPYRUS!”

“Nyeh? Papyrus? I’s not Papyrus, dis be da’ pizza shop...”

“PAPYRUS!”

“We gots da’ cheesy pizza, da’ peppy-roni pizza, and we gots pizza with widdle fishies on them. They look like dis,” Papyrus widened his eyes and opened his mouth, imitating a dead anchovy.

“heh heh heh...”

“You want dat pizza? Is good...”

“I WANT YOU TO TAKE DOWN THAT POST!”

“What post?”

“YOU KNOW WHAT POST!”

“No I doesn’t. Look sir, if you doesn’t want a pizza, don’t call here kay’? Cause’ dis be the pizza pace.”

BEEP!

Papyrus hung up.

“I think he bought it big Buther...”

“...why?”

BE-CUN!

“PAPYRUS GET THAT GODDAMN POST OFF THE UNDERNET!!!” screamed Gaster from the intercom.

“uh. oh! heh heh heh!”

“Uh oh Snas!”

“what are you gonna do bro?”

“There’s only one thing to do,” said the baby bones reaching into his toy chest. “I gots to run away.” He pulled out a little plastic Mickey Mouse purse he had found at the Dump and began stuffing it with crayons.

“you’re gonna run away...?”

“Yep, but don’t worry Snas, though fate tears us apart dis day, I’s certain we shall meet again!”

“heh heh ha ha ha! where you gonna go bro? you gonna go live with flowey?”

He’s been gone an awful long time...maybe he’s really NOT coming back...

“No, baby already tried that,” said Papyrus thinking back to last week.

“NO. No no no no, you get the HELL out of here-”

“Hellwoe Dirt-butt! I’s come to visit you! Nyeh heh heh!”

“Did you not hear me? GT...FO.”

“Why you staring at da’ ground Dirt-butt? Didja lose something?”

“YEAH I LOST PEACE AND QUIET! WHAT PART OF ‘LEAVE’ DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Continuing to ignore the plant, Papyrus crawled around and patted the ground with a smile.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’s doing?”

“Not leaving.”

“I’s looking for the quiet...”

“...”

“I know it be around here somewhere, don’t chu worry. The Gweat Papyrus gonna find it real good-”

“I know you’re not stupid Papyrus,” said Flowey frowning. “You may have everyone ELSE fooled, but I KNOW better-”

“SHHH! You’ll scare away da’ quiet Dirt-butt!”

“Knock it off.”

“What the quiet look like? Is it small? Like, really REALLY small?”

“Yeah it’s small, SMALL LIKE YOUR BR-” the plant stopped short. ”You know what? Forget it,” he said, smiling slyly. “Forget looking for the quiet. We’ll make our OWN quiet, how’s that sound?”

The infant’s eyes immediately lit up. “Ooooh! We doing da’ arts and crafts?”

He loved arts and crafts, but Flowey NEVER joined in with him and Sans. He instead preferred to watch from the air vent whilst occasionally shouting down insults centered around their creations.

Not that it bothered Papyrus per say.

Flowey was obviously just upset that he couldn’t use the glue without getting his petals and/or roots stuck together, which would’ve been sad if he didn’t handle it in such a pathetic manner like all his other problems.

“No, we’re gonna play a game. The QUIET game...”

“Ki-et game...?” Papyrus looked disappointed.

“Yep, the quiet game; it’s where we sit still and make no noise whatsoever. Whoever talks first loses, okay?”

“Kay’.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...We’s playing right now?”

“Yeah, isn’t this fun?”

“Yep! I really like sitting around in a field doing nothing like an asshole!”

“YOU CAN LEAVE!”

“No really; doing nothing is a baby’s favorite thing to do, cause’ we doesn’t know how to be pro-duc-tive members of so-ci-et-y...” said Papyrus before lazily rolling onto his back and sticking his foot in his mouth.

“...”

“Also I can’t leave until I beats you in round two, then I’ll be da’ game master!”

Flowey snorted. “You didn’t beat me in round one, so how do you suppose you’re going to do that?” he asked, placing his leaves where his hips would be.

“Easily,” replied the infant. “And I did too beat you. You’s just a sore loser, like always.”

“I AM NOT!”

“Perhaps you should get on baby’s level Dirt-butt?”

“I DIDN’T LOSE! All i did was tell you that the game started and that doesn’t count!”

“Git good scrub flower, nyeh heh heh!”

“Whatever. Even if I DID lose, YOU’RE being a sore winner!” said Flowey turning away.

This made Papyrus sit up and scratch his skull in confusion. “...Dat don’t make sense dough. How can baby be sore if baby won? You’s making stuff up-”

“NO I’M NOT!”

“You wants an apo-lo-gy?”

“YES!!”

“Kay’.”

“...”

“...”

“...Well?”

“I’m sorry you suck.”

“GET OUT OF MY FIELD!!”

“...And dat’s what happened.”

“what?”

“What?”

RING RING!

“...You want some pizza Snas?”

“go take down that post,” said Sans turning off his phone.

“If I takes it down will you pay wit me?”

“uhh...” he looked at his book and then back at Papyrus. He was in the middle of it, nowhere near the end, but he doubted he’d get much studying done if Gaster managed to convince the guards to step aside.

Dad and Pap will be at each other’s throats all day if the guards leave, and dogs don’t have the greatest attention span to begin with...

“uhhh, yeah sure, i suppose i could spend some time with ya’ if you want...depends on what we’re playing though.”

I’m not playing Hide and Seek with this cheater again, THAT’S for sure. Last time he used the security cameras to find me, the little brat.

“We pay House!”

“heh heh heh, house huh? and lemme guess, you wanna be the baby right?”

Papyrus ignored him and crawled back to his toy box shifting loudly through the multitude of broken toys.

“whatcha’ looking for baby bro?”

“Nyeh heh heh!” the infant laughed happily as he raised a fairly large stick in the air triumphantly, his brother watching him in confusion.

Why does he have a stick in his toy box?

CLACK CLACK CLACK!

Hobbling around on the stick, Papyrus grabbed a clipboard with one tiny hand and looked at it disapprovingly. “Wrong, wrong, wrong. Dis be all wrong. Don’t chu know anything besides food? You went to doctor school didn’t you? Sometimes I thinks you’s just here to clean out da’ vending machines...”

“wh-what?”

“Where da’ patient at? You didn’t eat them did you? You know we need those things for monies-”

“what the hell is your problem?”

“Well I gots a whale in my staff room, so PETA’s bound to give me a call sooner or later, other than that though it’s just my leg...oh, and the fact that you suck at yo’ job.”

“your...leg hurts...?”

What?

“The patient OB-VI-OUS-LY gots da’ heatstroke, so we needs to put them in the feezer or they no get better. I doesn’t know why you thought it be a good idea to put em’ in a hospital bed.”

“put em’ in the freezer huh? heh, iii don’t think that’s a good idea lil’ bro.”

“I stopped paying you to think when I re-ah-lized you’s bad at it. Now you follow orders. INTO DA’ FEEZER!” exclaimed the baby pointing to the ceiling dramatically. He then dropped the clipboard and plopped down on the floor, waiting for his older brother to respond.

“okayyy...?”

Papyrus stared right through him and waited silently; a smile plastered on his face. Apparently he had no intention of giving Sans any more instruction, despite never mentioning where, or more importantly, who the patient was supposed to be.

Am I supposed to go find one of his dolls or something?

Knowing his brother, that probably wasn’t the case, but Sans went to the toy box anyway in hopes that the baby Horror would be as happy with a non-living patient as he would a live one.

He was immediately stopped in his tracks.

“Where you going Dr. Snas? We gots to save the patient or they’s gonna die! Leave the toys alone, those be for sick babies...”

“where do i go then pap? where’s the sick guy?”

“Nyeh?” Papyrus looked around. “*GASP!* SNAS!”

“what?”

“THE PATIENT’S ASCAPED!”

“they escaped huh? and why would anyone wanna escape a hospital? that’s where people get healthy bro!”

“They must be hippies Snas!”

“really pap?”

“Quick! We gots to catch em’ before they go online and convince peoples to use natural home re-me-dies and herbs instead of medicines!”

“herbs ARE medicine.”

“...”

“...what?”

“You’s fired.”

“i’m fired...?”

“You’s fired. I can’t and won’t have druggies working under my stupervision. No wonder you’s bad at yo’ job!”

“i’m not a hippie, and that’s very offensive.”

“I doesn’t wanna hear your excuses. Have your desk cweened out by dis afternoon,” said Papyrus. He crawled away, exiting the lab door that led to Waterfall, and leaving his older sibling alone. He was sad that he couldn’t have Sans be his employee anymore, but at least Undyne had gotten home from daycare by now; he could play House with her. She wasn’t very smart, but at least she wasn’t a drug user...

His brother could be REALLY disappointing sometimes.

“psh, whatever,” muttered Sans picking up his book. “i didn’t wanna play with you any-”

Wait a minute.

“PAPYRUS TAKE DOWN THAT POST!!”

“NYEH!”

PUMP!

Papyrus kicked the glass door to the lab with his foot and continued on angrily.

Go munch a tree, hippie baby.

The artist contacted me before making the image, so I know who they are this time. The artist’s name is Rammorn, also known as Passing_Note on AO3.

#Fonttale #fonttale au #undertale #undertale au #undertale fanfiction #papyrus #baby papyrus #sans #kid sans #gaster #house md

[amymel86]

Guardian - Chapter 2

"I'm...dead?" Jon breathed, staring down at the spiral bound manual in his hands.

"Yeah... 'fraid so" Renly chuckled, patting Jon's shoulder, only to remove it from his person hastily after being treated with a scowl from the man himself.

"I...I can't be dead. I'm here! I'm...solid!....I'm breathing!" Jon choked out, his chest expanding with panicky breaths. "I'm not dead! This is-this is a joke isn't it? I mean, this can't be the afterlife!" he waved the booklet around, indicating to the waiting room as a whole. "This looks like a-a...fucking denist's waiting area!...Is that it? Did-did I come in for a root canal and take too much of that knock out gas you guys use?! Have you drugged me?!"

"Sir-" Renly pleaded, raising those hands again as if he were placating a wild animal, "No one has drugged you, I'm afraid that you are deceased. Now, If we can just keep our tone down-"

"Keep our tone down?! KEEP OUR TONE DOWN?! ...YOU'RE TELLING ME THAT I'M DEAD IN A DENIST WAITING ROOM AND YOU WANT ME TO KEEP MY FUCKING TONE DOWN?!" Jon's raised voice brought the attention of everyone in the room - not that he had noticed. Even the snoring man had awoke and was now sat up watching as Jon's wild eyes stared down at his hands. As if they held the answer.

"Sir-"

"This isn't happening!...This can't be happening.." Jon muttered to himself before twisting in his pale green seat to face Renly, "I'm high aren't I? This is a bad trip!"

"Sir, I'm sorry to tell you but-"

"You're dead, sweetie," a woman interrupted, leaning forwards from where she sat opposite them. She had dark red hair that matched the striking shade of her lipstick perfectly - lipstick that was smeared across her mouth and chin. She also had clumps of black mascara in her lashes, the stain from it leaking down her cheeks like the beginnings of a trickling stream trying to find its way back to the ocean. She reached for the collar of her tight black sweater and tugged it down to reveal a set of angry purple bruises decorating the skin of her neck like a choker. "Face it, hun...you're dead, we're all dead...dead, deceased, expired, ended," she leant back into her chair and put a cigarette into her mouth, "the curtains have closed for the final time, and here we are," the woman opened her arms wide to dramatically gesture to the room before bringing a lighter to the end of her cigarette.

"Ma'am, you can't smoke in here" Renly admonished.

The woman took a drag and blew a few smoke rings into the air. "What ya gonna do, Ren? Kill me?"

"Ma'am-"

"Ros" she corrected. "My god-dammed name is Ros, and you know it so don't go ma'am-ing me!" She held the cigarette between two fingers as she pointed them towards Renly in accusation. "Sixteen days I've been in this room! Sixteen days! And how many pieces of paper have you had me fill out, hmm? How many times have I given you my name on this form or that?"

"Ros-" Renly tried again, his hands raising once more, palms facing her as if that would calm her. Jon suspected it only served to make the woman more irate. "We're working as fast as we can with your paperwork. You'll be allocated as soon as everything has gone through the proper procedure in accordance to policies and legislation. Unfortunately, these things take time to get everything signed off. In the meantime, I'll ask you to-"

"In the meantime, you can eat shit and go to hell, Renly....perhaps it's better than here?!" Ros hissed, stubbing out her cigarette on the seat next to her, the durable material and the padding beneath singeing black with smoke wafting off of it.

Renly pursed his lips together. "Trust me Ros, it's not. I did my internship there - the coffee was horrendous. Now if you don't mind, I need to see to Mr-" He turned to Jon with an expectant look.

"Snow, Jon Snow" he answered a little too slowly.

Renly nodded. "Mr Snow here has just found out he's dead so if you don't mind?" He said with a raised brow. Ros muttered something that neither Jon nor Renly could hear before she crossed her arms and sank into her seat. Most of the eyes in the room seemed to have returned to staring mindlessly at the dull carpet.

Jon left the manual in his lap so that both hands could scrub down his face as it tilted up to the ceiling tiles and the bright florescent lights above. "How" he said in a strained voice before looking back at Renly. "How did I.....How did it happen?"

"You don't remember?"

Jon shook his head as Renly slid the manual from Jon's lap to his own. He licked his thumb and began flipping pages. "I think that can be quite common if it was a sudden thing," he mutter down at the pages, "I'm sure it will tell us more in here somewhere..."

After a little while of flipping through pages only to backtrack and flick back to the contents page, or turn to the index, Renly shut the manual with a huff. "You know what? Everything we need to know about you will be in your file. Let's start there. Follow me please, Mr Snow."

As they were leaving, Jon heard a few grumbles from the people still hanging around in the waiting room. He could practically feel the glare from Ros' eyes, burning him at the back of the head like her cigarette had done with the seating upholstery. He followed Renly along a few narrow corridors until they reached a large room divided and sectioned off into little office cubicles. They meandered through the maze of office staff either chatting away on phone calls, or typing at their computers until they reached a vacant desk.

"Take a seat" Renly indicated as he sat behind the computer screen, beginning to tap at the keys. "Okay...let's see what we've got here" he murmured to himself. Jon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Date of birth from your last life?" Renly asked.

"January 9th, 1989"

"Mm-hm" he typed, "and where were you born in your previous life?"

"Winterfell."

"Ok, Your National Insurance number?"

"The afterlife recognises my NI number?" Jon asked incredulously.

"I'm just trying to make sure I pull up the correct file, Mr Snow."

Jon huffed and pulled out his wallet to retrieve his NI card before tossing it onto the desk between them.

"Thank you" Renly replied curtly, typing in the number. "Favourite flavour of ice cream?"

"What?"

Renly's eye never left the screen before him, "As I said, Mr Snow, I need to make sure I'm looking at the right file before we start working on it, now what's your favourite flavour please?"

"Err...Um, mint-choc-chip...I guess."

Renly pushed some keys, rolled the mouse along and made a few clicks here and there. "Ok, I think I've found you. Just one more security question. At what age did in your last life did you lose your virginity, Mr Snow?"

"Uuh..."

Renly turned to him expectantly, his fingers poised above the keyboard.

"17" Jon coughed, "it was 17." He felt his face flush and was sure he was rapidly turning a fetching shade of red.

Anything else? Favourite position? When did I last take a shit?

"Alright..." Renly's attention had returned to the computer screen where he was scrolling and clicking.

Jon's gaze drifted to the very unassuming little office cubicle. There was nothing other than the computer, phone and pen pot on the desk. Along the dividing wall, pieces of paperwork were stuck with pins. Jon suddenly spied a photograph of a man with curly light brown hair and golden eyes smiling for the camera as he cuddled a Labrador. A thought stuck him.

"Listen," Jon leant forward, his forearms resting on the desk "if I'm really...err...dead...is...is my mother here?"

"Perhaps, when did she leave you in your past life?"

"When I was 15."

Renly looked at him with a sad smile then. "I'm afraid you will have missed her then. She most definitely would have been reallocated by now." Jon sat back in his chair and stared at the faux grain in the MDF desk in front of him. "Ok, it says here that the cause of death in your last life waaaas..." Renly's finger continued to drag along the scroll wheel on the mouse until it came to a complete stop and a pause. "Huh" he said to himself.

"What is it?"

"Well, the space is blank. There's no cause of death....but when I click through to the notes on your file, there's an incomplete entry...it just says 'wolf' ...does that ring any bells, Mr Snow? Were you attacked by a wolf?"

"I...I don't think so."

"Hmmm" Renly nodded whilst sweeping his gaze up and down Jon's body, "you don't look like you've been mauled." He pressed a few buttons and then the printer behind him whirred into life. Renly swiped the printout that emerged from the machine, took a pen and signed a few boxes before pressing an inked stamp at the top of the page. "Take this," he offered the paper, "fill it in in the Dispatch Department waiting area where I found you and-"

"Oh no, no, no" Jon shook his head, "I'm not going back there."

"Mr Snow, the correct paperwork has to be found and recalled from the archive before-"

"No! That Ros woman has been waiting there for days and I can't, I just can't do that. What's next? What will I be waiting for?"

"To be allocated."

"Allocated to what?"

Renly snatched back his offered piece of paperwork with a huff and returned to his computer screen where his fingers irritably hit various keys and he clicked with the mouse with perhaps more force than he really needed to. "Your soul is not ready for your next reincarnation, so you will be allocated as a guardian once the paperwork is finalised and-"

"A guardian?"

Renly rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Yes, a guardian. You'll be given an assignment and you'll need to help that soul find something that their lives are missing, help them move on in some way."

"Like...a guardian angel you mean?"

"Yes, well, you won't be given a halo and wings if that's what you're thinking."

"And then I get resurrected?"

"Reincarnated."

"Whatever. I won't be here. I'll be...alive again?"  

"Once you've completed your guardianship we'll reassess your case. You may be reincarnated or you may be sent on another guardianship, but at some point, Mr Snow, you will return to earth to live another life."

Jon licked his lips and smoothed his hands down his thighs in anticipation. Part of him still did not quite believe that he could possibly be in the afterlife, but that voice was being drowned out by the one yelling about being returned to normality as quickly as possible, even if he knew that could never be. In any case, he wanted to be rid of this place. "Ok."

"Ok?"

"Ok, I'll do it." Jon clarified.

"Alright," Renly picked up the piece of paperwork yet again, holding it aloft for Jon to take. "Go and fill this out and-"

"No. I'll do it now. Give me my assignment now. I'll take up the guardianship immediately."

"Sir, I can't just-"

"Can I talk to you superior, Renly?"

The man before him paled slightly. "Wh-why would you want to-?"

"Listen, you've got Ros stewing away in there for days, my guess is that you must have a deadline to adhere to for each case and I don't know about you, but sixteen days seems like a mighty long time to be waiting in one place. There's also the fact that despite your promises of 'inducting' me into the afterlife, I'm left feeling ill at ease with the complete lack of information. You can't even tell me how I died, Ren, can I call you Ren?"

"B-but" Renly spluttered, pointing at his computer screen.

"So, if Ros' experience is anything to go by, I'll be waiting - what was it? Sixteen days? - not knowing how I came to been here? Seems to me like somewhere along the line, the procedure has failed and I want to talk to someone about it. Do you have a Complaints Department, Ren? I'd really like to talk to them....what was your last name again?"

Renly stared back at him with wide eyes, his mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish for a small while. He finally shook his head and cleared his throat. After doing some more typing and clicking, the printer came to life again and a different set of paperwork came streaming out. Renly added a paperclip to keep all the pages together, and much like before, penned his signature to a few places and a stamp here and there before pushing it towards Jon.

"What's this?"

"It's the guardian manual, once you sign the bottom of the last page you'll be given your assignment."

"Great!" Jon beamed, grabbing a pen and clicking the end to produce the nib. He lifted the pages to reveal the last before hastily scrawling his signature along the allotted space.

"You need to read it firs-"

Jon didn't hear the last of Renly's words, suddenly feeling like he had collapsed, falling from the chair he was in. Only, he kept on falling, hurtling through different colours and lights, various sounds loudly rushing past his ears. He felt sick. At some point he thought he'd heard himself scream. Up was down and down was up and his stomach -oh Gods!- his stomach was more than in knots; his stomach was a hundred strings of Christmas lights that had been balled up into a tangle for years and years. He really does think he might be sick.

It stops. It stops with a thud and the sudden feeling of the world coming to a standstill. Something soft is beneath his cheek as he groans and tries to push himself off of whatever floor he's landed on. It's dark wherever he is but he can just about make out the pink fluffy rug beneath him.

A light suddenly comes on, illuminating his world and stinging his eyes as a gasp fills his ears. Jon rolls to his back, his whole body aches but he swallows the groan of protest as his eyes meet with another set watching him in horror.

A girl, he thinks, a beautiful girl, he clarifies to himself, a very scared looking beautiful girl.

"Um..." Jon mumbles quietly at the woman peering down at him on the floor from her position on top of the bed. "...hello."

She screams.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #guardian #jonsaff #jonxsansaff

[hmhteen]

HMH Teen Teasers: AFTER THE SHOT DROPS by Randy Ribay!

We are so excited that AFTER THE SHOT DROPS is almost here! For Kwame Alexander fans that have grown out of middle-grade, or YA fans of THE HATE U GIVE and ALL AMERICAN BOYS, this sports novel about two best friends torn apart by privilege is heartbreaking, but ultimately hopeful. Scroll down to read an excerpt!

1

Bunny

I’m never sure what to write for the dead. I mean, most of the time when someone hands me the marker at one of these vigils, I just end up laying down something vague

and comforting. You know: See you in heaven. We’ll miss you.

Rest in peace, bro. 

Something like that. But it never feels right. Never feels like your words will make a difference, like they’ll make his family feel better or stop anyone else from dying for no rea- son. The person they’re meant for won’t ever read them, so you’re just wasting ink.

But the small, silent crowd shuffles forward, the girl ahead of me passes me a marker, and it’s my turn. I’ve got to write something.

I step up to the big oak tree that stands in the middle of Virgilio Square, its bare branches spread out overhead like skeletal fingers. A white sheet’s been wrapped around its trunk, with te queremos, gabe, airbrushed across the middle in big blue letters. I know enough Spanish to know that means “we love you.” Everyone’s notes and signatures are scrawled in the spaces all around it. A bunch of teddy bears and can- dles sit at the base of the tree in front of a framed photo of Gabe smiling big, all nestled in a nook formed by the roots.

This is where Gabe and his friends were hanging when the shots were fired. Word is the bullet was meant for some- one else. Too bad the bullet didn’t know that.

I’m tall, so I decide to add my message up high on the sheet where there’s only a couple others. I take off my glove and shake my hand to try to warm it up, then I lean against the tree and press the tip of the marker against the white cotton. The black ink bleeds into it.

I stay like that for a few moments, adding nothing but a black dot because I still don’t know what to write. I want to put down something meaningful. Gabe lived three streets over and was only a year ahead of me in school. We weren’t real tight, but coming up, he was part of the group of kids we’d always play football or manhunt or whatever with. For some reason, I keep thinking about how he used to eat apples whole, core and all. The rest of us would tell him a tree was going to grow in his stomach if he drank too much water. Funny how your mind picks something small like that to re- play.

But I also think about last summer, when I announced that I was transferring from Whitman High, our neighbor- hood school, to St. Sebastian’s, a private school in the sub- urbs. Pride in Whitman High’s basketball team runs real deep around our way, so a lot of people didn’t like that one bit. My main man, Nasir, straight up stopped talking to me. But Gabe was cool about it. I was shooting around at the courts one day shortly after the announcement, and some guys started getting in my face about it. Gabe stepped in, calmed them down, and sent them on their way. Then he told me to keep my head up, to not let it get to me. Maybe it’s because he was good at football and so understood what I was trying to do with basketball, but whatever the reason, it meant a lot. Only, I don’t know how to express all this on a bed sheet wrapped around a tree.

I feel the line behind me growing restless, since I’m tak- ing forever, so I give up trying to find the perfect words. I settle for i won’t forget you, and sign my name. Don’t know what happens to us after we die, but if there’s some way he can read this, I know he’ll understand the words I feel but can’t find.

After handing the marker to the woman behind me, I step aside, slip my glove back on, and dig my hands into my coat pockets. I go back to the rear of the crowd that’s gathered in the blocked-off street, bundled up in their winter gear and waiting for his pastor or his parents or whoever to take the mic that’s set up in the patch of grass next to the tree. After a bit, one of the local politicians gets up there and starts going on about how we can’t let something like this happen again. I’ve heard this song before, so my mind drifts.

It’s overcast and frigid. Late February and still hasn’t snowed more than a dusting all winter. Looking up, I wonder if today’s the day. The gray clouds feel heavy as my heart, like they’re about to dump two feet of snow on us at any moment. An airplane crawls across the sky on its way to Philly on the other side of the river, the drone of its engines getting louder as it approaches. A lot of people hate that we’ve got these jets flying past every few minutes, but I don’t mind. It’s like God’s constant reminder that there’s more out there than this. Besides, I kind of like how they make the sun blink when they pass by on a clear day. Of course, right now the sun’s hid- den behind the clouds, so the plane passes and then it’s quiet again except for boots shifting, people sniffling, cars passing on the side streets. Some hushed conversations. Quiet, sad laughter. Every now and then someone breaking down.

The politician at the mic is still carrying on, for some reason talking about one of her new initiatives. I stay tuned out, letting my eyes wander across the crowd. There are a lot of families from the neighborhood out here, as well as what seems like most of the kids from Whitman High. The girls hold each other and dab at their eyes while the guys stand around like they’ve got faces cut from stone. A few nod at me, but I hang back.

I mostly stay to myself these days. My interactions in the neighborhood usually go one of two ways: either people try to start something like I betrayed them personally by trans- ferring to St. Sebastian’s, or they try to put all this pressure on me to go back to Whitman High. Either way, I’m not feeling like dealing with any of it, so I turn to leave, even though the memorial’s still going.

That’s when I see Nasir. He’s off to the side with his cousin Wallace. Easy to spot them, what with Wallace’s height mak- ing Nasir look even shorter than he would by himself. Both have their hoods up. Nasir stares at the teddy bears at the foot of the tree while Wallace looks all around like he’s got somewhere else to be. I’ll see them on the court tomorrow since they both still play for Whitman, but I consider walking over to say what’s up to Nas. It’s stupid we’re still not talking because I want something more than what Whitman can of- fer. Out of everyone, I expected him to get that.

But as I’m about take a step toward them, Wallace catches sight of me. I nod at him, but he doesn’t nod back. He holds my gaze for a beat and then nudges Nas. Nas lifts his eyes and they meet mine for a moment. Then he turns his back to me and walks away. 

2

Nasir

Everyone’s hanging their head as we trudge toward the bus, headphones on and bags slung over shoulders. Got our asses handed to us by St. Sebastian’s, 29–65, and

now back we go to Whitman. We might argue we weren’t feeling it, what with Gabe’s death hanging over us and all, and, yeah, maybe that was part of it. But the main reason we lost tonight?

Bunny Thompson.

Bunny tore us apart at both ends of the court. You think he’d at least have the decency to pull back a bit against his old teammates, but no. Put up a double-double — his, like, fifteenth consecutive one this season. Not that I’m keeping track of his numbers or anything.

And with that, our season’s finished. We’re teammates but not a team. Players out of game.

The sun is setting behind us, and the air smells like snow. I’m last in line, and before I step through the narrow door, I look over my shoulder at St. Sebastian’s one last time.

The school sits there with its fancy stonework, a statue of its patron saint perched above the main entrance. Dude’s hands are bound behind his back, and he’s wearing noth- ing but a loincloth. Five or six arrows stick out of his body, but he’s got this smug look on his face like he’s about to say something.

The driver starts the engine, and its low rumble calls me back to reality. I turn around and climb onto the bus. Wallace waves for me to join him in the back, but I pretend like I don’t notice and slide into an empty seat a couple rows be- hind Coach Campbell and Coach J. They don’t even bother to take attendance. Coach Campbell tells the driver we’re all set and then leans back, folds his arms over his broad chest, and closes his eyes. Even Coach J — who’s usually so positive you want to slap him — just flips open the scorebook and shakes his head. They didn’t say a word about the whole Bunny thing tonight, but they must have been as sore as we were see- ing him suited up in St. Sebastian’s red and white instead of Whitman’s purple and gold.

But whatever. The bus rolls out.

 I readjust my earbuds and turn up my music. I consider finishing this book we’ve been taking forever to read in En- glish class, Of Mice and Men, but I decide I’m not feeling it. So instead, I gaze out the window and watch the rich suburbs surrounding St. Sebastian’s slide past. My parents always taught me to be content with what I have, to value people over stuff. But still, these are some big-ass houses.

I also try not to think of the game. I mean, it’s not like ball’s my life — I’m not even a starter. But my brain keeps pushing it into my thoughts. This loss hurts more than most. Not that anyone expected us to win tonight. St. S was a pow- erhouse even before this season, before they stole Bunny. That didn’t stop me from fantasizing that we’d destroy them and Bunny would realize he made the wrong decision.

Last year, when he was still on our team, we went twenty and nine. Even made it to the semifinals of sectionals. This season: ten and seventeen. Didn’t even qualify for the post- season. Unforgivable for a team that’s produced its share of all-Americans in its day. I mean, we even lost to William H. Harrison High this year.

William H. freaking Harrison.

Maybe I won’t play next season. It’s not like I’m that good. Main reason I tried out freshman year was because Bunny wanted me to.

But the worst part? He didn’t even talk to me about all this. Went away for a week to DC with his AAU team for nationals in July and came back with the news that he was headed to St. S in the fall.

I realize I’m clenching my jaw and tensing my shoulders. So I take a deep breath, try to let it out real slow and even. Bunny doesn’t care about me anymore, so why should I care about him?

Wallace comes up from the back of the bus and drops heavily onto the seat across from me. I sigh on the inside, because I’m not up for pretending to laugh at the dumb jokes I’m sure he’s about to crack. But all he says is “You cool?”

I nod, then he nods and turns to look out his window, like all he means to do is keep me company.

Grateful and exhausted, I close my eyes. The track I’m listening to ends, and the next one begins.

3

Bunny

My hands are so cold the warm water hurts. I clench my teeth and count down from thirty. The pain will pass. Always does.

Sure enough, by the time I get to zero, my fingers feel like fingers again instead of icicles. I shut off the faucet, pat my hands dry on my hoodie, and then head back into the living room.

Jess is on the couch wearing a big sweatshirt and winter cap because the heat’s broken again. She’s got a fat textbook open on her lap and a yellow highlighter in her gloved hand. But her eyes are on the TV, where the news is playing real quiet. Justine and Ashley, our little twin sisters, are curled up against her on either side under a pile of blankets, asleep like they had a real hard day in the second grade.

I pick up the ball from the other end of the couch. 

“You really going back out there?” Jess asks. Her eyes are locked onto the old guy on the screen going on about politics or something.

It’s tempting not to. Trust me. It’d be real nice to unlace my sneakers and take it easy the rest of  the night. Maybe play 2K or plop down on the couch right here or go over to Keyona’s place. I mean, I did have a full day of school and a hard workout at practice.

But then I think of  the playoffs. We’ll start with a bye since we were seeded first, so we’ll play on Friday for the quarterfinals. Four more days to get ready.

I also think of Mom busting her butt working the grave- yard shift at the hospital right this very moment and Dad’s bookstore not doing so hot. I think of Jess sitting in front of me studying hard but still racking up student loan debt. I think of the twins buried in blankets because our landlord doesn’t bother getting anybody over here to fix the heat like he claims he will and leaving the oven open doesn’t warm the whole place.

I know there are people out there who got it worse than we do, but there’s people who got it better, too. A lot better, and they’re probably not even working as hard.

“Yup,” I say. “Right back at it.” “Isn’t it cold?”

I shrug, pull my own knit cap from the front pocket of my hoodie, yank it down over my head, and then flip my hood up. “Like it’s summertime in here?”

“You’re crazy,” she says, though I’m thinking the same thing about her spending all that time studying to become an underpaid social worker someday. If I’m going to work hard for something, you better believe it’s going to pay the bills. “Aaron said he called someone about the furnace.”

“Right,” I say. Aaron’s our landlord, who lives in the suburbs. “In the meantime, feel free to burn those to keep warm.” I gesture toward the kitchen table at the stack of col- lege brochures that’ve been flooding our mailbox for the last few months. Schools can’t send me specific recruiting stuff until June 15, when I officially become a junior, but until then they can send me all the junk mail they want, apparently.

“Mom and Dad would kill you,” Jess says, laughing.

I laugh, too, because it’s true. They’re collecting each and every one so that we can go over them together when they have time. They won’t let me toss one until we’ve read it all the way through and discussed the pros and cons, even if it’s from some small school nobody’s ever heard of before, like the University of Chicago in Nebraska or something wack like that. But the problem is they both work so much that that pile of brochures will probably reach the ceiling before long.

I say goodbye to Jess one more time and then head back outside, careful not to make too much noise as I close the door behind me. Out of habit, I glance up at Nasir’s window across the street. His light’s on, so I think about rapping on his door and asking if he wants to come with me. But then I think of him turning his back on me at the vigil the other day and then him acting like I didn’t even exist during our game, so I roll out by my lonesome.

The streets are empty. The houses are dark. Don’t want to wake anyone, since it’s a Monday night, so I hold the ball on my hip with one hand and bury the other in my pocket as I make my way to the courts. I walk quickly, with my breath puffing out in front of my face. Nasir and I must have made this walk together a million times throughout the years. One of us would play offense and the other defense as we went up the sidewalk. If the defender could steal the ball, then we’d switch. Most of the time I was the one dribbling. Not that Nasir was that bad, but I knew him well enough to know that his eyes would flick downward right before he’d lunge for the steal, and that’s when I’d cross over and spin, slipping past him to run the rest of the way to the court, laughing as he trailed behind. But sometimes I’d let him swipe the ball away just because.

That was how it used to be, though. Now I’m always mak- ing this walk alone, putting my moves on ghost defenders. Wondering if I made a mistake.

After a few blocks, I reach the park. It’s behind the com- munity center on the other side of the soccer and baseball fields, far enough away from any houses that I don’t feel bad dribbling once my feet hit the blacktop.

There’s an empty forty at center court. At least whoever left it didn’t bust it and leave the blacktop littered with shards of glass like they sometimes do. I go over and pick up the bottle with my right while dribbling with my left. Toss it into a trash can and then turn back to the hoops.

It’s not as nice as St. Sebastian’s gym, but this is my home court. This is where I started really playing ball with Nasir once we graduated from the low-hanging crate nailed to a telephone pole on our block. I know every crack and dip like the back of my hand. I know if the shot’s going to drop by the sound of the clang when it hits the steel rim. I know the lights click off at ten but you can still see enough to keep shooting if the moon is bright.

This is where I’ve lost and won a thousand games. Where I drained that half-court shot as a sixth-grader to beat the high school kids. Where I broke my nose catching an elbow on a drive and didn’t get the foul shots. Where I dunked for the first time and nobody was around to see — except for Nasir.

This is my home court. Our home court. 

I toss up a rainbow, which sails through the netless hoop. But I’m not here for three-pointers. I’m here for fadeaway, midrange jumpers — the shot I blew three times during to- night’s game. If I’m going to lead St. Sebastian’s to another state title, I can’t be missing that action every time.

After grabbing the rebound, I reset at the top of the key. Lower my dribble and visualize my man crouching low, hands up like they teach in basketball camp. I start counting down from ten. At five, I fake right and then cross over to the left. At four, I turn and back the dude down, and at three, we’re a few feet inside the arc. At two, I pivot and leap. At one, I release the shot at the peak of my vertical. At zero, I fall backwards . . .

The shot falls short and glances off the front of the rim. I chase it down, return to the top of the key, and restart.

Dribble, cross over, back down, pivot, fade away, and release. Another brick. Another rebound.

I keep repeating the motions. Each dribble echoes across the night. The soles of my sneaks scrape over the concrete with each motion. The wind picks up, frigid and stinging. My fingers and toes start to feel numb again, begging me to quit, to save it for practice tomorrow.

But I don’t.

I dribble, cross over, back down, pivot, fade away, release. 

Rebound.

Reset.

***

Bunny and Nasir’s journey has only just begun. If you want to read more of this incredible YA for fans of THE HATE U GIVE and ALL AMERICAN BOYS, pre-order it from the links below!

Amazon

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Books-a-MillionHudson

IndieBound

Powell’s

Target  

#hmhteen #hmh teen #amreading #books #sports #excerpt #excerpts #booklr #yalit #ya lit #THUG #the hate u give #after the shot drops #kwame alexander #sportsbooks #sports books #basketball

[funkymeihem-fiction]

Fantasy Meihem- Part 3

“Look, I’m just saying, you’re the one still stuck on the ‘goats’ issue. They wandered into my turf, they got eaten. Could’ve been a wild cat, or a bear, or whatever things you got here, but it just happened to be me. That time.” Jamison’s voice whined in her head for at least the third time that hour. “They still weren’t your goats. And it wasn’t a cat or a bear, it was you, eating things that don’t belong to you! Those goats are almost all those people had, you could at least feel a little remorseful about it,” she huffed, despite having gone over this point a thousand times. “I was starving, darl! Trapped and starving!” “Well, I understand that there were…circumstances,” she admitted. “And I paid for the goats you ate, but you are absolutely not to do it again! If you want something to eat, we’ll buy it properly, because that’s how we do things here.”

"Heh. I know something else I want instead. Something sweet and moist and tender..."

"What? I don't have any meat on me." “I mean, I don’t just eat meat. If you really wanted to keep me fed without dipping into that cute little coinpurse of yours, we could…uh…do some things…” His voice trailed off. “Are you planning something nefarious again?” “Uh…Nothing. Maybe later.”

For a while, they traveled on in the dark, her lone figure illuminated only by her staff. “Are we there yet? We’re getting closer, right? How many days has it been now? Ugh, time is torture on this side!” It was not long before his nattering began anew, unaffected by her audible sigh. “You sure you’re not going backwards? Can’t you just open a portal and pop us right to wherever we’re going?” Mei had stopped bothering to roll her eyes, if only to save her energy, the butt of her staff thunking against the ground steadily as she used it as a walking stick. “For the last time, I don’t work with portal magic. That’s one of my colleagues, and she’s very far away right now. Believe me, if I knew how to work portals, I would not…be here…” It had been three days. Their only stop had been to resupply at the village, where Mei gave them the news that the demon in the canyon had been ‘vanquished’ and that their goats would be safe to live out their happy goat lives from now on. Jamison had whispered to her the entire time, suggesting stories about their magnificent battle against one another whilst begging her to play up how powerful and handsome he had been. Mei had found her smile wavering more than once, but the villagers had rejoiced in her victory, rejoiced even more when she humbly refused their tiny offer of payment, given her a nice dinner, and the next morning she had set off in the direction she had come from- with the pesky demon safely stowed in the pin beneath her hat. According to her maps, this part of the road was faster, but she had never used it. Tall black trees rose up high on both sides of them, towering over everything and choking out the light below, casting everything below the canopy in perpetual black and purple twilight. The birds and insects had fled ages ago, and left only silent, many-eyed things that lived in the darkness between the tangled roots. There was no sound save for the sound of her boots and the occasional rustle of the wind that sent their black limbs shaking and clattering against one another, a hollow noise like rattling bones from far above. This forest was very old, very sick, and very angry. Anyone with good sense avoided it. So of course, she was here, tromping right through the thick of it and by all appearances, talking to herself. It had taken some getting used to, hearing that irritating voice in her head, and more than once she’d had to downright threaten him into silence, though it never lasted long before he eventually forgot and began bothering her again. But now she was a little glad of his presence and his chatter. The silence would have been deafening otherwise, and the darkness of the road loomed ahead with no light in sight. Jamison must have noticed her nervousness, uttering an overly-spooky little “WooooOOOOoooooo…” in her head. “Stop it,” she said firmly. “Little too dark for your tastes, eh love? Want me to come out and walk with you, light the way a bit?” She thought for a moment. She’d ordered him to stay hidden for obvious reasons, but there wasn’t a soul around for miles that she knew of, and the oppressive darkness threatened to overwhelm the soft blue light that her staff’s crystal provided. A little taste of his glowing fire, demonic as it might have been, would have been a welcome reprieve. But there was still the chance, minute as it was, that another traveler might be walking along the same road, and after another bit of pondering, she shook her head and knew he could feel it. “We shouldn’t. You’ve already caused enough of a panic as it is and we can’t risk it. Besides, I’m sure everything is fine. It’s just a little…Well, maybe it’s a tiny bit creepy? But only a little.” “Maybe one day I’ll take you back to my place when we find my pal, we’ll show you around,” he offered. “S’nice and bright and hot, not like here.” “There is no way I am going with you to the demonic realm, it’s probably full of fire and chaos and…I don’t know, unpleasant things? It was bad enough in that stuffy canyon. It’s much nicer in my homeland, nice and cool and snowy!” She beamed a little at the thought. “Sounds awful,” he replied promptly. “You’re awful.” “You’ll change your mind once you see it, darl. I’ll show you all sorts of treasures the others don’t even know about. It’ll be nice t’have you around, ol’ Pigface can keep the whole hordes at bay but he is not much for the conversation. Not like you! Now, you, I could talk to all day!” “I know,” she groaned. Jamison already could, and did, talk to her all day. “And don’t worry. I’ll explain everything to my Guild, we’ll find your friend, and then you can both be banished and head back home.” He was oddly silent for a moment, and it almost seemed to echo in the confines of her pointed hat. After a moment, his voice was a little smaller. “Yeah but…ya know. You could come with, for that visit? Or I could stay. I mean, there’s no hurry to anything, right, don’t need to rush these sorts of things! How about we just play that one by ear?” Her footsteps paused. The demon was lonely, and for a moment, she had felt sorry for it. “That…Well that’s to say, it’s not…for me to decide?” “Why not?” “Well you’re…I mean, you’re illegal. You’re not supposed to be here at all. You have your own realm, we have ours, and you’re…well, you’re the epitome of evil?” “Aw, d’you really think that? Like I’m a big, strong, handsome sort of epitome? Flatterer. Charmer. I knew I liked you for a reason.” “Not you, you!” she said quickly, starting to walk again. “I meant demons as a whole. You’re more of a…” She squinted behind her glasses. “I still don’t know what you are.” He paused. “…Stop.” “I mean, I know you’re a demon. Because demons are all-” “Stop!” He said again, more firmly, and this time there was an edge to his voice. “Shh. Listen…” She paused, clutching her staff in both gloved hands. For several very long moments, she heard nothing but the soft sound of the passing breeze up in the treetops above. But Jamison’s tension put her ill at ease, and she swore she felt an icy chill travel up and down her spine, goose pimples raising all over her exposed skin. In a nervous motion, she leaned suddenly to smooth and adjust the bottom of her skirts, adjust the garters beneath th- There was a PTING!ing sound that rang out like an alarm from the treetops, and something whizzed past her ear where her head had just been, trailing a venomous glowing red. She startled, synapses firing at random, and tried move both forward and backward at the same time, feet falling out from under her as she was knocked onto her rump. She tried to collect herself, blood pounding in her ears and almost drowning out Jamison’s bellowing in her head, but even as she flailed both boots in the dirt for hold, she flopped foolishly from side to side like a newborn colt. At a loss, she brought her staff into the ground, the crystal glowing white-blue as ice rose up from nowhere in front of her with a whoosh and crackle of crystalizing air and moisture. She heard the thud, saw the ice splinter where another of those spells hit her barrier. Something loud popped in her ear and then exploded into reality. One moment there was nothing but licks of frost flickering through the air, and then Jamison was suddenly there, bringing with him his own whirling storm of ash and cinders, yellow and red and mixing with the softer blue of her frost motes. He uncurled out of the nothingness, reaching down and grasping her by both arms to haul her up off the ground. His pointed ears twitched and he smiled down at her, but it wasn’t his usual smile. This one was a leering grin that stretched out his features and bared almost every single one of his sharp teeth, lips pulled up to reveal pinkish red gums and the yellowed roots of his fangs beneath. “Think that one shaved a few hairs off you, love. Come on, come on, get yourself together!” Irritation took over panic and she found her nerve again, planting both feet down once more, if only just to spite him. “I-I’m fine! It came from up there, up in the branches.” “…Ice us up to our left, darl! Wait, I mean, other left! No, first left!” She flailed her staff to and fro as his directions changed, and managed to bring another icy barrier up on that side, just as there was another sharp ringing noise from the darkness overhead. A red glow hit the barrier yet again. Jamison put his back to hers, head tilted upward. “If it’s up there, we're nothing but targets down here,” he said. “Okay, we’ll just…we’ll just…” She looked around frantically, starting towards the tangled roots of the forest off the road. “Just give me a moment, we’ll try to find somewhere more sheltered, maybe if we get some cover, I can wall us in, we can make a plan!” “No time to hide! We’re going up there!” “W-wait! How are you g-” She cringed back as a pair of black and red wings, bony and ribbed like a bat’s, seemed to explode from his back, unfurling in a rush of wind and a flurry of glowing orange embers. They found the air and grasped it, flapping mightily as his arms wrapped around her and they went hurtling back up into the air. Mei remained crushed against his chest, clinging onto him with her cheeks flushed as she held her hat in place. He offered her a smarmy, fang-toothed grin, with that same cocksure confidence as always. Their eyes met, dark brown locking with glowing yellow… It was all quite gallant until she realized that only one of his wings was actually effective and they were completely out of control. Whatever had taken out the limbs on his right side had mangled that right wing along with it, and it was crooked and torn, flapping frantically to make up for its lacking power. They were still technically in flight, but she realized that it was wobbly and steering was clearly not an option, and the unlucky demon’s flying ability was at about the same level as a very desperate chicken. He couldn’t fly very far or very high, but his struggling took them up into the trees and away from the open ground. Jamison overshot the limb he’d been aiming for, flinging out his metal claw and sinking it into the dense black bark of the trunk, leaving long raking marks in the wood that slowed them to an abrupt halt. It almost jostled his precious ice mage right out of his grip, and she was yelling something he didn’t really bother listening to as he wedged his other long arm up and under her breasts, gripping tight around her ribcage to keep her and all her silly poofy cloth from slipping free. He managed to deposit her onto a thick branch, hunching over her to make sure both feet were planted- His shoulder exploded in a spray of molten black ichor and he screamed, mouth stretching and dripping fangs inches away from her face as it spattered over both of them. He fell forward onto her, leaving the horrified little ice mage with both arms wrapped around his bleeding form, his wings sagging. The light shifted, filtering through the maze of bare branches overhead, illuminating the scene eerily. She tried to lift Jamison back upward, shoving and pleading, as a figure rose up from several yards away. It looked female, tall and lithe and beautiful in an otherworldly way. Her skin was a ghostly blue pallor, her lips painted dark and her eyes a luminous yellow that almost matched the fire demon’s…although as Mei looked on, several other eyes seemed to open from nowhere as well, covering the top half of her face like a spider’s. She didn’t seem to wear robes or clothes, but dark shadows seemed to cling to her skin, bathing her in bluish-black from the neck down, shifting and wisping eerily over her skin. She strode forward, spike-clad heels digging into the wood beneath her and her manicured black claws glowing the same dull red as the spells that had nearly killed them both already. The woman’s lips twisted into a poisonous smirk, lifting one hand to blow them a kiss as dangerous-looking red vapor drifted over her palm. “Hello.”

#meihem #junkmei #meirat #mei #mei-ling zhou #junkrat #jamison fawkes #demonjunkrat #demon junkrat #ice mage mei #fantasy au #fantasywatch

[peachiejihoonie]

ha sungwoon - demigod!au; apollo

he thinks hes cool but in reality hes a loser/dork 

is best friends with noh taehyun from the hermes cabin and they’re both loving playing pranks

like during capture the flag, they’re in charge of setting traps but they do more then just set simple traps

they always do stupid things like leave a trail of whoopee cushions in the river and it pissed off guanlin, the child of hephaestus, so much that he burned the ends of their shirts

they tried to prank the demeter cabin by mowing the roof but it would just grow back on its own??? and the two of them are extremely confused but they keep trying to mow it?? 

and thats when you come out you’re even more confused

“uhm, excuse me, what are you guys doing to our roof??” 

“we just thought the grass on your roof was getting long!” sungwoon laughed 

“so were mowing it!” taehyun finished 

“why? it’s just gonna grow back? its charmed?”

it doesn’t help that you’re a newer camper too so you’re just really really confused at this point 

and your head counselor, lee euiwoong comes out angrily 

“leave our roof alone! you always do something stupid to our home okay just go away our mom ended up charming it you idiots, we’re gonna end up planting velociraptors if you keep going up there”

and they’re snickering as they come down but you’re kinda just ???? like whats so funny ??? 

when you have that confused look on your face sungwoon frowns and hes about to speak but euiwoong got a head start 

“those two are the stupid pranksters of this camp. i mean all the hermes campers love to pull pranks but these two just get so into it. just ignore them” euiwoong rolls eyes and is about to push you in the cabin to finish the tour 

“god you demeter kids are soo booooring, laugh a little jeez” taehyun starts 

“but i don’t get it, whats funny??” your face is deadpan is too. 

euiwoong hold his laughter but taehyun can see him grinning and glares at him 

sungwoon kinda just sits their, a little distracted, cause you’re just kinda, sorta, really, jeongmal jeongmal jinjja daebak real heol wanjeon pretty. 

like flowers are literally blooming behind you and there’s a flower in your hair as tradition of all demeter new comers

“c’mon lets go sungwoon, euiwoongs being a meanie again” taehyun sticks his tongue out at him 

did i just start a euiwoong and taehyun ship??

and sungwoon is just looking behind him, watching you go back into the demeter cabin as hes getting dragged away mumbling an “uh oki” 

and hes just sorta mesmerized by your beauty like omg he’s such a day dreamer but obviously you would never ever notice him

oh but honey boi u do

you noticed him at the campfire one night and he has such a sweet voice when he sings, like it was so soothing that you almost fell asleep on euiwoong’s shoulder 

he saw you with your eyes closed and he almost had a heart attack, was he making you fall asleep??? was his voice that boring?? 

the next time he sees you, you and the entire demeter cabin were harvesting the strawberries 

he watches you patiently wait for the strawberries to grow as you use your chlorokinesis

“if you can control the plants, why are you going so slow??” he asked bluntly, squatting next to you 

“because its healthier for the plant, if i rush, i might rip out roots, especially since i’m harvesting” you mindlessly input, not bothering to look at who it was 

you picked out one of the berries and offered one to him and that’s when you guys meet eyes and you realize who it is

your heart is banging against your cracking ribs

hes slightly flustered because your noses are just about to touch 

both of you red face step back and you just go back to your strawberries

he notices how awkwardly balled up you are now, hugging your knees as you raise the strawberry stems 

“w-why are you here again? here to attempt so pull a prank? steal strawberries and give them away? even though that’s our intent??”

awe u smol bean gettin all nervous 

“no i came to visit you” he smirks, his cocky apollo side is showing and you’re blushing all over again 

but euiwoong had already prewarned you, telling you to stay away from the aphrodite and apollo boys as they are just a bunch cocky fuck boys that love playing with people’s feelings

and euiwoong was definite that sungwoon was not an exception 

“that’s sweet of you,” you just blandly respond, hiding your true colors

he’s scrunching his nose, highly unamused by your mild tone 

“stop being so boring” he huffed and got up and trotted off in his puff of arrogance 

and you just shrug it off 

but he comes back because honestly he’s such a little pup and he really wants your attention

so you’re carrying a huge basket of strawberries to the big house while the rest of your siblings go off to the mess hall to fed everyone else

and as your walking, sungwoon walks by your side, taking strawberries from your basket 

“stop,” you tug the basket away from him, pouting “these are for mr.d and chiron” 

and you were so cute he didn’t even bother to argue and just nodded

and hes reaching for the basket and you pull away, looking at him with disbelief

“i literally just tol-” 

“calm down, i’m helping you carrying the basket idiot” he snatched the basket from you

and your red again, stomach fluttering with butterflies and fingers fidgeting 

but when you get to big house he leaves the basket on the porch and steals a berry 

you’re about to scowl him but hes already off running with the biggest grin on his face and a berry between his lips 

when he turns around you can’t help but touch your warm cheeks as a small smile spreads across your face

and as he biting the strawberry his flushed cheeks are redder than the fruit itself

he starts to wonder if your lips are that sweet probably are tbh 

the next encounter is at the stables as you’re cleaning the pegai as punishment 

you may or may not have been on the big house porch and accidentally wondered how big a bean stalk was and grew one through the roof

you notice that there’s only one golden white one which, its pretty, but yea just one?? why is he so special ?

and guess who’s about to go a pegasus ride??? sungwoon!!

and he sees you and slyly walks over to you, leaning against the low wall that surrounded the pegasus, 

“i see that you’re cleaning my pegasus, solace.” he smirks “that’s too kind of you” 

you just rolled your eyes explaining your situation which led to him bursting into laughter, making fun of you 

“you’ve been here for how long??? and you still can’t control your powers?” he snorted 

hes lucky your’re patient

instead of continuing his teasing, he starts climbing the pegasus and offers a hand

you, with your hair stuck on your face, dirt smeared on cheeks and a dirty brush in your hand, is confused all over again 

why is he so c o nfu s ing  ???

“c’mon, lets go on a ride” 

“i’m kinda not allowed to, ya know cause i’m in trouble” 

“you’re doing it again, you’re being a boring demeter kid.” 

you didn’t have time to fight back since he threw the brush out of your hand and pulls you onto the pegasus 

“hang on!” he’s joyfully laughs as you slightly squeal and you guys fly out

in the sky, there is a brief calm silence, eyes closed, wind tangled within your hair 

and you finally sigh and ask him 

“why are you doing this?” 

hes avoiding your glance as he mumbles into his reins 

“i dunno,,,,,” 

he’s not used to liking someone, feelings feel kinda foreign to him 

he’s used just checking girls out, think they’re fine af and that’d be it

you made him feel soft and chummy in the inside, and he just wasn’t to used to it, almost afraid of it

and you just sigh and your grip around his stomach tightens and your cheeks rest against his back 

“thats fine, i’ll just wait” 

blushies on both ends!!!!! 

and you he settles the pegasus back at the stables and (lucky you!!!) you don’t get caught 

and he just awkwardly stutters away, but of course not without giving you a small smile 

god he’s such a sleaze, but hes so cute?? can i really betray euiwoong’s warning 

and so you guys resume your daily lives once again, occasionally speaking to each 

whenever you passed him when he was with taehyun, you could see the boy nudging sungwoon while snicker and giggling 

omg and taehyun would the obnoxious ‘heeEELLlllLLOOOOO y.n!!!!!” 

but one day, one of your demeter sister tells you about how she really likes sungwoon

“like he’s so sweet, he helped me up the climbing wall when it was my first time and he eve-” 

and just keeps rambling and you’re forcing you smiles and lot of over excited “uh huhs”

and you kinda throw yourself into a black hole and get slightly insecure 

because she’s so perfect for him there’s no way he could possibly like me if he could have her or just anyone else, so many girls are willing to do so much for him anyways forget him omg sungwoon isn’t worth 

and so as you walk through camp now, you avoid his gaze, you don’t clean up the stables, you dont even bat an eyelash at the apollo cabin anymore 

of course he notices i mean the boy stares you 24/7

and he panics 

he thinks he did something wrong so he ends up asking taehyun to ask euiwoong what the heck is going on

and when euiwoong just utters the first syllable of his name, you just roll your eyes, admitting defeat and agreeing that sungwoon is bad news; he just has way to many girls on him

and euiwoong’s like goddamnit but he isn’t omg why can’t you listen to me now the boy likes you !!!!!!

but he obviously can’t say that now so instead he’s like 

“well maybe you can give him a chance??” 

“that doesn’t matter anymore, he’s too popular, and plus he needs someone who would be willing to go wild with him, someone who would hop fences, sneak out in the middle of the night, climb the highest trees, and steal strawberries with, not someone boring demeter kid” 

euiwoong: fuck

but at least the camp leader managed to get you to go to dinner !! in one piece !! in a kinda sloppily lw mess !!!

this continues for the rest of week

taehyun has had enough of panicked sungwoon and euiwoong is getting sick of depressed you

so the two of them decide to sit next to each other in hopes to lure their partners together

you arrive first and you’re good at blocking out your feelings so you just keep it casual, greeting euiwoong and taehyun 

someone how it didn’t correlate with you that taehyun = sungwoon 

so when sungwoon sat down it got awkward

the tension was tHIcK

you cleared your throat, feeling uncomfortable you got up and excused yourself 

taehyun nudge sungwoon and he hurriedly runs after you 

you’re speed walking towards the cabin but sungwoon easily catches up to you 

“wait wait y.n please wait” 

so take a deep breathe and turn towards him 

“yes, whats up” 

“did i do something wrong, you’re avoiding me” 

“i’m not avoiding you, and you did nothing wrong” 

“okay, then talk to me” 

“i’m just trying to get over you because i know someone else is better for you okay?” 

you both can’t believe that you just confessed, now you really can’t look him in the eyes

and you’re about to escape into your cabin but he’s already engulfed you in his arms 

“why would you ever think that??” 

he sighing into the back of your shoulders. 

and you’re sighing too, feeling his warmth surround you

“you knew i liked you, so why would you bother?” he asked 

and now you’re red, he liked you ???? 

and he laughed and flicks you on the forehead 

“don’t ever doubt yourself again, i like you, and it doesn’t matter if someone else likes me or they’re a supposed “better fit” for me okay?” 

i’m not crying ur crying

now you guys do everything together

he takes you on pegasus rides, helps your harvest eats all the strawberries 

he still plays pranks on you every once in a while but they’d be really cute 

her once charmed your blanket into a garden and your freaked out cause you were like omg wheres my bed 

even euiwoong was in on it was cracking up him and taehyun are exchanging high fives

he’s been exposed to world of pranks

it turned out to be some 3d blanket the hermes and hephaestus cabin was working on 

well they wanted real life fire but sungwoon modified it to become a garden cause fire kinda scares you

he figured out the coding to add roses and would change it that when he was just feelin some lovin 

and when you get hurt he’s immediately there, since he has vitakinesis 

you’ve definitely became a little bit of a daredevil now that you’ve been dating him

he snuck you out after curfew once and you guys climbed up a tree to watch the stars and just talked 

you giggled when he told you how he’s super cautious when he walks around camp now, afraid of stepping on the flowers 

“you know, its like having a pet pig and eating pork” 

“so i’m your pet pig now?” 

“nOOO” 

and it’s past 12 and hes tired and tired sungwoon means clingy sungwoon 

he doesn’t let you go when you guys make it to the demeter cabin

you end up having to drag him into the cabin, praying that no one was awake 

and you guys snuggle under the sheets, legs tangled and noses bumping

he hums a simple song into the back of your neck which helps you fall asleep

and when euiwoong finds you both in your bed all cuddled up the next morning, he sighs

yall lucky he’s the one doing cabin inspection today

sungwoon is literally the sun to your flower

#ha sungwoon #ha sungwoon scenario #ha sungwoon scenarios #ha sungwoon imagine #ha sungwoon imagines #ha sungwoon hot shot #ha sungwoon hotshot imagine #ha sungwoon hotshot #ha sungwoon hotshot imgines #ha sungwoon hotshot scenario #ha sungwoon hotshot scenarios #hotshot #hot shot #hotshot scenario #hotshot imagines #hotshot scenarios #hotshot imagine #produce 101 #produce 101 s2 #produce 101 season 2 #produce 101 imagines #produce 101 imagine #produce 101 scenario #produce 101 scenarios #produce 101 s2 imagines #produce 101 s2 imagine #produce 101 s2 scenarios #produce 101 s2 scenario #kpop #kpop imagines

[cutegirlmayra]

Ello! I'm a big fan of all your work, and I just want to request a prompt if that's alright. Sometimes I like to imagine that the Sonic Boom characters are really just older versions of themselves from the games, thus their personalities has changed a little. For example, Amy is no longer openly obsessing over Sonic. I was wondering if you can write a story that takes place between the Modern!Sonic timeline and Sonic Boom timeline where Sonic starts to notice and question Amy's new personality.

(x)

Aw, thank you so much! This is a wonderful concept to work with! I hope I do it justice ^^

Prompt:

“Oh my hero!!!” A small Amy Rose held her arms out to embrace him.

Why does she do that? Can’t she tell I’m-

Sonic let the strange girl embrace him, but he stepped back a bit; exaggerating his movements as he tried to lightly put his hands to the sides of her shoulders.

With a light tug, he was able to have her let go.

She never seemed to care or notice that he would let her have her movement, before moving on.

But as she got older… She would take any opportunity to try and get closer to him.

It was so exhausting…

Sonic looked up from the outdoor table at the ‘date’ Amy arranged, wagging his foot out that balanced on his knee while he waited anxiously for the day to be over.

At the end of it, Amy insisted on him taking her for a run, even when she would voice that she was getting tried of him simply carrying her all the time. 

She wanted something more… something interesting.

I was always nervous it wasn’t enough for her anymore…

Sonic frowned as she once again would hug him… but this time,…

Before he could even lightly touch her shoulder, she already started to pull away.

At first, he smiled shyly, but now he looked surprised.

Her face… was distant.

Why is she so sad?

Was it something I said?

Sonic began to look over his shoulder, and realize that Amy wasn’t as enthusiastic about keeping up with him on his adventures like she used to be.

Life began to shift, and suddenly she was more interested in little projects here and there then chasing after him.

Puzzled… Sonic took the opportunity to engage her back into his life.

When Tails mentioned an Island where a small village lived, and that they could spend some relaxing years there while Eggman set up camp; he took the chance to see her again.

 With Eggman building a lair there… it was probably best the team hung out there to make sure he wasn’t up to no good.

Would the village be able to defend themselves without him and his team? Pfft.

Sonic smirked and raced off to get Amy, trying to find her anywhere he could.

Amy… Amy… Where are you?

It was always easy for Amy to find Sonic.

And for the first time…

He envied that.

Amy… Amy… Amy..?!

He spotted her in a shop, not having seen her in quite some time.

“Amy!…huh?”

He was shocked to see her so grown… a figure in a new look, a lady instead of a child.

She turned around and smiled. The features on her face still resembled the girl he knew… but something was somehow…

Different.

“Amy…”

“Oh, Sonic!” She happily waved.

He was used to her at least running up to him…

He shook himself out of it, and walked up. “Tails found out where Eggman was vacay-ing too. Want to ruin his fun?” He smirked, gesturing a thumb behind him.

“What do you mean? Like… we’re all going to live there?” Amy blinked her eyes, as Sonic opened his own excited ones and nodded, leaning up.

Amy’s eyes widened, and he was proud to show off his height now~

“Yep! What do ya say!? Up for some more adventures?”

“An island..?” Amy looked away smiling as she seemed to think about it.

She put a hand up to cup her cheek. “Oh! Beaches and jungles! New adventures! And everyone being so close again! How could I refuse?!” She excitedly squealed, kicking a leg up and out.

“Heh, nice try, Amy.” Sonic stuck his nose up, “But just because the island is small, doesn’t mean you’ll be able to catch me off guard or anything.”

It was mostly said to be sarcastic and humorous, but he was surprised by her response.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. It’ll be fun to hang out, but I’m more excited about getting a tan!” She turned to the fabric and picked something out. “Besides, you’ll probably see me fighting off Eggman too! I’ve changed a lot in a few years! Oh, I see you let your hair grow out on your arms? Nice!” she lightly went to feel, before giggling and turning back, flinging a brown fabric towards him.

“Hmm… This one is good, but maybe this outfit won’t go well with a scarf..?” she kept looking around, before flapping her hands out as if giving up. “Oh, who am I kidding. It’s a ISLAND! I won’t need a scarf!” she laughed and dashed out, before waving off to him.

“See you at Tails’s, Sonic!”

He held the brown fabric… almost hurt by the fact she didn’t flirt back or even try too…

He looked down at the scarf…

“…Maybe you won’t try…” he tied the fabric around his neck like a bandanna, and then smirked, turning around. “But I haven’t given up so easily! And I know you haven’t either!” He dashed towards Tails, admiring his new fashion statement.

He held it up by a hand before taking a sniff and looking up. “All she needs is another push… shouldn’t be a problem!”

However…

Arriving on the island, Amy acted more like a ‘chum’ than she did beforehand…

It was easier for him to be around her, but odder for him to see her the way he used too.

It was kinda sad for him, to see her not even try and make a move, but also made things more comfortable in that he could always be around her and not feel the need to keep any walls up.

They ended up getting closer…

And when Amy did make plans for something, she never called them ‘dates’, and he was able to say ‘yes’ to more alone time with her.

He… kinda liked that.

It was casual, easy, free…

“That was fun, Ames!” Sonic stated, walking her home one day before she stopped laughing and turned to look at him.

“Ames?”

She seemed almost touched, as he turned around and put his hands down from behind his head, scratching his nose and avoiding her stare.

“Oh yeah. I thought it’d be a good idea for a nickname. It doesn’t bother you, does it? I know it’s not really original or nothing, but it’s quick, rolls off the tongue, kinda cute when you say it right and well-”

She suddenly hugged him.

He was surprised, it had been a long time…

His arms came down and so did his eyelids, but she pulled away right before he could even try and return the embrace…

He nervously moved back as if he wasn’t going to hold her back.

“H-heh.. what was that for?” he acted cool, playing it off as he lightly rubbed his arm, growing… strangely more awkward and nervous than he ever had before…

“Oh, just a thank you…. Sonic.” she smiled… something he could never pull his eyes from.

He smiled back.

“Glad it made ya happy,… Ames.” he winked.

She nodded and continued to her home, “Well, this is my place. Sorry for the hug, by the wa-”

He slammed his hand on the door at lightning speeds, suddenly stopping her from advancing as she flinched back, and turned to him as he leaned on the door.

His elbow now kept it shut as he looked to her and then away, trying to once again seem ‘casual’ and ‘cool’.

“Sorry? F-f-for what? I’m used to it. It’s been a while. Ehem. Are those shoes new?” he looked down.

She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t seem to realize he was stalling…

“Hehe, the whole outfits new, Sonic.” she looked down and moved her shoes around, showing off before flipping her hair and posing a second. “Haven’t you noticed?”

“More than you’d think…”

“Huh?” she blinked her eyes open as he stared at her…

“Bah-wh-wha-whelp!” he clapped his hands and moved off the door, before gesturing to it and swaying his arms out that way. “You’re probably tried and haa~ So am I~” he stretched and faked a yawn. “You should get to bed. I’ll um… just… walk around here.” he kicked a foot out, putting his hands behind his back and whistling as he took off with a merry little bounce in his step.

she was still suspicious, but figured- this was Sonic we’re talking about- and looked up, shaking her head at even thinking the thought, before heading inside.

When she closed the door… Sonic turned back to it, his smile suddenly becoming a genuine look of missing her.

Now that Amy’s holding back… I’m starting to want some of the old days back…

He sighed, his shoulders coming down as he looked forlorned and kicked a rock out.

Guess I’m just a few years too late…

His eyes suddenly lit up as he looked to her window.

Or maybe.. just too slow!

He looked around and a few feet away, there was a sunflower that was lying on the ground. Probably blown off from the strong winds the islands got.

He opened his mouth wide into a grin, and looked back at her window.

He took some courage and grabbed the flower, heading up to the window.

However…

Before he could surprise her, he heard her conversing on the phone.

“Boyfriend? Oh please! I’ve moved on since then!”

His face sunk a little… his excitement leaving him suddenly…

She waited a second before responding to the person on the phone. “Emhmm. I’m a new woman now! you know what that means! The world is mine for the taking and I don’t need any stinkin’ man!”

Sonic dropped the flower into the room and dashed off.

“Haha! That’s right! And this time..-”

Well, if that was the case… might as well just let life take it’s course…

Get close while I still could be close…

-What he didn’t hear-

Phone: So you’re not gonna call him your boyfriend anymore?

“Boyfriend? Oh please! I’ve moved on since then!”

Phone: Oh.. you’re taking on a new strategy then!?

“Emhmm. I’m a new woman now! You know what that means! The world is mine for the taking and I don’t need any stinkin’ man!”

Phone: hahaah, that’s right! Only a ‘Hero’ will do!

“Haha! That’s right! And this time…-

                                         I’m gonna make that Sonic respect me!

                                                        With his own free will….

                                                                He’s gonna fall and chase me into love!”

Phone: Good luck, Amy! Me and Cheese are rooting for you! ‘Chao Chao!’

Amy hung up the phone after saying goodbye, before almost stepping on something that crumbled slightly under her feet.

Reaching down, she touched her heart and admired the beautiful sunflower, before looking around and up at her roof’s window.

“Did you get blown in here, little fella?” she smiled and looked down at it, putting it into a water jar.

“There. Now you can flourish in a new home!” She lightly stroked the petals. “Much like something else I hope will grow..”

(I thought the progression would look something like this..? xP Idk)

(x) sequel

#sonamy #sonamy boom #sonicxamy #amy rose #sonic #sonic boom #sonamy prompt #sonic prompt #sonic boom prompt

[redheadwanderings-blog]

March 12th

Today I went BACKPACKING

I may be very happy in the photo, but retrospectively the graininess of this phone’s front camera makes me sad :(

I woke up with the sun, packed up my stuff, and started walking into town. Luckily I was able to hitch a ride just beyond the campground so I didn’t have to loose valuable trail time by walking along a road.

Once in town I picked up a map and a bit more food to eat. Then I sat in a café, eating a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich while my phone charged. I also took this time to actually download some of those yoga videos. And at 10am I started for the trail head.

My planned loop conveniently starts and ends in Halls Gap (click on the link for a map). Since I’m going at it alone, I wanted to make sure I could meet Lita somewhere easy for her to get to when I finished. The only downside is the trails around Halls Gap were hella crowded due to the long holiday weekend and the same easy I was taking advantage of. Although, the constant presence of people meant I always had someone to ask to take a picture for me! So thank you, strangers, for helping me document my hike.

I absolutely loved the geography and vegetation in this area. I think Australia gets a bit of flack for not having tall, pointy mountains. But their gentle slopes contain dramatic contours. And the flora is incredibly varied. While yesterday I was seeing a lot of low level grasses and bushes with scattered eucalyptus, today I saw a ton of green and all of it was taller than me (I know, you’re thinking a short joke. HAHA VERY FUNNY).  

Venus Baths

Splitters Falls

On the way up to The Pinnacle

There were a ton of these thin sections that the trail wound through. This was the first one and it emptied of people just long enough for me to snap a photo. But every single passage after this one was not only thinner, but also filled with people. Several times I had to stand off to the side and wait several minutes for enough people to pass. Too many people! 

Seeeeeeeelfie

View from The Pinnacle

Selfie on The Pinnacle

I’m pretty sure Victoria is just a series of cool rock formations

Once I got past The Pinnacle the crowds disappeared. I still saw people on the trail, just not constantly. I only saw one other person at the Lakeview Lookout. And once I passed Rosea parking lot I was pretty much alone. As I like it :)

I decided to push to Mt Rosea and then stop for lunch. While the last few kilometers were tough (all the rock scrambling really wore out my knees), it was definitely worth it. I found a comfortable spot and just chilled, eating my lunch with the best view.

Lunch time

Uuuuuuhgn that view! 

Just as I was finishing up and mentally preparing to find a spot to do my yoga for the day, a couple walked up and said hello. Being friendly I said hello back and we struck up a conversation. I do not sounds Australian, so they asked me where I was from. Per usual, after my answer of “I’m from the States,” the woman asked “How do you like your new president?”

Now, let’s review. I am on top of a mountain. I just hiked 4 hours to get here. All I want is some quiet space to breath fresh air, get dirty, and enjoy the view. I want to get sweaty, not talk politics. If I wanted to talk politics I would be on my phone. But that thing is on airplane mode for a reason. But I’m an American under a Trump presidency. So eeeeeeeeeveryone wants to talk to the real-life American citizen about our politics.

I get it. Really, I do. What happens in the US echoes around the world. People watch us closely. And you know, for most of the last several months (because this started back in October), I haven’t minded the conversations. But recently they’ve grown weary. Everyone says the same thing. I respond with the same explanations. They satisfy whatever curiousity they have, and I get a little more weary having my countries issues thrown in my face once again.

But I want to be polite. So I respond to the woman with a simple “I don’t.”

Normally at this point the person I’m talking to comments on a few areas of American politics, perhaps exclaiming dismay at how inaccessible our healthcare is, how terribly we treat refugees, or how sexist, racist, manipulative, and ridiculous our new administration is. For the first time, however, I spoke to a non-American Trump supporter.

A Trump supporter who believed in taking money out of education

Who believed the US should build the military up even more

Who said, direct quote (there are some things one doesn’t forget hearing) “And it’s not the, the, the Mexicans we need to worry about, but the Asains. I mean, I’m not racist. There’s just so many people in China.”

Woah

Like, wooooooooooah

I just…

So I’m going to start with, if you have to say “I’m not racist” then you’re racist. Not probably, but definitely. And let’s be real. We’re all a little bit racist. Racism is built into Western culture. So we all gotta check ourselves because racism is a real live thing. It didn’t just disappear with the Civil Rights Act.

Second, anyone who’s tone has that much venom when speaking about another people has some deeply rooted inner hatred.

Oh, and did I mention the couple were not actually from Australia? Cause they weren’t. They moved to Australia from a socialist country a couple decades ago in an effort to create a better life for their children.

So according to this woman, it’s perfectly okay for white people to move in search of a better life, but nobody else can.

That’s called, you guessed it, RACISM.

This is the first time I’ve been confronted with such blatant racism since I personally realized it did still exist. So I had no idea how to respond. I just sat there in disbelief, wishing these people away and off the mountain I had sought out in search of peace. I’m embarrassed and sorry to say that I did not call her out on her hypocrisy and racism. I just didn’t know what to say that would both educate her and end the conversation. Because mountains are sacred. Mountains stand and watch over our stupid human issues, knowing when we destroy ourselves they will outlive us.

To his credit, her husband clearly saw I wasn’t interested in having this discussion. So he called his wife away and eventually she left.

I tried to find the peace that existed before she approached me. But my mind couldn’t stop spinning. I picked a train that it could settle on- developing ready to go statements to shut up racists and end political discussions I’m not interested in having.

“Can we change the subject?”

“I am not going to discuss this.”

“That was a racist statement.”

I hope, the next time I’m confronted with a political discussion I don’t want to have or someone who Is racist, that I step up and say something. I think having these responses in the back of my mind will help. Have any of you had such an experience? What do you do when you see racism? What do you say to stop conversations you are not interested in?

Anyways, I think this was a perfect bell story moment*. So in a universe in which I was a ranger once again and could tell a political bell story, here’s what I would say:

SO THERE I WAS, ON TOP OF A MOUNTAIN IN VICTORIA AUSTRALIA, WHEN A COUPLE WHO EMIGRATED TO AUSTRALIA FROM A SOCIALIST COUNTRY A COUPLE DECADES AGO TO PROVIDE A BETTER LIFE FOR THEIR CHILDREN START LECTURING ME ON HOW WESTERN COUNTRIES NEED TO CLOSE THEIR BORDERS, INVEST IN INDUSTRY, TAKE MONEY OUT OF EDUCATION, AND PREPARE FOR NOT THE MEXICANS, BUT THE ASAINS. ALL WHILE CLAIMING TO NOT BE RACIST. AND ALL I COULD THINK WAS…

I eventually did find quiet in my mind again. I selected a flat-ish spot and worked through Revolution – Day 6 - Attention (and Abs) Practice. A very kind couple helped me take this photo and shared some snacks. One last view from the top, and I headed down towards camp- Borough Huts.

Once I got past the rock scrambling bit I just flew down the trail. It was the perfect grade for hiking and the air was beginning to cool. I got into camp around 7 and plopped down at a picnic table.

Despite my 23.36 kilometers (14.52 miles), I wasn’t very hungry. My appetite usually decreases while backpacking, so it wasn’t a surprise. I had a dinner of nuts (gifted from the kind couple on the mountain) and chocolate. I then set up my tent and did some more yoga! Revolution - Day 7 - Stability Practice. Two videos, one day! Told ya I would catch up :)

Really, today was fantastic. It’s been a while since I last just pounded out a bunch of miles. I’m covered in dirt and everything hurts a little, but life doesn’t get better than this.

Thanks for putting up with such a long post. As a reward, here’s one more beautiful view. Love you all, xxoo

*A Bell Story is a Philmont Ranger tradition. In front of the dining hall in base camp there is a bell on a stone pedestal called the Ranger Bell. Before every lunch and dinner, 4 rangers climb atop it. One lucky ranger shouts a story beginning with “SO THERE I WAS” and ending with “AND ALL I COULD THINK WAS.” At that point, all the other rangers start shouting the Ranger Song/Chant which begins with “I WANT TO GO BACK TO PHILMONT.” A one point the four rangers on the bell trust fall backwards and are caught by the ones below. There is much hip-hip-hurrary-ing and general cheering. It’s all very exciting. I find that former rangers (myself inluced) will often start stories with “So there I was…” and, if there’s another former ranger around, we’ll finish it “and all I could think was...” trailing off and sharing a smile with others in the know.

#australia #grampians #backpacking #solohike #thepinnacle #grampiansgrandcanyon #lakeviewlookout #mtrosea #31daysofyoga #yogawithadriene #yogarevolution #surprisepolitics #racism #philmonthrowback #rangerbellstory

[rudybuttlar]

Poetry and Love

“Yeah, you’re super pasty” - Grady’s comment on my body while swimming in a pool on the Seine (cool, right?!). “I’m worried Rudy, you need to tan more” 

“GRADY SHUT UP!” Thank you for the constructive criticism though, love ya. 

Anyways, I couldn’t be happier because I’m really immersing myself into Parisienne culture. I somehow ended up meeting these super cool French guys and girls at a historic poetry reading in a quaint little restaurant, and we discussed traditions and marriage and love in a mix of French and English for hours. First of all, the fact that I get to go to a chique café and order red wine during my time here is actually kinda absurd to me for some reason—definitely did not prepare for that. My new friends (Fabian and Vladimir, who are in their 30′s) thought that I was 23, which shocked me, because in my eyes I look like a 15 year old. Fabian told me it was because of “my ability to converse with a glass of red wine.” That’s a compliment I’ll take any day haha. Secondly, going to an exclusive poetry reading is something I only imagined natives and locals would get the chance to do. What’s even more absurd to me is that the people I met at the reading have been reaching out to me and asking to get together; it feels like I’m the one who should be extending these invitations. I guess I’m not a complete loser like my parents told me growing up (kidding). Look at me now, Dana! 

Speaking of deep-rooted insecurities, I just finished season 3 of Love on Netflix and it’s pretty awesome if you guys haven’t watched it yet. If you’ve seen the first two seasons, then you’ll know it’s kind of dark, frustrating, and your entire body cringes every time Gus says something to another character. But this season, it’s a real change of pace because it’s the first TV show I’ve watched where the show gets progressively happier and more positive as it goes on. Since the show deals a lot with themes such as addiction and failure and the struggles of being in a relationship, it really takes you by surprise when you finally see the characters actually become happy. It kinda makes you reevaluate your life because the entire premise of the show revolves around two insufferable, broken people, and having them try figure out their issues over 34 episodes, and finally succeed...it definitely opened my eyes to the beauty of neurotic people working through their issues day by day. 

So before I recount the wild experience I had taking a tango class in a French girls’ teeny studio apartment, I was eating lunch at a beautiful café a few days ago, and it was this weird experience where I felt oddly out of place. And to make it more surreal, it was with a bunch of Americans from my program, which added to the conflicting emotions inside of me. Even though I have a couple good friends in my program with me, and I was drinking a delicious Spritz, and we were in the middle of the city center overlooking the Parisienne streets, I had this weird, uneasy feeling inside of me. 

Traveling really is about who you spend it with, to me at least. And as much as you can be in the middle of somewhere as beautiful as this little cafe drinking a Spritz while cute little French dogs wobble under your feet across the cobblestone streets, you can still look around and feel oddly alone. Like I really feel like I’m not jive-ing with lots of kids on my program for some reason, and I just couldn’t relate to these American college kids me who were not self-aware of how "LA” they were being. Like on the Califorrnia-Richter scale of being from California, they were probably like a Tana Mongeau-Billie Eillish mix (attitude wise). Their conversations consisted of candy-flipping and other rave lingo that I just can’t relate to. 

I had this really big feeling of relief last night, cause luckily I have a whole squad of like-minded homies just a short metro away from me on the global studies program (@ Grady and Jesse and Julianne and more!) And we all sat down together with Vladimir and Fabian on the Seine to drink wine and eat chocolate as the sun set over the water. But ya, it was a beautiful moment that reminded me to be grateful for the fact that I got extremely lucky with who is here in Paris with me. Like of all of the places in this massive world that we could be studying, and I got some pretty awesome friends to be in the same city as me (admittedly, yes, Paris is a very popular destination, but still). 

Nonetheless, I’m definitely still developing the relationships with people from my program that I enjoy. And we’re planning at trip to Nice for a long weekend which is gonna be SO lit.

Alright, I guess I’ll talk about my tango experience next time. Get excited haha! À bientôt!

[neptunecreek]

Detecting Ghosts By Reverse Engineering: Who Ya Gonna Call?

This article was first published on Lawfare.

The most recent purportedly serious proposal by a Western government to force technology companies to provide access to the content of encrypted communications comes from Ian Levy and Crispin Robinson of the Government Communications Headquarters, or GCHQ, the U.K.’s equivalent of the National Security Agency. Cryptography luminaries such as Susan Landau, Matt Green, and Bruce Schneier have published detailed critiques of this proposal. Indeed, others from EFF have written about the proposal—known colloquially as the “ghost”—and explained why, contrary to GCHQ’s claim, the proposal really is an encryption backdoor with all the attendant security risks.

But even putting aside the persuasive arguments that the ghost presents a security risk to average users, in this post, we detail some previously undiscussed reasons that the GCHQ’s proposal is undesirable from both technical and policy perspectives.

For the purposes of this post, we’re taking the GCHQ authors at their word that they’re proposing a ghost that it is “relatively easy for a service provider to [implement by] silently add[ing] a law enforcement participant to a group chat or call.” Further, we assume that they are “not talking about weakening encryption or defeating the end-to-end nature of the service. In a solution like this, we’re normally talking about suppressing a notification on a target’s device, and only on the device of the target and possibly those they communicate with.”

This ghost, as framed by Levy and Robinson, is very probably detectable in operation.

In fact, we think when the ghost feature is active—silently inserting a secret eavesdropping member into an otherwise end-to-end encrypted conversation in the manner described by the GCHQ authors—it could be detected (by the target as well as certain third parties) with at least four different techniques: binary reverse engineering, cryptographic side channels, network-traffic analysis, and crash log analysis. Further, crash log analysis could lead unrelated third parties to find evidence of the ghost in use, and it’s even possible that binary reverse engineering could lead researchers to find ways to disable the ghost capability on the client side.

It should be obvious that none of these possibilities are desirable for law enforcement or society as a whole. And while we’ve theorized some types of mitigations that might make the ghost less detectable by particular techniques, they could also impose considerable costs to the network when deployed at the necessary scale, as well as creating new potential security risks or detection methods.

(Note: There’s another pretty glaring problem with the ghost proposal that we’re not going to examine here—it only works with text or asynchronous protocols. It’s not immediately clear to us how it could be adapted to real-time audio or video communications. But that’s a discussion for another day.)

Detecting Ghosts with Binary Reverse-Engineering

Proprietary messaging applications have been regularly reverse-engineered to find security flaws; the ghost feature would have to be implemented in code which could be examined by anyone able to download a copy of the messaging tool. If the ghost is activated by a particular function (that adds a user to a chat while suppressing the usual notification of this event), researchers could use existing reverse engineering techniques to try to identify the function in question. Users could then potentially remove that function from their copies of the application, or set a breakpoint so that they receive a different sort of notification whenever the function is used.

Software debugging tools can assist with this process. Even without extensive reverse engineering, coverage and profiling tools can show the “hot spots” within a program and indicate exactly how frequently various portions of the program’s code were activated (if at all). Such tools then make it possible to observe that a part of a program that was previously inactive has recently been active, even without knowing for sure exactly what that part of the program does.

We tested this possibility using a binary code coverage feature in the DynamoRIO platform (originally developed by MIT and Hewlett-Packard). We found that, for example, the drcov tool can observe that a calculator app calls square-root code when the user presses the square-root button, but that this code remains unused when the user presses other buttons. The tool can readily observe this distinction without access to source code (albeit without determining that the code in question calculates square roots). So if ghost-related code is present in every copy of a certain communication app but remains unused most of the time, it would be feasible to detect the anomaly by comparing coverage records. (However, this does not directly prove that the code has a surveillance function, only that previously or normally unused code has started to be used. To be more confident that it relates to surveillance, a researcher would have to reverse-engineer the code in question.)

Reverse engineering could also be used to create variant versions of messaging tools that allow users to continue to verify their communication partners’ keys, simply ignoring any instructions from a messaging service operator to hide the presence of particular keys or devices associated with a conversation. In most ghost proposals, services apparently have to request that users’ devices deliberately hide this information, and then rely on the users’ software to comply with this request. While the official version of a messaging app might indeed be designed to hide the presence of a ghost recipient, the information will still be in the possession of the target user’s device and an alternative or modified app that allowed the ghost to be visible could still be interoperable with the messaging service.

Detecting Ghosts with Cryptographic Side Channels

Different numbers of recipients of an encrypted message, or devices participating in an encrypted session, means different numbers of public key encryption operations, which means different amounts of computation to perform those operations. When there are more recipients, the computer simply has to do more math, consuming more resources in a way that should be detectable.

In this simplified example, we simulated what would happen if Alyssa Hacker sends a PGP-encrypted email to different sets of recipients who are all using 2048-bit RSA PGP keys. Suppose the government asks Alyssa’s e-mail software developer to modify the e-mail software so that it starts adding ghost Bcc: recipients, yet without showing that on-screen. Since RSA encryption performs a lot of multiplication, we used Intel’s pin tool to count the number of times that the encryption software would use the IMUL CPU instruction as a result of sending each message. Here are the results:

From: Alyssa P. Hacker <[email protected]>

To: John Doe <[email protected]>                                                            → 124138 IMULs

Subject: Hi John

  From: Alyssa P. Hacker <[email protected]>

To: Marin Mersenne <[email protected]>                                        → 124163 IMULs

Subject: Multiplication is vexation

  From: Alyssa P. Hacker <[email protected]>

To: John Doe <[email protected]>

Cc: Marin Mersenne <[email protected]>                                       → 248153 IMULs

Subject: Hi folks

  From: Alyssa P. Hacker <[email protected]>

To: John Doe <[email protected]>

Cc: Marin Mersenne <[email protected]>                                       → 372215 IMULs

Subject: Hi folks

Bcc: Clyde <[email protected]>

  From: Alyssa P. Hacker <[email protected]>

To: John Doe <[email protected]>

Cc: Marin Mersenne <[email protected]>                                       → 496254 IMULs

Subject: Hi folks

Bcc: Clyde <[email protected]>, Jacob Marley <[email protected]>

In this scenario, if Alyssa is logging how much multiplication her computer does, she can easily determine the number of encrypted recipients: here it happens to be the first digit of the number of multiplications (124138, 124163, 248153, 372215, 496254). Her computer has to do the substantial extra mathematical work to encrypt the message to the ghost recipients, even if it doesn’t show their identity in her email software. (To be clear, the tool is determining the amount of multiplication performed by the PGP software, not by the computer as a whole, so there’s no risk of confusion merely because multiple apps are running on the same device.)

Certainly, detecting the number of cryptographic recipients of an email (and confirming whether it matches the sender’s expectations) is simpler in several ways than detecting the number of devices participating in an encrypted group chat (and confirming whether it matches the participants’ expectations). But changes in the number of devices in a group chat would likely be detectable using this method, and if the group members are able to communicate out of band to confirm that none have changed their configuration, then the additional computation might strongly indicate the activation of the ghost.

This is an example of a side channel. In other settings, side channels may be able to recover the actual keys used by cryptographic software; for example, numerous research papers describe ways that a program running on a device can potentially extract secret encryption keys used by another program on the same device, because of detectable ways that the secret key value changes the device’s behavior. Determining that encryption is happening at all is, comparatively, a dramatically easier task than recovering specific key parameters.

While there are some encryption methods that hide how many entities are authorized to decrypt a particular encrypted message, they would require significant changes to the architecture of person-to-person messaging applications. These changes would be a far cry from the “relatively easy” proposals.

Detecting Ghosts by Examining Network Traffic

In some messaging technologies, communications other than message contents themselves (so-called communications metadata) may be transmitted and received in unencrypted form, or may be encrypted in a form that a user can decrypt. For person-to-person messaging tools, the metadata includes communications related to exchanging cryptographic keys, adding contacts, starting encrypted conversations, and changing group membership, among other things. The communications related to these events may have characteristic sizes and timings (as well as being understandable in their own right, if they’re available unencrypted).

EFF has often pointed out that access to various kinds of metadata can reveal sensitive facts about people’s relationships and interactions, and it’s clear that governments have developed tools to analyze metadata to extract this information. More surprising might be the prospect that analyzing their own metadata could show users when unexpected communications occur. Users could observe a kind of interaction with a messaging service that’s characteristic of adding a device to a conversation (such as a characteristic sequence of encrypted messages of particular sizes), and then determine whether or not these event was associated with a notification in the user interface. If not, they could infer that the application was hiding information from them. It might be difficult to conceal this information channel because the service has to actually communicate with the user’s device in order to cause it to respond in various ways. In some messaging protocols, the kinds of communication between the device and the service may be different enough to identify their general nature and then see whether or not the app responded to an event in an expected or unexpected way.

Detecting Ghosts by Reviewing Crash Logs

When computer operating systems or programs (including mobile apps) crash, they are often configured to create a log containing information about what the app was doing, and the state of the computer and its memory leading up to the crash. The purpose of such logs is to permit developers—both of the app and of the operating system—to figure out what went wrong so that the bugs can be identified and fixed. Those logs are often automatically shared with the developers as well.

While we can’t create a proof of concept for detecting the ghost by examining crash logs, since we don’t actually have a ghost function implemented on our messaging clients, we think it’s likely that the crash log of an app with an active ghost will appear different in observable ways from a log from the same app without the active ghost, due to the additional functionality being called. An engineer at say, Facebook, Apple, Samsung, or Huawei familiar with reading crash logs may be able to recognize that a particular log looks different or somehow off. (For example, a list of functions that were called leading up to the crash could be different from a typical list, or that data structures related to participants in a chat appear inconsistent with one another.) Further investigation of what was different for that particular crash could lead the engineer reading the log to figure out that the ghost was active on the user’s device at the time of the crash.

This method of detecting the ghost is different from the rest in that it could lead, to not only the target of the surveillance, but indeed third parties located in potentially diverse jurisdictions around the world, and not bound by any gag order, to discover an active wiretap and potentially alert the target.

Some of the above potential detection systems would be more difficult to conduct on particular platforms. For instance, it might be more difficult to analyze timing or reverse-engineer or patch binaries on Apple's iOS devices, because of their locked-down nature. But log and network analysis is relatively independent of the user-accessibility of the target device; moreover, a ghost becomes detectable and circumventable if you use it on, say, an Apple laptop or an Android phone, seems unlikely to achieve its covert aims.

Conclusion

In the original Ghostbusters movie, Dr. Egon Spengler was able to invent a “P.K.E. meter” that could reveal supernatural energies even when the ghosts or entities responsible for those energies weren’t in view. And in all sorts of ghost stories, people can perceive effects of a ghost’s presence (a chill in the air, a breeze, strange sounds) even when they can’t see the ghost directly. In other words, fictional ghosts often make their presence known, even while remaining invisible.

Government ghost listener proposals for eavesdropping are eerily similar. The user interface of an application may not change—so there’s no effect at first to the naked eye—yet the application’s behavior will almost certainly change in a variety of ways that are detectable with the right tools. Since the messaging applications in question run on the users’ own devices, the users are well-positioned to make the necessary observations about what their devices are doing.

  from Deeplinks http://bit.ly/2FKAb4b

#Deeplinks

[sharmonie-blog1]

Unturned Code

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[hmhteen]

HMH Teen Teaser: WITCHTOWN, by Cory Putman Oakes!

Guess what: Witches are real, and they’re just like us! Want something a bit witchy to read on the beach this summer? Look no further than WITCHTOWN, a new YA novel coming from @hmhteen in July! WITCHTOWN has it all: a girl with a dark past she’s trying to escape, a forbidden romance, witchcraft, and of course, a heist gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Read the first two chapters of this paranormal-tinged YA below!

A MODERN WITCH’S PRIMER

Chapter 1

Havens in Historical Context

Near the beginning of this century, with occultism on the rise around the world, a whistleblower from within the pagan community exposed a secret that had long been protected by witches everywhere. The secret was that in addition to Learned witches, ordinary individuals who studied pagan practices and who could, with practice, learn to channel a small amount of power for their rituals, there were also so-called Natural witches, people who possessed a tremendous amount of inborn power and who required little or no formal training to wield it.

In response to the public outcry over this “unregulated threat to public safety,” the United States government instituted a National Witch Registry and required all Natural witches, under pain of imprisonment, to submit their name, city of residence, and place of employment to a publicly searchable database.

There was a good faith movement within the Natural witch community to comply with this registry.

Over the next few years, in what would eventually become known as the Second Inquisition, the witches who volunteered their identities were systemically ostracized from their social circles, became unable to retain jobs, and in some cases, were hunted down and abducted by private-citizen “safety brigades.” The runaway bestseller The Inquisitor’s Handbook provided these groups with instructions (mostly badly translated from a sixteenth- century copy of Malleus Maleficarum, a.k.a. The Witch’s Hammer) as to the proper method of torture and execution of witches. Law enforcement was slow to recognize these atrocities as hate crimes and generally lackadaisical in its prosecution of the perpetrators. The government’s solution was to seize small parcels of (mostly undesirable) land around the country in order to estab- lish witch-only communities known as Havens. This, it was argued, would remove the threat to public safety and the temptation for hate crimes, while allowing both Learned and Natural witches to live among their own kind, keep their traditions alive, and practice magic in safety.

The greatest of these Havens was a private township created by the late billionaire insurance magnate Reginald Harris, one of the richest and most influential men in the United States and, until his final years, an unregistered Natural witch. Unlike the small, poor, mostly rural communities that established themselves in most of the government-funded Havens, Harris’s town, deep in America’s heartland, was intended to be a pagan utopia: a model of green building, spiritual enlightenment, and, above all, magical living.

It was called Witchtown.

***

CHAPTER ONE

Witchtown looked more like a prison than a town.

For one thing, it was surrounded on all sides by a three- story wall. The massive structure was overgrown with ivy and moss, but when we got within a few hundred yards, I could see plenty of places where ugly, manmade concrete was peeking through the greenery. The walls were sloped at a steep angle, probably to prevent people from climbing them. That thought brought on unwelcome images of invaders scaling the slippery, mossy surface, armed and planning to inflict untold horror on the people — the witches — inside . . .

I chased the thought away.

Those times are over, I reminded myself. For the most part.

She pulled over right beside the sign.

burn in hell was spray-painted diagonally right across its face, in red. Below that, the phrases satan’s spawn and exodus 22:18 were carved into its surface. The usual anti- witch slurs. Not particularly original. But once I managed to squint my way through all of that, the original lettering on the sign erased any remaining doubt I might have had about our destination:

 WITCHTOWN

POPULATION 402 BLESSED BE!

I straightened up a little and looked across the front seat at my mother.

“You’re kidding, right?” I asked.

My mother sipped her coffee and didn’t respond right away. After days of near-total silence in the car, my words felt uncomfortably loud, even to my own ears. I wasn’t sure how long our stalemate had lasted. It’s hard to define days based on rest-stop bathrooms and drive-through meals.

She took several more leisurely swallows of coffee. Then she asked, “Why would you think I was kidding?”

“You think now is a good time for this? Now? After eve- rything . . .” I cringed. Even just that little bit of talking had distracted me. Caused me to let my guard down. And the sink- hole of pain I had been keeping at bay reopened itself inside my chest. It felt bigger. Like it had grown stronger. It grabbed me now with an intensity that made it difficult to breathe.

“That’s all behind us now,” my mother said, but I barely heard her.

Too soon. Too soon for reality.

I had to shut it down. I abandoned the conversation, closed my eyes, and sank back down into the passenger seat. I felt for my weathered leather jacket, which I had been using as a blan- ket, and found it on the car floor. I picked it up and covered myself in it, trying to ignore everything but its familiar scents of sage and something else, something even earthier than sage, as I tried to lull myself back into my silent, senseless cocoon.

Oblivion. Oblivion. Take me away . . .

But a hard tug on the jacket brought me back to the here and now. To my mother, glaring down at me with disapproval.

“It’s in the past,” she insisted.

I jerked the coat out of her hand and turned my face to- ward the window.

“Not for me.”

A harder yank pulled the leather from my grip entirely. I sat up in protest. My mother gave the garment a disgusted look and tossed it down at my feet.

“Let it go,” she commanded. Then she added pointedly, “You know you’re the only one dwelling on it, don’t you?”

I bit my lip. That was true enough. But it didn’t make the hurt any less.

The thought brought on a new squeeze of pain, a new struggle to breathe. I retrieved the jacket from the floor again, settled my head against the back of the seat, and closed my eyes.

My mother sighed. “Fine. Have it your way,” she huffed, and I heard her door open. A gust of cinnamon-scented air flew up my nostrils as she exited the car.

After a moment, I opened my eyes.

The annoying thing was I knew, I knew, I was going to follow her out of the car. I could feel it now: the quiet, per- sistent, unshakable pull she had on me. Calling me after her. Forcing me to see things her way.

I burrowed my nose into the soft lining of the coat, mak- ing one last attempt to hold on to my anger. Part of me wanted to believe that every second I stayed mad at her would give me a tiny bit more power. Which was nonsense. I had never had any kind of power over my mother.

Nobody had.

I left the jacket on the seat when I went after her.

She had popped open the trunk and unzipped the top suitcase. I leaned against the bumper and watched as she rooted through a messy pile of clothes.

“Here, hold this.”

She tossed something black and strappy at me. I caught it, instantly wishing I had just let it fall into the dirt instead.

With only a quick glance at the empty road beside us, she stripped off her T-shirt and jeans. She exchanged her flip-flops for the heels, one foot at a time, gripping one of my shoulders for balance. The blue-gray moonstone she wore on a chain around her neck caught the light of the setting sun as she fumbled with the delicate straps on the shoes.

She caught me looking at her necklace, and gestured pointedly at the matching one around my neck.

“Haven’t I always protected you?” she asked. “Hasn’t it always been you and me?”

I took a breath instead of answering. Separately, those two statements were accurate. But together, they seemed to mean something more. Something that wasn’t quite true.

She slipped the dress over her tall, slim body, pulled the clip out of her hair, and shook out the ashy blond strands un- til they bounced, wavy and alive, against her shoulders. You wouldn’t have known she’d been in a car for days.

I was wearing severely rumpled jeans and a tank top. Neither of us suggested that I change. Or do anything with my own long, dirty blond hair, which was piled in a greasy knot on the top of my head. I could only imagine how I looked, next to her.

“We’re not ready for this,” I said.

She put one hand on each of my shoulders. We were the same height, but now that she was in heels, I had to crane my neck up slightly to make eye contact.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you what this place means to us,” my mother said quietly. “Look at it.”

I looked. And when I did, I saw a cluster of buildings, so carefully tucked into the shadow of the Witchtown wall that I hadn’t noticed them before. The structures looked temporary— tents, shacks, and old RVs. They gave me the creeps. Even more than the wall did.

“This is it,” my mother continued. “Everything we’ve ever wanted, ever dreamed of, is inside those walls. We are this close.”

She let go of one shoulder and grabbed my chin.

“But you have to pull yourself together. Right now. Or we haven’t got a prayer. Understand?”

I nodded, more to show her I was listening than anything else. If she chose to take that as a sign that I agreed with her, that was her problem.

She tightened her hand, squeezing my jaw to the point of pain.

“I did it for you,” she said evenly, moving her hands so they were on either side of my face. “You know that, right?”

I flinched. I was still one big, open wound. Hearing her talk like that, in that casual way of hers, was too much to bear. I glared at her. I had seen my mother’s glare many times before. It was beautiful. And terrible. It could make things,

and people (myself included), wilt under its power.

My glare was nothing like that. But I was surprised to dis- cover it had a small effect on her; she dropped her hands from my face and took a step back.

“Too soon,” she muttered to herself, and went back to the driver’s-side door.

I walked back to the passenger door, feeling like I had won a tiny victory. I had made it clear that this time, this pain, was not something she could just breeze past, the way she did with most things.

And yet, even with my small triumph, she had still man- aged to get the better of me. Here I was, getting back in the car. Without an argument. Just like she wanted.

I twirled my moonstone around my finger. Witchtown. 

***

CHAPTER TWO

 The road led us to a large gate in the northernmost part of the wall. The sun had started to set, and the harsh lights on top of the gate shone down on a half-dozen men in black fa- tigues, carrying machine guns.

Private security. Forget prison. Witchtown was a fortress. Reginald Harris had seen to that when he mapped out the place. I had heard enough stories about the guy to know he had been a nutcase about security.

One of the guards had a vicious-looking German shep- herd on a leash. I was too busy watching the dog sniff every inch of our car to hear what my mother said that caused the guards to fall back and the enormous metal gate to open.

We were soon surrounded on all sides by trees, but not before I caught a glimpse of what looked like farm fields. It was hard to tell for sure, as the sun was almost completely gone and the thick trees were blotting out most of the light.

The road changed from dirt to bumpy cobblestones as we approached what I was tempted to call the town square, except it was in the shape of a circle. The space was sur- rounded by a ring of whitewashed buildings with dark, ex- posed beams and thatched roofs. My mother pulled the car up in front of one that looked like all the others. The shin- gle hanging off the front read mayor’s office in quaint lettering.

A smaller shingle underneath said witchtown real estate.

“We’re here,” she said, unnecessarily. She turned the igni- tion off and grabbed my left hand hard so I couldn’t yank it away.

With her free hand she reached up to touch the headless, toga-clad statuette that was hanging from our rearview mirror. “Laverna, bless us,” she said to the figurine, then looked

at me expectantly.

I muttered the same words and reached up with my free hand to brush my fingers against the Goddess. She was mar- ble, but she was never cool to the touch the way marble was supposed to be. She was always kind of warm. Like skin.

I pulled my hand back from the statuette as soon as my mother dropped hers.

She opened her car door and gestured toward the almost- empty coffee cup in the holder between us. I handed her the cup. With her right hand still grasping my left hand, she poured three drops of the leftover coffee onto the ground.

“Darkness and clouds,” my mother said, and squeezed my hand once before letting it go. She unhooked the small fig- ure from the mirror and tucked Laverna carefully into the side pocket of her purse.

The Witchtown Real Estate office was still open. At the door, we were confronted by a woman with frizzy red hair, a skintight pencil skirt, and a slightly panicked expression.

“I’m sorry, but there must have been some kind of mis- take,” she said bluntly, positioning herself so that we could step just inside the door but no farther.

My mother frowned. “Oh?”

The frazzled woman held up her hand; her fingers were clenched around a cell phone.

“The guards called to say they let you in, but they must have been mistaken.” She glanced out the office window at our dusty green Volkswagen and bit her lip. “We have no openings at the moment. My apologies, but I’ll have to ask you to leave now.”

The door to an inner office opened behind her and an- other woman emerged. She was shorter than the frizzy-haired woman, but I could see she had ten times more gravity. She was wearing a tailored skirt suit and heels. Her white-blond hair, which was cut short, contrasted sharply with the deep olive color of her skin, and she had the slightly distracted ex- pression of someone thinking about too many things at once.

She took in the scene before her and raised an eyebrow at Frizz.

“Lois?” she asked.

“Handled!” Frizz assured the woman, who had to be her boss.

The blonde nodded absently.

Lois flashed us a falsely bright smile. “I’m so sorry for the mix-up. If you’d like to fill out an online application, you’ll be entered into the lottery with the other applicants and con- tacted in due course.”

She gestured behind us, obviously indicating that we should leave.

Instead, my mother braced herself against the side of the door so her right hand was at eye level, her knuckles facing the room.

“I see,” she said, smiling, as though she was not put off in the least by Lois’s rudeness. “And do you have something I might use to write down the website address? I have a terrible memory for such things.”

She drummed her fingers against the door frame. The gesture was lost on Lois, who turned to rifle through some loose papers on the desk as she presumably searched for a pen. But Lois’s boss paused at the threshold of the inner-office door, her eyes fixed on my mother’s hand.

Or, more precisely, on her silver ring.

It wasn’t a very flashy ring. It wasn’t even very attractive. It was just several strands of silver woven together into an in- tricate double knot the exact shape of two tangled-up infinity symbols. But it was enough to make the blonde in the suit stop in her tracks.

She exchanged a brief look with my mother and tossed a file on the desk, right under Lois’s nose.

Lois jumped.

“I’ve got this,” the suit told her curtly. “Take a break.” “But — but I was just —”

“Break, Lois. Now.”

Lois bowed her head and skittered backwards, toward a smaller desk on the other side of the office.

The blonde strode forward and put her hand out to my mother.

She introduced herself. “Brooke Bainbridge. Mayor of Witchtown.”

“Aubra O’Sullivan,” my mother said, taking the offered hand and shaking it. “This is my daughter, Macie.”

“Nice to meet you, Macie.” The mayor shook my hand too and then gestured to a waiting area with an uncomfort- able-looking couch and several armchairs.

I made a beeline for one of the armchairs, but my mother cleared her throat, sat down gracefully on the couch, and pat- ted the cushion next to her.

You and me, her eyes reminded me. You and me.

I gritted my teeth and sat down beside her, as the mayor took the armchair closest to my mother’s side of the couch.

“Please forgive my assistant,” the mayor said, picking up a clipboard. “She was rather hasty. I’m sure we’ll be able to accommodate you and your daughter. Let me just take you through a few lifestyle questions . . . Yes, here we are. Which pagan tradition do you practice?”

“We’re Eclectic, for the most part,” my mother answered. “Mainly Northern European traditions. Some Greek and Roman. Smattering of Egyptian.”

The mayor checked several boxes on the form.

“And how long have you identified yourself as a witch, Aubra?”

“All my life,” my mother answered patiently. She tapped her ring, which caused the mayor to give her an embarrassed smile.

“Of course. My apologies. I’m just so used to interview- ing Learned witches.”

“Oh?” my mother raised an eyebrow. “There are no other Naturals here?”

“Well, we do have one,” the mayor said, with a grimace. “But she’s quite old, I’m afraid, and not quite all there, if you know what I mean. She doesn’t practice anymore.”

“I see,” my mother said, and she was sitting close enough to me that I could actually feel her tense up and then relax.

“You’d be the only true Natural in town,” the mayor said, and then glanced over at me. “Unless Macie . . .”

She trailed off as her gaze fell to the fingers of my right hand. I tucked my naked digits self-consciously underneath my leg.

“No,” my mother cut in. “Macie is not a Natural.”

“Shame,” the mayor muttered to herself as she checked the box marked “Learned” next to where she had written my name. I did not correct her.

There was no box on the mayor’s form for what I was. If she knew the truth, we wouldn’t all be sitting around, bother- ing with paperwork.

But she didn’t know, so she continued on in a cheery kind of a way.

“How old are you, Macie dear?” “Sixteen,” I answered.

“And how long have you been a Learned witch?”

“I’ve been teaching her since birth,” my mother jumped in, before I could respond. “Macie is a very gifted herbalist.”

That, at least, was true. The herbalist part. Not the teach- ing part. My mother didn’t know a comfrey from a clover. I was entirely self-taught, and proud of it, but now didn’t seem like the best time to point that out.

“And have you previously lived in a Haven of any kind?” “Yes,” my mother replied. “Several.”

“I see. Where?”

“Here and there,” my mother smiled and then sat forward, her eyes full of secrets. “Let me be honest with you, Madame Mayor —”

“Brooke, please,” the mayor insisted.

My mother kept smiling. It looked predatory to me, but it must have seemed friendly to the mayor because she leaned in closer as my mother continued.

“My husband was killed in the Second Inquisition. Since his death, my daughter and I have found it necessary to move around quite a bit. I am unregistered, you see. I hope that isn’t a problem?”

“Oh, no,” the mayor assured her. “We don’t discriminate here.”

The mayor’s voice was calm, but her eyes were dart- ing back and forth excitedly. I could practically see her go- ing down her mental checklist, ticking off the categories my mother could fill for her.

Widow of a martyr. Devoted mother. Natural.

My mother was a gold mine for any Haven. A catch.

I, for one, was stuck back at my mother’s mention of a hus- band. That was a new one. I was fairly certain that my mother had never been married to my father. Not that we had ever dis- cussed the subject at any length. All I had been told about my father was that he left. And it had been made clear to me that asking any more questions would not be tolerated.

“Macie and I both feel that we have been on the road for long enough,” my mother went on. “We are looking for some- where to settle permanently.”

“You won’t be disappointed,” the mayor said, with a smile. “Just a few more questions. What level of formal education do you have, Aubra?”

“I have a master’s degree in accounting,” my mother re- plied. “And I’m a certified public accountant.”

Unbelievably, that was true.

The mayor raised an eyebrow.

“That will come in handy,” she said, mostly to herself. It always did. Even witches need accountants.

“Any dietary restrictions?” the mayor asked.

“Macie and I are committed raw vegans,” my mother told her, and I was barely able to hide my groan. “We believe in putting our spiritual needs above our physical ones.”

��That is very dedicated of you,” Mayor Bainbridge said admiringly, then capped her pen and turned the clipboard over in her lap. “Well, I am happy to tell you that by lucky co- incidence, we have a need for an accountant. Our previous one left us rather abruptly . . .” Her words trailed off and she made a face, but pulled herself together quickly. “I can offer you his residence. It’s a one-bedroom apartment. Will that be suffi- cient for the time being, until something bigger opens up?”

“That will be lovely,” my mother said, and I saw a flash of a triumphant grin behind her appropriately grateful smile.

A blur of signatures and forms later, the mayor walked us down the street. She whisked us through a lobby, mentioned something about an initiation ritual tomorrow, and opened the front door of our new apartment with a flourish.

“Welcome home!” she said grandly.

I managed only a weak smile in return. Because I knew that we hadn’t come to make Witchtown our home.

We had come to rob it.

                                                      ***

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