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austinbutlerslovers · 8 months ago

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Mr. Butlers Babysitter

Label mature 18+

🔗 Part 2 🔗 Part 3 🔗 Part 4 Completed Series

Summary

When you began working as a babysitter for Mr. Butler you were immediately taken by his wonderful children and his beautiful Malibu estate, he also paid handsomely. Having worked for celebrities on a referral based system you prided yourself on being professional and discreet for his family.

With Mr. Butler recently divorced having you help him with the children during their weekend visits from their mother was a godsend. After two months his daughter and son adored you to pieces never wanting you to leave. It seemed like a perfect fit.

One fateful evening Mr. Butler puts you in a highly compromising position. One that could ruin your reputation and your livelihood if word got out. You have two choices: Be exploited never to work in the inner circle as a high status celebrity babysitter again. or go along with his perverted plans.

🚨 Depraved Smut 🚨

corruption kink•dubcon•manipulation• humiliation• degradation •naivety •drug use•alchohol use•edging• fingering•coercive sex•condom use•orgasms•yandere

🫦co-writer/smut consultant @burnthheparaphilia

💝Not for my softies: Very corrupt perverted manipulative Austin

My first corruption smut 😭 no idea what I’m doing but was told I would be good at it. This one was pushed to the front of the request due to incessant demand.

There was a HUGE glitch for the delay I could not post it with the ask ☹️ it crashed so many times so I included them here

Mr. Butlers Babysitter

You were an excellent employee working for Mr. Butler as a babysitter of his two wonderful children. Though he preferred you call him Austin after working two months you still called him Mr. Butler to maintain the professionalism. He was a very famous actor in the early 2020’s. Now in his late thirties he was a full time producer.

He has a beautiful seven bedroom Malibu estate with every luxury perk you could think of. You enjoyed the cliffside drive seeing the ocean on your way to work there.

You would roll down the window and stick your hand out, feeling the ocean breeze hearing the seagulls as the waves crashed against the cliff walls.

You adored his two children Alisa and Daniel. Alisa was 8 years old and full of confidence. She was book smart and excelled in school never once asking for help with of her homework.

His son Daniel was 5 years old, always in imagination land. He was a very picky eater and sometimes you would have to pretend his favorite toy dinosaur would eat his food if he didn’t.

On this evening you and Austin were preparing pizza for the kids in his massive kitchen. He had his own personal brick oven designed to fit the space.

You grated mozzarella as he ladled the tomato sauce. As you sprinkled the cheese on the pizza dough your hands touched.

He smiled at you and replaced the ladle into the tomato sauce before standing behind you and placing his hands on yours showing you exactly how to spread it.

He instructs you gently speaking over your right shoulder “You know how Daniel is with his texture sensitivities if this cheese melts clumped together he won’t eat it” you giggle you totally understand. He slowly releases your hands and watches you work. He gives you a touch of approval on your shoulder before he gets back to ladling the sauce.

There was always a tension in the back of your mind with him. He was very attractive on an unnatural level.

His sandy blonde hair was always maintained in soft waves. His blue eyes had a depth and sincerity that if you stared too long you felt what it meant to get lost.

His jawline and face shape were squared and masculine and his plump lips accentuated his perfectly shaped nose. He was extremely handsome and though he was older he looked and acted so much younger.

Though you found him attractive you had set goals in mind: make money and advance your life. That kept you adamant to remain professional and you also felt so safe and highly valued working for him.

He paid you handsomely, had wonderful children and a beautiful home. You would never ruin this opportunity.

The four of you sat in the back yard that night to watch one of Mr. Butler favorite child hood movies. ‘The Good the Bad and the Ugly.’ It had become routine on Sunday to have movie night before the kids returned to their mothers for the week.

On the enormous hillside yard of his Malibu estate he had a large movie screen and a projector constructed. You all sat under a gazebo enjoying the warm breeze on a plush couch bed with a fire pit infront of it.

Beyond the movie screen you could see the twinkling lights of the city. You rested your head back enjoying the space, he had a very lovely home.

The kids grew restless after only 20 minutes of the slow paced movie but you were able to retrain their attention by asking them questions. “Is that cowboy a good one or a bad one?” you ask as Lee Van Cleefs scowling face took over the screen.

“A bad one!” Alisa yells quickly before her brother answers to prove how smart she is. Daniel’s little face saddens into a pout feeling like he lost.

“I think you’re right Alisa…” you say valuing her effort actually unsure which is the bad one.

You put your hand on Daniel’s little back and comfort him “Daniel look your turn is next! Is that cowboy a good cowboy or an ugly cowboy?”

He studies Clint Eastwoods stern face. “He looks like a mad cowboy ” he says with his cute voice growling and tiny teeth bared. You and Austin laugh at his adorableness.

“He does looks like a mad cowboy” Austin says assuring him. “Come here little guy sit on daddy’s lap” he motions for Daniel to come and easily picks him up “ah there we go” He says holding Daniel forward facing to watch the movie. He runs his hands through his son’s sandy blonde locks they look almost identical.

“Do you want to do nails? “ Alisa asks you excitedly out of the blue practically bouncing next to you on the couch bed.

“Sure if it’s okay with your dad I know it’s getting late“ you admit checking your phone.

She looks to her dad “Plea-a-a-se can I go get my nail kit daddy!“ she pouts with her hands in a prayer. He can’t resist her.

“You can get it but you have to be done in less than thirty minutes it’s almost your bed time” he say firmly.

Alisa squeals and you watch as she runs into the house.

Austin’s thumb caresses your shoulder to get your attention. “Look he’s out” he says pointing at little Daniel comfortably resting back in his arms.

“Aw look at his little cute face, do you want me to take him up?” You ask gently to be helpful.

He motions his head “No you girls do nails and I’ll sit with him to watch the movie” you agree to the idea just as Alisa comes bounding out of the house with a hot pink nail box kit. She slams it on the flat stone edge of the fire pit.

Austin puts his finger to his lips with a stern face shushing her because Daniel is sleeping. “Sorry daddy” she says to him softly “I got it “ she says out of breath holding up the kit to you.

She puts the plastic box of nail supplies on the couch bed next to you and pops it open. Pulling out a bottle of hot pink polish “Do my nails this color” she says demandingly but she’s a kid.

“If you say please” you sweetly correct her

“Please do my nails this color!” She asks with an impatience rising in her voice. You smile and extend your palm to her.

She places her small hand in yours as you brush the color on each of her nails. “and the stickers!” She says pulling out a roll.

You place a sticker of her choice on each nail. She looks them over excitedly “Do you like them?” You ask to make sure she’s a happy client. She jumps up and hugs you tightly around your neck.

The squeeze shocks you and you pat her shoulder tenderly to calm her “Okay honey I’m glad you like them.” you say pretending to sounds like you are being choked and it makes her giggle.

Austin realizes he was so invested in your encounter he wasn’t watching his movie and it’s already been more than thirty minutes. “Okay it’s definitely time to head up” he says carrying a sleeping Daniel as he clicks off all the electronics.

Alisa gathers her nail kit and holds your hand. You all head up stairs to put them in their rooms. Austin heads down the hall to Daniel’s and you head to Alisas.

She does everything on her own in her fully custom princess room. She brushes her teeth, washes, her face and puts on her pajamas before climbing into her canopy bed.

You click on her unicorn night light and click off the main room light ready to head out . “Can you talk to me until I fall asleep” she asks in her soft voice.

It’s a big request because you have classes in the morning and you are tired but you want to bond with her so you pull up a child size hot pink princess throne and sit next to her bed.

“What do you want to talk about hun?” You ask holding her smaller hand in yours and tracing your thumb over her freshly painted hot pink nails.

“Youre not going to leave are you?” She asks with her timid voice.

You reassure her “I am going to go to my apartment and then I’ll come back and see you next weekend when your back from your moms.” you smile warmly as you tuck a stray hair behind her ear.

Her face suddenly saddens “mommy wants to make you go away” her eyes brim with tears and her lip pouts as it quivers.

“Aw honey“ you say as you pick her out of bed and place her on your lap. You pet her sandy brown hair and shush her. She begins sobbing against your chest. You pull her face back to look in her eyes. Her face is bright red with tears streaming by this point.

“Alisa honey …aw honey… sometimes people say things they don’t mean.” You wipe her tears. ”You know maybe your mommy is angry because I’m new in your life and she wants to make sure that I’m taking the very best care of you” you pinch her small chin. She still has a sad look in her eyes but she has stopped crying and is now sniffling.

“Mommy is mad because in daddy’s phone she found pictures of you.” she says through her sniffles as she finally starts calming down.

“What kind of pictures“ you ask patting her shoulders comfortingly“

“Like pictures when you bend over?” she admits not sure what it means.

Your face goes bright red not expecting her to say that “Well yes that’s ..um that’s not appropriate how did you find this out sweety ?”You ask out of pure curiosity.

“I heard mommy talking to her boyfriend that daddy is a per-vert he takes lots of pictures when you bend over. What is a per-vert?” She asks with an innocent curiosity not knowing the word.

You sigh gaining more information than you ever wanted to know. “How about I tell you a bed time story?” You say to distract her and she nods smiling and snuggles in your arms. You begin to make up one about Princess Alisa and her hot pink unicorn that can fly to her castle in the clouds.

You are never one to pry into the affairs of your clients. You were a baby sitter for another celebrity couple, the Milanos, before his wife packed up and moved back to Italy with their triplets.

You received high recommendations from Mr. Milano to land the job with Mr. Butler due to your discretion and ability to always remain professional.

In the Milano mansion you witnessed several fights. Once Mr. Milano even backing out of his driveway drunk screaming at Mrs. Milano before he crashed into their courtyard fountain.

You took their sobbing triplets inside to avoid them having to watch their parents have another explosive outburst. You brought them to the their enormous playroom and turned on some kids follow along music until they were wiggling and dancing instead of crying.

A word about their issues never left your lips even when the paparazzi berated you with emails and bribes to be a source of information for the infamous impending Milano divorce splashed across every gossip site.

Even as you saw the exorbitant amounts being offered you knew your reputation would be diminished in the elite celebrity circle as a nanny and you’d be scrambling back to a form of lesser employment.

But as you cradled Alisa in your arms you realized this was a completely different scenario on top of the average celebrity family dramatics.

Your first divorced client may actually have a sexual interest in you.

As you finish your story you hold her close comforting her in silence. After a while her body begains to go slack. “I’m going to put you in bed now okay hun?” You say gently and she nods.

You place her in bed and pull her unicorn covers up to her chest. “Promise me you’ll come back”she asks in her sweet sleepy voice trying to keep her eyes open.

You reassure her “Yes Alisa I’m coming back” you pet her hand.

“Even if my daddy is a per-vert like mommy says?” she asks as your brows furrow at the complication.

“Alisa” Austin’s voice snaps from the doorway. You wonder how long he’s been there as you slightly panic. “You should’ve been asleep a long time ago now it’s very late and you have school in the morning next time I’m not going to let you stay up like this” he says sternly.

“I’m sorry daddy” Alisa says sleepily.

You interject “Mr. Butler… Austin, sorry it’s my fault the nails, the girl talk bed time story I guess we just got carried away.” You say smiling weakly looking at him with newfound eyes realizing he might have a little naughty photo collection of you in his phone.

He smiles to you “No you're fine I think she just gets really excited having you around I’m going to make sure she goes down. Just wait for me a minute downstairs.” He says as you cross paths. He sits on Alisa’s bedside as you leave the room.

You walk down the hall but slowly enough to listen in and pry. Their voices are muffled but you distinctly hear him in his softest sweetest voice ask her ”Now what were you silly girls talking about in here”

She loves her daddy you know she’s going to rat. You quickly make your way down the stairs through the living room and exit the front of the house.

You enter your car and hold the steering wheel wondering if he’s going to fire you now because his daughters spilled his little secret. “UGHhh!” You exclaim because he pays you four grand just to work weekends every month with the sweetest kids on the planet.

You’ve signed an NDA but that’s still an awkward topic to ignore especially being in close proximity with him, likely complications will arise. You’ll work for him one more weekend and ask him for a recommendation to another high status family.

You look up through the windshield to see Mr. Butler jogging out of his modern glass front estate down to your car. You roll down your window confused. “I thought you left” he says out of breath. “I told you to wait for me downstairs” he says as he reaches into his pocket. “For the overtime” he says handing you a small stack money. Your eyes light up as you accept it.

Counting through a thousand dollars you raise your brow as you look up at him. “Mr. Butler… there’s no way all of this is just for overtime.”

He slicks his hand back through his hair looking around to other houses in the distance before he looks back to you with a grin “How about you come in tomorrow on your day off and you make it up to me” he says slyly.

You fold the stack in your hand and bring it to your purse. “Okay if that will make us even” you say matter of factly.

He flashes you a charming smile “It’s a date then” he says stepping back from your car “And tomorrow call me Austin” he says as you pull out of the driveway of his estate.

You can’t quite put your finger on it but the whole interaction felt a little off. But maybe he was just nervous about what Alisa may have said to him.

If he needs your help with his sweet kids tomorrow you’re all for it. You turn up the music to play on your way home.

Make It Up to Me

The next day during your morning college course you receive a text from Austin. “Come by at 6:30pm house unlocked” you knit your brow in confusion. Usually you arrive at 10am to help with the kids then it dawns on you it’s a weekday his kids are in school and probably have extracurriculars after so you type in “okay”

After classes you go to the gym and work out for an hour of cardio. You like to stay fit as a baby sitter if a kid can out run you, your toast.

You take your usual Monday cycling class and leave covered in sweat. You shower and open your locker to realize because of the work schedule change you didn’t pack street clothing. You left your apartment wearing your work out gear. Now instead of heading home you’re driving to Malibu.

“Shit” you say finding only a clean pair of black yoga shorts and a sports bra in your locker. “great job “ you murmur to yourself “Wear the skimpiest out fit to your employers house after you find out he probably takes photos of your ass” you roll your eyes at your luck.

Your strait laced thoughts suddenly start to slip as you try to think of when he would take the inappropriate pictures.

There was a time he had you climb a ladder in his storage room to carry down hoolah hoops for the kids. Then proceeded to have you all compete in the living room to see who was the fastest.

You were of course and he readily filmed it as you laughed trying to keep the rhythm of your hips going. His kids had already dropped theirs to the floor and were fumbling and giggling so you stopped to help them.

There was another instance when he installed a boot camp playground for his son before his birthday. He wanted you to test it out with the kids. You guys balanced on beams climbed ropes and had to shimmy on your belly’s under ropes through a sand pit. The low angle he filmed as you crawled didn’t make sense then.

Once somehow Daniel’s nerf football was thrown up into his tree house and the ladder had not been repaired. The kids would be dropped off in an hour and Mr. Butler was adamant you retrieve Daniels nerf football.

He followed you to the yard down the hill to the garden infront of the large tree with the custom house built into its branches. He hoisted you up by cupping and pushing your ass to get you higher. You laughed at the embarrassing way you needed to be helped. You finally wiggled into the tree house, throwing the nerf foot ball down.

You sat on the ledge and Austin gestured you to jump down to him ”please catch me, I don’t have independent health coverage” you joked. “If I break your bones I’ll mend them come to me” he gestured.

You jumped off landing into his arms both falling back onto the grass. His pupils were huge as you stared down at him panting and smiling. You quickly stood up and offered him your hand.

You realize you will definitely have to keep your distance he’s already been trying you.

But you really need this job. It’s saving your life right now he is your highest paying client by far. Your bills are paid your gym membership is renewed and you actually have a savings account.

You begin to wonder if your next employer will treat you as well and pay as much. It’s highly doubtful

You know the kids will be there today and you can leave early with a made up excuse before they fall asleep. Even on weekends you can just plan to leave early every time and should be completely safe.

You search through your locker again trying to find anything to cover you from wearing just sports bra and shorts to his house. You find a zip up black long sleeve jacket to match.

But it’s all form fitting accentuating your ass by covering your top and leaving your legs exposed. You shake your head in annoyance, it will have to do. You don’t have time to head back to because you thrive on being punctual. You tie up your hair in a pony tail and leave the gym.

You drive the route to Mr. Butlers estate with the windows rolled down listing to music. You pull up to his place at around 6:30. You walk in to the grandios living room to find the estate empty. No Austin, no kids, no maid, not anyone.

You reach in your purse and take out your phone texting Mr. Butler. “Where is everyone?” It takes a moment but you see the little dots moving showing he’s typing back.

He texts “movie room”. You’ve never been down there before.

To make sure it’s not a danger zone you text him back “kids with you?” You await his response there isn’t one.

After a moment he finds you in the living room and smiles as he sees you.

“It felt kind of weird texting you and were in the same house…” his voice trails off seeing what your wearing

You tug down your sleeve and clutch you purse closer to your body.

“Sorry it’s unprofessional of me I know but I’ve never been here during a weekday and I forgot to pack the extra clothing.”

He makes a hmm sound looking you over in amusement.

“You must work out a lot to have legs like that” he compliments and your face flushes.

“Don’t be shy about it” he says grinning as he walks by you to the kitchen.

He’s wearing sweats and a black tee but youve always eyed he’s in very good shape himself. He pulls a bottle of wine tucking it under his arm and pulls two Reidel glasses out.

“Come watch a movie with me” he says innocently.

“Mr. Butler..I mean Austin, with all do respect I can’t.” He eyes you mischievously.

“You believe everything an eight year old tells you?” Your face flushes Alisa totally ratted to her daddy.

He has a knowing smile that you return because how did Mr. Butlers ex-wife even have access to his phone?

Maybe Alisa’s mom had it wrong, sometimes moms exaggerate to their kids to villainize daddy. Austin seems very kind.

He motions you to join him and this time you follow him down the stairs to the movie room. He pushes open the doors with his back and it opens to a theater space with five rows of black custom movie couches, it’s a small amphitheater.

“Holy fuck” you say before covering you mouth cursing infront of a client. Your previous clients the Milanos movie theater fails in comparison to this.

Along the back wall he has framed posters of every movie he’s starred in. You begin walking along and inspecting each one.

He approaches you from behind and hands you a glass of wine.

“Oh thank you … but I’m not allowed to drink, well I’m legally not allowed to drink until next year .” you smile shyly as your face flushes.

The way he stares at you in disbelief makes you feel awkward.

“You’ve never even had a drink?” He asks lowering his tone.

You tuck your hair behind your ear feeling the heat rising to your face as you try to explain.

“Well I was always honor roll and very goal oriented, not much time for friends. Then I got accepted to a great college on a scholarship. My room and board is paid by it so I really only have time to do my course work, workout ,and come to your house Mr. Butler. From what I can see, drinking kind of makes people wild and crazy and dumb, anyway it never really interested me.”

He warmly smiles at you. “Well maybe they are drinking hard liquor this is wine, it’s not instant like a shot, it takes a while to build in your system“

“if hard liquor makes you crazy, what does wine feel like?” You ask intrigued.

“Mmm like a really mellow mood, no more stress no more anxiety you can just be yourself.” He smiles.

You mull it over staring into the red liquid, thinking about how anxious you are waiting for his kids to get here already. Maybe just a glass. You lift it to sip and he gestures you not to.

“This is a nice bottle when you drink you have to cheers to something.” He proclaims.

“Oh..” you say not familiar with drinking customs. Your mind draws a blank.

His eyes squint for a minute until he catches a thought

“To a great working relationship” he says and it makes you smile and cheers him clinking glasses then taking a drink. He rests his glass down “You really are phenomenal the kids adore you by the way”. He admits.

You both look over at his Elvis movie poster you have been standing in front of.

“You ever seen this?” He asks because of your age.

“No I haven’t, are you good in it?” you ask curiously and he nearly snorts his wine as he takes a sip.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I almost won an Oscar” He exclaims profoundly. “That’s what we’re gonna watch then” he says leaving you to set everything up in the theater.

He sits center mid row and you sit next to him on the black custom theater couch putting your purse on the table rest of your seat.

You wait as he finds the film in his catalogue with his universal remote then dims the lights. The theater is completely dark and silent.

He refills your wine glass as the credits start. It’s a very haunting Elvis melody. Followed by a montage of him dressed as Elvis. Finally you see him “Wow you look so different with black hair, you say but the theater has surround sound speakers.

He can’t quite hear you so he turns the volume down. You begin divulging too much feeling a bit dizzy.

“Oh Mr. Butler no I don’t want to ruin the movie, you don’t have to turn it down, I was just saying you look so different with black hair it really brings out your eyes. You have very pretty blue eyes” you say staring at him a little too long in the dim lighting.

You wonder why you are suddenly turned on and shake the thought from your head. He listens to your tipsy rambling and smirks refilling your glass.

“I’ve seen this movie over a dozen times I’d rather hear you talk honestly” he admits glancing over at you affectionately.

The movie continues to play at a lower volume the bright flashing colors and lights are a dizzying spectacle to your eyes.

Him wearing green, him wearing pink, him jiggling his dick on the screen. “Wait what?” You exclaim. As you sit up he laughs. “I swear I just saw! Oh!! You did it again” you rest back in your chair wondering why you are becoming wet.

The movie continues and you are fully invested in every word he says. His southern drawl is resonating in your ears.

He pours you a glass one more time as the Trouble scene comes on smiling to himself. When the scene shows him on stage you are already labored breathing because he looks so good in eyeliner. As he begins to sing and then dance on the sceeen you audibly gasp.

Why is it so sexual isn’t this the 50s? You watch as he kneels and rises from the floor as women in the audience on screen reach for his cock. “holy fuck” you say out loud as you breath heavily.

You wonder if he can really do that… inside of you. You squirm in your seat too heavily aroused

“Fuck Mr. Butler.. I mean Austin” you say a little slurred and he pauses the movie on the scene when he’s in the cop car.

“Mr.B- -Austin I didn’t eat, and I worked out, and I had the wine, and now I feel really weird…oh god!” you exclaim standing up from the couch “The kids what time is it!”

He stands with you and watches as you try to steady your balance. “The kids aren’t coming” he admits.

“What?!” You exclaim louder than you intended trying to focus your eyes feeling like they are vibrating.

“The kids aren’t coming because it’s a week day” he says looking at you as if you got the plans wrong.

You go over in your mind how he handed you the money and you try to remember his exact words ‘Come on your day off and make it up to me’ you realize he wants you to make it up sexually. You take a step back “Oh god Mr. Butler”

“Austin” he interjects

You take another step back “Mr. Austin I can’t - - ”

He cuts you off again “Just -Austin” he says.

Your back hits the wall behind you in a pathetic attempt to avoid his alluring aura. He places his hands to the wall on either side of your head cornering you and standing so closely you can smell his cologne.

“I tried luring you in so many ways but you were just so professional you never relaxed your guard around me. But I finally figured out how to loosen you up.” He says with a smile.

He stares into your eyes with a burning intensity wanting to watch your reaction as he admits it

“A pinch of ecstasy in a full glass of wine.” He smirks

“What!” You exclaim in shock that he’s already drugged you.

He smiles “A good girl like you wouldn’t even know what was happening to her.” He confesses with an alluring smile.

He lowers his head next to your ear “Why do you think you’re having so much fun?” he whispers to you as a strange sensation falls over your body.

He smiles against your ear and hovers his mouth over your neck fanning your sensitive skin as he speaks "You didn't leave me another way to have you.....it’s a shame I had to make it this way." He says as he licks his tongue in a trail along your neck.

You go weak and cover with chills as he starts to kiss and suck your neck making your body begin to tingle all over especially between your legs. It suddenly makes sense why the movie colors were so vivid and you felt shocks to your core that made you wet every second he was on screen.

You have fallen in to his trap.

Your breathing increases and you weakly put your hands on his firm chest trying to stop him but it's in vain. You can't fight the effect he has over you. The wine and the ecstasy make you completely surrender to his touch, you want more of him as he wants more of you.

He reaches his hand between your legs and presses his fingers against your pussy. It radiates pulses of pleasure throughout your entire body. A small moan escapes your lips. “Your fucking soaked “ he says looking at his wet fingertips.

You grab his hand placing it back to your aching pussy wanting him to touch you more you are craving it but he smirks.

He brings his hand up to your throat placing it gently there instead gazing directly into your eyes knowing he has complete control to pervert you to his wishes.

“I never took a good girl Ike you to be such a slut” he teases and you whimper. “Go on beg your boss to touch you like a slut“ he commands.

You slowly muster up the words “please… touch me”

You feel his hard cock press across your thighs instead making your core clench

“Is that what you want?" He asks leaning in to suck onto your neck again.

“Yes! Please Mr.Butler touch me” your desperate tone makes his cock harder.

"What did I tell you about my name?" He asks rubbing his hand against your pussy.His touch sends shocks of pleasure radiating through your body distracting you from saying his name

"A-Austin!!" you finally cry out.

"You’re so cock drunk you can't even form words" he says smiling in amusement as he kisses his way up your neck to your lips.

He takes you into an erotic kiss gaining instant access to your wanting mouth. He glides his tongue in and twirls it against yours while devouring your lips. He pulls you from the wall back into the aisle and pushes you down on the couch breaking his kiss and making you lay flat.

He holds your legs up pulling the band of your shorts to peel them off of you with your panties, leaving you half naked.

He climbs on top of you settling between your legs. His eyes are full of lust as you see them roam your body. He slowly unzips your jacket exposing your body in your sports bra.

"Fuck you look incredible" he says trailing his hand down your stomach.

His left hand hooks his thumb into your sports bra pulling it up enough to let your tits out of their confinement. He gets his phone out of his pocket and takes a photo with flash.

You turn away as it hurts your sensitive eyes. Any dignity you had left was shattered as soon as he took the compromising photo.

“Please delete it Austin!” you beg him with your entire career on the line if he shows anyone.

"Delete it?” He smirks “No, I’m gonna use it blackmail you into doing whatever I desire, and if you deny me it’ll be posted anonymously so everyone will know what a slut you really are” he confesses.

“Austin please I’ll do what ever you say please don’t post the photo” you beg him almost in tears the photo would ruin you.

He smiles and squeezes one of your full tits then the other. He tugs at your nipples making you gasp “Our little secret then” He says enamored, he finally has you at his mercy.

Suddenly you feel him slowly sink two of his fingers in your tight cunt. He starts to pump them in pulling against a hard ridge inside that makes your hips buck up.

"Austin!" you moan out as he sends shock of pleasure all over your body.

Your core gets tighter as he continues to finger you massaging your tight walls. You are heavily panting feeling the release of so many endorphins firing at once from the ecstasy.

Austin notices the way your legs tremble as your walls flutter against his fingers, you’re going to cum. He increases his pace enjoying his wet knuckles smacking against your folds as you moan.

"Austin please don't stop!" you plead as you start to climax. He places his other hand across your pelvis pressing down and using his thumb to circle your clit.

You are high pitched moaning with your core so tight it feels like it will snap.

“Cum for me” he commands and you clutch his wrist feeling how he shoves his finger inside of you as your orgasm.

You deeply moan as sparks explode in your core and radiate through your body. He continues to finger you into aftershock until your back arch’s from the couch as you cry out for him . Then he slows to a stop.

“I know, I know” he says cooing at you as he caresses your jaw. It was an intense orgasm you are panting and shivering trying to regain your breath. You rest your head back on the couch in a daze.

The ecstasy in your system has increased your arousal to its peak you have lost all control over your body.

You watch Austin pull a condom from his pocket and tear it open. He reaches in the band of his sweats and releases his thick cock.

“Oh god..." you say in a shock because he is so well endowed

"Such a slut for letting your new boss fuck you like this" He says as he smiles at you. He presses the condom to the head of his cock and carefully rolls it down his shaft. He sees you eyeing his every movement.

"Just a condom on the first time. In the application you sent in it said you are not on birth control, but we’re gonna fix that" he confesses.

Your eyes widen in shock as you whimper. You gave up so much information on your hiring form most that didn’t even pertain to the job. He knows: What college you go to, where your parents live, all of your social media handles, even your time of the month, among so many other things. He has it all thought out and trapped you officially.

“When Mr. Milano referred you to me, I was shocked he’d ever give you up , but with his divorce… no more kids no more babysitter.” He smiles “You were the hottest thing I’d ever seen. The picture he sent of you innocently smiling in your tennis outfit at his house.I pleasured myself to your photo right there at my bathroom sink.” He gazes lustfully between your legs “and now I finally get to try your sweet pussy”

You let out a moan as he settles between your legs and parts your thighs wider. He rests his chest to yours and aims his cock for your entrance. As he penetrates you grip his shoulders and cry out from the piercing of his size.

"MMm my good girl taking my cock so well..-fuck-..your so tight" he says as you gasp for air feeling the stretch. He slowly makes you take every inch of him until it’s too painful.

"It’s too much A-austin! Too m-much!!" you plead as your eyes well with tears and your nails dig into his shoulders.

You don't think you can handle it as you start to feel how big his cock is.

"Be a good girl and take it all for me" he says as he trusts himself deep sinking in all the way to your core. Your back arcs but no sound escapes your throat from the pain as the ecstasy amplifies it.

He works into you your stunned body at a gentle pace “Don’t worry pretty girl…the pain will subside … and you will like it.” he reassures you and plants kisses on your neck to distract you as he thrusts into you stretching your tight walls. After a moment his words are true the pain transforms into pleasure and he hears your sweet moans in his ears.

He puts his left hand on your hip increasing his thrusts pushing his deepest to hit your cervix. He turns your head exposing the other side of your neck to kiss and suck your most vulnerable spot creating a bruise.

He pins your hands above your head and tilts his hips thrusting at a deeper angle and increasing your moans. His hips begin smacking into yours as you cry out on each one of his thrusts.

“Austin I’m so close” you admit in passion.

“Gonna make you cum with me” he breaths increases his speed until he’s wracking your body with his plows.

“I’m gonna cum!” You yell making his cock twitch. He groans as he pumps you full of his seed. He grips your shoulders for leverage and pushes even deeper. You both moan in unison as you orgasm.

He finishes panting heavily above you staring into your eyes. He is thoroughly satisfied and already wants to feel every ridge of your walls without a condom.

You look back up at him as you regain your breath, it was the best sex you ever had.

“I’m gonna pull out now” he says and you nod as he slides his shaft back until his cock head slips out. You both moan from the loss of contact. He slowly stands from the couch and pulls the condom off of his cock until it snaps. He fixes his sweats and discards the condom in a lined bin.

You quickly find your panties and your shorts and pull them back on then you stand and zip up your sports jacket. Austin raises the lights to brighten the room as he turns all the other settings in the movie theater off with his universal remote.

“Earlier when you mentioned you didn’t eat I wanted to feed you. Can I feed you now” He asks over his shoulder.

You collect your purse. “No I think I’ll just go home.” You say nervously. He turns to look at you then.

“I want you to stay” he offers but you shy away “Austin I have classes in the morning I really wasn’t planning for …all of this”

He approaches you slowly tucking his finger under your chin. He sees in your eyes you are too drunk to even leave his estate.

He smirks knowing you’ll have to stay the night and he’s going to enjoy you again and again. He also has something he can give you that will always get his way with you.

“How much do I owe you for baby sitting me then” he asks slyly looking away to retrieve his phone. He opens the app to transfer money directly to your account. He leaves the number space blank as he hands it to you.

You look up at him knowing it was the best sex of your life but the way he corrupted the situation and controls you with it. You decide to go all in, typing in the number you want and handing it back to him. Double your monthly salary.

His eyes light up in amusement and he immediately hits send. You are well worth it. He wants you more and he quickly thinks of a way to get you to stay during the week.

Your phone alerts the transfer is complete and your stomach jumps in excitement looking at the amount in your banking app. He smiles seeing how happy you are.

As your eyes meet he gazes at you lustfully “For that amount you’ll have babysit me for the rest of the week then.” He admits.

End

To be continued due to high demand ♥️☺️🥀

Available now ♥️

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the-meme-monarch · 1 year ago

Text

hi i wanted to rewrite the butterscotch cinnamon pie recipe i borrowed as of this post now that I’ve made it maybe 5-6 times and have messed with variables and made things easier for myself, though maybe it’s more convoluted to read

I’ve made my own pastry crust a few times but none of them were to my liking. graham cracker crusts forever ok.

in a medium saucepan:

-1 cup brown sugar

-1/4 cup water

bring to a boil, stirring. once thick and bubbling, turn off heat

in a bowl or maybe a measuring cup:

-5 tblsp heavy cream

-2 tblsp butter

-1 3/4 cups milk

RESERVE 6 TBLSP OF THE MILK/CREAM, but go ahead and put the rest into the saucepan and mix

in a second bowl, mix:

-6 tblsp of that milk/cream that I told you to reserve you reserved it right

-2 egg yolks

-1/2 tsp salt

-4 tblsp cornstarch (i recommend putting the cornstarch in last, so you can immediately start mixing it and it doesn’t become a Brick in the bottom of the bowl/measuring cup)

continue whisking this cornstarch mixture and ladle in maybe 3-4 ladle-fulls of the saucepan mixture to temper the eggs. Then pour it into the saucepan mixture. turn the heat back on, to med-high, stirring constantly until thickened (and i Mean constantly, bc it will just very suddenly turn thick) maybe 2 minutes

add and mix in:

1 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp vanilla extract

maybe make some whip cream to put on top when you’re ready to eat it but honestly it’s fine without it

#undertale #words from the monarch #food ref #hi. this has been in my drafts for. months

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roosterbruiser · 1 year ago

Text

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 — 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟑

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐎𝐏 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐘, 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘-𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟗.𝟓𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅-𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟑

The first time Jake Seresin sees you, it’s across a small and crowded room. Under the Bridge by The Red Hot Chili Peppers is thumping over the bulky speakers that are haphazardly strung all around the room with extension cords and duct tape. He hates this song. He doesn’t know it yet, but so do you.

You’d caught his eye because he spotted a familiar brick-colored button up. And, yes, as he’s looking at you now, he realizes he’s right. The breezy cargo shorts, the brown belt, the faded blue tank top--you’re dressed up as Dr. Ellie Sattler. He happens to be dressed up as Dr. Alan Grant, which means that the two of you--complete and utter strangers--are two halves of one whole costume.

But suddenly, as Jake looks at you, he doesn’t hear Anthony Keidis or hollow balls bouncing off plastic tables or booming laughter or sloshing liquid. He doesn’t hear anything. His ears are just ringing empty silence.

Bizarre, he thinks. His brain is never this quiet. He’s always thinking about drills or Intro to Anthropology or girls or Robert Zemeckis or home or dinner or something. Right now, it’s just you he’s thinking about.

You’re standing by yourself at one of the few punch bowls stationed around the house, each one a different highly unnatural color with seemingly random items skimming the surface. You’re pretty sure you saw flowers floating around one of them. Curiously, you’re looking down at this particular crystal bowl and the sad orange slices floating aimlessly in the peculiarly crimson punch. Half of the stuff is gone--Jake doesn’t know how anyone is stomaching it--and you are silently and unknowingly echoing his sentiment.

Bradley, who dragged Jake to this party in the first place--not that anyone ever has to drag Jake to a party--is standing beside him and is waiting his turn to play Beer Pong with an unruly group of men wearing togas.

“--The trick is to just, like, fake it ‘til you make it,” Bradley’s saying, casually leaning up against the dingy clapboard walls and sipping something vaguely Everclear-ish from his solo cup. “And what I mean by that is talk as much shit as you can. Nothing is off limits. Mothers, sisters, fathers--shit, especially fathers. People are so touchy these days. Like, I once told this guy that I got his sister preg--well, anyway. That’s besides the point. Just go into the game like you’re gonna win and you’re gonna win. You know? It’s simple science, really. I was thinking of writing my thesis on it.”

Jake, who is only half-listening as the silence fades out, hums. He doesn’t tear his eyes from your form. You’re cautiously ladling some of the punch into a chipped glass for your friend, who appeared suddenly beside you in an ill-fitting Red Riding Hood costume with glassy eyes and a broad grin, rubbing up against you like a hungry stray.

“Right,” Jake says absently. He can hardly hear anything over the music, especially Bradley’s incessant Beer Pong codes of conduct. He’s not gonna strain himself to hear what he’s already heard at a thousand frat parties before--and he’s certainly not going to turn his face away from you. “True.”

Bradley swallows all the sugary saliva coating his tongue and squints at the stained folding table holding the tense game beside them, wondering if the legs are gonna give. The center is already bowing. Whatever. Not his house--not his issue. He turns to Jake, who’s not looking at him or listening to him. Bradley’s known him long enough to know that by now. Jake not listening to Bradley rarely ever stops him from continuing a conversation, though.

“And what’s really interesting about all of this is that I can say whatever I want to you right now because you’re staring at…” Bradley makes a show of following Jake’s gaze across the crowded house, eyes flitting across a few forms before he finds yours. And, yes, he knows you’re definitely the one Jake is looking at. Dr. Ellie Sattler. “Oh. Looky there. It’s your better half. Your favorite part of your favorite movie! Isn’t that cute?”

“It’s not my favorite movie,” Jake snorts indignantly--like that means anything.

He’s still watching you--your friend teetered off and you’re against the wall again, alone and looking down at your hiking boots. They look used--there’s dirt on the heels and scuffs on the toes.

He wonders if you’re judging the cobwebs in the corners of the low ceilings and the bowing door frames like he is. You look like you are--your brows pinched, your nose slightly scrunched, your eyes shadowed by the soft curl of your lashes. You look like you don’t come to many parties like this. Parties with too many people, parties with no snacks, parties with boys from the baseball team, parties with kegs, parties with sticky floors. Neither does he.

“You dragged me to that movie, like, twenty times whenever it came out,” Bradley says, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean it isn’t your favorite movie?”

“What I mean is that Jurassic Park is a great movie, but it isn’t my favorite,” Jake says, mildly exasperated. He absently takes a sip of his drink and immediately wishes he hadn’t, face screwing up in disgust as the bright yellow punch oozes down his throat. He coughs softly and Bradley grins. “My favorite movie is Blue Velvet. Duh.”

Now Bradley is screwing his face up in disgust, pretending to gag.

“You’re so pretentious. It’s like you can’t even help it. I feel bad for you, man. Oh, look at me! I’m a film major and I just love movies that make no sense! I wanna make sweet love to Kyle MacLachlan! Notice me, David Lynch!”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jake says, smiling softly. “I’m not pretentious!”

“My favorite movie is Basic Instinct,” Bradley says proudly. And just as Jake is groaning, finally giving Bradley his full attention so Bradley can feel every ounce of Jake’s judgment, Bradley holds his hands up in defense. “Hey! Not for that scene--well, yeah for that scene--but mainly because of the gore. It’s gnarly. Plus it’s, like, very easy to understand. Digestible.”

“You’re a simpleton,” Jake says. “Is pussy all you think about?”

“Through and through, brother!” Bradley confirms with a grin.

Bradley throws an arm around Jake’s shoulders, the cheap polyester of his striped Beetlejuice costume stretched to its absolute limit by his shapely biceps, and sighs happily. He looks out across the crowded room and finds your form--Jake follows his gaze.

For a moment, the both of them just look at you. You’re bored--that much they can tell. Eyes downcast, hangnail under the wrath of your picking fingertips, mouth a flat plane. You’re way too pretty to be this bored at a party.

“What do you think her favorite movie is, Oh-Wise-One?” Bradley asks. Jake elbows him hard and some of his drink sloshes onto the floor and his Nike’s. “Hey! Not the Carnivores, man! These are brand new!”

“I’m doing you a favor,” Jake snorts.

Bradley whines, rubbing his shoes with a frown.

Jake is still looking at you. You’re alone. You’ve been alone since he noticed you a few songs ago, not exactly giving off an anti-social vibe but certainly not going out of your way to make conversation with all the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Hulk Hogan’s around you. He wonders if you’re like him--if you came to this party because your friends dragged you here, if you would rather be in the comfort of your dorm watching slasher B-Movies.

“I haven’t seen her around campus,” Jake muses softly to Bradley, brows coming together. “Maybe she’s from out of town.”

The thought makes his gut twist in a half-knot. He really, really hopes you’re not from out of town.

Bradley shakes his head. The only time they get many out-of-towners is when there’s a football game and there isn’t another game until next weekend.

“Maybe she’s a freshman. Or a transfer,” Bradley continues. “Who knows! Not me. Certainly not you.”

“She’s really…” Jake says softly, brows pinching. He wants to kick himself for not being able to find the right word for what you are--but he doesn’t want to get it wrong. And his vocabulary dims in comparison to the way you make him feel by doing nothing but blink at the floor and wring your hands together. “Something.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” Bradley coos, pinching Jake’s cheek.

“She’s, like--obviously she’s pretty,” Jake says. And he knows he’s being conservative with pretty. “But something else, too.”

“She looks…disinterested,” Bradley comments. “Like she doesn’t wanna be here.”

“I can change that,” Jake says with a deep breath. “You know. Show her a good time and all of that.”

“And you said all I think about is pussy? Man, you’re twisted!”

As if he’s offended, Jake faces Bradley. The tips of his ears are hot.

“Why did you assume I was going to show her a good time with my penis? I literally never even implied that. I never even hinted at applying to that.”

“What does and all of that mean to you then?” Bradley inquires, brows furrowed.

“You know,” Jake says, shrugging. He swallows and shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll dance with her or something. Girls like that. I’ll ask for her hand. Like a gentleman.”

“You’re so from Texas,” Bradley laughs. “Thinking you can square dance your way into everything. Can’t really do-si-do to the Chili Peppers.”

Jake frowns at Bradley.

“You’re a freak,” Jake says slowly. “Really. I mean it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a cornball,” Bradley complains. “C’mon, stop staring at her! Let’s just get ready for our turn!”

Jake’s already decided that he’s not going to be playing Beer Pong with Bradley.

“How do I walk up to her without creeping her out?”

Bradley blinks at Jake, who is chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s really trying to figure it out. Like it’s rocket science.

“What are you talking about? You’re wearing an Alan Grant costume. I don’t think you’re gonna creep her out. Genius.”

Jake shoots a look at Bradley--one that he’s seen just before a knuckle to the gut or a tap to the balls. Instinctively, Bradley takes a half-step away from Jake and bumps into one of the Toga Bros.

“I mean, like--how do I go up to her and not creep her out? What am I supposed to start with? Hey, I saw you were all alone so I decided to capitalize on that. Or should it be more along the lines of you’re dressed as my love interest and we should see if that transfers into real life? Smart-ass.”

Bradley laughs, shaking his head.

Jake gets into his head like this a lot. Like a lot more than anyone else realizes. Before games, before dates, before office hours, before parties. Jake is Bradley’s best friend--and has been since they were assigned roommates last year--and Bradley knows that Jake always comes out the other side unscathed no matter what his previous worries were. He’s never missed a field goal, he always gets the girl, all his professors grant extra credit, he’s always invited back to whatever frat they hit. This special weariness of Jake’s is reserved especially for Bradley--that is to say, no one else gets to see this side of him.

“Here,” Bradley says. He grins. “I’ve got an idea!”

And before Jake can inquire, Bradley’s slamming his fist into Jake’s cup. The neon liquid spews out and splatters all over the walls and floor--a few drops land on Jake’s shirt. He’s too shocked to speak for a second, staring at the puddle on the ground and the few people who turned to see the commotion.

Bradley’s beaming when Jake turns to him, leaning back against the clapboards coolly, looking like a fucking idiot with his half-assed Beetlejuice makeup on and frayed green wig he bought in the kid’s section at Family Dollar.

“You’re an idiot,” Jake says. He says this about fifteen times a day, give or take.

Bradley holds a hand over his heart and sighs warmly.

“You need a refill,” Bradley says, nodding towards you and the punch bowl. “Thank me later. Preferably with Gushers!”

Jake is just about to say something else when he realizes that Bradley’s right. He does need a refill. And you are standing by the closest of the nuclear punch bowls.

This is his in.

“I hate that I actually do wanna thank you right now,” Jake sighs. He mulls over his decision, straightening his hat and making sure his cup is all the way empty. He turns to Bradley, who’s smiling smugly already. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re about to dig up some dino bones,” Bradley says, giving Jake a thumbs up and a shit-eating grin.

Jake blinks at him.

“Fossils. You mean fossils,” Jake corrects. “Not just dino bones.”

Bradley shrugs and takes another drink somehow.

“You say caramel I say carmel, but we all bleed the same, don’t we?”

Jake doesn’t even respond. He just starts in your direction, his breath caught between his molars. He hopes that you don’t move before he can cross the tiny house, the sea of sweaty polyester clad bodies and latex-covered faces.

Across the little room, right where he wants you to be, you’re chewing the inside of your cheek pensively.

He really isn’t here, you think. He really didn’t come. You press the scuffed toe of your scuffed hiking boot against the sticky floorboards and pull back softly to feel the resistance. Gross.

You’re not sure what the worst part of all of this is. Maybe it’s the fact that your boyfriend, the one who actually likes gross little parties like this and the other half of your couple’s costume, hasn’t bothered to show his face tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that they won’t stop playing Red Hot Chili Peppers and Anthony Keidis is literally bursting your eardrums right now. Maybe it’s the fact that nothing here is drinkable.

This night would be a lot easier if you were loaded right now.

“Do you happen to know what flavor this is?” A man asks, Southern inflection licking the inside of your ears. “Trying to decide if I’m gonna partake in drinking the Koolaid.”

Without looking up, you shrug your shoulders. Probably just another wayward drunk who thinks you’re the host. It’s an insult to you that someone would think you would live in squalor like this--you would never let fist-sized holes litter your walls and you would certainly never let your floors get this sticky.

Jake clears his throat, so close to you now that he can smell the amber on your pulse points. He’s searching your face, wondering if you didn’t hear him, readjusting his hat while the party rages on all around the two of you.

He’s standing between you and the punch bowl now, empty cup pressed into his palm, facing you rather than the drink. You don’t look up at him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“I bet it’s watermelon,” Jake says a bit louder. “It’s always watermelon.”

He sees the recognition flood your features--the recognition that someone is talking to you--as you finally raise your head.

Up close, even in this shitty light, Jake sees that you’re something beyond pretty, something beyond beautiful. You’re something else that he’s never seen before--better than all the rest. His ears begin to hum.

It’s the first time you’ve ever looked at him--except that it isn’t. You take him in: his crinkled green eyes, his abrasively handsome smile, the little dimples on his cheeks, the scruffy edge of his jaw. No, you’ve seen him before. Scalding bleachers and roaring crowds and his face on the jumbotron after kicking a three-pointer.

This football player is talking to you.

Smiling in a polite and slightly stunned manner, you roll your shoulders back and wipe away all the crumbs of mopiness from your lap.

“Watermelon’s too high brow for this dump,” you say after a moment, swallowing softly. “I think I smelled cherry earlier.”

Your voice--he can only just make it out as the music plays, as the humming increases. But he can hear that it is sweet, that it is a vibration that makes his throat ache.

“You smelled it?” Jake asks, brow perched. “All the way from there?” He points to where you’re standing against the wall.

You’re only a foot or two away from the stained wooden table that’s holding the bowl. Nodding with your brow slightly furrowed, you push yourself off the wall.

“Cherry’s an assault to the senses. Couldn’t help but smell it,” you answer. Then you glance over your shoulder at the rest of the party, looking for your friends. “And my friends are too wasted to ladle their own drinks.”

“I hope they’re tipping you,” Jake says. “Well--unless you’re working on commission.”

A smile tugs on your lips.

“Doctors usually don’t work on commission,” you say softly. You look up at his hat and then down at his pants, placing his costume with a soft sort of smile. “Do they, Dr. Grant?”

He beams at you. Something in your chest grows tight--tight like you need to let all the air out of your lungs and into the space around you. You’re pretty sure that if you did that, the temperature here would rise a few degrees.

“It’s pretty accurate, isn’t it?” Jake asks, crossing his arms and jutting his hip out. “Don’t even ask me how long it took to find the hat.”

It took Jake two weeks to find the right hat. Two grueling weeks of dragging Bradley to strip malls and kiosks and thrift stores.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m a lady,” you answer with a small smile. “I think yours is blowing mine out of the water, though. I just picked mine from what I had in the closet and then borrowed the rest.”

He shakes his head at once, brows furrowed.

“You kidding me? I recognized you from across the room!”

Oh, you think. He saw you from across the room already. And now he’s standing here, right in front of you with an empty cup and a desire for conversation.

Glancing around you quickly, you find that your friends are all still loitering around drunkenly and your other half is still not here.

“I don’t know--is it really that impressive?” You ask Jake, meeting his eyes again. “This place is the size of a pin-hole.”

Jake glances over at Bradley, who’s successfully started a game of Beer Pong. Already Jake can see the guys on the other side of the table burning from Bradley’s constant trash talking. Jake’s sure that idiot’s bright green wig is doing very little to dull the words falling on their ears.

“I don’t know, I was standing all the way over there by my roommate--Bargain Bin Beetlejuice,” Jake explains to you, jamming a thumb over his shoulder. You follow the direction of his finger, smiling. That isn’t that close to where you are now, but it certainly isn’t far. But you know how to take a compliment. “It’s not a skip, hop, and a jump, but it’s…”

“It’s a skip and half a hop?” You ask, brows raised.

Jake nods.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” he answers.

“Don’t freak out when I say this,” you say. “But you can’t be here when my boyfriend shows up. Your costume is gonna put my boyfriend’s to shame. We would seriously never be able to show our faces around here again.”

Jake’s chest is tight.

Boyfriend. Of course you have a boyfriend.

He glances around the room, searching for someone dressed like the Great Value version of himself. But it’s just an endless sea of Wayne and Garth’s and Urkel’s and Wednesday’s. No other Dr. Alan Grant in sight.

“He isn’t here now, is he?” Jake asks. He has the sudden urge to puff his chest out, to size him up.

Uncomfortably, you shift your weight and look at your shoes again. You hate it when Jeff bails on you like this. And you know that he couldn’t have forgotten--you reminded him this morning. You knew he was only half-listening. You always know.

“No,” you answer. He can hear the soreness in your tone as you glance around, too. “But he’s supposed to be.”

Fucking asshole, Jake thinks.

“He bailed on you?” He asks, lips pursed. “Wait a minute--you’re doing a couple’s costume with him and he hasn’t even bothered to show his face?”

“Yup,” you answer with a tight smile.

“No offense, but what an asshole,” Jake says. He crosses his arms. “Who does that to their girlfriend on Halloween?”

“Jeff Sabler, I guess,” you answer.

“Oh, you’re with Jeff Sabler? From the debate team?” He asks.

He’s stifling laughter, trying to bite a grin. You see right through him, though. Your face is warm with embarrassment as you bite a smile, too, and roll your eyes.

“Yeah, Johnny Football, I’m dating Jeff Sabler from the debate team,” you say. “Problem with that?”

“Me? Have a problem with Spit Sabler? Never,” Jake says with a grin.

You can’t help but laugh quietly at his nickname, even if it kind of makes you want to curl into a ball and wither away. Spit Sabler. It’s what people started calling him after his very first debate last year, when he got so worked up during policy discussion that spit literally flew from his mouth and onto the judge’s desk. He didn’t even say excuse me aftward.

“You know, he doesn’t even care that people call him that,” you say with a slight eye roll. You’re beginning to notice that Jeff doesn’t care about a lot of things--punctuality, nicknames, his grade in biochemistry, commitment to Halloween costumes. “Isn’t that silly? I’d just die if people around campus had a nickname for me.”

“Maybe they do and you just don’t know it,” Jake teases.

“Are you holding out on me?” You ask. You pause, swallowing and holding your hands on your hips. “Do you even know me?”

“Sure,” Jake says with an easy grin. He gestures to your costume. “You’re my best girl!”

“Ha-ha,” you say despite the way you suddenly want to rub your thighs together. His best girl. “I bet you haven’t given me a second look until you noticed that I was your missing piece.”

“I haven’t seen you around,” Jake admits. “You not into football?”

“I like to sit at the very top,” you tell him. “You know. Eagle-eye view. I like to see everything all at once. Especially now that we’re finally good.”

“You mean you actually go to watch the game? Not just to get beer spilled on you by Pi Kappa guys?” He asks, feigning surprise. Your smile is widening, eating your face. His belly turns itself inside out. “I’m shocked, really.”

“Not to blow you smoke or anything, but you’re a pretty good kicker,” you compliment. You hope that he can’t feel how warm your face is right now, but you’re sure he can--he’s so close to you that you can smell the shampoo in the blonde locks sticking out from beneath his hat. “You’ve never missed a three-pointer.”

He’s taken back right now. He knows that football is deeply ingrained in the culture here--he sometimes can’t help but feel like a big man on campus when his calc professor congratulates him on a good game or when upperclassmen clap his back in the student center--but it’s rare that he meets someone who pays very much attention at all. Now that he’s been established as good, people just assume he is. They don’t really watch.

“I’m impressed that you pay attention,” he says.

“Why? ‘Cause I��m a girl?” You ask, arms crossed.

You’re smiling still.

“Not ‘cause you’re a girl,” he answers. “‘Cause everyone goes to the football games to drink.”

“Well, I’m no Pi Kappa,” you say. “I’m a whole other thing.”

“I bet you are,” Jake says. “What’s your name?”

“Ellie,” you quip.

He grins at you.

Shit. You’re too easy to like. Way, way too easy.

Spit Sabler. What a load of shit.

“I’m Jake,” he says after a minute.

This whole year you’ve been calling him Seresin in your head--it’s what’s printed on the back of his jersey, what you see on the jumbotron when he kicks your team’s winning goal.

But Jake. Yes, that fits him. Aren’t all sandy-blonde, green-eyed boys named Jake, anyway? It’s so coastal, evokes images of tan skin and a freckled nose and bright smile.

“Well, it’s to know your actual name,” you say. “I’ve just been calling you Seresin.”

“I’m flattered you noticed me,” Jake says, beaming.

“Everyone does,” you say, shaking your head gently.

“No way,” he disagrees. “Not everyone.”

“Please,” you sass, brows furrowed. “Modesty didn’t get you to where you are now, did it?”

“Across the room?” Jake asks, brows raised. Your smile fades to one of flattery, your lashes batting against your cheeks like you’re trying to blink yourself back into reality. “No. I’d say what got me across the room was curiosity.”

“I thought it was thirst,” you say softly, nodding to the punch bowl.

Jake looks back at the bowl, arms crossed over his chest. Right. Nuclear waste.

“That was all a ruse,” he says. “You can’t believe a word I say.”

“I’m learning so much about you,” you say with a fond smile. “Your name, your tendency to lie, how easily impressed you are.”

Jake almost guffaws trying to keep up with you.

“That’s pretty much all there is to me,” Jake says. “I’m surface-level.”

“Right,” you laugh. You gesture to his costume. “Jurassic Park is a pretty surface-level movie.”

“What, you don’t like it?” Jake asks, borderline stunned.

“Of course I like Jurassic Park. I’m only human,” you answer quickly. “But--you know. Everyone likes it. It’s easy to like. Easy to understand. Even the themes that they try to make harder to understand.”

“Like what?”

“The ethics of creating life inside a lab in tubes and incubators,” you answer. “Playing God.”

“I guarantee you that I could introduce you to someone who genuinely thought the entire movie was just about running from dinosaurs,” Jake tells you, a grin tugging on his lips. “Not everyone is as smart as you. Well--us.”

“Us,” you echo, a laugh bubbling up from the tips of your toes and spilling out into the air around you. It’s swallowed by the crowd before Jake can digest it. “Kind of weird that we’re wearing matching costumes, right?”

“Divine intervention,” Jake says, brow perched.

“We don’t even know each other,” you say, smiling. “That’s crazy.”

Beaming, Jake nods.

“You think people are gonna think I’m your boyfriend?” He asks slyly, leaning on the punch table carefully. “Just ‘cause I actually bothered to show up. And the whole costume thing.”

“I don’t know,” you say, shoulders falling back. Your spine prickles with excitement--the excitement of being looked at by him. “Should we ask someone?”

He’s watching you with a slight smile clinging to his pink lips. Inside his gaze, you feel like you’re alone at the party with just him. No more sticky floors and no more drunk friends and no more shitty boyfriend. Just you and him shooting the shit. You can’t do this with Jeff--everything always ends in a fight and in classic debater style, he rarely lets things go.

As if he’s trying to call your bluff, Jake looks around for someone to tap. He’s waiting for you to stop him, for you to burst out that you were just joking, to grab his arm before he can get someone’s attention.

But you don’t stop him. There is no bluff to be called.

So, he taps on the nearest Urkel’s shoulder. He turns around, glasses askew.

“What’s up, brother?” Urkel asks Jake when he recognizes him. “How you doing, Trip?”

Trip. It’s short for Triple.

“Just great,” Jake answers. He half-steps so he’s closer to you, close enough that your arms are touching. And he’s surprised when you lean into him, totally feeding into the bit. “Uh--do we look like we came together?”

“That’s not the question,” you whisper to Jake, nudging him with your elbow before you lean forward to speak to Urkel. “The question is--does he look like my boyfriend?”

Urkel turns to give the both of you his full attention as you step beside Jake again, leaning against his arm. He regards your bright eyes and Jake’s solid grin, the way your arms are pressed together, the matching costumes.

“Is this your way of introducing me to your lady or something?” Urkel asks Jake.

“So, we do look like boyfriend-girlfriend?” Jake clarifies.

Urkel’s brows come together.

“Aren’t you?”

“Total strangers, actually,” you sigh, shrugging. Jake smiles at you, watching as your brows pull together and your lashes flutter against your cheeks. “For all I know, this guy could be a serial killer.”

“It’s true, I could,” Jake sighs in confirmation. “And for all I know, she could be a total stalker.”

“What?” Urkel asks. “What are you--?”

You nod, sucking the back of your teeth.

“Right, right,” you answer. “You never can tell these days. People are so insane.”

“Preach,” Jake sighs.

“I’m too drunk for this, Trip,” Urkel says finally, rubbing his temples. “Hit my line when you two really are boyfriend-girlfriend, alright?”

And with that, you and Jake are in your own little bubble again. Heat has pooled in your belly and your fingertips are buzzing and your ears are hot with embarrassment and excitement.

It’s exhilarating, you realize. The way you feel right now with Jake, who you really only just met, tapping inebriated strangers on the shoulder and pretending like you weren’t bored out of your mind and stood up only a little bit ago. Indulging parts of yourself you can’t whenever you’re with Jeff.

“That settles it, then,” Jake sighs coolly, shrugging. “Spit Sabler’s in for a rude awakening.”

“Yeah, when he shows up,” you say, scoffing.

“If he shows up,” Jake corrects, wrinkling his nose.

“I can’t believe I got stood up,” you say to him. Except it isn’t bitterness in your tone that he hears--it’s a strange, disconnected relief. Like you were waiting for Spit to do something to warrant this fracture. “Me. Stood up. By my boyfriend.”

“He must not be from the south,” Jake sighs with a shrug. “Boys from the south would never stand their lady up.”

“Oh, really?” You ask. Your stomach is tied in excited, tight knots. “And you’re speaking from experience, right?”

“Totally,” Jake confirms. “Texas. Born and bred.”

“You southern gentlemen sure do like telling people you’re southern gentlemen,” you tease. “Gotta work it into every conversation, huh?”

“You sound like my roommate,” Jake grins, shaking his head.

Looking over at Bargain Bin Beetlejuice again, you find him holding his hands up in defense with a grin eating his face. A man in a toga is being held back by a few other men from wiping said-grin off his face.

“I was gonna say that your roommate sounds like a smart guy, but looks like he’s over there picking fights with Sigma Alpha Toga,” you say, tutting. “Not the best move.”

Jake groans when he sees Bradley throw his head back in laughter, when he sees how red in the face his toga opponent is. He’s always pushing people to their absolute limit. It’s what makes him such a good lineman--and a regular target.

“And on Halloween of all holy nights,” Jake says, sighing.

“Some people are just so classless,” you agree.

“Like guys who ditch their girlfriends on Halloween,” Jake agrees.

“How many times you gonna bring that up?” You ask, biting your lip.

“I’m going for the record,” Jake teases.

“The least you could do is soften the blow,” you tell him.

“How can I do that?” Jake asks. He’s grinning.

“You could…” You pretend to think, tapping your chin and chewing the inside of your cheek. “Well, you could least keep up appearances.”

“What, like, be a good fake boyfriend?” He asks, brow perched.

You nod. He’s elated right now, trying to bide his excitement so he doesn’t freak you out totally and completely.

“Yeah,” you confirm.

“Well, I can’t just be good,” Jake tells you smugly. “I’ve gotta be the best fake boyfriend.”

“You’ve really talked yourself up,” you tell him, sucking the back of your teeth. The soles of your feet are warm, the palms of your hand sweatied. “Blow me away.”

Jake opens his mouth to say something dumb and flirtatious, something that will surely make you push his shoulder, but he’s interrupted when the music suddenly changes. Dreams by The Cranberries is playing suddenly, a smidgen louder than the music before was.

“Now that they’re finally playing good music,” Jake calls over the music, pointing in the general direction of one of the speakers. “Will you dance with me?”

No one has ever asked you to dance before this precise moment. Never at any shitty homecomings or slapstick proms. Before, at every other frat and house party Jeff dragged you to, no one danced like you thought they might. Parties aren’t for dancing anymore--they’re for drinking. The romantic in you dies a little bit each time you remember that.

But here is this guy standing right in front of you, the big man on campus who’s dressed up in a weirdly accurate Alan Grant costume, holding his hand out to you and asking you to dance to The Cranberries. The Cranberries.

“There’s nowhere to dance,” you say before you can help it, glancing around the room. It’s packed wall-to-wall. No one is dancing and everybody is drunk.

“Would you go outside with me if I asked?” Jake asks.

His heart is pounding in his throat.

“I don’t know,” you say. But you do know. “Ask.”

“Will you go outside with me?” Jake asks.

“Yes,” you say. “Yeah. I’ll go.”

Yeah. I’ll go. Jake is going to think about the way you looked when you said these words to him for the rest of his life. You, the girl who was standing here looking bored and waiting on Spit motherfucking Sabler, are looking up at him with glassy eyes and a broad grin and saying yeah. I’ll go.

Jake doesn’t waste a moment, nodding towards the backdoor.

“C’mon,” he says with a grin. “I don’t wanna miss this song.”

Outside, it’s much cooler than inside the stuffy house. The air is crisp and fresh and fragrant with the lonely apple tree that sits just beside the house. No more overpowering stenches like sweat or cheap fabric or overfilled trash.

And now that you’re outside in the mostly-dark, only the naked porch bulb lighting the little patch of overgrown concrete you’re standing on, you feel like you can take a deep breath and let your shoulders fall.

“It’s nice out here,” you admit.

“And you can still hear the music,” Jake points out. “Speaking of…”

You turn around, glance at him over your shoulder. And there’s Jake beaming at you, hand outstretched towards you in an open invitation.

“You were serious?” You ask, nose wrinkled. “I thought boys just said that to impress girls.”

“Not Texas boys,” he answers. “C’mon. Dance with me.”

And who would you be if you said no to this almost perfect stranger?

Swallowing thickly, you smile at him. It’s an unsure smile, one that is usually accompanied by a warm face and downcast eyes. But you’re not looking away from him and Jake definitely isn’t looking away from you.

His hand is warm, bigger than yours. The skin is rough, probably from tossing the pigskin, and his grip is secure. He holds your hand the way he holds other important things--delicate glasses, his favorite pen, a photograph of him and his mama.

You stand there, his hand holding yours, for a moment. Not sure what to do next, unclear where you’re supposed to step or if you’re supposed to come closer.

“C’mere now,” Jake says softly. It’s less of a command and more of a guidance as he gently pulls you closer to him. “There you go.”

Shakily, a breath falls from your mouth. A cloud of tongue-scented vapor settles on Jake’s chest. He’s looking down at you, his face all shadows and shine, as he begins to bring his other hand up to hold your waist.

“Can I hold your waist?” He asks. He almost makes a joke--almost adds something to make his questions sound less serious. Strictly for appearances. But then he just looks down at you looking up at him, reads the slope of your brows and the part of your lips, and leaves it at that.

“Is that what comes next?” You ask, really meaning it.

He pulls his brows together, confused.��

“What--no one’s ever asked you to dance before?”

“No,” you answer seriously. “I mean--well, yeah. No.”

He just softly shakes his head. How in the world has no one ever asked you to dance before? He wanted to dance with you before he even knew you and he wants to dance with you now that he barely knows you.

“What?” You ask, brows knit. Your throat is caked in nerves. “You think something’s wrong with me now?”

“I’m thinking I oughta skin Spit Sabler and hang his bones to dry,” Jake admits. “And I don’t think anything’s wrong with you.”

You step closer to him, the pavement cracked beneath the soles of your boots, and your chest is close enough to his to feel the softness of his shirt when you inhale. He smells like sandalwood and Everclear and you’re just now noticing that his hands are a little sticky from his drink.

“Is there something wrong with you?” You ask, looking up at him. “You didn’t bring a date to the party.”

“Who do you think Beetlejuice is?”

The laughter flows easily.

“Excuse me for supposing.” You smile.

“Excused,” Jake breathes.

Jake is holding your waist now--he can feel the soft curve there, the way the fabric melts into his hand like it’s been waiting for his heat. And whenever you take a deep breath, your chest touches his.

Besides the music, there are crickets chirping in the button bushes and frogs distantly singing in a too-big puddle just down the road. It is a perfect night--the stars stretch across the sky, brighter than they are in the middle of town, and the moon is white as silk.

You’re spinning in a semi-slow circle, your smile still coy and your palms still clammy. But you’re happy--you think that you’re happy. A stone of excitement just sits heavy in your gut, warm and unmoving. This is the feeling you have whenever you meet someone that you know is going to be important in some way someday.

Inside the house, Bradley’s noticed that Jake is gone--and so is the pretty girl he was talking to. He glances around, biting his lip, the taste of cheap lipstick bitter on his tongue. And then he spots movement outside the west-facing windows.

“No way,” he whispers, shoving his way across the room and closer to the windows. He squints, cups his eyes, and immediately recognizes that damn hat. “He did it. Crazy son of a bitch did it.”

“Who?” Someone near Bradley asks. They’re bleary-eyed as they look at Bradley, leaning closer to him. “Who did what?”

“Me,” Bradley answers with a grin. “I did your mother.”

“I like The Cranberries,” you say quietly. “I listen to this CD all the time.”

“Not a Red Hot Chili Peppers girl?” He asks.

Laughing, you shake your head.

“Do I look like one?” You ask.

“Do I look like I think you’re one?” He retorts.

Another grin--Jake’s throat is so tight that he can hardly swallow.

“Too many degrees of separation,” you whisper to him. “You’re giving me a complex.”

He takes a deep breath--of you, of the crisp autumn air, of the dew on the grass, of the sugary juice staining his hands.

“Why you with a guy who stands you up?” He asks. You’re slowly spinning in a circle still and the world blurs behind your pretty head. “I barely know you, but I know I’d never bail on you.”

“Well, not everyone’s from Texas,” you answer. The heartbeat in your chest is stuttering as Jake looks at you--your eyes, your nose, your lips. “We’re not…serious or anything.”

You don’t know why you feel the need to tell Jake this--and why it doesn’t make you feel guilty when you realize that you’re telling him so he knows that your options are open.

“Not serious?” He asks. “How long have you been seeing each other?”

A few months.

“Since August.” It sounds like more time than it really is.

“Not long at all,” he says. “How’d he hook you? Did he debate you into a date?”

The grin tugging on your lips is so insistent.

“You’re kind of an ass,” you say affectionately.

“But I’m a good dancer,” he says--beaming. “Don’t you think I’m a good dancer?”

“Fishing for compliments,” you tut. “Flattery must be your love language.”

“What’s your love language?”

Cheeks hot, you just shake your head.

Christ, he’s good. Too good. Way too good.

“You ask so many questions,” you tell him, breathing out hard. You’re beaming at him still. “Too curious for your own good.”

“And I’m not even a journalism major,” he tells you.

“You’re missing your calling then,” you say softly. “What is your major?”

“Film,” he says.

That strikes you as funny for some reason--a football player film major with an affinity for dream pop and Jurassic Park.

“Aren’t you a mystery,” you ponder aloud. “Johnny Football Hitchcock.”

“And what’s your major? Looking bored at parties?”

You mock offense, holding a hand over your heart. When you’re this close to him and he beams, you can see every single one of his pearlescent white teeth, each one more perfect than the last.

“I didn’t look bored,” you defend half-heartedly.

“You looked so bored,” Jake says, laughing. “I thought you were gonna pass out before I even made it over to you.”

The back door opens--a few drunk people stumble out, saying nothing but laughing all the same.

Instinctively, you begin to pull away from Jake. But he tightens his grip on your waist, on your hand, and keeps you close to him. He keeps spinning the both of you in slow circles as the song floats on.

“It’s okay,” Jake says softly to you--like he knows that your face is warm with almost-embarrassment, like he knows that you’re nervous to be this close to him in front of anyone else. “They’re not gonna remember shit tomorrow.”

“Are you?” You ask, teasing.

It’s vulnerable to ask--ther’es a sweetness in your quiet tone. You’re asking him if he’s drunk, if he’ll remember crossing the party to talk to you, if he’ll remember asking you to dance with you.

“I’m stone-cold sober,” Jake says. “Fortunately.”

It’s strange whenever someone doesn’t let you down. You’re almosot used to putting up defenses at this point, almost always ready to roll your eyes and say God, never mind. You’re a smart girl. You know that this isn’t the way you should feel about the boy you’re seeing. And you are smart enough to see a good thing when it’s standing right in front of you, holding knot your waist and dancing with you.

“Oh, shit--!”

You turn towards the sounds of shoes scuffing on pavements, the sudden outburst. Jake does, too, brows furrowed. He sees it before you do--is getting ready to lift you up and push you further into the yard.

But he’s too late.

Alpha Beta Toga is bent at the hips and spewing neon-green puke all down your legs and into the pockets of your cargo shorts and all over your hiking boots.

Still, Jake tugs you away, plants himself between you and Toga. It’s too late, though--he’s being tugged away by his friends, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, hiccupping. And you’re standing beside him, stunned, staring down at your slimy legs.

“Hey!” Jake bellows, brows furrowed. The frat boys pause, eyes bleary as they stare back at him. “Apologize.”

“Sorry,” one of them says to Jake, belching.

They start to move inside the house again, a blur of white sheet and skin.

“No, no, no,” Jake insists. “To her.”

You blink in surprise, swallowing the lump growing in your throat, not knowing what to do except stand there and freeze with putrid vomit running down your legs.

“I didn’t puke on her!” One of them defends.

“I didn’t ask, dipshit,” Jake says. “Someone’s gonna say sorry before you go back inside.”

“It’s fine,” you whisper, unbuttoning your shirt and slipping out of it to wipe down your legs. “It’s really fine. He’s drunk, it was an accident--!”

“I’m sorry,” one of the boys interrupts you, glancing over at you nervously. “We should’ve pulled ‘im back.”

“You should’ve,” Jake confirms.

And then his attention is back on you. He’s kneeling before you, grabbing the shirt from your hands and mopping up as much vomit as he can on your legs. Still shocked and now prickled with cold as you bend at the hips and look down at him, you frown.

“Is it--oh my God. Is it chunky?” You whisper, feeling sick.

Jake dutifully holds onto your thigh as he continues to mop it up. God, it smells bad--he dipped into more than one of the punches.

“Don’t look,” Jake commands, brows pulled together. “Just look up at the stars and it’ll be over soon.”

“It’s fucking chunky,” you say to yourself, looking up at the night sky anyway. Cold air nips your bare shoulders, tucks itself between the skin of your belly and your tank top. “Did he eat the shit that was floating in the bowls? I don’t think it was edible.”

In the dim light, Jake examines one of the chunks. It’s a clump of green-tinted yellow, half-digested and crumbling in the grip of the shirt. His stomach turns, but he swallows hard, comes a little closer.

Oh. He snorts softly and you groan above him.

“What is it?” You ask. “Oh, God--is it, like, pineapple chunks?”

“It’s a flower,” Jake says.

“What?” You demand, looking down at him. “A flower?”

He finishes up mopping your legs as you look anywhere but your legs, your jaw beginning to tremble from the cold.

“Was this all some elaborate way to get me flowers?”

His laugh echoes into the night.

“Would you be impressed?” He asks.

“Kinda,” you answer honestly.

“Then yes,” he grins. “I think I got most of it, by the way. Do you wanna see the flower?”

Looking down, frowning, he holds his open palm up to you. And yes, there it is--a marigold submerged in stomach acid.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you breathe out. “How’d you know marigolds are my favorite?”

“I’m just good like that,” he says. “Marigolds, huh? Are they even edible?”

“Anything’s edible if you put it in your mouth.”

He’s grinning up at you, pulse still thumping in his wrists from the past ten minutes. And that’s when he notices that you’re just standing there in a tank top, skin goosed from the cold.

“Here,” he says, standing up.

He unbuttons his shirt quickly and drapes it over your shoulders before you can tell him not to. He grabs the corner of your soiled shirt and nods for you to start for the house.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you whisper.

“I can,” he says. “I’ve been to, like, two parties where no one’s projectiled on someone else.”

Cringing, you shake your head. His shirt is warm--it smells like sandalwood. The denim is thick and soft, like it’s been worn before tonight.

“Thanks for mopping me up,” you tell him as you open the back door for him. The sound is immediate--the thumping speakers, the drunk hollers. “How can I repay you?”

“Dump Spit Sabler,” Jake says. You turn, mouth ajar, looking prettier than you should in his shirt. His chest is tight. “It’s for your own good.”

“My good?” You whisper. “Or…yours?”

He swallows hard. You two just watch each other, the scent of puke thick in the air and the party too loud and the outside too cold. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Can I drive you home?” His voice is flat and serene.

Calm like he already knows your answer because he does.

“Yes,” you whisper because you want to stay here, in his gaze, for as long as he’ll let you. “Can we go now?”

He pulls the keys from his pocket and smiles at you.

Bradley isn’t buckled so he can lean forward in the middle seat and prop his elbows up on the center consol, looking at you and Jake as the world slips past you in a blur of over-exposed white and green.

“Spit Sabler?” Bradley says again, still shaking his head in disbelief.

You’re laughing, shaking your head, too. Jake groans.

“Man, can you shut up already?”

“No,” Bradley says. He looks at you and you look at him--his makeup is melting off his face and his green wig is askew. But even now, you can see that there is a handsome man with a broad smile somewhere beneath it all. “You--you--are with Spit? Spit Sabler?”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “I was.”

Jake doesn’t miss it--was. But he doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes on the old country road you’re all driving down.

“Why?” Bradley asks. “Like, I just can’t wrap my mind around it.”

“Can you leave her alone?” Jake moans. He fiddles with the radio until a Cocteau Twins song comes on, shaking his head. “She already got puked on and now you won’t get off her head.”

“I just have to know!” Bradley insists. “Like, was it…okay, I’m gonna ask. I have to ask.”

Jake looks at Bradley in the rear-view mirror hard, knowing already what he’s going to ask. He points at Bradley’s reflection and Bradley grins back, still a little drunk and quiite stupid.

“What?” You ask, genuinely confused. “What were you gonna ask?”

“Don’t do it,” Jake warns. “Man, you don’t even know her! You’re making me look like I have perv friends!”

“I have to!” Bradley argues. “I have to!”

“Oh,” you say, realizing suddenly. You lean back in your seat and look back at Bradley. “You’re gonna ask me if he has a big dick.”

“Exactly!” Bradley moans. He grabs your shoulders excitedly and squeezes you good-naturedly. “She’s on our level, Jakey!”

“I’m sorry about him,” Jake says, shaking his head. “He was dropped as a baby. Frequently.”

“Twice,” Bradley corrects. He nudges you and you grin at him. “Was it big?” He whispers.

Shaking your head, face warm, you frown.

“Not big enough,” you whisper.

Bradley explodes in the backseat, in stitches as he holds your shoulders tight. And Jake can’t help but crack a smile at the sound--Bradley’s laugh is infectious. And you’re laughing, too.

“Oh, that’s too good!” Bradley’s cheering. “Oh, my God! You just made my night!”

“You’re welcome,” you say, grinning.

“Did he just, like, talk at you until you were confused enough to be in a relationship with him?” Bradley asks.

“She’s not an idiot,” Jake defends, smacking blindly in Bradley’s direction.

Bradley bats his hands away.

“We all have our moments!” Bradley argues. “I didn’t say she’s an idiot.”

“He’s the idiot,” Jake says.

“Yeah,” Bradley agrees. “No arguing there.”

“For the record,” you say to them. “He did kind of talk me into it. One minute we’re in class, the next we’re at coffee and he’s burning his tongue on an Americano. Then his puka shells were on my nightstand. It’s all a blur.”

The car ride continues like this--you grow warm between the heater and Bradley’s laughter and Jake’s fond embarrassment. You learn that Bradley is a business major and that he and Jake are roommate’s and best friends. They learn that you actually really do love marigolds and that you’ve been thinking about ending things with Jeff for a few weeks now--ever since he argued with you about the right way to cut bagels for over an hour.

And by the time they pull up in front of your dorm, they realize that their dorm is just a skip and half a hop away.

“We can come visit you anytime,” Bradley says with a grin. “We’re neighbors!”

“Looks like it,” you say.

Jake is watching you, wishing Bradley would leave. You reach for the handle and his palms grow damp with sweat. It’s quiet in the car.

“I can take a hint,” Bradley whispers. “Use protection!”

He kisses Jake’s head and squeezes your shoulder and then he’s gone.

Then it’s just you and Jake again. Jake is still grumbling about Bradley, wiping the spit and paint off his head. And you’re just smiling at Jake, totally at peace to just sit in the passenger seat of his old truck and let Halloween drift away.

“Thanks for everything,” you say. You swallow hard when his eyes meet yours, when his brows come together. “For, like, saving me from total social humiliation. And for cleaning puke off my legs. And--this.” You pinch the denim shirt in your fingers. “You’re very sweet.”

“It ain’t much, but it’s honest work,” Jake sighs. And really, he wants to tell you that it was his pleasure because it was. He wants to tell you that somehow this has been the best Halloween of his life. “You’ve got yourself a nickname now.”

“What is it?” You whisper.

“Goldie,” he grins.

Ah. Marigold.

“Deceivingly sweet,” you say fondly. Your chin wobbles. “You playing next week, Trip?” You whisper.

You’re itching for a shower--you know you need to get out of his car. You know that this night needs to end. But you can’t help yourself from lingering.

“Starting,” he says. “Not to brag.”

“And yet you manage to,” you tease. “Look for me at the top, okay?”

Eagle-eye.

“And if I said I could get you tickets closer to the field, what would you say?” He ponders. “Just out of curiosity.”

“Well, I’d say that’s very sweet and that you don’t have to do that,” you tell him.

He nods, chewing on his bottom lip. He imagines you there, holding onto the railing, skin goosed as you watch him do what he does best. His chest is wound tight with joy, excitement.

“And then I’d probably say that I know I don’t have to,” he continues. “I want to.”

Nodding, biting a grin, you hum.

“Well,” you whisper. “Maybe we can talk more about it when I drop your shirt off tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Jake says. “We can talk more about it. Maybe over, like, coffee.”

“Yeah,” you answer. “Coffee would be good. No Americano’s, though.”

Another beat. It’s quiet except for the humming radio, the wind whispering outside the windows, the heat blowing on your legs.

“Goodnight, Goldie,” Jake whispers.

Throat tight, you nod. Another grin.

“Goodnight, Trip,” you say.

And as you get out of the car and start for the dorm building, Jake sits and watches you walk all the way to the door. You turn, hand on the heavy handle, and smile when you see him. He waves, his hair soft and his eyes unmoving from your form. Spit never waits for you. In the light of the streetlamp, of the pocket lights of the building, you look like a dream. Like you’re surrounded by a yellow haze.

You wave--so does he.

And then you walk into the building with your heart in your throat, with the soles of your feet on fire. You don’t even care that there’s puke on your legs, that you have an uncomfortable phone call to make, that you have to walk all the way up to the third floor.

You’re floating, really. Floating through pink clouds perfumed with sandalwood, tinged with warmth.

And when Jake gets back into his room, Bradley is waiting for him. He’s on his twin bed, still in his costume and wig and makeup, a management textbook cracked open on his lap as he munches on some crackers and reads in the lamplight.

“I like her,” Bradley says as soon as Jake closes the door. “I really, really like her man.”

“Me too,” Jake admits softly as he toes his boots off. “She’s sweet.”

“She’s funny,” Bradley adds. “She had me in stitches in the car!”

“If I’d have been puked on, it would’ve ruined my week. Shit, it would’ve ruined my year,” Jake muses. He pulls his bandana off and throws it in his closet without looking. “She’s a good sport.”

“You better lock that down,” Bradley says, shaking his head. He scratches his chin and bits of white paint flake off.

“Someone else already has,” Jake says, brows furrowed.

He sits on his own bed and looks at Bradley, who’s yawning and rubbing his eyes. Smearing his makeup.

“Spit doesn’t stand a chance,” Bradley says. “I’ll bet she’s dumping his sorry ass right now.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: SLAYYYYYY I LOVE BRADLEY IN THIS UNIVERSE HE IS SOOOOO STUPID

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

��𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

@thedroneranger

@fandom-life-12

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@aemondssiut

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oneshotgremlin · 4 months ago

Text

Like nothing ever happened

@pizzabox-box holy shit your au has been living in my brain rent free and I must give payment for this disease /pos

Pep was never much of a morning person. For as long as he had been a person, for whatever that’s worth. Regardless, no matter how sleepless the night before was or how groggy he was at the current moment, he had a pizzeria to run.

Firing up the oven, taking out the toppings, prepping for business practically out of auto pilot (he’d ask himself which auto was piloting him but honestly he was too out of it and it was too early to start spiraling into another existential crisis).

(And maybe he should’ve. Really, it was only a matter of time before he’d slip up)

It was when he walked back to the kitchen, sauce at the ready for ladling onto his freshly stretched dough, when he realized said dough had somehow fallen from the countertop and onto the floor.

A pair of eyes were peering up from it to meet him, the dough crawling closer out of apparent curiosity.

He now was acutely aware that his bare hand was starting to melt onto the rubber handle of the spoon.

Fuck FUCK FUCK-

Gustavo and Brick would clock in at any second and they couldn’t see this they couldn’t see it they’d know they’ll all KNOW-

Just. He picked it up, cringing as it wriggled in his grasp. Just get rid of it. He laughed a bit at himself. How could he be so stupid panicking over something like this? He’s done it before, all the time! Back in his pizzeria! Just get rid of it! Just bite it and tear it apart! It’ll be like nothing happened!

Just.

He picked it up, and it looked at him with wide eyes.

Just…

He struggled against the limbs holding him, whimpering and begging.

…just…

It bit down, and his screams were cut off with a sickening crunch.

…

The taste of metal filled its mouth. Its hands, its teeth, it was all dripping with red. His red.

…

He mechanically shoved the creature into a pizza box, it giving little squeaks of protest before seeming to settle down. And step, by step, by step, one foot somehow landing in front of the other he left the restaurant.

In a time span that felt like nothing and perpetual static, the rubble of the tower came to view and he lightly set the pizza creature down at the clearing. Thankfully, the moment it touched the ground it turned tail and ran far away from him.

‘There.’ He thought. Trudging back to the pizzeria, excuses and fake explanations swimming in his mind in anticipation of Gustavo asking why he’d been out and any other questions born of well meaning concern that was never meant for him.

‘Like nothing ever happened.’

#pizza tower #dead man walking au #“peppi-no”#the one time where boxinno DOESN'T get traumatized but at what cost lmao #au creator i love your funny little creatures so so very much thank you for the dopamine #shut up gremlin #also happy fake peppino friday??? no clue if this counts or not #scribbleshot

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ranchracoon · 1 year ago

Text

"Devour" Ch. 1: New Arrivals

Master Post

You are the final servant in the entire castle, as the rest of the staff had been consumed over the winter months. Normally the ladies of the castle only kill when absolutely necessary, however, despite all the prepping via blood donations, this winter has been especially long and difficult. Which meant the stored blood dwindled quickly, the ladies became easily irritable, and a particularly horrid snow storm led to the maiden culling. Thankfully new staff was arriving today, and to say you were excited was an understatement. It’s only been a week, maybe two, since the last maid was killed leaving you to do your normal chores on top of all the other necessities. The extra work has made your body sore and stiff, every step feels like your feet are stuck with glue and it’s getting increasingly difficult to manage your own basic needs.

With a final tug of your black tie it is flat against your neck, your fingers curl under the collar of the white button up and lift the flaps over to cover the sides of the tie, leaving a nice, crisp, neckline. A chill air whisks through the cobblestone room, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin followed by a brief shiver. The morning sun hasn’t woken up yet and winter was gasping its last cold breaths over the estate. Spring was around the corner, but the halls of the castle would not get warmer until Summer. With a final brush of your hands over the obsidian vest and pants of your uniform you pull the matching jacket over yourself, and leave your chambers to begin your morning ritual.

At the entrance leading to the vineyard hangs a dirty apron with sleeves covered in splinters, and wood chips. You grab it and place it over your uniform to protect the fine fabric from rips, and stains. Lady Dimitrescu once sliced open a maid for having a rip along the hem, as she was excessively obsessed with appearances. This duty requires carrying logs from the outer vineyard to one room after another, starting a fire, then stroking the flames to life. First stop is the kitchen so you can warm the stove and start a large pot of water to bring to a boil. The main hall is next, dusting off the couch and seats closest to the fireplace, and replenishing the wood stock next to it.

The water is boiling on your return trip for more wood, so you remove the pot, and use a ladle to pour the hot water into a tea kettle with dried tea leaves sitting on the bottom. The tea leaves will steep in the hot water, by the time you’re finished with the rest of the fireplaces and waking the ladies it will be ready to serve.

After grabbing more wood, you walk through the main hall, down the large steps, turn right and arrive inside the Lady’s personal seating area. The fireplace there is no longer usable due to the sizable hole in the back of the brick paneling: an unfortunate consequence of Lady Cassandra's anger. After readjusting the wood sack on your back, you knock on the primed wooden door awaiting any indication of the Lady being awake. No answer. A gentle twist of the door knob and slight push from your weight opened the door. Heavy, rhythmic breathing comes from the left corner, as the Lady lay resting you place the wood into the fireplace and throw a lit match into it, blowing softly until it caught onto the kindling and began to burn.

With the warmth quickly spreading through the room, you stand near the door in order to wake the Lady. Although you never had an issue, subconsciously you fear that one day she is going to wake up in a sour mood and slice anything within distance of her claws. The task of waking the ladies is always the worst part of your day, because waking up is the worst part of their day. All them are incredibly moody in the morning, but thankfully they’ve become less and less violent toward you.

“My Lady.” You husk out, your voice is stiff from the cold.

A low, rumbling, growl comes from the head of the bed, a throaty groan following soon after. Her body shifts in the bed, rolling toward your direction until she settles on her side with her predatory eyes reflecting the glow of the fire. She is the least moody out of all the ladies, but if her looks alone could kill, you and many others would have died long ago.

“It’s time to wake up my Lady.” You say softly.

She stirs from her bed without a word, waving a hand for you to come forward when she stands up. Every morning she goes to her dressing room to prepare for the day with her personal maid, but without a personal maid it was up to you to fill that role. You follow behind her, back to the main hall, up the main stairwell to the second floor, and down the hall to the dressing room. Inside the room she begins to strip from her nightgown while you use a stool to get out a fresh dress for her to step into. Once she has her undergarments on you await on your stool until the dress is at her shoulders and you finish the outfit by zipping up the back. Lady Dimitrescu dismisses you, for she can finish getting herself ready and it is time for you to wake up her daughters.

To make the rest of the job easier, you take a large dirty sheet and load it up with wood to carry on your back. This way you not only cut your job time in half, but also how many trips you have to take. After having to climb nearly all the stairs in the castle daily, you’d think it would get easier as time goes on; but after each flight you have to pause and pant to catch your breath before continuing on your way. Once you ignite the fire in a hallway you go and knock on the lady’s door then move onto the next.

“It’s time to wake up Lady Cassandra.”

“It’s time to wake up Lady Bela.”

“It’s time to wake up lady Daniela.”

All of the ladies confirm that they’re awake with either a hiss or buzz as a response, which is better than the first time you woke up Bela who threw her sickle at the door. Hanging the wood apron back on its hook, you make your way to the kitchen and put on another apron that is stained red. Regardless of how raw your hands became from washing it, the blood stained apron would never return to anything less than a light red hue. Even bleach stopped working.

The back of the kitchen is decorated with hanging limbs, and barrels of blood because Lady Dimitrescu insists on using every part of their “kills.” That also means that the back is cursed with the permanent stench of death and decay. Everybody vomits when they smell the back room for the first time, but eventually you learn to suck in a deep breath and move like lightning. The final fire is lit, and your pinched face examines the scenario in front of you; all of these maids were killed over a week ago, and although the cold of the kitchen has kept them cool, they are beginning to turn tepid. The lack of quality will put the ladies in a worse mood than they already are. You’ll have to cook and season the meat to hide the staleness.

The nausea would subside once you were out of the room, until then, you hold it back as the sharp filet knife slices over the skin of a removed arm. The smell of cooked flesh makes your senses dull, the nausea forcing its way further, threatening to make you vomit. Your saving grace is your option of opening the windows to allow a fresh breeze inside, since the ladies of the castle never venture into the kitchen. Butter and spices are added to the flesh, overly seasoning to hide the rank of the meat. Once breakfast is done, you pile the tray of still sizzling food next to the tea onto a rolling cart.

Before you leave, you grab the last bottle of wine stored in the kitchen and would have to ask Lady Bela to get more from the cellar. If there is anymore. You let out a long sigh as you exit the kitchen, your stomach grumbling in protest but you will eat later. You hang the stained apron up, and roll the cart through the double doors leading to the main hall. Lady Dimitrescu is already sitting in a chair that faces the fireplace with a coffee table in front of her. Two couches are on each side of the table where the girls have materialized and perk up at the sight of their breakfast.

“Finally. I’m so hungry.” Daniela moans.

“I can’t wait for fresh blood.” Cassandra complains.

You remove the tray, placing it in the center of the three girls and removing the lid once it settles on the table. Each one starts reaching and digging their teeth into the flesh, followed by unimpressed ‘hmphs’ and ‘hmms’ at the taste. You pour the blood infused tea, and the wine, handing the cup to the mistresses before standing back, eyes forward and hands folded in front of you.

“Now now dears, I know it is always exciting to have fresh help around the castle, but please do me a favor and try not to kill them all so quickly. Otherwise we will be right back where we are.” Lady Dimitrescu says calmly, as she places the cup edge to her lips.

“We could always drink you.” Lady Bela eyes you devilishly.

Your jaw tenses. Aside from the occasional teasing, the last time they paid you any mind was around the first few months you began working here. All three of them tried to scare or threaten you, but apparently your reactions weren’t to their standards. Otherwise they left you alone, and you’re certain that at one point they forgot you existed entirely. However, having been deprived of other entertainment other than torturing each other, it seems their interest has peaked in you once again.

“You’ll kill her and then we’ll be without all of our help entirely.” Lady Dimitrescu speaks sternly.

A low groan leaves Lady Bela’s throat as she rolls her head off to the side and scoffs under her breath. You release a pent up sigh, release the tension in your jaw, and try to relax your posture a little. Lady Dimitrescu leans down to put her cup on the table, she crosses her legs at the ankles and rests her hands on her knees. Her eyes never look away from the flames of the fire as she begins to speak again.

“When are the new hires meant to arrive Y/N?” Lady Dimitrescu asks.

“8:30 ma’am.” You respond.

The clock chimed eight times in tandem with your answer, the girls begin to buzz with excitement as Lady Dimitrescu finishes her cup. Her eyes glow for more, her hunger unsatisfied, but all she can do is breath heavily knowing this is a temporary feeling.

“Y/N.” Lady Dimitrescu calls.

“Yes ma’am?” You ask, taking a step forward.

“The list of new hires is in my chambers on the writing desk. I will leave it up to you to decide who goes where.”

“Yes ma’am.” You answer, and start to walk to her chambers.

“Now daughters, when they arrive I want you all to make yourselves scarce. You can make your presence known after they are inside, and we can begin blood donations in a few days to replenish our supply. Understood?”

“Yes mother.” The three girls agreed in unison.

The names on the paper were scribbled in the familiar cursive of your Lady, and where they are to be stationed. Folding the paper up neatly and slipping it into your coat pocket, you exit the Lady’s chambers, and promptly return to the main hall to collect the dishes. In the half hour left you get the dishes done and a quick bite to eat before the bells of the castle ring to life.

You straighten out your uniform as you make your way to the carriage gate, once there you pull the wide double doors open, letting the terrified women all herded into the grand entrance. You close the doors quickly behind them, no need to lock the doors because there is nowhere for them to go anyhow. The eyes of the many are on you as the crowd of thirty or more women, all of various ages, walk behind you to the main hall. You clear your throat when you stop walking and turn to stand in front of them, all of them shifting uncomfortably, as remnants of your own time standing there tickle your head.

“Good morning. I am Y/N, the head maiden of House Dimitrescu. Here we serve Lady Dimitrescu, Lady Bela, Lady Cassandra, and Lady Daniela, whom you shall refer to as such. You are to report to me every morning for assignments until you learn the routine of the castle and your tasks. I will show you all your quarters to be allowed to change, and drop off your belongings before we continue on a tour of where you will be permitted. Follow me.” Your voice was monotone, slightly harsh and deep given the small flinches of the ladies near the front.

You lead the new girls to the maid’s quarters, the entire time a quiet buzzing is heard just outside of your earshot but you know it’s one of the ladies. You wait outside the door and motion your hands to the two different rooms, each room holds approximately 20 people with rows of beds along the walls and a trunk at each bed. After all the women change into uniforms that fit and return to the hallway, you continue the tour to the kitchen. All of the women start to gag and cough, even with the windows open the smell was potent and eye burning.

“If you’re going to vomit, there’s a bucket to your left.” Your voice is slightly softer this time, remembering when you first laid eyes upon the mutilated corpses of the maids before you.

“If you feel like running. Go ahead. Whatever you heard may or may not be true, but know that the ladies of this castle will consume you, and running will only make it come faster.”

A silent fear overcomes the group, until a lone voice speaks up.

“Why haven’t they killed you then?”

You ponder for a moment before answering, “they certainly might as soon as you all are adequate enough in your positions. I cannot speak as to why they haven’t yet. The only advice I can give is be quiet, respond immediately, and don’t make mistakes.”

An uncomfortable shift happens in the crowd, seeing the women wanting to run or hide or anything from this place. Their faces hold pure disgust while simultaneously their hands pinch their noses.

You sigh softly, “it’s better if you know now what is expected of you, instead of coming to the unfortunate conclusion yourself.”

The rest of the tour goes on without interruption, and at the end you question them for anyone who has any experience in cooking, cleaning, or gardening. You call out the names on the list and write down who goes where and does what. Those with cooking experience will be in charge of cooking all the meals, maintaining the kitchen and dining room, and ensuring the storage of wine is kept fully stocked. Those with cleaning experience will clean the linens, and the castle except the private halls and chambers of the ladies.

Those with gardening experience will be stationed in the quarters off from the vineyard, they have the hardest jobs of all. They will have to chop wood for the fire places, prepare the vineyard, tend to the courtyard flowers, and remove any rotten corpses used for scarecrows.

By now it was near supper which makes an excellent transition time. The maids that are assigned to the kitchen come in a single file line, all of them looking at you expectantly. Their eyes shifting around in fright, and watering from the smell. Their uniforms are black long-sleeved button up shirts, with long black dresses, and white aprons to cover the front. The long sleeves are extra lined to prevent burns and cuts from happening. Dinner will take longer than usual, you pray to Mother Miranda that the ladies have a sliver of patience tonight.

The new maids begrudgingly begin to prepare the meal, you warn them that they instead can be the meal, and that makes them work with more gumption. Finally they get the meal on a tray, and you usher them out into the main hall. Lady Dimitrescu is walking down the stairs with a bottle in her hand, you eye the bottle and groan internally for forgetting to ask for more wine. You bow, eyeing behind you and waving with your hand that the rest of them did too.

“Good evening my Lady. I apologize for the inconvenience of supper being late.”

“No need.” She says calmly.

Judging from the vinegar in her voice, if her daughters don’t kill all the maids by the end of week she certainly will. Speaking of: buzzing fills the air as three black, swarming masses appear near the new maids. All three sisters poke their formed upper bodies from the masses and hiss, causing the maids to scream and one of them faint on the floor.

“Mmmm fresh blood.” Lady Bela giggles, inhaling sharply as one maid cowered her head.

“I think that’s a new record.” Cassandra taunts as she looks down at the fainted maid.

The other two giggle and follow behind their sister, inhaling the new arrivals, their eyes screaming with hunger. A cold hand touches your left shoulder, trailing along your shoulder blades then resting on your right shoulder. You glance over to see Cassandra’s face near yours, close enough you can smell breakfast that still lingered on her breath.

“You don’t smell too bad either, Y/N. You’re lucky we have other playthings now.”

Your eyes lock with her golden ones, not saying anything as she smirks and sits down across from her sisters. The new maidens serve the meal, their bodies shaking the entire time but nothing spilled or broke. The four women eat and drink in silence, the girls eyeing the new maidens hungerly. The muscles in your jaw tense again, clamping your teeth together as you attempt to keep your face composed.

“Ladies, you may leave us for now. Y/N, stay. I need to speak with you.”

The other maids hurry out of the main hall back to the pungent safety of the kitchen. Your eyes look up at Lady Dimitrescu who now looks back at you.

“What can I do for you ma’am?” You ask.

She takes the final sip of her wine, the irritation on her face growing steadily more noticeable with the less blood she consumes. Soon there will be a steady flow of blood and she will not have to rely on wine reserves.

“With this new help I am changing your assigned tasks. Once the new maidens are comfortable, you will personally see to my daughter’s chambers and anything else they require. I can only imagine the destruction these girls have caused to their own rooms.”

The girls look up in agitation, “we don’t have anything to do. I even finished all the books in the library.” Lady Daniela whines.

The other two start to chime in, Lady Bela eyeing you unexpectedly makes you shift your gaze away.

Lady Dimitrescu raises her hand, “enough. I understand you three are bored. I do. We have to get through spring, and when the grapes are ready to be harvested, summer will arrive and you will be allowed full access outside to satisfy your needs. Until then, we only have a few bottles of wine left so I implore that you all practice your patience.”

Lady Cassandra taps her fingers against her cheek, “amongst other things I suppose.”

Her eyes land on you, this unexpected attention from the three daughters makes the hairs on your neck stand on end. A sensation that hasn’t occurred since the first time one of the girls touched you non-threatening.

“Y/N.” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice caught your attention.

“Yes ma’am.” You say quickly.

“I trust with your work load being lifted, you’ll ensure that the new maids do not cause trouble like the last bunch did. As much as I enjoy fresh blood, I do not want my daughters slaughtering the whole mess over fickle matters.”

“Yes ma’am.” You reply.

With that, she sets her glass down and stands, taking strides toward her chambers. You turn to enter the kitchen, asking for the maids to come and clear the dishes as the girls giggle. The daughters watch the new maids clean in a panicked manner, their eyes glowing with thoughts of blood.

#re8 #daniela dimitrescu #donna beneviento #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #dimitrescu sisters #dimitrescu sisters x reader #bela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu x reader #daniela dimitrescu x reader #Cassandra Dimitrescu x reader #continue reading

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transgenderer · 1 year ago

Text

An Atash Behram (Fire of Victory) is the highest grade of a fire that can be placed in a Zoroastrian fire temple as an eternal flame, the other two lower graded fires are Atash Adaran and below Adaran is the Atash Dadgah- these three grades signify the degree of reverence and dignity these are held in. The establishment and consecration of the Atash Behram fire is the most elaborate of all the grades of fire

The 16 types of fire required for an Atash Behram are:[1]

Fire used in burning a corpse

The fire used by a dyer

The fire from a house of a king or a ruling authority

Fire from a potter

Fire from a brick-maker

Fire from an ascetic

Fire from a goldsmith

Fire from a mint

Fire from an ironsmith

Fire from an armourer

Fire from a baker

Fire from a brewer

Fire from a soldier

Fire from a shepherd

Fire produced by atmospheric lightning

Fire from the house of a Zoroastrian: what is actually done is fire is collected from the houses of a Dastur (High priest/ senior priest,) a Mobad and from the house of a layman. A natural fire is also kindled by striking two flint stones and the spark igniting some sandalwood. This last fire is kept with the 16th fire

Whereas fires from professions/ work listed above is obtained by a Zoroastrian layman or priest approaching the person and requesting he be allowed to collect burning embers from the fire, in the case of fire from a burning corpse, the Zoroastrian waits for the corpse to burn down, then with a metal ladle, with handle at least three feet in length, he fills the ladle with sandalwood or other inflammable wood filings, these ignite by heat from the burning embers of the pyre, the person making sure the ladle does not touch the hot embers of the funeral pyre.

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gender0bender · 1 year ago

Text

Steel closets : voices of gay, lesbian, and transgender steelworker by Anne Belay, available on the Internet Archive

Transcript:

Miles began working in a steel mill in 1999 as an out lesbian, but he quit about eight years later because of repeated shoulder injuries and general exhaustion. He says it's not really accurate to say that he transitioned while working at the mill, since "we never really have a transition. We'll always be transgendered because our past experiences and history go along with us. So I'll always consider myself transitioning." I met Miles at the Cornwall Iron Furnace just outside of Philadelphia. It's a National Historic Landmark, pre- serving a nineteenth-century ironmaking complex and documenting the ironmaking process, as well as its effect on the area around the furnace and the workers' lives. Miles had suggested this meeting place, noting that he had always wanted to see the exhibits. He was curious about the history of the steelmaking process, and tickled by seeing his huge, powerful, mascu- line job echoed within this seemingly fragile incarnation made of bricks, and described for us by local elderly ladies.

For example, once the iron in Cornwall was molten, it was poured into one central branch, from which it flowed into a row of troughs pressed into the sand, which we were told resembled baby pigs nursing a sow-hence the name "pig iron." Miles noted that his job used many of the same tech- niques, since "I was a spruer. Parts will come out of a didion [a brand of metal separating equipment], which shook off the sand, and my job was to break the pieces apart. You see them come out on that long bar, they were lying them into them troughs, that's called a sprue tree, OK, as it goes down along, now in modern times, we have machines that press sand blocks together if you're work- ing on small parts. 'Cause we don't work on really big stuff, we work on cou- plings so it was smaller stuff. It would come down and this didion would spin it around, and little stars inside would clean off the material, but it still wasn't fully clean. It put them down on this table, which would shake up and down, and they were split in half, and the stuff would go and be remelted and what we wanted to keep for good pieces would go down and be cleaned and checked. I would stand there with a lead hammer and whack those pieces off the sprue tree. Separate the sprue tree from the good stuff." Seeing the shape of the sprue tree pressed into sand on the floor in front of a gigantic, prehistoric ladle made this whole process more comprehensible to me. And though the scale was much smaller than that of the big production mills still in op- eration, it was nonetheless vast-the blast furnace was about three stories high, with tap holes at the bottom from which the finished product ran.

The human component of steelmaking similarly remains fairly constant. After we examined a replica of a nineteenth-century steelworker dressed for work, Miles showed me his respirator, noting "The kerchief on the man's face? This would be more of a modern version of the kerchief." He also showed me his leather apron, adding that "they still use the [wooden] shoes, by the way. Nothing has really gotten up to date I guess you'd say. It's really an old art form. I would call it an art form." His burn clothes are made of Kevlar but oth- erwise duplicate the old patterns. This continuity is part of the cultural and historical context crucial to understanding how masculinity gets defined and shifted within the mills. The work remains the same, even though the larger culture's definitions of gender and masculinity are shifting. Count- less published accounts document the struggles of steelworker families when the man of the house is laid off and the woman has to find work. Though this shift occurred well after second-wave feminism, when most American women were in the paid workforce, the consistency of steelwork, and the corollary consistency of steelworkers' gender roles, made it hard for these families to adjust. Miles attributes his fascination with the consistency of mill work and mill workers over time to his experience with occupying both genders while working in the mills. Though he became a man, he did not change his tasks, his garments, or his self-presentation at work-he had always been masculine. Which parallels the "enormous struggle within the gay male community to come to terms with the stigma of effeminacy. The most strik- ing result has been a shift from effeminate to masculine styles" (Newton, Mother Camp, xiii). An exaggerated masculinity linked, if only rhetorically, to working-class culture, reinforces traditional gender roles, even as it sug- gests that only one gender is really worth doing.

#transgender #transmasculine #trans men #working class trans men #my uploads #steel closets

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moorheadthanyoucanhandle · 26 days ago

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EVERYTHING EVERY TIME ALL IN ONE PLACE

Playing wide in the multiplexes right now:

Here--A spot in a living room in an upscale eastern Pennsylvania suburb--that's the title locale of this latest from Robert Zemeckis. It's our static vantage point for, essentially, the whole movie, looking across the room through a picture window that offers a view of the big brick colonial-era house across the street.

We see the view there before it was a living room--long, long before. As in, we see it during the extinction event that ended the Cretaceous Period, sixty million years ago. We see it as a woodland make-out spot for indigenous lovers (Dannie McCallum and Joel Oulette), and as a burial site. We see it as part of a dirt road leading up to the aforementioned historic manse, which once was occupied by William Franklin (Daniel Betts), estranged Loyalist son of Benjamin (Keith Bartlett).

After the house is built, we get glimpses of the lives of its early 20th-Century inhabitants, like an enthusiastic aviator (Gwilym Lee) whose wife (Michelle Dockery) frets about his flying. They're followed by a whimsical inventor (David Fynn) and his sexy flapper wife (Ophelia Lovibond). This guy is trying to perfect a reclining chair; his working title for it is "Relax-y-Boy." And we see the house's early 21st-Century occupants, an African-American family; Nicholas Pinnock and Nikki Amuka-Bird are the parents, and Anya Marco-Harris is the beloved housekeeper.

But the movie's main focus is the midcentury family that takes the place over after WWII: Dad (Paul Bettany), a combat veteran and a seething, disappointed functional alcoholic, his sweet, quietly unfulfilled wife (Kelly Reilly), and his oldest son (Tom Hanks), an aspiring artist. The son gets his beautiful girlfriend (Robin Wright) pregnant, so there goes both art school and her college dreams. They move in with the parents, and stay for decades.

So the movie packs in a lot of history (and prehistory), a lot of longings fulfilled and unfulfilled, and cultural references ranging from the Spanish flu to the Spanish Inquistion sketch from Monty Python. But I'll admit that when I realized we were going to be parked in one place for the whole thing--I went in not knowing this--I panicked for a moment.

I needn't have worried. Zemeckis has always been a skillful showman, and while the audacious experiment of Here is by no means an unqualified success, it certainly never bored me. The script, by Eric Roth and Zemeckis, is based on a 2014 graphic novel by Richard McGuire, and Zemeckis employs comic-book techniques like overlapping inset panels to interweave the various timelines and bounce them off each other thematically. It's an impressive and confident exercise in narrative, and it does carry a cumulative emotional punch.

There are downsides, however. The fixed point of view means that the actors tend to seem a bit far away from us a lot of the time, and when they are brought up into the foreground it somehow feels forced. Zemeckis may have been worried about this distancing too; Alan Silvestri's music, though pretty, is ladled on a bit thicker than it should be, as if to telegraph what we're supposed to be feeling.

Much more jarringly, though, the people in Here often have an ersatz, CGI "Uncanny Valley" look to them. The leads were taken all the way back to teenaged through some sort of real-time computer tech, and while the results are tolerable, they aren't perfected in realistic terms.

It must be admitted, however, that Hanks and Wright transcend this limitation, especially Hanks. The other actors sometimes feel like cyber-phantoms, but Hanks is so vibrant that he can project his humanity right through the program. And after Apollo 13, Castaway, Captain Phillips and Sully, it's also a relief to see the poor guy stay put.

#here movie #robert zemeckis #eric roth #tom hanks #robin wright #richard mcguire #paul bettany #kelly reilly #michelle dockery #ophelia lovibond #alan silvestri #nikki amuka bird #joel oulette #dannie mccallum

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veilxstars · 28 days ago

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For: Copper | @blackcatxmagic Location: Maplewood Inn Time: Halloween Night (post festivities) Character: Scout

It was late. The trick-or-treaters were long abed. The festivities had settled and were fading into memory -- and Scout couldn't sleep. So, instead, she cooked.... and she was still dressed as the Sixth Doctor, not having the energy to go upstairs and get undressed... though she did leave the scarf draped over the chair where Panda was sleeping, as he had claimed it as his blanket. As Scout stirred the pot, the rich aroma of a beef stew filled the kitchen, its warmth enveloping the inn. She had been experimenting with flavors, searching for the perfect blend that would evoke the feeling of home—something hearty to nourish weary travelers. Tonight’s stew simmered with earthy cumin, a touch of smoked paprika, and a splash of red wine, creating a medley of scents that danced in the air, inviting and comforting.

In the corner, her brick oven remained warm -- how many times lately had she curled up with her back against it while the bread baked and she was able to read or sketch? The thick, stone walls radiated heat, comfort. She took pride in each loaf that emerged golden and crackling, their crusts a perfect balance of crisp and soft.

The air was infused with the spicy warmth of cinnamon and nutmeg, an aromatic signature of her magic. But as she mixed and stirred, her thoughts drifted to Reagan, Reagan had an innate ability to elevate simple dishes into something extraordinary, and Scout often found herself captivated by her ex-girlfriend’s flair for spices and creativity.

With a soft sigh, Scout pulled herself back to the present, focusing on the meal before her. She ladled the steaming stew into a rustic bowl, the savory scent curling up in lazy spirals, rich and inviting. “For you, Copper,” she said, her smile genuine as she set the bowl down. This dish was crafted not only to satisfy hunger but to weave a story—of home, of heart, and of the spicy warmth that lingered long after the last bite was taken. "I know it's late, but I appreciate you being willing to be the taste-tester. I'm working on the winter menu. We'll be open two weeks before Christmas if I keep working at this pace, and I'll start taking reservations again in another week or so."

#scout: replies #scout x copper 03 #blackcatxmagic (copper)

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aiglesperch · 2 months ago

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Writing Prompt #1 - Outside the Window

Photo by Matteo Catanese on Unsplash

It rains down the pale-wood window.

Mist hits the city as raindrops descend down into the tar-laden road, brick tiles, washes down the concrete of the nearby wall, bounces off the feathers of a dove gliding down the snow-hued sky to perch on a high-raise office building's railings, its companions lying in wait for the rains to subside so that they can fly in search of food and shelter.

A murder of crows flock down the branches of the tree nearby.

One among them croaks at the nearby biker clad in rainsuit before realising that its attempts are futile and that the man won't be deterred by a mere bird, and flies up to meet its brothers and caw en masse. The biker hits a dog, who yelps and reaches to bite the man.

He mutters a colourful amount of swears before taking his bike down the highway road, ignoring the animal.

The rain drips down the asphalt sheets, which serve as roofs, of the flower shop down the street. The middle-aged woman, clad in a colourful saree and sporting a cluster of marigolds and jasmine tied at the back of her bun, looks at the skies exasperated, wishing the temporary nuisance to end.

Her flowers are tucked in plastic bags, pink and the usual pale ones. However, it is wise to say that they should be sold soon, lest they wilt.

Her gaze now strikes the peeling posters stuck on the dilapidated wall and a coffee-shop nearby, recognisable by the milk vessel and the ladle the burly shopkeeper holds to pour the boiling decaf into a tumbler, to which he adds the hot milk and sugar, and pours it tumbler-to-vattai and likewise. This, he serves to his patron and turns to listen to the news channel served from YouTube via his phone.

A man drags from the cigarette he's holding and lets out smoke, a matching combination to the fog the rain brings forth. He chats with the nearby man in an intimidating fashion.

His next customer is a man descending from a bike. Rain has washed off the blood from his front wheel. He too orders a warm glass of coffee and a packet of chips for his son as he handles his phone against his ear.

He sips and looks at the torrential downpour, listening to a 60's film's music along with the shopkeeper.

He then gets on his bike and without even sparing the men a glance thunders down the rickety road.

#french aigle #aigle writes #writers on tumblr #fall #flowers #rainyday #rainymood #thunderstorm #weather #creative writing #writeblr #writing community #writing #writing prompt #indian #indian life #writerscommunity #writers

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number-onekidqueen · 2 years ago

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𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐀𝐔 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐

athlete!Tedros x physiotherapist!Agatha

angst

Warnings: intoxication, insecurities.

Agatha wondered for the millionth time what she was doing as she slipped from the car, Sophie fussing beside her.

Details Sophie could find about the party had been scarce, but what she did find was that it was a quirky dress up sort of theme.

Agatha was not grateful for the additional motivation, creativity and excitement that invoked from Sophie.

Still, here she was, the product of her hard work.

A princess, 'just as Tedros should call you' Sophie had affirmed when Agatha had complained.

Her usually flat hair, with the help of a can of dry shampoo and generous pumps of mousse had been fashioned into the trendy messy up-do of late, 'collating recent trend and medieval bun in a glorious symphony.'

Navy and gold had been the colours that best suited her pale skin, according to Sophie. So she had donned a smooth, navy party dress obediently, with a slim sash of gold, whose skirt travelled to the ankle with a thigh-high split, and whose neckline revealed a smidge too much for Agatha's liking, but even she admitted looked good.

To distract that view, she had worn the ruby pendant given by her mother, and an old false sapphire bridesmaid tiara she had worn to Kiko's wedding.

She had tried to escape from Sophie's clutches before make up had been applied, but failed miserably. She begrudgingly had allowed her to apply gold eye shadow and rosy lip gloss, that tasted like strawberries, Sophie had cheerily informed her, so Tedros would enjoy kissing her.

Those thoughts and actions seemed the most foolish events on Earth now. Ascending the steps to the glass double doors leading into the large brick mansion, the beat of the deafening music already reverberating through her bones, Agatha's hands began to sweat.

Her anxiety only grew as the doors were pushed open by Sophie, the cacophony of party sounds blasting in her face. Sophie paid the raucous activities surrounding them no heed, only tugging her along with a perfectly manicured hand.

And so began the night.

As Agatha marked a half hour passed and Sophie's seventh glass of punch, she decided to let loose.

She had just been reaching for the ladle when a voice sounded behind them.

"Sophie?"

It was Hort. Sophie's ex, situationship, and occasional archenemy and obsession. They had a tangled history Sophie didn't even know where to begin recounting on most occasions.

"Hort!" Sophie exclaimed, tripping over her feet as she rushed to him, "Darling! I heard you went amazing in your match!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Hort," she slurred as she cradled his cheek, "it's such a long story. But I've missed you, and I especially dressed hoping I'd see you."

"I'm supposed to like princesses?" He joked.

Sophie bristled at that, withdrawing and scowling at him.

"No! She's the princess," She spat, with a gesture in Agatha's general direction, "I'm the flower nymph. I can't believe that you of all people wouldn't see that."

She began shaking her head and stormed away, ignoring Agatha and Hort's exclamations of protest as she set down her punch roughly with a slosh.

Agatha was left alone as Hort swiftly pursued her.

She did the only thing she could think of doing. She drank.

She was pretty sure she drank around five glasses before she forgot to count. Then, it was around twelve. After what she assumed was sixteen, and she was starting to find the splashing in her glass hilarious, she knew it was time to retreat and find Sophie.

Stumbling away, she barely noticed the cuddling couples, vomiting people and comatose bodies, stepping over them somehow and weaving through the remaining dancers and kissing stragglers.

Continuing her search, she yielded nothing, eventually giving up on Sophie and flopping onto a couch, not caring that three half-filled bowls of snacks spilled and tumbled off. There she sat, attempting to brainstorm where Sophie would've wandered, or where she might have taken Hort for a romantic encounter.

That was until she noticed Tedros, alone and surveying the view from the veranda. She blanched as he turned, making to enter the room where she sat.

Scrambling, she jumped off the sofa with a squeak and tumbled behind it, squatting and fixing her dress as she held her breath. Gosh, she hoped he hadn't seen her. If he had-

"Hiding from your boyfriend?" A voice slurred from behind her.

She swivelled awkwardly, wincing, and rose up, avoiding his gaze. He still dwarfed her by a good foot when she straightened to her full height. Guilt blossomed in her as she met his gaze, at the tides of hurt in his azure irises he was trying to rein in.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded.

The guilt evaporated at that tone, replaced by drunken annoyance. Agatha scowled at him, stepping backwards and crossing her arms.

"I wasn't aware it was a private party." She sniped.

"I wasn't aware plans with your boyfriend changed." He bit back sharply.

"Why does it bother you, anyway? Annoyed that I can have fun without you? That I actually have a life apart from tending to Mr. Golden Athlete?"

"No, I guess I just thought you were different. That we both felt something. But apparently not. I guess it would be fun leading on all your patients, wouldn't it?" He laughed cruelly.

Agatha paled at that, at the raw anger that was surfacing in his expression. Tedros was very, very intoxicated.

"Tedros-"

"It would've been a hilarious game for you. Watching me catch feelings. Viewing my flustered words and-"

"It's not like that!"

"-invitation for you. And then rejecting me at the end of all of it. Is that the reason you became a physiotherapist?"

"No, it's not. My motivation was never to hurt you, but to help you." Agatha protested.

"Really? How can rejecting me and talking about a boyfriend help me? And then turning up anyway, without that boyfriend?"

"I don't know."

"Neither do I. I really don't understand you. Wanna explain? Or is your boyfriend coming to pick you up soon?"

"I like you," Agatha blurted, "I promised myself I'd never say that to you, but there you go: I like you. And you're supposed to be my patient and we're not supposed to do things like this, but you're funny and kind and charming. And-"

She didn't let herself say more as she noted his expression hadn't changed a fraction.

"You deserved better." She finally said, swallowing her tears.

"What?"

His expression had finally changed; it was now confused, outraged, waiting for her to elaborate.

"You deserve..." Agatha gestured to a dancing and giggling group of tanned and blonde girls in skimpy dresses, in particular Beatrix, a stunning girl who was known to change boyfriends as quickly as mothers changed nappies, "someone beautiful and perfect like them. Not someone insecure, introverted and ugly like me. You deserve better than that."

Tedros looked at her as if she'd grown three heads. Eventually, he sighed.

"For a med student, you are literally the dumbest person I know."

And then he stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her.

"Just so you know," he whispered, "I'd choose you every time."

"Maybe that makes you the dumb one then," Agatha whispered back, a small smile on her lips.

"Impossible," he chuckled, before they kissed again.

#hort x sophie #hophie #tagatha #tedros x agatha #angst #modern au #sge hort #sge sophie #sge agatha #sge tedros #tedros pendragon #tedros of camelot #agatha of woods beyond #agatha x tedros #sophie x hort #sophie of gavaldon #hort of bloodbrook

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mydarllinglover · 1 year ago

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SafeHouse || Three

I spent most of the time in lessons looking out for Malfoy and waiting for his arrival, dont ask me why, I had no idea myself, but I would tell you it was to make sure he was okay, for Hagrids benefit.

The rest of the time was spent in the library, trying to catch up on my studies and incase I had missed anything from the two years I spent at Beaubaxtons on a different learning course.

I hadn't seen a lot of Ron and Harry, only really Hermione and that was mostly just in silence as we both studied.

It was Thursday, in potions class with the Gryffindors when Malfoy swaggered in, his right arm bandaged up and wrapped in a sling, he was acting as though he was this heroic survivor who had just slain a dragon to save a poor village, not a prick who decided to piss off a Hippogriff.

"How is it, Draco?" Pansy simpered after him "does it hurt much?"

"Yeah" Malfoy replied, putting on a brave grimace. But I as well as the rest of the class caught the wink he sent to his two cronies when Pansy looked away, making me roll my eyes at the show.

"Settle down, Settle down" Professor Snape told the class, I rolled my eyes again at the fact that the only people who were talking was Malfoy and Parkinson.

We were making a shrinking solution today.

Malfoy decided to set up his cauldron next to Ron and Harry so they would be preparing their ingredients on the same table whilst I worked on a table with Hermione.

I heard Malfoy call out to Professor Snape "Sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots because of my arm-"

"Weasley, cut up Malfoys roots for him" Snape had instructed my twin without looking up.

I watched how my brother went Brick red

"Theres nothing wrong with your arm" I saw him hiss at Malfoy.

I looked at Hermione, her giving me a grimace back as we sensed Ron would be losing it very quickly, and with Snape in charge this surely would end badly for my dear brother.

"you dont mind do-"

"Go, make him switch with you, its fine" Hermione told me

I walked over to Harry and Ron, trying my best to go unnoticed By Snape, I may be a Slytherin, but it didn't mean he was that keen on me.

"Hey, Ron do you mind switching with me, I cant quite see the board from my place, but I don't wanna leave Hermione on her own" I hinted to him

"Really? maybe you should just write to mum, she can- Ow, okay, see ya Harry" He finally got it after I kicked him in the shin, then picked up his own stuff and brought it over to my old spot.

"Thanks" Harry mumbled to me, probably glad that he wouldn't have to pull Ron off of Malfoy and most likely ending up in detention.

"I'm pretty sure Snape meant the other Ginger, but you'll do, I guess" Malfoy rolled his eyes.

I returned it as I cut up his daisy roots neatly, knowing nothing else would be good for his Majesty "will that be all your royal highness?" I asked him with no emotion.

Instead of answering me, he called to Snape again "And, sir, I'll need this Shrivelfig skinned" he told the greasy man with a malicious laugh

"Potter, you can skin Malfoys Shrivelfig" Harry made quick work on it, throwing it back to Malfoy, almost hitting me in the face with it in the mean time.

"Seen your pal, Hagrid lately?" Malfoy asked us quietly

"Mind your business" I whispered back at him, not bothering to look up just to be met with his stupid smirk.

"I'm afraid he wont be a teacher much longer,' Malfoy explained, putting on a voice of mock sorrow, as if he actually cared "Fathers not very happy about my injury"

"I'm sorry Malfoy, I don't remember asking, I'm much more interested in making this potion" I snapped, finally breaking to lift my head up to face him, I could hear Harry let out a chuckle next to me, making sure to keep his face well out of sight.

Malfoy didn't find my comment near enough as funny as he furrowed his eyebrows, a glare of hatred seeping onto his dull pale face, but before he could say anything my attention went to poor Neville, and Snape who had a ladle of his potion and sneering at him.

"Orange, Longbottom" He dropped the ladle back into the cauldron, letting it splash so that everyone in the class could see. "Orange. Tell me boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours?" my jaw dropped at how cruel that horrible man could really be, no wonder he was Slytherins Head of House, no offence to myself.

"Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly that only one rat spleen was needed? didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? what do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"

Neville was pink and trembling, any more and he sure would be a fountain of tears.

"Please, sir" Hermione pleaded "please, I could help Neville put it right-"

"I dont remember asking you to show off Miss Granger, Longbottom at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly."

"Sir" I couldn't help myself as I grabbed his and the rest of the classes attention

"Keira, what are you doing?" Harry hissed at me

"Yes, Miss Weasley" He drawled

"Dont you think that if Neville is constantly messing up his potions in your classes, but hes good in everything else, that maybe, you're the problem? Hm, because, aren't you the teacher?" I saw Ron and Hermiones eyes bulge, but a proud smile on Ron's face that I actually just said that to him

"Detention Miss Weasley! I will not accept those sorts of accusations in my Class, Your lucky you're in my house, other whys there would be a lot more of Points missing for the hourglass, Back to your potions, all of you!" He ordered all of us

"Keira, well done! why would you do that, its only gonna come back and bite you!" Harry lectured me" Who knows what he's going to make you do in detention"

"I cant stand bullies!" I rolled my eyes

"Maybe your dumber than I thought, Weaslette" Malfoy chuckled

"Nice one, Weasley!" Seamus Finnigan told me as he came up beside Harry. "Hey, Harry" he greeted him as he leaned over to borrow his brass scales "Have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning- they reckon Sirius Black has been sighted."

"Where?" Harry asked him, Malfoy lifting his head to listen closely.

"Not too far from here" Seamus said excitedly "It was a Muggle who saw him. Course, she didn't really understand. The Muggles just think hes an ordinary criminal, dont they? So she 'Phoned the telephone hotline'. By the time the ministry of magic got there, he was gone."

Catching Malfoy still eavesdropping I thought it best No more was said until it was safer to talk

"Thanks Seamus, for letting us know" I gave him a smile

"Anytime, Keira, see ya round? maybe up Hogsmeade for a butterbeer?" He asked me

"Seamus, Haven't you got a potion to explode?" My brother called from his table, making Seamus glare at him and walk back to his table

"Wait was he asking me ou-

"Yes, Weasley, wow your obliviousness is really astounding, you could give Potter a run for his gold" Malfoy said

"You should have finished adding your ingredients by now. This potion needs to stew before it can be drunk; clear away whilst it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's ..."

Harry and I packed up our unused ingredients, then met Ron at the Wash basin as Hermione mumbled instructions to Neville out of the corner of her mouth.

"Your an idiot, Keira!" He told me

"Gee thanks" I deadpanned "love you too"

"You should of just kept your mouth shut, dont be surprised if mum sends an howler"

"Wow, didn't realise talking bad to a teacher is as bad as stealing a flying car and getting caught by muggles and ending up on the front page of newspapers"

"Sorry, mate but she's got you there" Harry chimed in

"shut up Harry!" Ron said

With the end of the lesson in sight, Snape was by Nevilles Cauldron

"Gather round" Snape told us "And watch what happens to Longbottoms Toad. if he managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. if, as I dont doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned."

I held my breath as the Gryffindors looked fearful and the Slytherins looked excited. Snape picked up Nevilles Toad in his left hand and dipped a small spoon into his now green potion. He trickled a few drops down the toads throat.

There was a moment of silence, in which it gulped, followed by a small pop and a tadpole was wriggling in Snapes palm.

The Gryfindors and I broke into applause, clearly dampening Snapes mood, as he fixed the tadpole, bringing back a toad.

"Five points from Gryffindor" said Snape, cutting short their cheers

"What!?"

"Something to say , Miss Weasley, you've grown into the Gryffindor Cheerleader lately, we might have to have another sorting ceremony" Snape said in a bored monotone voice

"Sir, how is that fair?! Your taking points away, because your student got a potion right, I would've thought that would make you glad, that your teaching seems to be working"

"Miss Weasley, if you speak again during this lesson, you will be in detention until you finish seventh year!" He told me.

I could feel everyone's eyes on me now, Most of the Slytherins laughing amongst each other, all but Malfoy.

After class, instead of joining my friends for lunch I went to the library, this time just to cool down and be by myself for a while until my next class.

I hated potions with a passion, it was a class I was good at but everything about it just pissed me off, especially the professors that taught it, I've never met a good Potions Professor.

I had managed to fall asleep where I was sat at the library, meaning I would be late for my Defence Against The Dark Arts class, once again with the Gryffindors.

I raced to the classroom, throwing the door in a rush but luckily Lupin wasn't there yet, but everyone had their eyes on me as i stood there panting. Luckily Hermione had saved me a seat, as I rushed to get my stuff out of my bag

"Where were you?" Ron asked me, rather louder than I would of liked, from the table next to us "And why weren't you at lunch, you've been skipping a lot of meals lately, mum wont like that"

"Shut up Ronald, its not like you dont eat enough for the both of us" I sneered

"Har har, but why are you late, you coulda got in trouble if lupin wasn't late either"

"I fell asleep in the library, alright, why are you so bothered" I rolled my eyes.

Lupin then walked in, looking a considerably lot better than when we saw him on the train.

"Good afternoon, would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today's will be a practical lesson. You will only need your wands,'

Ron and I met eye contact Instantly, curiosity obvious in both our eyes.

Lupin led us to the new classroom "What d'ya reckon we'll be doing?" I asked the other three

"Whatever it is, I hope it has nothing to do with Cornish Pixies" Harry grumbled

I quirked an eyebrow in confusion "is this another long story thing?" I asked them

"Not really, lockhart brought cornish pixies to our lesson last year, and caused chaos, poor neville even got stuck on the chandelier, bless him" Hermione sighed at the memory

"Glad I wasn't there than, I hate heights"

Turning a corner we were met with Peeves, who I had met very quickly when Fred and George planned a prank with him after telling me they were going to give me the Fred & George grand Hogwarts tour, there was nothing grand about it.

Peeves was floating upside down in the air and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum.

"Loony, loopy lupin" Peeves sang repeatedly, we waited for Lupin to put an end to Peeves shenanigans as most teachers did but were surprised to see him still smiling

"I'd take that gum out of the keyhole, if I were you, Peeves, Mr filch wont be able to get in to his brooms." After the only reply he got in return was a loud wet raspberry, Lupin sighed and took out his wand.

"This is a useful little spell,' he told us "please watch carefully"

he pointed his wand to shoulder height "Waddiwasi" than pointed it at Peeves. I watched in amusement as the Piece of gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves left nostril, causing the poltergeist to zoom off with a string of curses.

I let out a laugh, some of the class joining me

"Cool, sir!" Dean Thomas said, his eyes shining bright with a smile up to his eyebrows as if he just met his idol

"Thank you, Dean, Shall we proceed?" He asked us as he put away his wand

We started of again and I took notice how most of the class looked at our Professor, with much more respect.

We finally got to our destination "inside, please" Professor Lupin ushered us in.

We were stood in a staff room, full of mismatched chairs was empty apart from one teacher.

Professor Snape, he looked surprised to see us coming in, before Lupin could close the door, he interrupted him.

"Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this" Getting to his feet he strode past us, his black robes billowing behind, giving him a dramatic flare. Before stopping at the door. "Possibly no ones warned you, Lupin but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear" He sneered. Neville had gone considerably scarlet.

"I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation" Lupin replied "and im sure he will perform it admirably." Wow, Lupin was making fast work of becoming my favourite Professor already.

Snape curled his lip, clearly not liking the response "Miss Weasley, you must not forget your detention tonight, you might want to discuss with some of your beloved Gryffindors on how to properly clean things, maybe" and with that he left, shutting the door with a snap. it was now my turn to turn red as some of my fellow Slytherins laughed

"How the hell did you become hated by your own Head of House so much, Miss Weasley?" Lupin asked me, making my eyes go wider

"Wow, thanks Sir" he gave a laugh at my reply

"Now, then" he beckoned our attention back to the class and leading us towards the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old Wardrobe. Lupin went to stand next to it.

I jumped back as the Wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

"Nothing to worry about" Professor told us calmly "There's a boggart in there.' for someone who told us not to worry, he was sure going the wrong way about it. "Boggarts like dark enclosed spaces,' said Professor Lupin as he continued to list spaces that Boggarts like.

He then asked us what a Boggart was, and of course Hermione answered, giving an answer that belonged in an cyclopedia, then Harry answered a question, trying his best to concentrate with Hermione a bundle of answers ready to untangle.

I was starting to get nervous about the practical, if we really had to go up against a boggart, what even was my biggest fear that would scare me so much, surely it wouldn't be heights, how scary can that be when I know that i'm safe and on the ground.

Luckily my last name was Weasley so there was probably a fat chance that I would even have to go up against it in the time for our class, I don't think I could stand the humiliation of someone knowing one of my weaknesses.

I tuned back into what was being discussed when professor Lupin told us "The charm that repels a Boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a Boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing. We will practise the charm without wands first. After me please, ... Riddikulus!"

"Riddikulus" we chanted after

"Good, very good. But that was the easy part, i'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville"

The wardrobe shook again, all I could think was, better him than me, As Neville walked forward.

"Right, Neville."

•

"Whew, thank God for Harry Potter" I sighed as I wiped the back of my hand across my forehead as the class walked out of the room

"Gee thanks, glad to be of service" He deadpanned

"Thanks to you, I didn't have to be humiliated by having whatever my worst fear shown in front of the whole class, ugh, I could kiss you right now" I gushed as I cupped his face in my hands, his eyes going wide

"Wait, really?" He looked at me with this sort of hopeful look in his eyes as I held his face

"No!" Ron said as he pulled the back of my robes away from his friend

"You're no fun, Ronald" I complained.

"So, Harry whens Quidditch starting again?" Ron asked, quickly changing the subject

"I dont know really, I kinda just wait for Wood to tell us, my own personal alarm clock" Harry joked

"Who's wood? sounds like a pretty weird name"

"He's Gryffindors quidditch team Captain, he's in seventh Year" Hermione told me as we neared the Great Hall

"Wait, hang on, So this kid-

"Keira, Hes seventeen"

"Anyways, He rides brooms, team captain, and his names wood, that's the most boring but funny thing I've ever heard" I laughed

"Potter, I wanna talk to you about the upcoming season" A Scottish voice said behind us, I turned to see who had coincidentally brought that up after just discussing it, and I was met with the most beautiful person I had ever seen in my life.

I was transfixed as I stared at him, how could someone be so perfect, i'm pretty sure this is what love at first sight was

"What are you doing?" I broke out of my trance to see My friends had left with Captain dreamy and Malfoy had took their spot

"Who's that?" I pointed at the love of my life

"Him? Gryffindors captain, Oliver Wood, he's got this weird obsession with Quidditch, its like his only personality trait" Malfoy drawled

"Thats wood?!" I stopped still, My future husband was an athlete, better yet, captain.

"Yeah, why?"

"Is he single?" I faced Malfoy now

"He's like four years older than you" He blinked at me

"You didn't answer my question" I sighed after Wood had completely left my vision

"whatever Weasle- wait where are you going?" He jogged after me as I walked away from the Great Hall and to the dungeons

"To my dorm? to mentally prepare myself for my detention with Snape" I told him the truth

"What, and your not going to have dinner?"

"No, I don't wanna sit at the table, and its more stricter at dinner, anyways, its none of your business, bye Malfoy" before he could say anything else, I sprinted away from him so I could nap.

I was currently in the freezing cold dungeons in Snapes Classroom, cleaning up the mess from this morning as Snape marked Homework.

As I cleaned I was singing a muggle song "just the two of us" under my breath, to keep my spirits bright.

"Weasley!" Snape shouted over my singing as I got louder without even realising

"yep, yeah, sorry sir"

"Just...the ...two of us" I started again, pretending as if I were singing into a mic

"Goodbye, Miss Weasley!" Snape pointed at the door.

Score, that wasn't even my intention.

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