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methylphenidating · 3 years

Text

Wild Things That Go Bump - Hollstein one shot

Read on AO3

Carmilla - student/teacher AU

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 4.942

A/N: Just some good old fashioned porny writing. A series of one shots that does have somewhat of a storyline.

Summary: Carmilla Karnstein, English and Physics teacher, decides to take things further with her gorgeous colleague, Elle Sheridan. Much to Laura Hollis' dismay. As things heat up between the two women, Carmilla is about to find out just how far Laura is willing to go to get her teacher's attention back to her.

Carmilla boringly plays with the spoon in her cup. The cute heart the barista had made from the milk foam was now turning into something more abstract. She hears Elle in the background talking about Sparkles, which she figures is her cat’s name and the only thing Carmilla can think about is how the fuck a math teacher, with a PhD nonetheless, can name their cat Sparkles.

She can't help but laugh at that and as it turns out it is just in line with something funny Elle had said. Which has gone completely over her head. They exchange a smile at each other.

Why did I bother to go out with this woman?

As her gaze travels from her coffee, to Elle, to the student standing across the street behind the gorgeous teacher, she remembers.

Carmilla can't get her eyes off of Laura, who is using a large sponge and practically her whole body to clean the dirt off of a SUV. Her white t-shirt and shorts are soaked through and through. A very tall redheaded girl is holding a hose and at first is pointing it at the SUV. But as Laura is practically mounting the car unceremoniously, she then points it at Laura. Both girls are laughing and seem to have lots of fun as the redhead is now full on hosing down Laura, with Laura trying to pretend she isn’t enjoying it.

Carmilla has to cross her legs to tame the ache between her legs, but she doesn't look away.

Just as she is about to figure out what Laura is wearing underneath her shirt, she feels a slight brush on her hand. As she looks down, she sees Elle brushing her thumb across the back of her hand. Carmilla’s gaze then travels from their hands to Elle’s face and they lock eyes for a moment.

Carmilla knows then and there that this isn’t just a routine coffee date.

I fucking fell for it.

She tries to ignore Laura in the background and moves her attention to Elle.

Maybe she won’t be as boring in bed. She is gorgeous after all. Something about more than meets the eye?

Carmilla retracts her hand, but never seizes the eye contact.

They had found a nice place to sit in the shade before ordering their coffee, but it was the middle of summer and the sun was beaming above their heads. The coffeeshop they were sitting at, called Carpe Diem, was close by the campus where the carwash was being held today.

“Such eager students aren’t they? I think that’s your SUV being washed thoroughly.” Carmilla finally speaks.

Elle turns her head and now both her and Carmilla are watching the redheaded girl and Laura hose down the black SUV.

“Danny, more to the left!” she hears Laura shout to the redhead.

It gives her an excuse to enjoy the sight a little more before Elle's attention goes back to Carmilla.

“Honestly, I feel like these things are nothing more than an excuse for students to gain easy credits. Kinda cheap as well.”

“It’s for charity.” Carmilla replies with a smirk.

She finally gulps the coffee down with a grimace, since the temperature of it is not that enjoyable anymore.

She puts the cup down and Elle gives her a chuckle.

“What? Did I miss some foam?”

As Carmilla is about to wipe her mouth with a napkin, Elle's hand is suddenly on her face.

“Just about there, yeah.”

Her words are a whisper as she stares intensely at Carmilla’s lips. Elle brushes away the remainder of foam on the corner of her mouth with her thumb and Carmilla can feel the tension being cranked up to eleven.

“Carmilla, you didn’t bring your car. Not in the mood for a free wash?”

Carmilla follows the movement of her hand as Elle brings her thumb back to her own mouth to lick the foam off.

This woman is moving at the speed of 'let's fuck right here' kilometers per hour.

She decides she has had enough of Elle's teasing and blatant flirting.

“I still have to pick it up from the garage. Come to think of it, I might do that now. And then we can have some iced tea at my place.”

Elle gives her a knowing smile. She knows Carmilla has no intention of picking up her car or feeding her iced tea for that matter. She knows she is going to get fed something else entirely.

“Yeah sure, I’ll come with.”

As they both stand up to leave to go to Carmilla’s apartment, which is about a block away, Carmilla gives a quick glance to the SUV. She has to do a double take as she now sees Laura standing there, looking straight at her, with what seems to be a very displeased and annoyed look.

If Carmilla didn’t know any better, it was a full on death stare.

Carmilla locks eyes with her for what seems like forever, then turns around and starts walking away with Elle. She knows exactly what just happened and grabs Elle’s hand as they go around the corner of the block, giving Laura a glimpse of what she’s about to do.

You don't own me, you little brat.

***

The walk seems to take forever and Carmilla is ready to trade the fuck sessions with her brat of a student in for this gorgeous teacher. Besides, less chance of getting caught and suspended, though she was more worried of what the principal would do to his precious not so innocent daughter, if he found out.

When she opens the door to her ground floor apartment, she lets Elle in first.

"Nice crib, Carm. I always wanted a ground floor, two bedroom."

Elle looks around as she walks further in. Carmilla throws her keys on a small dish on top of the dresser.

"Thanks, I took it over from a friend."

Before she realizes what happens, Carmilla is being pulled inside and Elle uses her to shut the door. She rams Carmilla against it and Elle immediately plants her mouth on hers, not leaving any questions left in the air about her intentions.

She feels Elle's hands roam all over her body, cupping her breasts roughly and Carmilla moans into the kiss. Elle quickly unbuttons Carmilla’s white blouse and the button of her black jeans. She feels her impatient fingers going inside of it, pushing her panties down.

Carmilla decides she’s done not having the upper hand and turns Elle around, pushing her against the door. She puts her thigh against Elles center and presses against it. Elle moans and breaks the kiss.

Carmilla starts kissing her neck, pleased with herself.

“Not gonna let me take control, huh?” Elle pants.

Carmilla chuckles.

“You’re way in over your head.” she purrs against her neck and continues her pathway with her mouth, while rubbing her nipple through the fabric of her blouse.

“Oh Carm, that feels so good” Elle whispers.

Suddenly, Carmilla stops dead in her tracks.

She holds herself there for what seems like forever and pulls back from Elle.

"Carmilla?”

She finally meets Elle's eyes and gives her a haunted look, but recovers from it before Elle takes note.

"I'm sorry Elle. I forgot about this appointment I have and I still need to grade a ton of tests before Monday. Maybe we can continue this another time?"

Carmilla hopes she sounded as nonchalantly as possible and Elle just stares at her for a good few seconds, her expression saying something in the line of ‘you can sit on my face while you grade your exams, I won't mind.’

Eventually she gives Carmilla a soft smile and kisses her cheek, lingering long enough for Carmilla to get another good whiff of her perfume.

Doesn’t smell as good as-

"Of course, I don't mind some old school hard to get." she says with a wink as she pulls away.

Carmilla just smiles and lets her out. After closing her front door, she leans against it with her back, closing her eyes as her mind yet again replays the scene Elle triggered with just a few words.

To yesterday.

To Laura.

Carmilla slumps down on the floor against her door as the memory unfolds in her head.

She was kissing Laura's neck, sucking on her pulse point when Laura had heard her call her ‘Carm’ for the first time.

"Oh Carm, that feels so good." Laura had whimpered.

At the time she had punished Laura for it, but she could admit it to herself now. She had loved it when Laura had said it. Called her name like that.

She lets her head fall back against the door as she realizes she didn't like it when Elle had just now.

Carmilla feels a twitch in her center as the memory of Laura unfolds further.

Whimpering. On her desk. Her legs spread.

She pinches her eyes, trying to make it go away. But then she remembers how her students tongue had felt. Lashing over her clit eagerly.

"Fuck, that girl is good with her mouth." she mumbles to herself.

The twitch is replaced by full blown aching and she can feel her swollen clit rub against the fabric of her panties.

She stays on the floor, her blouse and pants still unbuttoned. Her hand starts to travel downwards, past the hem of her panties, when suddenly her doorbell rings.

Carmilla lets out a frustrated sigh and gets up from the floor. She quickly buttons up her blouse and shoves them back in her jeans.

The doorbell rings again.

Someone is an impatient little fuck.

She swings it open, ready to fight some stupid mailman.

Instead, she kind of chokes on her breath.

"Laura."

Carmilla stands nailed to the ground. The sight of the younger girl instantly turns the full blown aching between her legs into full blown throbbing.

The white t-shirt she has on is still wet from before, but surprise surprise, no bra underneath.

"Hello, Miss Karnstein."

The girl smiles, but Carmilla senses a hint of annoyance coming off of her. And this would match her displeasing look from earlier.

Carmilla scrapes her throat.

"What can I help you with, Laura?"

She wants to mentally shoot herself for giving away her desire with a raspy voice and she knows it wont go unnoticed with Laura.

After all, they have heard the other orgasm multiple times now.

"Can I come in?"

Laura smiles at her. It's that innocent smile of which Carmilla doesn’t know why it just makes her want to see it disappear by jamming a few fingers inside her tight little-

"Sure."

Carmilla opens the door wider and Laura enters, looking around amazed. But Carmilla notices she is searching for something.

Probably someone.

"Nice apartment."

"So, what are you doing here?"

Carmilla crosses her arms impatiently.

"Well, Miss Karnstein, you never brought your car, for a wash. So I thought I would come by to remind you."

Carmilla isn't really paying attention to what she is saying as her eyes are glued to Laura's chest. More specifically, the hard nipples straining against the white wet fabric, of which she can swear are getting harder the more she looks at it. As Laura starts to walk closer to her, Carmilla finally meets her eyes.

"I'm sorry Laura, I got a little busy." she says in a bored tone.

Laura doesn't really seem surprised at that. In fact, it seems as if her annoyance just grows after she said that.

As Laura now stands a few inches away, her eyes get caught on Carmilla's top buttons of her blouse. They're undone.

"With Miss Sheridan, I presume?"

Laura never meets her eyes as she asks the question. Instead, she is fidgeting with the top button of Carmilla’s blouse, fixated on it.

"Laura," Carmilla speaks as she stills the hand that is sneaking its way inside her blouse, "that's none of your fucking business, is it cupcake?"

The last words are spoken in a mocking tone and oh did she love mocking this girl.

Laura's expression changes from playful to angry.

"You don't have to hide it, you know." she says as she distances herself from her teacher. "I saw her leaving your place not too long ago."

"Are you spying on your teachers now?" Carmilla asks, raising an eyebrow.

Laura's expression softens a little. "Not all teachers, no."

Their eyes meet again and Carmilla can feel the sexual tension practically dripping off of the walls of her house.

It would be so good, just to take her in my own bedroom. She’s practically screaming for it.

But she can't make Laura think she can just come into her house, invade her privacy, and interrogate her like some jealous lover.

Carmilla regains her composure and gives her student a mocking smile.

“You know, Laura, you're just a student who doesn't have any business poking around in my private life and I sure as hell don't owe you an explanation of who I'm fucking in my free time.”

"You can fuck me in your free time."

The words are out before Laura realizes it.

Did I hear her correctly?

Carmilla feels her composure slipping away again and she wonders why this girl has such an effect on her.

Laura's expression is now that of a begging student. Much like when she had begged for a higher grade. Much like when she had begged Carmilla to let her come.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Miss Karnstein."

Laura suddenly seems very sure of herself and Carmilla isn't liking it.

She decides to stand her ground and not let this younger girl manipulate her.

"No."

"No?"

Did I really just say no?

Laura looks flabbergasted and Carmilla guesses by her expression she really didn't expect her to say no.

Hell, even Carmilla herself couldn't believe it.

This girl is practically offering herself up on a silver platter to Carmilla, in her own damn house, ready to be feasted on whenever Carmilla wants and she refuses her.

"You heard me, Laura." Carmilla snaps back.

As she is making her way to the door to open it, ready to throw this brat of a student out, Laura is suddenly in front of it, blocking her.

"Laura, you need to go. Now." Carmilla feels her frustration turning into anger.

"Wait no, Miss Karnstein, please."

"Laura, get out. Leave."

Carmilla practically spits the words out.

She grabs the younger girl by her arm and tries to pull her away from the door so she can push her out of her apartment.

"No, Carm, I won't!"

As she shouts her name, Carmilla can hear it echo through her house and she can't help but still her movements.

Laura knows there are consequences to using her name like that. But at this point she doesn't care.

She won't let Carmilla be seduced by some floozy teacher. She would never be able to give Carmilla what she wants. What she needs.

But Laura can, she is sure of it. She knows she can please Carmilla in ways no one can ever imagine doing. Every time she catches her teacher staring at her, in the back of her class, she knows it means something. She knows it bothers her when Laura flirts with others.

Yesterday she finally had the courage to walk up to her. And when Laura had offered herself up like that, she knew Carmilla wanted her as much as she did. She has had a crush on her teacher since forever and this is her chance to turn it into more, to make her fall in-

"Laura, move, or there will be some serious consequences you can not begin to comprehend." Carmilla says in a very calm and collected voice. The menacing undertone doesn’t go unnoticed.

Laura's expression changes. Her eyes get dark and it makes Carmilla stare at her in confusion. The student innocently looks up at her.

“Miss Karnstein, you and I both know I actually can begin to comprehend the things you will do to me. In fact, the things you wanna do to me right here. Right this moment. You tell me you want me to go when what you actually wanna do, is suck on the nipples that have been pressed against my shirt for the past few minutes. You wanna take my tight wet pussy and put as many fingers in, and see which finger it is that's gonna make me beg for you to stop. But even when I do beg, you won’t stop.“

Carmilla just stares at her in shock.

“Don't you, Miss Karnstein?”

That bratty look returns, the one Carmilla knows all too well.

If Carmilla even had any resolve left after that, it disappeared as fast as the speed of light.

She grabs both her hands and slams them above Laura's head against the door. She kisses her, hard, reminding Laura who is going to be in control of this whole fuck session they are about to begin.

Although Carmilla has the younger girl pinned between the door and her own body, it is Laura that deepens the kiss, brushing her tongue eagerly against Carmilla's. Any lingering desire for Elle has long gone.

Carmilla lets go of her hands, to let her own roam freely over the young girl's body, going to where she wanted to touch her for the past few minutes when the student had stepped foot in her house.

As she squeezes her breasts, Laura moans in her mouth. But Carmilla wants more.

She pulls away from the kiss, spins Laura around and slams her face first against the door. She continues where she left off, her hands traveling under her shirt back to her breasts, only now she can easily squeeze her nipples too. She puts the hardened nubs between her index and middle finger and massages her just like that. Laura moans and lets her head fall back, and Carmilla starts sucking on that pulse point, of which she knows exactly what that does to both of them.

"Hey cupcake, tell me this." Carmilla pants in her ear.

Laura tries her best to listen to the words coming out of her teacher's mouth, while her breasts are being touched so eagerly. Her nipples have always been so sensitive. She plays with them quite often when she touches herself.

"Yes, Miss Karnstein?" she breathes, followed by a gasp as she feels Carmilla tug on her earlobe.

"Have you been braless all day long?"

Carmilla feels a small sting of what she would never dare to call jealousy while she asks the question, but somehow the thought of Laura washing other people's cars with that sight to behold makes her feel just that. At the time she couldn’t really check as Elle was there distracting her.

She turns Laura back around, bringing her mouth close to hers.

"Tell me, Laura." Carmilla purrs, her hands still under her shirt.

Laura blushes a little and bites her lip. She looks down before looking back up to meet Carmilla’s eyes.

"I… no. I waited till daddy went home after saying goodbye to the teachers, then I..."

Her words die in her throat and she moans as she feels Carmilla's tongue brush against her nipple.

She looks down and sees Carmilla has pulled her shirt up with both hands. She is slowly circling the hard bud with her tongue. Her tongue darts back in and Carmilla glances up at her.

"Then you..." Carmilla motions for her to continue.

She then takes Laura's nipple between her teeth and bites on it softly. Laura lets out a louder moan before continuing, although having trouble speaking now.

"Then I.. Ah, went to the changing rooms and... removed it… oh god"

Carmilla is now sucking hard on her nipple and that alone can send Laura over the edge if she keeps doing that long enough. She tangles her fingers slowly in Carmilla's black wavy hair and gently urges her to keep sucking on it. She expects her teacher to refuse and punish her, as she had done the last time.

Instead, Carmilla increases the pressure and Laura is letting out small moans now as her head falls back on the door and Carmilla continues to suck on her swollen nipple. She tugs it between her lips before kissing her way back up to Laura’s mouth.

"And then you came straight to my house, to spy on me and watch me fuck someone else, didn’t you?

Her tone has changed, Laura notices, and the look in Carmilla's eyes are the familiar displeasing look she had seen yesterday, which sends shivers down her whole body.

Carmilla begins to realize just what is happening between them right this moment. But she wants to tease the younger girl some more. Not wanting to acknowledge any of it, in fact.

She leans both hands against the door and brings her lips close to Laura’s ear again.

“Tell me, buttercup, how long were you standing there, outside my house? Did you watch, through the window as well? Did you watch as I took Elle hard, right here on this very floor you’re standing on?”

Laura has trouble controlling her emotions. She feels the familiar ache in her sex from hearing her teachers seducing tone in her ear and the oh so familiar jealousy she had felt whenever she saw Carmilla even being mildly flirty with someone else, especially Miss Sheridan.

She hates the wench for even touching Carmilla the other day, in front of her.

Laura regains some of her composure and she decides to put an end to Carmilla’s smug face.

“Nice try, Miss Karnstein, but I know for a fact that even if you fucked her, she definitely didn’t fuck you.”

Carmilla leans back and raises an eyebrow, eyeing her suspiciously, but listening curiously as Laura continues.

“You see, I know exactly how long it takes for you to come.”

Laura moves closer to Carmilla, her hands slowly unbuttoning the blouse she is wearing. As she reaches her pants, she unbuttons it as well and removes the blouse from her jeans.

“And since I saw Miss Sheridan going into your house and getting back out within a certain time, I know for a fact she definitely didn’t make you orgasm.”

Carmilla smirks and looks at her.

I might have underestimated this girl.

She is about to call her a stalker student, when her retort dies in her throat.

Carmilla didn't even realize her pants were undone. She was so mesmerized by Laura’s sudden confidence, until she felt fingers go through her soaking wet folds.

“Ah. Fuck.”

Carmilla’s hips jolt from the touch and she rests her hands back on the door. She remembers not so long ago she had been so turned on just thinking about Laura, she was about to take care of it herself, right on this exact spot.

It turns out she doesn’t have to anymore.

“You’re so fucking wet” Laura whispers, her lips brushing Carmilla’s cheek.

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

Carmilla hisses as she feels Laura’s fingers move over her swollen clit.

“Nothing that Miss Sheridan can do to you, I’m sure.”

“Shut up. Come here.”

Carmilla pulls her closer and kisses her. She takes her own blouse off, leaving her black lace bra on and unbuttons Laura’s shorts. At that moment she can't help but wonder if this time she will have briefs on or not.

“No more talking about Miss Sheridan.” she says with a strict tone.

Last thing Carmilla wants is to think about is Elle while she is relishing in the slow rubbing of her clit by Laura and her head falls back as she lets out a moan.

Laura is definitely good with her hands as well.

She puts her own hand over Laura’s and presses against it, seeking more friction.

Her hips buck. She is getting dangerously close, but to her own surprise she doesn’t want to come. Not yet.

“Keep going, slow, just like that.” Carmilla instructs her.

Laura nods and complies happily as Carmilla continues to get rid of her shorts. She unzips it and before she can do anything else, she feels a massive jolt go through her core.

“Fuck, damn it” she hisses, feeling her orgasm edge closer. Laura is putting just the right amount of pressure on her throbbing clit as she continues her slow, but oh so sweet up and down motions. She knows it will take just about five strokes more and she's done.

“Are you enjoying it, Miss Karnstein?” Laura says with a grin.

Carmilla lets out a frustrated groan.

Yes, too much.

She swiftly removes Laura’s hand from her pants and gets down on her knees, pulling Laura’s shorts with her. Much to Carmilla’s surprise, she is wearing a pair of white lace briefs, definitely from Victoria's.

“Not your usual attire, cupcake.” Carmilla says with a smirk.

“Do you like it? I bought them recently.”

Carmilla looks up at her and gives her an approving smile. Laura can’t help but feel butterflies in her stomach.

She gets rid of the briefs quickly and she stares at the younger girls sex, mesmerized. Her wetness is glistening in the sunlight and Carmilla can’t help but lick the opening of her folds, relishing in the taste.

“Ah, Miss Karnstein, wait, I wanna touch you first. Please.”

Laura is about to pull her shirt over her head when Carmilla stops her and gets back up.

“No. That stays on.”

The shirt had dried up a little, but with the fabric being as thin, there was still not much to hide.

As they kiss, Carmilla leads her to her bedroom.

She pushes Laura against her dresser and lifts her up on it. Their tongues are battling for dominance, but as Laura wraps her legs around Carmilla’s waist and pulls her in closer, Carmilla feels the edge of the dresser press against the seam of her jeans. She moans and it gives Laura an opening to kiss her neck. She moves her hair out of the way and licks along her pulse point. Carmilla shivers and she decides then she is done edging.

She impatiently shoves her jeans and her black briefs down to her thighs and puts one hand around Laura’s middle.

"Go inside." she pants.

Before Laura can reach to touch her, Carmilla has already taken her students hand and she pushes two of Laura’s fingers inside her. They slide in so easy and she takes them out half way, only to shove them in deeper, going straight for her sweet spot.

Carmilla groans and she feels her legs go weak.

She holds on to Laura while she fucks herself using Laura’s fingers.

“Miss Karnstein, here, let me do it. You feel so fucking good."

Carmilla holds her own hand there as she feels Laura mimicking her motions from before. She spreads her legs further to give the girl easier access and the sensation of it all is driving her crazy.

She is speechless, aside from the continuous moans and she is so close to orgasming, her brain content has gone straight to her center.

“Fuck, Laura... so good… gonna come...” is all she can manage to bring out.

Carmilla rides her hand as Laura thrusts in and out of her at a maddening pace.

I definitely love her hands as much as her tongue.

Laura pulls her in closer by the back of her head.

“You’re fucking amazing. I wanna feel you come.” she whispers in her ear.

Carmilla feels her walls tighten and then contract. She finally climaxes, very hard, grunting as her hips buck wildly against Laura’s hand.

She bites her moans down on the younger girl's shoulder, having shoved aside the fabric of her shirt.

Carmilla pushes Laura’s fingers even deeper inside her and holds them there to ride out the last waves of her orgasm.

They pull back and Laura slowly pulls her fingers out, bringing them to her mouth. Carmilla shivers and watches her intensely as she licks them both off.

Just from watching Laura lick off the fingers that had been inside her just a few moments ago makes her ache again.

Carmilla wants to taste her again, touch her again, have her whimpering again. She can’t get enough of hearing the younger girl beg.

"Laura, get on my bed, right now." Carmilla commands her student.

Laura’s face instantly turns into that of a puppy who just got thrown a bone.

"Yes, Miss Karnstein."

She swiftly gets off the dresser and Carmilla leads her to the back of her room. She is about to push her down on her white linen covers, when suddenly her doorbell rings.

Seriously, what day is it? Trick or fucking treat?

Carmilla gives out a frustrated groan and pulls her briefs and pants back up.

"Stay here. Don’t move.” she orders Laura. “I’m not done with you yet.” She gives her a quick kiss on the lips before exiting her bedroom.

As she enters her hallway she sees Laura's briefs and shorts lying there along with her own blouse. She smirks, picks her blouse up and puts it on. The remaining clothes are thrown through the bedroom door she left ajar.

As she buttons her blouse back up she tries to peek through the windows to see who it is, but the person is practically hugging her door it seems.

She rolls her eyes and annoyingly swings it open. She raises an eyebrow at the person standing in front of her.

Are you fucking kidding me?

#carmilla fic #carmilla #hollstein #carmilla karnstein #laura hollis #carmilla smut #smut #laura x carmilla #carmfic #text #carmilla x laura #ctws #myfic

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athina-blaine · 4 years

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“Hey, everyone, welcome back to my channel. My name is Maggie Abernathy and today we will be continuing our investigation of the, uh, eldritch monster slash English teacher who calls itself Jonathan Sims.”

Maggie is determined to catch Mr. Sims via her channel, and then everyone would see how cool and smart she was, right?

For @skyberia, check out their amazing art!

Chapters: 1/1 [Complete]

Words: 5,998

Tags: POV Outsider, Teacher AU, 160 Never Happened, Scotland, The Eternal Struggle for Validation, Statement-Related Trauma, this ended up being a little less crack humor than i had first intended lmao, i blame jonny

The video opens to the image of an empty school courtyard. There’s a grunt, and then a young girl runs into the frame, turning to face the viewer. She has wild hair and even wilder eyes and is patting the wrinkles out of her grey, baggy hoodie. She couldn’t be more than 13.

Cut to a classroom, the camera peeking through a zipper.

A man with dark hair and nice clothes was standing at the front with his back to the other students, writing on the board.The video quality drops sharply, a faint whine humming in the background.

A low-quality dub begins playing over the image.

“Jonathan Sims came here in September of 2019. After some investigation, I have discovered that he previously held a position at the Magnus Institute in London, which investigates paranormal activity. Coincidence?”

There's a shift, and a voice from within the video speaks out.

“Mr. Sims, I have a question!”

The man turns, and there’s an touch of impatience to his expression.

“Miss Abernathy, this is not the time for—”

“Where’s the ark of the covenant?”

A sigh. “It was dismantled and melted down in 588 BC. Miss Abernathy—”

“What’s written on the Voynich manuscript?”

“Astrological readings and herbal recipes.”

“Who killed—”

“Miss Abernathy,” the man says, stringent, “please stay focused on the lecture. I’ll answer any questions at the end of class.” He turns back to the board. “And put away your phone.”

A hand appears over the camera, shoving it deeper into darkness. Another fuzzy dub plays over the image.

“Mr. Sims knows all these things he shouldn't know! Everyone says he's just joking, but I think it's something else. Maybe he's an immortal?"

Cut to a bustling lunchroom.

T he camera stares between a carton of milk and an orange, pointed towards a table filled with adults. One of them is the man from before, sipping from a porcelain mug. His back is to the camera again.

Suddenly, a mysterious object sails through the air. It’s a cup of vanilla pudding. The man turns sharply, eyes landing on the incoming projectile, before it hit him square in the face.

“Did you see that!” a voice hisses as the man scrambles for napkins. “There’s no way he could have known what was coming unless he literally has eyes in the back of his head! Researcher’s note: he might literally have eyes in the back of his head. Investigate further.”

“Miss Abernathy—”

The camera spins to an older man with graying hair walking into the frame, and, with a bitten off swear, the image spins away entirely.

Cut to an empty, school hallway. The camera is facing the door to a classroom.

“Every day, at the same time, give or take an hour, Mr. Sims returns to his classroom for some reason. He always makes sure no one's nearby before going in and locking the door. What's he hiding?"

The man walks into frame, glancing up and down the hallway, before walking inside, closing the door behind him.

“I bet he's doing some kind of dark ritual or something. I swiped a key from the teacher's lounge," the camera points down to a hand clutching a silver key, "so let's bust him."

With a jerk, the camera rushes towards the classroom and bursts into the door.

“Mr. Sims, Mr. Sims, there’s an emergency!”

The man shouts, dropping a bag full of tapes and papers.

“Miss Abernathy, please,” the man, startled. “Where did you get that key?”

Another dub plays.

“Okay, so I didn't catch him doing anything weird, but it's only a matter of time, right?"

Cut to a pair of feet walking across the sidewalk, the camera rocking back and forth.

“Every Friday, Mr. Sims leaves the school grounds and goes into town. He might be meeting some other eldritch thing. Hopefully, we'll find out.

The camera peeks around a stone wall. At the end of the sidewalk, there’s the man talking to another man with short hair and glasses. They seem friendly. The second man glances directly into the camera, then lifts his hand and waves.

The first man whirls around and, with a tight mouth, begins storming over. There’s a muffled shriek and the image blurs, footsteps clacking wildly on the pavement.

“He does have an accomplice!” the girl says, panting.

Cut back to the courtyard. The girl is wringing her hands, and she clears her throat.

“So, I haven't found anything substantial yet, but I think I'm getting close. Remember to, um, like, comment, and subscribe, everyone, and I’ll see you next Tuesday.”

She walks out of frame and the camera is jostled. The video ends.

Maggie’s alarm was going off. Reaching over, she tapped around for the snooze button. Five more minutes.

Failing to find the button, she groaned, and lifted her head.

6:43.

Her alarm was set to go off at 6:15. School started in 17 minutes, and it was a 20-minute bike ride, minimum.

Swearing, she ripped off her bedsheets and ripped clothes off their hangers in her closet. No, no, she already had detention this weekend for the pudding cup thing. She couldn’t be late today. Crap, where was her backpack? She plucked it out of a pile of discarded clothes on her floor, threw on her hoodie, and ran out her bedroom.

Speeding through her bathroom routine, she ran into the kitchen, snatching up a granola bar, before tearing through the living room. The sound of deep, rumbling snores stopped her.

Dad was sprawled on the couch, still wearing his work clothes, blanket knocked aside. He hadn’t even taken off his watch and his work boots were caked with mud. Maggie had been up until 3 AM editing her video, which means he must have come home even later.

Jeez.

She fixed the blanket and shoved a pillow under his head and he barely stirred. He must have been really exhausted. Maggie dropped a kiss on his head before sprinting through the door and clamoring onto her bike. If she really pushed herself, she might make it before attendance.

By the time she rolled into school, the second bell was ringing. Her name was second on the attendance sheet. She wasn’t going to make it.

Dumping her bike near the rack, not even bothering to lock it up, she burst through the double doors and raced up the stairs, throwing open the door to her first period classroom.

“—Abernathy.”

“Here!” she said, squeezing the word out of her overwrought lungs.

Mr. Sims looked up from the attendance sheet.

“Welcome to class, Miss Abernathy," he said, unperturbed. "Right on time."

It wasn’t. It was, in fact, five minutes after attendance was usually taken. Maggie didn’t have the energy to process that, though, slumping into her seat with relief, heart racing in her chest. Ugh, she was sticky and sweaty and felt gross. She hated cardio.

Mr. Sims finished taking attendance shortly after, and then asked for the class to turn in last night’s homework. He went from desk to desk collecting their papers, and he slowed when he reached Maggie.

“I would ask that you not stay up so late in the future."

He said it with a gentle, knowing curl of his mouth.

Maggie stared up at him. Any other time, she would have pulled out her notebook and jotted down such obviously suspicious activity, but, for now, she let herself savor the fact that she wouldn’t be having double detention this Saturday, and shrugged, pulling out her English journal.

There was time for investigating, later.

It was pizza and green beans for lunch today. Maggie scanned for available seats. Today, she was lucky. There was a seat open by Cynthia, from math class.

“Um, hey,” she said, approaching the table. There was a hushed silence as eyes swiveled towards her, and she swallowed, nervous. “Can I sit here, today?”

One of the boy’s eyes shot towards another, who shrugged.

“Yeah, go ahead,” he said.

Pleased, she sat down. Usually, she’d have to sit in the far corner of the cafeteria. It was much colder over there.

“So, I, um, posted a new video last night, on my YouTube channel,” she said to Cynthia, stirring her green beans, “if you guys wanted to check it out.”

“You’re still making those things?” said Cynthia with a raised brow.

“Oh, uh,” she said, pausing at the tone of her voice as she said things. “Well, yeah. I’ve gotten, like, three new subscribers.”

“You’re so obsessed with him, you know that? It’s kind of creepy.”

Maggie barely held back her flinch. “I’m not obsessed, I’m investigating—”

“Isn’t he married?” said one of the boys. “I think I met his husband at the bake sale last month.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Cynthia. “My mom sees them both all the time in the café. Won’t shut up about how cute they are. Oh, that reminds me, we had this customer the other day—”

“I bet he’s doing something really freaky during study hall,” Maggie said. If she could just get them to care … “You know, whenever he goes back to his classroom? He always looks around to make sure no one’s watching and locks the door. Isn’t that suspicious?”

“Yeah, sure, weird,” said Cynthia, turning to the boy across from her. “So, we had this customer, and I think he must have been from Wales or something …”

Maggie opened her mouth, but nobody was looking at her. Embarrassment flushing her face, she stared down at her food, because still, still nobody cared about her videos. She briefly fantasized about huffing and picking up her tray and dramatically storming off, but there was nowhere else to sit. Nowhere but that cold back corner of the cafeteria.

She’d just need to dig up something more exciting to put in her videos. For instance, what it was that Mr. Sims got up to during study hall. Then they’d check out her videos. Then they’d see what a good detective she was.

She plucked up one of her green beans, but found she wasn’t hungry.

Maggie knew there was something weird about Mr. Sims since pretty much the moment she met him; when the principal was introducing him to the class at the start of the semester, and he was taking attendance.

“Maggie Abernathy,” he had said, and Maggie’s eyebrows shot up, stunned.

“Um. Here?”

He didn't react to her surprise, moving on to the next student. At the end of class, she walked up to his desk, fidgeting with her hands in front of her chest.

“Why did you call me Maggie?”

Mr. Sims looked up, one brow raised. His expression was so severe and dignified that Maggie had to look away, too intimidated to make eye contact.

“It’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Actually, my name’s Margaret.”

“Oh, that’s,” he lifted the attendance sheet, squinting. “Yes, that appears to be the case. I apologize.”

Well, she didn't know about all that. Yes, Margaret had been her name, but she hated it. It was so old and came from her grandmother, who yelled at her all the time. She’d always wanted to have people call her Maggie, but she had this terrible vision of people calling it stupid. Only her diary knew what she really wanted.

Mr. Sims smiled, his expression gentling. It made him look a lot younger, and she flushed.

“Unless you would prefer to be called Maggie, Miss Abernathy?”

The heat on her face became that much worse, and she fixed her hair.

“Um, yeah, that would be cool.”

At home, Maggie was working on her new video and decided talk about her new teacher. She had titled it, My new teacher’s a cryptid!, half-jokingly, but it had received the most views she’s ever had. Almost 200! She had received one comment, the only one she'd gotten that wasn't from her dad, and it had said she should keep investigating.

So, she just sort of … started investigating. She hadn’t really expected anything else to come of it, but then Mr. Sims just kept acting strangely. Nothing to prove anything, not really, but just enough to make Maggie wonder that, maybe, there actually was something more going on here. And if it got her videos more views, then, well, she supposed it was a win-win.

It was more than just the name thing, after all. She always got the feeling Mr. Sims was … watching them, somehow. Even when his back was turn to the class. He always knew who was playing with their phone under the desk, who was cheating, etc.

Even outside of class, she sometimes got that feeling. It only became more obvious when the feeling went away; it felt like taking her backpack off at the end of the school day. That’s how she knew the best times to continue with her investigations. Like now, for instance.

Maggie waited until Mr. Sims left before sneaking over to the classroom. She could have anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour, so she needed to be quick. He locked the door, but Maggie had just swiped the key from the teacher’s lounge, again.

It’s not her fault they just left them dangling on a hook where anyone could grab it.

As quietly as she could, she slipped inside and closed the door behind her. Now, to investigate.

Pulling out her phone, she cleared her throat.

“Okay, um, hey, guys,” she said, voice low. “I’ve successfully infiltrated Jonathan Sims’ classroom. Hopefully, we’ll discover more information about whatever it is that’s happening here.”

Reaching for the desk, she froze. She hadn’t had a problem imagining going through his desk, but being here, actually faced with doing it, she found it much harder. This was his desk. What if he had something ridiculously private in here?

Come on. The camera’s rolling.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the first drawer, but found it to be locked. She tried all the drawers, but they were all locked. Dammit. What was she supposed to do now?

She scanned the desk with her camera just to have something interesting to put in the video.

“What’s with this weird tape recorder?” she mumbled, fingers brushing the buttons. “Looks ancient.”

Then, she heard a voice. Mr. Sims.

Crap. It would be suspension for sure if she was caught having stolen the key again. Trying not to move anything out of place, she sprinted towards the back of the classroom and into the closet. She could see though the slit panels as Mr. Sims entered the room, talking on the phone.

“—go straight home,” he said, taking his seat. “If you buy one more scented candle, I’m going to—”

He sighed.

“Yes, alright, fine. I love you, too.”

He hung up, and then pulled the tape recorder closer to him, grabbing a file from the stack of papers. Intrigued, Maggie held up her phone, still recording. Perhaps this wasn’t a waste of time after all.

Mr. Sims cleared his throat, and then pressed a button on the recorder.

“Statement of Timothy Dale regarding an appointment with his acupuncturist. Statement recorded by Jonathan Sims, former Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes. He was taking a statement? Like some kind of cop? He had mentioned the Magnus Institute just now. Did this use to be his job?

How … boring. No wonder he left if this is what he did all day.

Mr. Sims took a deep breath, and then his voice … changed.

“I didn't think I had so much blood,” he said, softly. “I don't think I have so much blood. I don't know how I'm alive.” He paused, seeming to collect himself, before continuing, “It started when I went to visit my acupuncturist. I’m a pretty stressed out guy, you see. It’s funny, how something can sound so painful, like being stabbed with dozens of needles over and over again, can actually be quite relaxing, but Mrs. Lloyd had a magic touch.”

Maggie shuddered. Gross. She hated needles.

“Mrs. Lloyd wasn’t there that day, though. Instead was a strange man who called himself Mr. Bail. I asked where Mrs. Lloyd was and he said she was on an extended leave of absence, but that he would be able to provide a level of care even better than Mrs. Lloyd, if I was interested. Obviously, I was interested, I had been looking forward to this appointment all well, and I figured he was trustworthy since Mrs. Lloyd left her facility in his care, so why not?”

It may have just been the needles, but Maggie was starting to feel weird. Unpleasant. Maybe recording this was a bad idea, after all? But even though she thought about it, she couldn’t bring herself to lower the phone.

“The procedure began, and it didn’t hurt, but it felt different. Everything was fine until the end, when I noticed that some of the puncture marks were bleeding. I hadn’t even felt it. I confronted the man, enraged, but he said it was all a part of the healing process. He said it all with a smile. The front desk person was sensible enough to give me a refund. They were lucky I didn’t call the police. But something wasn’t right. The marks wouldn’t stop bleeding. No matter how long I kept the bandages on, they kept bleeding. Days went by and they just kept bleeding.”

This was gross. This was really, really gross. Did some guy really go to the Institute and make this kind of statement? It must have been a prank. Mr. Sims had to know he was being pranked, right?

She didn’t think he knew, though. He sounded scared. Why was he reading it if he was so scared?

She needed to get out of here. She might be suspended, but she didn’t care anymore, she just wanted to get away from this awful, awful story. But when she tried to move her legs, she found, with a sinking feeling, that they wouldn’t go. She willed herself to open the closet door, but it was like she was encased in a stone mold. She couldn’t even lower her phone.

The only thing she could do was shake, and breathe.

“I’ve lost so much blood these last few weeks. I don’t know how I’m still alive. My chest hurts and my breathing’s shallow and I’m so pale and cold, but more just keeps coming out. It’s gotten on everything; my clothes, my bed, the walls. And the smell …” Mr. Sims frowned. “Have you ever been around that much blood before? You can taste the metal in the back of your throat, all the time. It doesn’t go away.”

Stop.

Please stop ...

“And it just keeps coming.”

He talked and talked and talked, until Maggie’s eyes burned and her legs cramped. She was shaking so hard, she thought that at any minute Mr. Sims would hear her and save her from whatever this was. But he just kept reading.

Finally, Mr. Sims' voice returned to normal.

“Mr. Dale committed suicide shortly after this statement. Due to the amount of blood discovered in his home, the police initially suspected a burglary gone wrong, but there were no signs of forced entry. There’s little else to be gleaned from scanning through online archives.” He sighed. “Even the statement file had blood on it. It sounded like a pained existence. End recording.”

Maggie slapped a hand over her mouth to hold back her gulping gasp for air.

It was over.

Leaning back in his chair, Mr. Sims let out a long breath. The lines on his face seemed deeper. More tired than before. But there was something else. Something … satisfied. Nausea curled in Maggie’s stomach. He looked as if though he had just had a big dinner.

At last, Mr. Sims got up to leave, and she could have cried. She so, so desperately wanted to get out of this closet. She wished she had never come here in the first place.

But then, just as Mr. Sims fingers brushed the handle, she saw something on the back of his hand. Some kind of wrinkle, gnarled and ugly. How had she never noticed such an eyesore before?

But then, it opened.

It was an eye, bright green, and it was staring right at her.

When Mr. Sims closed the door, she slid to the floor, arms and legs wracking with tremors. Tears streamed down her face.

What did she do? What did she do? Lifting her phone, she tried calling dad, knowing full well he was likely in the middle of his shift, but she needed him.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” she whispered, biting her lip. It went to voice mail, and she buried her face in her knees, tears trailing down her cheeks in thick globs. “Please …”

She needed to get out of here. When the shaking subsided and Maggie felt like she could move again, she stumbled towards the school entrance, not even stopping to grab her bike.

She wasn’t sure where she was going, but anywhere was better than here.

The 403 bus would be coming in another 34 minutes. It could take her to the Glasgow airport. She didn’t know exactly what to do with this information, although a vague plan of buying a ticket back to America was forming in the back of her head. Mom would probably be mad to see her, but there was nowhere else that Maggie could go.

A bus pulled into the stop, but it wasn’t hers. It was still another 23 minutes. She really hated living in the countryside, sometimes.

“Excuse me.”

She looked up. There was a man with soft brown hair and glasses standing near the bench. He must have just gotten off. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

He smiled.

“Are you Maggie Abernathy?”

She straightened up with shock.

“Sorry,” he said, holding up a hand. “I’m a big fan of your YouTube channel. Your videos are very good."

Maggie's jaw dropped. Well, that was certainly ... unexpected. She tried to say something, but it kept getting twisted up by her tongue. She’s been so desperate for anyone to take even the slightest interest in her videos, that, now that she was given the chance, she didn’t even know where to begin.

“I, um, not really,” she said, tracing the pattern of her jeans. “I just copy stuff I see from other channels. You know, BuzzFeed, Ghost Hunt UK, and stuff.”

“Oh, Melanie King fan, are you?”

“I mean, yeah. She’s only got the best ghost hunting channel online. People say its Franco Overton’s channel, but they just like his dumb humor." She kicked at the gravel with a pout. "King has the real stuff.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along the compliments.”

It took a moment for her to process the implication, but when she did, it hit her like a brick wall.

“You’re friends with Melanie King?”

“Well, ex-coworkers, really,” he said, scrubbing the back of his head. “Although I’ve been trying to get her and her partner up for Christmas. She and my husband don’t really get along, though.”

Maggie only knew of two out gay couples in town, and, with a sinking feeling, she figured this man wasn’t Mrs. Adair. He wasn’t wearing nearly enough hair spray.

“You’re Mr. Sims husband, aren’t you?”

“Oh, does my reputation proceed me?” he asked, smiling. “My name is Martin Blackwood. It’s nice to meet you.”

Maggie lifted a hand in greeting, too stunned to form a polite response. If Mr. Blackwood knew about her videos and was watching her videos, that must mean …

“Does … does Mr. Sims watch my videos, too?”

“Sometimes. I keep telling him to talk to you about it, but he says to let you have your fun.” He laughed a little, “Honestly, I think you intimidate him."

Somehow, she had never considered that Mr. Sims could be watching her videos, too, and all the terrible things she did and said. Mr. Blackwood was watching them, too, who seemed so awfully nice.

Now Maggie remembered where they had properly met before, outside of her ambushing. It had been at the bake sale last month. Maggie had brought scones, but they were wrinkled and soggy, even though she thought she had stored them correctly.

Mr. Blackwood had advised her to sprinkle her scones with flour before putting them in the oven, that way the glaze would set in right. He still ate one, and said it was delicious.

What was such a seemingly normal man doing with ... whatever Mr. Sims was? Had she made some kind of mistake? But that was impossible. Even now, she could see the image of that, that thing on his hand.

Another image came to her, though. Mr. Sims had tried one of her scones as well. His eyes had widened, exclaimed them to be "Quite good" and asked what she had put in them, to which she said orange zest. At the end of the day, he had come back for a second scone.

Maggie's video that week had been all about how Mr. Sims seemed to have some kind of compulsion power, and all the malicious ways could potentially use it.

Maggie lowered her face in her hands, her stomach roiling so badly she thought she might vomit.

“Are you okay?” said Mr. Blackwood, taking a seat next to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to …” She trailed off, not even sure what she had even meant to do. “I just wanted to do something cool.”

“I think your videos are pretty cool.”

“No you don't," she said, under her breath. "No one does. Everyone at school thinks I'm creepy."

“I suppose you do get a little intense, sometimes. Although, I was really impressed how well you aimed that pudding cup.”

Her face flushed bright red, more embarrassed than she had ever thought possible.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled, wiping her face. “I don't think those things about Mr. Sims. I just thought this channel would make people want to talk to me.”

Mr. Blackwood hummed, looking out towards the road.

“Well, I think you have the right idea, personally,” he said. “If you do the things you love long enough, you might meet people who love those things, too. And they might want to be friends.”

Maggie looked down at her feet. It was hard to process anything with how much was stuffing her brain. But Mr. Blackwood was nice. She liked the sound of his voice. Having him sit next to her, silent and patient, helped her senses settle themselves.

She grimaced. Had she really been thinking of flying back all the way to America?

Seeming to sense her struggle, Mr. Blackwood turned towards her.

“Is it alright if I ask what you’re doing out here?”

She futzed with her hands, trying to find the right words. This was Mr. Sims' husband, after all. “I saw Mr. Sims reading something. I think he called it a statement.”

Some of the color drained from Mr. Blackwood’s expression, and she fully expected him to call her crazy, because, yes, it was a little crazy, but instead, he said,

“That must have been rather frightening.”

Maggie blinked. He knew.

Mind racing with questions, she started with, “Why did he do that? It looked like he enjoyed it or something, but also like he didn’t. Like he was, I don’t know,” her nose twisted, “eating it.”

��It’s complicated,” he said. “He doesn’t enjoy it, though, but if he doesn’t do it, well,” he glanced down at his feet, “he won’t feel so good after a while.”

Maggie leaned back, considering the trees on the other end of the road. It sounded awful, having to read those terrible stories all the time. No wonder Mr. Sims looked so old. She’d only listened to one, and she was pretty sure she was going to have nightmares for weeks.

A noise caught her attention. A car was pulling up to the bus stop, and when the door opened, every muscle in her body stiffened. It was Mr. Sims.

“Jon,” Mr. Blackwood said, rising to his feet and Maggie jumped up alongside him. Mr. Sims glanced at him, surprised, but his attention turned back to Maggie. She glanced at his hand, but nothing was there.

“Miss Abernathy,” he said, voice laced with distress as he closed the car door and began approaching them, “you can’t just disappear like that. The entire school is—”

Mr. Blackwood pressed a hand to his husband’s shoulder, leaning in close and whispering something into his ear. The expression on Mr. Sims’ face shifted from barely concealed concern to stark horror, the color draining from his face.

“Oh my god,” he said. “Miss Abernathy, are you—”

“I’m fine,” she said, quickly. Mr. Sims didn't seem to think it was fine, though. It unsettled her, seeing that fear in his eyes.

“I am so sorry," he said, holding his hand out, as if he were placating a wild animal. "You were never supposed to see that.”

“Is …” She hesitated, picking at a frayed thread in her hoodie. “Is it okay if I go home early today?”

Mr. Sims didn't seem capable of formulating a response. Mr. Blackwood squeezed his husband's shoulder, and smiled at Maggie.

"I'm sure that will be fine. How about we go back to the school together and wait for your parents?"

Her eyes slid over to Mr. Blackwood before returning to Mr. Sims. Both of their eyes held nothing but concern. Mr. Sims had brown eyes. Not green. She hadn’t noticed that before.

She nodded.

Maggie got to stay home for the rest of the week.

After her voicemail, dad had lost his mind. She said she just had a bad nightmare after falling asleep in class, but that didn’t seem to be what was troubling him.

It was only later that day, towards the end of dinner, that he gently admitted he was furious at himself for missing such an important call. She told him it was fine, he was working, she knew that, but that didn’t seem to make him feel better.

He even took a few days off to spend time with her, make sure she was okay. They watched TV and played board games together. It was the most she'd seen him in months.

And she didn't have to go to school! Much as she loved her dad, that was still probably the best part. She had all her assignments emailed to her and she would sleep in until noon.

There was still her channel, though. During a bout of intense guilt, she had deleted it, barely giving herself time to second guess. She just couldn't stand the thought of all the things she'd said and done being bared before the world. Then, she turned to her phone.

It took her hours to build up the courage, but when she finally played that video, she was almost disappointed to find that it was distorted beyond all recognition. She deleted it.

By the time the nightmares finally abated by the time Monday rolled around, she was actually starting to feel better, just a little bit.

Maggie was in the school library when she saw Mr. Sims again. She had been in the middle of staring at the tail of a mountain hare, scratching her chin, when the door closed. She looked up to see him juggling an armload of books.

“Hey, Mr. Sims!”

He jumped, the books tumbling out of his arms and onto the floor with a loud crash. Maggie winced, and shot up from her computer, but Mr. Sims held out his hand.

“That’s alright,” he said, leaning down to begin picking up the books. “It’s good to see you again, Miss Abernathy. How are you feeling?”

“Better."

“I’m glad to hear it.” As he straightened up, dusting off the sleeve of the books, his expression shifted to something a bit more unpolished. “I should have told you this much earlier, but I wanted to apologize for frightening you so badly.”

Sheepish, Maggie soothed down a loose strand of her hair. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.”

Mr. Sims frowned, clearly deciding it mostly certainly wasn't okay. “Still, you can rest easy knowing I won’t be taking statements on the school premises any longer.”

"I shouldn’t have snuck into your classroom in the first place.”

“It’s not your fault, it was mine for not being more diligent."

Still, it must have been awfully inconvenient for him, but the way his lips curled downwards made her think he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She cleared her throat.

“I’m also sorry about filming you,” she said. “And stalking you. And throwing food.”

“It's alright. I’ve been through much more harrowing experiences than a wayward cup of pudding.”

Maggie had no trouble believing him, fully aware of the rumors of the scars that pocketed Mr. Sims skin, but she was pulled from her musings when Mr. Sims glanced down at her monitor.

“What are you working on?”

“Oh, um,” she fixed her hair, blushing, “the multimedia club asked if I could put together something for morning announcements. They wanted a segment on the rabbits that live nearby.”

“Did you get these images yourself?”

“No, I’m just editing it. Frank is the one who films it. He’s got this amazing camera his dad got him for his birthday.”

“Seems like it’s coming along nicely.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking her seat, picking at her cuticles. She wasn't quite sure what exactly the boundaries were, but she couldn't know until she asked. “So, like, you know everything, right?”

Mr. Sims raised a brow.

“Do you know when Brendon Urie is dropping his next album?”

“Unfortunately, precognition is not among my list of skills.”

Maggie pouted. Mr. Sims looked torn for a moment, before sighing.

“I believe there’s talks for a holiday release, however.”

“No way,” she said. “Do you know when he’s going on tour? Is he gonna come to London again, or maybe Glasgow? Is it—”

“Have a good day, Miss Abernathy,” said Mr. Sims, continuing further into the library. Maggie huffed, but returned to the monitor. The school had way better editing software than what she had at home, so she was hoping to finish this before school ended.

“Hey, Maggie.”

She turned. Frank lifted a hand in greeting, dropping his computer bag on the table and she smiled.

“Hey there, Frank. You got some really great footage today.”

“Oh, um, thanks,” he said, a light red staining his cheeks. “It’s hard to take a bad picture with this camera, though."

"No way, you've got a real knack for it." She pulled up an image of two rabbits cuddling next to each other. "This looks so good! You must have waited around for hours to get a shot like that."

Frank scrubbed the back of his head, the flush of his face growing bright. "Yeah, I had to work for that one a bit. By the way, Alice is inviting the club over to her house later so we can go over our videos together. Her mum’s bringing snacks. You wanna come with?”

Maggie's hand paused on the keyboard. “Oh, um ..." Be cool. "Yeah, that sounds fun.”

“Great. See you there.”

Frank waved and Maggie waved back. Oh, shoot. Now she’d really need to finish the video before school ended if she wanted it ready to share with the rest of the club.

Pulling out her phone, she sent her dad a quick text about her plans, before turning back to the monitor.

#the magnus archives #tma #themagnuspod #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fanfiction #fic

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secondgame00-blog · 5 years

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WORKSHOP UPDATE … AND A FEW WORDS ON FOOD PHOTOGRAPHY

A few seats left

A first, wonderful early spring workshop is behind us and I must say it’s nice to be back on track, preparing meals, sharing our kitchen, our table, our region. Getting started has prompted me to get organised, to look at the registrations for the upcoming workshops, contact people etc. After doing the math and receiving response from a few people with tentative status, here are the workshops with some (usually very limited) availability this year.

Next week we are headed to Piemonte for a very exciting workshop which is full of lovely people, some returning. So no spaces there.

After that we have the Basque workshop which is pretty full but I had one person postpone so I could add 1-2 people to that workshop. May 16-18

Next is the Summer Wine – some reservations have confirmed they couldn’t come this time so we still have a bit of space there. May 30 – June 1

Then there is the Summer Abundance workshop which was so enormously popular that we added a second, identical workshop the following week. I had turned a lot of people away but then, when the requests kept pouring in we added the second one and some people from the first one even switched dates. So now we have two, quite evenly booked Summer abundance workshops and while I’d be perfectly happy to keep the numbers how they are right now I could still add 1-2 people to each. June 20-22 & June 27-29

There are still some spaces in the Piemonte Photography and wine workshop on September 27 – 29

The Fall Harvest workshop is one of the all time most booked so that one is impossible – we could have filled it up 3 times. I’ve been trying to look at possibilities to add a second one but right now I just can’t find the time for it. October 10-12

The Autumn wine is less booked so close to full but not quite October 24-26

Additionally I’ve been getting many requests for the dates in 2019 so we are looking at that right now and I expect to announce in May or early June.

For all information please email me at [email protected]

Looking forward to hearing from you

Mimi xx

Over to my husband who has a few things to say … about cabbage, onions & co.

Tuesday vegetables and other things

Although Mimi and I both love to eat fresh vegetables we have a distinctively different relationship with them. At the market she’s searching for inspiration, something that catches her eye, something she can bring home and slice up, boil, steam or grill and ultimately make it into something much more delicious than it was in the beginning. It’s a gut feeling – literally. My sole vegetable hunts, which are very frequent are more like casting sessions but practical ones – without a fault the freshest vegetables are also the most eye-catching, what’s in season stands out. I try to look for the really interesting “faces”, not just the shiny rows of monotone soldiers, but the odd fellows, the slightly deformed – the organic boys.

Our vegetable symphony marches on in perfect harmony, the house is always full to the rafters of the freshest produce, from local growers, and in summer, from our garden. The tricky day is Tuesday. Mimi will have cooked all the stuff she bought at the weekend but a lot of mine is still sitting there, getting less pretty by the minute. I often tell people that while I’m most probably a photographer by profession my real job is arranging vegetables. And most of that never gets photographed. I use the word “arrange” loosely as “throw them in” would be more in the spirit of what I do. I don’t believe in over-styling but I do subscribe to elements like chance and luck. Let the carrots fall where they may.

This brings us back to Tuesday. Last Tuesday to be exact. We had some lovely gentlemen coming down from Paris for lunch – they will be our “leather partners” in items such as aprons, dog leashes etc. It’s taken a long time to find the right people – Joseph Bonnie. We were late as we always are and after walking the dogs I had to choose between a shower or my vegetables. They were sitting there in crates, slowly going in the wrong direction of aesthetic pulchritude. The light would not be better later. Tomorrow these veggies would be over the hill of photographable beauty. Certain flowers and vegetables age well. Roses are like that. Tulips are not, not in my opinion anyway. The stalks fade to a yellowish-green that I find unbearable. Apples dry up, lemons (if they’re not radio-active) turn to a powderish green. Celery fades, carrots limp, asparagus shrivels and cherries ferment in rather a beautiful but not in the “I want to eat them” sort of way.

So a long story cut short I threw it all on a table and shot it, even brougth out a camera rather than a phone. The result is not magnificent but it’s fine. Fine enough for Mimi to say “my love (once again I inserted that), I’m giving some workshop updates on the blog – why don’t we post these and perhaps you can write something about them”. So now, while she’s on the roof, looking lovely in a bikini, I’m down here in the green room typing away – I type fast, a result of going to commercial college – they also taught book-keeping but I must have slept through that. Yes, typing away with a Negroni in front of me. Right now it’s about two-thirds down but I’m not even half-finished which is a terrifying though for any “writer”.

There is Champagne in the freezer though, a nice blanc de noirs (meaning white from black, only red grapes, pinot noir or pinot meunier). Yes, freezer because contrary to some wise guy sommeliers who’d love to serve the Champagne almost luke warm so it can properly “express itself” I fervently believe that Champagne should be served ice-cold. For those who’d like it a few degrees warmer, they can just wait a bit, but no Champagne ever got colder by sitting in a glass. The only exception is, that if you have a truly exceptional Champagne, something old, something from a single vineyard that’s hard to get, something so expensive that it feels like a bullet through the heart when the cork shoots through the air. Then, just maybe then, should you not put it in a freezer. And this is just my theory, not a fact – examples of really good Champagnes if you can find them are the ´99 Winston Churchill from Pol Roger, the single vineyards from Jacquesson, Salon is beautiful (but too expensive), anything from Selosse, Egly Ouriet, especially the blanc de noirs I’m in love with – Drappier Brut Nature might be the best buy on the planet – Ulysse Collin is hard to find but worth the search and out of the very big houses I favor Bollinger over anybody. As did James Bond. Like everybody I love Krug but you can find the same quality for less. And yes, Dom Perignon is actually very good. As is Cristal – I love the 2002.

Sorry – got carried away here. We were talking about vegetables. And my brief was food photography. Maybe we should go back to the beginning. My father bought me a good camera when I was about 14, my family is academic and arts were considered a … past time. Lawyers, doctors etc – that what you do for a living. I started law school, well enough I might add (important for my ego to leave that in). But then I realised it wasn’t for me. Some comparative literature (just lovely – Chekhov particularly), jobs in magazines, advertising and ultimately photography. For me it’s always been about the visuals. But I was always interested in people. In portraits. Then I met Mimi who is, as you know, interested in food. Some people might call it an obsession. A healthy one. One day we were having a fairly good coq-au-vin (which is getting to be a rarity in Parisian restaurants), then a crème caramel. We were supposed to shoot the place and I took an overhead shot which in those days was not nearly as fashionable as it is now in the days of iPhones. It’s not a perfect shot but somehow it’s got all the element that define what I do. It’s classic. There’s a trace of the coq-au-vin pot. It’s simple and stylish. The floor is good, there’s a white napkin. I didn’t realize it then but that will always be the most important food picture I’ll ever take. And my style hasn’t changed much since or, which may be regrettable, improved. But none of that really matters, to me what matters is instinct.

I’ve been reading a fine book about my favorite painter, Breakfast with Lucian. It demonstrates that he’s not introspective (which is comical given his family and famous name) but instinctive. Which is what I am too (and it’s very dangerous comparing yourself to a genius because it implies I’m putting us in the same category but I’m not … not yet anyway ha ha – just because I might say I like Champagne Pol Roger like Winston Churchill doesn’t necessarily imply that I think we’re cut from the same cloth, just that a small amount of our tastes and sensiblities are aligned). To me photography is instinct. Which is why I adore dogs. That, however, is another matter and a much longer story.

I’ve included, for your amusement (hopefully) a few other images that in one way or other depict the relationship between people and food. They are from the same time as the overhead food shot of the crème caramel. Food is nothing if nobody ever eats it – the most horrible concept is food photography where the food goes cold and ends up in the bin, maybe with some glossy, inedible oil that was put there for aesthetic purposes. My wife loves a good food picture, but she believes it could be and should be created in the short space between piping hot out of the oven and still hot enough to eat. As a good, Icelandic, soldier I consider it my duty to perfom.

Negroni is gone, even with my best efforts of restraint it just couldn’t hang in there any longer, while I have much to say on this subject, and would love to – my priority is that bottle in the freezer.

Enjoy your weekend, ours will be hot, full of food & wine and most importantly, family and friends.

Source: http://mimithorisson.com/2018/04/20/workshop-update-and-a-few-words-on-food-photography/

#read more #see more #check it out #interesting #learn more

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