#‘his bundle of names links us all together’

[hardwriterdeluxe]

Emergency Model (for Barber Exam)

This story is based on the themes from @joshslater story by the same name, linked here:

https://joshslater.tumblr.com/post/750324919700799488/emergency-model

Go show it love!!!

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Alex grew up in a wealthy family, surrounded by every comfort money could buy. His father, a successful businessman, had always emphasized the importance of self-reliance and hard work. Despite their riches, his father insisted Alex make his own way in the world, particularly when it came to paying for college. “Success,” his father often said, “is earned, not given.”

This principle led Alex to a relentless pursuit of part-time jobs to fund his education. Balancing his rigorous academic schedule with work, he found himself perpetually exhausted and constantly broke. His dorm room was neat and orderly, a reflection of his disciplined upbringing and his hope for a bright future.

One fateful afternoon, as Alex scoured job listings online, a peculiar ad caught his attention: “Quick Cash! Emergency Model Needed for Barber Exam.” The promise of easy money was too tempting to resist. Skeptical but desperate, Alex decided to take a chance.

Arriving at the barber school, Alex was greeted by a burly instructor named Mike, who explained the process. “We’ll be giving you a full treatment, mate. You up for it?” Feeling the pressure, Alex nodded.

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, trying to sound confident.

“Great, let’s get you suited up so your clothes don’t get messy,” Mike said, handing Alex a jumpsuit typically worn by the barbers.

Once he had changed, the students began their work. The first cut was shorter than Alex was used to, but he remained hopeful. As the cuts grew bolder, his hair transformed into a chavy, sporty style. Before he could protest, a student named Dan approached with a piercing gun. “Hold still, mate. Just adding a couple of studs,” he said, not giving Alex a chance to object. Before he knew it, Alex’s ears were pierced, adorned with small silver studs.

When the final haircut was done, Alex looked in the mirror, barely recognizing himself. “All set, mate!” Dan announced with a grin. Alex went to change back into his clothes, only to find them missing. “Uh, where are my clothes?” he asked, panic rising.

“Oh, must’ve misplaced them. Don’t worry, we’ve got some spares you can borrow,” Dan said, handing him a bundle of clothes. The outfits were all chavy and sporty, much like the students wore. Reluctantly, Alex put on the new clothes, feeling awkward and out of place. He collected his phone and wallet, but the cash he was promised wasn’t there.

Alex left the barber shop, confused and upset about losing his clothes. He headed to the bus stop, only to realize he was short on cash for the fare. As he stood there, unsure of what to do, Dan and a couple of the lads from the barber shop appeared. “Need a hand, mate?” Dan asked, noticing Alex’s predicament.

“Yeah, I don’t have enough for the bus,” Alex admitted, embarrassed.

“No worries. We got you,” Dan said, covering the fare. They rode the bus together, the lads chatting animatedly. Alex, still in shock, barely registered the conversation. When they reached Alex’s stop, the lads walked him to his door. “See you around, mate,” Dan said, patting him on the back. Alex nodded, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and apprehension.

The next day, Alex was awoken by a knock on his door. Groggy and disoriented, he opened it to find Dan and a few of the lads standing there. “Morning, mate! Time to pay up for yesterday,” Dan said with a grin.

Alex’s heart sank. “I don’t have the cash right now. I didn’t get paid from the barber exam,” he explained, his voice wavering.

Dan’s grin widened. “No worries, we’ve got an alternative method. Come with us, and you can work it off.”

Alex had no choice but to agree. He followed the lads, his anxiety mounting. They led him to a local gym where they spent the day working out and playing sports. The lads encouraged Alex, pushing him to embrace their lifestyle more fully.

As the days turned into weeks, Dan began to subtly alter Alex's reality. Using an uncanny ability to manipulate time and space, Dan slowly rewrote Alex's past and present. Alex’s body began to change, growing taller and more muscular. His once lean frame filled out with bulk, his muscles becoming defined from the daily workouts. His bone structure shifted, his features becoming more rugged and less conventionally attractive. His face developed a rougher edge, his jawline more pronounced and his skin tougher.

Alex’s intelligence seemed to drain away, his thoughts slowing and his vocabulary shrinking. He began to speak in the slang and accent of the lads, his speech patterns changing to match theirs. His mind transformed, his memories and identity reshaping to fit his new life. The well-spoken, diligent student was gone, replaced by Alec, a school dropout with a rough, chavy demeanor.

Alec’s heritage seemed to change as well. His affluent background and disciplined upbringing were erased, replaced by a working-class origin. His DNA, once a reflection of his rich ancestry, now bore the marks of a lad who had grown up in a tougher environment. His once clean, well-mannered appearance was replaced by a more average, rugged look.

Alec found himself working at the barbershop for money, his old aspirations and dreams replaced by the immediate need to earn a living. His apartment, once neat and orderly, transformed into a messy, athletic-themed space. Weights and gym equipment cluttered the living room, and sports posters adorned the walls. Alec even found himself sharing the space with a new roommate, Jay, another lad who fit seamlessly into Alec’s new life.

The transformation was complete. Alec’s interests changed; he now enjoyed working out, hanging with the lads, and the rough, chavy lifestyle. His wardrobe, once filled with preppy, clean-cut clothes, now boasted track suits, hoodies, and trainers. His clean, academic demeanor was replaced by a confident, almost cocky swagger.

One day, Alec looked in the mirror and fully embraced the reflection staring back. His rich upbringing, his disciplined studies, his aspirations for a professional career—all were distant memories, replaced by his new life as a proper chavy lad. His brain had fully adapted to his new identity, erasing any lingering doubts or connections to his past life.

As Alec sat in his now cluttered living room, surrounded by his new friends, he felt a sense of belonging he had never experienced before. The job that was supposed to be a quick cash fix had given him a new purpose and a new family. Alec embraced it fully, ready for whatever adventures lay ahead with his newfound brothers. Thus, the wealthy student transformed into a proper chavy sporty lad, his old life replaced by a new, exciting reality.

[writing-until-i-drop]

What's In A Name? Chapter Five

Meg Harding and Kate Carter were inseparable until their friends died five ago, then she ran to New Orleans to save lives as a paramedic. But when Javi calls on his two oldest friends to help him collect data, counting on their matching natural instincts for tornadoes, Meg goes home for the first time in years. That's where she meets Tyler and the rest of the Wranglers, the YouTube storm chasers her dad likes to watch, and finds herself fitting in more with them than with Storm PAR. Meg only plans to stay for the week but will it be easy to leave when the dust settles?

If a certain cowboy has a say in it, nothing about leaving is going to be easy.

A/N: Meg has to make a very interesting phone call...

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

Meg woke up with Tyler curled around her, his heavy arm draped over her waist, a large hand splayed across her stomach, keeping her tight against him. It had been the best night of sleep of her life and she stubbornly gave credit to the softness of Boone’s shirt for it. She carefully slipped out of his hold and down the ladder.

At some point, the Wranglers had driven the camper and the rest of their vehicles to a different motel and they were all gathered up outside, bundled in blankets, sitting around an extinguished fire. Boone was the first to notice her, popping out of his chair to hug her tightly, rocking her back and forth.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Doc, and thank you, thank you, for keeping T safe.” The rest of the Wranglers were quick to join in on the hug, even Ben after she heard the shutter of his camera. Meg almost started crying from the sheer amount of love surrounding her, feeling at home again in Oklahoma for the first time in five years. “You hungry, Doc?”

“Starvin’,” Her stomach growled in agreement.

“I’ll rustle something up,” Boone patted her on the shoulder. “Also, do your parents watch our streams?” She nodded. “They were name-dropping you something fierce in the chat last night, asking for updates if you were okay.” Of course, they had. Meg knew better than to think it was just her dad demanding answers in the chat.

“The whole crew’s probably at my parent’s house debating whether they should drive out here.” She shook her head with a huff of laughter. “Dex, can I borrow your phone? I don’t know what happened to mine.” He obliged and she dialed the house phone, putting it on speaker.

“Harding’s phone,” Rabbit picked up. “Meggy, this you?” Dexter’s mouth fell open, putting all the pieces together faster than the rest.

“Yeah, it’s me. Y’all can stop freaking out, all limbs are accounted for and in working order.” 

“Bill, Jo, guys, it’s Meggy!” 

“Meggy, honey,’ Preacher’s voice was the next on the line. “You scared us half to death.” 

“Margaret Marie Harding,” Her mom shouted into the receiver. “Have you lost your damn mind?” Meg cringed,

“Mama, I’m just following in dad’s footsteps.” There were shouts of “The Extreme” in the background. “Also, y’all might be on speaker with the Tornado Wranglers.” 

“Holy shit, Meggy,” That was Beltzer.

“We’re big fans,” And that was Haynes. The Wranglers were watching her with amused and star-struck looks. Ben, thankfully, was the first to recover.

“Your daughter is quite remarkable.” 

“And alive,” Boone added, giving Meg a thumbs up that she returned, mouthing good job.

“We’re glad to hear it. Hi, Pumpkin.” 

“Hiya, dad. Did you want that mug of yours signed? Pretty sure I can swing it.” 

“Dani, get the man a mug!” Dexter pushed a laughing Dani towards the camper where Tyler still slept. The Wranglers and the original team energetically traded exclamations of excitement and amusement that Meg had kept her last name a secret for so long. That was until her mama started shouting again. 

“I don’t want you anywhere near a tornado unless you’re harnessed  in, do you understand me, young lady?” 

“Mama, please, you’re embarrassing me.” 

“Let me talk to Dexter,” Jo demanded. “He seems like the only responsible one.” Meg didn’t argue, taking her mom off speaker and handing the phone to Dexter.

“Yes, ma’am?” There was a shout of her name from inside the camper, signaling to everyone that Tyler had woken up to an empty bed.  The Wranglers snickered at her, Lily giving her a good-natured shove to the shoulder. “Of course, ma’am. I’ll make sure of it.” 

Tyler came stumbling out of the camper, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, a grinning Dani right behind him with a mug and a marker in either hand.

“Where’s Meg?” 

“That’s Meg Harding to you, Ty,” Lily teased and Tyler’s eyes went wide. “Yup, your girlfriend’s the daughter of storm-chasing legends.” Meg flushed, hoping her parents hadn’t heard that. Tyler looked at her, dumbstruck.

“Your parents are…”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit,” Tyler ran a hand through his already chaotic hair. “You’re a-,” He pointed at her, “Your parents are-” Meg nodded. “Holy shit.” 

“My parents are big fans of your channel, Ty.” She saw the moment Tyler’s brain fully stopped functioning, giggling. 

“I need coffee,” Tyler’s shoulders slumped. He sat down in Boone’s abandoned seat beside Meg, grabbing her hand and squeezing it, like he was afraid she’d run off on him. Meg squeezed back. “Who’s he talking to?”

“My family.” Meg could get used to surprising the hell out of Tyler, laughing at the startled look on his face.

“Doc, Rabbit wants to talk to you.” Dexter jogged the phone over. “Can I meet your parents?” He whispered and Meg nodded, rolling her eyes with a smile.

“What’s up?” 

“Don’t let your mom fool you, Meggy. She’s giddy as hell you’re chasing again.” Meg knew that in her heart but the reassurance made her smile. “Also, we’re betting on how long it takes you to ride the cowboy. Don’t tell your dad.”

“Rabbit!” Meg shrieked, slapping a hand over her mouth. She glanced over at the sleepy man beside her who didn’t seem to have heard what Rabbit said. Meg was going to turn that man into rabbit stew the next time she saw him.

“Blame Haynes, her idea.” 

“Don’t blame me, blame Joey!” 

“She knows damn well it wasn’t me, it was definitely Lawrence.” Could they get any more embarrassing? She felt like she was fifteen again, listening to the group place bets on how her first date would go.

“Guuuuyyyyysss. Can you please just put my dad on the phone?” There was a brief shuffle.

“Hey, Pumpkin. What was Rabbit saying?” 

“Nothing, just being annoying. She glanced at her blonde cowboy, getting a mischievous idea. “Tyler’s here if you want to talk to him, he’s a fan of yours.” She giggled at the look on his face. “Well, you talk, he’ll hyperventilate.” 

“Be nice to that boy,” Her dad scolded playfully. “I’ve got fifty bucks on you marrying him.” 

“Oh my God, that’s so much worse!” She wanted to disappear into thin air. Tyler took the outstretched phone.

“This is Tyler Owens, sir.” Tyler sat up straighter in his seat, running a hand through his bed head.

Boone came jogging back to the group, holding a 7/11 bag above his head.

“I got you coffee, a muffin, and a burrito.” Giving Tyler’s hand one last squeeze, Meg went to collect her breakfast, thanking the man with a kiss on the cheek. “Dani said you take lots of cream and sugar.” Meg looked at the woman who shrugged,

“I guessed.” 

“You guessed right, Sweet Thing. Thanks again, Boonie Baby,” She gave him another kiss on the cheek before going back to her seat. Meg kept the burrito, passing Tyler the blueberry muffin.

“Yes, sir. No, sir,” Meg couldn’t help but wonder what her dad was asking him, nibbling on the corner of the lukewarm burrito. Bean and cheese, nice. “No, she didn’t tell us her last name.” Tyler chuckled, “Yes, sir. I’m starting to understand that.” He paused, eyes going wide. Meg shifted in her chair, letting her legs fall across Tyler’s lap. He rested a hand on her knee and Meg couldn’t help but think that she could do this every morning, sitting there, admiring Tyler’s stubbled jaw line while the rest of the Wranglers joked around with each other. “I’d be honored but first we’ve got to go find Kate, yes, sir. Sapulpa.” He tapped her knee, “Here, darlin’.” He passed the phone, trading it for her coffee, his nose scrunching up. “I prefer black.”

“Not everything’s about you, Arkansas.” Tyler stuck his tongue out at her. “Hey, dad.” 

“You should marry that boy, Meg.” Her eyes cut to Tyler who was eyeing her back with a small smile on his face, making him even cuter than normal. 

“We’ll see, dad,” She sighed. “Gotta chase down my other half first. Now go feed the guys, I love you.” 

“I love you too, Pumpkin. Come home before you leave.”

“I will, should I bring Kate?” 

“And Tyler. Keep an eye on the sky, Pumpkin.” Meg hung up, mumbling through a mouthful of burrito.

“Trouble makin’ busy bodies, the whole group of ‘em.” 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were Jo and Bill Harding’s daughter,” Her mom would have liked the way he put her name first. “No wonder you’ve got such good instincts.” 

“Get ‘em from my daddy.” Dani came over, presenting Tyler with the mug to sign.

“And here I didn’t think you could get any cooler, Meg,” Dani teased. “We gotta keep you around.” 

“Here here,” Boone raised his coffee in cheers. “T, buddy, don’t go fucking this up for us.” The Wranglers all added their agreement, making Meg laugh. She swiped the coffee back from Tyler, admonishing him for drinking more than half the cup if he didn’t like it. Then it hit her and she nearly spit out her mouthful of coffee. Lily had called her his girlfriend and neither she nor Tyler had corrected her. What the hell did that mean?

“Stop thinking so hard, darlin’.” Tyler squeezed her knee like he could read her mind. “Just enjoy the morning.” His hand moved up to her thigh as he kicked back in his chair to eat and she rested her hand on top of his, letting her attention fall to Boone and Dani as they teased Dexter for his fangirling. Ben started snapping pictures and Meg didn’t let herself worry about how she looked wearing borrowed clothes, eating a gas station burrito, mud from the night before still on her cheeks, with Tyler’s hand on her thigh.

Unlike when he was chasing, Tyler was an incredibly safe driver on the way to Sapulpa. Meg on the other hand was an incredibly unsafe passenger. She had the passenger seat pushed all the way back, her feet kicked up on the dash, and her boots abandoned on the floorboards.

Lily had lent her a pair of mismatched socks, one was striped and the other was dotted. They were both singing along to the country music blaring on the radio and Meg couldn’t remember a time she felt happier. And she was sad she had to ruin it.

“I should probably tell you what you’re gettin’ into before we get there, Ty.” Tyler turned off the radio, giving her as much attention as he could while driving.

“What, darlin’, you hiding a boyfriend from me in Sapulpa?” Meg snorted, she wished that’s all she had to confess. Instead, she held out her hands in front of her. Her fingertips were all kinked, not quite straight. They were also calloused and scarred, not only from chasing but from her time as a paramedic. Her favorite scar was one on the pad of her thumb, permanently messing up her fingerprints, from when she stuck herself with an EPI pen instead of the patient. 

“You ever notice how crooked my fingers are?” 

“I was a bull rider, healed breaks are normal to me.” She hummed at his non-answer, answer. 

“I met Kate in college and we became close, our friend Addy used to call us two shades of the same color. Always the same but slightly different.” Dandelion and Sunflower, shades of yellow, were her favorite comparison to make. She’d always make a joke about how they were happiest when the sun was hidden behind clouds, so they needed to be surrounded by bright colors. “Mama was her thesis advisor. There were six of us helping her with the research.” 

Meg let the tears roll down her cheeks without wiping them away.

“Parveen and Kate spearheaded the actual idea, Javi collected the data with Dorothy, Addy was there to take photos, Jeb,” She chuckled. “Jeb was just in love with Kate, so he’d follow her anywhere, and I was there to make sure no one got hurt. But they did.” She had spent a lot of time on her partner’s couch drinking and thinking about the situation, coming to grips with the fact that her EMT certification couldn’t have saved her friends that day. “Everything was going great and then an EF-5 came out of nowhere.” 

Tyler exhaled heavily, reaching out to rub her knee.

“We thought it was going to be an EF-1, maybe 2, so we didn’t have the good sense to be scared until it was too late.” 

“I’m sorry, Meg,” Tyler offered in sympathy. Because what the hell else do you say when someone’s telling a story like that?

“Our only hope was an underpass, which tells you how shit outta luck we were. Parveen couldn’t run so fast and was swept up first, then I fell and I dug my fingers into the dirt to hold on.” Her fingers and wrist ached at the memory, “I broke every single one of my fingers and debris shattered my wrist. While I was layin’ there, I heard Addy and Jeb fly away, screaming for their lives.” 

“Shit, Meg. That’s horrible,” She hummed in agreement.

“Kate survived of course but she won’t talk about it and Javi was in the follow vehicle. All he could do was watch as the tornado headed our way. To hear him tell it, it was the worst day of his life and it probably was.” The hurtful things Javi said the night before filtered through her mind, making her sick to her stomach. “Police officer found me and Kate stumbling along the highway, trying to get back to Javi, and took us to the hospital.” 

Meg took a long, deep breath. If things had gone differently that day, her life would have turned out a lot differently. She never would have moved, none of them would have.

“Kate ran away to New York, Javi joined the military, and I went to New Orleans. I was a wreck on the job but my partner Nick’s always had my back. You’d like him,” Nick was her rock, both on and off the job. “He took me to my first second line after one of our GSW patients, Tayvon, a fifteen-year-old kid, didn’t make it.” 

It had been her second week on the job, she had never been on the scene of a drive-by shooting before, there had been so much chaos and blood. They worked on him for a few minutes before they decided it was best to work while driving. Meg had still been an EMT, so Nick worked on Tayvon in the back of the rig while she drove through the busy streets like a bat out of hell. By the time they passed him off to the doctors, things were looking up.

  “To see everyone smiling through their tears and celebrating that kid’s life, it healed me more than anything else ever could. Everyone needs a Nick and Kate didn’t have one.” 

“I think I want to meet this Nick guy,” Tyler squeezed her knee, “Buy him a beer and thank him for taking care of you.” Meg chuckled, thinking about all of the embarrassing stories Nick would tell him about her.

“He’d buy you a beer, tryin’ to charm you into making me your problem instead of his.” 

“Be my problem, baby,” Tyler’s hand moved upwards to squeeze her thigh. Meg laid her hand over his, tears starting up again.

“I’m crying about my dead friends while you drive me to see my traumatized other half. Hate to say it, Sweetie Pie, but I think I’m already your problem.” Laughter filled the truck, first hers and then Tyler’s. “A little late to back out now.” 

“I’m not backing out, Meg, just making sure we’re on the same page.” 

“Which is?” She feigned ignorance. 

“You’re my problem, baby. All mine.” Her dad was going to be over the moon whenever she told him about this conversation. So would Nick.

“Thoughts and prayers, Cowboy. You’re gonna need ‘em.” 

Taglist: @theforevermorereject @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @sinners-98-world @nerdgirljen @candlejuice @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @football1921 @katiemcrae @emma8895eb @itsdesiree86

Next Chapter

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[2:37 pm]

Renjun took a seat next to Mark with a deep sigh beginning to complaining about how his last lecture was too long and too boring. The class that he had with you, yet you were nowhere to be seen which Jaemin had noticed, of course, he had been looking for you as soon as he saw the doors to the building your class was in open.

Jaemin was very unsubtle for his affections for you, always saving the seat right beside him for you, giving you rides even though you lived out of his way, randomly buying you your favorite coffee, and the fact that whenever you were around he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Everyone in the group, and really anyone with eyes, picked up on his crush- everyone except for you. Just like they noticed your crush on him even when he didn’t. He never noticed how you smiled more around him, that he was the only one you shared food with, or that he was the only one that you hugged for every greeting.

It was annoying to your friend group who couldn’t believe you both weren’t together already. What kind of friends feed each other, make playlist titled with the others names and hearts, or walk with their arms linked? They were all about 2 minutes away from shoving you both in a closet and forcing you to share your feelings every time you all hung out.

“Well, lucky for us it’s the end of the week and you won’t have to worry about it until next week again. Are we all still hanging out later?” Mark asked.

“As far as I know yeah, but Y/N went home for the day,” Renjun shot Jaemin a look, “We got some feedback on our research drafts and the professor was super harsh.”

Jaemin felt angry for you, standing from his seat on the bench,“What research essay? The one that you both spent 3 weeks working on and pulling all nighters for? Which professor is this?”

“Calm down Jaemin, it was just the draft,” Renjun replied.

“Whatever, that’s no excuse to be rude, I gotta go.” Jaemin huffed before he stormed off.

“He’s going to Y/N’s apartment,” Mark stated.

Renjun agreed with a chuckle, “You think he’s going to confess?”

“There’s no way,” Mark replied. 

Meanwhile Jaemin was running to your apartment, dodging other students and pedestrians. He was breathing heavy with his legs burning when he caught sight of a flower vendor just a few streets away from your place. He hurriedly pulled all the bills out of his wallet which got him 5 big bouquets of flowers. 

To say you were bummed would be an understatement. You had worked your butt off and you were so proud of the work you turned in only for you professor to basically rip apart your paper. Your professor had left comments on every paragraph and you saw more red ink than black ink.

You were bundled up on the couch with your favorite blanket, favorite ice cream, and your favorite movie playing on the tv. You were going to pamper yourself until you felt better, even if it took the whole weekend.

There was incessant knocking on your door. You made your way to the door looking through the peephole to catch sight of Jaemin.

You opened the door to reveal Jaemin with red cheeks and arms filled with flowers, “Say the word and I’ll beat your professor up.”

You laughed, inviting him in and listened to him rant about how he could make your professor fall down the stairs and make it look like an accident, he interrupted himself for a second, “The flowers are for you by the way.”

“You got all these flowers for me?” You asked softly.

“Well, yeah. Renjun told me you came home sad and I remember you said getting flowers makes you happy, so I got you flowers,” he shrugged, making himself comfortable on the couch under your blanket.

You smiled at him, he made you so happy. You took a seat beside him and placed a kiss on his cheek, “Thank you, Jaemin.”

He blushed and began rambling, “It was nothing, I mean I would do anything for you, but this was nothing. Can I kiss you?”

You nodded, leaning forward until your foreheads were touching. Jaemin’s hands gently cupped your face, swallowing and closing his eyes before his lips touched your own. It was nearly impossible to fight back your smile which in turn makes Jaemin smile and laugh lightheartedly, “I won’t be able to kiss you if you smile every time I kiss you.”

You laughed, throwing your arms around his neck kissing him properly. It makes your head spin as his soft lips move against your own and his arms fall to your hips to keep you in place. You feel his lips part as the kiss intensifies when he licks into your mouth. You sighed against him, pulling away when you felt it was getting too intense. You avoided his gaze, feeling warm under his heated stare. You had just made out with one of your closest friends, he guy you had the biggest crush on. 

His arm stayed put around your waist as he reached forward to grab your marked up essay from the table beside the couch. His eyes roamed all over the first page and tried to keep his expressions to a minimum as he read over all the comments your professor had left. Your professor really didn’t hold back.

He tugged you closer, your head resting on his chest as you began telling him how disappointed you were that all your hard work was for nothing. You had no motivation to make corrections, attend office hours, or even ever go back to class.

Jaemin rubbed your back soothingly, waiting for you to finish talking. “Hey, I have some good news for you,” You sat up at that, sending him a confused look, “This isn’t your paper.”

You snatched the paper out of his hands to see what he meant, and sure enough all your moping was for nothing because your name wasn’t on the paper, it was one of your classmates. “Ahhhh! I love you, you’re the best ever!” You screamed excitedly pressing another kiss to a shocked Jaemin’s lips.

You loved him. You loved Jaemin. He loved you too but right now he wanted to enjoy your lips on his own again. He was so happy

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

November 7th — Epilogue!

Seven years ago we all went through the flames; and the happiness of some of us since then is, we think, well worth the pain we endured.

How eerily relevant to current world events!

It is an added joy to Mina and to me that our boy's birthday is the same day as that on which Quincey Morris died. His mother holds, I know, the secret belief that some of our brave friend's spirit has passed into him. His bundle of names links all our little band of men together; but we call him Quincey.

I love you Quincey Jonathan Abraham Arthur Jack Harker 🥺❤️

When we got home we were talking of the old time—which we could all look back on without despair, for Godalming and Seward are both happily married.

I see it. I see it. We only need to remove one (1) word to make it work. Technically we could even leave it untouched. I see it.

We were struck with the fact, that in all the mass of material of which the record is composed, there is hardly one authentic document; nothing but a mass of typewriting, except the later note-books of Mina and Seward and myself, and Van Helsing's memorandum. We could hardly ask any one, even did we wish to, to accept these as proofs of so wild a story. Van Helsing summed it all up as he said, with our boy on his knee:—

"We want no proofs; we ask none to believe us! This boy will some day know what a brave and gallant woman his mother is. Already he knows her sweetness and loving care; later on he will understand how some men so loved her, that they did dare much for her sake."

Don’t you love it when the Family is Found?

JONATHAN HARKER.

THE END

Dracula Loop™ one final time 🖤🦇

Final thoughts

I LOVED IT!!!!! Which will certainly not come as a surprise to my Tumblr friends. Themes of monstrousness and humanity and love and resilience are my everything. This is one of the stories that will stick with me forever!

Quincey and Renfield remain my favourite characters. Jonmina has me in a chokehold. Van Helsing is such a funny character and was the topic of many debates with my sister. It says a lot that Dracula himself, the title character and overarching menace of the book, pales in comparison to the protagonists — sometimes kindness is more interesting than evil!

See you next year, everyone. For now, I will leave you all on a question:

Fanfic recs please? 🖤🦇

< Prev 🦇

[skyloftian-nutcase]

"Okay," Zelda said, smacking her fist into her palm. "This one is going to be it."

Silently, her companion added a scratch mark to some parchment he'd been carrying.

Zelda glanced at him, eyes narrowing. "Are you keeping tabs?"

"Only when you say this one is going to be it or some variation of it," Link replied smoothly.

Zelda huffed, ready to argue, when out of curiosity she asked, "Where are we at?"

"Eight."

"Ha! I expected more! This is good, then."

Link sighed. "What's the story with this one?"

"Hear me out," Zelda started excitedly, spreading her hands like she was opening a large book. "A thousand years ago our land was encased in shadow."

Link stopped his horse, staring at her. "Is this another one of Beedle's stories? The last one nearly got us killed."

"No, no, no!" Zelda grumbled, rolling her eyes. "This one is from my family. History may have turned to hearsay and legend for the common folk of Hyrule, but it's sacred to my family. This one actually happened!"

Link raised an eyebrow, skeptical, but urged his steed to start moving nonetheless.

"So," Zelda continued. "A thousand years ago, shadows came to our land and cursed our people. My ancestor joined up with royalty from a distant land and together, they summoned the Hero of Light, who destroyed the shadows. That very Hero lived in the village we're going to!"

Link had to admit... he was still dubious, but he was a little curious. "An actual Hero? There's relics of one of the acutal Heroes? What royalty from a distant land? The only neighboring land I know of fell to ruin a hundred years ago."

"I don't know where it was, honestly," Zelda answered sincerely. "They were always really vague about it and I don't know why. But apparently the person died, so they honored her sacrifice."

Link hummed, tossing his braid back over his shoulder. After going through multiple villages, towns, and even a city, the fact that they were going somewhere that might have housed an actual Hero at some point in history was almost promising. Perhaps Zelda would find who she was looking for and Link could return to his quiet home and avoid all this mess.

It seemed too good to be true, though. Heroes were relegated to myths. The only reason he knew those myths were real was because of his parents. But still... they were ancient.

Surely no such catastrophe could strike the land now. The princess was just naive, right?

"Ah! We're here!" Zelda announced happily, bringing her horse's steady stroll to an end. Link watched her climb off before following suit.

"Where is here?" he asked as they passed a spring.

"Ordon Village," the princess replied, popping her hands on her hips and smiling with pride.

Link stood there beside her, staring a moment and sniffing tentatively. "It smells like manure."

Zelda scrunched her nose. "It does not! What if that smell is something else entirely?"

"It's definitely manure, Highness."

"Well your town smelled like it too!"

"My town is a trading hub!"

"I can't even smell any--" Zelda stopped in mid-sentence as the wind changed directions, scrunching her nose. "Oh."

Link turned to her, now completely affronted. "What did you smell before that made you think of my town?"

Zelda waived a dismissive hand. "Doesn't matter - we have to find the Hero!"

Link sighed, following the princess into the village. "Your Highness, your story is from a thousand years ago. That Hero is long gone."

"Of course he is," Zelda replied with a roll of her eyes. "But there's word of someone named Link who lives here!"

One royal pronouncement and excited welcome later, the pair found themselves standin gover a crib.

"Well," Link quipped. "I suppose he could cry the enemy to death."

Zelda's sour look was response enough.

"Is there a Rattle that Seals the Darkness?"

"Just shut up."

The princess could only be upset for so long before she started cooing at the baby and laughing as the little bundle giggled in reply. Even Link had to smile fondly at it. The two congratulated the happy couple and gave them their well wishes before dining with the village and setting out once more.

"I think your story was a bit off," Link remarked as they walked their horses to the edge of the village.

"Just because the lead was false doesn't mean that a Hero didn't once live here," the princess said a little stiffly. "My family's history speaks of it."

He didn't argue. His own father spoke often of the royal family's role in helping Hyrule remember its history. He just... well, he had to admit he was a little disappointed. While he wasn't nearly as excited by history as his father, the promise of seeing traces of the Hero had been simultaneously intriguing and unnerving.

Either way, it was back to the road for them.

The masseur paused as the princess continued, glancing over at the spring as something sparkly caught his eye. Was that... was that a fairy? He hadn't seen one of those since he was a child, and that had only been once! Distracted, he hovered back a hair as Zelda plodded ahead, but the princess noticed his stillness.

"What is it?" she asked, coming back to him, before she saw it too. With an excited gasp, she rushed ahead, and Link tripped over himself to follow her.

The fairy flitted away quickly, but the pair stopped nonetheless.

They were back at the spring, but behind the waterfalls that fed into it, they could make out a small engraving. The two slinked around the edge of the spring (Link nearly face planted on the smooth, slick stone) until they managed to get behind the roaring water. Link shivered as they both got soaked in the misty spray, but the princess seemed completely unbothered.

Zelda's hand snaked around his upper arm, eyes fixed on a point, and she whispered, "It's him."

Link was about to question what she meant, wondering how a stone could mean anything, when he squinted at engraved words that were below a half worn symbol of the Triforce.

-ink

-elove- --ther and husba--

H-ro of L--t & Sh-d-w

"There's no grave here," Link noted softly.

"A monument to him, then," Zelda noted, though a little confusedly. "Why wouldn't they bury him here, or somewhere with honor?"

Link stared at the stone, eyes trailing down to see fresh flowers placed there. The villagers know and didn't tell the princess. A soft smile pulled at his lips. "He comes from a pretty humble place. I think... I think he wanted to keep it that way."

The princess hummed, still perplexed but trying to understand. Eventually, though, she knelt, folding her hands in prayer. Link sank to his knees, sitting on his legs rather than kneeling, eyes looking beyond the words half lost to time. He thought of the history behind his name, and behind his people, and he wished for a moment that he could claim to be part of such a heroic lineage. If the Heroes of Hyrule were truly like this...

He sighed, closing his eyes and bowing his head in honor.

[spaceprincessem]

you and i'll be safe and sound | 50k buddie fic | ao3 link

[or the buddie hunger games au]

“That was very brave,” Josh says and Eddie is startled by how genuine he sounds. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie Diaz.” He hears himself say, his voice carrying over the hushed and horrified crowd.

“Well, Eddie,” Josh says, “was that your brother?”

“Nephew.” Eddie manages.

“How sweet,” Josh squeezes his shoulder and Eddie feels like he wants to crawl out of his fucking skin, “how about we give Eddie a nice big round of applause?”

Eddie watches as the crowd all kiss their three middle fingers before raising them to the sky. An old and rarely used gesture of their district, occasionally seen at funerals. 

It means thanks, it means admiration, it means goodbye to someone you love. Eddie can’t stop the lone tear from falling out of the corner of his eye. 

Everything slips out of focus as Josh moves to call out another name. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool. Another name. Another person Eddie is either going to have to out live or kill in order to survive. 

Eddie’s hunted animals before, but he knows that doesn’t compare to this. To taking another life in front of the entire country as a pawn in a game he doesn’t want to play. He thinks it’s a miracle he doesn’t vomit on stage.

“Our second tribute from District Twelve is Evan Buckley.”

Eddie’s eyes snap up and he’s pretty fucking sure his heart stops beating all together. If he lets his eyes flutter close he can feel the patter of rain, harsh and ice cold, against his skin. The way the air saturates with the smell of burnt bread.

He can see the shape of a boy thrown out into the mud, hands cradling something precious in his hand. The way that bundle was placed in Eddie’s own, shaking palms as a voice whispered, I’m so sorry I can’t do more before he was gone. 

But Eddie doesn’t let his eyes close. He watches as Evan Buckley — Buck, please just call me Buck — ascends the stairs to take his place next to Eddie. 

Not you. Please. Anyone, but you.

Eddie is struck by how much Buck’s eyes remind him of Christopher. So wide and blue and beautiful. Eddie wants to scream. He wants to tear every building apart, brick by fucking brick, with his bare hands. He wants to burn down the Capitol. He wants to cry. He selfishly wants the person standing across from him to be anyone, anyone, except Buck or Christopher. 

No, Eddie thinks as Josh tells them to shake hands, the odds are not in my favor today.

Buck’s hand is soft and warm and fits perfectly in Eddie’s. Buck looks at him with such devastation Eddie isn’t sure how they haven’t both shattered into little, tiny pieces. Because there are two things Eddie knows for certain now that he and Buck are in this together.

He will have to kill Buck to get back home.

Or Buck will have to kill him. 

And that, Eddie thinks, will break him for good. 

read the rest on ao3

tagging everyone that showed interest @alyxmastershipper @shortsighted-owl @ebdaydreamer @spotsandsocks @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @heartbeatdiaz @elvensorceress @colonoscopys @buddierights @cowboy-buddie @prince-buck-diaz @slowlyfoggydestiny @loveyourownsmiilee @thebestbooksaround @too-precious-for-this-worldd @tails89 @thekristen999 @wildlife4life

[lauralot89]

Seven years ago we all went through the flames; and the happiness of some of us since then is, we think, well worth the pain we endured.

okay which of them does not have happiness worth the pain endured

Is it Seward? Seward is always miserable

His mother holds, I know, the secret belief that some of our brave friend's spirit has passed into him.

as well she should. Quincey Morris never dies

His bundle of names links all our little band of men together; but we call him Quincey.

"Quincey Abraham Arthur John Harker, you were named after all the dudes who kept your mother alive, after letting her get infected with vampirism by being fucking idiots"

In the summer of this year we made a journey to Transylvania, and went over the old ground which was, and is, to us so full of vivid and terrible memories.

Most important question: Did you guys eat paprika hendl at the hotel or did you have a lovely picnic lunch over the area where Dracula's ashes got scattered?

Also did you bring your child?

When we got home we were talking of the old time—which we could all look back on without despair, for Godalming and Seward are both happily married.

TO EACH OTHER. SEARCH YOUR FEELINGS YOU KNOW IT TO BE TRUE

"We want no proofs; we ask none to believe us! This boy will some day know what a brave and gallant woman his mother is. Already he knows her sweetness and loving care; later on he will understand how some men so loved her, that they did dare much for her sake."

Of course we can't end the novel without one last moment of everybody being in love with Mina, Jonathan wouldn't let us

It's been a pleasure clowning with all of you.

[lil-gingerbread-sims]

🎃 Simblreen 2024 🎃

Goth Boy

With the announcement of the MySims Cozy bundle for Switch, I got the determination to do something I wanted to do for a while: make sims of some MySims' characters, especially MySims Kingdom, as it was my favorite game growing up. I was able to make a couple of them, and here is the only solo household.

I had to do Goth Boy. I had a crush on him as a kid, lol. Anyway, in the French version, he is named "Hugo Tique", which is a play on the word "gothique", "gothic" in French, so I named him that, even tho it seems his name is Herman in the other version.

I gave him likes and dislikes, skills, sexualities, attraction, but no pronouns, as the French version of the game doesn't let you. You can change anything once you have him download. If you don't have one of the packs I used, just replaced what's missing with something else.

All the cc used is included, even tho I know not every creator likes that, it's just easier for everyone. I try to have all the CCs of the same simmer in one folder, so they are still classed by creators. I use skin and eyes overlays, so I will not include these in the download, but the links are there if you want to try/have them.

🎃 Name: Hugo Tique

🎃 Age: Young Adult

🎃 Job: Fast Food Employee (Level 3 - Fast Food Cashier)

🎃 Aspiration: Bestselling Author

🎃 Traits: Gloomy - Loner - Bookworm

🎃 Packs used: Lovestruck, Growing Together, Discover University, High School Years, Island Living, Eco Living, Magic Realms, Vampires, Moshino, Crystal Creation, Urban Homage, Grunge Revival, Goth Galore

🎃 Skin: ARE WE ELECTRIC by Pyxis (Infant version by Incandescentsims)

🎃 Eyes: Intuition by Simandy & size slider by Marsosims

🎃 Download 🎃

[journey-to-the-attic]

3rd anni req 7: mammon / rain + hug

ao3 link

note: this takes place during chapter 14, after ik loses her hand but before she wakes up properly - i.e. during the same general period that lucifer's pov section in chapter 15 takes place in! since this slots right into that (and since ik doesn't remember this anyway) this could now be considered canon to jtta!

i combined two separate prompts - 'hug' and 'rain', with hand-loss scene being from the rain request, since i felt like they worked well together, i also did a bit of a play on the rain prompt - requesters, hope you don't mind!! ^^

∎ ∎ ∎ ∎ ∎

It occurs to Mammon that he’s never held someone so small before. He doesn’t remember his brothers being little enough to gather in his arms so easily.

In the beginning, he’d imagined that humans couldn’t feel that different from demons or angels - after all, they’re pretty much the same thing, just in different sizes. And he’s had to pick IK up several times already, but this had been different.

Everything after stepping into the tomb is a blur. His memory only sharpens into focus after Diavolo intervenes. As the prince shouted himself hoarse, he’d looked up, and seen the three of them - big demon, little angel, scarily still human - huddled by the wall.

There had been Luke, barely disguising panicked tears, and Beel’s face had been set and pale. For a moment, it felt to him as if he were watching his brother cradle a corpse, with a mess of smoking wounds where its right hand should have been.

He sits now by Beel’s bed, where he insisted IK rest, and finds himself staring at the haphazardly wound bandages around that same wrist. He wrapped them himself, even though Solomon had told him they were unnecessary - perhaps more for himself than for IK, who isn’t conscious to appreciate the effort.

He’d been the one to carry her up from the tomb, too, insisting despite Beel’s assurances that he could do it himself. That’s the part that sticks with him even now.

It was frightening. IK, as he has learnt, should be lively. She’s a bundle of contradictions, of course - defiant in the face of monsters despite being afraid of loud corridors, bold and brave despite that instinctive polite nervousness - but, out of everything, she is never silent and still.

“Idiot,” He mumbles in the silence of the room. No one hears him - Solomon and Beel are both downstairs, and Levi’s stalked back off to his room.

“...mhh…”

His head snaps up. IK’s eyes are wide open.

The relief is tantamount to being dunked in ice after spending a year in the desert. He scrambles out of his seat, unable to bite back a grin. “Took y—”

Then he stops. Something isn’t right.

IK glances at him without moving her head. There’s something unsettling and robotic about the way she blinks.

“Good morning,” She says vaguely.

It goes without saying that the room is dark. He tries to play along, wondering if he should shout for help - did she hit her head? “Yeah, mornin’, sleepyhead. Finally up, huh?”

��Huh,” IK mimics, and this is where she’s supposed to laugh. She doesn’t. “Hey… what’s your name?”

He feels his heart sink. He tries not to let it show. “You forgot? Honestly. It’s Mammon, duh.”

“Mam-mon,” IK repeats, stumbling, as if the sound is foreign in her mouth. “Ma…mon.”

“That’s it. Good job.” He watches her face scrunch up in discomfort. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Hot,” She mumbles, and she sounds younger than he’s ever heard her. “Ow… ow!”

“Hey, hey—” He springs forward without thinking, using his hands as barriers so that she can’t suffocate herself on the pillow. “—shh, shh…”

Her cheeks feel red-hot against his palms. There’s something he’s supposed to do for that, right? He glances to the side, then remembers the basin and towel on the nightstand.

“Alright, kid—” He makes sure she’s listening. “—I need ya to stay still. Can ya do that for me?”

“Hurts,” IK mutters hoarsely, and he feels something damp trickle over his knuckles. “Mammon…”

“Shh,” He repeats, quieter. It’s strange how naturally it comes to him. “You’ll feel better soon, alright? Won’t be a second.”

He moves as quickly as he dares, dunking the towel in the cold water, then wringing it out again. He turns on the lamp while he’s by the table, and IK’s little tear-stained face is thrown into sharp relief. It just about breaks his heart.

“Deep breaths,” He says absently, and lays the towel across her forehead, like he’s seen Solomon do. “One, two, three…”

He watches the anguish melt from her face, but the relief only lasts a moment - because now she’s blank again, and it feels like she’s staring right through him. IK blinks once, twice. One last gathered tear slides down her face.

She reaches up - with her left hand - and touches her face. “...it’s raining.”

“Sure,” He agrees quietly. “It’s raining.”

It might as well be. The strange, static-y sound in his ears is just like any downpour he’s ever heard.

IK lifts her right hand and reaches for the ceiling - for those umbrellas the twins strung up for whatever reason, years and years ago. They’ve never been used the way they’re supposed to.

“I can’t reach,” IK mumbles. “I can’t… hold anything. I can’t feel my fingers. I don’t have…”

She stares at the white bandages around her wrist. Mammon suddenly wishes he’d done a neater job. From here, in the dim lamp-light, it looks like jagged bone; he can’t decide whether that’s better or worse than the web of dark scars beneath the clean gauze.

He can’t think of anything he could possibly say. Slowly, IK lowers her hand again.

“Did I make him angry?” She asks. She looks tiny. “Did I… did I do something bad?”

He shakes his head firmly. “No. No way. Lucifer was just being an idiot.”

IK’s eyes widen a little. “You can’t say that. He’ll hear you.”

“So what if he does? I can say whatever I damn well please,” Mammon mutters, thinking that he should’ve socked him properly while he had the opportunity.

IK is smiling at him now. It’s small, almost ghostly, but it relieves him all the same. “You’re cool.”

“Duh. Ya only just noticed?” He tries not to look too pleased. She seems more comfortable now, so he decides to remove the towel.

Her eyes are a little red at the corners. He gives them a dab, then chucks the towel back into the basin, and pats her face dry with his sleeve.

…feels like he’s playing house. Has he ever done something like this before? Even back then, he wasn’t exactly responsible enough to be playing nurse.

“Mammon,” IK says, voice small again, “Am I dying?”

“What?!” It comes out louder than he means it to. He quickly lowers his volume. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“I’ve seen this in movies,” She mumbles. “I feel like… I’m going somewhere. Somewhere really far away. Or maybe you’re going…?”

“I’m right here, kid. Nothing’s gettin’ rid of me.”

And he makes his next decision on a whim. He carefully tucks some of the blanket out of the way, slides his arm beneath IK’s shoulders, and pulls her into a hug that - conveniently - keeps him steadied enough on the mattress to still the trembling in his arms.

IK barely moves, remaining unnervingly still throughout it all, but she hums as if to say thank you. So he stays there until her eyes close again, and for a little while longer after that.

She’ll be alright - IK’s a strong kid. Any human who makes it in the Devildom has to be, but especially one capable of stepping in front of a seething Avatar of Pride, and insulting him to his face, according to Solomon’s account.

It confuses him a little. If he had a spirit like that, he’d be on top of the world, but IK carries herself more like an inconvenience than a presence.

Right now, that presence is small, warm, and alive. She’d been limp and still as he carried her up here, the chill of the tomb clinging to her clothes - small, stiff, each breath laboured, as if they might stop at any minute. It’d been like holding a puppet whose strings had broken.

He doesn’t know when he started caring so much - doesn’t know why he keeps this weird little human nestled in his arms - but it scares him. If something like this happens again, he just might die.

[swampstew]

Captain_CumShot

Welcome to Raven's Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Take a seat on the chaise lounge, plug your electronic device in so you can enjoy this multi-chapter, full blown smut story. The Captain is the snack and sadly, I have nothing to offer to soothe the yearning. As always, links to Wattpad and AO3 at the bottom. Enjoy, from your favorite loyal, cabin hoe♥

Summary: Eustass Kid finalized his OnlyFans account - let's hope it doesn't get reported again.

Minors DNI you will be blocked - for adult audiences only.

A digital illustration of ocean waves and a menacing looking ship sailing the waters graced the banner of the OnlyFans account, layered with a deep red, blood-stained filter over the art. Right under the seafaring artwork in bold letters spelled out Captain_CumShot, the owner of the account. A partially faded jolly roger was pinned behind the account name, as if to add to the mischievous vibe of the page.

The circular profile photo was a zoomed in snapshot of the Captain’s face. He looked dangerous – a pair of worn, welding goggles pushed back his long red hair, a red-painted, wide-mouth grin with his tongue poking between his teeth, and sharp golden eyes pierced anyone who looked upon the photo with a sly look. A long, narrow nose centered on his face, shaved eyebrows, two long scars over his left eye, and an anti-eyebrow piercing on the side of his right cheekbone accentuated his devilishly handsome face. Was the dark, liquid-like substance that stained his face blood or something naughtier? His location placed him in the great State of Desire.

Captain_CumShot’s profile page was expertly put together. The first thing one would notice was his About Me poster. Another photo of the undeniably sexy face graced the cover, this time in the middle of being splattered by a viscous looking liquid; it had the same blood-stained filter layered over it like the profile banner. The subtitle under the photo read: No Discounts - Only thirsty bitches willing to pay get to have a sip.

He had a message for his readers –

“Hiya dolls. This is the one and only page for Eustass ‘Captain’ Kid, the kind of guy all your parents warned you to stay away from. I’m terrible, toxic, and plain fucking awful for your frail little hearts, and I know that just makes you want me more. Unfortunately for you, I’m untouchable. Fret not, little dolls. Just because you can’t have a taste doesn’t mean I’ll leave you hanging. I’m nothing if not a huuuuge tease, with a huuuuuuuuge cock to back it up. Have a little morsel that I was decent enough to leave for you👇🏻 If you’re brave enough, subscribe to my page and I’ll show you the deepest, darkest pleasures that you’ve never known.”

A video with a thumbnail was below the message. From what wasn’t censored, one could see his luscious red locks falling backwards as he hung his head back, face screwed shut in the throes of pleasure.

*Press Play?*

The focal point of the camera was blurred as the massive, redhaired beast of a man stepped away from the device, allowing it to focus on its subject and present him in the highest quality. He was wearing compressed underwear and nothing more. A pile of abandoned gym clothes kicked away in a bundle off to the side of the incline bench press he stood next to as he flexed for the camera. Bulging muscles on every inch of him as he twisted and turned, all the while sneering at the camera as if to say, don’t you wish you could crawl through the screen to touch me.

He pulled off the headband from his forehead and shook his sweat-slicked hair, little droplets of perspiration reflected off the lighting in the room. An indoor gym – it must have been a personal, in-home gym or the man truly gave no fucks who saw him as he proudly began stroking his hardening cock through the dark underwear.

Using thick, red painted fingers, he bobbed his large bulge until it strained against the fabric. His balls gently jiggled behind the underwear the more he played with his cock.

“Alright, I’ll stop fuckin with ya,” he spoke in a low, gravelly voice. “You came all this way for some dick, least I can do is show ya what you’re gonna be payin’ for. It’s worth it, you’ll see.”

A small pop-up with a reminder to subscribe to his account showed before disappearing again after two seconds.

Captain_CumShot pulled his underwear off and stepped closer to the camera. His cock was beautiful. Long and thick, adorned with veins running from base to just below his tip. Engorged head redder than the rest of his shaft, the light reflected off the bead of precum that was threatening to spill out of his slit. Neatly trimmed red hair, darker than the hair on his head framed his shaft.

“Like what you see? You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he growled through his sneer, putting his headband back on before spitting in his flesh hand, returning it to his cock.

Slow, teasing strokes up and down his member, his hips buckled slightly as he tightened his grip around the head. Using his thumb, he ran the digit around the swollen tip, smearing precum down the rest of his cock before using two fingers to gently pull his sack, letting out a low groan as he let his eyes close.

“I want you to imagine,” he rasped, “You’re against this bench. And I’m gonna fuck you raw on it,” he grinned.

Turning his body to the bench press, he stood with the seated section between his legs as he pressed his cock against the smooth, black backseat. Then he started grinding against it.

He gripped the top of the bench press with his metal prosthetic, propping his flesh hand behind his back to provide a better view of his inappropriate use of the gym equipment.

“Imagine my heavy cock sliding against your warm, wet center,” he teased, hips snapping sharply. “Hitting against your most sensitive areas, making you writhe and cream against me, all before I even stuff it inside,” he cackled.

He hung his head back and let out a moan, slowing his motions in exchange for short, lazy snaps. Pulling back just enough to let his cock bob freely, a line of precum clinging to his tip and the bench.

“Mmmm, I normally go for much longer but this is a so-called teaser to draw you in to subscribe. Keep that in mind when you think of me when you’re alone. Or maybe when you’re out in public, I like kinky sluts like that.”

Moving the camera stand closer to the bench press, Eustass Kid moved back to his starting position and pace on the equipment. He spit in his hand again and coated his cock before he slapped it against the material of the bench, putting all his body weight against his cock as he grinded against it once more. Shoulder muscles tightened under his alabaster skin as he used both arms to steady himself, the camera’s titled angle allowed for a delicious view of his panting face, his flexing muscles, and on his pulsing cock as he shamelessly rut on the bench. Moaning loudly as he brought himself closer.

“Wh-where, where would you want me, I wonder,” his long tongue between his grit teeth as he panted. “I know my loyal cabin hoes would let me finish inside,” he winked. “Ah ah! Fu-fuck!” escaped from him as he let out a few final thrusts.

The tip of his cock turned a dark shade of red as all his blood pooled. Twitching, he let out ropes of thick, gooey cum that smeared and ran down the angles incline. White streaks sliding down around his cock as he lazily thrusted as he rode out his orgasm.

“Hnnghh, fuck yeah,” he breathed. “That’s just the first round. I have a lot of stamina. Vids are short for upload reasons but if you want, long, torturous, and sinful content, make sure you subscribe to gain access to my live streams. You’ll be creaming your pants and begging me for more. Check out the tiers, the bonuses, and my wishlist. The more you thirsty whores pay me, the nastier I’ll get. See ya inside,” he winked again, blowing the camera a kiss as he slapped his cock against the bench press before a still frame of his prices took over the screen.

Captain_CumShot’s Main Menu:

Tier I – Deck Swabber – access to content 1 month prior to subscribing, access to videos and cumshot photo gallery.

Tier II – Sea Wenches – all treats in the first tier, plus access to professional pin-up photo gallery, access to content 2 months prior to subscribing, and access to live streams.

Tier III – Cabin Hoes – all treats in the first two tiers, plus sexting (messaging only), a lewd monthly calendar template, access to all published content prior to subscribing, and personally catered 60-second degradation videos.

Pay me or buy me shit off my wishlist and I’ll let you see my menu of forbidden treasures. More add-ons, services, treats, and surprises only for loyal hoes inside.

It lasted for 20 seconds before the video continued on for the last 15 seconds. The camera zoomed in on the cumshot on the bench press. A thick, white puddle pooled on the sitting section as it dripped from the risen back section. The camera showed off the streaks of viscous, opaque lines that ran down from the angled section from where his seed had initially hit. The camera’s view went back to the puddle, where a red nail dipped into the thick of it, dragging his essence downwards until the video ended.

Leave a like to tip OR hit the reblog button to subscribe.

Read on Wattpad | Read on AO3

[yurisorcerer]

Hi everyone, I have an important thing to ask of you all.

A friend of mine ( @central-avenue ) is in a very tight spot and needs to get $760 together by the end of the month to make her rent payment, otherwise things will become very difficult for her. Her Ko-Fi is here, and if you've heard all you needed to hear any donation is a worthwhile donation, so thank you.

However, if you want to actually get something out of this, you're in luck. I'm an anime critic, as I think most of my social media followers are at least tangentially aware. I'm going to be selling anime commissions to help my friend raise money. I will be charging $50 USD per cour. (A cour, if you're not aware, is a bundle of usually 12 episodes. It is how anime are divided up for broadcast, a lot of what get called "seasons" of a given anime are actually their cours.)

Here's how that's going to work! Make sure you follow the steps here, I don't want anyone sending their money somewhere where it's not going to do any good.

1: Donate the appropriate amount of money to that Ko-Fi account I linked earlier. If you need help figuring out exactly how much a given commission costs don't be afraid to DM me.

2: In the COMMENT SECTION of the donation, write the name of the anime in question. The anime MUST be either available on a legal streaming service that offers coverage in the US, *or* easy to get ahold of via other means.

3: I will watch these anime and review them. THIS WILL TAKE SOME TIME! Both because I have other commitments as a critic up to the end of the year and just because these things take a while in general. If you haven't read my reviews before, I'm pretty damn good at them, and I've reviewed things on commission in the past that I've both loved and hated, so don't be afraid to send me whatever you'd like.

Important note! You're not paying for any take in particular, just my honest opinion.

Thank you for reading all of this and feel free to DM me any questions you might have, on whatever site you happen to be reading this on, since I'm going to be posting it around *a lot.*

[zarvasace]

Vollan

Hearts Linked Together character masterpost

Link Vollan is vaguely Swedish. He has never had most of his left arm, which he didn't actually realize was strange for a long time, because he was raised by the dwindling Minish population. He's the cryptid hero mentioned in the Four Swords game that was bundled with Link to the Past once. He came out of the forest, split into four, defeated Vaati, and returned to the forest, never to be seen again. He chose his last name, which means roughly "lives in a meadow."

Vollan has a talent for channeling environmental magic, which is why the Picori Blade turned into the Four Sword when he wielded it. He prefers the company of animals. He's an amazing survivalist, though he is used to a lush kind of coniferous forest. He's very kind but very awkward around people.

Before meeting other Links, he'd assumed he would spend the rest of his life a loner in the woods. After meeting them, he gets a cabin on the edge of town and brings in game sometimes and starts to make friends. He eventually courts and marries a brash redhead with a lot of friends.

His version of splitting into four different versions of himself didn't involve fully realized individuals, just literal pieces of him. He didn't really enjoy the experience, and only splits now if he needs to have a serious emotions talk. It left him with mental scars, and he occasionally hallucinates the feeling of multiple bodies. His nephew takes the Four Sword to the Sanctuary after his death.

--- (634 words and bigger art under cut!)

Today was the day. 

Today was the day. Today was probably the most day of them all.

Link tried to ignore the way his palm sweated as he stared out at the town that stood bustling on the other side of a thin line of trees. There were just so many people, everywhere out there: walking on the dirt roads, talking to friends, tending animals, swinging hammers on glowing metal…

He'd been there before, of course, several times. Perhaps even a dozen. That didn't even count the time that he'd marched in, gotten information about Vaati, and headed out again. That had been terrifying, and an entirely different town. He hadn't been able to bring himself to visit that one again. 

This one, however, contained his goal: a very fancy (to him) knife. All of his were old, sharpened too many times, wearing out. He'd seen one on an earlier foray, last year, so he was pretty confident they'd have one. 

Hopefully his pouch of rupees would do. He had a lot, after his adventure and all he'd gathered. 

Link took a breath, wiped his hand on his tunic, and stepped out toward the nearest building. 

One step in front of the other. Dust kicked up under his feet. Were people staring at him? Oh, gods. Did they recognize him? Was his tunic a strange color? It was his arm, wasn't it. Or maybe his eyes. He'd noticed that most people had the same color in both of them. 

Could he go back to the forest already? 

No. He had a mission. An important one. A knife was the most crucial tool he owned, and it would be so nice to have a new one. 

Link found a shop that sold knives fairly quickly. Nice of them to have a picture of a knife above the door. He could read, but it took a bit of effort. He pushed in, startled at the bell, and found the nearest knife on display that didn't have fancy etchings or a hilt inlaid with opal. He hefted it, looked down the spine for straightness, and took it to the counter. It made a nice, heavy clunk. It would do nicely, yes. 

The man there, heavy with a mustache, leaned forward on his elbows. His caterpillar eyebrows rose quite high. "You want to buy that?" 

Link nodded. Then, remembering his manners, added, "Y-yes, sir." His stutter came out to play, with how hard he was trying to look normal. Great. 

The man eyed him, the patches on his tunic, and the green needles in his hair. Oh, whoops.

Link combed those out. "I-I-I can pay." His hand hovered over the pouch at his waist, a magical one with all of his things in it. He'd be prepared no matter what happened. As he'd been taught, though, he didn't reveal how much he had. 

The man picked up the knife. "A hundred and three rupees for this one. It's quite the knife."

A hundred and three? Oh, Link had that easily. He didn't feel up to haggling today. He dug into his pouch, pulled out the requisite amount in a total of five cut gems, and handed them over. 

Although the man had to think that Link was strange, he sold the knife. Link managed a smile and a thank you, but not a goodbye. He wrapped the knife in the bit of leather he'd saved and tucked it away. 

Just before Link exited the shop, a feeling deep in his gut called out to him. He paused, getting a read on it. Natural and yet unnatural, the feeling urged him to turn the handle of the door. It wasn't malicious, at least. Link hesitated one more moment. 

The shop bell rang again as he stepped out into mist. 

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Against the Tide - Twenty.

Rating: Explicit Pairing(s): Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Original Female Character, Silvio Ricci x Original Female Character Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez (Bleach), Silvio Ricci (Ikemen Prince), Olivia DuBois (Original Female Character of Color) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent, Pirates and Princes, Slow Burn, Action/Adventure, Worldbuilding, Angst, Some Subtle Racism, Sexual Tension, Political Subplot

Previous Chapter: Nineteen | Next Chapter: Twenty-One

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

"Olivia, watch your language," her mother frowns disapprovingly. "A lady shouldn't speak that way."

"I'm not a lady, and it's not like you haven't heard me say worse," she sighs. She looks at her father, who's still gazing with interest at the fabric in Grimmjow's hands. "But I'm starting to feel a little like an outsider here."

Read on AO3

“Oh,” Olivia exclaims softly. “You look fancy.”

He grins at her. “Clean up nice, don’t I?”

And he does. Grimmjow is always handsome, but Olivia notes the dress jacket she’s never seen him wear before and what looks like a new shirt beneath it. His pants are crisply pressed, his boots are clean and shiny, and his hair has been neatly pulled back into a braid that hangs over his left shoulder.

“Yeah,” she agrees with a smile. “You really do.”

“Ain’t so bad yourself, Princess,” he smirks. “So this is what ya look like in a dress, hm?” He eyes her up and down in a way that makes her feel like she’s wearing nothing at all. “With m’lady’s permission, I’m gonna eat you up later.”

“Stop that,” she fusses, flustered. “Don’t get me all worked up right before we go to my parents’ house.”

He just shoots her a knowing look. 

It’s then that she notices the wrapped bundle he’s set aside. “What’s that?” She asks, pointing to it. 

“That’s a secret,” he grins, hoisting the bundle in one arm and holding his other hand out for her to take. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’m going to get, I suppose.” She takes his hand, linking their fingers together. “Thank you for doing this,” she adds softly.

He looks back at her, mischief in his bright eyes. “How bout ya thank me later? I know a couple different ways…”

“Grimm!”

--

“Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez,” her father repeats. “That sounds like a Jeleian name. Is that where you’re from?”

“That’s right,” Grimmjow replies. He seems to be pleasantly surprised. “Not many folks care to know that.”

To Olivia’s own surprise, Antoine smiles. “I used to go to the Jele islands a lot when I was a young man,” he admits. “I have fond memories of them. Which one do you call your home?”

“Cyrenia is where I hail from.” 

“Ah, the mainland,” Olivia’s father replies. “You’re a long way from home… Do you get to go back often?”

Grimmjow shakes his head, a shadow passing briefly over his face. “Ain’t been home in over ten years,” he confesses. “Respectfully, my memories of the place ain’t so fond as yours.”

Antoine nods in understanding. “Then, I won’t ask you any more about it.”

A brief silence ensues. Olivia steals a glance at her mother. Mirelle’s expression is closed off, unreadable. She hasn’t said much so far - only her name when making introductions and a short thank you to Grimmjow for sparing time for them. She doesn’t seem particularly keen to join in their current conversation, either.

Olivia tries not to sigh. 

Grimmjow is moving on the sofa beside her, lifting the bundle he carried with him. Her curiosity about what’s in the bundle intensifies. Her eyes are on him as he unwraps it, so she doesn’t see the surprise on her mother’s face; she only hears the quiet gasp. 

“Mama?” She looks up, concerned. 

Her mother is staring at the fabric in Grimmjow’s hands. Olivia peers closely at it. She can see nothing out of the ordinary in it - it’s simply a length of fabric woven together with yarn of different colors. Confused, she puts a hand on Grimmjow’s arm. “Is… that a gift for my mother?”

He looks back at her, that tender smile that he reserves just for her on his face. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Gift for your pop, too… for both of ‘em.”

Mirelle is on her feet in one instant, crouching over the fabric in the next. “How did you know about this?” She breathes the question softly, hesitantly - almost as though she’s afraid of the answer. “I haven’t seen one of these in many, many years.”

Grimmjow chuckles warmly. “I spend a lot of time on Vora,” he answers. Olivia can see the way Antoine perks up at the way he pronounces the name of the island they come from. “Been doin’ for years, every time I pass through.”

Mirelle shakes her head. “But how did you know?” She stares at him. “You’re barely over forty, if at all.” 

“I’m sorry,” Olivia waves a hand in the air. “Does someone want to explain to me what the hell is going on?”

“Olivia, watch your language,” her mother frowns disapprovingly. “A lady shouldn’t speak that way.”

“I’m not a lady, and it’s not like you haven’t heard me say worse,” she sighs. She looks at her father, who’s still gazing with interest at the fabric in Grimmjow’s hands. “But I’m starting to feel a little like an outsider here.” She looks to her lover, but he’s looking to her mother - deferentially, Olivia notices. 

“A long, long time ago,” Mirelle starts, “this is what we called a life-weaving fabric.” Her expression is nostalgic as she runs her hands delicately over the fabric. “It’s created out of a special kind of yarn that’s only made on Vora. It… Well, depending on the colors of the yarn that you use, it can tell a story.”

Olivia leans closer to look at the multicolored fabric. “Oh, I see. So is this one telling a story?”

“White,” Mirelle says, pointing to the fabric that coincides with the color. “Respect for the wisdom of your seniors. Purple: homage to a person in a position of leadership or authority. Blue: a promise to protect. Red: a confession of love. And green,” she finishes, “the desire to unify hearts.” She looks back up at Grimmjow again, as if she cannot believe what she’s seeing. Her gaze shifts to Olivia then. “I haven’t seen a life-weaving fabric since…” 

“Since the day I brought the one I'd had made for her to her parents,” Antoine supplies. “It’s an old Voraen tradition that had started to die even by the time your mother and I met.” 

Respect for the wisdom of your seniors. 

Homage to a person in a position of leadership or authority. 

A promise to protect.

A confession of love.

The desire to unify hearts.

Understanding of what it means starts to sink in, and Olivia turns to look at him. “How did you know about this?” She asks, echoing her mother’s question. 

Grimmjow is silent for a few moments, and Olivia can tell he’s thinking about his words. “I pass through a lotta places,” he starts, addressing not just her, but her parents too. “And I know it might be I seem like the most uncultured bastar--- eh… uncultured man you’re ever gonna meet. Couldn’t care less about the politics of a place, but I like people, y’know? It’s why I move around so much. I like people, and there ain’t nothin’ that teaches ya about people like culture does. That means now-culture and past culture.

“I hold no love for Jele and its islands,” he goes on, “but there’s a whole lotta places I do have love for… and Vora’s one of ‘em.” He chuckles, and to Olivia’s ears it sounds a little self-deprecating. “Even before I met Sae--Livvy,” he corrects himself, “I knew I’d have one of these made if I ever met a Voraen lady I loved enough to do it for… but I won’t tell ya how quick I had it made after she walked into my life.” 

Olivia can see the way her father’s brows jump when he hears Grimmjow say Olivia’s middle name. “Well,” Antoine says, unable to help the laugh that escapes, “it seems like you know all sorts of secret things.”

“I know what ya think of me and what I do,” Grimmjow says somberly. “And I ain’t gonna sit here and lie and tell ya I’m the world’s most honest, upstandin’ man. But if truth is what’s bein’ asked for, I’ll tell it to ya. I ain’t never loved anybody as much as I love her. This,” he goes on, motioning to the fabric in his lap, “ain’t meant to convince ya I’m a good man - though I’m workin’ on bein’ better. It’s meant to tell ya I’m serious about your daughter, and I plan to stay serious.”

Olivia and her parents are shocked speechless. To their credit, her parents seem to recover from their shock a lot faster than she does. 

It’s her mother who speaks first. “Well. I still can’t say that I approve of this relationship.”

“Mama---”

“But,” Mirelle continues, holding up a hand, “it seems I may have misjudged you, and for that, I’m sorry.”

Grimmjow laughs good-naturedly. “Happens a lot,” he says. 

“Why don’t the two of you stay for dinner?” Her father suggests. “I’d like to hear more about your adventures at sea - the ones you can tell me about, anyway.”

Olivia looks at Grimmjow, letting her eyes meet his and telegraphing that she’ll leave it up to him. He flashes her a grin, then turns to Antoine. “Sounds good to me.”

--

When she wakes, the darkness outside tells her that she hasn’t been asleep long; night is upon them, and the lamp in her room is lit. She shifts under the sheets, her body no longer trapped beneath the heavy mass of muscle that is Grimmjow. 

He is still in bed, lying on his back with his eyes on the ceiling. 

“Hello,” she calls softly to get his attention. 

He looks over at her, flashing her a smile. “Wore you out, huh?” 

“In a good way,” she smiles back. 

He lets out a low chuckle. “Good.”

She moves closer to him, and he automatically reaches for her to pull her close. “Did you sleep?” She asks. 

“Nah,” he tells her. “Didn’t feel like it. And it’s more fun to watch ya flail around in your sleep like some kinda kid.” 

“I do not,” she protests indignantly.

“Yeah ya do,” he laughs, tickling her in the side. “Decked me in the stomach a couple times too. You gonna pay for them damages?”

As much as she tries to hold them in, girlish giggles escape her. “If anything,” she gasps around her laughter, “you should be paying me for damages. My entire body is sore.”

“Told ya I was gonna eat ya up, didn’t I?” He kisses her temple. “Never lied to ya before, don’t plan on startin’ now.”

She knows his words are meant as a lighthearted joke, but she goes sober at the truth of them. “You surprised me today,” she says softly.

“Hm? What, didn’t think I’d know which fork to use?” 

She swats at him. “That isn’t what I meant, although I was quite surprised to see you exhibiting table etiquette that even my hard-to-please mother was impressed by,” she laughs. “But I meant… I meant the other thing. The life-weaving fabric. That’s,” she pauses, unsure if she should say what she’s thinking but unable to keep the thought to herself. “Isn’t that a pretty serious thing?”

“Yep,” Grimmjow agrees easily. 

“And that’s… you… you meant to do that,” she goes on. It isn’t phrased as a question but she’s asking anyway. 

Something in her tone makes him chuckle. “Sae, I get the feelin’ the word husband makes ya wanna crawl outta your skin. Am I right?”

“I… don’t know,” she starts slowly. “I think before, I always associated that word with a specific person.” She knows better than to say Silvio’s name while she’s in bed with Grimmjow. “And the thought of that person being my husband came with a long list of things that made me panic. Responsibilities I knew I’d have, behaviors I’d have to exhibit, standards I’d have to uphold. It all just made me so anxious,” she admits. 

“Hm,” he hums thoughtfully, gently running his palms up and down her arms. “And how about when you think about that word outside of that person?” He’s following her lead, not bringing Silvio’s name into their bed. 

Olivia takes a moment to think about it - to think about that word in connection with the man who’s with her now, the one whose arms are wrapped tightly around her, making her feel safe. “Well, it certainly doesn’t make me want to crawl out of my skin,” she smiles. “I guess it makes me think of… of what kind of life I might have if I decided to build it with a husband. If he and I decided to build it together.” She looks tentatively up at him. “And what about you? What does the word ‘wife’ conjure up in that brain of yours?”

“Never thought much about it til now,” Grimmjow confesses, his voice quiet and low. “Livin’ as wild of a life as I been doin’ all this time… never thought anybody’d put up with it.” 

“But suppose there was someone who would,” Olivia muses. “Someone who… wanted to. Then what?”

He looks down at her. “Then I’d do whatever I needed to make her happy,” he replies. “Maybe even do a lot less of that wild shit… keep her close, take care of her til she gets sick of me.”

There are butterflies in Olivia’s stomach. Not even the vague, casual way they’re speaking about something so significant can calm them. “I’m not built for life as a diplomat, or a politician.” The words are spilling out of her before she even has a chance to consider how to say them. “I want to help Vora and its people, and I’ll do all I can to help them… but that isn’t the life I was meant to live forever. I want… I want to be with you.” 

Grimmjow is offering her that tender smile again - the one that’s only for her. “You makin’ a pass at me, Princess?”

“Yeah,” she laughs, as he pulls her closer. “Yeah… I think I am.”

Previous Chapter: Nineteen | Next Chapter: Twenty-One

Tag List: @chrissie2003 @kryptoniteforsale @pamakali

[minas-diary]

Seven Years Later: Epilogue

Read here, full story here.

Note — Seven years ago we all went through the flames; and the happiness of some of us since then is, we think, well worth the pain endured. It is an added joy to Mina and to me that our boy's birthday is the same day as that on which Quincey Morris died. His mother holds, I know, the secret belief that some of her brave friend's spirit has passed into him. His bundle of names links all our little band of men together; but we call him Quincey. In the summer of this year we made a journey to Transylvania, and went over some of the old ground which was, and is, to us so full of vivid and terrible memories. It was almost impossible to believe that the things which we had seen with our own eyes and heard with our own ears were living truths. Every trace of all that had been was blotted out. The castle stood as before, reared high above a waste of desolation.

When we got home we were talking of the old time—which we could all look back on without despair, for Godalming and Seward are both happily married. I took the papers from the safe where they had been ever since our return so long ago. We were struck with the fact, that in all the mass of material of which the record is composed, there is hardly one authentic document; nothing but a mass of typewriting, except the latter note-books of Mina and Seward and myself, and Van Helsing's memorandum. We could hardly ask any one, even did we wish to, to accept these as proofs of so wild a story. Van Helsing summed it all up as he said, with our boy on his knee: We want no proofs; we ask none to believe us! This boy will some day know what a brave and gallant woman his mother is. Already he knows her sweetness and loving care; later on he will understand how some men so loved her, that they did dare much for her sake.

Jonathan Harker.

[myfanfictiongarden]

Epilogue of Dracula

Seven years ago we all went through the flames; and the happiness of some of us since then is, we think, well worth the pain we endured. It is an added joy to Mina and to me that our boy’s birthday is the same day as that on which Quincey Morris died. His mother holds, I know, the secret belief that some of our brave friend’s spirit has passed into him. His bundle of names links all our little band of men together; but we call him Quincey.

In the summer of this year we made a journey to Transylvania, and went over the old ground which was, and is, to us so full of vivid and terrible memories. It was almost impossible to believe that the things which we had seen with our own eyes and heard with our own ears were living truths. Every trace of all that had been was blotted out. The castle stood as before, reared high above a waste of desolation.

When we got home we were talking of the old time—which we could all look back on without despair, for Godalming and Seward are both happily married. I took the papers from the safe where they had been ever since our return so long ago. We were struck with the fact, that in all the mass of material of which the record is composed, there is hardly one authentic document; nothing but a mass of typewriting, except the later note-books of Mina and Seward and myself, and Van Helsing’s memorandum. We could hardly ask any one, even did we wish to, to accept these as proofs of so wild a story. Van Helsing summed it all up as he said, with our boy on his knee:—

“We want no proofs; we ask none to believe us! This boy will some day know what a brave and gallant woman his mother is. Already he knows her sweetness and loving care; later on he will understand how some men so loved her, that they did dare much for her sake.”

Jonathan Harker.

THE END

[elesianne]

Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar Day 10: Winter Ball

Summary: Findis has been asked to help her nieces and nephews but together a nice dance performance for Finwë’s winter ball. So far, the only result is  chaos.

This takes place when all of Finwë's granchildren are young and the house of Finwë is still relatively conflict-free, thus I used Quenya names. You can check them here.

Rating: General audiences; AO3 link if you want to read there

Findis can't help sighing as she looks over the scene in her father's great hall. It is already decorated for the winter ball with plentiful bundles of evergreen and swathes of glittering fabrics. What furniture has been left in the room has been pushed back to the walls, transforming it into a ballroom.

The centre of the room is filled with all of her nieces and nephews dancing, or at least it should be – what the children and young people are actually doing can hardly be called dancing.

Findis should have known that her latest instruction to 'form up pairs and practise the first set of steps on your own for a while' could only be followed by chaos.

Turukáno is the one trying the most, dutiful boy, but his valiant attempts at performing the dance steps correctly are thwarted by his partner of the moment, his sister. Írissë, who comes up all the way to his waist, is making up a dance of her own, one determined step at a time. The result is that it looks like they're dragging each other around the dance floor. The comical sight is rounded out by little Arakáno sitting on Turukáno's shoulders, tugging at his hair every now and then and overall treating his brother like a horse.

Turukáno's other brother is also putting in a little bit of effort to dance. He talks with his oldest cousin while they dance, which would not be a problem except that Findekáno has never been able to talk without gesticulating with his hands. For that his and Maitimo's dancing also has a distinctly comical air.

Makalaurë has again, for perhaps the hundredth time, slipped away from the improvised dancefloor to talk with the musicians, and – is now actually playing a harp, Findis sees, and sighs. Makalaurë plays it well, of course, but Finwë did specifically ask that all his grandchildren take part in the performance as dancers, not musicians.

Fëanáro's redheaded twins are the ones who were, perhaps surprisingly, most excited about dancing at the beginning of rehearsals. It is too bad that they grew bored after just a couple of hours and have been a hazard to everyone else ever since, nearly bowling over everyone in their own, rather combative version of the dance.

But even they have to take quick action every now and then to save themselves from their closest-in-age cousins, Arafinwë's middle children. Angaráto and Aikanáro seem determined to prove that the golden house of Arafinwë can be every bit as chaotic and energetic as Fëanáro's. Findis doesn't know whether to call their 'dancing' athletic or gymnastic, but it certainly does involve many moves that have more in common with those disciplines than dancing.

Tyelkormo and Curufinwë, who are not even pretending to dance themselves, are urging and daring their younger cousins on to ever more foolhardy jumps, leaps, flips and somersaults. Findis supposes that she should be grateful that none of them are actually fighting each other.

Carnistir appears to have disappeared altogether.

Findaráto and little Artanis have made up their own dance too, full of dramatic lifts and flourishes, if admittedly grateful. It is sweet, but not what was requested.

Findis despairs of it all, she really does. This chaos is the result of two days of rehearsing… What will come of the winter ball where all of Finwë's grandchildren are supposed to perform a nicely choreographed dance together?

'I can't help feeling that I have failed as their teacher', Findis confesses to her father. He has come to observe the rehearsals. He is also the one who appointed Findis to the position of temporary dancing mistress to this pack of little and less-little hellions.

Finwë beams. 'I don't know what you're talking about', he says. 'Aren't they all magnificent?'

'Certainly', Findis says, though after these two days, she hardly agrees. She whistles loudly. 'If I could have your attention, everyone! Let's take a break. No, better – everyone, go run around the palace five times and then let us continue trying to pretend to be civilised people capable of putting together a performance. And someone please find Carnistir.'

*

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you liked this little fic, please feel free to comment/reply and reblog :)

Banner photo by Nicola Pavan on Unsplash.