#who will win: my body feeling like its literally crumbling into pieces and having to remain perfectly still to stop things from flaring up

[jackalhadrurusluvr]

i should get awards for being at my desk instead of in bed all day

[blessedlance]

pretty baby.

[r18+]

[wc:] 4k

[cw:] sub!atsumu, softdom!reader, femdom, oral (f. receiving), riding, pegging, mommy kink, puppy kink, minor dacryphilia, collar-play, restraints

! haikyuu manga timeskip spoilers. atsumu is 24. !

a/n: oh my god i haven’t written for leisure in literally 10 years i hope this is bearable LOL. @luvsicksubs​ wrote a lil tidbit about sub!atsumu a while ago and i have not known peace ever since so big thank you to ari for the inspo! pls enjoi :9

Atsumu’s been gone lately. A lot.

 Too much.

 You know it’s not his fault. The Jackals' practices have been brutal lately. So when Atsumu does eventually trudge his way back to your shared apartment every evening, he can only muster up enough energy to shower and collapse into bed. You’ve had to wake him more than once, chiding him to get up and at least dry his hair before bed.

“You can’t afford to get yourself sick by sleeping with wet hair, ‘Tsumu.” You’d whisper, shaking him gently awake. Usually he’d just groan in response and bury himself further against your body heat beneath the comforter--unwilling to give up even a second of precious, blissful sleep. You’d even gone so far as to physically pull his heavy, six foot athlete’s body out of the bed and into the bathroom to dry it for him once or twice.

It’s for his health, you reason. You can afford to pamper him a little--especially when he’s been working so hard. And the way his body slumps while he sits, his features softening--long eyelashes kissing the tops of his cheeks as he dozes off into half-sleep at the feel of your fingers tussling his hair with the gentle heat of the blow dryer… He becomes so soft in those moments, like putty in your hands.

It’s dangerous, because it makes you crave the sight of him like this--fragile and reliant on the comfort of your touch--even more.

You sigh. Reminding yourself again, for seemingly the millionth time since this excessive practicing for the championships started,

‘It’s not his fault.’

He’s been good. So, so good. Trying so hard to make sure you know he loves you and he’s sorry. Texting you to check in whenever he has the chance.

 > how are you today?

> how’s work going??

> what’s for lunch??? ლ(≧ڡ≦ლ)

 Sometimes sending videos of himself and Hinata hashing out new plays (only the ones they’ve mastered, though. You may be intimately familiar with every embarrassing piece of him, but he still wants to try to look cool in front of his girlfriend.)

And it helps. It really does. But you also know the texts are just as much for his own sake as they are for yours. You know how needy Atsumu gets when you two are apart.

 You remember the time he’d called you from his hotel room after an away game in Tokyo. How he whined into the phone at the sound of your voice when you whispered.

“Touch yourself for me.”

The way a soft cry escaped him at your command--your name leaving his lips with a breath.

 You want to feel him like that again. To see him beneath you, squirming and desperate--begging for you to just touch him, just sit on his face, his cock, anything you want just please--

 You abruptly stop your line of thinking--not daring to continue dwelling on this recurring fantasy. Atsumu doesn’t deserve the punishment you crave to dole out on him to relieve this frustration.

 … But he might want it.

 Championships are tomorrow. Just 24 hours stand between you and the feeling of Atsumu Miya’s taut muscles beneath your fingertips.

You take a breath, summoning the remnants of your willpower.

You could do this. You would make certain that the wait would be worth it.

For both of you.

 ---

 The Black Jackals win their first match because of course they do. Honestly, sometimes you feel a bit bad for the opposing teams. Their skill, their teamwork, their passion, their absolute willpower to win is stifling. Atsumu texts you that they’re going out for celebratory dinner and drinks. Bokuto’s idea. (Obviously). He promises he’ll be home as soon as he can. They’ve all got tomorrow morning off, and a whole day before the next round of matches. Some indulgence is well-deserved.

You type out your reply.

 > Take your time and enjoy yourself! You’ve earned it. 💕

 Knowing you’ve got at least two hours or more before the boys’ exhaustion ushers them all home, you decide to spend some time... preparing.

 You’re reclined on the couch, watching something you can comfortably give your half-assed attention to while scrolling on your phone. You hear the front door unlocking, the handle turning, and your heart leaps into your throat. The thought of finally, finally having Astumu all to yourself makes you absolutely giddy.

You turn expectantly, and can’t help the way your lips curl upward into a smile.

Atsumu pushes the door open and turns toward you, already smiling when he opens his mouth.

 “Hey.” You murmur.

 “Hey.” He breathes back, and you watch the way his features relax at the sight of you. The way the confident, assiduous Atsumu Miya--a man who wakes up every single day and strives for perfection in everything and every one---melts into something softer.

Something that’s silently begging for you to tear him apart and piece him back together again.

He slips off his shoes, drops his gym bag to the floor, and brings his long, heavy body to lay over yours on the couch.

His face--tinted pink (presumably from the drinks)--buries itself against your neck, lips pressed to your skin.

Your fingers assume their familiar position, nestled in the blonde locks atop his head.

 “Missed you…” You say lowly against his ear.

The small shiver that runs down his spine does not escape your notice.

 “I’ve been here every night!” He protests.

 “You know what I mean.” Your fingers press against his head, tugging on the strands the slightest bit.

 “Mmm…” He affirms softly--your skin keenly feeling the gentle hum against its surface. He knows what you mean. He’s been here, yes, but it’s felt more like the ghost of him--wisping into your bed for a few hours and gone again in the morning.

 “You were really in the zone today.” You comment. “I felt bad for the other team.”

 He huffs out a small laugh. “Don’t. They played fine. We were just better.”

 “Hmm…” You take your unoccupied hand and run a single finger up the curve of his spine.

 He exhales, and you listen for the tremble in his breath you know will be there.

Just a little more.

 “Either way, you were so good.” You can’t contain the coy lilt your voice takes on. You know damn well what you’re doing--using the very words that always make him quiver. He knows what you’re doing, too.

Atsumu thinks he doesn’t mind.

 It’s quiet for a beat. The two of you simply basking in the warmth of your bodies pressed against each other. You stretch beneath him, and… readjust yourself in a way that presses your breasts against him just a little bit more...

And Atsumu finally, finally breaks.

 He inhales sharply, and lets the subsequent exhale freely pass against your neck. A muffled word that sounds a lot like a plea leaves his throat.

 “What was that?” You ask, purposely grazing your lips against his reddening ear.

 “Please…” He begs.

 You consider being mean for a moment. Consider pushing him to his limit in desperation. The way those sharp brown eyes would turn glassy and tearful, his dark brows pulled together, pleading you to hurry up and take him--touch him--let him touch you--fucking anything. However you want, wherever you want. Make him vocalize that burning desire, and only concede when he well and truly begs.

 But that can always be arranged another time.

You’re far too heady with desire yourself to enact such cruelty on him right now. Not after he’s been so good.

 You shift your weight, moving to switch your positions by sitting up and pressing him beneath you. Your straddle his hips, purposely pressing your weight down against his pelvis ever-so-slightly.

 “You’ve been working so hard, ‘Tsumu…” You murmur, lowering the top half of your body to lean over his. Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt, running up along the taut muscles that tremble at your touch. “Such a good boy…”

Atsumu’s bites his lip in an effort to stifle the deep moan that leaves his chest. The way his body almost involuntarily reacts to that phrase every. single. time… It’s just too good to pass up.

You wet your lips.

 “Let me make you feel good.”

 And you press those lips ever-so-softly to the juncture between his jaw and neck. Soft touch turning to a light bite, and then back to a soothing kiss.

 Atsumu is crumbling--his hardening length pressing insistently against you.

 “I got everything ready. We can use whatever you want: rope,” and you press a slow open-mouth kiss to his neck,

“your collar,” then one to his collarbone,

“a toy,” traveling down to his pecs,

“the strap…” ending just beneath his belly button.

You look up at him from beneath your lashes, watching keenly for his expression to shift in interest at any certain one.

 Atsumu doesn’t give an immediate answer, his gaze unable to meet your own. Your hands trail back down his body, grazing a nipple with your fingernail just to see the way he twitches at the sensation. 

 “C’mon baby, how am I supposed to treat my good boy if he doesn’t tell me what he wants?” You purr, bringing your hands to the hem of the worn, oversized t-shirt covering your top half down to the juncture of your thighs. You’d snatched it from his dresser earlier to lounge in. Another carefully plotted detail. You knew just how riled up he got at the sight of you wearing his shirts. Even more so if he lifted it only to find those black and gold lacy panties underneath… Or if there was nothing…

Stretching your body, you pull the shirt up and off of your torso, tossing it aimlessly behind you. Atsumu’s gaze immediately returns to you--spotting that very set’s match: a black bra with intricate gold stitching around the lace adorning your skin. His hands are on you in an instant--palms sliding up your ribs to reach your breasts and gently squeezing around them.

Astumu had never been good with the concept of patience.

 Normally, you’d stop those big, calloused setter hands in their tracks--admonishing him for not asking permission, first. But this was about him. About fulfilling every whim his exhausted mind and body had the energy left to want. You could allow a little insubordination tonight.

 “You even wore my favorite.” He grins, that cheeky, self important tone of his sneaking back out. You smile coyly and tilt your hips downward, pressing your bare core against his still-restrained cock. He inhales sharply--dropping the attitude once more.

 “Part of the reward.” You grin. “Now, what does my good boy want?”

 His eyes drift upwards from their fixation on your breasts, meeting your gaze.

 “I want…” He bites his lip. “Wanna make you feel good.”

 Your eyes widen at the admission, but he’s speaking again before you can inquire.

 “You’re always so patient with me when practice gets like this. I just want to... To give you a reward, too.”

 You’re taken aback for a beat, pleasantly surprised at the acknowledgement. Atsumu still manages to surprise you with how observant he is. One of the more unexpected traits he shares with Osamu. Your eyes soften and you reach up to gently cup his face. He turns his head to kiss your hand and murmurs against your palm.

 "Let me taste you. Please."

 He knows how you get when he’s busy like this. How--despite your authority and confidence in the bedroom--you still long for his affection and crave his touch when he’s gone.

And this… This is the perfect way for him to express his gratitude while still pleasing both of you.

 “Okay.” You breathe, moving to kneel over his face. “Whatever you want,” you gently drop your weight toward his mouth. “my sweet boy.”

 He practically preens at the praise, moaning against your core. Again, Atsumu demonstrates his struggle with patience and savoring the moment. In an instant, he’s gripping your thighs and pulling them closer against the sides of his face. You know you could sit your entire weight atop him and he’d thank you, but tonight calls for something gentler. It’s enough to know you’re the only person who gets to see him like this. The only one who gets to watch the diligent, cocksure Astumu Miya, one of--if not the--best setters in Japan, become so vulnerable and desperate beneath you.

 He flattens his tongue and runs it slowly up from the start of your opening to the top of your clit.

 “Fuck, ‘Tsumu…” You moan, hands rushing to grasp at his hair. He groans, too, at the sensation of your fingers tugging--the hum sending a vibration through your body. You grind your hips, silently urging him on, and his tongue laves at your clit with small kitten licks. The feeling of those tiny, gentle laps against your most sensitive spot, so diligent and soft--it’s like electricity coursing through you, running up into every limb.

 “Mmhmm.” He hums against you. He knows just how you like it. When he services you like this--like the obedient puppy he is. “So wet… Y’taste s’good...” He says, hot breath fanning against you while he catches his breath for a moment.

 You press yourself back against him insistently. “Who said you could take a break? Use your fingers, too.”

 His mouth is back against you immediately, right hand sliding beneath your thigh to reach your opening. Carefully, he presses two fingers against it--testing the give, while his tongue continues to lick and suck at that sensitive nub. Spit has dribbled down from his mouth to where his fingers are pressed, and he slides his digits against the wetness, adding to the natural lubricant. Then, finally, he pushes those long middle and ring fingers up and into you. They slide in easily despite the way you feel yourself clench around the intrusion. He was right--you’re soaked. He finds a comfortable rhythm to compliment his tongue’s lashings easily and your head falls back, a deep moan escaping past your lips.

 “‘Tsumu… ‘Tsumu, fuck just like that--you do it so well for me, baby… Right there--”

 You’re cut off by the feeling of his fingers curling within you--searching, and then pressing against that spot so nicely.

Your thigh muscles twitch against his cheeks--breath fleeing from your lungs at the sudden rush.

 “Yes, ‘Tsumu--fuck yes.”

 You chance a look down at his face. Those long lashes closed, brows knit together in concentration while he pleasures you. Atsumu’s a pretty boy, but you think he’s prettiest like this.

 Fuck, you want more of that desperate expression. Want to edge him over and over until he’s drooling and can’t remember his own fucking name.

 You’re getting close. That climbing ecstasy rising dangerously high within you. You pull yourself off him before you can climb too high, and the release of suction from his mouth makes a small, wet pop.

 “You eat it so well, baby. So, so good for me, pretty boy.” You coo, caressing the sides of his face. His lips are pink and wet and you return your hips to their place atop his length. His lip wobbles with a whimper, back arching against you in search of more.

 “I think you’ve earned your reward now, don’t you?” Your eyelids fall, half-closed seductively while you lean your chest toward his face. You reach behind your back and release the clasp of your bra. His hands tighten themselves into fists, trying to restrain the urge to reach up and touch. The fingers of your left hand splay out against his chest, holding your weight, while the right moves down to pull off his boxer briefs. Then, your wet folds are sliding against his erect, bare, length. Slowly, up and down.

 “Mmm please can I--can I touch--”

 You interrupt him with a small lick against those still-wet lips and chuckle quietly to yourself.

 Oh, so now he’s ready to ask first?

 “You can.” You affirm, reaching down to line him up with your entrance. His breath is coming harder now, those hardened pecs rising and falling beneath you. The anticipation is rapidly unraveling him. Atsumu’s hands are on your back, tugging your chest back down towards him. As they slide forward around your ribcage to grasp your breasts, his gaze flits up to you.

 “Can I--?”

 “Mmhmm.” You nod--knowing what he wants. His mouth closes around your nipple, sucking with that perfect amount of harshness to tighten the coiling pressure in your lower body. His tip rests right against your opening. You can see the precum dribbling out of him--can feel the way he’s pushing himself slightly further up--desperate to get inside. Were this any other time,  you’d reprimand him for such impertinence. Tie his hands above his head and deny him completely. ‘And you were being so good, too, asking permission and everything. You wanna be inside that bad, maybe I should remind you how it feels to be on the receiving end, hmm?’

But, honestly, he’d nearly tipped you over the edge with just his mouth earlier. You were becoming impatient, yourself. 

 Finally, blessedly, you sink yourself down onto his cock, revelling in the way his mouth falls open and his head flings backward against the couch pillow with a cry.

 “Mmm.. ‘s it that good, baby?” You tease.

 “‘S been a while… So tight…” He hisses, almost like it’s too much.

 “Yeah?” You tease. Your hips are gradually picking up speed. Slowly rising up, up, up, as far as you can go before it feels like he might just fall out of you, and then your hip fall again, taking his full length deep inside.

 “‘Tsumu…” You say, rising back up again. “I wanted to pamper you tonight... “ and you slide back down. “Give my cute, sweet boy a reward for all his hard work.”

 Atsumu keens, whimpering beneath you.

 “But I think I wanna be a little selfish, too.” You breathe, leaning in close enough for your breath to fan against his face. “Is that ok baby?”

 A high pitched moan leaves Atsumu’s throat, and you clench around him.

 “Yes…” He sighs between ragged breaths. “Yes... Please, I--”

 “Please, what?” You interrupt him.

 “P-please…” You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. “Please, mommy…”

 “Ohhhhh, that’s my good boy.” You moan, restarting the rise and fall motion of your cunt around him. “Gonna make you feel so good. Just the way you deserve, ‘Tsumu. But you have to promise you won’t cum until I say so, mmk?” You’re holding his face, running your right index finger along the line of his jaw with a feather-light touch.

 And Astumu Miya shudders beneath you, staring up in reverence. The way those big brown watery eyes look at you… He’d look so cute with a collar clasped around his neck right now.

 He nods. “I--I won’t. I promise. Please.”

 Your hand moves up to stroke his hair softly. “Good boy.”

 You restraighten your back in your seated position atop him. Your hands come to rest against his chest for leverage, and you begin riding him in earnest. Atsumu’s eyelids fall closed again, head thrown back while his mouth hangs open in pleasure.

 “Is this what you wanted ‘Tsumu? Just want to feel me fuck myself on you until I’m satisfied?” You tease as you bounce. You slow to almost a halt and grind your hips in a circle, feeling the way his cock buries itself to the hilt. Atsumu’s hands are balled into tight fists against the couch. He’s moaning freely now--little cries escaping him as your cunt eagerly swallows him down over and over and over again.

“So good… You’re so good inside me, ‘Tsumu. Stretching me out so much every time. I know you know how good that feels.”

 “Ahnn--!” He keens at the memory. The way your soft hands had pressed his legs up against his chest. Wetness from the lube dripping down so tantalizingly slow between his ass cheeks. The cock of your strap buried within him. How utterly full he had felt, stretched around it while you softly cooed praises at him, stroking his cock.

 Fuck he wanted to cum like that again.

 More than that, he just wanted to cum. His hands clench and unclench--mouth hanging open while he revels in memory--in the feeling of your tight, wet, heat sliding up and down him just how he likes--how he needs.

 “I told you it was OK to touch, baby.” You reach down to grasp his hands with your own, bringing them to rest on your hips. “Hold onto me while I fuck myself on you.” You whisper.

 Atsumu’s eyes open at that, watching your body bounce on him. HIs left hand hastily comes up to grasp a breast, relishing the feel of the soft, pliable skin in his grasp.

 You gasp lightly at the sensation of his hand grazing your sensitive nipple. “Fuck yeah. So good for me baby--so good. Gonna make you cum in me like this--”

 Atsumu’s head falls back against the cushions again, his expression knotted in pleasure. “You feel so good. So good… Please… Please I’m-- Ahh!-- I’m getting close.”

 “Aww you’re close already? You wanna cum baby?” You shouldn’t tease. You know you’re close, too. That cresting peak getting closer and closer with every push of his cock into your deepest places. Your breath is ragged from the exertion of your body. You reach behind you blindly, refusing to miss an instant of Atsumu’s delicious expression. Eventually, you find the small bullet vibrator you’d stashed beneath the cushions earlier. You bring the toy to your clit and immediately feel it; that powerful wave looming just behind--threatening to take you over the edge. You steele yourself the best you can, inhaling deeply.

 Atsumu slides his eyes open at the sound and unleashes the mostly ungodly, moan. His voice trembles when he speaks.

 “Can I--can I come? Please--please baby let me come. Let me come.” His hands hold fast to your hips, grip growing steadily tighter as the sensations continue to climb. Faster now--exponentially faster. He’s not sure he could stop if he wanted to.

 “Mmmm hearing you beg like that… Good boy. You can cum, baby. I’ll even cum with you for being so good. Go ahead. Cum in this tight pussy.” Your words are rushed, breath catching here and there. “Give it to me.”

 And Atsumu shatters.

 The way his cry lilts up--high-pitched and unabashed. That wave crashing into him so hard and so completely it takes you down under with him. Atsumu’s mind is empty. Nothing but blinding white as he expends everything he has in him in an instant. His name spills past your lips over and over like a mantra while you ride out your high. The two of you so in-sync, it feels as though your cunt convulses in time with his every pulse. Everything feels so, astonishingly good and intimate.

 You’re both breathing heavily, eyes shut tight as that shared bliss slowly dissipates. You let yourself come down to rest on his chest. It’s suddenly very quiet save for your shared breaths. Eventually you rise onto your elbows, face directly over his.

 “I love you…” Atsumu murmurs, eyes slightly flitting about while he studies the intricacies of your face. He memorized them all long ago, but even in this he is never sated. Your eyes soften, chest fluttering at his tone: so tender and soft.

 “I love you, too.” You say, gently caressing his face. “So much.”

 Atsumu can’t help the smile spreading across his face. In one quick motion, his arms are around your neck and tugging your face down toward him. His head tilts, lips melding themselves against yours when they make contact. The kiss is unusually tender, his lips trying to convey what his words cannot: how he is so thankful and lucky to have you. You, who understands how dear his passion, his career, is to him yet helps him remain grounded so that it does not consume him entirely. You, who remains so, so patient when he is away. You, who is always there to help him take care of himself when he is too busy or exhausted. You, who holds him when he finally fractures under the stress of giving his everything all the time--and who helps him put his pieces back together again and get back at it.

 Your head returns to its resting place on his chest. His heartbeat steady beneath you, lulling you to sleep. You both need to get up, clean up, and get into your actual bed, but the bliss of finally feeling Atsumu’s hard body beneath you. Knowing it is completely yours, at least for a short while… You don’t want to relinquish it for even a second.

There’s another beat of silence before you speak.

 “Wanna go to ‘Samu’s and get tuna tomorrow?” You ask.

 Atsumu groans his approval loudly--so much so one would think he hadn’t just finished a massive meal with the Jackals. That signature cheeky grin returns to his face.

 “Oh my god I love you.”

[rowan-underthehouse]

Shot Glasses and Shadows

Pairing: Castiel/ Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 2,011

Warnings: slight self-harm, mention of blood

Additional Tags: hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, Abandon All Hope Coda, Mentioned Jo Harvelle, grief/ mourning

Summary: Dean struggles with the aftermath of Abandon All Hope. Castiel is there to help.

Read it on Ao3 here

It’s the moments between hunts where Dean starts to lose his balance. When there’s no monster to fight, and the adrenaline pounding through his limbs fades away.

There are things he can do to stop it. He can make dinner runs while he tries to list the name of every song he’s ever put on a mixtape, or blast the radio until the speakers crackle, or sprint until his lungs burn. As long as he keeps moving he can fight it off. But as flames lick the glossy edges of the closest thing to a send-off they can give Jo and Ellen, all Dean can do is root his feet to the ground and watch.

He doesn't walk away from the fire until the photograph is reduced to ash. The crumbling of Jo’s gentle features is almost beautiful here. He wonders if Jo could feel the flames in her last moments. If she still believed her death meant something. If it felt beautiful.

“I’m going to clean up.”

“Dean you don’t-” Sam follows his gaze to the cluster of shot glasses still spread across the table, not finding the right words until his brother is already gone. Sam knows better than to follow.

It shouldn’t take him more than fifteen minutes to finish the kitchen, but Dean’s limbs are heavy with guilt and the half bottle of whiskey he’s already downed. He’d expected it to feel different to be back here. Everything warm and homey and right should have burned up with Ellen and Jo, but Bobby’s kitchen somehow missed the memo. This is still the same place they’d laughed and drank and squeezed out smiles around the dread no amount of alcohol could quite wash away just the night before. It’s Dean who’s out of place. He shouldn’t be here, surrounded by a past already so long gone it aches. It’s going to collapse in on him at any second.

The first shot glass that shatters against the hardwood floor is an honest-to-god accident. Dean lets the second roll out of the crook of his elbow, watching with the closest thing to satisfaction he can muster as broken glass dusts his boots. The third, he smashes into the worn countertop. He feels the blood pooling under his palm before he registers the glass wedged there. It brings a sick, bubbling laugh to the back of his throat.

He’s watching the blood run along the edge of a fourth glass, rolling it over in his palm when a hand appears on his shoulder.

“Dean,” The unmistakable crunching of dress shoes on glass pulls Dean back to reality. “You’re injured.”

Dean tosses the shot glass in his hands into the sink, almost disappointed when it doesn’t shatter. He shrugs Castiel’s hand off his shoulder, doing his damn best to ignore how cold he feels at the tiny loss of contact. Cas has that effect on people. That warm sort of feeling that starts deep in your chest and spreads to your fingertips until it feels like everything might be alright. Sam feels it too, Dean’s sure, but it doesn’t seem to be burning him up from the inside the way it does Dean. The relief he feels when Cas grabs his shoulder again is humiliating. He wipes it clean off his face before Cas can turn him around.

“You’re bleeding, Dean,” there’s more force to it this time. Dean stares expectantly, waiting for the feeling of grace stitching the fibres of his hand together, but nothing comes. Cas’s eyes fall to the floor. “I’m...going to get the first-aid kit.”

“So, what? Not going to mojo me back together? Cas, is there something you want to tell me?” He squares his shoulders, taking a step toward Cas. Of course something’s wrong. Not even an angel of the lord could get that close to Lucifer and come out unscathed.

“Because if something happened, something that we should know about, you better spit it out before it gets someone killed,” Dean closes the distance between him and Cas, staring down with what he hopes reads as more malice than concern and waits. Cas should be snapping back at him or threatening to throw him back to hell or something but he’s just standing there, gaze cast at the floor.

“It’s not important. It won’t affect my ability to help in your fight against the devil,” Dean turns away with a scoff just loud enough for Cas to hear. Somewhere deep beneath two hours worth of whiskey he knows he’s trying to start a fight, but he doesn’t care.

Even turned away, Dean can feel Cas’ gaze burning into his back. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to do something useful?” He nods in the direction of the library where every piece of lore they could find is still strewn out on the desk. The words taste bitter on Dean’s tongue, but if it gets Cas to do something, anything, other than stand there and stare straight into Dean’s soul (Maybe literally. Dean hopes not) it will be worth it.

Dean doesn’t turn around until the footsteps have faded from the kitchen. He drops the remaining shot glasses into the sink and kicks Jo’s chair in as an afterthought on his way out the door.

Sam and Bobby are nowhere to be seen, no doubt already tucked away in their respective rooms trying to figure out how to get through the night. Dean doesn't bother asking how they got Bobby up to his old room now that the sofa has been temporarily dragged back to its place in the library. He suspects Cas had something to do with it.

The fire is little more than embers when Cas comes back around the corner, battered first-aid kit in hand. Dean’s stomach churns. He should apologize.

“Throw another log on.”

Again, Castiel fixes him with that stupid, sympathetic, stare and does as he’s asked.

“You’re grieving.”

Dean almost laughs. “Really, Cas? I hadn’t noticed.”

“You shouldn’t try to stop it. It won’t help,” Cas settles on the sofa and unpacks the kit, examining the contents carefully while he lays them out on the end table.

That old rage bubbles up in Dean's chest again. “So what am I supposed to do, huh? Just sit here and moan about it in the middle of the friggin’ apocalypse? We have work to do, Cas. Stow the Vincent Grey crap.”

“Give me your hand.”

He thinks about arguing. About trying again to stir up some kind of fight just to feel something other than hollow for a few seconds. Angry is easier. Safer. But then, this is Cas. He knows every atom of Dean’s body and can recite his earliest memories like the goddamn pledge of allegiance. There’s no point hiding. He lets some of the tension holding up his body seep back into the floor.

Cas is more gentle than Dean can handle. All calloused hands and careful touches that are anything but clinical. Letting him in is frighteningly easy. It’ll be letting him go when he finally realizes the Winchesters and all their problems aren't worth the effort that will be like pulling stitches.

“They trusted me,” It’s barely a whisper, but Dean’s throat closes around the words. “They trusted me, and I led them to their deaths.”

“You did the best you could. They knew the risks,” There’s a strain in Cas’ voice Dean has never heard before.

Dean’s eyes are burning. He can’t bring himself to meet Cas’ gaze until a thumb swipes across his cheek, brushing away the tears there. For once he finds himself thanking god in all his infinite absence that Cas doesn’t realize the intimacy of the gesture “You did the right thing, Dean. You tried.”

There’s a weight to his words that Dean can’t quite pin down, the teary smile plastered on his face making Dean want to either wrap his arms around Cas or make a break for it. He shoots for somewhere near a more reasonable middle.

“Are you uh…” Dean is struck very suddenly by just how bad he is at this, But he has to try. It’s Cas. “Are you holding out okay?”

“Human grief is different. It’s...heavier”

If tearing down heaven brick by brick could pull that weight off Cas, Dean would do it in a second. It terrifies him how far he’s willing to go.

“Yeah.”

The mess of bandages Cas eventually manages to secure around Dean’s hand isn’t pretty, but it’s a relief. He tosses the bloody glass in a trash bin and dries his now clean hands on an embroidered dish towel that may have been colourful twenty years ago. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

He’s halfway to the door by the time Dean swallows his pride enough to say something. “Cas, wait. Have you - eaten anything? It’s been a long day.”

“I don’t eat.”

Dean spends the longest ten seconds of silence in his life wondering if he could bore a hole through the floor with his eyes to crawl into. This may be the dumbest excuse he’s ever come up with, which is not an easy title to win.

“Are you asking me to stay?”

Maybe it’s the whiskey clouding his mind or the idea of spending the rest of the night drinking his way through whatever’s left of his liver alone that finally snaps a cord in Dean. He sinks back into the couch, exhaustion taking over.

“Please.”

With a creak of old springs and cushions creasing just enough for Dean to slide, Cas is back on the couch, a good few inches closer than the last time. Of course, it doesn't mean anything. Cas is an angel. He can’t understand the way the closeness makes Dean’s heart leap out of his chest. But the way he presses his shoulder against Dean’s is distinctly and undeniably human. He doesn’t want to be alone either.

The next few hours drift by in near silence, broken only by offers of whiskey and the occasional non-committal remark. When Dean’s eyes slip closed, his head lolling against Cas’ shoulder, Cas doesn’t try to wake him.

Once Dean does finally open his eyes, it’s with a pounding headache, and his face pressed against the rough fabric of Cas’ shirt. Through the fog of sleep Dean slowly becomes aware of his limbs tangled with Cas’ where they’ve sprawled across the sofa. He’s a split second away from launching himself onto the floor when he registers Cas’ hand resting loosely against Dean’s back. The slow tide of his breathing. He can’t be asleep but Dean’s never seen him this relaxed. His hair is a disaster where it’s rubbed against the arm of the sofa and his coat is more on the floor than his body. He must be meditating or praying or whatever the hell angels do to recharge their heavenly batteries. It would be rude to interrupt him, Dean reasons, and he’ll be awake again within a few hours. There’s still plenty of time before sunrise. A few hours can’t hurt. In the moment before he’s pulled back to a dreamless sleep, Dean swears he catches the shadow of wings cast against the wall, curled around his body.

…

It’s not unusual for Sam to be awake before his brother. He rolls out of bed some time after sunrise, stumbling toward the kitchen before he’s even finished rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He very nearly walks past the tangle of limbs on the couch before Bobby rolls into the room, gesturing for him to stay quiet.

“They haven’t moved since Cas brought me back down here. Let them rest. They need it.”

And they do.

When Dean finally stumbles into the kitchen, Cas having disappeared mere seconds before he woke up, Sam doesn’t say a word about it, just smiles into his coffee mug. It’s good to see someone keeping Dean steady for once, and if Dean isn't ready to admit it yet, that’s a problem for another day.

[izukukuzi]

okay okay okay so heroes rising:

i don’t know how much weight anyone wants to put to my opinion, BUT, if you’re considering the movie.... i don’t think it’s not worth watching ebjnwjnde i am a big fan of getting to see 1-a strut their stuff and there was plenty of that in the movie (which i obviously enjoyed)! the villains are interesting enough, the plot’s alright, and the animation/visuals are PHENOMENAL!!!!!!!!!! 

a moot, crimson actually, mentioned that it would probably be better to watch the movie and know for sure that you liked/disliked it than to not watch and wonder forever about what could have been when i asked them if i should give the movie a shot, and that philosophy served me pretty well in the given circumstances! so for anyone wondering about that aspect (i know there was an anon and a few others that asked about this), then i believe there’s substance there for any bnha fan to get at least a little entertainment out of the movie, so you should give it a go!

NOW, with all that in mind, I still have to talk about this fight scene at the end because.... oof jnedjnwknkw (so heroes rising/manga spoilers ahead and all that good stuff)

first of all, i made a graphic to better express all the things I am feeling about the mess of bakugou/izuku sharing one for all:

so like... the simple idea of bakugou getting one for all doesn’t sit right with me ANYWAYS, but we have our first like... “issue” or whatever, after izu passes the quirk over, and he/bk have this back and forth, as follows:

BK: “This might the last time you use [One For All].”

IZ: “It’s alright, there’s no other way. Also, All Might would agree if it’s you.”

and i would just like to say that it absolutely is NOT alright?????? why would this be the last time izuku gets to use ofa? i really don’t like or understand the implication of izuku not being able to get his quirk back from bakugou once the battle is over because??????????? why would that not be how it works? especially if bakugou just hands it over LIKE HE SHOULD, then why would that transfer back be a problem at all?????

of course, things do work out fine with ofa jumping ship and settling back in with izu at the end of the movie (while also... doing something to bakugou’s memory), but what the fuck is this conversation even about?  

AND THEN, something else that bugs me about this whole setup is like... izu trained for ten whole months before his body could handle having ofa passed down to him; shiggy was supposed to lie in a tank for like... what, four months, before he could activate and use afo at its strongest (which may not be the exact same methods of preparations that izuku had but the point is that you have to be strong enough or ofa/afo will fuuuuuuuck you up) AND YET, WHEN BAKUGOU GETS THIS QUIRK, he immediately has a handle on it AND only suffers injuries that appear about as severe as izuku’s (who has been mastering the quirk and bulking up to work alongside its elevation in power)???? like??? i’m not saying that I wanted bk to crumble to pieces like a pack of crackers on the battlefield BUT???? that doesn’t seem..... consistent??? i mean, i don’t think heroes rising is a part of canon, so i guess it doesn’t matter all that much, but i just do not believe that bk’s body, as it is, was physically well enough to handle using ofa at the percentage that he did without his injuries being much more substantial. 

that then just leads me to my last point (because i talk too much ednudnejnfe): i like that bnha gives us space to see everyone, you know? we get some screentime for the pros, the league, nine and his gang, and, like i said earlier, i like seeing 1-a being the promising hero hopefuls that they are, and the movie really plays that aspect out well!!!! however.... why does it have to be bakugouanddeku all the time??? why can’t bakugou blend into one of the background groups while izuku gets to shine (ORRRRR just work with literally anyone else in the class/hero world besides bakugou)? i “understand” that there’s supposedly this whole yin and yang, save to win and win to save, thing going on, but i just don’t think bakugou complements izuku and his heroic strides as well as everyone tries to frame it. bakugou's interactions with izuku consist of him using izu as some sort of... threshold or something (aka, “if i can beat deku, who’s the Chosen One, then that proves that I am a great hero because I’m surpassing all might’s power”), but izu is and has been growing into himself as a future hero, and that growth has never really depended on bakugou, SOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!! i think we should stop with this wonder duo nonsense because their dynamic is just not... it’s not like that, you know??? bakugou’s relevance and success may be dependent on izuku, but the opposite, in my opinion, does not reign true, so forcing them together is... imbalanced :/

huh so i dunno if any of that makes sense, and there’s a chance that some of the things i complained about have been addressed by other people who have watched the movie already, so if i am missing out on explanations/information, please be gentleeee with me edbuenfjnje BUT here are my thoughts about the end of heroes rising!!!

[hms-chill]

RWRB Study Guide, Chapter 8

Hi y’all! I’m going through Casey McQuiston’s Red, White & Royal Blue and defining/explaining references! Feel free to follow along, or block the tag #rwrbStudyGuide if you’re not interested!

James I (203): James I/VI (First of England, Sixth of Scotland) is known for both translating the Bible and being just... so, so incredibly gay. The book mentions that he promoted a dumb jock to gentleman of the bedchamber, but it leaves out that 13-year-old James would just make out with dudes in public, and that the dumb jock (George Villers) was James’s third serious adult relationship. His friends introduced him to George because his last boyfriend was bad for the kingdom. 

George Eliot (205): Mary Anne Evans wrote under the pen name George Eliot to escape the stereotype that women could only write romances. She wrote seven novels, of which Middlemarch is the most famous, known for their realism and psychological insight.

Daniel Defoe (205): A pioneer of the English novel, Defoe wrote Robinson Crusoe as well as a series of divisive political pamphlets and tracts.

Jonathan Swift (205): Irish political writer most famous for A Modest Proposal, a satirical piece that suggests cannibalism of infants as a more humane response to the British treatment of Ireland than letting them grow to starve in adulthood.

Dickens... “woman who languishes away in a crumbling mansion wearing her wedding gown” (205): Charles Dickens wrote stories concerned with the lower classes. This quote in particular refers to Miss Havisham from Great Expectations, who was left at the altar and refused to take off her wedding dress or even put away the food set out for the wedding.

Sense and Sensibility (205): This is probably Austen’s second most popular novel (after Pride and Prejudice); it follows the four Dashwood women in their move to a new home following the death of Mr. Dashwood. Like most of Austen’s novels, the opinionated narrator follows the women through a series of romantic mishaps, culminating in a happy ending.

Green American Money (206): Fun fact, British money is blue and orange and purple and all sorts of fun colors! It also all looks different, because (at least in Scotland) four banks are allowed to print pound notes, so there are four different designs all in circulation.

Sean Hannity (206): A conservative American political commentator.

Harvard rowing (206): Rowing is like... the bougiest of sports.

Pleiad (206): In Greek mythology, the pleiades were the daughters of the titan Atlas who became stars following his entrapment under the earth. They are remembered for their beauty and loyalty. Myths of the missing pleiad explain why only six of the seven stars are visible to the naked eye. According to some sources, the missing pleiad is Merope, who was shamed out of the sky for her relationship with a mortal.

Minute Maid Park (206): The baseball stadium associated with the Houston Astros baseball team; it seats just over 41,000.

Politico (207): An American political opinion news source.

Drop-kick Murphys (208): An American Celtic punk band. (listen here and here)

The Klan (209): The Ku Klux Klan, an incredibly racist organization that has been responsible for the lynching of thousands of people of color.

Kim Nam-June (210): Kim Nam-Joon, known as RM or Rap Monster, is the leader and rapper of the K-pop group BTS.

Milwaukee (211): The largest city in and main cultural center of Wisconsin, which is a “swing state”, meaning that it could go either way politically in a national election.

Seth Meyers (211): An American talk show host and comedian whose creatively titled show, Late Night with Seth Meyers, is liberal-leaning. He hosts celebrities and often chats about politics or the news.

Clear Crystal Quartz (211): Apparently the most “iconic” crystal, it is believed to be able to help with clarity and the achievement of goals.

Wimbledon (213): The oldest tennis tournament in the world, considered by many to be the most prestigious.

Royal Box (213): The royal box at Wimbledon is a section of the best seats, reserved for royalty and specially invited celebrity/politically powerful guests.

David Beckham (213): A former professional soccer player and current fashion icon known for being hot and wearing nice suits.

McQueen (214): Alexander McQueen was an openly gay British fashion designer who rose from a lower class background to become one of the most famous designers in the world. Though he died in 2010, his brand continues to be known for unconventional fashion shows and theatrical imagery. 

Dashikis (215): A colorful, ornate piece of clothing somewhere between a shirt and a tunic originally from West Africa.

Orangery (218): A very large greenhouse or conservatory designed for growing orange trees.

Woman at her Toilet (218): This painting shows a woman in her bedroom putting on her socks with a little dog next to her; you can see it here.

Baroque bed* (218): Baroque art was designed to show off a monarch’s power; it is incredibly extravagant (Versailles is pretty much the iconic Baroque thing; you can see more about it here).

The Killers (219): An American rock band formed in the early 2000s and known for having donated over $1 million to charity (they did “Mr. Brightside”). (listen here and here). According to McQuinston’s twitter, the song Henry plays is “When You Were Young”, which you can listen to here.

Dred Scott (219): In the 1857 Dred Scott v. Sandford case, the US supreme court ruled that the constitution did not extend to or protect Black folks. 

Nina Simone (219): An American singer/songwriter/political activist whose music spanned a variety of genres and whose activism focused largely on the civil rights movement and was largely influenced by her “friend” Lorraine Hansberry, a Black lesbian playwright. (You know Hozier’s “Nina Cried Power”? She’s Nina) (listen here and here)

Otis Redding (219): Considered one of the greatest singers in American pop music and was one of the foundational soul artists in the US. (listen here and here)

Brahms (219): A German composer known for sticking to more classical forms of music while his contemporaries often leaned toward more dramatic or opulent styles. (listen here and here)

Wagner** (219): A German composer who wrote both the music and the librettos for his operas; his works tend to be very complex, and he has been credited with beginning modern music. (listen here and here)

Romantic (219): Artistically, the Romantic movement was a direct response to industrialization that called for a return to and celebration of nature. Queerness was very much a part of this movement, as it was seen as a return to or celebration of one’s natural state (think Byron).

War of the Romantics (219): A music history term used to describe the split between conservative composers like Brahms who wanted to stick with the Baroque, opulent styles of the past century and radical progressive composers like Liszt, who favored newer styles that blended music with narrative and morals.

Liszt (219): A Hungarian composer known for a diverse body of work and his position as the leader of the radical progressive group in the War of the Romantics. (listen here and here)

Alexander Scriabin (219): Russian composer known for his atonal or dissonant music. (listen to the piece Henry mentions here)

Elton John’s “Your Song” (219): A song written before Elton John came out, but with his queerness in mind. In a 2013 interview, John referred to it as “a perfect song”, and that the lyrics (written by Bernie Taupin) got even better as he got older and sang it more. (listen here)

Consecrated (220): made holy.

DNC (221): The Democratic national conference, when members of the Democratic (liberal) party get together to prepare for a presidential race.

College Republicans of Vanderbilt University (221): Vanderbilt University is a private (and therefore more expensive) school in Nashville, Tennessee. Its location in the South and its price tag would both mark it as being more conservative.

Cage match (221): A type of wrestling match that takes place inside a steel cage; the most common way of winning is by escaping the cage, usually by climbing over the top.

Paul Ryan (222): A conservative retired politician and former Speaker of the House.

The Second Amendment (222): The second amendment grants Americans the right to bear arms (have guns).

Salon (222): An American news and opinion website with a politically liberal editorial stance.

Air Force One (222): the president’s plane

“My Canadian girlfriend” (223): A running joke that someone (often a high schooler) whose partner goes to another school or lives somewhere else is made up.

Five Guys (225): Five Guys Burger and Fries is a popular fast food burger chain across the US.

Vampire Weekend (225): An American indie rock band.

The general (226): the general election in November, when Americans would vote for their president

Plainclothes (226): out of uniform

The Beekman (226): A very fancy hotel in Lower Manhattan, near the Brooklyn Bridge.

NATO (233): the North Atlantic Treaty Organization; an intergovernmental military alliance between 29 North American and European countries.

----

*every time I read this, I flinch just a little bit. Baroque architecture is just... so much, and the concept of a Baroque bed when beds/bedrooms are supposed to be simple to help you rest... It’s just so much and I hate it with all of my being. I’m sorry if you like Baroque furniture, but especially for Henry, who dreams of a simple life where he can just write and be anonymous... It’s a big yikes.

** Literally no one asked, but his stuff is just... it’s so boring? Like I’m sure it’s great to fall asleep to or calm down to, but I tried to listen to it while I wrote this and I just couldn’t. Liszt is better, but he’s no Mozart. Also? Mozart wrote BOPS. ONLY. “The Birdcatcher’s Song” slaps and no one can change my mind on that.

----

If there’s anything I missed or that you’d like more on, please let me know! And if you’d like to/are able, please consider buying me a ko-fi? I know not everyone can, and that’s fine, but these things take a lot of time/work and I’d really appreciate it!

—–-

Chapter 1 // Chapter 7 // Chapter 9

[moonlightwinterdxxix]

Your first Bits of my Brothers (acronym BomB?) anon here again! Could I request a pretending to be each other Zaimoku at Sutabaa or something? There's just not enough canon Zaimoku and sextuplets identity thief shenanigans in the anime! Maybe Totty is trying to get work there again but gotten sick or something and Karamatsu decided his beloved brother can't miss out on his chance to return~✨. Whether or not it'll end in brotherly fluff or Totty & Karamatsu butt monkey angst is your choice! xD

Hello again! I hope you like this one! It’s at 7K words and I didn’t want it to be longer than it already was 😅😅. Zaimoku is one of my favorite combinations (as I’ve kinda made clear in TVV), and I hope you enjoy this little drabble I’ve made of them. 💙💖😎😘

~~~

Whenever Todomatsu Matsuno was sick, he was more than just manipulative. He was manipulative enough to be entitled as the king of manipulation, besting Ichimatsu’s cruel authority might he be the only one in a safe spot outside feverish sensations and phlegm wanting release. No, Todomatsu treated all of them like butlers and castle servants, taking advantage of his vulnerable position to get them to do his bidding and bless him with their feeble-but-ultimately-needed-to-succeed attempts.

The common instance always left the rest of his brothers with a single prayer in mind: that Todomatsu never got sick. They vowed, each and every one of them, to move mountains for hell if it meant they were to be released from the shackles of Todomatsu’s superiority. But no matter the prayers sometimes getting sick was inevitable, and each time at least one of them would be willing to gamble his life off in the Pachinko parlor if it meant escaping Todomatsu’s ruthless jurisdiction.

And Todomatsu was always proud of it.

But today, he wasn’t. He was far from happy, very distant from it in fact. For when Karamatsu had returned from the shop with a can of warm soup, he had opened their shared bedroom door to find Todomatsu curled up and bawling on the futon. The call of ‘I am back with refreshments for your unwell soul, my star of hope!’ was transformed differently in a mighty scale as Karamatsu dropped the soup bag and raced to his brother’s side with a skipping, worrisome heart.

“Totty! What’s wrong, my brother?” Karamatsu asked, placing his hands on Todomatsu’s shoulder with all the gentleness his muscles could allow. “Are you feeling cold? Or warm? Oh, please speak with me through your unfortunate misery, my dear littlest brother!”

“Shut up! I...Cod, why does it have to be you? Cod, why does it have to be you?!” Todomatsu crumbled entirely, giving in to the cries that racked his body as he tucked his face off in the crook of his arms. “Where are the others?” he asked hopefully, his sore voice muffled with the fortress of cloth acting as transparent muteness.

“Ah, yes, about that.” The thing was, the rest of their brothers had surrendered. They’ve yielded into irresponsibility, wanting no relevance whatsoever with Todomatsu’s cruel behavior for this specific occasion.

Osomatsu had decided to spend his entire day at the races, regardless of a win or a lose. Choromatsu had resorted to paying a visit to the all-week international book fair at the end of the city, hoping to find something new out of his pathetic excuse in being alive. Jyushimatsu chose to spend all of his allowance on the zoo, specifically on dolphin shows to satisfy his mammal cravings. And Ichimatsu...Er...Well...

“I’m gonna jump off a cliff,” Ichimatsu deadpanned.

“Nooo~ Please contain your dark tendencies, my dear Ichimatsu!” Karamatsu wailed.

Then Ichimatsu had strangled him for a bit before leaving the house.

“Forget I asked. It’s hopeless anyway.” Todomatsu smacked his face into his pillow and sobbed openly, gripping his pillow with the force of a hundred rakes on the dirt.

Karamatsu let an apologetic breath leave his lungs, before blinking in confusion at the phone propped face-first next to his brother’s space. As Todomatsu resumed his dramatic storm, Karamatsu picked it up and swiped the screen with his two fingers, the password an easy input, before his pupils scanned through the message and his eyes went spherical.

“Todomatsu! You were supposed to have a Sutabaa job interview this afternoon?!”

“Don’t rub it in! Shut up!” Todomatsu yelled, carrying his body’s weight with his elbows and sending Karamatsu a glare that would’ve been knife-sharp piercing might it not be for his scarily flushed face and red-rimmed, teary eyes. “And yes, I was, if you really wanted to know. It was supposed to be a short one, maybe five minutes at most, but as if I can do that with this stupid fever crap, obviously.” His face crumpled, and he toppled back onto the futon. “Just leave me alone in my own problems, niisan. You’re gonna make it a thousand times worse.”

Karamatsu continued to stare at the text on the screen, scrolling upwards and back-reading. “Oh, my Todomatsu,” he sympathized. “I should’ve known that there was more information you had refused to share. And this has been...two months in the ready?”

“Karamatsu-niisan! Quit it!” Todomatsu pleaded. “I didn’t ask to get sick today, okay?! But how am I supposed to tell Aida that I wouldn’t be able to attend?! Cod, I can’t just say it to her face like that! It’s a huge blow to my pride and I...!” He whimpered, dropping to the futon with watery defeat. “Please, just...I can’t tell her. It’s too embarrassing. Can you call her up for me and tell her that I...? Bullhooey! No, I can’t have you of all people talk to her either!”

Todomatsu continued to break down on the futon, and Karamatsu tried his best to shush his brother to the best of his extent. But it made itself clear to him that there was no way to calm him down at this point, or at least calm him down enough that he was going to stop feeling so sad.

After all, the status of Todomatsu wasn’t difficult for Karamatsu to understand, along with the personality and character that came with it. He had made actual friends at Sutabaa, both being of the opposite gender—two pretty girls with kind personalities and proper standards—a miracle remaining unaccomplished by the five other roaches of their household. And for that alone, Todomatsu was in a position in life maybe more heavenly than heaven itself.

Yet of course, naturally...

Nothing lasts forever, is what Todomatsu had to learn next. Well, it would’ve, but when you had five older brothers who were careless, unreliable pieces of crap, then any ounce of happiness might as well be a disregarded atom of dust from a distant dream. For a few months, even lasting until effing Christmas, Todomatsu had lost communication with the girls because of his brothers’ lack of sensitivity. They had publicly made him strip naked in the mixer, dressed him with a pair of banana earrings and stained underwear, and made him strike a pose at the head of the table in front of a set of pretty girls who deserved better after a dance.

So Todomatsu’s hatred towards them was justifiable.

On the other hand, he shouldn’t have lied as well. To be a person once acquainted in one of Japan’s best schools wasn’t something that would up his ratings with females if it were far from the truth. Heck, he was a literal baby during their third year of high school, crying over spilt milk and reporting himself to the police as a lost child when Choromatsu had to take a trip to throw something in the closest garbage bin.

Truth hurt, yes. But it was unstoppable.

But...Todomatsu was right about one thing. Lying did make himself gain more respect, and saved him from a closed spot that would’ve dropped his person into oblivion. It didn’t last long, but...

Sometimes it didn’t have to.

“Aha! Todomatsu, an idea has been brought forth!” Karamatsu announced, straightening his posture with a finger raised theatrically towards their ceiling.

Todomatsu squinted at him. “Nope. I don’t wanna hear it,” he decided.

Karamatsu’s broad facade faltered. “Eh?”

“That’s a recipe for disaster,” Todomatsu explained, a normal tone bringing forward how awful his voice was. It was scratchy and wiped-out, more huffs in it than actual syllables forming his words. “Every time one of my brothers says something, all that happens after that is me wishing I crashed and burned on the spot. It never changes. And with you specifically trying to subside my torture, I think I’d rather let myself die on the spot than let my ear-drums break at your first sentence.”

Ouch. Karamatsu said, “Oh, you are too early to judge, my Todomatsu!” He laughed, emphasizing his breaths in order to mask his apparent hurt. “Please. Allow access first to the plan concocted in my mind. I assure you, you might eat your words once it is laid out for you. Your misery would at once be hurled into the distance, to become nothing more than a star that glinted before joining with its fallen brethren. Heh.” He tapped a finger-gun to his chin smugly.

Expression contorted in absolute disgust, Todomatsu recoiled. “If you tell me what it is, would you please stop talking in that stupid as hell fanfaronade?”

“It would be my pleasure.” He fluttered his dazzling, anime eyes.

Todomatsu made a hurling noise, slamming his fist against his chest before he deadpanned, “Just say it.”

“Hm. Todomatsu.” Karamatsu began twirling around in swooshing motions, swaying his arms in a slow, whipping circle before posing in a fabulous, dazzling stance. “I shall impersonate you and attend the job interview in your shoes!” he declared.

Todomatsu’s sanity dropped. “EEEHHH??!!”

Without warning, Todomatsu snapped up and grabbed Karamatsu by the neckline of his hoodie, shaking him without a pixel of mercy. “Are you effing kidding me, you piece of crap?! There’s no way in heaven nor hell I’m letting you do that! Are you literally waiting for me to die?! Heck, you’re even stupider than I’ve ever imagined—I’ve been too kind to misjudge you, Karamatsu-niisan! Because you’re so much worse and that idea is absolute garbage!”

“A-Ah! Totty, don’t yell too much with your sore throat!” Karamatsu stuttered out, smiling nervously. “Totty, it’s gonna work. I’m sure of it.”

“As if!” Todomatsu retorted, ignoring Karamatsu’s previous suggestion completely. “You’re gonna go out there making me look like an idiot! I’ve lost friends because of you and the others, and when I might be bouncing back you have to idle up to me all, ‘I’m gonna impersonate you and ruin your life more’—BULL!” He shoved Karamatsu down onto the futon. “What do you think of me—a fool?! You may be an actor during elementary but you’re out of your gosh-darn mind if you think you’re going to do good playing me!”

“How hard could it be?” Karamatsu asked, crawling a few spaces backwards with slight terror. “You have a simple personality, my brother! You have a phone, you can converse rather easily, and you have a light voice that makes you all nice and cute!”

Changing the rules of flavoring, Todomatsu’s grin was incredibly bitter. “You really have the guts to compliment me like that, don’t you? Forget it. Not gonna happen.”

“C’mon, Totty, give me a shot!” Karamatsu argued. “You said it yourself! I’m an actor, and with the hundreds of times we’ve spent together since childhood it won’t be hard to capture your essence! Give me a chance.”

“I don’t believe it,” Todomatsu said, rolling his eyes. “The childhood thing is a good excuse, but it won’t make the cut. Literally everyone in Sutabaa knows who I am, and like hell I’m letting someone like you of all people try to use some gosh-darn trickery on them. I’m not going to let you go out there pretending to be me, niisan. And that’s final.”

“But if you don’t get the job then you won’t be happy!” Karamatsu shouted, placing his hands on his hips. “Todomatsu, I want to be able to assist you as well. It’s what we do when we’re sick, isn’t it? We take care of each other? This is part of the treatment—it’s even better because we’re all identical brothers! Give me a chance. I promise I won’t humiliate you, or do something stupid. I’ll imitate you to the best of my abilities, change nothing from your usual self and keep your relationships as stagnant as you want them.”

“That doesn’t sound reassuring,” Todomatsu said, but he was contemplating.

“It doesn’t sound it, okay,” Karamatsu stated, “but I mean it. I really do want to lessen your stress over the matter. I’ll work to my skeleton if it means doing well in that job interview, Todomatsu. I swear, and Akatsuka-Sensei knows I do. Just...trust me, brother.”

Todomatsu narrowed his eyes, but his eyebrows didn’t follow. They shaped his expression over to consideration other than irritation, his body relaxing from its sitting position on their shared bed.

Finally, he said, “How about we make a deal? Since you’re the only one who stayed to help me with my fever—and I have to say that I appreciate that—how about if you do a good job getting me my old job back, I could be your servant the next time you get sick? I’ll suck up to all those painful demeanors of yours and stand it until you get better.”

“I...It’s fair, I suppose,” Karamatsu assessed.

Todomatsu’s grin was not reassuring. “Yeah? Think so? Sure, it could work out, won’t it? But if you make an absolute fool of me...!”

He stood up from the futon and marched over to their closet, pulling out his huge flamethrower and aiming its front at Karamatsu’s terrified face. “I’ll incinerate all your sequined pants and personalized tank tops until they’re nothing but ashes,” he completed viciously, grin worth jealousy from a sadist.

Karamatsu gulped, feeling uneasy with the top he was currently wearing underneath his hoodie. But he supposed it was a fair trade, with both of them receiving equal shares at each side of the bargain. And both their downs...It wasn’t worth a complain. Losing friends was just as bad as losing all of his wonderful, designed Karamatsu fashion.

Tilting his head down, Karamatsu decided. And it wasn’t even a minute before he reached out a hand and gave Todomatsu a worried smile. “I digress. I accept the terms of our deal, my dear brother Todomatsu. Turn all my clothes into smithereens might I annihilate your persona, Todomatsu. I accept thy conditions.”

“Good.” Todomatsu grabbed his hand and shook it, the resolution of their bargain firm. “This is my lifeline in your hands, Shittymatsu. Your clothes, and my lifeline. Don’t mess this up, or else.”

He wouldn’t. He hoped not.

~~~

With Sutabaa towering over him, it looked like the gateway to judgement. It was a taunting, expectant thing, half a thumbs up as it was a middle finger, and Karamatsu’s nervousness and anxiety sloshed in his stomach and burned his skin. His complexion was moist with his sweat, his hair that he had combed to perfection beginning to paste himself on his forehead, and Karamatsu rubbed it with the back of his shaky hand.

For his clothes, but more for Todomatsu’s reputation.

Shoving Todomatsu’s phone into his pocket and arranging his tie, Karamatsu let himself sigh unsteadily as he let his feet take him towards the doorway. He felt like he was dragging ten-thousand anvils behind him. But it was worth it, he decided, as long as he could finish the interview with a proper attitude and a selfless intention. This was for Todomatsu’s job, Todomatsu’s friendships, and Todomatsu’s reputation.

And his clothes.

But Cod, he hoped he would do well. He wished to say exactly what Todomatsu would say in his position, move with the accuracy of his little brother, and speak with a timbre close enough to the original that the term ‘identical’ made more sense than it had the past few years. But perhaps, he thought, as long as nobody who knew Todomatsu approached him, he would be absolutely, absolutely, without a feather of a doubt, fine.

“Totty? Is that you?”

Ah, shoot.

Karamatsu pulled up a kitty-shaped Todomatsu smile. He brightened his eyes and raised his brows from their thick, constant furrow. And as he spun his heel to face the source of the familiar voice, he tried to recap every single piece of information he knew about Aida as she came to him in her recognizable Sutabaa work uniform, her brown curls bouncing on her shoulders.

Aside from seeing Aida then while humiliating Todomatsu at work, and seeing Aida and Sachiko participate unsuccessfully at the baseball space tournament, the last thing Karamatsu remembered about her was she and Sachiko giving him dark, murderous death-stares on the bridge. That..didn’t seem like it was a good thing. Not then, and certainly not now.

He was so dead.

“Totty, there you are!” Aida said, stopping next to him. Cod, she was so pretty, no wonder Todomatsu was so upset to lose someone like her. “Are you ready for your interview? I hope you can get the job again—it was a shame you had to lose it last time. I have a hunch you’ll be able to do it now.”

“Ah-ha! Hopefully, yes! Thank you so much!” Karamatsu said, forcing his voice up from the low baritone that came with his genes. “Hello, Aida! I didn’t think you’d come from that direction!” He pointed. “I could’ve sworn you were in there.” He jabbed his thumb towards the Sutabaa entrance.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that.” She giggled apologetically, and Karamatsu felt his cheeks grow warm. “I wasn’t skipping work, I promise. I just got distracted a little, but it was only for a few seconds before I saw you. I was worried! I thought you weren’t gonna come anymore! It would’ve been so embarrassing to cancel last-minute on the manager.”

His gut plummeting, Karamatsu’s laugh came out less of a laugh and more of the sound of a dying hyena. “Well, I’m here! So you don’t have to worry about that anymore! I made it, so no humiliation whatsoever!” He was tempted to pose, but held back at the right second before he could crack.

Aida eyed him dubiously. “Are you alright? Your voice sounds very...breathy.”

“It does?” It did, and it was because Karamatsu’s voice wasn’t at its quality to accommodate a pitch and speaking pattern similar to Todomatsu’s. When he tried, the result came out very breathy, or if not, very screechy and...wrong. It would’ve given away his true identity so quickly might she be an expert in discerning him and Todomatsu from their brothers. So speaking with his normal, light pitch with added cheerfulness was the only way to match closely to the original source. He thought that perhaps it would be enough.

But apparently, it wasn’t enough.

“Ah, it does!” he corrected, rubbing the back of his head with a laugh. “Sorry about that! My throat really hurt this morning and I guess this is the aftermath of that!”

Except Todomatsu’s throat really did hurt that morning, and it continued so until this point. Hence, Karamatsu being here, in his shoes.

He was almost starting to regret doing this. But keeping his brother’s sad, weeping face in mind was plentiful to glue back Karamatsu’s determination. This was for Todomatsu. He had to remember: this was for Todomatsu.

And his clothes.

“It did? Oh, I feel so bad for you,” Aida said, sounding like she meant it, but Karamatsu’s anxiety told him otherwise. Drawing the line between reality and fiction was difficult when he was living in fiction, that fiction meaning, a world where he wasn’t himself. And he wasn’t, because he was Todomatsu. And ‘Todomatsu’ was talking to Aida...

He had to gather up his Todomatsu-ness.

“Would you be able to complete your job interview with that?” Aida asked.

“Oh, I’ll be fine, don’t worry about it,” Karamatsu reassured, flipping a palm. “As long as my brain works fine, I could accomplish what needs to be accomplished. And since I have experience, I don’t think I’ll do so bad, right?” He pulled up two peace signs and waved them energetically. “It’ll all be a matter of time though before we truly see. Heh-heh! So for the time being—” he put the peace signs towards his eyes “—all it takes is a little more determination! Yeah!” He posed, but it was overly cutesy.

Her smile was somewhere between amused and petrified. “Are you sure you’re okay, Todomatsu?” she asked.

“Never been better! Why would you question it?”

“I, well...” She reached to one of her elbows, rubbing it. Dang, she was so cute. “If you had a sore throat this morning, then I wouldn’t think you’d be okay so fast. And your...Oh, I hope I’m not offending you or anything, and I hope I could say this more politely, but have your eyebrows always been that thick?”

I knew I should’ve taken Totty’s word and shaved them a little. Karamatsu laughed again, but inside, he was screaming about his soul and how it could get ripped out of his body. “I suppose—I never really mind them! I hope it doesn’t bother you or anything!”

“It’s fine, I swear.” She tilted her head, her hair hopping a little. “Are you really Totty? He’s got five lookalike brothers, and I honestly won’t be surprised if you’re one of them. Not saying you are, but your behavior is a little strange. Or is that just nervousness for the interview talking?”

“I’m just nervous! That’s all it is!” Karamatsu lied, clasping his hands not out of the hopes to make himself mimic one of his brother’s cute gestures, but so that he could grab something before he combusted from her accuracy. Shoot, how did she find out?! Keep calm, Karamatsu. You’ve got this! This is for Todomatsu’s reputation!

And his clothes.

“But I’m so touched to know you’re so concerned,” he continued lightly, waving his peace sign again. Was he overdoing it with the peace signs? The last time he impersonated someone, he had made paw gestures and moved them with a tenderness like he were an actual feline, and that wasn’t something Ichimatsu would normally do. Or, maybe it wasn’t something he would to at all. “I really wish to get the job again, so we can hang out more often! I miss the regular days before me and my brothers messed things up.”

Because, duh. Todomatsu did have to take a little blame for the incident none of them asked for.

“Uh, yeah...I miss those days too.” Aida gave him a toothy grin laced with the same uncertainty. “Anyway, we’d better get going. You have that interview and I have my work, so we’ll see each other again later after, alright?”

“Yes, sure! That would be spectacular!” He’d actually hope he didn’t see her again later, not if it meant pretending to be Todomatsu for another round of cringe-worthy torture. But if that made Aida happy, he might. As long as he got a better hang of his little masquerade, then maybe he might offer her the opportunity.

It just needed to be at the extent that he would receive no beating once the day was over.

“Great. See you later...Todomatsu.”

Crap, what was with that hesitation? No, it couldn’t be. But the way she was so casually leaving, preparing to get inside...

He had to make up for it now, or else he was to expect an entire army against him and his feeble-sighted efforts! He shouldn’t let her leave with whatever impression crept beneath that hesitant farewell! No, he wouldn’t allow that! If anyone was ever to question any person involved in this mess, then it would be Karamatsu! So no, Aida-chan! You would not walk away with a remark hanging on your lips that left judgement over Karamatsu’s hapless impersonation of their darling star of hope!

“Aida-chan!” Karamatsu called out, grabbing her wrist before she could enter completely, and bringing Todomatsu’s phone out of his pocket. “Sorry for startling you, but, would it be alright if I got a picture with you? You know, before perquisite or calamity?”

Aida shot him a look, and Karamatsu winced internally, wanting to slap himself with the force of a Titan to a mosquito. Shoot, watch your choice of words, you stupid, second eldest! Todomatsu would never speak like that—he calls it out for how painful it was! You will ruin everything if you try that again, you crap!

“Sure, I don’t mind,” Aida said, settling herself by Karamatsu’s chest, her spinal cord parallel to where his heart reverberated in his chest in a wild, twister of patterns. He had a girl leaning against his body. A girl. Was this what it felt whenever Todomatsu hung out with them? This closeness, this wonderful emotion that made him want to laugh and cry at once? It had to be. It just had to be.

Suffering from his unbridled, unexplainable joy, Karamatsu lifted the phone above their heads, his thumb sliding against the selfie option of their camera. And when the camera flipped, he saw Aida and himself on the screen, the girl raising her peace sign with a smile, waiting for Karamatsu to do the same. But he stared at himself in his reflection, reading through the curves of his features and where he was going wrong. And it saddened him, when he looked at himself with the acumen of exposure.

He looked nothing like Todomatsu.

Because unlike Todomatsu, who wore a smile because it was part of him, Karamatsu wore his so he could be him.

But he had to remember: this smile wasn’t for nothing. It was for Todomatsu too. It wasn’t a selfish desire that had brought him into this spot, this tight corner, this unpredicted catastrophe of self-humiliation. He was doing this so that Todomatsu had a better life, one he deserved, after he and the other four cowards elsewhere had ruined it.

So he smiled at the camera, and as that smile illuminated his features, a small sense of the Totty he loved as his little brother and once best friend filled his face. His spirits left their corpse-like slump on the ground. “Say cheese, Aida,” he coaxed, his voice not leaving its lightness.

“Cheese!” Aida said, getting her peace sign into a good position, and as Karamatsu did the same, he snapped their picture.

The output was cute, he had to admit. Though the way his hands were positioned had added exaggeration than what Todomatsu would normally have in a casual photo with one of Sutabaa’s infamous baristas, this was still an image convincing enough to fool an outsider who knew nothing about their miracle of six same faces. Or Iyami.

“Alright! See you later, Todomatsu. Good luck with your interview. Just take a turn to that door at the left, and I believe the manager will be waiting for you.”

“Okay, thanks, Aida! I’ll see you as well!”

With that, Aida and Karamatsu exchanged a few waves, and Aida was out of his view as she let herself in before him, vanishing with her grace behind the employees door of the shop, her figure still leaving an imprint in his retinas.

But he shook it off. Entering himself, Karamatsu followed her direction and went towards the meeting door she indicated, stopping in front of it and taking a deep breath. This was for his brother, for Todomatsu who was sick in bed and unable to come. He needed to make this right, and beyond everything else, natural. So without further stalling he was knocking twice before pushing it open hesitantly.

When it was open, he let himself in, and bowing down, he announced, “Good afternoon! My name is Todomatsu Matsuno, and I am applying for a job here!”

Who must’ve been the manager sat up, eyebrows shooting upwards under his glasses. “Ah, Matsuno-kun! You’re here! Welcome! Please, take a seat.”

He indicated to the one in front of him, and Karamatsu followed his order and sat. Inhaling, the scent of coffee saturated his lungs, and the hunger he had that didn’t even know existed let itself be known as a tremor sounded under his blue suit. But praise the gods, it was silent enough for a pass. He had to do this. Todomatsu, his lifeline depended on what Karamatsu said in this one-one-one speech. He had to approach this correctly without error. He had this. Or didn’t he?

“So, I guess we already know each other, since you’ve been here before,” the manager said, arranging a set of papers by clicking their edges against the wooden surface of the table. “But it has been long enough, so how have you been? What have you been up to?”

Okay, so he wasn’t pissed. That was good. Luckily being absent from the mixer’s horrific presentation was enough to keep his perception on the youngest Matsuno well enough that anger wasn’t a visible option for him. Case in point: visible. Any anger or rage was easy to hide behind a mask of a smile, a knife easy to assume as close by and prepared for its session of stabbing. When it came to Akatsuka Ward, knives weren’t for chopping tasty or delicious portions for any lovely course. It was for chopping distasteful NEETs like them.

Thanks, Ichimatsu.

“Ah, I’ve been very well, thank you,” Karamatsu replied, stretching the muscles that wanted to pull up a whimper into a broad, toothy smile. “It has been quite some time. How have you been?”

“Great, really. Thanks for asking.” Interlocking his fingers, the manager rested his chin on them as he straightened his gaze collateral to Karamatsu’s. “I remember that article you once mentioned about the firefighter and the maiden. Thought I forgot about that? Nah, it was too iconic for the mind to sweep away so easily, Matsuno-kun. That was how funny it was! You do still laugh about that experience, don’t you?”

Karamatsu laughed out loud, and the manager flinched at the unpredicted. “Of course! I’m laughing right now! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!”

You’re messing this up, Karamatsu, you idiot! Don’t laugh like the lunatic you are! You will massacre all of the chances granted for your brother’s probable forthcoming! Quit breaking Todomatsu’s person and show the decency he would when faced with the challenge of real-time communication!

Crap, Todomatsu! You stupid lovable little pice of garbage, why oh why do you need to be the type to camouflage so many secrets from your dear older brothers?! You bring tears to this gullible fool, wanting out of your social status but resumes the struggle just for you! You are loved, little star of hope! And in love comes the infamous, one-lettered word called trust! And by hiding your soul away, you—

“Heh, a bit excessive there, Matsuno-kun,” the manager observed, the waver in his grin a strong symptom to Karamatsu’s fiasco.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m just very thrilled to be here again!” Karamatsu amended. “Please go on. I won’t interrupt you if it means the interview gets postponed.”

The manager dipped his chin, not commenting any further.

Nice. Do more of that and do less of you, Shittymatsu.

“Alright then.” The manager cleared his throat, picking up a pen from the table and clinking it against the papers. “So, I just want to tell you that there are things I would no longer ask, since information regarding your background and education was already accounted for during your first interview under the Sutabaa name. This won’t be a long interview, Matsuno-kun. Just enough for us to decide over your return or permanent departure.”

Karamatsu sweat-dropped. “Oh, sure. That’ll be fine.”

It was now or never.

“Okay then. We’ll begin now.” The manager pressed the pen’s black tip to the paper, marking it with an inky dot. “I bet you recall crystal clear how you lost your job in the first place, Matsuno-kun. How about you remind me of the situation, and follow it with what you might be able to do to repent for the trouble.”

“Eh-heh, of course, sir.” Karamatsu cleared his own throat, summoning up the memory of the situation and picturing it with Todomatsu’s young, victimized eyes.

(But with his undeniable lack of backbone to keep all senses straight and alert, he had lost control over his own, painful words. And he was so naive, so stupid, to have missed it. Darn Shittymatsu, that’s what he was)

“It all began because of the mixer. I made the mistake of abandoning my brothers because of it when Sutabaa’s special glowing girls had gifted me with their invitation. Therefore I made myself look my best in front of them, that was until your doors were opened and my kin of older brothers summoned themselves in our divine territory. They were rather disgruntled with my behavior, and all my efforts to rid them from your wonderful establishment resulted in the turning of tables. Almost literally, as I might say so myself, since we were all so caught up in Matsuno shenanigans that resulted in spilt drinks and traumatized patrons. Sad to say, the mixer was almost as unfortunate, as humiliation had produced scowls and dusted trust. Aida-san and Sachiko-san were quick to strip me of my job the day following.”

The manager nodded, a cringe in his posture at Karamatsu’s theatrical choice of words. “I see you recall the experience as if you had taken it to heart. You sounded like you were out of a stage play, Matsuno-kun.”

Karamatsu blanched, his own blunder dawning on him. “Ah, yeah! It’s an experience that makes a mark on my person!” he alibied gaily.

“And for the repenting?” the manager asked, clicking the end of his pen as he prepared a paper. “What are your plans specifically, and how could you say that those contributions of yours would better the ratings of our business?”

Karamatsu gave himself a few seconds to think. Digging deep in the vault of his memories, Karamatsu pressed on imagining anything that Todomatsu might’ve done that related closely with coffee or anything that could better the antes of the Sutabaa chain. But each option that sprouted to mind gave Karamatsu difficulty, because why won’t it, really. How was tapping on a phone screen nor running some lame puns with Osomatsu going to help in any way?

Shoot, when was the last time Todomatsu even made them coffee? The only person who had come close to trying that had been Jyushimatsu, and Ichimatsu had been confined for three days straight out of food poisoning. So really, what contribution whatsoever would Todomatsu have? Basically nothing, as Karamatsu recalled. But for this interview to work, he had to use what he knew and warp around it.

“I’m skilled in promoting, if that’s what you need,” Karamatsu improvised, Todomatsu’s smartphone in mind. “Since I was gone I had a lot of friends on social media, and I’ve discovered a lot of new ways that could help with marketing. Promotional posters, digital editing, and brochures! I can make the products of Sutabaa stand out more than they normally would!”

“Hmm, I see.” The manager wrote down, and Karamatsu’s anxieties tingled. “Are you describing this as a part-time thing to working as a cashier? Because last time, that was your main job, wasn’t it? And to be a cashier was what Aida had mentioned when she stated that you wanted to reclaim your job here. Am I right?”

“Yes, sir. One-hundred percent.” Heh, if he was wrong about that, then Todomatsu’s career was over. He wished he was right.

“But what of your cashier skills, Matsuno-kun? How much in terms of skills would you say your improvement is? When you still had the job, you were a solid employee with proper manners and the right choice of speech, making our customers feel welcome. Would you say that you graduated into someone better than then? Or are you the same, and want to focus more on marketing than counting money and taking orders this time? Because it would contradict the information on my papers.”

“Uhh...” Karamatsu tugged lightly on his collar, gulping. Save Todomatsu. Save Todomatsu. “Naturally, I’d wish to continue my status working as a cashier. But your question revolved around what more my contributions would offer when it came to the establishment. That’s why I mentioned the marketing. It was merely a suggestion around my part. But if I was to resume as a cashier entirely, then I won’t fight against it. I would be happy with whatever job you offered me.”

The manager eyed him for a bit, the tension killing Karamatsu that it made his nape sweat. The manager then nodded, sold, writing the information down. “Alright. That’s good confirmation.”

Bingo. Nice save.

“So correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems like over time you have turned more adaptable than before. Would you think that’s the case for you?”

Was Todomatsu flexible? No, he was far from it. Todomatsu would never bother waiting for the shampoo at the bathhouse and snag a bottle none of them knew he ever brought with him. He was impatient when it came to his brothers, and very short-tempered when things didn’t flow like the rivers he dwelled in. So no, Todomatsu wasn’t adaptable. He was obdurate, and it was annoying.

But he was making Todomatsu look good here.

“Yes, I am,” Karamatsu lied, smile saccharine. “So if I needed my job here doubled in terms of stress or hard work, then I would be happy to oblige. Being an employee in Sutabaa really was something that I loved dearly, and to be able to comply with any requirement would make me very much grateful. That is, if you brought me back. Then I would go straight to business and work myself to my very core. That’s how much I love it here!”

Which was in fact, the truth. Todomatsu’s love for being in the Sutabaa was stronger, and could surpass any of Karamatsu’s lies by millions and billions of kilometers.

“Hmm, alright. I’ll keep that in mind.” The manager jotted down. “How about your pay? Are there any expectations for you when it comes to the income you will receive from working here?”

Karamatsu went rigid. “Pardon?”

“How much do you aspire to earn?” the manager clarified. “From your salary last time, do you expect to earn twice as much if you did multiple jobs, or are you going to be satisfied with the same amount as before? Or less? And no matter what answer, how much would it be, and what would justify it?”

Oh Cod, why. Why, why, why. Todomatsu never mentioned how much he ever earned working in this dumb establishment ever! And without experience whatsoever with this kind of stuff, how on earth was Karamatsu supposed to know?! He’d be making numbers that didn’t even exist at all on the number line! What was supposed to be the answer to this gosh-darn question if he had never even heard of these kinds of questions since the day his baby form came into reality?!

This was it. He was dead. Deader than a decayed corpse or an animal rolled over on desert roads. He was so, so dead.

“Since I was here before, I was surely satisfied enough with the pay I earned,” Karamatsu replied cautiously, “so I wouldn’t be surprised if you decided to give me the same amount. Most especially since I would—without a doubt—be receiving extra monitoring due to the impression I last left, even if the job was doubled. With that, it shouldn’t be a startle if a few of the workers were weary of me, and I’d accept that. So the money would easily follow the flow of that behavior.”

“Hm. Continue.” He was writing again.

“Not that I would get two jobs when it came to Sutabaa at all, it’s not a priority to extend the marketing. For me now, it’s just to get to work at the cashier again, to reclaim my old position. But when it comes to money—because of the establishment and name that Sutabaa has made for itself, one of the most important things I’d hope from it is honesty and a fair game when it comes to distributing my salary. No bias, but judgement based on my efforts and the way I had attracted patrons into the department. Plenty of agencies in the present are culprits of fraudulent funding, and I believe that Sutabaa follows none of that outlandish conduct. Therefore when it comes to my pay, I wish it to be the amount equivalent to what I have produced for you.”

“Which is?”

“Ah-Ah...” Dang, he was doing so well, he thought. He had no specifics in mind—what was he to say? He blubbered out, “T-The one...before...?”

The manager stared at him. Karamatsu stared back. The terrifying staring contest was getting unbearable, with a smile and the connection of eyes making Karamatsu want to just break away and crumble from insanity. He couldn’t take it anymore. He just couldn’t, he wanted to go home, to crash onto the roof and sing a soliloquy of his own pain and sorrow for the world to hear! He could bear no more of the coffee drifting in the air like a stab to the gut, a spear to the heart, a sword through the spi—

“Have you had any other jobs following the first one here, Matsuno-kun?” the manager asked, already glanced down over his papers again.

“Oh, I haven’t, sir.” There was under the Flag Corporation that one time, and that other thing when he switched with his brothers. But would those really be called jobs? Karamatsu didn’t think so.

“Okay. One more question, Matsuno-kun. What are your opinions on simplicity? Simplicity in a sense that you start small before evolving? Like, a chrysalis before it becomes a butterfly? That kind of evolution on simplicity.”

He couldn’t help it this time.

(Now, here’s the deal: Karamatsu was just plain dumb. Because any smart person would ask why a question like that was necessary at all, especially when it came to working at a cashier for a coffee shop, but this lunatic of a man went straight to standing and posing his arms like he were Romeo might he have broken his back while hunting for Juliet in a poor man’s excuse of a garage)

“The butterfly effect! Oh, how a concept like that just warms my heart!” Karamatsu extolled. “I do believe that simplicity goes in many ways! Plenty of opportunities might blossom like a rose, the sun strike it at the right moment, sending the rose into a mainstream for attention as a result of its beauty! But woe is the past, dreadful and sorrowful for what it contains, when it tears the heart and ruins the soul of its hopes and dreams! The rose, that poor rose, so bundled in its misery, to sit until its last few seconds, ready to fall into despair!

“Then the sun, that glorious sun! Oh, it was the rose’s guardian angel, sending it a spirit for life and the will to fight forward! Oh, and it would now attract all the butterflies that followed a path so similar to it’s! Yes, the simplicity of life’s evolution is a concept to be shared to all ages for the will to fight when life’s chains wish to drag you down! Yes, simplicity is a concept that as it mentions, is simple. And yes, simplicity is a perfect, perfect thing that—!”

“Alright, thank you for your time, Matsuno-kun.” The manager stood up and walked to the other side of the table, standing next to Karamatsu. His smile was anything but sweet, but an amalgamation of horrified, baffled, surprised, and furious. “We’ll send you a call if you get the job or not. Let me lead you out.”

He did, and when Karamatsu was at the other side of the door, he said, “See you then, Matsuno-kun! Have a nice day!” And he slammed the door shut.

Karamatsu stood there.

“Totty?”

Oops, that was Aida from somewhere in the shop he didn’t want to turn towards as his anxiety flopped and flipped and cartwheeled inside him. Nope, he didn’t hear her. And because he didn’t, he dashed out of the shop with speed faster than lightning and ran until the coffee establishment was nothing but a diorama behind him.

Todomatsu was going to kill him.

~~~

One week later...

“Okay, thank you.” Todomatsu lowered the receiver and returned to the main living room, expressionless, mouth a tiny line of nothing on his face.

“Hm? Who might that be, my brother?” Karamatsu asked, glancing up from his mirror.

“Sutabaa.”

Karamatsu immediately sat up with tension freezing his body to its very core. “Y-Yes? What did they say?”

“I have a job.”

Karamatsu’s heart fluttered, and he broke into a wide smile as his eyes shined with starlight. “Oh, my brother! I am so glad you managed to score a position in Sutabaa once more! Thank goodness of your good fortune, your luck be blessed by Akatsuka-Sensei himself! To return as the cashier was what you have wan—!”

“I have a job as a janitor.”

Karamatsu’s smile melted. “Ah, you...Eh?”

Todomatsu’s blank gaze swept over to him. “You turned me into a janitor.���

“I, uh...” Clearing his throat, Karamatsu put down his mirror. A thousand words wanted out for the sake of explanation, but none left him as he tried deciding if he should be apologetic or terrified. Maybe the right answer to this was that he be both. He had been the one to decide the fate of his brother after all, so if it meant feeling both of those things at once, then so be it.

Karamatsu laughed nervously. “You...You still have a job though?” he pointed out hesitantly.

Todomatsu stared down at him without anything in his eyes. “I’ll burn one of your clothes combinations,” he decided.

“A-Ah...! Oh...But would you still care for me if I was sick?” Karamatsu asked.

At first, Todomatsu didn’t say anything at all. Then putting his fingers to his mouth, Todomatsu made a dog whistle.

At first Karamatsu had no idea what that was for, when suddenly Ichimatsu leapt out of nowhere with a feral cat screech, grabbed Karamatsu’s mirror, and slammed it across Karamatsu’s face. Luckily it wasn’t strong enough for the glass to break, but it was enough to leave a burned mark on Karamatsu’s face as he reeled back onto the floor from the force of Ichimatsu’s slam.

Crashing onto the floor and clutching his cheek, Karamatsu doubled over with a yelp and a whimper, a sound of suffocation faintly stuck in his throat. Putting a hand to his cheek, there might’ve been a small wound that bled, now that he touched his face, and it hurt like...It hurt. It really, really hurt.

Karamatsu whimpered.

“I’ll fix that wound up for you, I’ll burn one of your clothes combinations. Can we be even then?” Todomatsu deadpanned, grabbing the mirror from the ‘claw’ of Ichimatsu’s hissing form, and tossed the mirror back onto the table.

“Yeah, that’ll be fine,” Karamatsu rasped.

So Todomatsu’s reputation was secured. As were his clothes.

Partly. Only partly.

[nega-aria]

Gyro and Mark visiting a cemetery at night

Ok, I suck super hard at keeping things short, so these may go slower than I expected, but I’m having a lot of fun with this so thanks for the request!

“You First”

Rating: SFW

Characters: Mark Beaks, Gyro Gearloose, Falcon Graves, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera

Ship: semi Beaksloose but not very shippy

Warnings: mild swearing

“You go first.”

“Like hell I’m going in there first! What happened to youproving how oooh so much better you are than me?”

“Pfft, don’t gotta prove facts, bitch.”

“That’s literally how they become facts.”

“Look just go already!” Mark yelled, his voice quivering andshrill in the cool night air as he finally turned to face Gyro. “Unless you’drather go back to the party and tell everyone you were too chicken.”

Damn that party, and damn that smirk on Mark’s face. Gyroscowled at the outstretched arm that was extended towards the gate, hiding hisown nerves behind a demeaning attitude. “For the love of Mewton, you are such ababy!” Gyro scoffed, pushing Mark aside roughly enough to completely relocatehim. The frustration fueled anger lasted long enough for Gyro to throw themetal gates open dramatically, but he cringed in that entryway when the ironrods gave way to the inky abyss before them.

The obvious click of a phone camera went unnoticed as Gyrostarted wide eyed at the scene before him. Trees twisted in seemingly unnaturalways, their shadows casting an army of demented branches, muddled up into aportrait of madness. The hints of moon that could be seen in the cloudy skydisplayed as nothing but an ominous slice of light: a mere tease in theterrifying darkness. It was like a set, something unreal plucked out of themost cliché of horror movies, but it was real and that was enough to make tiredtropes truly terrifying.

“See, just a depository for dead people erected solely to appeasethe irrational religious beliefs of society,” Gyro stated matter-of-factly,crossing his arms over his chest casually as though his heart wasn’t literallyabout to leap right out of it.

Mark rolled his eyes at the pompous display. “Whatever yousay, professor,” he mumbled. He jumped sharply when a soft rustling in the darkthat answered him instead of Gyro. “Did you hear that?” Mark squeaked.  

“What, you scared or something?” Gyro taunted. Quitefrankly, it made him feel better about his own fear to bother Mark about his.

Mark’s feathers puffed on cue. Gyro knew they would, thesmug bastard, but that didn’t stop Mark from going on the defensive. “Of thislame spooksville? As if!”

Gyro didn’t say anything, not so much as a hint of laughter,but he might as well have been cackling manically. He didn’t even look back ashe began a slow trek into the foreboding landscape, and that crude brush-offinfuriated Mark more than a real retort ever could. He didn’t retaliate –that wasexactly what Gyro wanted, after all—but his silent seething provided more thanenough satisfaction.

They occupied themselves with investigating the tombstones,argument pushed aside to allow frayed nerves to settle on something less agitating.Just to the far wall and back and this stupid bet would be satisfied.

The age of those markers shifted like fluid with each stepfurther into the cemetery, as if stepping back through time itself so smoothlythat one couldn’t even tell they were no longer in the right century. The olderthe graves got the more ominous they looked and the more it felt as if theiroccupants would simply rise from the ground and drag any trespassers with themto hell. The rows of crumbling stone were no longer organized and well caredfor. Any people who might wish to visit long were ago buried alongside theirkin, leaving nothing behind but markers of stone and iron to indicate they wereever there at all. A mossy pile of decaying rock was all that was left to markthe final resting place of many poor souls, while others still boasted toweringmonuments, guardians with their angelic features twisted by time into abstract monstrosities.

Mark swallowed at the terrified knot in his throat, but nomatter how hard he tried it proved too tremendous to gulp down. He clung to hisphone with trembling fingers, pointing its flashlight ahead of his every steplike a cross to banish evil. A boring bunch of rocks didn’t make for the bestdistraction, but Mark did his best with what he had.

“What do you suppose this dude’s story is?” Mark asked,pointing down at the grave near his feet.

“Sorry, I left my Ouija board at home,” Gyro said with anexaggerated roll of his eyes.

He scoffed at Mark when an investigation of his silencerevealed the other man to be currently predisposed with yet more social medianonsense, using a tube of red lipstick (that Gyro truly did not want to know whyhe had) to turn the dearly departed’s surname from “Buttshide” into “here liesButts”.

Gyro had never felt second hand shame so intensely in hislife. He could swear the entire graveyard was judging him from bringing such aloser into their domain. “What are you, five?”

“Yeah, wellll I wish you were five!” Mark snapped back. “Youwere actually fun when you were five! Was before you had that ginormous stickup your butt,” he concluded, turning his beak skyward in a very snottypunctuation.

In an instant the snooty demeanor was dropped to allow Markhis oh-so important task of documenting the journey via selfie timeline. It madeGyro scowl harder as he watched the parrot demean himself even further bygiving bunny ears to a headstone. “I loathe you, you know that right?” he said,but those words were not demonstrated in what came next.

A soft snap echoed in the dark. A twig rustled by an animalmost likely, but the logic of that couldn’t quite stick; in that fog filledevening, it was most certainly the breaking of bones, some animal gnawing inthe night, perhaps even a creature of such unknown horror that they couldn’teven fathom its likeness even in the most heinous of nightmares, but it was mostdefinitely something wicked.

Be it stick or monster, it had Gyro in full flight responsemode, cringing close to Mark as the other man did the same to him. “What wasthat?” Gyro squeaked.

“Totally not a horrendous monster,” Mark whimpered. “I mean,that would be super lame, right?”

Gyro actually tried to be comforted by Mark’s absurdlyinadequate attempt at a dismissive laugh, but it proved quite foolish to eventry. “It’d be preposterous.”

The night mocked him with a far more disturbing sound, likedeath itself clawing at a grave. They stood shoulder to shoulder, wanting torun but too terrified to move.

“Gyro?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Is it bad that I reallywanna hold your hand right now?”

Yet another eerie sound pierced the night, and Gyro’sfingers answered for him, quivering digits entwining tightly with Mark’s. Hegripped tighter when a dark shadow darted through the misty graves, but Marktook it one step further by clinging to Gyro’s entire arm when that same inkyfigure got closer and its hideous noises along with it.  

“What the hell isthat thing?!” Mark hissed in a panicked whisper.

“N-nothing, because it’s not real!”

That entity swept closer, moved faster, and growled louder. Theywere being surrounded, voices whispering from all directions and death droolingdown their necks, famished for their flesh. A typically effeminate scream burstfree as Gyro launched himself into the embrace of the man beside him, holdingon as if his life truly depended on it.

“WHAT?!” Mark asked, the pure terror seething from his voiceas he frantically scanned their surroundings with wide, petrified eyes.  

“It touched my butt!!”

“Oh, great a horny ghost! Just what we need. We can get laidbefore we die!”

Gyro did not appreciate the sarcasm. “Hey, don’t get pissyat me just because my ass is so fine that the even the afterlife can’t resistit!”

“THAT pathetic thing? It’s already living in the afterlife!”

“What does that even mean?!”

“I don’t know! I’m nervous, okay?!”

Another sound, this time louder and more sinister than allthe others, had Mark crying pathetically. “Gyro, if we die I just want you toknow that I never hated you as much as I said!” he wailed as he cowered intothe other man. “I just wanted you to think I was cool!”

“That’s stupid,” Gyro replied in the calmest tone he couldmuster, “We’re not gonna die…and I’m physically incapable of thinking you’recool.”

All at once the graveyard grew silent. Mark and Gyrostiffened in the eerie quiet, both feeling the presence behind them but neitherdaring to face it. They could hear it drooling, feel its breath, sense itsfamished growls, but it couldn’t really be there… could it?

It was Mark that actually looked first, turning slowly ashis eyes widened and his entire body quivered. It was large and menacing, andin that inky darkness it was easily eight feet tall and capable of breakingthem both in half. Blood red eyes pieced through the night and wet fangsglistened. Mark could swear he saw it lick its drooling maw, but he wasn’tabout to stick around and find out what that meant. He took off before he evennoticed that Gyro had thrown himself into his arms, but the hitchhiker didn’teven phase his stride, and they clung to each other, screaming in unison theentire way out of the cemetery. Gyro had to give Mark one thing, he was prettysure he’d win the fleeing for your life contest.

Behind them the monster cackled, maniacal laugher quickly devolvinginto elated gasps for air that struggled to allow enough room to actuallybreath.

“I can’t take it,” Falcon wheezed as he watched them, flee. “They’retoo adorable.”

Falcon pulled the mask from his face, slipping from theoversized ratty mass of fur that he normally wouldn’t let anywhere near him ashe dropped himself to the ground beside the smaller man who had been assistinghis deception. He lit a cigarette, leaning against the large gravestone behindhim and still chuckling lightly as he released the fumes into the cold night. Callit foolish self-indulgence, but when this opportunity had presented itself,Falcon couldn’t resist, and he was sure he had never laughed so hard in hislife.

“Dr. Gearloose is gonna killme when he finds out about this. You know he will find out about this right?!This was a terrible idea!!” Fenton answered, his tone growing more franticuntil he was waving his arms hysterically by the end of it.

Falcon chuckled at his partner in crime. He would likely beforever grateful that Fenton had been steamed enough at his boss to even offertechnical assistance and tipsy enough to actually go through with it. “No itwasn’t,” he answered simply.  “This was bloodybrilliant.”

Immediately outside the gate both Gyro and Mark were pantingfor air, the latter asking himself how Gyro was so out of breath when he hadbeen doing all the running.

Gyro was oblivious to the annoyed look as he smoothed hisjacket and cleared his throat. “Now, when everyone else asks-”

“Oh, dude we were total badasses. Hashtag crushed it.”

“Very good.”

The wind let forth a gust, laughing at the irony as it movedthe heavy iron gate behind them just enough to make both Gyro and Mark shriekin fear and back a good distance away.

Mark gulped nervously. “…Gyro?” The other bird looked hisway uncertainly. “Will you hold my hand on the way back?”

Gyro sighed. “You do realize this is supremely pathetic.”

“…does that mean yes?”

The second sigh was even more pronounced. “Yes.”

They instantly linked fingers, both holding tighter thanthey would like to admit as they braved the dark walk back to the party. Patheticit may be, but it sure did make them both feel better.

[xxbyimm]

The bet series - Phase III Plateau

May I present to you: Phase III - Plateau.

Special Thanks to my buddies D. and @deepestfirefun for proofreading and being fucking honest about the first draft. It means the world to me that you keep cheerleading me from the sideline, no matter how hard I want to quit. 

I do hope you all enjoy. Thorin just wishes for the bet to end so he can touch his queen again, but alas he has to wait two more phases after this one...  xoxo

Phase III: Plateau

Summary: Our OC Enya lands in a fierce argument with her king, because she has seen him staring at another dam’s ass. She offers Thorin a challenge: to prove to her he does has, in fact, decent self-control, he has to refrain four weeks from physical contact. He thinks he can make it. Easily. He is a king. But who says the queen is gonna let him win this easily? Let the games begin…  

Tags: @nelswp, @deepestfirefun @emrfangirl @princecami, @hails270105 , @exhausted-human-being . So I tagged a few of you who I know were reading this series. Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from any taglist. 

Warning: Sexual tension, smut. Enya’s temper. Swearing.

‘Goodmorning.

Let’s be naughty today.’

Thorin was everywhere.

His big, sturdy hands were covering her bottom, the thick fingers kneading the soft flesh. His lips – oh mahal have mercy on her soul – his lips were plundering the crook of her neck, sucking the sensitive skin, his tongue licking away the slight ache that lingered afterwards. His breath came in harsh pants, alongside labored groans that made her toes curl. Their clothes lay scattered over the floor, some pieces ripped, others miraculously untarnished. Thorin had her pinned firmly against the wall, her skin scraping against the stone with every move they made. She would get sore soon enough, but that was a worry for later. Right now she didn’t care, for she got him exactly where she wanted. Heck, she got HERSELF exactly where she wanted.

Finally he had yielded, granted them what they both had desired, craved even, the moment their bet had started.

Yes. Finally.

She got her legs tightly wrapped around his waist, keeping him buried deep inside her, stretching her up in a manner she almost had forgotten he was very much capable of. Her nails dug in his shoulder blades, scratching the skin and leaving red marks all over.

Not that Thorin even cared. He would wear her markings with pride. Like he always did.

Her cheeks flushed at the thought. Strands of hair that had slipped away from her braid were now brushing over her face. It didn’t matter. None of it did. She was ascending, clinging onto him as their bodies moved in sync, both desperately seeking to lose all control. It was too much, not enough and precisely right at the same time. When his length dragged over her sweet spot, a harsh cry left her mouth and her mind ventured to the state of near oblivion. She was nearly there, just one more stroke…

‘Enya.’ Thorin pleaded as he paused for a moment. Enya whimpered softly in protest and he hissed in return. Then he moved to brush his lips over hers. The slight contact made her shiver. ‘Never. Again.’ She nodded vaguely, wanting to promise him she would never lure him into another outrageous bet again -not even to prove a point- but then his hips moved against hers and she crumbled apart into this panting mess, unable to register more than both of their bodies and the thin layer of perspiration that covered them. ‘Prove it.’ He husked, gritting his teeth. ‘Mahal, Enya. Prove it. To. Me.’ ‘Yes!’ she moaned. ‘Any-t-thing.’ ‘Then don’t give in. Hold back.’

WHAT?!

Enya woke up with a startle. A vile curse escaped from her mouth, a word that would make even the most hardened warriors in Erebor blush like the holy virgin.

A dream?! REALLY?!

After all the suffering she had been through, she was going to be tormented IN HER SLEEP? Enya threw the blankets off the bed she had been sleeping in and jumped up. The floor was clay-cold against the soles of her feet. The fire in the corner of the guestroom had died hours ago, and she could see her own breath. She shivered against the cold that chased away the last bits of drowsiness and welcomed the discomfort, as it surely would keep her awake and focused. But a deep desire still pooled in her stomach and it took all of her to resist the urge to search for friction. She couldn’t give in. If she did, she would lose. Enya groaned in frustration and sat down at the writing desk that stood on the far end of the room. She rammed her head on the wooden surface.

Fucking hell. This was just great. She wasn’t even safe in her own sleep anymore. What if the dream would have continued and she had tipped over the edge? Would that mean her defeat? Enya heaved a sigh, cursing her treacherous body in silence. She could control herself, but she couldn’t tame her dreams. She was failing and her own game slowly turning against her. Maybe she should just give in, admit her failure and… She clenched her jaw when the mere thought of Elmilynn resurfaced, the damned dwarrowdam that had brought about the whole dare in the first place.

No.

Her body might try its hardest to make her forget her point, but luckily she hadn’t lost her sanity yet. If Thorin really thought he had outsmarted her enough for the remainder of their bet, he didn’t know his queen at all. She just needed to up her game, make a new plan. A well-organized set-up that would help her survive those eighteen days and sixteen or so hours and bring her king down his knees in one go. Enya rummaged through the drawers of the desk, until she found a piece of parchment and charcoal and started scribbling. This was all about tactics, finding your nemesis’s weak spot and exploit it. Thorin was a very physical dwarf, who believed actions were worth more than a thousand words. If there was a way to be in his presence, but without physically being there, she had to find it. A smile crept on her face. Drive him crazy, very slowly, without giving him that much needed opportunity of releasing the tension. Oh, she was going to let him burn in the deepest pit of hell, ever simmering never going anywhere, only to lift him up for a bit when she felt like it. And then let him come crashing down again.

Push. Pull. Repeat.

Okay, okay. Maybe not a literal hell, just as in figure of speech of course. She was going to play with all Thorin’s senses and break his will…

Although she absolutely had no desire to talk to her king after the stunt he pulled on her yesterday, she still made her way towards their private quarters. If someone had seen her stalking off in the middle of the night, it would already be the talk of the day in court. Imagine what would happen if people knew their queen hadn’t returned to her chambers by dawn… The noble ladies would have the day of their lives trying to conjure up all the possible explanations for that. Adultery? Resentment? A broken marriage? Enya rolled her eyes as she walked along the hallway that lead to the royal quarters. It still was early in the morning, so she might get lucky and slip into their bedchamber unnoticed. The piece of parchment was safely hidden in the pocket of her dressing gown. She smirked.

It’s a new day, Oakenshield. Let’s play.

‘Good morning.’ His baritone voice greeted her long before her eyes got used to darkened room. Despite of her lingering anger against him, she couldn’t help but smile while she made her way towards the window. She pulled the curtains away and glanced over to the bed. Thorin was laying in almost the exact position as he had the night before when she had caught him. His arm was resting casually beneath his pillow, the blanket draped across his abdomen and showing off his fine muscles. He had developed this habit of sleeping naked and the mere memory of his warm, muscular body pressing against hers made her breath hitch. His dark locks were the right amount of just-woke-up messy and the carefully shaven parts of his beard showed a vague stubble. His gaze was a little faraway, like he still was processing his dreams. Her thighs clenched involuntary and Enya ignored the pleasant flutter that rose in her stomach.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

Every time she thought she’d had found her favorite type of Thorin, there was a new one waiting to be discovered and sweep her off her feet.

‘How did you know I wasn’t a servant?’ she said, pausing to appreciate his ridiculously good appearance. He blinked against the bright light. ‘Because a servant usually doesn’t walk like my queen. Or wears a dressing robe.’ ‘Is that so?’ she replied. ‘You never know with these cunning dwarrowdams swarming all over the place. They’re all hoping to catch themselves an handsome king.’ ‘Unfortunately there’s only one the king likes.’ Thorin told her. ‘And he already has married her.’ ‘Really?’ Enya commented as she waved her hand. Flames shot through the room and landed in the fire place. She followed her fire and watched the flames settling on the fresh logs. ‘What a lucky female that is…’ she murmured. The fire grew as her own frustration started to resurface. Although Thorin surely was alluring as fuck (hell, in her dictionary he was the embodiment of temptation), she wasn’t going to forgive him that easily. He had played her and he’d damn better feel guilty about it.

‘I got lonely without you, uzfakuh.’ Thorin mused. ‘Where have you been?’ ‘To heaven and hell in just one dream, how about you, my king?’

‘Oh, nothing special.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve been to Dale and asked Bard if he had a bed to spare. I mean, I didn’t know how far I should venture out because my king evidently treats the concept of me being in his presence quite… offhandedly.’ She quickly bit on her lip to hide a smile and glanced over her shoulder. Thorin was laying on his side now, his reaction to her words was almost too subtle to notice. But she knew him. The slight straining of his upper torso, wiping away the relaxed sleepiness that had lingered there moments ago, was a sure sign that his interest got piqued.

Got you.

‘That would explain why I couldn’t find you.’ He said while regarding her with curiosity. ‘So you’ve been out? In your dressing gown?’ She smirked. ‘You think I’m stupid enough to venture out in these robes? If I had done that, tongues would be wagging about the queen’s indiscretion as we speak.’ She paused, deliberately, and walked towards her bedside table to fetch her hairbrush. Thorin followed her movements, staring at her intently, as if her body language would provide him with clues whether she was lying or not. The silence hung heavily in the air. Enya settled on her side of the bed, facing away from her king. ‘You know I’m smarter than that…’ she breathed while brushing her hair with long strokes. ‘You wouldn’t.’ he responded, a slightly tensed edge in his voice. ‘No?’ she purred. ‘Just like you wouldn’t break the rules?’ ‘Mahal, Enya.’ He groaned. ‘You know that’s not true. Drop it.’ ‘Oh no.’ she said, feeling utterly calm. ‘I will drop it when I have shared my thoughts on it properly.’ ‘Well spill it, then.’ He challenged her. ‘And be done with it.’ ‘It’s done when I say it is.’ Thorin clenched his jaw. ‘You stubborn-’ ‘Excuse me?’ she asked him sweetly. ‘No.’ Thorin grumbled. He got up and settled against the headboard of the bed in a cross-legged position. The sheets slid away.

Ha, if Mahal truly was on his way to save her soul, someone better inform him she was a lost cause. Thorin was very much still naked and the sight of his bared skin was doing unspeakable things to her brain. If it hadn’t been for this ridiculous bet, she would be straddling his lap right now. His sturdy hands would grab hips, impatiently guiding her down onto him. With a sinful smile, she would slow him down, because the intense sensation of that first stroke was something that needed to be salvaged. To be enjoyed fully.

‘You’d better fucking focus on the argument, love.’ her mind suddenly warned and Enya bit her lip. Usually their fights did end in passionate lovemaking sessions, but today would not be one of those occasions. Today they had to solve it by talking. And no touching.

Well, there’s a first for everything...

‘I’m a what?’ she inquired while shoving her thighs together. Oh god, adding pressure definitely did not help her case, it only increased the yearning. She exhaled slowly and shuffled to find herself a more comfortable position. How did normal people cope with this amount of sexual frustration? It needed to go somewhere anyway?!

‘No.’ Thorin repeated and he narrowed his eyes. ‘I will not be lured into an argument just because you are all hot and bothered and refuse to relieve yourself.’ As if! Enya huffed, her anger resurfacing again. Her nails clawed into the wooden handle of the brush. Really, that accusing tone of his always made her blood boil. ‘And I refuse to come to terms with the fact that kings think they don’t have to play by the rules, not even within their marriages!’ she retorted. ‘For the last time, it was a loophole!’ he barked. ‘I would never-’ ‘That’s what you say, but yet you can’t seem to ignore a fine piece of ass if it happens to pass you, can you?’ she interrupted, forcefully throwing away her brush. ‘What’s going to be next? When will you decide to seek your fortune outside our private chambers?’

Oh, this felt so good.

‘Don’t you dare.’ Thorin demanded. He was scowling at her, his jaw set and every other nerve in his body wound up like a coiled spring. To any other being an angry Thorin would be perceived as terrifying, but Enya had to admit it made him look only more sexy. ‘Or what?’ she challenged, frustrated with her own incapability to overcome her desires. ‘What will you do? You can’t touch this, can you?’ ‘If you weren’t this frustrated right now, we wouldn’t have this conversation.’ He insisted. ‘So it’s all my fault then?’ she snapped. ‘Let’s blame the queen for everything that doesn’t go your way!’ ‘May I remind you how we got in this absurd situation in the first place?!’ Thorin exploded. ‘This was YOUR IDEA, YOUR BET. It’s on YOU!’ ‘We’ve got in this situation because YOU were glancing at that INSUFFERABLE dam’s ASS!’ Enya retaliated. ‘Mahal, Enya.’ Thorin commanded. ‘That is quite enough. Stop. It.’ ‘Maybe you should NOT have made the STUPID DECISION of marrying ME!’ She went on and jumped from the bed. ‘Maybe WHAT YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE IS BETHROTING SOMEONE MORE EXEMPLARY, SOMEONE NORMAL!’ ‘You really think that?!’ Thorin argued, his face distorted in anger. ‘Come to your senses, woman.’ ‘SENSES?’ she yelled while barging for the door that lead towards her dressing room. ‘You’re talking to ME, ABOUT SANITY?!’ ‘For the LAST TIME.’ Thorin snapped. ‘DO NOT BLAME ME FOR YOUR OWN FRUSTRATIONS!’ Enya paced towards the door that lead towards her dressing room and smiled curtly. ‘Oh, but you’re wrong there. I am not frustrated. At least, not anymore.’ ‘What do you mean by that?’ he growled, his tone dangerously low.

The hairs on her arms prickled. She had to be careful now, because she was threading on the borders of Thorin’s patience. If his self-control cracked, they would end up having angry sex on the floor. She knew she shouldn’t. She knew she was wrong in starting this whole senseless argument anyway. But he was so right, she was hot and bothered and needed to get off on… something. Although not the most desired one, arguing was an agreeable way to blow off steam. It was wrong to push Thorin’s buttons, wrong of her to lash out while all the wanted was to have him sheathed deep inside her, but she couldn’t help herself. The agony was pulsing through her veins, her thighs yearning, her skin screaming for his touch. She was hurting and he deserved to feel the same way.

‘Maybe I took matters into my own hands. Maybe I had help with that. Who knows?’ she jested while leaning back against the cold wood.

That would serve him right. Under normal circumstances, Thorin would refuse to believe for even a second she would betray his trust like this, but right now she could tell he wasn’t thinking straight. She too felt strange as agony, anger, frustration, insecurity and desire were all swirling through her body, screaming for release. It was confusing, too much and she was moments away from becoming completely hysterical.

‘Okay, Blueheart.’ her mind pleaded. ‘You got this. Breathe.’ Enya lowered her gaze, focusing her senses on her hands. Her fingers were groping the doorknob. She could feel the cold metal searing against her palms. She vaguely heard the bedsheets rustling, but then…

She gasped when Thorin almost crashed against her, his hands slamming into the wooden door inches from her face. Enya glanced up, her gaze meeting her king’s. Sapphire eyes burned through pale blue ones and she saw her own hot fury mirrored in his gaze. Thorin was breathing heavily, like he just had fought a wearing battle, although in this case it would have been one of a more mental kind. His body was prepared for a fight anyway, with all his muscles strained and unyielding. His naked skin was radiating heat like a forge, and Enya secretly welcomed the comfortable warmth. He was close, so close.

But that still wasn’t enough and it would never be. The hurt was clawing through her flesh, gnawing on her bones. Tearing away her heart. She needed to lash out. Anything to relieve the pain.

‘Are you cornering me?’ she taunted. ‘You wish to intimidate me?’ ‘I would never.’ Thorin murmured softly. ‘I love you and you know that.’

Well, fuck. Sure, she had expected him to blow up, to rage at her in order for her to scream back, but this… This was not what she had expected. Enya exhaled slowly, her mind trying to wrap around the fact what her heart already knew for ages. She could count the times he actually had voiced his feelings for her this explicitly on one hand, and to hear him proclaiming his love so bluntly, so… Her bottom lip got caught between her teeth as Enya tried to regain her composure. It was useless. Her hands were shaking, her heart pounding in her chest. Tears were burning behind her eyes as the guilt washed over her. She had been acting unreasonable and he could have let her walk away, but yet he still was here. Watching her with those enchanting, breathtaking sapphire eyes like she was the most precious thing in the world.

‘That’s cruel.’ She mumbled. ‘To play that card.’ ‘I still mean it.’ He grunted. ‘And you should hear it more often.’ The anger that had dominated him a few moments ago still lingered under the surface, but there he was, reaching out to her. Enya swallowed hard and blinked rapidly to push away the tears that kept on coming. ‘Really, is that dwarf on a mission to make me cry today?’ she wondered shortly, but all thoughts got lost when he found her gaze again.

His face was inches away from hers. As his scent engulfed her senses she really understood how much she missed their intimacy. Her fears, her doubts, even her insecurity… it didn’t matter as long as he was holding her. He was her safe haven, her rock. The physical part of their relationship was what really defined them, and they could not survive without it.

It was as if he had read her thoughts. ‘We are torturing ourselves, uzfakuh.’ Thorin breathed. ‘We don’t work this way and I fear we never will.’ Enya shook her head, not trusting her own voice yet. He smiled gently. ‘I used to think that upholding my honor was the most sacred thing in life, but-’

Oh, she could not bear any more revelations. How could she ever tell him what these words (and this whole ridiculous bet even) were doing to her, without bawling her eyes out? ‘I could use a time out.’ She stuttered. ‘Me too.’ Thorin rasped.

Both of them stood in silence, pausing to consider the impossible and very forbidden move they were willing to make. Thorin was close, so close. Lips almost brushed against one another, breathing in the same air and Enya’s head got hazy from the powerful sensation. Her blood was roaring in her ears as her heart pounded it through her body at top speed. Her self-control was crumbling.

‘We shouldn’t.’ She whispered. Thorin nodded slowly. ‘You’re right. But the heart yearns.’ ‘Are you sure we’re talking about hearts here?’ She purred. He chuckled lightly and Enya reveled in the sound. ‘Among other things.’ He told her. ‘We shouldn’t.’ She said while her hand moved up through the space between them, her fingers reaching for his face. ‘But I’m so-’ ‘Enya.’ Thorin rumbled. His tone was soft, almost pleading. ‘Come here.’

There was no stopping it. Their lips smashed together in a bruising kiss. Enya gripped his head firmly as if she was afraid he’d escape if she didn’t. The wooden door creaked as their bodies crashed against the surface. Thorin worked his mouth against hers, hungrily taking her in while their kiss deepened and his tongue found hers. Bristles of his beard scratched against her cheeks and a whimper escaped her. Thorin’s hands were sliding over her body, eagerly recalling each curve. The rough touch was setting her skin on fire and Enya raked her nails over his neck, earning a low growl in return.

Thorin then hoisted her up against the wooden surface, his hands under her bum to support her weight. His hips rolled against hers, and Enya couldn’t help but moan when she felt his clear desire for her pushing through the fabric of her lingerie. They were almost skin against skin, but still two layers too many covered her own body. Her fingers curled around the braids in his hair, pulling them desperately when Thorin suddenly broke their kiss. He groaned, his lips brushing over her ear before tugging her earlobe with his teeth. ‘We have to stop.’ He growled harshly. ‘I’m losing it.’

Ha, as if they hadn’t lost it earlier on, right after the bet had started.

‘No.’ She begged. ‘I need you.’ ‘We shouldn’t.’ Thorin repeated after her, his eyes flashing with lust and frustration. ‘We already ruined it.’ she murmured as she grasped his chin and tilted it slightly upwards. ‘We already crossed the boundary, why not enjoy it a little more…’ A little love drunk she bit on her lip and sent him a vague smile. She then ran her tongue over her lips and Thorin hissed. Desire was pooling in her stomach, her whole body begging for release. It didn’t matter anymore, the point of their whole bet destroyed now. She needed her aphrodisiac, her drug. No one was here to stop them from doing what they both had wanted, craved for all these long days…

A knock on the door released them from their spell. ‘Thorin?’

It was Balin.

Thorin clenched his jaw and Enya heaved a sigh. ‘A moment.’ He replied while he reluctantly let his queen go. Enya leaned against the door and watched her king pace through the room as he searched for some clothing to throw on. Her body was trembling, furious that it had been disturbed at such an important moment. But now that moment was gone, and knowing Thorin it wouldn’t repeat itself.

‘Oh… that perfect round butt is going to be the death of me…’ her mind dreamed. ‘How are we going to last the remaining days…?’

Well, she wasn’t.

She shrugged as she admitted her defeat and opened the door before she slipped into her dressing room. As soon as the metal clank from the lock sliding in its’ place, informing her she was safe from prying eyes, her legs gave in and she crashed down on the floor.

She just had gotten ready for the day and made her way towards the hall of kings when she almost bumped into another dwarrowdam. ‘Pardon me…’ Enya apologized. ‘I wasn’t paying attention-’ ‘Good morning, my queen.’ Nin greeted her joyfully. ‘I was just looking for you!’ ‘Oh?’ Enya inquired. ‘Did something… happen?’ Nin raised a brow. ‘I see where you are going, but the answer is no. Balin has sent me to fetch you.’ ‘Shame.’ Enya grinned. ‘What does Balin want?’ ‘Emergency meeting before the departure towards the Iron Hills tomorrow.’ ‘And why does he need me?’ Enya said. Her friend opened her mouth to give a reply, but Enya waved dismissively with her hand. ‘No, it can wait. What about Fíli and you all alone in the library? What’s the tea?’ ‘You have introduced us just yesterday, remember?’ Nin reminded her with a smile. Enya giggled. ‘Well, that doesn’t mean things can’t move fast from there…’ Nin snorted and linked her arm with Enya’s. ‘Sounds like you think that every relationship dynamic has to be as passionate and I daresay eventful as yours with Thorin…’ ‘Why do I always have this idea that you’re mocking me somehow but you’re not explicitly telling me?’ Enya mused. ‘Because that’s what I’m here for.’ Nin shrugged. ‘There’s enough backstabbing and lies going around the court as it is. You always need to hear the truth and I will provide you with it anytime.’ ‘Thank you for being a beacon of righteousness and positivity.’ Enya beamed. ‘But you’re drifting away from the topic. What happened after I left? Tell me everything!’ Nin laughed. ‘Okay fine miss impatience, I will swear on the mighty Mahal that I’ll tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’ ‘NIN!!!’ ‘Well, it wasn’t as exciting as you no doubt want it to be. We drank some more Bourbon and I think he tried to flirt with me.’ ‘He did?!!!’ ‘Well the alcohol was surely loosening up his tongue, so I had so much fun playing around with him.’ Her friend recounted. ‘But since I had to get up early this morning, I retired to my chambers after an hour.’

They strolled through the mountain. As it still was early in the morning, the corridors were deserted and they could speak freely. ‘What about Elmilynn?’ Enya said. ‘I will look into it this morning.’ Her friend replied. ‘But I do have to say when you gave me the assignment, we did forget the trip to the Iron Hills. The Steelstone family will be in Erebor while we are miles away…’ ‘Fuck.’ Enya cursed. ‘Well… let’s say…’ she frowned. ‘Wait, you said that… Balin is staying behind right? If we inform him about this matter, then he’ll be able to keep a watchful eye.’ Nin nodded shortly. ‘Seems like a sensible next step. I’ll see what I can find out today anyway.’ ‘You’re a dime.’ Enya told her. Nin laughed. ‘Any news from you, En?’ she asked. ‘Did you drive Thorin crazy yet?’ ‘The game turned against me.’ Enya confided in her friend. ‘That surely sounds interesting.’ Her lady-in-waiting responded. ‘What happened?’ ‘Not here.’ Enya murmured. Her friend grabbed her queen by the arm and pulled her into a storeroom nearby. Just when Enya opened her mouth, a pair of other nobles chose to walk by, chatting animatedly about the prices of gold. Enya rolled her eyes and Nin grimaced. They waited until the dwarves had passed and their voices were no more than echoes in the distance.

‘The whole thing blew up in my face.’ Enya confessed. ‘Why am I not surprised?’ Nin giggled. ‘Ugh, hush.’ Enya groaned. ‘So last night, I was flaunting my wares in front of him and he wouldn’t budge. I told myself that it didn’t matter, that tomorrow there would a new day full of opportunities to drive him insane.’ She paused to rub her temples. ‘Guess what.’ ‘What?’ Nin repeated, her eyes shining with delight. ‘What did he do?’ ‘I wake up, in the middle of the night, and the bastard is fucking relieving himself!’ Enya hissed. ‘He still had the nerve to tell me that I was in his presence, so he wasn’t cheating…’ ‘He didn’t!’ her friend cried out while her mouth curved into an devious smile. ‘No, oh En that is terrible… that’s…’

They couldn’t help themselves. Nin sniggered and Enya bit her lip to prevent herself from bursting into laughter, but a giggle escaped nonetheless. Before she knew it, a second giggle followed and after that there was no way stopping it anymore. The laughter took over their senses and Enya had to grab one of the racks that stood in the room to stop herself from crashing on the floor. Nin leaned against the door, giggling hysterically. Jolts of pain rolled through Enya’s abdomen and she gripped her belly in an attempt to make it stop.

‘What a clever bastard!’ Nin hickuped when the worst fit was over. She wiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘What did you do?’ Enya heaved a sigh. ‘You know me. I completely lost my shit and stalked off towards the guest chambers.’ ‘And now what?’ her friend asked, grinning. ‘Oh, I’m not done.’ Enya winced. ‘There’s more?!’ ‘I had this extremely… dissatisfying dream last night, so when returned to our quarters this morning I still was… bothered.’ Enya continued. ‘Naturally, we got into a fight and then things kinda escalated.’ ‘You fucked it up?!!!’ Nin shrieked. ‘Almost.’ Enya admitted. ‘He had me pinned against the door and then it just… we cracked. We started kissing and we would have gone a lot further if Balin hadn’t knocked on the door.’ Her friend clasped her hand before her mouth. ‘Poor Balin!’ ‘Poor me!’ Enya whined. ‘I have fucked it up royally, and I still didn’t get any.’ ‘Oh, you poor soul.’ Her lady-in-waiting jested. ‘So does that mean everyone in Erebor will get a rest and you two stop driving each other mad with this ridiculous bet?’ Enya shrugged. ‘I have no idea. We haven’t discussed it yet.’ ‘Don’t do that.’ Nin advised. ‘For the sake of everyone: abandon the no touching rule.’ Enya rolled her eyes. ‘And giving up so easily?’ ‘Well… you both tried… and failed miserably.’ Nin told her and she laughed when Enya scowled into her direction. She opened the door again and nudged her queen to follow. ‘Now let’s go, we can’t make Balin wait for us.’

The meeting passed swiftly. After all the hassle that came with the bet, Enya almost had forgotten about their trip to the Iron Hills. Cousin Daín Ironfoot loved his parties and every year he hosted this banquet where all the kingly dwarven couples in the area were obliged to join in on. Because Thorin and Enya hadn’t been able to make up a good reason to let is pass by this year, they had arranged for a few willing nobles to travel ahead with necessities. They would leave a few days later and catch up with the others on the road. Thorin had said he had some goat matters to attend to before he could leave, but Enya knew Balin could have handled that as well. Thorin just really wanted to spend some precious alone time with his queen. As far as Enya was concerned, after this last meeting everything was set for the trip. She had chosen Nin and one of her favorite chambermaids to guard the wagon with all of her dresses (and boy, there were needed more than she’d like) and other necessities. While Balin would stay home to man the fort, Dwalin and Fíli were coming along with them, as well as two of Thorin’s servants. Lord Whitheart had also enthusiastically offered himself for this trip, but after a quick glance at his queen, Thorin had told the dwarf lord his services in Erebor were much more needed.

Enya watched the room emptying itself before Balin, Fíli, Nin and herself were the last ones inside. There had been one thing that disturbed her deeply and that was lord Steelstone’s presence. The dwarf lord (who had slipped into the meeting effortlessly) had stepped in and offered his services to the king. Thorin had agreed, although somewhat reluctantly. Enya couldn’t help but wonder why lord Steelstone would want to accompany them on the journey, but she doubted his intentions were honorable. On the other hand, it would be hard to cause mayhem while under the scrutinizing looks of the king’s most loyal subjects.

‘Balin?’ Enya asked while shutting the door to avoid others listening in. ‘Yes, my queen?’ the old dwarf smiled fondly while holding a scroll in its place to let it dry. ‘Can I confide in you?’ Balin looked up, his eyes flashing briefly towards Nin and Fíli before focusing on his queen again. ‘If there’s something you wish to tell me, you’re most welcome to share, sweetheart.’

Sweetheart. Enya smirked and shook her head. From all the dwarves in Erebor, Balin was the only one that could give the queen a pet name and live to tell the tale. Thorin still was quite protective of his queen, but since he and Balin had been friends for ages, he allowed it. Enya, in turn, called the dwarf an old goat: a name he wore with pride.

‘They already know.’ Enya told him with a gesture at the others. Balin nodded. ‘It’s the Steelstone family!’ she then burst out. ‘Something is very off about them, but I can’t tell what exactly. It’s driving me insane.’ ‘You don’t trust them.’ Balin mused. ‘Neither do I.’ Nin said. ‘I’ve seen Elmilynn trail Thorin faster than a bear can find honey…’ ‘And lord Steelstone was quite eager to join our little company, wasn’t he?’ Fíli contributed. ‘I can’t say I haven’t observed these things too.’ Balin responded. ‘But they haven’t done something wrong.’ ‘Yet.’ Enya countered. ‘They are concocting something and I’d like to know wat before it causes any trouble.’ The old dwarf rolled up the parchment, carefully checking if the written messages had dried enough already. ‘It’s wise not to trust them.’ He said. ‘I have tried to find out myself where they came from, but any record that I’ve consulted remains quite vague.’ ‘I’ve researched their name last night. It’s unfamiliar in this area.’ Fíli agreed. ‘That is, if they use their real name.’ Enya shot her nephew an appreciative glance and he winked. ‘I asked Fíli to watch lord Steelstone.’ she elaborated. ‘And Nin is finding out what dear Elmilynn is hiding. I fear they are going to hurt Thorin in some way…’ ‘Does the king know of your plans?’ Balin inquired gently. ‘Not yet.’ Enya gave in, wincing under the dwarf’s knowing stare. ‘But I guess I have to tell him. He hates it when I do things behind his back, but I don’t want to burden him more than necessary.’ ‘If it’s enough to keep you awake at night, I’m sure Thorin would like to hear about it.’ Balin mused. Enya heaved a sigh. ‘You’re right, as always. I’ll see to it, then.’ ‘Another thing, if I may be so bold.’ Nin said. ‘After tomorrow, Fíli and I will be on the road, watching lord Steelstone. But what about Elmilynn? She will stay behind.’ ‘I’ll keep an eye on her.’ Balin promised. ‘I don’t think she’ll cause much trouble without her dad around, but…’ ‘Maybe this is the opportunity she has been waiting for.’ Fíli said. ‘Well…’ Balin replied while standing up from his seat. ‘If that’s the case, we’ll make sure to be ready for her…’

It was late in the evening when she retired to the royal quarters. Save for the emergency meeting this morning, Enya hadn’t seen Thorin all day and she was longing for him. Granted, she probably couldn’t curl up on his lap, but being in his presence would suffice. They had to talk about what happened this morning. Furthermore, she knew she owed him an apology for her behavior towards him. She had almost had used the recollections of the dark days of his gold sickness as a weapon, and the mere memory made her skin crawl. When she walked into their bedroom, Thorin was sitting in one of the armchairs by the fire. He was staring into the flames and didn’t acknowledge her arrival like he usually did. Enya quietly sat down in the other chair and watched her king’s features. He seemed to be in deep thought and it almost felt a crime to disturb him.

‘Hi.’ She murmured softly. Thorin snapped from his thoughts and gave her a small smile. ‘Good evening, my queen.’ ‘About this morning…’ she began. ‘I’d like you to know that I’m sorry. I… I have said things I shouldn’t.’ He inclined his head. ‘I know. You’re forgiven.’ ‘No.’ she told him. Thorin frowned. ‘You’re going to argue over the fact that I forgive you?’ ‘I don’t want you to brush it over like it was nothing.’ She admitted. ‘My actions were wrong and I acted like a total psycho.’ She paused to take a deep breath. ‘And you were right. I’m so hot and bothered I don’t even know how to think straight anymore.’ Thorin reached for his goblet of wine on the table and studied its decorations extensively. Enya tried to relax in her seat, but her eyes were focused on the thick fingers caressing the metal. Ugh, she so wished it was her skin. ‘Well…’ Thorin finally rumbled. ‘Since you’ve asked for it, I’ll find an appropriate way to right your wrongdoings, then.’ He shot her a mischievous glance and a pleasant jolt shot through her body. Enya bit her lip. ‘I’m curious to find out what you come up with, my king.’ ‘Who says you’ll like it?’ he informed her. ‘You bastard. You’re not helping.’ She breathed. ‘That’s part of the game, isn’t it?’ he purred while locking eyes with her. ‘So we’re continuing our deal?’ she inquired softly. ‘We kind of fucked it up this morning.’ Thorin cocked a brow. ‘You wanted to play, so we will.’ ‘I’m not going to like this, am I?’ she wondered. Thorin grinned. ‘That depends on if you will finally give in to my proposition, uzfakuh.’ ‘Oh.’ She giggled. ‘But before we do that, let’s discuss the new terms shall we?’

Thank you for reading this chapter. If you loved it, please help me out by spreading my work with a reblog <3. 

Masterlist | The bet Phase I | The bet Phase II

[you-knees]

Fitness?!

I literally had no other goal except to just MOVE. My body-mass index has consistently been within average and I've always felt okay about my body. But then I realized I needed to move, especially in the depths of stationary work situations. I used to dance and do yoga in the past, and I absolutely looooved doing them. It was no stress getting up and attending classes & practices because they were not just a routine or a hobby— they have become a part of ME. That's why fitness has never been an issue to me... well, until lately.

Hence I decided I needed to rejuvenate. I couldn't allow myself to get on with life feeling like a rotten old log that easily crumbles. No. I needed to get up and take responsibility for my physical health. So fast forward to the heights of pandemic— thankfully, I have a (long-distance) work out buddy and coach boyfriend who pushed me to do home exercises. We did them together virtually, and carried on quenching this thirst for movement. Until he furthered southward to my hometown in January, and our virtual work out routines have turned into regular gym dates. Alas however, unlike dancing or doing yoga, working out mentally stresses me knowing I'd be lifting such heavy pieces of equipment and I'd have to sweat my whole life out just to survive the day. I always wished I could skip them.

Surprisingly, after months of fairly regular gym visits, working out today gives me the joy I used to feel with dance and yoga. And I agree that that's what matters most— our happiness. Seeing results from improved body weight & metabolism to increased strength gives me the satisfaction at the end of the day. As long as we listen to our bodies and focus on the goal we have for ourselves, every heavy dumbbell will look like trophies shining forth every achievement. Every "nice one!", every fist bump, every "sige pa, kaya mo yan!" makes my heart keep pushing to its limits.

So take baby steps and start taking care of your body— by whichever means that works for you. Do not compare your start and/or your progress with anybody else's, because everyone is a beginner of anything. We just have to respect our own phase, our own timeline.

Of course, a million thanks to my gym buddy coach boyfie for always leading me and pushing me to the best of my abilities. I wouldn't have done this without you, love.

P.S. As of June 2021, I can now squat with up to 95lbs weights and deadlift with 90lbs weights. Small wins!

[5hfanfiction]

Havana - Oneshot

There’s something arrogant about love; the way pride hangs from its skull as if a self- proclaimed crown. Or so Camila thinks, the idea amusing her enough to laugh. Though it’s humourless and pitiful, almost like the guy who’s been trying his efforts for the past hour or so. Camila tried, she really did, to stick to the dance he was trying to lead, but somewhere between his multiple piercings and an ego to match the number, Camila lost the rhythm. It didn’t help that his friend, gloomy in every sense of the word, kept giving her glances that were not anything but lust. Obvious, but pathetic, in his attempts to woo the girl his friend is trying to get.

‘I’m just going to go get another drink, excuse me.’ Camila smiles at him, leaving before he has the chance to protest.

Pushing past the crowd, Camila looks through her contacts, but before she can connect the call, her body clashes against another, arms wrapping around her waist before she can fall.

'I’m sorry.’ they both speak at once, and it’s the first time that night Camila genuinely smiles.

'No don’t apologise, I was the one who wasn’t looking.’

'Yeah well, I was looking and still…’ he replies, his tatted hand now scratching his neck, a slight blush on his cheeks.

'I’m um, I’m Noah. And you’re Camila.’ he says awkwardly, causing Camila to let out a small laugh.

'Yeah, I’m Camila.’ she smiles at him again, receiving a smile in return.

'Do you want to dance? I know you probably don’t want to be seen and all but it’s a pretty low-profile party, right?’ he says, his greyish eyes glowing against the light.

She nods her reply, hoping that he’ll prove to be the distraction she’s been seeking all night. Taking her hand in his, Noah leads them to the floor, before pulling Camila closer by her waist. Noticing the way Noah’s eyes linger on her legs, Camila decides to fuel his unabashed lust, now grinding her hips against his.

'You’ve been looking so good Camila.’ his words tickle against her neck, and Camila looks up at him, lips so close that she can literally taste the bourbon he’s had.

She can feel the want dripping from his breath, his fingers slightly digging into her skin and the idea excites her. Because she’s been too used to feeling numb and she wants nothing more than to feel. But before their lips can touch, the air shifts around her, almost freezing in its sway, and there’s a sudden chill that crawls up her spine, and Camila knows, she just knows.

Because love is arrogant, and boastful and bitter. Because she’s standing there, in the doorway, lips red, eyes glowing green, dress black and her chains, once again, slowly wrapping around Camila’s throat.

//

There wasn’t a soul that wasn’t enamoured by Lauren Jauregui, Camila knew that much. But nights like this, where Lauren lay next to her, was when Camila realised how lucky she was that the green-eyed girl was hers. Because a sixteen-year-old Lauren would always put Camila first, before anyone else, and she always made sure to let Camila know that. Because every morning of boot camp, Lauren would make it her mission to push away everything Camila had hated about herself. Because LA became Camila’s second home ever since Lauren started singing her to sleep in their shared room. Because Lauren knew no bounds when it came to love, and Camila was the first to feel that fire. 

She wasn’t surprised that girls and guys alike, took every drop of what Lauren gave them. That eyes would follow pale skin and black hair, wherever she went. What did surprise Camila was that Lauren’s mouth was attached to Lucy’s, as though the green-eyed girl forgot that she made love to Camila the night before. What did surprise her was that Lauren let some scrawny boy feel her up in a clammy club but had spent that morning by Camila’s side like a lovesick puppy. What did surprise Camila was how hot and cold Lauren had become towards her, and how the sixteen-year-old Camila had grown to love had completely disappeared. What did surprise her was that when she had announced her departure from the group, Lauren’s cutting tongue tore through every sheet of hope Camila had.

‘You’re so fucking selfish Camila.’ Lauren had spoken the words so gently, as though it was the most honest fact Lauren had ever known. There was no spite in her voice, no hurt-caused loudness and that, itself, tore Camila down.

Though, maybe Lauren was right. Maybe that selfishness is the reason why Camila is where she is. Why wanting Lauren to be hers alone has left Camila alone herself.

//

Camila feels her lungs give in, the weight of seeing Lauren after nine months crushing them down. Nine months of craving Lauren’s touch, Lauren’s smile, Lauren’s laugh. Of craving Lauren. Nine months of love consuming Camila whole.

Love, arrogant and bold.

And because of that arrogance, Camila couldn’t let love win, not if she wanted to live.

So, keeping her gaze on Lauren’s, Camila pulls Noah closer, lips pressing against his, and it’s not gentle, or soft. It’s urgent, almost as if she’s begging him to tell her that she’s doing the right thing. But it’s not right, and he’s pulling her away, telling her to wait whilst he gets drinks. She nods at him, absent when he presses his lips against hers again before disappearing. Instead, her attention is on Lauren as she walks away, a sight that’s all too familiar to Camila.

And she doesn’t know why she follows her, or why she made it a point to kiss him in front of her like that. Why she’s not able to get Lauren out of her veins. Why her heart still races against light itself even at the thought of the green-eyed girl.

Stepping out in the Miami air, Camila does her best to breathe, but it doesn’t help, not like it used to. But maybe the smoking brunette is probably to blame for that.

'Quite the show you put on Cabello.’ Lauren rasps out, her voice battling against the faint strength Camila believes she has.

'Why are you here Lauren?’

She looks at Camila then, eyebrows knitted together and a faint frown on her lips.

'I mean I got invited and i’m sur-’

‘Fuck Lauren, why are you here, in my life again?’

'What do you suppose I do Camila? We’re going to see each other at some point, build a bridge and get the fuck over it.’ Lauren’s tone is biting, her foot now burning out the cigarette.

'Oh, like you have? Don’t forget that it’s you who’s actively avoided every chance of running into me.’ Camila replies, tone just as harsh.

'Why are you here? Go back to your little boytoy.’

'His name is-’

'I’m not concerned with his name. But you know what I am interested in?’ the green-eyed girl smirks, stepping closer to Camila until the latter’s back is against the wall.

‘Tell me Camila, did you like kissing him like that in front of me?’ Lauren husks out, her breath taunting Camila’s lips.

Camila doesn’t trust her words, especially not now, not when Lauren is this close, holding onto Camila’s waist like she hadn’t just left her to die slowly.

'We both know it’s me you wanted to kiss Camz. ’ And that’s what it takes, a carelessly thrown nickname, to crumble Camila’s insides into pieces she’s tried so hard to hold together.

She could kiss Lauren, it would be easy to, she’s in love with her after all. But it’s not fair, love isn’t fair, Camila learnt that the hard way and she’d be damned if she gave in now.

Though her resolve shatters a little, Lauren’s touch bringing with it a sense of tranquillity.

'You love me Camz.’ Lauren’s words tingle against Camila’s lips, voice barely a whisper, but they’re the most piercing words Camila’s ever heard.

And Lauren is right, Camila does love her. She loved her when she was 15, eyes brown and a blank heart, ready to take on the world. She loved her when they kissed for the first time, drunk from the 1975’s concert and shamelessly happy. She loved her when she smelt Brad’s cologne on the shirt she was pulling off the green-eyed girl. She loved her even when she desperately prayed to hate her.

But it took her a year to find it in herself to move away from this toxic cycle she found herself bound in. It’s taken her nine months to feel somewhat safe in her skin again. She’s not happy, she doubts she ever will be happy. But she’s learnt to be okay with herself. With the fact that she loves with her beating heart on her sleeve, even though said love resolves her into the worst version of herself.

Her brown eyes trace the galaxies in the green-eyes that are staring back at her, and she’s silently pleading, completely and utterly desperate for the universe to bring her Lauren back. Before she can stop herself, her hand is now resting against a cold cheek, causing the green-eyed girl gasp, and for a second, a minuscule second, Camila sees a glimpse of her sixteen-year-old Lauren. But before Camila can hold onto her, she’s gone, and once again, she’s back with a love that’s grown too cold.

‘Cold.’ Lauren mumbles, the lie clear as day to Camila.

Running her thumb along Lauren’s cheekbone, Camila sighs, eyes closed from defeat, her forehead now resting against Lauren’s.

‘You’re right, I do love you.’ Camila whispers out, her breath mixing with Lauren’s, and she feels Lauren inhale deeply, causing Camila to open her eyes, once again watching Lauren.

And there’s tears in both of their eyes, and Camila wishes she could kiss the stranger in front of her, but she can’t. Not anymore. Instead, she rests her hand against Lauren’s chest, putting some distance between them, and takes in a deep breath.

‘But I love the old you, my Havana, and you’re not home anymore.’

a/n: i don’t actually know what this is… i apologise (but the part of the havana mv where her actual love interest shows up had me feeling some type of way)

[nogodinvolvedsblog]

From the author of the book “Islam Dismantled: The Mental Illness of Prophet Muhammad” :«After much delay, ultimately my book “Islam Dismantled: The Mental Illness of Prophet Muhammad” is published and available for online purchase and in various book stores. In this article, I intend to introduce the book to you and to discuss few salient features of the book. In the market there is no shortage of books critical to Islam, but why should the readers purchase this particular book? What is there in this book that makes this book unique? As the author of this book I am answerable to each one of you.This book dismantles Islam by exposing the imposture of Muhammad. The historical Muhammad is too privileged to be formally evaluated in the fashion a clinical psychologist would like. But given certain of his well-known and highly documented behaviors, it is certain that he had a conflict-ridden psychological dependence on others. He equated love with weakness and feared intimacy. He inflicted pain and abuse on others as his second nature. He was unable to give his followers a reason to live, so he gave them enough reasons to die – die in Allah’s name to enter paradise. He could not convince the Arabs to choose his religion based upon its merits, so he threatened them with damnation, and the religion he preached was more about fantasy less about proof. Any person who, among other atrocities, orders and watches 800 innocent people beheaded and beds the wife of a man whom he had tortured to death that very night cannot be considered psychologically normal. Common sense alone tells us that a fifty-one years old man who marries a six year old girl is abnormal. The notion that a godly revelation would focus on the sexual desires of a lecherous man is really disgusting. No religion in the world has ever destroyed family ties as Muhammad has done in Islam.Muhammad had shown all the symptoms of his lunacy and his prophetic claim was based on the quicksand of grand delusion. But the irony is that the entire religion of Islam is based on the truth claim of such a man who could easily swing back and forth between the two extremes – reality and fantasy.Muslims believe that Muhammad was the noblest person who ever walked on Earth. In the Qur’an, Allah praises Muhammad as the best of the creation, an excellent example (Q: 33.21), exalted above other Prophets in degrees (Q: 2.253), the preferred one (Q: 17.55), a mercy to the worlds (Q: 21.107), and the one who has risen to a praised estate (Q: 17.79). But the five oldest and most trusted Islamic sources do not portray Muhammad a superior being or any kind of mercy of God among mankind. The sources reveal that he was a thief, a liar, an assassin, a pedophile, a shameless womanizer, a promiscuous husband, a rapist, a mass-murderer, a desert pirate, a warmonger, a spineless coward and a calculating and ruthless tyrant. It is certainly not the character profile of the founder of a true religion.Religion was just a cause for Muhammad. He actually worshipped his own image – not God. He had created Allah in his own image and attributed to that God the qualities of his own self. Allah was a plastic entity that Muhammad shaped to meet his needs. That is why Allah seems a multidimensional entity in the Qur’an, an obedient servant that Muhammad used for any occasion from managing the harem affairs of his wives to swearing to punish mercilessly whosoever disagrees with His beloved messenger.In his religious endeavor, Muhammad made mistakes and was defeated many times, but he did not give up. He corrected himself and moved ahead by abrogating verses with suitable additions. No one can deny that on several occasions he intentionally did harm knowing perfectly well that he was obeying his own will and not an inspiration from God. He talked much about paradise, hell, virtue and sin; but his actions did not show that he had really believed whatever he was saying. He lied on several occasions and encouraged lying to propagate his religion. No doubt, Muhammad had mastered the art of deception. He never gave a second thought to compromise morality for political gain. In his mind there was no other determinant. So he raged when confronted with disagreement or opposition, or, anything that threatened his worldview.Muhammad was not capable of introspection, i.e., he was not capable to judge his actions from the outside. His critics made him realize that there was a “grandiosity gap” (between his self-image and reality) which made him helpless. Since he could not win in a scholarly debate with the critics, he deceitfully got them assassinated. This was his only way to deal with all his intellectual opponents.Critics often ask one question; was Muhammad a knowing fraud or he genuinely believed that the revelations were coming from a God? No matter whatever is the truth, it simply does not make much sense. Even if he was sincere, it does not relieve him from the criminal charges that are put on him. If a racially prejudiced white man “sincerely” believes that blacks should not get equal rights in the civilized society, his “sincerity” does not affect our moral condemnation of his belief. For the same reason we condemn those Hindus who still believe in untouchability. In the same way, Muhammad cannot get away in any case. If he was not a knowing fraud, then we can say that he was capable of self-deception. He used to bring messages freely from his God to justify political murders, assassinations, raid, booty, pedophilia, abundant sex even to solve his domestic problems which are clear evidences that he was an absolute fake; his sincerity means nothing. Secondly, he was perfectly capable of distinguishing right from wrong and anticipating the results of his actions and their influence on the society. Though he caused great misery to others, he hardly felt responsible for them. Therefore, he should be held liable for his deeds and exploits.Muhammad had used Islam to pervade Muslim psyche, and possessed their mind. Muslims are not slaves of Allah; they are slaves of Muhammad. For the Muslims, Muhammad is their drug, their addiction. Without Muhammad, it is a world of black and white. With Muhammad it is a colorful show complete with drama, thrills, fun and full of excitement. While offering five obligatory prayers, Muslims think that they are praying to God, but actually their prayers go to Muhammad. Muhammad is the real God of Islam, not Allah. Muslims simply cannot dare to cross the narrow limits specified by Qur’an and ahadith. They can view the world only through the eyes of Muhammad, and it continues throughout their lives. Once belief systems are rigidly instilled – they are virtually impossible to modify belatedly. The sad part is that Muslims are not even aware of it as we read in the science fictions of alien snatching the human bodies. Muhammad had invaded and modified the minds of Muslims and brought them to his bubble universe to serve him. This way, when the Muslims adopt Muhammad’s way of thinking, they become as destructive as Muhammad.Muhammad obsessively believed in his own infallibility, brilliance, heroism, and perfection. He gave the Qur’an as the only evidence of his prophethood. At the same time, deep inside in his mind he knew that unlike the Biblical Prophets he could not perform miracles. He knew that his Qur’an could not stand criticism. He knew that his religion could not be morally and spiritually at par with other established religions of Arabia, like, Christianity and Judaism; but he did not dare confront the truth. In fact he even could not admit the truth to himself. He only imagined that he was on a divine mission, a messenger of Allah. This is how he failed the “reality test” – he was simply unable to distinguish the actual (external world) from the imagined (the internal world of thoughts and feelings) by making logical analysis of the religion he was preaching or allowing others to do this. For him the reality became shadow and the shadow became reality.Islam is an extremely defenseless religion and hence vulnerable to collapse. “Defenseless” in the sense, there is not a single atom of truth in it to support. This failed religion, originated from the grand delusion of a malignant Narcissist, is the biggest hoax humanity has ever seen. It is like a house of cards – looks tall, big, mighty and gigantic but the base is very weak. The day when criticism will have dismantled piece by piece this enormous falsehood of Islam, the whole edifice will come crumbling down. Then the Muslims will ask themselves how this enormous falsehood could have forced acceptance for such a long time. I can already see some cracks in this gigantic structure.Muhammad’s actions and commands in Allah’s name are immortalized in Qur’an and Hadith collections. These are not only shocking in the standard of our time, but many Meccans during those days were equally shocked by seeing his brutal performance in the name of God. Muhammad succeeded in his prophetic mission because there was no powerful Government to stop him. If Muhammad had been living under Roman rule, surely his mission would have resulted in losing his life and his religion would have been stamped out by strong military action.Probably, the most terrible legacy of Muhammad was his rigid firmness that the Qur’anic revelations were the literal word of God and the significance of these verses are eternal. The irony is that in the entire history of Islam, Qur’an fails to give one solid argument at its favor that cannot be successfully refuted. A nation might read the Qur’an and explain minutely every word for centuries without advancing one step on the road to progress. In the tiresome repetition of the mindless blabbering of a mentally deranged illiterate person, the human mind loses its elasticity, its sagacity, its constructivism and its curiosity. Through Freudian analysis, it can be shown that the prohibition of critical thinking at one point leads to an impoverishment of a person’s critical ability in other spheres of thought and thereby obstructs the power of reason. Consequently, the intellect becomes atrophied and incapable of an original effort. This is the cause of intellectual bankruptcy of the Muslim nations.The self-serving messages of an illiterate seventh century malignant Narcissist passed down to the Muslims generation after generation as unquestionable word of Allah, and as time passed, men were found to take up these words and make them into weapons to cause injustice, oppression, domination, and for conversion by force. Islam is a bankrupt ideology from the standpoint of humanism. The early Arab invaders were no way better than controlled mass-murderers. They were hard-wired to cheat, kill and loot, and had transformed Islam from a religion into an organized crime. In general, they were brainwashed by Muhammad’s teaching to inflict great suffering on other humans without feeling any remorse. The prodigious success of the Arab conquest proves nothing. Attila the Hun, Genseric the Vandal king, Gengis Khan and Alexander the Great brought many nations into subjection; yet civilization owes them absolutely nothing. A conquering people only exercise a civilizing influence when it itself is more civilized than the people conquered.In this book I have no intention of testing God. I just want to test Muhammad’s claim to the title of messenger of God because I refuse to accept his claim blindly. Throughout the recorded history of humankind, many imposters have posed as “god-man” with well-packaged gimmickry and fooled us. Anyone who claims to be a Prophet must be prepared to have his prophecy tested. The aim of this book is to diagnose Muhammad by making use of biographical data and through the application of psychological theory and research. This psychobiography is all about the “why” – the question of motives. I don’t want to tell the story of Muhammad, but unveil the story behind the story. My intention is to uncover the private motives behind his public acts. This book presents two theses – Muhammad suffered from malignant narcissism, and was also affected by neurotic disorder which caused regular psychiatric delusions.I wrote this book after three years of hard research. I have analyzed the Prophet of Islam from a perspective by delving into the psychological impulses that controlled Muhammad and made him the phenomenon that he became. For writing this book, I took references from various well known psychoanalysts; e.g., Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, James Masterson, Sandy Hotchkiss, Sam Vaknin, Martha Stout, a combined work by Cynthia Zayn & Kevin Dibble, just to mention a few. In this process, I have solved many mysteries of Islam which remained mystery ever since the birth of Islam. Therefore there are many details in this book which are my original findings; these are not explained by any critic so far in the history of Islam. Only for this reason, I request the readers to read my book. Even if you have read hundreds of books on Islam, this book will always offer you something more.I have not written the book to make profit. This is absolutely a non-profit making project. The pre-publication formalities, as example; manuscript preparation, tracing, formatting, and proof-reading were done at Calcutta (India). All the expenditures were borne by me. It means the purchase cost of this book is even less than the production cost of each copy. I have taken every step to keep the cost of the book as low as possible. This book is also available as kindle edition. This e-version of the book is even cheaper. Those who live in Islamic countries should purchase the kindle version of the book. It is available at Amazon kindle.While promoting the book on Facebook, I have already received a death threat from a pro-Islam group for insulting their Prophet. What makes me sad is that some Christians and Hindus are also accusing me of offending Muslim sensibilities. They want me to withdraw the book from the market. I understand, objective historical research on Muhammad has long been severely handicapped both by the resistance of the Muslim societies to Western analysis of their sacred traditions and by the apologetic approaches of many Western scholars who had compromised their investigation for fear of offending Muslim sensibilities. Therefore, most of the books today tell us about Muhammad of faith not the Muhammad of history.Many freethinkers and scholars have endangered their lives by revealing to the public information about Muhammad and Islam that public had never heard before. For this reason; Theo Van Gogh was shot and stabbed to death in Netherlands and his associate Ayaan Hirsi Ali had to live with bodyguards and armored cars, Taslima Nasrin has been living in exile since 1994, Faraj Foda was shot dead in front of his office in Cairo, Nasr Hamid Abu Zayd fled out of Egypt to escape the death penalty, and Sayyid Mahmoud al-Qimni was forced to recant all his writings. Unfortunately, before the outside world would get a chance to read their works, these writers were silenced through murder, terrorization, and death-threat, and their writings were banned in the Muslim world. I understand that by writing this book I am putting myself in a very dangerous situation, but at any cost I will not fall back, not even at the cost of my life. I will never withdraw the book from the market. Let the fanatics do whatever they can do. It is my birth-right to tell the truth and stand against the evil. How can I forget the sufferings of millions of innocent victims of Islamic jihad worldwide?Even if the Muslim clerics issue a fatwa on my head and eventually the fanatics kill me, still they will not be able to stop the truth from spreading. Truth is a fact and not a judgment. Muslims can discredit me the way they like, they can kill me but they cannot stop the truth from spreading. The hard fact is that Muhammad was not a Prophet of any God, he was a mental patient. Islam is the grand delusion of Muhammad. Muhammad was not the first person who claimed to have received messages from God. Throughout the recorded history of mankind, there are literally hundreds of thousands of people who declared themselves as a spokesman of God. Even today, in the mental hospitals and in the cult scene, we can find many mentally disordered and strange people who, likewise, believe to be regular recipients of messages from some unknown divine sources. They are “honest” in their claim and “sincere” in their declaration. Often those people manage to make others believe in their claims too. Many of them set themselves up as cult leaders, revered by a group of followers as their direct “telephone line” to God or the spirit world.Though as the author I hold the copyright of this book, the fact is that this book is out of my control. I have no regret for this; this book is a gift to you and I don’t want to have a control over this book. In fact I consider myself a very insignificant person. The truth and the new explanations that I put forward through this book are more important. When a researcher gives new explanations or critically analyzes something from a different perspective, the new ideas should not be the personal property of the author. In fact the author becomes a bond-servant of his creation. If, after reading the book, you have some further questions, I am directly responsible to give you reply. This book is a small gift to humanity from my side. That’s why this book is yours, not mine. Please purchase a copy and encourage others to purchase. Please promote this book – not for the author but for the sake of humanity.Lastly, I wish to have an intimate talk with the Muslims. I have absolutely no hate for you, my dearest Muslim brethren – let me be very clear on this matter. In fact many of my close friends are Muslims. How can I hate you, you are the first victims of Islam. Every Muslim is an abductee from the civilization in which he once belonged and put into a mental slavery. Same diagnosis is applicable to the Arabs also. Though they did not have to adopt foreign customs and language, which made the transition to Islam less disruptive, they too were cut off from their original pagan culture. Just break the myth of Muhammad and try to analyze the Muhammad of history, and then you will see the obvious falsehood of Islam. I have absolutely no intention to offend anyone; I just want to tell the truth. But, sorry, I cannot compromise my investigation for fear of offending Muslim sensibilities. Your beloved Prophet was a real devil who used religion to deceive you. Muhammad separated you from the real God of human race, the real Creator. The deception, death, and damnation of men were Muhammad’s life ambition. Your beloved Prophet was a vulgar imposter in a divine robe. He had valued you when he found that you could advance his religion, but devalued you at the next moment if you did not comply with his whims and wishes. He treated you as lifeless objects, and manipulated you so cunningly as if he had conquered you, “chained” you, conditioned you and moulded you. He exploited you as if he “knew” that he could do anything he wanted them to do. Throughout his prophetic endeavor, he derived his self-worth from you, as if he would collapse and self-annihilate without them. As long you practice Islam, you are a slave of Muhammad.According to me, most of the Muslims know virtually nothing about the Prophet of Islam because an honest biography of Muhammad was never written for them. There are enough pious and totally unobjective traditions of Muhammad preserved by the Muslim religious community, but what is lacking in these sources is honesty. Even today, numerous works in Arabic and other Muslim majority languages appear each year. These books try to portray Muhammad as a holy man, a seer, visionary and miracle worker; which are far away from truth. The reason, Muslims cannot write an honest biography of their Prophet, is that the biography of Muhammad is a subject that is taboo. That’s why Muslims learn about the Muhammad of faith, not the Muhammad of history. My book will help the Muslims to see the truth about the Prophet.I hate the ideology which enslaves the Muslims and make them terrorists. My stanch enemy is Islam and not the Muslims. I want to dismantle this doctrine of hate and murder. My intention is not only to confront Islamic jihad but at the same time to rescue the Muslims from the evil grip of Islam. I want to see the Muslims returning back within the fold of humanity by rejecting Islam.»freedomofspeech

[geoffreywalton]

How To Last Longer In Bed For Astounding Useful Ideas

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[whispering--memories17]

[Learning to Trust You - Peter Hayes x Reader One-shot]

“Do you trust me?” “Not even a little bit.”

Warnings: Just fluffy shit

Word Count: 1598

Please don’t repost of Plagiarise. *** “Is this exercise one hundred percent necessary?” Peter groaned, shuffling from foot to foot. You would have been arguing too, If Four and Eric didn’t scare you as much. You looked around at your fellow initiates, who all were wearing a similar look of discontent. Your trainers had woken you up once again at the crack of dawn, and dragged you down to the training room before you could even get one cup of coffee. You had enough trouble focusing as it was, without that Smart Mouth making things ten times worse. You didn’t know what it was with Peter. He was as cruel as could be with Christina and Tris, but lightened up around you. He was one of the most confusing people you had ever met, and it didn’t look like he was going to change his ways anytime soon. “If you don’t trust your fellow Dauntless then how will you trust the people you’re fighting alongside on the battlefield?” Eric asked, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. He was always far too dramatic. “But the stiff? Really? I don’t trust her as far as I could throw her-“ “Which is the reason for this exercise. And Y/N isn’t a stiff anymore, she’s in Dauntless not Abnegation,” Four looked apologetically at you but you shrugged. As you said, you were used to Peter being, well, Peter. “Once a Stiff, always a Stiff,” Peter smirked at you. “Your partners are on the board. Group up and try the first exercise. And yes, that means you too, Hayes,” Eric announced and you all scuffled around, unwillingly finding the person you had unluckily been paired with. “Great. Just great,” You muttered under your breath as Peter sauntered over to you, his hands in his pockets and he held his head high. Sometimes his arrogance really bugged you. “I thought it was great too,” He said, grinning. You blushed slightly under his intense gaze, shuffling away as he was invading your personal space remorselessly. “What even is the point of making us do the bloody trust fall?” You questioned, stomping your foot. “Lets’ just get on with it,” Peter said, standing behind you. You shuffled forward a little, aware that if you tried to fall whilst you were that close to him, it was inevitable that you would literally butt heads. You were about to fall back when Peter chuckled, noticing how tense you were. “Don’t you trust me?” You rolled your eyes. How could you even think about being able to trust him? He stabbed Edward in the eye with a butter knife and has made jokes about throwing you over the chasm daily. That didn’t exactly make for a trusting relationship. “Not even a little bit.” You fell back, unsure whether Peter would catch you or just let you fall. Two arms were under yours and you were surprised that he even bothered to catch you. “Trust me now?” He smirked, his breath tickling your ear. “Dream on, Hayes,” You scoffed, walking over to Will and Christina. Peter cursed under his breath, watching as you walked away. He wanted you to trust him, hell, he wanted more than just for you to trust him. He wanted you to see something different in him that others are reluctant to see. “Staring is rude, you know,” Molly chuckled, grabbing his arm, and leading him over to Drew. Peter promised himself that he’d make you see that in him at some point. Eventually. *** You were running through the trees with Tris, Four, Peter, Caleb, and Marcus on your way to Amity. Branches slapped you in the face and leaves got caught in your hair. You could barely feel your feet hit the ground as you ran flat out. “Hey!” You spun around to see a gun being pointed in your face. When you stopped, the others turned around to see what had happened to you. You didn’t recognise the soldier that stood in front of you, you didn’t know whether he trained with you or not. He didn’t look any older than Four. He had freckles splattered across his face and his ears stuck out slightly. His tightly curled brown hair fell onto his forehead and his green eyes focused on you. You held your shaking hands up, surrendering to the man standing in front of you. He moved forward so that the barrel of the gun was pressed against your forehead, the cool metal of the gun making you more uneasy if that was even possible. “Drop your weapons,” The dauntless soldier commanded, eyeing the guns that Four, Tris and Peter held tightly clasped in their hands, their knuckles turning white. “Fine,” Peter said. He dropped his gun to the ground and rushed towards the soldier. The man fumbled with the trigger, about ready to blow your brains out. Peter yanked the gun out of his hands and pushed him to the ground, standing above the man with the gun pressed to his forehead. “Give my greetings to the guy downstairs,” Peter grinned, before squeezing the trigger. You gasped, looking away as the body of the dauntless soldier turned limp. Peter turned back to you, the fierceness of killing the soldier gone from his green eyes. Instead he looked hesitant, almost vulnerable, like a child caught doing something that perhaps they shouldn’t have done. That man was Peter’s first kill in the newly approaching war. “Are you okay?” He asked, checking you over to see if you had any injuries. You nodded your head shakily, surprised to see him so concerned. “Do you trust me now?” “I trust you a lot more now, yeah,” You muttered, smiling slightly at him. *** “So, why’d you do it?” Peter sat opposite you in the cell, unable to meet your eyes. After you had gone after Tris, you had accidentally revealed your divergence and you were locked up in a cell in the Erudite headquarters. Peter was the first person to come and see you, although he hadn’t said a word since he sat down in the seat opposite you. “I thought that Erudite had a better chance at winning than the resistance. My life is more important than your cause,” He said rhythmically, almost as if he’d told himself the same words over and over again. “I trusted you,” You muttered, looking down at your feet. You cursed yourself for being so stupid as to develop feelings for him over the course of the past few months. It was useless. Peter hadn’t changed and that much was clear now so you should just dispose of the feelings whilst you could. So why didn’t you want to? “I-I’m sorry,” Peter said. He walked towards you and you hesitated, pushing him away as he hugged you. What the hell was Peter doing? “Just get out,” You ordered, turning to face the other wall. Peter left without another word, locking the door behind him. You collapsed back down on your back and laid down, facing the wall. You felt a crinkling in your pocket and, aware of the cameras, slipped it out of your pocket with your body hiding it. You unfolded the crumbled piece of paper, smoothing it out slowly. You didn’t recognise the handwriting, but you knew who had written it, as you else could have? You read through Peter’s note, your eyes widening after every sentence and paragraph. He told you in messy scribbles how he had turned himself into Erudite because he wanted to find out what they were doing with the Divergents, and wanted to stop whatever it was from happening to you. Peter told you that they were putting people like you into a diverse sort of Simulation, that, had killed all of its subjects so far. If Tris failed then it was down to you to try and open this box. He also promised that he would get you out of there before that happened, he was just still trying to figure out a plan. You knew that the note could have been a scam, a complete lie so that Erudite would have someone to hold against you to force you to open this box. But you still believed it. *** The alarms were what woke you up. You shot out of your bunk, looking around crazed for a moment. A red light was flashing on the wall outside your cell and guards were running around panicked. “She’s in that one! Unlock it quick,” You raced over to the door to your cell once you heard Peter’s voice, struggling to see who he had brought with him. The glass doors slid apart and you grinned as Peter and Four stood in front of you, although your smile dropped when you saw that Four was carrying a seemingly unconscious Tris. Well, hopefully unconscious. “What happened to her? Is she okay?” You asked, lifting her wrist, and feeling for a pulse. A pulse which wasn’t there. “Calm down, I gave her some Serum that makes her seem a little bit dead for a while. Come on, I thought you trusted me?” Peter grinned. You grabbed his collar and pulled him towards you, kissing him. He tensed up, not sure what to do at all. He soon put his hands on his waist and kissed you back, pushing you against the wall slightly. You pulled away a few seconds later, smirking up at his shocked expression.   “I trust you.”

[greezyscumbag]

Inconclusive

Jax x Reader based off the following request:

“Hi! Can you write one where you and Jax recently broke up and one day you see Jax taking Ima to his dorm. You go home, try to move on from him, but Jax finds out, gets jealous and tries to win you back? Thank you!”

—

“This is a bad idea, Chibs.” you warn, pulling at your black lace crop top, a pair of leather shorts showing off your shapely legs. Chibs takes a final drag from his cigarette, dropping it on the floor and putting it out with his boot.

“He misses you, lass, and I can tell you miss him.” You can’t deny his words, these past two weeks being the hardest ones of your life. “You look amazing, sweetheart. If he doesn’t take you home, I sure will.”

Smiling, you gently bump your shoulder with the Scot’s, thanking him silently. “Alright, I’ll take your word for it.”

“Thatta’ girl. Come on, let’s get you a drink.” Chibs throws his arm around your shoulders, leading you up the lot and into the clubhouse, party in full swing. You smile at the croweaters that catch your eye on the way in, them returning the smile and waving kindly at you.

While Chibs gets you and him a drink, you scan the room, not sure how to feel when you don’t spot your ex boyfriend. Tig grins when he sees you, pushing the lady off his lap and walking over to you, throwing his arms around you. “If it isn’t my favourite girl.”

“Hi, Tiggy. Sorry I haven’t been around, everything is a bit of a mess right now.” you explain, his eyes slightly glassy as he watches you, the smell of whisky lingering heavily on him. You’ve always gotten on well with the other MC members, the older ones and younger ones all treating you like family.

“Don’t sweat it, doll, just glad to see you.” He places a sloppy kiss on your cheek, before going back to his woman of the night, sadness covering you as you realise how much you miss this club. The atmosphere, the people, the family. You knew that if you didn’t get this shit sorted with Jax, you’d probably never have it again.

“Here ya are, love. Get that down ya.” You take the beer from Chibs, taking a few swigs, the cold liquid fizzy as it passes down your throat.

You’re listening to Chibs flirt with some croweater when your gaze is pulled to the other side of the room, Jax entering from the apartments. It’s always been the same with him, a magnetic pull that somehow tells you when he’s around. It’s surreal, but he must feel it too, his eyes instantly breathing you in, surprise evident on his face.

You just stare at him, not knowing how he’s going to react. Is he going to be pissed that you’re here? Glad that you’ve come back for him? Upset?

Your questions are quickly answered, Ima surfacing from the same place Jax did, her hands pulling at her shirt, that famous fucking smirk on her face.

Her arms slip around his waist, him being pulled out of his trance. She leans up, whispering into his ear, his eyes remaining on you the whole time. Your heart feels like it’s literally breaking, regret written all over your ex lovers face as you crumble in front of him. He doesn’t correct it though, letting Ima pull his face to hers, her lips claiming his in a messy fashion.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” you whisper, slamming your half drunken beer on the bar and storming out, leaving a very confused Chibs by himself. He looks across the room as you leave, noticing the very reason for your upset. Shaking his head at his younger brother, he turns his back on him, letting him know just how he feels without even saying a word.

—

It’s been three months since that dreaded day. The day you lost the last shred of hope you had left for your broken relationship, for the broken man you left behind.

“You ready to go, babe?” Liam calls, his voice travelling up the stairs. You had to move on, you deserve to at least try to be happy, even if deep down you know you’re aiming for a unreachable goal.

“Two minutes!” you respond, throwing your phone and lipstick into your bag. You’d met Liam about two months ago, a sweet boy who asked for your number at your work place. You said yes, met up for lunch one day and hit it off, and you’d been dating ever since. Things were pretty serious between the two of you, but throwing yourself in the deep end seems like the quickest way to get rid of the outlaw biker who refuses leave your mind.

Leaving the bedroom, you jog down the stairs, meeting your boyfriend at the bottom. You were about to go to meet some of Liam’s friends, the four of you going on a double date to the new diner in town. If someone would’ve told you a few months back that you’d be going on double dates and spending time with a completely different set of people, you never would’ve believed it.

“I’m just gonna fill up before we go get Tyler and Abby.” Liam turns into the gas station, pulling up at an available pump and stepping out to fill up the car. “You okay to go pay?”

You nod, grabbing the bills from Liam’s hand and undoing your seat belt, heading inside the store. Once you’ve paid for the fuel, you turn around, slamming straight into a hard chest.

“Sorry, love-” You look up, smiling shyly at the man, shock on his face once he realises who you are. “Jesus, (Y/N). If this isn’t fate, I don’t know what is.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Chibby.” You reply, letting the Scots man wrap you up in his arms, the familiar feeling making your heart clench. You pull back, your common sense kicking in. “Wait, is he with you?”

Before he can reply, the bell above the shop door signaling that someone has just walked in. You hear his voice before you see his face, a thousand and one emotions running through you. “Tig just called, he’s just been to-”

Jax finally reaches the two of you, his voice dying in his throat as he sees who his brother is standing with. His mouth opens and shuts as he stares at you, completely caught off guard.

“Hey, Jax.” you say calmly, hoping that if you act like you’re unaffected, it’ll convince the two men in front of you, even if you can’t convince yourself. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, it’s good to see you too.” He smiles at you, your knees just as weak as they were the day you first caught a glimpse of that smile, the smile that could bring you so much light, even on your darkest of days.

“You alright, (Y/N)?” You scold yourself for forgetting about your company, your boyfriend now making his way over to the three of you in concern. Once he reaches you, he stands by your side, slipping his arm around your waist, claiming his property like some kind of animal.

“Yeah, I’m good.” you respond, part of you wanting to rip Liam’s arm from around you, the expression on Jax’s face one of defeat, heartbreak. The same look you wore just months ago. “Pass my love on to everyone. See you around.”

You leave too quickly to receive a response, your partner trailing behind you, your mental state not feeling up to answering the pile of questions you’re bound to be asked once you get in the car.

You look back at the lost biker in the store, his eyes locked on yours as he watches you walk away from him, again. Only this time, he knows he has to bring you back to him, no matter what it takes.

—

You sigh in content as you sink into the bubbles, music playing lowly in the background as you take a well earned bath.

Today has been a long day, or at least it feels like it has. After bumping into pieces of your past life, the life you were trying to move on from, you had to deal with a relentless Liam, who wanted to know what your connection was to the murderous bikers in town. This then led to the two of you having a full blown argument. You’d jumped out of the car about thirty minutes out of town and refused to get back in, walking all the way back home.

You massage your temples as you soak, silently begging for your head to stop pounding, the pain making you feel physically sick. All you wanted was five minutes of peace from your overactive brain.

You feel like screaming when you hear the door knock loudly from downstairs, closing your eyes and deciding to ignore whatever company had decided to bother you.

After about fifteen seconds, you hear another series of knocks, more urgent this time. Cursing under your breath, you pull yourself out of the soapy water, quickly wrapping a towel around your body and heading downstairs, ready to release your wrath on whoever was behind the door.

Yanking it open, you see the last person you expect to be at your house. “Jax?”

He moves his sights up and down your body, you wishing you would’ve grabbed your dressing gown rather than a towel that barely reaches midthigh. Once he meets you eyes, you raise your eyebrows in question. “Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” he sighs, running his fingers through his undone locks. “Can I come in? Just give me five minutes. Please.”

Going against your better judgement, you hesitate, pulling the door open widely and letting him step inside. He smiles thankfully at you, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, before he walks inside.

“What are you doing here, Jackson?” you ask stiffly, wanting the man in front of you to know that you’re not going to take any shit. You’re not the same woman you were three months ago, and he can’t just turn up at your place and expect everything to be okay.

“I miss you, (Y/N).” he confesses, your eyes going as big as saucers as you debate whether you even heard him right. “I made the biggest mistake of my life letting you go, and watching you walk away from me today-”

“Are you serious right now?” You watch as he swallow nervously, enjoying his discomfort. He looks down at the floor, sighing and shrugging his shoulders, like he knew that this was how you’d react.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with me walking away from you when you told me I wasn’t strong enough for this life.“ you spit, all your pent up anger slowly making its way to the surface. “Didn’t care the second time when you humiliated me in front of the club by fucking that whore!”

“Babe, please just let me-” He knows better than to try and make some bullshit excuse, his sentence stopping once he sees the rage on your face.

“It wasn’t me walking away that got to you yesterday,” you seethe, “it was the fact that I’ve moved on. Found somebody beyond the one and only Jax Teller.”

He stand silent, his eyes heavy with unshed tears as you unload the pain and suffering you’ve had to hold in. You shake your head at him in disbelief, chuckling humourlessly. “You let me go, Jax. You broke my heart, and that’s all on you.”

Silent years slip down your cheeks as you hold your towel close to your chest, the fluffy material moving between your fingers and acting as some sort of security blanket, stopping you from completely falling apart.

“I know I don’t deserve you, (Y/N). I know it, hell, everybody knows it.” he says timidly, breaking the tense silence. He sniffs as you look at the floor, your tears falling as you refuse to meet his gaze. “But you’re the only girl I’ve ever loved, the only girl I will ever love, and I hope that means something to you.”

Your bottom lip quivers as you try to hold in your sobs, the ache in his words chipping at your ice cold exterior, bit by bit. His white trainers step into your view, his figure so close you can smell his intoxicating scent. Just one whiff of him makes you want to forget everything and throw yourself in his arms. But that would be naive.

“I pushed you away, because I don’t want to see you end up like everybody else I love. Broken or dead.” He grabs your face in his large, rough hands, the image of him blurry as you try to blink away your tears, clear your view. “But without you, I see no end to this, (Y/N), no reason to carry on, to fight.”

His thumbs gently caress your skin, your body feeling more alive than it has in months. “I know it’s selfish, I’m a selfish man, but you’re the only thing that I’m certain about in this world.”

You feel like the air has been released back into your lungs when he locks his lips with yours, his hands fiercely cradling your face as you come alive under his touch. You’ve never felt something so passionate, so raw , in your life, his tongue slipping past your lips and exploring the place he hasn’t been allowed to go for months.

You’re both breathless as he pulls away, your heart begging you to join your lips back with his and never break apart. He presses his mouth against your forehead lovingly, one of your favourite things that he does, before he begrudgingly let’s you go, moving towards your front door.

“I’ll always love you, (Y/N). You know where to find me if you feel the same.”

—

A/N - Decided to end this on a bit of a cliff hanger/make up your own ending?! Thought it’d let you guys make your own interpretations individually :) hope you liked!! Xx