#but no seriously I dug him out of the trash when I accidentally threw him away.

[emilys-locket]

He's hip. He's here. He was in the trash.

Introducing Rambley, for all your hang in there, buddy needs.

[cuinnamonbun]

Hi again! I got another HC idea. 😌

How would the brothers + angels react to a laidback Muslim MC whose also really violent? Like their mood switch flips instantly lmao

Aye, wassup friend! Regarding your ask, at this point you’re just describing ME lmao, somedays I really do just wake up and choose violence 😭 aite let’s do this 😎

The Demon Brothers + Angels Reacting to a Laidback Muslim!MC Turning Violent

Lucifer

At first this man loves MC and the amount of calm and composure that they have

Though he finds it irritating when he’s threatening them and they would just look up at him with the most dull expression on their face (like seriously human, you should be SCARED)

But still, with how chaotic his brothers are, he appreciates a collected and peaceful demeanour whenever he finds it and MC is breath of fresh air even if he won’t admit it

Silence with them always felt comforting and never awkward

One day, he noticed that MC was rather tense and rigid and had asked them if they were fine to which they replied yes through gritted teeth

Sensing that perhaps they were not in the best of moods, he let them go only to hear them politely ask Mammon to get out of their room

Of course our resident dumbass (affectionate) refused in an attempt to tease them, only to be YEETED from the room and into the hallway where Lucifer was standing with a bewildered look on his face

MC was standing by the door with a dark look in their eyes and the most sinister looking scowl that could rival Satan’s before they slammed the door shut in their faces

When he finally got over his shock, he would be extremely, extremely enthused

He will now spend his free time trying to rile up MC just so he can see them lose their temper again

He couldn’t help himself. He knew that Islam emphasises heavily on the virtues of patience as a sign of piety and so he just assumes that MC would just,,,,never yield to anything

This is when he realises he has a corruption kink ok sorry not sorry

May or may not pop a boner if/when he succeeds and they blow up (not literally) in his face

Mammon

He adores this human. Partly because he’s head over heels in love with them he hardly has anyone to drag with him along with his schemes and this human just seems to be down for anything, and mostly because they’re always so coolheaded

It allows him to pull off his plans without a hitch because MC’s composure allows them to be able to think up a quick solution whenever the two of them inevitably face a brick wall during one of Mammon’s schemes

With them around, Mammon would be 15% richer than he would be if he went alone so he’s keeping them around thank u very much

The first time he witnessed them turn violent is when the two of them were hanging out in his room when Levi bursted in, screaming his head off about how Mammon stole his wallet (he didn’t) and that the limited edition Ruri-chan collection was dropping soon in 24 hours and yada yada yada

And when he found out that Mammon didn’t, in fact, steal it, Levi wouldn’t apologise, oh no no no no. Rather, he would proceed to insult and degrade his brother until MC finally have had enough and went. off.

Seriously, the two demons were so shocked that the usually chill human was now on their feet and threatening to ‘deck Levi over the head WWE style if he didn’t quit it with the insults’ that the two brothers just stopped arguing

If Mammon weren’t so astounded, he would’ve found the whole thing hilarious because here is one of the rulers of Hell, turning white as a sheet as he is being cussed out by a small, furious human

After their long-winded (and frankly terrifying) speech that were riddled with not-so-subtle threats, Levi mumbled an apology and quickly shuffled out of the room with his tail between his legs and MC just plopped back down on his couch with their usual dull expression back on their face as if they didn’t just go on a tirade just seconds prior

Mammon’s love for the MC increased tenfold right then and there

Leviathan

Oh, you’re really quiet and laidback? Cool.

He doesn’t really care about it but he does enjoy having them around during his gaming sessions or when he needs a buddy to watch anime with him because they’re the only ones who would listen to him prattle on about theories and endings whilst enjoying the game/anime

He also vents to them A LOT and is the first person he seeks whenever he’s annoyed or frustrated by his brothers

He was heading over to the living room for movie night with his brothers and MC when he found his brothers all bickering with one another (no shocker there) and MC sitting on the couch reading a hard cover book

Of course, once they saw him enter, he was immediately dragged into the argument about which movie they were gonna watch

Now as the otaku of the family, Levi’s pretty very vocal and highly opinionated about the type of film they should watch for movie night and he dislikes it whenever someone would argue with him on his choice of film

So when Satan told him to his face that his movie selection sucked and he should just leave his input out, Levi would be so, so, SO offended and upset which was evident from his expression alone

Before he could defend himself though, a book suddenly went hurtling through the air and hit Satan right in the middle of his forehead like a bullseye

At first Satan was FURIOUS but it quickly died down when all the brothers finally realised where the book had come from: MC’s direction

They all turned to see an irritated look on their usually placid face and dominant arm raised as if they’d just thrown a shot put

“Oops. My hand slipped,” they said monotonously before sauntering away from the now-quiet living room

Levi is now cautious of accidentally angering MC, but he can’t help that moe feeling that MC actually threw that book in his defense

Satan

As the Avatar of Wrath, Satan is extremely attuned to people’s rage and MC is no different

He was honestly the only one out of his brothers who wouldn’t be surprised if one day MC woke up and chose violence

I mean, he usually keeps his wrath under wraps, hiding it well with an easy smile and friendly demeanour and he could tell that MC was the same

He knew that no one human could ever have that high amount of patience, especially when dealing with his brothers, doesn’t matter if they’re religious or not

In fact, he was waiting for the day he would finally see them snap and release all the pent up rage he knew they bottle carefully within themselves

Of course it happened when Asmo would not stop pestering MC about going to the club

As MC is a Muslim, it’s not a surprise that they’re against going to places like clubs, casinos or bars

Usually MC was able to tune out Asmo’s pleas like white noise but it was when Asmo turned to physically dragging them that became the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back

The poker-faced MC now looked more like an Avatar of Wrath than Satan himself

Satan only watched in amusement as MC dug their heels in the pavement, cradled a confused Asmo’s face in their hands...and pulled his cheeks with a bright smile and the most ominous look in their eyes before telling him ‘fuck off before I proceed to give all of ur prized makeup and skincare for Mammon to sell and use our pact to make u watch as he earns his cash’ in the sweetest way possible

Asmo no longer pesters them to join him clubbing

Satan: I’d just like to say, I’m your biggest fan

Asmodeus

Asmo loves loves LOVES having this human around because they always let him use them as his own personal doll

That means impromptu fashion shows in his room, makeovers, spa days, mani-pedis you name it

So he always assumed they were this paragon of patience and stoicism, never once losing their cool

The first time he saw them turn violent was when the two of them were walking down to the kitchen with Asmo chatting their ear off about some scandal this succubus has found herself in with these two demon best friends while they just listened and occassionally chiming in

When they reached the kitchen however, they found Beel by the kitchen, no shocker there

But MC had stopped dead in their tracks because right there in his hands was the chilled lemon soufflé that they’d been making for Lucifer (upon his request)

It’d taken them hours to perfect the dessert to Lucifer’s standards and they’d left it in the fridge to chill before serving it to him for tea time

So when Beel raised the now-empty glass to show to MC with a happy look on his face, it was enough to send them over the edge and scream bloody murder to the brothers’ surprise

Beel will apologise sheepishly but MC will force him to remake the dessert without letting him eat anything until it is perfect

It was torture for him and Asmo vows to never unintentionally set them off again because...holy shit MC

Beelzebub

Beel is a chill dude most of them time when he’s not hungry

All he wants is for his brothers to stay safe, happy and healthy and he’s a happy demon 🥺

He likes having a laidback MC around whether it’s during studying, snacking or even when he’s working out

Their presence is always so calming and comforting for him since their lax nature just reminds him so much of Belphie

The first time he saw them truly angry was when they’d found out that their favourite sweater that they brought back from the human world had been destroyed and discarded in the trash

As it turned out, Belphie had been rumaging through their room for something to snuggle with while MC had been away at Purgatory Hall and found their sweater

In an unfortunate string of events, a loose thread from the sweater had caught on the end of a door latch and the sleepy Belphegor hadn’t enough patience at the time to gently untangle it

Instead, he forcefully yanked it, causing the sweater to tear

Deciding that it’s better to just grab their blanket or something, Belphie discarded the article of clothing in the trash before stealing their blanket and stalking away to the attic for a nap

When MC found out, they. were. furious.

That means a lot of smashing, screaming and shouting until Beelzebub or Lucifer finally managed to calm them down

He’s sad that MC is so angry at his twin but he never wanted to see MC lose their temper like that ever again

Belphegor

Exam season was rapidly approaching at RAD and that means more assignments, quizzes and tests 

For the average student, it also means sleepless nights, mental breakdowns and consuming a concerning amount of caffeine

For Belphegor, he simply couldn’t give a shit

No amount of exams is scary enough to get his ass out of bed and study 

And like his other brothers, he assumed the same for MC

They always had that poker face on them as they studied and they never once argued or talked back to one of his brothers even though they were being so annoying and irritating (to him) and were clearly disturbing their revision time

He sees the hard work that they’re putting in their studies and reputation and even though they hide it behind a blasé mask, he knew they were exhausted

It was up to Belphegor to recognise their cues and force them to take breaks by napping with him

He was peacefully napping in the common room beside a studying MC, patiently waiting for their 25 minute break from their pomodoro session when Lucifer had walked in and begun to bark chores at them that even woke up the younger demon beside them

And to their surprise, rather than wordlessly carrying out his commands like the demons had expected them to, MC slammed their pen down on the coffee table and yelled at him

MC: you know what, Lucifer? Why don’t you take your ***** and ****** then shove it up your ****** and let’s not forget to *****, you little ***** ***** *****!!!

Belphegor had never been more proud and concerned for this little human who was far too brave for their own good

Simeon

It’s said by everyone who knew him that Simeon is always so calm and composed, always greeting everybody with a kind smile and gentle eyes

He never once loses his cool, but that doesn’t mean that he does not feel anger from time to time

Like Satan, Simeon is understanding of MC’s anger and would never reprimand them for blowing up

Anger is healthy after all

He has expressed concern before for MC’s mental wellbeing as they were far too patient for their own good

Of course, in all his years of living, he has seen remarkable humans with superhuman patience before like the Prophets Muhammad and Jesus (peace be upon them) but even that was because they had divine intervention 

The first time he saw them finally snap was when the two of them were enjoying a pleasant walk towards the House of Lamentation from RAD when Mammon and Levi appeared out of nowhere and began fighting again

It had been non-stop screaming, insulting and fighting with these two for almost three weeks now and MC was so, so, sooo close to yeeting them off the side of a cliff

Their composure finally snapped when Mammon and Levi had been roughhousing so close to them that they accidentally stepped on Simeon’s robe (or is it more of a cape?? idk) and tore a small hole in it

Simeon has never been more surprised to see MC roar at them and begin a stern lecture that reminded him so terribly of Lucifer

He was so amused that he couldn’t help but laugh when they forced the two to apologise to him before dragging them over to the House by their ears, completely ignoring their desperate cries for mercy 

It was a hilarious sight and he would’ve recorded that entire scene on his DDD if he weren’t so hopeless with technology

Luke

MY SONNN

Luke is reminded of Simeon when he first got to know MC

They were always so collected and level-headed even though they were thrown in Hell out of the blue for an exchange programme that lasts a whole year

He never understood how they could be so chill with living with 7 demons under one roof though like??? hello????? human are u functioning well?

But he likes having them around because they’re always so nice to him and always keen on spending time with him

Which is where he finally saw them snap

The two of them were carrying their cupcakes that they’d made for their picnic date alongside Simeon and Solomon and had left them on the table for a few minutes while they went to gather the rest of the supplies

They came back to see that the cupcakes had been ravaged by Mammon, Levi and Beel who all looked so pleasantly happy munching on their hard work

Luke was extremely distraught and upset over this and protective MC will NOT tolerate this kind of behaviour to their son

So using the power of the pacts, they forced the brothers to grovel at his feet and apologise by doing whatever Luke wants them to do

He wants a glass of water? LEVI GET UR ASS TO THE KITCHEN RN! He wants pizza? MAMMON U RUN UR CUT LIL BUTT TO HELL’S KITCHEN AND GET HIM A LARGE PIZZA STAT! He wants to be fed? BEEL U BETTER MOVE THAT FOOD FROM UR MOUTH SON AND FEED IT TO HIM ASAP!

Luke secretly enjoys it but he still can’t help but feel kinda bad for the brothers and slightly scared of MC now

[octoberobserver]

For the kids prompts, Can you do 45 and Reddie?

Hi Nonnie! Of course, I’m happy to fill 45. Thanks so much for the ask 😊 hope you like it ♥️

45) Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.

Fuck Fight Club and Pretty Woman too

“You wanna fill me in on why you’ve been a grade-A asshole all night, Eddie?”

Richie was pissed. More pissed than Eddie could ever remember him being.

And it was all his fault.

Not that he’d admit it

He took his time hanging up his coat, staring doggedly at it and ignoring Richie’s piercing gaze burning a hole into the side of his head.

“I don’t know what you’re—

“Oh cut the crap, Kaspbrak, you know exactly what I’m talking about,” Richie practically growled, shirking off his jacket, draping it over the couch and throwing his keys onto the coffee table instead of the key holder in the exact way he knew drove Eddie up the wall.

Eddie did in fact know what he was talking about. His sour mood had not gone unnoticed among some of Richie’s associates the entire latter half of the evening. It hung over him like a dark cloud as he grew quiet and withdrawn, excluding when he threw more than a few barbed comments at one of the particularly obnoxious attendees.

But Eddie was never the type to give in this early on in an argument. Well, unless it was against his ex-wife back when they were miserably married and he just gave her her way to avoid having to talk for long periods of time. With his best friend/roommate, though? He only dug his heels in deeper. Always had. Since the day they met in third grade.

“No Richie, I don’t know,” he replied through a clenched jaw, snatching up the keys and depositing them in the little dish by the door, where they were meant to go, “why don’t you enlighten me?”

Richie stormed into the kitchen, wrenching open the fridge door roughly and pulling out a beer, twisting the cap off and angrily guzzling it.

Eddie watched him, a spike of irritation beginning to form under his skin.

Richie’s infuriation was infectious.

“Don’t throw the—”

The words died in Eddie’s throat as he watched Richie fling the bottle cap towards the garbage can like he did most nights, despite nine times out of ten missing the shot by a mile.

The cap bounced off the lid and clinked to the floor.

Eddie saw red.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Richie! Why do you always—”

“Were you jealous?”

Eddie blinked.

The atmosphere in the room began to shift.

Heat rushed up his neck, to his cheeks as Richie tilted his head, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Why would I be jealous?” Eddie asked, gaze lowered as he bent down to pick up the bottle cap. “You’re entitled to flirt with whoever you want.”

Richie snorted, and even though Eddie couldn’t see his face, he knew he was rolling his eyes.

“I wasn’t flirting with him, Eds. He was flirting with me.”

Eddie’s entire body tensed as he straightened up, shuffling over to the trash can and muttering over his shoulder, “Whatever. It’s not like I’m your boyfriend or something.”

He could feel Richie’s stare piercing into the back of his head as he continued, “We…we’re just best friends who get each other off, Rich. And that…that can change whenever you want.”

A beat of silence met those words.

Eddie refused to turn around.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He couldn’t decipher anything in Richie’s voice, it sounded almost robotic, but a dart of pain shot through Eddie’s chest, right under his scar anyway as he tried to prepare himself for what he had to say next.

“It means…” he began as evenly as he could, moving across the kitchen to get a glass, his back still turned, “if you wanna date, or…or fuck other dudes, or whatever…have at it. We’ll…we’ll stop this…” he waves a hand over his shoulder to where he estimated Richie was standing, “arrangement. No questions asked.”

Because if anything was obvious to Eddie after seeing him flourish tonight, it was that Richie…he deserved more. More than their little arrangement allowed. And Eddie would be damned if he held him back from that for his own selfish reasons.

Another silence followed his words. He had to turn around sometime. He knew that.

He managed to delay it just a little longer by walking over to the sink and turning on the faucet, resting his palms on the counter, hunching his shoulders, making no move to fill his glass. The rush of water almost drowned out Richie’s quiet reply, barely above a whisper.

“Do you wanna stop, Eddie?”

Hell no.

It had all begun three months earlier when Richie accidentally walked in on Eddie ‘punchin’ the upside down clown,’ as Richie so fondly called it. Their eyes had locked, Richie frozen in shock, Eddie in embarrassment. Richie could have hightailed it outta there, they could have brushed it off, marked it down as one of the hazards of being roommates and maybe, after a time, even laughed about it. Instead, Eddie had choked out Richie’s name, his cock still gripped in hand, so impossibly hard as Richie’s eyes began to lower.

They had just watched each other, breaths ragged as Eddie’s hand began to move, slowly at first, then gradually speeding up, pumping his cock hard, over and over and over, a surge of confidence flowing in him that was fuelled by Richie drinking in his every move, until his orgasm started to rake through him, causing him to cry out and begin to come all over his stomach.

That had lit a fire under Richie, he scrambling over to the bed and dropping to his knees, his giant hand covering Eddie’s, squeezing and moving in time with his jerks.

“Shit, fuck—Richie,” Eddie gasped, his voice broken as they pulled the last of orgasm from him together.

“Eds—I—can I��?”

Eddie had nodded, happy to grant him anything, whatever he could possibly want in that moment.

Turned out, what Richie had wanted was his mouth around Eddie’s dick.

Wildly, all Eddie could think as Richie’s head lowered to his lap was how Dick wants my dick.

He almost passed out when the wet heat enveloped him, hissing a little as his over-sensitive nerves tingled.

“R-Richie, oh my god,” he wheezed, his hand reaching up and clawing at his hair, pulling it tightly through his fingers.

Richie groaned, the vibration heading straight to Eddie’s cock and causing his back to arch off the bed.

It was then that Eddie realised three things.

One, the hand currently buried in Richie’s hair was covered in Eddie’s come, it smeared into his locks in a way that should have had Eddie recoiling in disgust, but instead sent a bolt of arousal through him, despite his exhaustion. Two, Richie’s mouth was ridiculously talented—the type of talented that could get a 41 year old man’s refractory period shaved significantly down—holy shit. Eddie may never call him a Trashmouth ever again after this. And three, Richie was rock hard. His erection pressing into Eddie’s side from where he kneeled along the bed.

At that revelation, Eddie’s free hand had wandered almost unbeknownst to himself, out to cup Richie through his pants, causing him to jump in surprise, his mouth pulling off Eddie’s dick with a pop that had him shivering.

They stared at one another, Eddie marvelling at Richie’s plump, crimson-stained lips that had a bead of Eddie’s come gathered in the crease of his mouth.

A beat passed where their eyes met, they on a knife-edge, the precipice of something unknown.

Then Eddie squeezed his hand a little tighter, causing Richie’s breath to hitch.

And the rest…was history.

It became a regular thing, then. Just them…tending to each other whenever they needed it. Quick hand jobs before Richie had to meet with an exec, sloppy blowjobs to celebrate Eddie’s promotion and Richie’s Netflix deal and one very memorable rim-job on the eve of Eddie’s one year ‘death-day.’

They hadn’t talked about it much. But they had unwritten rules.

One — don’t talk about Fight Club. AKA The Arrangement.™ So no spilling the beans to any of the Losers.

Two — don’t talk about Fight Club. Seriously. If the Losers found out they would be un-fucking-bearable and put a screeching halt to the most (and best) sex either of them had had in years. (Maybe ever.)

Three — no kissing. Eddie had deemed that a step over the line. Which, Richie had easily countered with, “Oh, so you can have my tongue in your ass, but not your mouth? Some logic ya got there, Eds.” But Eddie wouldn’t budge. So Pretty Woman rules it was.

And Four — no fourth base, going all the way, the whole enchilada, whatever you wanna call it.

They both agreed that that would definitely be over the line.

And so, with those firm set of rules alá Fight Club and Pretty Woman in play, Eddie and Richie made it work, it somehow slotting almost seamlessly into their daily lives, their friendship and cohabitation hardly changing at all.

Until Eddie’s green-eyed monster reared its ugly head, of course.

Except…that isn’t exactly true, is it? You were compromised from the start, asswipe.

Eddie ignored his inner-voice that sounded irritatingly like a thirteen-year-old Trashmouth as he shoved his glass under the water, letting it fill.

“That Eric guy seemed pretty into you,” he murmured, pivoting from the question as he shut off the faucet, “it would probably be a good idea to uh…call off The Arrangement if you wanted to call that number on your hand.”

He turned, then. Just in time to see Richie blink in surprise.

Yeah. Eddie had seen the exact moment the hot, young blond had reached across and playfully tugged on Richie’s hand, scrawling something onto the palm of it. It didn’t take a genius to know what.

“Eric’s a kid,” Richie snorted as Eddie’s eyes finally met his.

“He’s 29.”

“Exactly. He’s a millennial.”

“Your new fan base is made up of mostly millennials, Richie. And Gen Z’ers,” Eddie rolled his eyes, crossing the kitchen and realising in his haste that he had left his water but was too stubborn to turn back, trudging on towards the living room.

Only to have his way blocked by the garish, tuxedo T-shirt that Richie had insisted on wearing to his press junket despite Beverly desperately pleading with him no to. In compromise, she had designed him a very sexy faux-leather jacket that highlighted the breadth of his shoulders very nicely.

Not that Eddie noticed, or anything.

Liar liar pants on—

He slowly raised his gaze, eyebrows furrowing as he saw an enigmatic expression cross Richie’s face.

“That Ron guy seemed pretty into you.”

Eddie frowned.

“You mean Ross?”

“Whatever,” Richie waved a hand dismissively, his eyes bouncing around the room, “he was flirting up a storm with you at the bar.”

Eddie snorted, “Ross was just being friendly, Richie. He saw that I was on my own when you were—”

“He was flirting with you, Eddie. He couldn’t have been more obvious than if he shoved a rose between his teeth and asked you to tango.”

Eddie’s lips, the traitors, twitched at that. He cleared his throat.

“I’m pretty sure I know when someone is flirting with me, Richie.”

“Really?” Richie scoffed, the pitch of his voice climbing as he threw up his hands in exasperation, “see, I don’t think you do, Eds. Fuck, I’ve been flirting with you since 1986 and look where—”

He cut himself off abruptly, but it was too late.

Eddie watched as Richie froze, his eyes as wide as saucers behind his glasses.

His heart began to race.

“You…what? Rich—”

“Nothing, forget it,” Richie held up his hands in surrender and that’s when Eddie caught it.

The remnants of a dark smudge.

Eric’s phone number.

Or what used to be his number anyway.

Eddie’s own hands shot out before he knew what was happening, both grasping the larger hand and tugging it closer.

“Did you rub it off?”

He kept his gaze carefully trained on Richie’s palm as he heard his breath hitch.

“…maybe.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t wanna get ink poisoning—why the fuck do you think, Eddie?”

His grip tightened around Richie’s fingers as his eyes slowly lifted.

They stared at one another, the silence ringing loud in the kitchen.

“I…” Eddie floundered, desperately wracking his brain for some words to form a coherent sentence.

Don’t get your hopes up, Kaspbrak. You know how that always ends.

Richie must have taken his hesitance for a dismissal however as he heaved a heavy sigh and began pulling out of his grasp.

“Forget it, Eds, I’m tired and a little tipsy. I’m just gonna go to—”

“I was jealous.”

Richie stilled, his eyes darting back to Eddie’s, his hand still firmly in his grip.

“You were?”

Eddie heart hammered against his rib cage so hard he felt it might burst out of his chest Alien-style any second now.

What the fuck are you doing, dickwad?! This is not a part of The Arrange—

“Yeah, Richie, I was. Am. Jealous,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, squeezing Richie’s hand tight as he forced himself to continue. “I—that guy was hot and young and I’m not and—”

Richie closed the space between them, crowding Eddie back against the kitchen counter, bending his knees to catch Eddie’s eye.

“Eddie, trust me when I say this, man. You were the hottest person in that entire bar tonight.”

Eddie let out a loud snort, refusing to meet his stare.

“Yeah righ—”

Fingers clasped his scared cheek, forcing his head up.

His breath stuttered at the sheer sincerity in Richie’s eyes.

“I’m serious, Eds. I could barely take my eyes off you all night. I—all I kept thinking about was getting you home and…” he trailed off, his hand breaking from Eddie’s face to drag down his neck, chest, stomach, to finally rest, feather-light on his belt.

A bolt of arousal shot through Eddie’s abdomen.

Along with his mouth, Richie had very, very talented hands too.

But they were getting off track.

Shaking his head, Eddie forced his foggy, horny brain back online, stepping around Richie and trying to catch his breath. This was important, he couldn’t get sidelined with the promise of sex. He had known that this was a long time coming, pretty much ever since they started in the first place.

All good things must come to an end. Literally and figuratively…

“We need to call it off, Richie.”

He watched as Richie’s shoulders sagged, his entire body deflating like a balloon as he drained the last of his beer and shuffled across to the recycling, avoiding Eddie the entire way.

“Okay, Eds. If that’s what you want. Consider Fight Club disbanded.”

There was that almost robotic voice again. Completely void of emotion. So very hard to read.

“It’s…it’s not what I want,” Eddie found himself admitting before he could think better of it, “but it’s what you need, Rich. What you deserve.”

Richie whirled around suddenly, brow furrowed, eyes shining bright.

“What I deserve ? The fuck does that mean?”

Eddie sighed, not wanting to have to explain himself further but knowing he had to. Shrugging, he ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to maintain eye-contact.

“You just…you deserve more than my dry hand-jobs and amateur blow-jobs, man. I—I know when we started this it was a way for us to blow off some steam but…you’re out and proud and deserve so much more than our arrangement. So much more than what I…”

He trailed off, eyes lowering.

“I just want what’s best for you, Rich.”

And it’s not me.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might already have what’s best for me?”

Richie didn’t sound robotic, anymore. Now he sounded downright incredulous.

“Uh—”

“No, ‘course it didn’t,” he continued, stepping closer, ducking his head to catch Eddie’s eye, “‘cause instead of asking me, you just went ahead and decided you knew what was best for me. But you’re wrong, Eds. So fucking wrong I—I don’t even know where to begin explain—”

He cut himself off, tilting his head to the ceiling as if asking the heavens for help. Which, for Richie, was really saying something.

Shit.

“Why were you jealous, Eds?”

Richie’s voice was small, now. Resigned. As if fearful of his answer.

“Was it—was it that a hot, young blond was flirting with me and not you?” he asked, tilting his head back down from the ceiling and staring straight into his soul, laser-focussed.

“Or was it that I was flirting with a hot, young blond and not you?”

Eddie’s heart leapt into his throat.

“I thought you weren’t flirting?” he gasped out, biting his bottom lip.

Richie let out an awful, humourless laugh, his eyes shining in a way that had Eddie’s stomach twisting painfully.

“Okay. Okay, Eddie,” he held up his hands again, taking several steps backwards, out towards the living room, “I hear you loud and clear. Say no more,” he paused, sounding more resigned than Eddie had ever heard him, lifting his shoulder in a one-armed shrug, “‘S like you said. We’re just best friends who get each other off. That can change whenever you want. I get it. Good night.”

Eddie watched as he turned on his heel and began walking out of the room.

“I was jealous that he was flirting with you and laughing with you and…fucking touching you when that was all I wanted to do!”

Richie stopped dead in his tracks.

Eddie scrambled forward, his mouth running away from him, “I was so fucking pissed that some hot fucking himbo got to drape himself all over you, without a care in the world as if you were free and single because—”

The rest of his sentence lodged in his throat.

He swallowed, taking a deep breath, staring at the hard line of Richie’s shoulders, his heart samba drumming in his chest.

Well, you’ve come this far, Kaspbrak.

“Because I…I want you. All the time. Not—not just since The Arrangement. Since…shit, since I was a kid. And these last few months have given me just a taste of what life would be like if I could…if I could have you. And I…I hate that it’s just made me realise that I want more. Not just hand jobs and blow jobs here and there. I wanna…I wanna flirt with you in public, and flaunt you on my arm and…and fucking kiss you goodnight and good morning and just because I feel like it. I wanna sleep next to you and fuck you and get a fucking dog with you. I want all of it. All of you.”

A horrible, heavy silence followed his words, marred only by Eddie’s gasping breath as he fought to catch it. His heart sank lower and lower with each passing beat. He couldn’t ever remember a time that Richie had gone this long without making some kind of noise, so he did what any good risk analyst would do. He started mentally making contingency plans for how he could salvage their friendship.

I’ll move out immediately. Leave the group chat for a while. It’ll be awkward, but eventually we might be able to—

“Himbo?”

Eddie gaped as Richie finally turned around, staring wide at him, a small but definite smile on his face.

“W-What?”

Richie’s smile grew bigger.

“You called Eric a himbo. I didn’t think you kept up with today’s slang, Eds,” he tilted his head, apparently amused as he started to close the distance between them.

“Really?” Eddie groused, staring at him, “that’s your response to everything I just said? What the fuck, Rich—”

Lips crashed into his, a large hand clutching his cheek and another squeezing his hip, propelling him backwards, colliding them both into the kitchen counter. Eddie let out a rough ‘Oomph!’ but there was no way in hell he was breaking this kiss. Whose dumb idea was it to enforce Pretty Woman rules anyway? To withhold oneself from a mouth as talented as Richie’s? That was just fucking martyrdom.

The kiss was feverish, desperate as they clung to one another, knocking over various knick-knacks that Richie insisted on keeping on the kitchen counters, Eddie’s tongue tracing along Richie’s bottom lip, his teeth nipping just slightly. He sighed as Richie groaned, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss, his hands raking up and down Eddie’s body as if he couldn’t decide where to rest them. Eddie buried his own hands in Richie’s hair, clutching tightly, using the leverage to do a little pushing of his own, shoving him back against the kitchen table.

Richie let himself be manhandled, stumbling backwards, almost tripping over his own feet if Eddie didn’t have a firm grip on him. The back of his legs bumped up against the table with a soft thump. Eddie’s grip left Richie’s hair to fly to his waist, tightening as he urged him up. Richie took a second to get with the program, too preoccupied with sucking on Eddie’s tongue to do much else. But eventually, he scattered the place-mats and newspaper and stress-ball from off the table and he heaved himself up, arms reaching down to clasp the back of Eddie’s legs, lifting him up with him until he was kneeling, knees either side of his hips.

The kiss broke.

Their eyes met.

Eddie’s heart skipped a beat when he saw moisture gathered behind Richie’s glasses as he stared at Eddie like he was the greatest gift he’d ever received.

“I’m in love with you, by the way,” Richie murmured, quietly but firmly, as if they were words he had long since lived with, “have been since I was twelve years old. In case that wasn’t clear.”

A little line formed between his eyebrows as he cleared his throat, “It’s—it’s okay, though. You don’t have to say it back or anything, I know it’s a lot and—”

“I’m in love with you too, dickwad. In case that wasn’t clear.”

They stared at one another, twin smiles gracing their faces before Richie leaned forward, capturing his lips once more.

This kiss was softer, slower, but god…

Eddie could feel thirty years of emotion flowing between them, as if Richie was pouring every ounce of pining, yearning, ache and love that he had ever felt for Eddie into it.

The burn of tears welled up behind his eyes as Richie’s hands clasped his cheeks, his thumb gently tracing his scar. They eventually had to break for air, but didn’t go far, their lips barely an inch apart as they heaved in breaths, until Eddie leaned forward again, pecking the tiniest of kisses against Richie’s mouth.

Fuck Fight Club and Pretty Woman rules.

Richie leaned up, returning the kiss that was more the pressing of smiles but still had Eddie’s stomach flipping with butterflies.

“God, Eds. I’ve wanted to kiss you practically my whole life.”

Eddie hummed, raking a hand through his hair and straightening his slightly askew glasses.

“I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” he sighed, resting their foreheads together, “I just…I just knew that kissing you would be too much. Would make me wish too much and hope too much and—”

“Me too,” Richie nodded, bumping their heads gently, practically going cross-eyed as he fought to keep eye contact, “you were right. I wouldn’t have coped with kissing you without constantly wanting more and hating myself for it. Even though I did anyway. Always have,” he laughed a little self-deprecatingly, “but ya know, I’m used to that.”

Eddie’s heart panged.

“Fucking Derry.”

“Fucking Derry,” Richie agreed.

“Dumb Eddie.”

“No,” Richie shook his head, leaning back to properly look at Eddie, “not dumb at all, Eds. We—that shithole fucked both of us up, right? All seven of us. So, don’t feel dumb about not picking up on my giant heartboner for you back in the day, alright? I…I did everything in my power to hide it ‘cause I was scared shitless. Homophobic clowns and Bowers, you know? And now…now we’re so fucking repressed I still marvel we managed to con ourselves into The Arrangement in the first place.”

Eddie snorted, silently agreeing until that snort turned into a groan, this one of discomfort as his knees gave a painful twinge.

“We’re too old to fool around on the kitchen table, Rich…” he breathed, his breath bouncing off Richie’s mouth, “my knees are fucking killing me.”

Richie huffed out a laugh, squeezing his hips and nudging him back down to the ground and shuffling to stand up himself.

“Fuck!” He hissed as his thigh roughly collided with the leg of one of the chairs, knocking it over with a clatter.

“As graceful as ever, Rich,” Eddie teased, reaching down to gently rub his palm along the back of Richie’s thigh, a small smirk spreading across his face.

“If you take me to bed, I can kiss it better. And other places too.”

Richie Tozier had never moved so fast in his entire life. And that included the time he was chased by a murderous space clown.

They collectively collided with no less than four pieces of furniture, one novelty-sized pencil that Richie insisted on keeping in the hallway, and tripped over a copy of Bill’s new book before they made it to bed. But that just meant there was more to kiss better.

They were allowed to do that, now. Kiss and so much more.

And all because they stopped living their lives using the ‘logic’ of two dumb ‘90s movies.

Read my other friends-with-benefits Reddie fic here

@tinyarmedtrex @reddiegays @richietoaster @and-thats-when-she-snapped

[awashsquid]

My son Will likes to see how things work.

A few very kind individuals said they would be interested in reading some of my original stuff, so with that in mind, the following is a fictional short horror story originally posted here.  Please be advised that it contains brief descriptions of animal abuse.

A few years ago, I reached the point in my twenties where a lot of my friends and coworkers started reproducing, photos of their happy pregnancy announcements and chubby babies continually flooding every pore of my social media feeds. When my pregnancy test registered a big Positive, legible even through the shaking of my hands, I knew that there would be none of that for me.

It had been a mistake—I had gone out alone, drowning the sorrows of being single in vodka cranberries, when a handsome stranger had offered to buy me my next round. He was handsome, smooth, and incredibly intelligent, and honestly, I was all too eager to go home with him. We spent a wonderful night together, but the next morning I woke up alone in my apartment, the faint lingering odor of his cologne the only sign that it had happened at all.

Until I had missed my period. Until I realized that I had been a little too drunk to insist on a condom. Until I realized that my clean STI tests didn’t mean that nothing permanent had been planted that evening.

For a moment, I toyed with getting an abortion. No religious beliefs held me back, and given that I didn’t know anything of the father more than his face and a first name (which could be fake anyway), I knew that raising the child would fall entirely to me. But then I looked around my empty house, devoid of all life minus a single thriving houseplant, and realized that I wanted to keep it. I had always wanted a child, and since I couldn’t see myself getting married any time soon, this seemed like a reasonable solution.

After throwing my cigarettes into the trash, I threw myself into parenting research, poring over Internet articles and gathering tips from friends, now much more relatable given that I would soon have a child like so many of them did. The pregnancy was surprisingly easy; I had morning sickness, and towards the end my stomach was so big that I felt as though I was going to absolutely burst, but I was lucky enough to not suffer any major complications. My mom stayed with me and helped towards the end, fussing over finishing decorations in the new nursery.

Yes, I had some lingering doubts throughout the process, wondering if I was ready, wondering if I would love the child as much as I hoped, wondering if I could do it without a partner. Yet the second that my baby was born and placed into my arms, his blue eyes looking up at me with curiosity, I knew that I would do anything for my child, and all of my doubts faded away.

The time after was a whirlwind balancing act of maternity leave, followed by a return to work that necessitated hiring a nanny, but for the first time in years, I was immensely happy. I never returned home to an empty house. Instead, Will would be waiting at the door, eagerly bombarding me with whatever he had passed the day doing when I walked in the door. He was exceptionally bright, saying his first word at six months and speaking in full sentences by fifteen.

I was shocked to come home shortly after he hit two-and-a-half years to find him reading aloud to the nanny and an assorted stuffed animal audience. And when I tested his ability by asking him to read from a newspaper, he rattled off an article about global warming without issue, pausing only on the longer scientific terms. I asked Will questions about the article and he answered them flawlessly, telling me that he not only could speak the words, but could understand them as well.

He kept learning more and more every day, and soon he began asking me for books on specific subjects. I was all too happy to acquiesce, ecstatic that my child was so gifted. I bought him books on insects, on animals, on the human body; he had a strong interest in how things worked in nature, and he pored over pictures of anatomy, figuring out how the systems all coordinated to produce a living organism.

Angela, our nanny, pulled me aside one day around his fourth birthday to express concern. She said she had found him killing ants and trying to cut them open with a butter knife, a magnifying glass poised nearby. I chided him lightly on killing an already living creature, but I didn’t want to stifle his curiosity, so I wasn’t too harsh. I regret that now.

You see, as Will grew, so did his knowledge, and so did his desire to conduct his own experiments. He progressed from ants to large spiders, then to mice, then to rabbits. Angela threatened to quit after finding him crouched over the rabbit’s dead body, hands smeared with its blood as he dug around its guts, but I increased her pay substantially and she opted to stay. I told Will that he needed to stop, but my son was just as smooth as his father had been. He told me that he had found the rabbit on the side of the road, freshly dead, so he hadn’t killed it himself as Angela had said. I didn’t want to look at its body too closely, so I just chose to believe him.

When I found one of our neighborhood stray cats in the bathtub, its belly opened up and insides exposed, I knew that I had a serious problem. I went to the Internet only to find it largely unhelpful; all of the stories were either about children who accidentally killed a pet, or those who were doing it simply to be cruel. Will wasn’t being mean to the animals, he just wanted to study how they worked. I could see that when I had to clean up the cat: it didn’t have any wounds, no signs of torture, and Will even admitted to me that he suffocated it because he didn’t want to hurt it.

I made him promise to stop. I told him that I would try to get in touch with some hunters and butchers in the area, even some science professors, so that he could continue his learning under the supervision of an adult on an animal that was already dead. He seemed appeased by this compromise, and for months, no more dead animals showed up. During that time, my stepfather took Will for a day so that he could help gut a deer, and he was absolutely thrilled. Fridge pictures used up decidedly more red crayon after that, but as long as Will was happy, I figured that wasn’t an issue.

After the six month mark of Will not having any more solo experiments, I came home expecting him to meet me at the door and finding no trace of him in the house. I called for Angela, but she didn’t answer either, and I tossed my bag and coat down in a panic. I tried to tell myself that they had just gone on a walk as I ascended the stairs, but my stomach sank with dread as a coppery scent filled my nose.

I found Will leaning over the bathtub, the white towels covering the floor stained with blood, several of my kitchen knives surrounding him. I screamed as I saw a human hand dangling over the side, Angela’s small wrist limp, several fingernails broken off. I locked Will in his room and spent the evening cleaning the bathroom thoroughly. I was thankful for our tall privacy fence as I drug the heavy body outside, burying it in a shallow grave, carefully replacing every flower from my new garden exactly as it had been before, ensuring that no one would be able to see the difference.

Will is still locked in his room (I’ve been bringing him food and supervising bathroom breaks as needed, I’m not neglecting him). It’s been two days. I don’t know what to do at this point. I can’t seem to get him to understand that he did something seriously wrong; he just keeps saying it was for science and to see how she worked. At first, he cried fat tears during his confessions, but the last few times I’ve checked on him he just seems angry, growling at me to let him out.

I would do anything—have done so much—for Will. I’m just worried that he’s willing to do anything to figure out how things work. And the knife I still can’t find makes me worry that he might want to conduct another experiment.

[oursisthefvry]

Every Wednesday

IMAGINE: Every Wednesday, (Y/N) comes into Steve’s cafe. Every Wednesday Steve tells himself to gather up his courage to finally ask her out. Every Wednesday he fails. 

[gif is not mine. still cannot believe the amount of love ‘misunderstandings’ received. I don’t think y’all know how much it made me feel. you truly are all the best. also I put blair in this one-shot from gg because i’ve been binge-watching it and i rediscovered my love for her...and dan]

warnings: swearing

word count: 1.8k+

Steve picked up the leftover muffin, sighed and threw it in the bin. He really didn’t know why people didn’t use the trash can that was conveniently provided in the cafe. As he wiped the mess he heard the bell ring and decided that he had to clean this later. He made his way to the counter, pen poised in his hand ready to write down whatever the customer wanted. Steve looked up and all he saw in that moment was one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen.

He probably looked like an idiot, standing there, hand awkwardly dangling barely clutching the pen his eyes probably glossy and idiotic smile on his face. A cough brought him out of his reverie and he realised that she wasn’t alone. Next to her stood a woman around the same height with brunette hair and an obnoxiously large hat and sunglasses.

“If you’re done staring at my friend, I would like to order now,” she spoke haughtily.

Steve shook himself out and readied his pen again, “What would order?”

The woman with the large hat made a face, she was about to open until the woman that Steve was fixated on said, “Blair.”

Blair rolled her eyes, “Large cappuccino, skim milk double shot.” As Steve wrote down the order, Blair kept tapping her feet.

“Blair, honestly.”

Blair turned to her friend and pulled down her glasses, “(Y/N), seriously.” She mocked.

Steve watched in amusement as the now named (Y/N) shook her head. (Y/N), he mentally spoke. What a beautiful name.

“Ugh, if you’re just going to stare at her, I’m going to try and find a seat.” Blair groaned as she flipped her hair dramatically and made her way to one seat. Both (Y/N) and Steve watched as Blair scrunched her face and retrieved a handkerchief from her handbag and a hand sanitiser.

“I’m sorry about her,” (Y/N) apologized to him. “She recently realised that she’s in love with a person she thought she hated.”

Steve turned to her. Fucking hell, even her voice was beautiful. “Classic love, huh?” Steve spoke. ‘Classic love? What kind of moron says that? You do, Steve Rogers. Maybe Barton was right, he was really an idiot when it came to flirting.’

“The classic Romeo and Juliet,” (Y/N) chuckled. “Probably more dramatic since Blair’s the main part of the story.” He gave a little chuckle as well.

“Would you like to order anything?” He asked, knowing that she probably wanted something as well.

 She gave him a soft smile, “Large latte and two sugars, please?” Steve nodded and jotted down the order. “And two chocolate croissants?”

Steve smiled and totalled up her order. He watched as she dug out her purse, finally she found the note and handed it to him. As Steve reached for the money their hands grazed and Steve could feel a blush appear on his face.

He passed over the change only to have her put it in one of the tip jars, he noticed that she put the money in the far right. “Lord of the Rings is so much better,” she winked at him and smiled to herself when she saw him blush.

“God, you’re amazing,” Steve mumbled out. Obviously he thought that he said it to himself,  but judging on her confused face he said it a bit too loud.

“I’ll get your coffee agoing,” Steve pointed to the machine behind him and she gave an awkward chuckle.

Once he knew that he wasn’t in their view he knocked his head on a shelf twice. 

“You could have done worse,” a voice sounded to his left. He saw Sam approach with an amused grin on his face. “You could have said that you loved her.”

From the faithful and groan-worthy Wednesday, it seemed like ‘Falcon’s Brew’ seem to gain a faithful customer. As Steve realised her pattern, he decided to ask for the extra shift of Wednesday. Luckily, Wanda who usually had that shift started University.

“Okay, but you have to actually be nice to him Blair.” The familiar voice of (Y/N) filled the cafe as her and Blair walked into the cafe.

“I know that! It’s just, it’s Humphrey,” Blair made a face. Steve knew them well enough now that (Y/N) was rolling her eyes.

Throughout the weeks he realised that the only reason why they were in Brooklyn much to Blair’s distaste was her possible boyfriend was living in these parts, and according to (Y/N), Blair needed the courage and sugar. Weeks went by and throughout that time he thought about how he was going to finally ask (Y/N) out...when he found the courage to do so.

“Hey guys,” Steve greeted. “Usual?”

“Black coffee,” Blair grumbled out. He knew that she didn’t personally hate him...probably.

“Sugar?” Steve asked and Blair shook her head. She gave (Y/N) a weird look that he couldn’t decipher and made her way to their usual spot.

“Is she okay?”

 (Y/N) blew a raspberry which Steve couldn’t help but smile at. She was too adorable for her own good. “Dan went out to dinner with his publisher and Blair’s gone all psychotic on him. Insulting him left and right, you know, the usual Blair treatment.”

Steve nodded understanding somewhat. He wrote up her order and as usual she gave him the money and tipped the change. “Star Wars, dude. Is that even a question? Darth Vader rules.”

“You like Darth Vader? You like Star Wars?” Steve questioned, not really seeing (Y/N) as the Star Wars type.

(Y/N) gave him a look and he smiled at her. “I may or may not have a Darth Vader figurine in my room.” She confessed sheepishly, with another look she walked over to where Blair was.

“You’re so great,” Steve accidentally blurted out.  

(Y/N) turned back around and gave him a quizzing look, she chuckled, “You’re pretty great too, Steve.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her compliment, at least his blurting out random confessions finally came to good use. As he prepared his drinks, he went over their conversation.

‘Her room, (Y/N) in her room.’ Steve thought. He shook himself out of it, suddenly realising how creepy it was. He look towards where (Y/N) and Blair were, the latter woman giving (Y/N) an annoyed look and (Y/N) shrugging. ‘Huh, wonder what that’s all about.’

Steve grumbled and pulled the knobs a bit too tightly. He bit his lower lip and furrowed his brows, “Idiot.” He mumbled to himself.

“You know people who speak to themselves often indicate insanity,” a biting voice spoke to him. He looked to his left where Blair was standing, one brow arched.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, is something the matter with you though?” Blair tilted her head. “It’s not related to that man sitting next to (Y/N) over there, is it?” She asked with an all knowing look. She looked back to where they all sat, then turned back Steve. “Not the man who’s currently holding (Y/N)’s hand while whispering into her ear?”

 Blair grinned when Steve accidentally dropped the coffee beans and swore. Steve looked over the machine and realised that (Y/N) and the man was nowhere near each other, he turned back to Blair who had a grin plastered on her face.

“Honestly, are all men cowards? Just ask her out. I’m sick of you pining over her,” Blair rolled her eyes and grabbed a muffin from the stand. “Stop with the puppy look, Rogers. Unlike some people I don’t find it cute.”

Steve wondered what Blair meant by that last sentence. Who was the person that found his ‘puppy look’, cute? He was brought out of his thoughts when a cough interrupted him. Steve look to the counter and found (Y/N) there.

“Sorry, Blair took the muffin without paying for it,” (Y/N) smiled apologetically at him. She handed him a note and he gave back the change. “Interesting choice you have here?” She examined the jars. “I have to say though, I prefer blondes.” She gave him a look and smiled. He smiled, confused at her.

Steve locked the door and made his way to the car, as he walked he realised that her companion had brunette hair. Suddenly her last words to him made sense. Was it her way to say that he shouldn’t be jealous?

 “I have blonde hair!” Steve blurted out loudly. He looked around and saw a couple of people giving him odd looks. He quickly ducked his head. As he mulled over his thoughts he couldn't help the smile on his face. 

Next Wednesday he eagerly anticipated (Y/N)’s arrival. Everytime the bell rang he looked up, a small smile on his face only to be let down. On possibly the fiftieth time, he finally heard Blair’s familiar loud voice. He looked up and saw (Y/N) and Blair arms linked with a curly-haired man.

“Hey (Y/N),” Steve greeted loudly.

She looked taken aback. More quietly this time, he greeted her again. He saw the amused face on Blair’s face as well as their companions.

“Hey Steve,” she greeted happily. “This is Dan. Blair’s Dan.” She winked at him.

“You guys got finally together?”

Blair nodded and rolled her eyes, “Humphrey finally realised that he can’t do better than me and that I’m the love of his life, and he was wasting his stupid flannel-filled time by ignoring me.” Blair unexpectedly yelped as Dan poked her in the ribs. “Humphrey!” However, both (Y/N) and Steve knew that Blair was too happy to be annoyed. The new couple both sat down after giving their orders to Steve.

“Usual?” Steve asked, knowing the answer.

“Do I ever get anything else?”

“Touche,” Steve wrote down her order. He gave her the total and and she passed him the money. “Wait, we have special jars today.”

(Y/N) gave him a questioning look but nodded nonetheless. Steve took a deep breath and kneeled down, gathering the two small mason jars. It was now or never. He put the two mason jars in front of her, eagerly looking at her reaction.

She looked shocked at first but soon started to smile. For the first time he saw a small blush appear on his face as she placed the change daintily inside the right jar. “I’m eagerly anticipating our date Rogers.”

Steve picked up the jar and saw the label ‘yes’, he looked at her a huge grin on his face. “Yes!”

She chuckled at him, and awkwardly looked around at the cafe and noticing that it was only the four of them in the cafe.

“My god, Rogers, can you be more embarrassing?” Blair yelled. 

Every Wednesday, Steve opened the door with a small hop in his step, a smile on his face and humming a small tune. Wednesdays were now his favourite day. It’s been a year since they had their first date and everyday with her was always better than the last.

Her and Blair with the occasional Dan come in every Wednesday. He greets them with a smile, when they reach the counter, (Y/N) leans over the counter to kiss him, always earning a groan from Blair.

She stays back on Wednesday, waiting for him to take them both home. In all of his life, Steve doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy. He knows that he’s going to happier in the future because he knows, that one day, (Y/N) will become (Y/N) Rogers, and that their Wednesdays together will be their forever.

Tags: @upon-a-girl @iamwarrenspeace

[wine-and-words]

Fine

Hey everyone. I wanted a place to share my writing and other thoughts without judgement, so here I am. Please feel free to contact me if you have any questions or concerns about my posts, or if you want to talk. I’m always here.

TW: Self harm, strong language, assault

“I don’t know how anyone could cut,” I say as I sit on Lily’s bed, picking at the loose thread in the blue comforter. I’m sitting on her feet, but she’s not making me move because we’re both cozy. I have a blanket thrown around my shoulders. She’s underneath the comforter. “Yeah like, I don’t know how you’d ever want to hurt yourself,” she agrees, frowning. “It doesn’t make sense. Besides, I don’t like blood.” “I hate blood,” I say emphatically. At ten years old, even the thought of blood makes me squeamish. The idea that anyone could ever hurt themselves intentionally is beyond me.     * * * * * I sit on the bathroom floor with a knife in hand, brow furrowed in concentration. I make slow, deliberate cuts, watching the way the blood bubbles up with cool detachment. I’ve always hated blood. I faint when I so much as cut open my finger while getting dinner ready. But this blood is different. It’s like roses, or like the poppies in Flanders Field— the way it blooms up, promising new life. The blood is sticky on my fingertips, and I wince as I gather it all up. I smear it around on my leg in a swirling, floral pattern. It’s paint and I am making myself beautiful. I’m fucking art. I cock my head, hair falling over my face, and I smile. Sane Julia, the one hovering over my shoulder to the right, is screaming at me. She’s not actually there of course, or maybe she is and I’m the one who’s not real. Sane Julia is hovering over all this, watching me as I sit there in a black bra and short shorts and slide the knife over my skin. You’re fucked, please stop, please please please please, she screams at me as she sees the smile curl my lips ever so slightly, watching me paint myself with the blood from my thighs. Sane Julia, innocent Julia, is always wearing the same goddamn outfit. She wears an impossibly short black skirt from American Apparel and a burgundy crop top that shows off a rounded stomach. My tits were bigger back then. It’s the same outfit I wore that night, as I’ve come to refer to the night that I lost my virginity and my sanity and my youth all at once.

I call her "Sane Julia," but I realize how inaccurate that name is. I'm not sane, if I was sane then I wouldn't have the image of a younger self floating around and screaming at me while I tear my body apart. If I'm not sane, and she's just a product of my insanity, then by definition she is not sane either. Nor is she truly innocent- the Julia that she's a reflection of had already chosen a path that led far away from innocence. 

When I sit there, I think in sentences. I can hear Sane Julia’s voice in my head too. 

I think, I need a black pen to draw more patterns on my leg, I need something that contrasts the blood. She screams, don't you see what you're doing? You're sick, please stop, you're better than this. Look at the blood. Please. Bitch, I don’t bleed blood. I bleed fucking poetry, I retort. When I get like this, when my head gets dark, I’m not quiet and scared like I am in the daylight. This Julia speaks her mind, even when it’s something impossibly rude.

He’s not worth it, she screams. She’s always screaming.

I ignore her.

I never cut more than two or three times. If I know I'm going to have sex, I do not cut my thighs. If I know I'm going to wear a short sleeved shirt in the next couple of days, I do not cut my wrists. I never cut deeply enough to scar. Often the cuts look accidental. Oh, I cut my leg on something at work. I fell and hurt myself. The cat scratched me.

No one questions it. No one except my friend, Lily, and that’s only because I fucked up and cut my wrists the day we were supposed to go bowling. and the blood soaked through my shirt.

I lean back to admire my work, arching my back like those models I hate, those girls who get paid for being pretty. My eyes slip down my body, over my breasts that have grown smaller with the weight loss, and then my stomach that is still not flat, even after all this time. 

I don't usually need to stick my fingers down my throat. I've learned how to think myself into throwing up. I just think of hands on my body when I do not want them, of laying back and accepting it; I think of my dead dog who was never buried; of all of the countless baby birds who died in my hands. I buried them myself, using my fingernails to scratch at the dirt until I had dug a hole deep enough to place their ice cold corpses in. 

Sometimes, when I am too numb to feel repulsed at these thoughts, I do use my fingers. I shove them down my throat and gag until my stomach is empty and my eyes are burning. 

Sane Julia watches me do this with the same horror that she watches the cutting. She begs me to stop, but it’s not that easy.

I've lost weight since the night when he pushed me into the couch and told me he would go slow, to just be quiet. Ten, twenty pounds, maybe thirty? Who knows. Maybe if I had been prettier, thinner, I would have been enough. Maybe he would have stayed after that night instead of tossing me aside like a piece of fucking trash. I was garbage to him, a fucking disposable Starbucks cup. He had gotten what he wanted from me, used me, and then I was nothing to him except something to be rid of.

Actually, fuck that. I’m not a Starbucks drink. I’m more like shitty gas station coffee. I’m trash.

Tonight I did not need to use my fingers. I thought of his face and his sweaty body on top of mine, and I threw up until I cried. My stomach is empty, and I have a headache. I have nothing left except a burning throat, like I've been inhaling smoke. I don't feel any pain. Instead there's this weird mix of elation and despair, the two sides of me warring against one another.  

Dark times like these have come with increasing regularity since that night. It’s been three months, almost to the day.  My mother asked me last week if I was depressed. I guess she noticed that I look like shit and all I ever do is sleep. I told her no, of course. A good religious girl does not get depressed.

She asked me if I was having boy problems, and I laughed. I told her no, boys didn’t like me. As far as she and my dad knew, I had never as much as held hands with a boy. How was I supposed to tell her that I had snuck around and had a thing with a boy who ended up date raping me? That would not go over well. They would kill me a hundred times over. A good Christian girl waits for marriage. She doesn’t get depressed, because she always has God to turn to when things get bad. 

I am not a good Christian girl.

Someone knocks at the door of the bathroom. “Ju-Ju?”

It’s Lila. She’s four, and my youngest sister. Everyone says she looks exactly like me. She even has a stutter, like I did when I was younger. She’s called me Ju-Ju since she could talk. 

I grab the hoodie laying on the ground beside me and slip in on. I always make sure that I don’t get blood on anything besides myself, and that I have clothing to cover my marks up with. Living in a house with eight other people almost guarantees that I’ll be interrupted at some point. It’s late though, so I don’t know why Lila is up.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I open the door to the bathroom. Lila is standing there in her pink princess pyjamas, clutching the stuffed dog I bought her last year for Christmas.

“I want a story,” she tells me seriously. 

After I’ve read Lila her bedtime story, I go to my own bedroom and lock the door. I grab my melatonin, shaking out a decent handful and shoving them into my mouth. It’s the only way I sleep these days. Too bad it’s not enough to kill me.

The ceiling is that crumbly stuff that all old-ish houses seem to have. You know, the white bumpy squares that break far too easily? My sister and I threw a super ball—one of those insanely bouncy little balls you get at the dollar store— really hard one day and it hit the ceiling so hard that it snapped one of the panels and covered my bed in a fine white dust. That was years ago, and the dust is long gone, but there’s still a hole the size of a super ball in my ceiling. At night I stare up at it and wish that I could melt away into the blackness.

Lila wakes me up for breakfast the next morning. Dad’s made pancakes, as he has every Saturday morning for the past fifteen years. We’re all here for breakfast today, which doesn’t happen as often these days. 

I’m the oldest child in the family at eighteen. Next is Jake, who is sixteen, then the twins, Lauren and Sophie, who are thirteen. Jace is ten, Lexie is seven, and Lila is four.

“Julia, will you help Lila with the syrup?” Mom asks me. Lila is trying to pour it herself and has already spilled it all over the table. Lauren and Jace are having a heated discussion on whether or not corn syrup is real syrup, and Dad is explaining the economic crisis to seven-year-old Lexie. She looks like she’s going to fall asleep in her jam-covered pancakes. Jake is playing air guitar along to the Christian rock song coming through the radio. Sushi, our mastiff, is sitting by Sophie because she knows that Sophie never finishes her bacon. It’s chaos, it’s insanity, and it’s beautiful. 

It’s a good day.

I’m getting better, I tell myself as I make a cup of tea and settle down to read. I ate today and I didn’t cut. I’m fine.

“I’m fine,” has been my mantra for a long time. A boy, one who I talked to only briefly, snapped one day and told me to stop saying it because it wasn’t true. I told you, I only talked to him briefly. 

A friend introduced us, thinking that having a new boy to flirt with would distract me from what she called my “abject bitterness at being dumped.” After I told him off, they started dating. 

He was an asshole anyways. He told me to talk to someone, a professional. Told me I was fucked in the head and needed help. I considered it for a bit, but then I realized that there was no way to explain that to my parents. Again, coming from a religious family, therapy is frowned upon. And for all my parents know, I am perfectly fine and happy. 

Fine, fine, fine. That word is my anchor, my true north. Whenever thoughts of him pop into my head I push them aside and cling to the word like it can save me. 

I am fine, I tell myself as I head off to work later in the day. 

I am fine, I tell myself as I quickly smoke a cigarette on my break. It’s a habit I’ve only recently taken up, more of a hobby than anything.

I’m fine, I tell myself again as I clock out. This time the thought is accompanied with a sign of relief. I check my phone. There are four missed calls: Two from my dad, one from my mom, and another from my sister Sophie. There’s also a text from her.

Mom and dad went snooping. Come home right away.

I throw up in the work bathroom, then drive home. My stomach is in knots. Did they find my birth control? Or maybe the untouched bottle of tequila that’s poorly hidden behind my copy of The Pilgrim’s Progress. The possibilities are endless. I suck at hiding stuff and my room is full of contraband. God, it could even be the three seasons of Gossip Girl I have on DVD. The sex scenes in that show would give my father a heart attack. One time my dad saw the melatonin on my shelf and asked me if I was a drug addict. Maybe he found them again and is too dense to realize that I’ve never done any kind of drug in my life. I walk into the house and yell, “I’m home,” like I always do.

“Julia, come on up.” Mom’s voice is strained.

My mother is a beautiful woman. She looks ten years younger than she is, and to look at her you would have no clue that she’s pushed seven fucking kids through her body. She is always calm and collected and in control, and she is the kindest person I’ve ever met. People said I looked like her when I was younger, but when I hit puberty they started saying I look like my dad. My mom and I both have green eyes and dirty blonde hair, but there the similarities end. Where my mother is tall and built slender but strong, I am short and frail. She has high cheekbones and always looks happy. I, on the other hand, have cheeks as round as an infant’s and a resting bitch face. I look like a pissed off five year old. 

I look and act more like my father. He too is tall, with dark brown eyes and a firm face. He used to smile and laugh more, when I was younger. I remember him bouncing me on his knee and chasing me through the house to tickle me. He used to be happy. Now, our whole life revolves around Dad’s mood. If he’s happy, it’s a good day. If he’s stressed, you steer clear and toe the line. It’s been like that for years. I see the same traits in myself that I see in him—I am opinionated, stubborn and proud. I am truly my father’s daughter.

Now, as I walk into the kitchen with forced nonchalance, Dad’s face is taut. 

Mom’s is swollen like she’s been crying. 

This is off.  Something is wrong.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Julia, Macey showed us something today.”

As soon as those words cross Mom’s lips, I feel my stomach heave. Macey is my mom’s friend, and my best friend Lily’s mom. Where my parents respect my privacy, Lily’s mom snoops in her things daily.

I think of the text I sent Lily last night. The one where I finally told her what went down that night. I think of what I can say, how I can explain him away and make them believe I never did anything wrong.

“She showed us the pictures you sent Lily. Of your leg and your wrist.”

The words fall like pebbles in a still pond. The relief is almost instantaneous. 

They don’t know about that night. They don’t know about him. I struggle to keep my expression neutral. I sent Lily a picture to prove that I wasn’t trying to kill myself with the cuts. Looking back, that was a really dumb idea. Way to go, Julia. Fucking A for stupidity.

I pull up a chair. The scraping noise of the legs against the hardwood floors makes Mom wince. 

I am fine.

“I went into your room to try and find the knife. I found your journal on your bed.”

Fuck. I’m not fine.

The silence grows. And grows. And grows.

I close my eyes, breathing deeply, summoning that blanket of calm that surrounds me when I cut and purge. I let it cover me, smother the anxiety. I am calm. I am in control. I am fine. I smile.

I open my eyes. Mom and Dad are both staring at me. 

“What do you want to know?” I ask them.

“I read…” Mom chokes, sounding sick. She can’t finish the thought. I can only imagine what she read. After it happened, I wrote everything down in detail. The scent of lemon Lysol in his house, to the way his brown couch scratched my body as he pressed me down into it, to the way he put his hand over my mouth when I started crying. 

Mom continues. “I- I couldn’t keep reading, so I called Lily. She told us what happened that night.”

That fucking snitch.

“She told us that he forced you, that you didn’t want it. That he’s the reason for all this. Is it true?” Her voice pleads with me, begs me to tell her that this is just a sickening story I’ve created for a class project.

I am praying to a God I’m not sure I believe in anymore, praying that my parents don’t kick me out when I tell them. Standing to my left this time, Sane Julia is crying. She’s reacting in the logical way, sobbing out the whole story. She’s responding to this confrontation the way I would have, before everything happened.

She needs to shut the fuck up so I can think.

“Yeah.”

“Julia, who was he? When? I’ll kill him.”

I’m not sure who’s saying what. All the voices sound the same, and Sane Julia’s sobbing drowns them out.

Shut up, I tell her. I need to fucking concentrate. 

Tell them. For once, she’s not screaming. She looks at me, pleading. Just tell them.

No. I can’t. I’ll think up a story.

Please, just let them in. You’re killing yourself. Why won’t you just ask for help?

I pause at this. The secret is out. What do I have to lose? I’ve already disappointed my parents in every way possible. Could I just tell them everything and let them in? I’ve spent so long hiding things from them that the idea of letting my parents know me is terrifying. 

I take a long, shuddering breath. Sane Julia is quiet. I’m quiet. Mom and Dad are quiet. And for once, my brain is quiet too. 

I am fine.