#So I shoveled down a serving of pasta in like three minutes so I could be a Good Ideal Worker and get back to work faster

[thorntopieces]

My feet hurt so bad man

[64yrsold]

she’s american

“Almost done,” I grumbled to myself, stirring the pasta on the stove furiously.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, checking to see if he had answered any of my messages.

“Fuck!” I cursed, reading his sweet reply telling me he’d be home in five minutes. I scrambled to set the table, lighting candles and smoothing the tablecloth. I gulped down a stinging sip of my mostly-booze test cocktail, dusting off my apron and straightening the skirt of my dress. I poured him my modified cocktail recipe, and admired the romantic scene I had created.

“He’d better like this,” I muttered, slipping on a pair of heels while preparing him a serving of pasta. He had been working non-stop this week, returning home after dark, exhausted.

“I’m just going to sit for five minutes, then you can tell me about your day,” He had said yesterday, and promptly fell asleep on the couch.

So, in an attempt to cheer him up, I had gotten ridiculously gorgeous, and spent the evening in front of a hot stove, trying my hand at penne in vodka sauce.

The doorknob jiggled as he unlocked it, and I put on my most welcoming smile. He swung the door open, mouth parted as he took in the sight of me.

“Is it my birthday?” He smirked, kicking the door closed with his eyes locked on mine.

“If you’d like,” I said, drawing out the sultry undertones of my voice.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, grasping for my wrists and pulling me against his chest. He kissed me softly, and I sunk into the familiar feeling. “Hi, darling.” He murmured against my mouth, heart thrumming against me.

“Miss me today?” I teased, pulling away from his lips reluctantly. His forehead creased, and he planted three quick kisses on my cheek.

“You consumed me today,” He professed, watching me with darkened eyes. “You look absolutely, insanely gorgeous.”

I grinned, biting my lip at his compliment. “You should look behind me.”

“All of this for me!” He gasped, “Are you trying to get me naked, or something?”

“Maybe,” I shrugged, and handed him his drink.

“Ooh, thank you, darling,” he said, taking a sip. “Mm, very nice. Have you been drinking these all night?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, alright,” he said, pleased, and tilted his head back, finishing the glass. He glanced behind me, spotting the half-empty bottle of vodka. “Shit, I have a ways to go.”

“No, no, I didn’t drink all of it,” I giggled, pointing at the pasta. “It’s a vodka sauce.”

“You put-“ He cleared his throat, “Sorry, just wondering, did you put half a bottle of vodka in the sauce?”

“It’s a vodka sauce,” I repeated monotonously, and he nodded slowly.

“Alright. Let’s give it a shot.” He pulled out a chair for me, “For my lady,” He bowed gracefully. I hit his shoulder with the back of my hand gently, and sat down. He pushed me in, and then sat across from me.

“Okay, you try it first,” I rubbed my hands together, anxiously awaiting his review.

“You haven’t tried it?” He asked slowly, pausing.

“No, of course not!” I shook my head, fork in hand.

“Right, of course not.” He held a hand out, “Best to save the first bite for the guest.” He stabbed at the pasta, preparing for a large first taste. He made a show of opening his mouth wide, one eyebrow pricking up as the food hit his tongue. He chewed quickly, and I saw him shudder as he swallowed. “So good,” He said, taking a swig of water.

My mouth hung open. “You liar.”

“No! No, darling, I love it!” He persisted, loading up another bite onto his fork. “It’s so… Wow,” He waved a hand. He moaned into his second bite, wincing slightly.

I buried my face in my hands, then quickly shovelled a forkful of the pasta into my mouth. I slapped my hands over my mouth, forcing myself to swallow.

“What the fuck,” I coughed, “That was like a shot!”

Both his hands covered his face as he tried to hold in his laughter, shoulders shaking and face turning red.

“You’ve been plotting to get me drunk all day, haven’t you?” He accused, reaching for my glass and downing it. “You could just ask, sweetheart. I’d never decline a night in bed with you.”

“Fuck, I really tried,” I sighed, laughing softly from exhaustion and embarrassment, “God, I’m sorry.”

“What are you talking about?” He said, picking up his plate. “I told you, this is really, really quite nice.” He brought the edge of the plate to his lips, and began scraping the pasta into his mouth.

“Wait! No, no, don’t do that!” I shrieked, reaching across the table to grab at the plate.

“Mmm,” was all he could say, mouth full of pasta as he stood up and out of my reach. He nodded enthusiastically, a few noodles dropping onto his white shirt and plopping onto the floor.

I clutched at my chest, gasping between laughs.

“Stop, stop,” I squeaked, and his orange mouth grinned, showing off his empty plate.

“Loved it,” he said, voice muffled as he chewed, “Love you.”

[absolutepokemontrash]

The Seven Demon Lords’ Pet Human

So I’m quite fond of the idea that the lesser demons see MC as the brothers’ dumb pet human up until MC is revealed to be a five star badass who can control the brothers on a whim. But Himiko isn’t okay with being referred to as anyone’s “pet”, and after a very bad day, she’s going to let the brothers know that.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Genre: Half Crack Half Fluff

Warning: This story features my MC, who uses she/her pronouns, if that makes you uncomfortable no harm no foul, see you next time

“Just their pet human,”

“Aw, they let their cute widdle pet walk around all by herself~.”

“The brothers’ new pet looks so delicious…”

Himiko Nanami was not one for demeaning nicknames. She had told Luke over and over again that the reason people kept calling him a chihuahua was because he gave them a reaction, but she just couldn’t follow her own advice. A pet… the brothers’ pet… what complete and utter shit.

She had forged pacts with the seven lords of Hell. She had escaped death more times than she could count. On her first day at RAD, she had gouged out a demon’s eye with her headband for trying to eat her. She had walked Cerberus and survived. Himiko was no dainty little pet.

It was a tragedy that some of the demons that wandered the halls of RAD couldn’t see that. Not all the demons were irredeemable anti-human trash, some were quite sweet. But it only took one weird squishy grape to make Himiko refuse to eat the rest of the bowl. That’s how that saying goes, right?

It was supposed to be a good day, it was a Friday for Christ’s sake! But no, the world at large was conspiring to make Himiko’s forehead vein burst.

First period with Satan went normally for the most part, until the two paired up for an assignment and Himiko decided to give Satan a few pats on the head. A few snickers coming from a few rows behind her drew her attention, and right after Satan left to use the bathroom, that’s when she heard it. The first comment of the day.

“Aww, a pet petting her master, how sweet.”

When Satan returned, Himiko was holding a broken pencil.

To her credit, she didn’t dignify those idiots with a response, but their comment managed to burrow its way into her brain and settle there right when she snapped the pencil.

Second period shouldn’t have been so shitty, Himiko had friends in that class. Friends other than the brothers and the other exchange students, but no. Everything sucks in the Devildom.

Paimon had so sweetly offered to share some of his chips with her when he heard she had skipped breakfast. Himiko was in the middle of happily chowing down when some asshole decided to ruin the cute friendship moment.

“Geez Pai, I thought you’d be more responsible than that~.” A demoness a few rows ahead cooed. “Feeding other people’s pets without asking~.”

Paimon choked on the chip he was chewing on while Himiko gave the demoness a bone chilling glare.

“Sh-she’s not- I’m not-”

“How about you mind your own fucking business?”

The demoness only rolled her eyes and turned back to giggling with her friends. It was truly a shame that at least 60% of all the demon ladies in the school were incredibly mean and/or homicidal, a shame for Himiko because she’s a raging bisexual.

With her appetite lost, Himiko forfeited the rest of the chips to Paimon.

Lunch went by as normal as it could have gone. She sat with the brothers as usual and happily watched their antics. When she left the table to throw her trash away was when all hell broke loose.

“-Pet,”

“-Pet…”

“-Pet.”

“-Pet!”

All those damned whispers reached Himiko’s ears and if she had any less patience she would have pulled her hair out and screamed. When she got back to the table, she spent the rest of her lunch period in silence.

What’s worse was that her next class was with Solomon, and the only seat available was next to him. Great…

“Grouchy today, ms. Nanami?”

“Annoying today, mr. Wizard?”

Solomon let out a quiet and carefree laugh and rested his head on his hand. “Oh Himiko, you know I’m always up for being a little annoying.”

Himiko rolled her eyes and tried to pay attention to the teacher. “Whatever…”

Class went on, but Solomon didn’t let up on his quiet pestering.

“Himiiiiii, tell me what’s wrong, I won’t laugh.”

“Go to hell.”

“Poor choice of words, you’re there with me.”

“I hate you.”

“So mean, I’m just trying to help. Solomon the Wise is known for giving great advice!”

Himiko turned and looked at the immortal sorcerer next to her and saw his pitiful attempt at what looked like puppy dog eyes. She rolled her eyes again and turned back to her work.

“I thought you were known for ordering a baby to be sawed in half.”

“Hey!” Solomon huffed, crossing his arms. “The baby did not get sawed in half. The saner of the two women got to keep the baby, I was being smart.”

“Sure, sure.” Himiko couldn’t hold back a bit of a smile. To her own surprise, Himiko began to weigh the pros and cons of actually telling Solomon what was going on. Hm, on one hand, Solomon was the only other human that might possibly understand what Himiko was dealing with, on the other hand, Solomon was a known shifty bastard and could barely be counted as human at this point. In the end, human solidarity won out.

“Solomon,” Himiko began. “Have you ever gotten called a pet before? Like a demon’s pet..?”

Solomon thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Probably. I’ve been alive too long not to have been called every name under the sometimes lack of sun, but I’ve always been more widely known as someone who makes demons into his pets.”

“Mmm, sure.”

“But fret not Himiko, those closest to you know the truth. You’re no pet.”

Not exactly the heaps of comfort Himiko wanted, but at least Solomon answered truthfully and didn’t say anything that would get on her nerves-

“I don’t know why you’re so upset about that nickname though, you’d look amazing in a collar.”

For what happened to poor Solomon right after he said that, let’s just say a palm reader could read Himiko’s future off Solomon’s face.

In fourth period, Himiko had to hold herself back from bitchslapping someone else who decided it would be a good idea to test her. A quick word of advice to anyone in the Devildom who would like to survive an encounter with Himiko, never, ever, fuck with her headband.

“You fiendish demon!” Luke yapped, trying to help get Himiko’s headband back from the nasty awful no good demon who decided to pluck it off her head and hold it out of reach. “Give that back!”

“N’awwwwww, pet buddies!” The taller demon laughed and dangled the headband a little closer. “So cute! Someone get a picture for Devilgram-”

Luke slammed his foot directly into the demon’s kneecap. The demon practically shrieked and doubled over only to be met with Himiko’s knee in his gut. She daintily plucked the headband from his grasp and quickly pulled Luke out of the room.

“Are you okay?” The moment the two were far enough down the hall, Luke began to fuss over Himiko like a tiny nurse. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“No buddy, I’m fine.” Himiko held out her hand for a high five. “Up high,”

Whack!

“Down low,”

Woosh!

“Too slow.”

“Hey!” Luke whined. “No faaaaaiiiiir!”

———————

No one wants their human to be grumpy, especially not the brothers, so when Himiko spent the rest of the time until dinner holed up in her room, they were a tad concerned.

“My human’s all saaaaaaaaad,” Mammon rested his chin on the table and whined. The rest of the brothers sans Asmo were sitting at the table awaiting dinner. “Himiko said she didn’t wanna play the Game of Life, and it’s like, the one game she’s good at…”

“Yeah, she’s been pissy all day.” Belphie added before quietly yawning. “What’d you do, Mammon?”

“Me?!” Mammon sputtered, practically scrambling out of his seat and pointing an accusatory finger at his brothers. “I didn’t do shit! What about you idiots?!”

“Well, let’s look at what we know,” Satan said, waving off Mammon. “During first period we partnered up for a project, I left to use the restroom, then when I came back she looked upset. During lunch when she left, she came back and didn’t speak the rest of the lunch period. Any theories?”

Beel raised his hand, and Satan nodded to him. “Himiko has terrible separation anxiety now, she can’t go too long without us.”

Satan gave Beel a few nods, then turned to the others. “That’s one guess. Anyone else?”

Mammon raised his hand, and Satan promptly ignored him.

“Oi! Pay attention to me!” Mammon stuck his hand in the air and waved harder. “She’s angry because she’s failin’ a class! Every time we’re not distractin’ her, she remembers!”

“I would have heard if she was failing a class.” Lucifer finally piped up from the head of the table, his face was buried in RAD’s newspaper. “You on the other hand, Mammon, are failing three of your four classes this semester.”

Mammon slid back into his seat and scratched the back of his neck. “About thaaaaaat, I need money for uh… for new books n’ pencils n’ shit. That’s why I’m failin’, you’ll lend me money, won’t ya big bro?”

Lucifer didn’t get to respond as Asmo burst into the door of the dining room with a pot of pasta that was almost half his height. “DINNER IS SERVED~!”

As everyone settled in to eat, Himiko finally made her appearance and plopped herself down in her usual seat next to Mammon and helped herself to the pasta with rosé sauce.

“It’s good! It’s good right?” Asmo peppered the group with questions about the food and how good he did. Himiko had to admit, this was damn good pasta. Smooth, creamy, cheesy, all that was missing was garlic bread. In a matter of minutes Himiko had cleared her first bowl and was going in for seconds.

“So Himiko,” Satan said as Himiko continued to shovel pasta into her face at a pace that could rival Beel. “We’ve noticed you’ve been looking a little upset today, care to satiate our curiosity?”

Himiko paused mid bite, which wasn’t doing wonders for her appearance considering she had sauce on the tip of her nose. But still, how sweet of her boys to notice, it made her cold dead little heart swell with love.

“Oh you know, just idiots at school not worth my attention.”

“What have they been saying?” Asmo asked, his voice unusually stiff.

“They’ve been calling me you guys’ pet.” Himiko grumbled. “How ridiculous is that?”

The clattering of forks and the chewing of food halted as the boys went completely silent. Himiko shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she looked around. Had what those demons said been a greater insult to the boys than she-

“Pfff- HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Mammon erupted into laughter and the rest of the brothers followed suit.

“G-Geez,” Belphie snickered, feigning wiping a tear from his eye. “Humans are so sensitive.”

“Excuse me?!” Himiko gripped her fork so hard she was sure it would leave indents.

“I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, Himi,” Levi said between bouts of cackling. “But you are a teeny tiny little normie human surrounded by well… us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?! That I should just roll over and take it!?” Himiko immediately turned and pointed at Belphie. “Don’t you dare.”

Belphie’s mouth was open to make a comment about Himiko’s poor choice of words, but the pact activated and any words died in his throat. Belphie flipped her off and Himiko returned the gesture.

“Himiko,” Beel was sweet enough to not laugh at Himiko’s predicament. “It’s not that big of a deal. Besides, people love their pets.”

As sweet as Beel thought his words were being, Himiko really wanted to send him to bed without dinner.

“Yes, yes, Beel’s right.” Satan took a deep breath and collected himself after his laughing fit had finally ceased. “It’s nothing to worry about, Himiko. It shouldn’t be bothering you. Just don’t listen.”

Himiko somehow gripped her fork even tighter as she levelled her ice cold glare at Satan. “Thank you so much for demonsplaining how I should deal with and feel about the very human problem of people seeing me as some toy.”

The venom in her words seemed to snap the rest of the table out of their giggly stupor, and Mammon gave Himiko a few pats on the back.

“Ah don’t worry about it, Himiko. I’ll fight any bastard who says anythin’ like that.” Suddenly realizing he hadn’t been a tsundere for five whole minutes, Mammon went red and snatched his hand away. “Ya know, just because you’d probably use the pact and order me to anyway…”

“I’m not a dere~” Levi began to softly sing, Himiko perked up and grabbed Mammon’s cheek.

“A tsun-tsundere~”

“Not that song again!”

That should have been the end of that whole debacle. Himiko’s decent mood had been restored and all was well! The gang chatted amicably for the rest of dinner. Himiko made sure to heap loads of praise on Asmo for his amazing pasta. She felt a part of her die when she went in for fourths and the spoon scraped the bottom of the pot.

Too bad nothing ever goes smoothly in the Devildom.

Since it was Asmo’s night to cook, it was Himiko’s night to do dishes, so she got up and began to clear the table. As she began to collect the unused knives, Lucifer, not looking up from his newspaper, handed Himiko his plate.

“Thank you, pet, that’ll be all.”

Himiko stopped dead in her tracks and her grip on the plate tightened. “Repeat that, Lucifer?”

“Thank you, pet, that’ll be all.”

A tiny smirk spread across Lucifer’s face, which only served to make Himiko’s blood boil. If he thought he could make a joke about that while she was still mad he had another thing coming.

As quick as a flash, she had whipped the plate straight at the ground, shattering it into dozens of tiny pieces, before Lucifer even had a chance to say anything, Himiko was standing in front of him with a frigid glare on her face.

“Lucifer, put your hand flat on the table and spread your fingers. Keep quiet.”

With no choice but to obey, Lucifer slapped his hand down on the dining table, though, the glare he was giving her wasn’t any less murderous. Not caring, Himiko’s gaze remained cold and calculating, she turned to the other brothers, who were rooted in place from sheer shock. “Stay.”

“I’d just like to get something out there to you seven,” Himiko said calmly, holding one of the knives in her right hand and waving it around like it was the most casual thing in the universe. “I, am no one’s pet,”

Himiko turned and slammed the knife right between Lucifer’s middle and index fingers, imbedding it deep in the table.

“Arm candy,”

The second knife was slammed right in between Lucifer’s middle and pointer finger.

“Or accessory.”

The final knife went between his index and pinkie finger. Himiko’s next words were slow and deliberate as she stared the strongest of the brothers directly in the eyes.

“I am your friend, and equal, I won’t accept being anything less, whether it’s a joke, or not. You agreed to those terms the day we made our pact, didn’t we Lucifer? Have you changed your mind?”

It was so quiet you could hear Henry 2.0 swimming around in Levi’s room upstairs. No one dared to breathe as the seconds ticked past.

Finally, Lucifer responded, his voice tinged with exasperation. “No Himiko, I haven’t.”

“Good,” A small triumphant smile appeared on Himiko’s face as she removed the knives from the table and finished up cleaning the table. “That goes for the rest of you boys too, got it?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Mhm.”

“Yes…”

As Himiko walked into the kitchen to do everyone’s dishes, they quietly reminded themselves exactly who they were dealing with. Himiko Nanami was no dainty little human, no no no, she was the one master to rule them all, and by god was she going to make sure no one ever forgot.

——————

AAAAAAAA THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE!!!! I really need to write more stuff with Himiko! Inspiration struck at like… 10 this morning and I just ran with it.

Now on one hand, I can see that people might think that Himiko overreacted to Lucifer’s little joke a tad. Buuuuuuuuuuut she’s gotta shut down that shit early, right? She doesn’t want “pet” to be the next “chihuahua”.

Lucifer’s probably trying to stick his nose back in his newspaper as he wonders whether he’s incredibly enraged or unbelievably turned on.

Hope you all enjoyed! Now back to the regularly scheduled shitposting.

[candied-peach]

ao3: “the mirror is a lie” rating: T warnings: food, eating disorders, self harm, self hatred, sympathetic deceit, analoceit genre: hurt/comfort description: Logan has an eating disorder. (for anon prompt:  "Okay so: analoceit with V or Lo (you pick which) who struggles with an ed(specifically ana). problem is no one knows because they've never "followed though" with it because they fight it all the time(bonus if fighting it is 'easier' bc they fight s/h / suididal thoughts anyway) so they have to barely keep together everytime someone mentions their weight bc they're 'chubby' (no unsymp anyone please) and they get soft affection and comfort from the boyfs sorry if this doesn't make sense") (song lyrics are from “empty” by boyinaband and jaiden)

Mirror mirror on the wall, yeah Tunnel vision on the flaws In the scale of things it's unimportant So no talking, but it's still an intrusive thought

It isn't logical. He knows that. He knows his routine isn't very logical, either. It's fine when he wakes up and brushes his teeth (for precisely two minutes, and he always uses the same amount of spearmint-flavored toothpaste on the medium-firm bristles). Dressing doesn't take long- it isn't like he's some kind of fashion icon. The most complicated step is fixing his tie, and at this point, he could probably do it in his sleep. The next step the others know about is breakfast and he will get there, but before that step, Logan has a secret one.

And it's one he knows isn't very rational at all.

He stands in front of the mirror in his attached bathroom. It's a full-sized mirror, lingering on all his flaws in painful detail. He lifts up his shirt, exploring the contours of his pudgy stomach with ruthless fingers, squeezing and pinching until he frowns at the sting. He welcomes it, too, though, because if he were better at this, he would have nothing to grab. Don't eat thumps in tune with his heartbeat as he tucks his shirt back in and runs a comb through his hair. That thought's not logical, either. He needs to eat. Well, he doesn't technically need to- none of the sides need to eat, they aren't real that way- but they perform better if they do. It helps Thomas when they eat and how can Logan deny that?

"Chocolate chip waffles!" Patton chirps in response to Roman's inquiry as Logan makes his way downstairs, heading straight for the coffee pot. He has to get there first, or Patton will serve him sugar and cream just the way he likes it and he knows he only deserves it black.

Staring down at a plate filled with three waffles, Logan feels sick. He doesn't want to eat any of it. Even breathing the aromatic air above it feels laden with empty calories. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, pretending he doesn't see Virgil's and Janus's concerned looks, to either side of him. He cuts off a piece of waffle with his fork and raises it to his lips, chewing automatically. It feels like he's eating chocolate-scented couch stuffing.

"Are you all right?" Janus asks him, softly, under the clamor of the others. Logan tightly nods, but he knows that it's not reassuring. He wouldn't believe it either. Today was supposed to be a good day.

Been getting even worse All the days begin to merge, yeah Just a blurry haze and now it's Almost second nature to ignore the urges

It gets worse that night. Dinner is shrimp alfredo pasta, heavy and cloying. Logan feels his throat narrow to a pinhole as he attempts to shovel it down. He wishes he could blame the sensation on a shellfish allergy. He knows it's not.

The others choose a movie to watch. He isn't sure what it is. Some Disney movie, naturally. With Roman around, it's hard to choose anything else, although technically, they all get an opportunity to pick a movie throughout the week. Logan's choices are rarely approved of by more than Janus and Virgil (and occasionally Remus, oddly enough).

"Can I sit by you, Lo?" Patton asks. "You make the best pillow!" He doesn't mean anything by it, Logan tries to convince himself, static roaring in his ears. Don't be irrational. It's a simple question, Logan, it only requires a simple answer.

"Of course, Pat," he croaks out, through dry lips. "I'll be right back." He walks up the stairs- walks, but doesn't run- and he doesn't notice the glance his boyfriends exchange, nor the similar string of excuses made as they trail behind him.

When he reaches his room and the door is safely tucked shut, he collapses by the foot of his bed, doubling in on himself and cursing every inch of his disturbing fat, squishy body. He doesn't have to be this way. He shouldn't be this way. He wouldn't be this way if he wasn't such a coward. He drives his fists into the tops of his thighs as hard as he can, relishing the pain. He doesn't hear the door behind him open, or the twin intakes of breath seeing him disheveled on the floor, muttering self-hatred into his lap.

I can reach out To someone not like me I can help my mind learn to trust my body

"Lo-" and Virgil is there, softly coaxing him back into purple-clad arms, and Janus is facing him, concern bright in mismatched eyes, and then it all blurs in a wash of kaleidoscope colors, and Logan realizes he's crying.

"I just-" He stops, hiccuping and hating himself for it.

"Take your time," Janus quietly encourages. "No one here is judging you, Logan. No one is pressuring you. Take as long as you need."

"I hate myself," Logan blurts out. "I'm sorry, I know it's not logical, but I-" He stops again. Virgil rubs slow, soothing circles on the tops of his hands, steadying him. He can feel Virgil's breath stirring his hair.

"I hate myself," he repeats, starting anew. "I hate my body. It's disgusting. It's too fat. It's wrong. I should look more like Thomas and I don't. I- I like Crofters too much and I hate it and I wish that Thomas had never found that jam brand in the first place because maybe that was the start of my downward spiral and maybe I wouldn't be this way if it wasn't for Crofters." He shakes his head, staring at the floor.

"We love you," Janus says. "No matter what you look like, Lo. We love you. I could stay here a thousand years and never run out of things to say about how much I admire you and your body. But I know that self-hatred and body dysmorphia aren't so easily shaken." He looks down at ungloved hands and Logan can see the spattering of scales there.

"I love you and I love your body," Virgil chimes in. "And whatever we can do to help, we want to."

"You- you do?" Logan stammers in surprise. Janus scoots closer, taking one of Logan's hands.

"Of course we do," Janus says. "You're our boyfriend. We might not have taken wedding vows but I, for one, still apply that whole 'sickness and in health' thing."

"Even if it takes months? Or- or years?" Logan asks.

"Even if it takes eternity," Virgil says. "You're worth it, Logan."

The world goes out of focus again, thanks to another steady wash of tears, but Logan can't bring himself to care.

"Do you want to go back to the movie?" Janus asks, a long while later. Logan nestles himself deeper in Virgil's arms.

"If it's with you two, I'll go anywhere," he says. "Thank you."

tag list:  @k9cat @paravigilant-virgil @croftergamer @airiervessel @littlestliu @matthindavick @ambersky0319 @yalltookmyurlideas @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @bexxbeauty @killjoy-3000 @the-sunshine-dims @sneaky-slytherin @reesiereads @rabbitsartcorner @quackerz-creations  

[justjessame]

Put Me In Coach 4

The rest of my senior year was pretty fucking pleasant. Negan and I spent as much time together as we could manage, he’d told his wife that he wanted freedom and moved into a nicer than I’d expected short term apartment. It was far enough from school and my house for visits to be easy. Or at least unnoticeable by anyone we didn’t want to notice.

Mom suspected I might have ‘a special guy’ in my life, but I nearly spit my water out during dinner when she made the assumption it was Joe. Fuck, I was choking.

“No,” I gasped, taking my napkin in hand to try to wipe my face and chest dry of the dribbles. I cleared my throat, drying to get my air and voice back. “Joe and I didn’t work out.” Under fucking statement of the decade. “There’s someone, but we’re in the early stages.” I had to force myself not to give a weird giggle that was threatening to erupt. Early stages? He’d left his wife. We fucked like bunnies every single chance we got. And right now? He was making noises about transferring to a school near the college I was heading off to.

“Do we get to meet this mystery boy?” My dad asked, suddenly more interested in me than in his slice of roast.

I nearly shivered at the absolute horror of Negan facing off against my suit and tie wearing father. Shit. “Like I said, Dad, it’s still early.” I took another sip of water, hoping I’d get to swallow it this time.

Dinner went on at a more normal tone after that. Dad went back to studying the meat, Mom went back to tsk-ing at the centerpiece, and I was left to focus on how I was going to tell them. How should I, their only child and pride of their lives, explain to them that I’ve fallen in love with a married man who happened to be my gym teacher? Fuck a duck sideways with a rusty pitchfork. Once I’d eaten my fill, I left the table and rushed upstairs. Shit, just fucking shit.

My phone dinged and I smiled through the terrifying reality of my future.

Coming over tonight, princess?

My grin grew as my fingers flashed across the keyboard.

Oh I better be cumming. Over and over. Tonight.

I hit send and tossed the phone down as I pulled open my closet doors. I heard the ding of his reply and then the phone rang. I pulled out a dress and tossed it on the bed. Picking up the phone, I was surprised to hear Eric’s voice instead of Negan’s.

“Don’t sound so fucking happy to hear my voice, you rancid whore.” I could hear his eyes roll from across the street. “I know you’re probably three steps away from riding Coach Negan into a really really hot fucking lather, but I NEED you.”

“Stop being so melodramatic, you fucking Queen.” I mocked. “What’s the issue?”

He was freaking out alright. He had a date, a really important date, to him anyway. And he was having a full on panic attack over his outfit. Honestly, this boy was worse than Mary. After promising, repeatedly, to come over as soon as I was ready for my own ‘date’, I hung up and checked the text that came in first.

Making dinner, pasta ok?

Fuck, I’d just eaten with the fucking parents. Shit. Maybe I could SQUEEZE a small serving in.

Sure.

I prayed that I could choke down more food. Negan was trying so fucking hard to go full on real relationship with me, that having him cook dinner was a huge deal. I just hadn’t had the fucking forethought to NOT eat. I pulled on the dress I’d chosen, slipped a pair of flats on my feet and brushed out my hair so the curls fell just right down my back. A tiny headband to keep my far too long fucking bangs out of my face, and I was ready to head out. Another ding sounded and I swore.

Bitch, the fuck you at?

Damn it, Eric. I typed in my assurances that I was on my fucking way NOW, and then a quick shout of parting to Mom and Dad and I was out the door. It took seconds to cross the street and walk into Eric’s house. Knocking was unnecessary with Eric’s family. Unlike my parents, his were shockingly progressive and open. I shouted out a greeting to his mom and looked up to see him glaring down at me from the top of the staircase. Jesus calm down.

“Get your fucking ass up here, you goddamn witch.” Damn it, son. I rushed up as his mom’s laughter followed me. She was as used to his weirdness as I was, more so I guess since she’d pooped him out.

Entering his room, I sucked in a breath. It looked like an Old Navy had exploded inside. I’d never seen so many clothes just EVERYWHERE. Fuck. “What the shit?” I looked around and finally my eyes landed on him standing near the completely empty closet.

“Help.” He squeaked. And I fought laughing.

A half an hour later, Eric was dressed, his hair was coiffed, and he looked hot. Well, hot for a totally flaming gay dude who was thirsty for dick. Hugging him and giving him a pep talk, I rushed back out the front door with another shouted parting to his mom and was in my car on the way to Negan’s.

My phone rang as I was pulling into his parking lot. “Hello?” I answered as I parked.

“Princess? Are you alright?” Shit, I hadn’t let him know about Eric.

I gave a quiet chuckle. “I’m here, Negan. Eric had an-” I rolled my eyes at the use of the word. “Emergency.”

“Is he OK?” The concern in my voice made me want to slap Eric shitless. I was out of the car and walking up the sidewalk as I shook my head.

“He’s fine,” I answered, smiling as I heard him exhale in relief. “Not that he has the perfect outfit.”

“WHAT?” I held back a laugh and his door opened in front of me. He was looking at me like I was insane as I tucked my phone in my bag. “An outfit is an emergency?” I came closer and wrapped my arms around his waist.

“Have you met Eric?” I felt him nod above me. “Yes, an outfit is an emergency.” I tilted my head back to look up at him as he pulled me inside and shut the door. “Kiss me.” It wasn’t really a demand, but more like an urgent request. He raised an eyebrow. “Please.” Smiling, he lowered his face to mine and gave me what I wanted.

I could smell the tomatoes he’d used in the sauce. I could smell the yeast of the bread he was heating. And yet, the ONLY thing I wanted to taste was him. Which is why I groaned when he pulled away. Fuck.

“Come on, sweetheart, dinner first, then-” he left it hanging. I bit my lip and let him link the fingers of our hand and pull me along to the kitchen. He’d set the table with a candle and dimmed the lights. Ugh, who knew that Coach Negan could be romantic? I mentally raised my hand. Me.

He held my chair and after I sat took his own. “How was your day?” I asked, as he dished his own serving out. Handing me the bowls, I took slightly more than I wanted or thought I could stomach shoveling in. I grabbed the smallest slice of warm bread I could, and waited for him to take his first bite.

“Not bad,” he answered, after he swallowed. He was watching me and glanced at my plate. “Not hungry?” Fuck.

“For food?” I countered, hoping that sounding as starving for him as I always seemed to be would do the trick.

He smirked and took another bite. “Eat, princess, you’re gonna need your strength.” Fuck, that twist in my stomach of want and lust came hard and fast.

I twirled my pasta around my fork and took a bite. Shit. I moaned at the flavor. Jesus God, who fucking would have guessed that he could fucking cook? I looked up at him and saw, even through the dim light and candle flame flickering, how dark his eyes looked. Damn. Swallowing carefully, I licked my lip and saw his eyes flick to the movement. “Something wrong?”

“Not sure I’ve ever heard that noise come out of your mouth, Amara.” How fucking low could his voice get? “Makes me want to find out what else makes you make that noise.” Shit, I had to squeeze my thighs together at that promise.

“You up for that challenge, Coach?” I asked, playing with my fork.

“You trying to dare me, princess?” He volleyed back.

And then dinner was forgotten, even if that fucking sauce alone made me want to rethink my position for a moment, but then my position was on top of the counter of the small bar and he was cradled between my knees and I forgot the fucking problem all together. He was inside of me and his mouth was latched onto my neck as I made some noises that no human being had possibly ever made in the history of humankind.

“Fuck, Amara,” he breathed into my skin and I growled at the feeling. “That’s right, sweetheart, clamp right the fuck down on me.” I arched forward into his body and he hissed and pulled away from my neck. His eyes on mine, he kept thrusting, watching my face as I bit my lip to keep from screaming. “Let go, princess, we’re all the fuck alone, remember?” And I did. I screamed his name. I begged, I pleaded. I demanded, I ordered. I wanted so fucking much and I got every damn thing I asked for.

Panting and leaning into me, I felt Negan chuckle. “When did you eat with your parents?” I grinned at him, fuck, he knew everything.

“About ten minutes before you told me you were making me dinner.” I answered, holding him to me with my knees tight. “I’m sorry.” I kissed his chin, then his cheek. “I’m sorry I was late.” A kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that I’d eaten.” I kissed his nose. “I’m sorry that I don’t have room for more of that fucking amazing sauce you made.” He chuckled again. “I’m sorry that you’re trying so fucking hard and I keep screwing up.” My lips brushed his.

“Amara,” he pulled back so he could look me fully in the face. “You’re not screwing up, honey.” He brushed his nose against mine. “This is new, so fucking new, for both of us. We get a learning curve.” His lips met mine again. “But,” he’d pulled back a bit again. “If you don’t fucking learn to call or text to tell me you’re gonna be fucking late? You won’t be able to sit for a goddamn week.” Shit.

 It took a while. That learning curve he offered, for us to find our stride. Our new normal. I’d give him a heads up when I couldn’t bow out of dinner with Mom and Dad. He’d give me a heads up if he wanted to treat me to dinner, or a movie, which we did without blinking. We dated. Like normal people would. Well, if one of the normal people had a career that could be ruined if the relationship he was enjoying with the other normal person became public.

We found ways to do dates that didn’t threaten either of our futures. Or our combined future? Shit, I was usually so verbose. The point is, we found a retro drive thru in a nearby town that we took full advantage of, sometimes we even paid attention to the movie playing. We had dinner in small diners. We found ways to be a couple without having to face any negative parts that us being together could potentially cause. Mostly.

I had texted him to let him know that dinner with the parents was mandatory, for reasons unspecified by the parents. I didn’t let him know that I’d been given a dress code for the dinner. Or that my mom was shooting me weird looks. Why? Because I didn’t fucking understand the underlying current of the fucking requests.

Not until, about twenty minutes before this required to attend dinner was scheduled to start, the doorbell rang. “Amara, sweetie, could you answer the door?” My mom called from the kitchen.

Sure, fuck, why not? I thought, glancing in the entryway mirror at the dress my mom had practically picked out of my closet for me to wear. Actually, she did pick it out. Literally. Opening the door I bit back an actual curse. Joe Malberry and an older couple that must be his parents. What the literal hell?

“Good evening.” I offered, breeding taking over my warring brain. Joe was eyeing me head to toe and I was considering making my mom do more than tsk over the fucking centerpiece. I stood back and let the three of them in. They weren’t wearing coats, so I didn’t have to offer to collect them like a fucking coat check girl.

“Ah, hello,” my mom breathed as she glided into the entryway. “Welcome to our home.” She wasn’t looking at me, so I doubt she noticed my look of fucking irritation at this bullshit. “I’m so happy you accepted my invitation on such short notice.” What the fuck?

She was ushering them into the family room where I could hear my dad greeting them. I was glaring so hard at my mother’s back that she should have felt scorch marks. Damn her. I pulled my cell from a pocket in my dress and shot a text to Eric.

Mom invited JOE FUCKING MALBERRY and his FUCKING PARENTS for DINNER. I am going to fucking commit parricide.

I felt the vibration of his reply almost immediately as I slowly walked to the family room.

JESUS...Negan’s gonna fucking tan your ass so hard that it’ll be picked up on infrared scanners for miles.

Fuck. I rolled my eyes. Choices. Text Negan for the heads up, like a good girl and good partner? Or pretend that I wasn’t in the fucking Twilight Zone of all dinners? I tapped out the text.

I didn’t know. I FUCKING swear I didn’t know. But Mom invited Joe and his parents for dinner tonight. Fuck. I’d rather be with you. Or on the moon right now.

I heard and felt nothing come from my cell. Nothing. No vibrations. No ding. No ring. Nothing. But as we were sitting down in the dining room, the doorbell chimed. Fuck. I closed my eyes, and waited.

“Amara, darling,” I opened my eyes to see my mom asking with her eyes for me to answer the damn door. Thank god.

“Yes, of course.” I stood up and noticed that Joe hadn’t rushed to hold my chair. Unlike Negan, by the way. “Excuse me.”

I nearly ran to the door, hoping beyond hope that Eric had come to my rescue. But standing on the other side of the door wasn’t Eric. It wasn’t Mary. Instead, Negan was standing there looking like a fucking thundercloud. Shit.

“Amara,” he gritted through his teeth. I must have looked scared because he pulled me to him and held me to his chest. “You OK?” I nodded, and breathed in his scent.

“Yeah, just REALLY didn’t fucking expect to attend the dinner party from hell tonight.” I was murmuring into his chest. “Thank you for coming to check on me.”

“That’s not why I’m here, sweetheart.” What? Shit. “I’m here to meet your parents.” Damn it.

[lukegoestoolivegarden]

Visit 11 - Travis Rex

I was on a first date back in, oh, let’s call it 2002 or so. We had met through Match.com, the initial “How you doin’?” turning into a string of emails before we finally met up at the Highland Grill (and just to be clear, it’s called that because it’s in Highland Park not because the kilt-clad wait staff only serve haggis while they make disparaging comments about the English).

Online dating was perfect for someone like me in the pre-swipe right era of the early 2000s. After the initial “How you doin’?” I had the opportunity to write my way into a courtship though it wasn’t exactly Victorian “My Dearest Krystyn, I hopeth this electronic mail reaches you well. I have returned from my journey to the far off land of ‘Target’ where I obtained a box of pressed fruit sold by the foot. Imagine my surprise my dearest, to unroll one and fine not one foot, nor two but three! Thrice the feet of Razzamatazz I had been expecting, nearly a full cubit! I was nearly overcome with surprise and had to rest upon the chaise for a moment.”

So Sarah and I had been messaging for a while. She was a doctor, or nearly a doctor, I forget which, and we sat in the dusky restaurant. I reached out to take a sip of wine, as she talked about going to UW-La Cross, my hand visibly shaking like I was caught in an earthquake or like that one guy in the parade scene of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

“I’m not really nervous,” I said noticing her eyes had darted to my outstretched hand.

“Oh I know. I had you diagnosed within the first couple of minutes. Let me guess, other members of your family do this too?” She was right - an evening meal of soup left the table looking like it was the front row of a Gallagher show. I nodded and she went on explaining what benign familial tremors are, smiling patiently at my questions about these tremors involved underground snake looking things that could only be killed by the dad from Family Ties and Reba McEntire (answer: no)

We went on a few more dates before parting ways. “You’re just such a different person when you write than you are face-to-face.” She’s not wrong, and it certainly wasn’t the first or last time I would hear that. In person, I’m shy, anxious, and awkward. The type of person who will find space along the wall at a party and put down roots, hardly moving the entire night. I lurk at the edges of social circles, shunning opportunities to be the center of attention whenever possible.

Which is why so many who know me are fascinated that I’m also Travis Rex.

Travis is the name adopted for the inflatable T-Rex costume that’s become a constant companion on trips and running adventures (and yes, he has a twitter account)

Travis does things like this:

And this:

Today was the “T-Rex Trail 10k” a trail running fatass (which isn’t as inflammatory as it sounds - it basically means a low-key, non-competitive run) an event that was NOT focused around Travis. Oh sure, he showed up, but he was there as a secondary dinosaur. And Travis did what Travis does. Playing on the swings in the playground. Going for a run. Directing traffic with a light saber. You know, standard dinosaur stuff.

I peeled off the costume, the heat rolling off in steamy clouds in the still chiilly morning and grabbed a cup of coffee and a donut. And stood around awkwardly making small-talk. Minutes earlier I had been chasing children on the playground debating if I could cross the monkey bars, but realizing that my arms are more SpongeBob, less Lou Ferrigno. (I also learned trying to dunk a basketball on a 7 foot hoop that there’s very little arm extension). My working theory of why T-Rex went extinct involves all the T-Rex Chow (slogan: “T-Rex Chow makes your mouth say Wow.” The slogan for T-Rex Chow Lite, in case you’re curious, is “Make Your T-Rexy T-Sexy!”) being on the top shelf in the kitchen.

As Travis, I had been high-fiving people and standing in a clearing doing Vrikisana (tree pose) though when you’re doing “T-rexisana” you can’t really get your arms above your head. As Luke, I spent several minutes selecting a donut so that way I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.

And at Olive Garden, as Luke, I sat at the bar, scrolling through Facebook, shoveling in angel hair pasta and waiting for the bartender to come back so I could ask for a to-go box.

Visit 11 - Salad, bread sticks (2), angel hair with five cheese marinara.