#Level: impossible

[cupcakeinat0r]

You've always known just how big Miguel is. No, not in that way; just big in general. There are short people, average people, tall people, and then there’s Miguel. Big and heavy. He’s reluctant when you ask him to be your “weighted blanket” because he always feels like he might seriously hurt you. Nonetheless, you always tell him how much you love the feeling. You love everything about his size and all the benefits it comes with. You wouldn’t change Miguel in the slightest. No way. . . But there’s this one thing.

 It’ll be super late into the night, and let’s say it’s Winter to make things worse. 

Well, you thought you started the night wrapped and bundled up in y’all’s down-feathered comforter, whipped out from the closet for frigid nights like these. You even wore your thermal pajamas, that’s how cold it was, so you definitely know you fell asleep extra cozy and toasty for the night. To go even further, Miguel always wraps an arm around you before drifting off, pulling the distinct aroma of your clothes and skin closer to his face. . . So why do you still feel cold? 

You remain asleep until your skin can no longer bear the invasive crisp of the air. Dejected, your eyes open, your gaze leading from the wall down to the bed around you.

You twist your head to see behind you, your eyes following along the bed until you find the culprit.

So that’s why I’m cold. Sucker took all of the blanket to his side. 

Your expression is a mix of reproach and borderline laughter. You hold it in so as to not wake him, of course. You did have to admit, despite it costing your comfort and warmth, the sight next to you was just too darn cute. You almost wanna take a picture of the precious crime scene. 

You reckon that, deep in his sleep, Miguel had turned over, and in doing so, brought all of the blanket with him. With tired eyes, you turn your whole body now to face him, his back facing you. You lay there, looking on with a soft smile. Your eyes scan all the shapes and edges; how the mountain of his figure rises and falls. You hold in a chuckle whenever he snores significantly louder. 

When you’ve had enough, you turn back around, and as quietly as possible, you get up to grab another blanket. The other move would’ve been to pull back your portion of the blanket, but there was the risk of waking him, so you settled for grabbing another one.

You come back, snuggled in your assigned spot on the mattress and allow sleep to take you for the second time that night. 

It’s not long before you feel shuffling in the bed. Your eyes crack open when you feel a different, more familiar warmth. You see that the throw blanket you grabbed from one of the lounge chairs is no longer on you, but on the floor. Instead, on your body is all of the comforter that had been stolen from you, in addition to the arm that initially took it. 

“Mmsorry, beba,” with eyes still closed, he mumbles through his half-awake state, ”I’ll buy us a bigger blanket”. 

Your lips curl in your slumber, the feeling of Miguel’s body cocooning yours conquering any blanket or comforter in the world.

<3

[captainpriceslilwife]

little thing with John Price that goes from angst to smut to angst again and then fluff and back to smut....pretty much checked all the boxes here i think. okay yay <3 also ill be honest...idk if i like how this turned out, but.....here it is *serves up half-eaten charcuterie board made from lunchables*

Basically Price is using your daddy kink as a trojan horse to rewrite your neural pathways <3 but like...with love Shoutout @coco-killed-the-angels for implanting these worms (insecure girl x price) into my brain <333 CW: deep insecurities (bc i'm the one writing it, so...it's a given), daddy kink, crying, praise kink (?) - does it count if he's just praising you in a sexual setting and its not necessarily a kink idk, if you're allergic to true, deep love and you just want smut this is not the work for you, not DDLG but like...the cousin of it. Or sibling. DDLG adjacent.

Your day had started off rough.

Well, the whole week, really. With deadlines and headaches looming over your head, it's no wonder that you ended up in such a state this morning.

You were just barely fighting the childish urge to just whack the brush over your head, so you tried to move on to putting your makeup. Which only ended in you crying in frustration when it started to cake up, and then you began crying even harder when your tears started making the rest of it slide off of your face.

"So fucking stupid." You had whispered under your breath as your shaky hands wiped at your face in a sorry attempt to fix everything - only to make it worse.

That's how John found you in the bathroom, furiously scrubbing at your face with a towel to wipe everything off as you sobbed quietly to yourself.

"Woah, woah, woah...sweetheart." His hands are quick to wrap around yours to halt your movements, and you try to bow your head to avoid his gaze, but he tilts his head right alongside you. "What's all this, huh? What's wrong, sweet girl?"

And he tries his hardest to comfort you, he really does, but you're just so lost in your anguish that you blow up in his face the moment he suggests you be gentle with yourself.

"No! I have to wear makeup today because my face is breaking out and I look ugly, b-but I keep ruining it because I'm crying! God, I can't do anything without ruining it!"

Maybe you were just hormonal or about to get your period, but it didn't matter. Your insecurities sound the same no matter what chemical is bouncing around in your brain to cause it.

Which is how you ended up here - on your hands and knees on the bed, facing the mirror on the dresser with John's cock nestled deep inside of you.

He had already been working you up for hours, teasing and licking and fingering you until you could barely hold yourself up - which explains why he's got one hand curled at the base of your skull to hold your head up by your hair to force you to watch as he fucks you.

But he's not even fucking you. He's just...sitting inside of you. Not moving. Making you whine and whimper as he stares at you through the smudged reflection of the mirror. You plead with him quietly, fresh tears blooming to wash away the dried tracks from your earlier malaise, but he just shakes his head and pulls your hair back a bit more.

"I already told you what to do, sweetheart. Go on." But you just blink at him dumbly with those teary eyes, too far gone to remember how you got here, let alone what he just said five seconds ago. But that's alright - if war taught him anything, it was how to be patient. Especially with a soft thing like you.

"Daddy's not moving until you say something you like about yourself."

Oh, right. That.

You had kind of been hoping he would just fuck your brains out so you could ignore your little meltdown earlier and forget it ever happened - but clearly John had different plans.

"I don't want to."

Brat.

Even when you were trembling beneath him and begging him to fuck you, you still had the nerve to talk back to him. But John knows you well enough to know that you aren't acting out just for the fun of it. So, he isn't going to punish you now. You're upset, and insecure, and you just want him to take it all away so you don't have to think about it.

Which is exactly what he's doing - even if you can't see it from where you are mentally. He's just playing the long game.

"One thing, baby." He murmurs in your ear, locking eyes with you in the mirror as he curls himself over your back to press his hairy chest into you, making you mewl softly. "Just say one little thing you like about yourself, and Daddy will fuck you, just like you want. I promise."

And you poor thing - you're just so desperate. You're cunt is leaking around his cock and no matter how much you try to rock your hips back to get some kind of friction, he's holding you too tight to make any real progress.

So you give up. Or give in. Either way, you decide to just let go and think of something - if only just to get him to pound you into the mattress the way you wanted.

But when you looked at yourself in the mirror - all puffy eyes, splotchy cheeks, and tangled hair - all you could see is what you didn't like.

Every bump, every scar, every part that's too much, and every part that's not enough. Suddenly every mean voice in your head has a stage - telling you about all the times you failed and how you aren't worthy of anything good in this world. Ugly, stupid, worthless, annoying-

There's nothing you can think of, even to just throw out meaninglessly to get him to hop off your case. Nothing.

And all you can do is choke out a pathetic sob - lower lip trembling violently as you squeeze your eyes shut to block out the mean voices circling around in your head. "Daddy, I can't...I c-can't think of anything."

He had expected a bit of resistance from you, but the way your face crumpled so sadly at the prospect of complimenting yourself made his heart ache in his chest. Clearly your insecurities were running deeper than surface-level, and he'd have his fair share of work cut out for him if he wanted to make you feel better.

"Shh, hey, hey, hey. It's okay." He coos softly, removing his hand from your hair to curl it around you to rest it against your sternum. He sits back against the bed and takes you right along with him, planting you on his lap with your back pressed against his chest - with his cock still inside of you. You're grateful for it, since you know you'd just spiral even more if he took it out and left you feeling empty and cold while you were already on the verge of a complete breakdown. "Daddy can help. I'll help you out, sweetheart."

"We can think of things together, my love. It's okay." He murmurs quietly as he wraps his arms around you, rocking you back and forth slightly as he gently hushes your tears. His thumb comes up to wipe away the fresh tears that slip down your cheeks, and he can feel his heart cracking in two at every little heartbroken whimper and sob that manages to escape your lips.

"What about your pretty eyes, hm? The ones that help you read all of those books, even when it's a little dark? The same eyes Daddy loves to wake up to every morning?"

You blink owlishly through your tears, your hiccups coming to a halt for just a second as you begin to process his words. He's not talking about the color of your eyes or what shape they are, but what they can do. You've been so caught up on how every part of you looked...not what they were actually meant for.

Your eyes aren't supposed to be the prettiest color or the 'perfect' shape. They're job is to help you see. And you can read, and admire the sunset, and cry, and watch TV - and none of it has to do with how your eyes look. They're the same eyes that lock onto John's from across the room and tell him 'it's too much. can we go home?' without ever having to say a word. And he always knows how you're feeling, just from taking one look at your eyes.

"And what about your hair? Don't you like braiding it and putting it up in all those pretty hairstyles? Don't you like how Daddy can play with it when you get all sleepy?" You turn your head around to look at him through your tears, and you take in a shaky breath as you nod your head silently in agreement. "Yeah...I know I like it, sweet girl."

You let out a restrained whimper as his words settle over you, your heart cracking in a way that it never has before - like its rearranging itself to fit the beautiful image of his perception of you. You can feel his hand gently squeeze your arm to silently urge you to continue on your own, and it takes you a minute to think of something before you let out a trembling whisper.

"M-My nose..." You sound uncertain, blinking up at him for validation only to be met with a loving smile and an encouraging nod. "I like my nose."

Your nose was never meant to look like everyone else's. It's just there to help you breathe. To bring oxygen to your blood to keep you alive and healthy. And it helps you smell everything - the bread at the farmers market, John's cologne bottle whenever you missed him too much in his missions, even the gross candles at the store that you force John to smell too just so you can both suffer together. It even crinkles up whenever John presses a kiss to it when you aren't expecting it, which always makes him laugh and makes him press just one more to it to get you to giggle and swat him away.

"Yes...good girl." He praises softly as he presses a line of kisses along your shoulder, reverent in both his touch and stare as he tilts your chin back towards the mirror. "Keep looking at yourself, darling."

"And Daddy loves your beautiful smile...you know, that's the first thing I miss when I go away. I keep a little picture of you in my vest just so I can see it even when I'm on my missions. I love seeing my gorgeous girl look so happy." His words coax another watery sob from you, which he quickly soothes by running his hands gently up and down your arms. Eventually he trails them down and circles his hands around yours, using his thumbs to massage gentle circles into your palms as you cast your gaze down to watch. "And your hands...didn't you bake me those cookies last week with these hands?"

"Yes, Daddy." You nod once again, and he brings both of your hands up to wipe at the tears that are dripping off of your cheeks and down to your torso.

Your body let you express your love for him in all the ways you wanted - hugging, kissing, cuddling, crying, laughing, talking, listening, touching - you could go on forever now that you're really thinking about it.

Your body was a vessel for love - a home that could fit all the adoration and affection that John could possibly give you and you could give him - and instead you were using it to house all of the shame everyone else had burdened you with over the years. But John had all the patience in the world, and if he had to pick that shame out piece-by-piece in order to burrow his love inside of you, then that's what he'd do. Happily.

"Pretty, pretty, pretty...such a pretty little girl you are." He punctuates every one of his words with a kiss to your shoulder, your neck, your cheek, your hair...all until he reaches your ear when he finally whispers, "I'm so lucky to have you, baby."

And you poor thing - now your blubbering in his lap as your brain tries to comprehend the sheer amount of love he's pouring into you, and he just continues to hold you patiently as you work through it. It's only when you finally calm down a bit that he speaks up.

"I think you're so beautiful, my love. Inside and out. But if you look in the mirror and you don't like what you're seeing, for whatever silly reason, I want you to remember that your worth comes from a lot more than how you look. Do you understand, baby?" He waits until you nod your head before he plants a kiss right to the crown of your hair. You can feel his hand settle on your thigh, thumbing the sensitive inner skin as he locks eyes with you in the mirror.

"Do you want to keep going?" And then you see it - settled underneath his love and admiration for you is a spark of concern. He doesn't want to push you too hard, especially in a delicate setting like this. His cock is still hard and nestled deep inside of you, but you know if you said the word right now he'd end this all in a heartbeat to make sure you were comfortable and taken care of.

But you don't want him to stop. It feels different this time around - like it's not just sex. It's something more ritualistic than that. So you nod your head once more, making sure to keep your eyes on him in the mirror so he can see how earnest you are.

And slowly, carefully, he readjusts you back into the position you were in before - on your hands and knees facing the mirror. And you can see him watching you closely for any sign of discomfort or regret, but all he's met with is trust in those teary eyes of yours.

"Keep telling me what you like, sweetheart."

And so you do. Clumsy compliments stumbling out of your mouth as he finally starts to rock his hips, granting you the relief you've been craving from him for what feels like forever now. And the more you praise yourself, the more intense his thrusts get - but he never turns rough. Not even for a second. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he whispers his own devotions into your ears, pushing himself as deep as he can as if he's trying to plant the words directly inside of you.

You're so overwhelmed by the love and the pleasure he's giving you that you barely even realize how fast your orgasm is sneaking up on you, but he notices. He can feel you clenching around him as your thighs begin to shake, and he doesn't waste a second in gently guiding your gaze to look at yourself in the mirror once more.

"Are you a pretty girl, baby?" He grunts softly, barely staving off his own release long enough to drive his message home. You begin to nod your head frantically, too caught up in your impending climax to form any coherent sentences as you begin to flutter around him - but he's not having any of it.

"Yeah? Go on, then. Daddy wants to hear you say it."

"I-I'm a..." Your stuttered words are cut off by a deep moan, and your eyes squeeze shut tightly as you clamp down around him. "I'm a p-pretty girl!"

And then you're sent into the most mind-shattering orgasm you've ever had in your life. You can feel yourself gush around him and you hear his restrained curses as you collapse into the bed, but even your own voice sounds muffled as you call out his name with a quivering cry. He fucks you right through it, leaving you trembling and crying from the intensity as he finally spills inside of you with a few tears of his own.

He just barely catches himself before he collapses on top of you, and it takes him a minute to catch his breath before he readjusts to, very carefully, pull himself out of your squelching cunt. He coos gently as you whine at the loss of contact, and he scoops you up like you're a porcelain doll that'll shatter if he's not careful.

You're still so fuzzy from the intensity of it all, but he places you in his lap to let you bury your face in his neck, and his arms quickly wrap around you the second that your trembling form curls up to him like a kitten in a storm.

"There she is." He whispers softly as he kisses your forehead, one hand trailing up and down your back as the other one circles tightly around your shoulders to ground you with his presence. "There you go, sweet girl. Take a deep breath, my love."

He can feel the little puffs of air hitting his neck as he continues to hold you, and it brings him back down to earth as well as he works you through your comedown. Soft whispers of praise graze your ear as he moves to clean you up, keeping his movements soft and careful when he sees your eyes begin to flutter shut.

And you look up at him with so much love and trust when he finally pulls you down to lay back against the pillows, he can't stop himself from taking a moment to brush at the soft skin of your cheek before he presses his lips against yours. It's not hungry or lustful - just pure love being poured into you as he pulls the covers up to cover your bare form.

He pulls back just enough to murmur quietly against your lips, eyes looking down at you with so much reverance it makes your head spin.

"I love you so much, baby."

And you can't help the little wobble in your lips or the glassiness in your eyes as you rest your head against the pillow, pulling him closer with your shaky hands as you plant a little kiss on his lips.

"I love you, too, Daddy."

[bird-prince-art]

i think we're gonna have to kill this guy, anakin

[swagglessmoth]

Damn he really wants that cookie

[starlinggirll]

(flirting)

[nobrain-onlysteven]

Maybe I’m reading too much into things, but Jason covering the back of his head and neck when he thinks he’s back with the Joker seems a little too intentional

[bastardcatthings]

Me, anytime I open an f1 related post's comments section:

[jayden-0kayden]

When some asshole from Ithaca stabs you 600 times with your own trident..

Just pout and get your wife and boyfriend to patch you up.

[msshadowqueen]

Friendly reminder that not only would Elriel not be a forbidden romance, but LUCIEN ALREADY DID THE FORBIDDEN ROMANCE (with Jesminda), and not only did it end badly, but Azriel can only DREAM of doing that shit as well as Lucien did it.

[megumismyhusband]

can someone guess my fav hq husband 😋

[nocanonhere]

Listen….Theo………this line delivery was kind of illegal.

[zagreusapollyon]

OK but an au where Ford is the kids grandfather, and by some weird ass shenanigans they end up under the care of shermie and all that jazz.

Like, imagine how much worse that would be for Stan.

Like, these kids are the grandchildren of the twin brother he thinks has been doomed to an eternity of being lost in the multiverse, and they are quite literally the reflection of him and Ford.

Dipper is a smart boy with so much thirst for knowledge and to find secrets unknown to others, who looks at the world with an ambition unmatched in any kids his age.

Then there's Mable, a loud and kind, happy girl, an imagination so vast that baffles everyone, shining brightly like the sun as it brightens the world with light and warmth.

This two are gonna be a stab in a heart to Stan whenever he even looks at them.

Now I kinda imagine Ford sleeping with someone in college and having a kid, then his kid ends up being adopted by shermie and raised as his, so his grandchildren don't really know Ford is their grandpa.

But damn, imagine Ford coming back and finding out he's a fucking old ass bitch and a grandfather.

Also, the guilt of having a kid he didn't know about all his life, seeing his grandchildren and just realizing that "Oh shit, I wasted so many years of my life on creating that damn portal, that I forgot what having a family is like"

This has to be another level of heartbreak lol.

Also, Bill kinda liking these kids and wanting to use them as a kind of doll to create his own twisted reality where he and ford never break up.

Bill you fumbled hard pls get over it-

[frommybedroom]

jpc stop being talented challenge

[noodlecarrot50states]

Guess who's back with another AU?!

Me. I'm back.

So I read a Jeves fic once and I honestly don't remember much about it cause I read it at 2am and it only had 4 chapters. Basically it was supposed to be if Steve somehow discovered trolls sooner and joined the main team.

That's NOT what this AU is, obviously.

In the fic, Steve comes across Jim treating a bunch of wounds from the previous night. Jim makes up a lie on the spot that he gets paid to fight on the street and that's how he accumulated his injuries.

Even though it was like a throw-away line and wasn't true in the fic or in the show, it had me wondering, "what IF Jim was in a fight club or something?"

So this is Jim as a street fighter. Yay. Why? He doesn't want his mom to work as hard because he sees how much stress she gets from constantly being at the hospital. Anytime they have expenses nowadays Jim just whips out a pile of cash from out of nowhere.

Toby thinks he's Jim's manager but he's honestly just acting like a pimp. Jim decided to make his fighter alias "Atlas"

Strickler would be like some sort of shady manager or former fighter. Something like that. Blinky is a former fighter and also offered to train Jim. The other trolls that Jim fights originally are all just opponents in the pit now.

Is Jeves still canon in this AU? Would be nice. Granted I put a little bit of HammerHunter in the picture because I can't get over them. But I think Jeves would be sweet too. Or they could all just be a polycule.

[ruewrites]

Creation

AO3

Word Count: 3677

Warning(s): None

A/N: I hope y'all enjoy! I had a lot of fun participating in the gift exchange @obeymeholidayexchange! my giftee was @spaceshxtking and the prompt I chose was "What Barbatos does on his (forced) day off". I HOPE YOU LIKE IT DIA-RYAN 💗

Barbatos scanned the rows of fresh fruits and vegetables, his human world attire fluttering gently in the morning breeze. It wasn't often he had a day off, honestly he'd rather not have one at all, he was in perfect condition as always, and his goals aligned with anything his young lord desired. 

Unless the young lord desired him to take a day off, that was simply out of the question.

His work was all he needed. It was his art, his craft, and he took extra care of it so that he stayed sharp and vigilant.  After all, what would become of him if he dared to let his skills falter? A dull butler was hardly fit to stand next to the future king of the Devildom, and Barbatos had tried to plead this case, but this was one of few disagreements that he would not win. Diavolo was insistent, he would not accept any answer other than an enthusiastic yes from the Time Demon. Not only an enthusiastic yes, but he also couldn’t stay near the castle grounds, and how much farther could one go before hitting the Celestial Realm than that of the Human Realm?

He plucked an apple from a cart and smiled. Even after all these years they still enjoyed temptation. 

They were all perfectly ripe and prime for harvest. Even if it was his day off, it didn’t mean he couldn’t indulge in one of his favored hobbies, and if his hobby was to result in a delectable apple crumb cake for his Master for dinner, who could fault him? Besides they were a most delectable red, a shade that would certainly remind his master of his favored fallen angel’s eyes. 

Who could fault Barbatos for being so thoughtful and generous with his never ending time? 

Dropping his payment into the seller's hand and pleased with his purchase, Barbatos continued to make his way down the row of stalls when a familiar voice reached his ears. Stopping, he focused, and listened. 

“Maybe you can have it when you reach it, kid.”

“Hey! That’s not fair!”

Cruelty disguised as humor was the lowest form of torture in Barbatos’ humble opinion. It was used by cowards too afraid to acknowledge their own shortcomings. The apple never did fall far even after generations, not since Adam turned on Eve. When the benefit of doubt worked in their favor and cast stones upon another they clasped at it with sweaty palms and whispered sweet words with foul breath.

They could at least be more creative with how they acted, and more clever.

“Teasing a child? I’d hardly say that’s a good look for business.”

Barbatos prided himself on his outward appearance. He must always appear calm and collected. It wasn’t necessarily about how one reacts in a situation, but about the aura one emitted. Onlookers were less likely to get involved if they didn’t immediately perceive a hostile threat, and the less obvious he could make himself appear, the better. 

He watched with interest as the man cowered before him. There was a specific type of fear that Barbatos enjoyed when a snake noticed a hawk, once they are no longer the apex predator they tremble like the worms they are, reminded of their proper position in the food chain. The way their shoulders hunch and their lips twitch betray their intentions as they step back in line. They remember they aren’t the smartest or the most tactful, that there is always a bigger fish lurker in the depths beneath them waiting for a given opportunity to strike. Suddenly the tiniest slip ups matter, the smallest mistakes could cost their final breath, and no other soul around is any the wiser. 

“I wasn’t-”

“You weren’t?” Barbatos mused, taking a step closer to the stall, “It seemed to me like you were.” His eyes flashed and his head tilted to the side. Despite the open streets and the crowded sidewalks his prey was cornered and alone. 

Sins had a price.

Especially sins against his own. 

“No, no sir! I just like to have a little fun with the kids,is all,” the salesman laughed and attempted to roll his shoulders back into a straighter position to regain his footing, “Makes them eat right and such so they can get big and strong. Ya know?”

Barbatos hummed in response and glanced at the bag of sugar in the man’s hands. 

Silence made the clerk squirm, returning to a state that Barbatos preferred him to be him. It was much more suited to his nature after all. The man cleared his throat, “You uh, you got kids? You know what I’m talking about right?”

Barbatos smiled and placed a hand on top of the mop of blonde hair beside him, “This one finds his way into my care quite often. So if you wouldn’t mind-”

“Oh! Of course! Feel free to take it at a discount! For being such a kind fellow.”

Barbatos was no such thing.

The young angel before him looked up at him with shining wonder as he handed over the bag of sugar. Admiration was painted across his features and he reached out to hand over the coins he’d been carrying, “You really are something Barbatos! How’d you get so good at bartering like that?”

“With a milenia of experience behind me. It is quite the pleasure to run into you here, Luke.”

Luke’s grin quickly turned into a frown, “You can say that again. I don’t know why humans act like that sometimes. Don’t they know how they’re coming across and how rude it is? I thought they would have known better.”  He thought for a moment, pondering as he and Barbatos continued to walk along. “Well, I guess even Solomon has his quirks, but he doesn’t really count as a normal human does he?”

“In some ways I suppose.”

That sorcerer was certainly  far from normal. 

“Speaking of not normal, why aren’t you at the Demon Lord’s Castle.”

It would appear that they were playing a game of Topics that would make Barbatos Bristle at the current time. How lucky for him.  

“The Young Master thought it would be an excellent idea for me to take the day off, and what better way than to enjoy the Human Realm and all the exquisite ingredients it has to offer?” Offering the young angel another smile, Barbatos forced his annoyance away. It wasn’t Luke’s fault that others failed to understand him and the importance of his work. 

Luke continued to hop along, looking over eggs at the next stall they came across, “I can see why they want you to take a break, because they care about you and want what’s best for you right? But I also think it’s a little frustrating.”

Insightful for a being who has not experienced creation for long. 

Well, perhaps for a human, maybe, but not for creatures such as angels and demons. If humanity were a speck in the history of creation, Luke was a slightly smaller speck. Maybe he would have been old enough to witness their Dark Age, but that was being generous, at least Barbatos thought so, but who could say? Most beings looked young to him with where he was now, it certainly made it hard to tell who experienced what when, even without all of the different possibilities at all. 

“Simeon sends me away a lot. Michael will give me a task and Simeon will say he can handle it, that I should spend more time ‘enjoying youth’,” a small huff left his lips as he placed the eggs gently into his basket, “But why should I? I like doing what I do, why should I spend my time doing something else? If I want to get anywhere later in life, pleasing Michael is the best way to do it. After all, Raphael was the youngest angel to become a seraphim for now- I’m going to be the youngest Seraphim ever in existence!”

Barbatos was silent for a moment, pretending to look over the other produce as Luke spoke. “I can’t say I disagree with Simeon all too much,” he said, “After all, he has lived much longer than you have, he knows a thing or two about growing.”

“But why Barbatos?” Luke asked, looking genuinely betrayed as he turned towards Barbatos, “I thought if anyone, you would understand. I like working. It's what I want to do with my life and it aligns with my goals. Isn’t that enough? Why should I not do it if it’s what I like?”

Barbatos stopped. For a moment he was genuinely stunned, and a sincere smile made its way across his face. Some angels liked to spread the word that they were above sin, especially to humans, but they were just like the rest of them. Perhaps they were above humans in some ways, but angels and demons were more similar than those particular angels chose to believe. The act of turning one thing into something else just made some angels more comfortable, and so they chose to turn such acts into (what they considered) more positive attributes. 

Or maybe it was all about perception. 

Perhaps there was no sin at all. 

At the end of the day, could intention matter more?

This was what Barbatos loved about creation, how curious it all was, especially younger spawns of her whimsy. They wanted to know everything, why and why not, how and how not. Some would even consider knowledge itself a sin, but was it really? 

Barbatos had been around for a long time, perhaps even since the beginning of time itself, whenever that was. Or should he say whatever that was? Oh he made himself chuckle from time to time. There was that word again, time-

But that was a different stream of thought for a different day. 

Or maybe a different him had already gone down that path, and he could review it as if it had happened now.

But now, now now, he needed to contemplate how to answer Luke’s question in the best way. 

“No creature is perfect, and oftentimes our greatest strengths, can also become our greatest flaws.” Barbatos continued to act as if was examining the produce as he spoke, picking apart each individual molecule with his eyes as he went. “A star burns bright, but its light is snuffed out so quickly. Ambition is like that. You burn until you have nothing else to give, and at that point you fade from existence.”

Stepping back, he finally turned towards Luke, “You won’t become a seraphim if your wings no longer exist, now can you?”

Luke’s eyes cast downwards towards the ground as he shook his head, “I guess not. That’s why Simeon and Diavolo both want us to take breaks huh?”  

There was no possibility in which an honest lesson wouldn’t have turned against him.

“After all, he can’t be a great king if his loyal butler isn’t by his side. Right?”

Another chord struck inside him, this one softer and more melodious. 

To be young and naive of the world. Any demon would know what dangerous game they were playing with Barbatos by bringing up his profession, he was even well known among gifted humans and circles of angels who whispered his name. He was certain there were angels who thought Simeon more than foolish to allow Luke to be left in his care. Even Raphael threw him a wary glance from across rooms. Any danger Luke had once perceived from him had vanished, and wouldn’t that be quite the complex problem for the Celestial Realm to untangle?

Was he not still an enemy or a scheming foe?

The young lord’s plan to unite the Three Realms was not without controversy after all. While the Celestial Realm was participating, they weren’t without their hesitancies. Then there was the issue of how both angels and demons viewed humans. It all came to the same conclusion for many angels: Demons were monstrous, unholy, and sinful creatures of the dark. It was no fault of their own, it was how they were taught. How could they ever learn any different. 

Had it not been for Simeon’s more personal affections towards his fallen comrades, he would have likely been the same. 

“Barbatos?”

“Yes Luke?”

“Do you want to bake together?” Luke glances at Barbatos’ bag and then back up at the demon. “That’s what you were planning on doing right? You were going to make something for Diavolo on your time off?”

“Observant as ever Luke, in fact I was.”

“We could go to the Angel’s Halo! Simeon won’t mind if we borrow the kitchen a bit for baking,” Luke said, grabbing Barbatos’ hand without waiting for an answer. While initially hesitant about demons and their nature, the young angel was eager to share his joys and hobbies with Barbatos. Perhaps his view of demons was changing, or perhaps Barbatos was an exception to the rule. “Did you have plans for what you wanted to make?”

“How would you feel about an apple pie?”

***

Flour was powdered across the counter, coating it as the world was covered with the first flurries of snow in winter. The timer ticked away slowly as the demon and angel talked about everything and nothing. Barbatos spent most of his time listening as Luke spoke of all he learned, what had happened since last they’d talked, and his hopes for the future. In many ways, he reminded Barbatos of a young Diavolo. Children were all so similar. The young lord and Luke had grown up in similar environments, taught to hate their enemy and all of their flaws. 

Yet his young lord grew up wanting to unite the three realms and bring peace. 

Maybe Luke would grow to be less hesitant by the idea. 

Day by day his worldview was changing. 

Day by day those ingrained beliefs were fading. 

Simeon had left a note behind, informing Luke that he had gone out on his own shopping trip but that he’d soon return. So the butler and the angel were left with the kitchen to themselves, to create and craft from their own mind’s eye. Now the dough was forming, morphing, changing into something new, something they wouldn’t truly know until it was done. Barbatos swiped away the flour from the counter as Luke washed their dishes. The clinking of metal and the gentle stream of warm water were calming to Barbatos’ ears. He hummed along softly and he revived the counter back to her former sparkling and pristine form. The transformations always pleased him, watching something filthy and soiled become new and glorious once more. 

When he caught his own reflection on the surface, his chest welled, and a smile was staring back at him.

Cleanliness was close to godliness, and Barbatos revelled in removing the dirt that smudged perfect visions, even if he was the one responsible for cloudy vision in the first place. 

Sometimes the joy of a mystery was giving someone a push in the right direction.

Sometimes teaching involved holding back and giving nudges to the answer rather than saying it outright. 

Swiping his cloth once more across the counter, he was finally pleased with its appearance and nodded back towards his reflection. 

“Barbatos?”

“Hm?” His ears twitched as he focused on Luke’s voice.

 “Why do you think people like baking?”

“I find it relaxing for one, I imagine others do as well,” Barbatos chuckled, “Or perhaps it’s the generosity of sharing with others.”

Or the never ending search for praise and adoration, to have another hung so close on something that had been made and to have them indulge in it. There was truly nothing better, especially not when someone relied on him so heavily. It was a wonderful feeling, to be a confidant and close friends. 

There were some who would call his desires fiendish, yet others would know the deepest parts of him and still call him a friend.

How dare the latter demand him take time off for his own wellbeing. It was nothing short of cruel even if well intentioned, but once again, that was his own interpretation. His Master would never see it as cruel. Even if he did, well, Barbatos doubted that would make him change his decisions. The young lord was the Prince of Demons after all. In the eyes of some, he was torturing Barbatos for no other reason to be cruel.

In his personal opinion, he had just taught his Master too well. 

He’d probably end up teaching Luke too well too. 

How ironic life was.

“Well I guess.” Luke’s brow furrowed in frustration for a moment as he searched as to why Barbatos’ answer wasn’t satisfactory. Barbatos knew it wasn’t the answer he was searching for, that’s why he gave it. Now he waited as Luke worked through how to clarify what it was he was searching for. “But why?”

“Elaborate. I told you why.”

“What makes us like our hobbies? Why like baking? What about making things is so…fun?”

Barbatos nodded and closed his eyes, “I think we all love to participate in the acts that allow us to be here.”

Before Luke could finish cocking his head in confusion,  Barbatos continued, “We are all creatures of creation. At one moment in time we weren’t here and at another we were. Or we were something before we became something else. Or we were unconscious and then gained consciousness. Regardless of the circumstances of our birth, or what the definition of birth is, the act instills something into our very nature. We yearn to touch the stars and craft them. Even if we can't, we try the next best thing.”

Barbatos grabbed a container from the cabinet before walking closer. “Cup your hands.”

He tapped the container a few times into the angel’s hands, and then the two of them watched as the golden sprinkles sparkled in the light of the kitchen. Luke moved his hands from one side to the other, making the tiny stars flicker in his palm.

“Do you understand?”

The oven timer rang out in the kitchen. 

***

Barbatos sat by and watched as Luke changed the fluffy crust of their pie into the leaves of a tree. He added tiny detail etched in with his glaze. The small details he added never ceased to surprise Barbatos. The way he changed the viewpoint of the tree intrigued him. Fluffy clouds had been added around the border, making it seem as if they were viewing the tree from above.

Why this choice?

Perhaps he would never know.

Or maybe he would, just not now. 

“It smells heavenly in here.” 

Simeon entered the kitchen with bags in both of his arms, “Hello Barbatos, it’s surprising to see you here. Is Diavolo around?”

“I’m afraid not. I’ve been sent here on mandatory vacation. Could I assist you with those?”

“I believe I’ve got it. Besides, I wouldn’t want to ruin your mandatory vacation.”

How irritatingly polite of him.

“Plus, I think you and Luke have been hard at work here, haven’t you?”

Luke nodded, finally peering up from his work  to allow Simeon a better view of his handiwork, “We made a human world apple pie. I decorated the crust myself.”

Simeon’s eyes sparkled as he looked down at the young angel’s work, his hands clasped close to his lips and hardly hiding the smile behind them. “Wonderful work Luke! You know, I think Barbatos has inspired some of your best work I’ve ever seen.”

“I merely offer support and guidance, I leave Luke to his own creative devices,” Barbatos chimed, keeping his spot back by the other counter, “Still, I would say he is my star pupil in the kitchen.”

“Don’t let Solomon hear you say that.”

“I would say it louder if he were here.”

Maybe Barbatos imagined it, but he could have sworn the angel stifled a laugh behind his hands. He was more than aware of how Barbatos felt, and certainly more than aware of the antics of that sorcerer. 

“Of all of them, Luke is the shining apple of my eye, and right now he looks like an apple too.”

Luke stood between his mentors, face red and looking as if he wished he could sink into the floor between them. Despite that, there was something about him that was beaming, a small smile toying at the edges of his lips, his eyes fixed on and reflecting the sparkling sugar that coated his crust and sat delicately atop his glaze. Both made by his own hands.  

“Well, I think it would be more than appropriate if we invited you to stay for dinner and tea,” Simeon said, starting to open some of the cabinets, “By some twist of fate, I had gotten some new tea blends while I was out and they just so happened to remind me of you. Consider it my thanks for being such a wonderful influence in Luke’s life.”

Simeon’s views were changed by his own experiences. He was aware just as much as Barbatos was how it could hurt him later. They both knew that Simeon should be keeping Luke farther away from Barbatos to keep a powerful select few in The Celestial Real happy. They both knew that they would question Simeon and his suitability as a guardian further. They would question where his loyalties lied. 

 Yet here they both were, creating and shaping the future of another in tandem.

Their actions would have irreversible consequences, for Luke would never forget the silent lessons they taught nor the experiences they shared.

Every decision, every minute singular act, was one of irreversible creation. Not even Barbatos was yet sure what their rebellion would birth.  

Perhaps this outing wasn’t as much of a cursed punishment as much as he had believed. 

Perhaps this was one of those set moments in time that would forever impact the future.

“I would be more than delighted.”

[doodleddaisies]

SPOT THE DIFFERENCE