#divine acid

[y-rhywbeth2]

Pooldripp: "What is to be your first commandment, oh great god?" Options: 1. A better name than Mahkloompah', for one 2. Go out and build me an army 3. No more blood rituals. 4. Just keep doing what you're doing. 5. Perhaps you should study the teachings of my god.

I love the kuo-toa: all these options are so tempting. This one is still my favourite though:

PC: "Perhaps you should study the teachings of my god." Pooldripp: "Yes - yes! We will study this being who claims power over you, great Mahkloompah. So that, one day... we might destroy them."

They're so enthusiastic about it. Can't wait to see Bhaal taken down by the "fish lads" (as Karlach calls them, to my utter delight can we get her to rename every entry in the monster manual?).

Also this is a pretty legitimate route to godhood, if the cult catches on. Especially if you're already on the first rung of the divine ladder...

...What happened to Blibdoolpoolp, anyway?

#Strax moments #And then we shall melt Bhaal *In Acid* #playthrough shenanigans #divine essence + worship = god #/durge #“I'm very religious... now if only I could remember what my religion *is*.” #Vel doesn't have a clue who he worships but he has a pretty good idea he worships somebody and had a knee jerk hostile response to Bhaal - #-being mocked by a fraud

[scytheral]

ㅤ⬧ㅤSOUHEARTiCㅤ:ㅤA gender That feels like / is a " Sour Heart ". Whether that Is metaphorical Or literal , One could Choose. May also Be related To the Idea of Having a " Sour " heart , and Overall " Bitterness " , Yet That ' s not Necessary.

ㅤ⬧ㅤACiDULiNEㅤ:ㅤA gender Related to Sour Candies. May be It ' s aspects of Sourness , Multiple Acids , Pops of Tartness , Their extreme Flavor , Texture and Feels on it ' s Touch , or The idea of them / Sour Candies in General.

001ㅤ——ㅤCoined by The Prince.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ002ㅤ——ㅤDay 08 of This event.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ003ㅤ——ㅤTagㅤ:ㅤ(ㅤ@purietteㅤ)

[ PT / Souheartic: a gender that feels like/is a "sour heart" whether that is methaphorical or literal, one could choose. may also be related to the idea of having a "sour" heart, and overall "bitterness", yet that's not necessary. / END PT. ]

Pronounciation: soo-haart-ick

[ PT / Aciduline: a gender related to sour candies. may be it's aspects of sourness, multiple acids, pops of tartness, their extreme flavor, texture and feels on it's touch, or the idea of them/sour candies in general. / END PT. ]

Pronounciation: a-suhd-duhl-leen

#︶︶ㅤ:ㅤThy castle of Divinity. #Souheartic #Aciduline #puriette400 #Sour #Heart #Sourness #Acid #Sour Candies #mogai #mogai blog #mogai post #mogai friendly #mogai flag #mogai pride #mogai community #mogaireal #mogai identity #mogai gender #mogai heaven #pro mogai #actually mogai #mogai coining #identity coining #liom flag #liom gender #actually liom #sourgender #heartgender #candygender

[freshthoughts2020]

#kamaiyah #divine timing #live from trinosophes #JHarry #westside gunn #acid jazz #hip hop #a tribe called quest #Eric b & rakim #Oakland #detroit #Bay Area

[movedtodykedvonte]

Tears for hands, of someone who left

Anger for the self mutilating theft

Fear for time, eating away your brain like a plague

Hate for me, who nailed two wings to your back

*Verse*

Oh Angel how could you have fallen, if you never did rise

A creature of sin, somehow virtues you did idolize

A golden crown turned, pushed down it pierced until sorrow did flow

Blinded eyes of the Angel, look how far down you still have to go

Spamton did pray when held hostage, yet to pray to a false god is blasphemous and futile. I suppose he can’t be at fault if the god presented it self as true though. In a way his prayers still went through.

#the caller acting as a divine entity while Spamtons mental state is dwindling #supposed it held surmons and asked for his devotion which he yielded along with the rest of his sanity #sanitized and baptized in burning acid as his faults are washed clean and each piece is sent back new #or perhaps he makes it back whole but barren #not a shell as he is still inside but rather encased the facade of a devotee impossible to break now #utdr #spamton #anon #cold emails au #ask #deltarune

[multithinker]

The Pomegranate: A Divine Fruit of Health

Explore the myriad health benefits of the pomegranate, a divine gift of nature. From its anti-inflammatory properties to potential cancer-fighting abilities, discover the science behind this superfruit. Section 1: The Allure of Pomegranate Pomegranate, often referred to as the “fruit of heaven,” has captivated our senses for centuries. It’s not just its tantalizing taste and vibrant appearance…

View On WordPress

#36% of vitamin K #Allure of Pomegranate #cancer-fighting abilities #daily vitamin C #Divine Fruit #fruit of heaven #Pomegranate #Punicalagins #Punicic Acid #superfruit

[dirt-mccracken]

The main reason you shouldn't do psychs with me is there's a 95% chance I'll fuck off and take a bath at least once in the trip

#reviews from several friends but #do you guys Not want to be submerged when on avid I dont get it #swimming and bathing on acid is divine #swimming is dangerous though lmaooo ive definitely been Ober ambitious that way

[zoneofsmites]

Im of the full (possibly delusional) belief that Durge is not the species that they physically appear to be.

You’re telling me this being crafted from nothing but bhaal’s flesh and his blood - this demigod - is actually a dragonborn/tiefling/human/elf/etc.

No. This thing is bhaal’s flesh and it just happens to look like that. They’re an imitation of a species, they’re not truly a (full)mortal being, they have no heritage aside from bhaal.

As a result I’m sure there’s some…oddities.

For example, a demigod child, not fully mortal. I doubt they adhere to the lifespan of whatever species they look like. Looking younger than they should. (less so perhaps with long lived races like elfs and half-elves where that is par for the course).

A dragonborn durge that by all accounts looks like a blue dragonborn but their breathweapon is acid. A tiefling durge that seems to be a Mephistopheles tiefling but they cannot cast mage hand, instead smiting like a zariel bloodline tiefling.

An elf or tiefling durge that doesn’t read as fey or infernal trough identification spells. Because they aren’t either of those things. Perhaps they could read as divine but not quite.

Members of a race that durge is supposed to be looking at them and sometimes when making eye contact they read as wrong. And some kind of uncanny effect triggers in their brain.

Give me more freaky durge who isn’t really what they appear to be at all. Just a little murder demigod crafted from dead god flesh to be the shape of something else.

#bg3 #durge #the dark urge #bg3 durge #bg3 the dark urge #bg3 dark urge #dark urge #bg3 headcanons #hall of wonders #zone of truth #this post is brought to you by me making my mephi-tiefling Durge mechanically a zariel tiefling to make them mechanically ‘wrong’ #and also by my thoughts of a durge who ages eerily slow for their species #(wdym this mid 30’s /pushing 40’s guy looks not a day past his 20’s???) #(how much would that fuck with gortash. when your partner who’s race is of a similar lifespan to humans hasn’t aged in the decade you’ve #that you’ve know them) #(personally. i would die a little)

[priestessofthepoeticprophesy]

Watch "Kesha - Eat The Acid (Live Performance) | Vevo" on YouTube

Can definitely relate to the lyrics of this song. I did a lot of drugs throughout my 20's and had my first spiritual awakening at age 20.

#spirituality #spiritual #spiritual awakening #divine #LSD #acid #kesha #eat the acid #mysticism #mystical #Youtube

[hotgirlsoobin]

i don't get the whole thewizardliz thing

#like ok i love the self love preaching but #the whole divine feminine thing is so.... #and even the whole idea of self care and being put together is having a 10 step routine with a bunch of soaps doing what your skin already #naturally does #like brother where do you think hyaluronic acid is #nushtext

[satorugu]

In Every Era (Sukuna x f!reader)

She is the reincarnation of his love, and he plans to be with her in every era.

Warnings: Blood, violence, fighting, making out

Note: The readers technique relates to ice and being able to lower the temperatures around her enough to create it. Both Heian era and the version of Sukuna in Itadori's body is included.

"There are three victims we need to find, correct?" (Y/N) clarified as the group walked down a corridor.

It was oddly lit, the sound of their shoes echoing off of the walls as they made their way through the juvenile detention center. This was simply an investigation, much easier than other missions they had received. As sorcerers, finding dead bodies was considered casual, but there was a slight chance they could run into something else.

A rumor of a special grade being discovered inside was circulating, meaning it could spawn at any moment.

Although it was just a rumor.

It was rare for cursed wombs to produce them, which is what caused the massacre in the first place.

"Yes, and the dog remembers the scent of the entrance," Fushiguro said, referring to the white dog trotting in front of them.

"Simple enough," Itadori nodded.

The second set of eyes underneath his pre-existing ones were contradictory to his own, with red irises that never showed a hint of emotion. Itadori was the opposite, almost always seen smiling or at the least content. (Y/N) hadn't seen the second pair close, as they never seemed to take their gaze off of her.

Every time she looked at him, she saw them staring back at her.

She thought it was coincidental, that they followed anyone who shot Itadori a glance, perhaps an intimidation tactic of Sukuna's.

His reputation already surpassed a level of intimidation though.

(Y/N) feared ever being in Itadori's presence when Sukuna came out.

Everyone did.

"Look!"

Both she and Fushiguro turned to the sound of Itadori's voice, seeing a corpse sitting in the back of the room they entered. Fushiguro crossed his arms, standing next to the pink-haired boy and taking in the sight.

"That's one down," he commented. "It's odd there aren't any others here."

"Yeah, wouldn't there be some sort of trail?" Itadori added, considering the behavior of a cursed womb.

The body was cut clean, the upper half being all that was left.

(Y/N) crouched down on one knee in front of the two, running her hand across the floor.

The cleanliness wasn't purposeful, she noted, as she felt dirt pick up on the pad of her fingers. No one had tried to stage this, if they did, the floors would be cleaned due to having to wipe up the blood.

"A cursed womb didn't kill him."

Then it clicked, uneasiness sinking into the three sorcerers like an injection.

Sweat budded on both Fushiguro and Itadori's foreheads, the two now frozen in place.

It was eerily silent, as (Y/N) felt the temperature around her hand drop. She was trying to muster up the courage to swallow, as she stared forward in horror.

They were supposed to investigate a detention center haunted by a cursed womb.

Not fight a special grade curse.

And now it was right next to them, closing the gap between Itadori and Fushiguro. Their only security from it was beheaded and bleeding out, that security being one of Fushiguro's Divine Dogs.

The special grade was different from most curses, having a human-like body that was well in shape. It was tall as well, with pale white skin and eyes attached to a pair of arches on its head.

(Y/N) huffed out a cold breath, cursed energy being conjured in her arm.

They were going to die if they ran.

And there was a low chance that they could beat a special grade.

A heaping amount of ice shot out of her hand on command. It formed a barricade between the curse and the sorcerers, causing the two boys to back up and snap out of their fear-induced trance.

It was only for a moment though, as a wave of pure force shattered it in return and sent all three tumbling back. It was like acid, burning through the floor and causing smoke to emit into the air.

(Y/N)'s eyes widened.

"We can't fight it! We need to find an exit!" Fushiguro shouted.

Her ice was supposed to be impenetrable, nothing had ever broken it like that before.

She was airborne.

The second she spent reflecting on the attack sent her flying backward again, as the special grade sent out another wave. She hit the wall immediately, turning the surface in on itself as an indent now marked it. The wind was knocked out of her lungs, watching Itadori pick up speed, making an attempt at close combat before being sent back in a similar fashion.

Fushiguro went to summon his second Divine Dog, clasping his hands together and opening his mouth.

But the words never came out.

Rather than a wolf appearing out of a shadow, an abnormal black hole appeared underneath him.

He fell in, his scream being cut off as soon as it shut.

The special grade curse turned to the two sorcerers, having separated the other.

Itadori shouted out in pain, falling to the ground after he had been tossed aside. He held onto his head like it was the end of his life, mumbling a spiel of panicked words that (Y/N) couldn't understand. She didn't pay that close attention to him though, distracted by the curse now approaching her.

It was forming another kind of cursed energy surge in its hand, aiming at her as she tried to form a counterattack.

The back of her head was bleeding, and a pounding headache formed across her forehead.

She was destroyed.

(Y/N) let out uneven breaths, standing up wearily and attempting to make another offense. She thought of freezing it, barreling towards the curse, and using the slipperiness of the ice to help her move even quicker. It was like skating, as she shot out a wave of ice that wrapped around the special grade, and trapped it.

There was a micro-expression of a smile on her face, before the solid block of ice began to glow orange.

A crack began to form on the exterior.

Then the entirety of it burst.

The special grade took its large claw around (Y/N) neck and lifted her up, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

It opened it's mouth, a massive sum of cursed energy forming inside as it aimed for her face.

This was death.

She couldn't breath, yanking against it's grasp and trying to free herself. Either she would suffocate from lack of oxygen, or have her face burnt to ashes.

She was a fool not to run.

(Y/N) saw the cursed energy dart out towards her, feeling the heat right against her eyes as she closed them for the last time.

It sounded like a blade cut straight through something.

Arms from the side of her slid around her back and under her legs, holding her bridal style as she collapsed in it's hold. She felt whatever was holding her land in a crouched position, still keeping her to itself.

She felt her head rest on a beating chest, a hot breath landing on her nose.

Her eyes opened to meet a pair of red irises staring back at her.

The silence was pregnant.

Sukuna.

The great amount of fear was evident in her expression, as she swallowed back and dared to move.

He set her down, as the sound of the Special Grade crying out could be heard from behind. Sukuna had took off it's arm, but it seemed to have grown it back, turning to face the King of Curses. It summoned a massive amount of cursed energy in it's hands, forming a sphere that shot out towards him.

"Pathetic."

With one hand Sukuna shielded both himself and (Y/N) from it, standing almost casually.

"Allow me to show you real Jujutsu Sorcery."

The Special Grade was still, horror evident in the screech it let out. The King of Curses raised his hands, putting them together in a specific formation.

This was ten times worse than being choked or burnt to death.

"Domain Expansion, malevolent shrine."

Suddenly, everything around them vanished, as a pitch black abyss consumed (Y/N)'s vision. The small, unkempt detention center had been remade into an atmosphere that she couldn't describe. She was sitting on water, a lake to be in fact. The entire floor was water, except for a Shrine that sat in the middle of it. It was built off of a pile of skulls, Sukuna standing on top of it all.

He had a white Kimono on, looking directly at the curse that was frozen next to her.

One moment it was there.

The next, it was cut into ten different parts, burned alive by purple flames.

She thought she was next.

Sukuna walked off of the pile, making his way towards her in the dimly lit domain.

(Y/N) thought of running, her heart pounding faster by each step he took. She was frozen in place, unable to get up as she looked into the eyes she had seen a thousand times. Always the same, always red, always emotionless.

She was thinking of the worst death possible, wondering if he had saved her only to kill her himself as he towered over her helpless form.

The King of Curses knelt down, as she sat leaning back on her hands.

"Soon, you will understand," were the words that left his mouth, as he pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead.

(Y/N) couldn't register what had transpired, as she felt an overwhelming amount of exhaustion kick in and couldn't resist falling asleep.

It was the Heian era, the golden age of Jujutsu.

(Y/N) fiddled with the red dress she was wearing, as she stood by the fountain in the garden. It fit her body well, with thin straps that showed off her shoulders.

This is where she spent her free time, away from the servants and maids. It was peaceful, always well kept and bright. The flowers were watered properly, and the stone that marked the grounds were always cleaned of dirt. There was no war here, it was fitting of her personality.

A familiar pair of strong, big hands wrapped around her waist, along with another pair coming to hold her upper arms, stroking her skin lightly.

She felt his gaze on her, as she held onto one of his hands and looked up at him.

"You were right, it is quite peaceful out here," her husband, Ryomen Sukuna, said.

"It's very fitting of you," she teased.

"Is that so?" he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her neck.

He felt her shiver, letting out a breathy laugh and turning around to face him.

The look in his eyes was filled with affection, a soft smile in place of an emotionless and deadly stare.

It was clear he was in love.

And so was she, as he picked her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him passionately. Two of his arms held onto her upper thighs, while the other two rested on her head, one running their fingers through her hair, the other cupping the side of her face. If it wasn't for the fact that she was human, she might've not let go. Yet she broke away from him to catch her breath, resting her forehead against his.

Her hot breaths landed on his nose, as he held her up high enough to look down on him. She couldn't help but smile, as he refused to take his gaze off of her.

He leaned in, stopping just before their lips could meet, and whispered something.

"I will love you in every era."

For a moment she thought he was making an effort to be romantic, but it was clear in his tone that he was sure of it.

He would love her in every era, even if she didn't remember him.

(Y/N) shot up, and for a moment, she thought she was still in the detention center, stuck in the domain.

She was in her bed, the covers tucked in around her, arranged just how she liked. Her dorm was cleaner than she left it, an outfit sitting out for her by the desk. All of her wounds were fully healed, in fact, she hadn't felt this rested since she came here.

She reached for her phone, seeing that it was almost eleven in the morning. (Y/N) never slept in that late, nor slept that deep. The only reason she hadn't been woken up was because it was the weekend.

Then, she thought of her dream, and Sukuna's words from before.

Soon, you will understand.

(Y/N) threw off the covers hurriedly, putting on the outfit laid out without question and rushing towards the door.

She opened it to see both Fushiguro and Itadori standing outside in the hallway, talking amongst one another.

It was odd.

"Oh, hey (Y/N)!" Itadori exclaimed.

"Are you two okay?" she panicked, looking at Fushiguro specifically.

"Yeah, why?" he asked her.

"What happened?"

"I don't know, honestly, we both just woke up here."

"Yea, the Special Grade got taken care of, along with the three victims we were assigned to finding," Itadori added casually.

"By who..."

The boys both shot each other a look, shrugging almost comically. She didn't know what to say, as her eyes trailed down to the pair that were below Itadori's.

They were staring directly at her, once again.

She flushed and swallowed back, thinking of the dream she had. First, he kissed her, followed up by her somehow falling asleep and having a vision about the two of them. It wasn't the version of Sukuna that saved her though, it was his true form, the one that was most prominent during the golden age.

(Y/N) looked down at her outfit, eyeing the red top she had on.

It fit her body well, with thin straps that showed off her shoulders.

That wasn't a dream.

A/N: Part two?

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff #sukuna imagine #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x y/n

[bahbahhh]

As Above, So Below

[Line art here]

Notes under cut

big shout out to @newtsnaturethings who does amazing nature studies and inadvertently helped me make stone look kinda like stone.

@manxden posted a nice summary of the battery theory. It is one of my favorite theories out there. The idea Ganondorf is the source of the power that saves Link, the hero meant to destroy him. Poetic cinema. I made a rambly post back in September that inspired this piece. You can read the full chaos here but in summary:

LONG AGO ganondorf is sealed and everyone thinks problem-solved but THEN they realize how much spirit/life energy he emits and the Royal Family orders the Sheikah to expand tech around it. What they don't anticipate is battery acid - malice. Monsters start appearing but they have the tech and just wipe them out without looking for the source. The more they use the spirit energy, the more malice is created in the sealing chamber. THIS is where get the events of 10,000 years ago. First Calamity Ganon appears...they go back to the old equation (goddess blood princess plus hero) WITH tech/Divine Beasts and beat back the Calamity. Again, this doesn't fix the problem. The Royal Family decides to banish "Sheikah" tech and like a nuclear plant meltdown, they just bury everything and hope that fixes it.

Because spirit energy is not being used during this time, Malice builds much slower. Takes 10,000 years for another Calamity to form but he's smarter this time because at his core he is a PERSON in stasis who remembers everything that was done to him.

BOTW happens.

The history of the royal family of Hyrule is also the history of Calamity Ganon

I love this line and hope it’s expanded upon in TotK.

#bahbahhhart #botw #link #breath of the wild #loz #legend of zelda #loz botw #tears of the kingdom #totk #totk art #totk theory #loz fanart

[nunalastor]

Lucifer never actually saw Alastor anywhere on the battlefield. After the hotel's rebuilt and Alastor rejoins the group, the two of them get into yet another fight at which point Lucifer calls Alastor a coward who turned tail and abandoned everyone else. Alastor could correct him, tell him about the near fatal blow he took from the First Man, describe the feeling of his organs being sliced open and his stomach acid spilling out into his torso and the caustic burns lacing his insides...

But he doesn't. He bites his tongue and tells Lucifer he's free to think whatever he wants.

Then this happens: https://www.tumblr.com/nunalastor/745160832896401408/alastors-wound-from-adams-axe-doesnt-heal-but?source=share

After Lucifer gets Alastor fixed up, pulls the divine light from Alastor's wound, stitches it up, wipes the blood from Alastor's skin, and slumps in his chair, exhausted, Lucifer finds his own words from their argument echoing in his head. And again, wonders why the actual FUCK Alastor kept quiet about this. He's pissed off at how guilty he feels, because logically, he couldn't have known because Alastor refused to tell him! Alastor could have at any time said that he'd fought Adam, that he'd nearly lost his life and only retreated when he was literally incapable of fighting further! But he didn't. He hid his wounds and tried to deal with it himself (Lucifer found the tattered remains of old bandages when he peeled Alastor's ruined suit off of him). And he just... let everyone assume the worst of him rather than admit how badly he'd been hurt.

Lucifer just hopes Alastor wakes up soon. So he can give the smiling dickhead a piece of his mind.

link!

#hazbin hotel #alastor #nunalastor asks #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #radioapple

[probablybadrpgideas]

-1st level spells

Abjuration: Protection from a single bird. You don't get to choose the bird.

Conjuration: Summon monster for exactly 0.27 seconds

Divination: Detect things you're directly looking at.

Enchantment: Make people do things unless they say no.

Evocation: Massive blast of fire, lightning and acid that can only be targeted at your own face

Illusion: Exclusively illusions in the gamma radiation spectrum. Once people invent gieger counters, they'll be terrified!

Necromancy: Annoy corpse

Transmutation: Turn flesh to stone and then immediately back to flesh again

Universal: Cast every spell at once in the exact combination where they all cancel each other out, functionally doing nothing.

#D&D #spell idea

[fastcardotmp3]

Steve is the first person Robin ever comes out to.

And it's good, it goes better than she ever could have hoped, it goes miraculously well considering just how reckless she had been about it in hindsight, how nearly accidental and vaguely self-destructive a choice it had been to wield Tammy Thompson's name like that in front of a boy she'd learned to trust within the past six hours.

The thing is, it's good, but she realizes later on that she never actually says the word. The big one, the identifying one, the one that gets thrown around as a slur as often as queer or dyke do towards any girl who dares not present in a specifically feminine way.

It's a bad word, a scary word, a word that drips off tongues like acid and drips drips drips a corrosive hole in Robin's chest every single time because if it's being said in her vicinity that means-- just at any moment-- anyone could figure out--

Robin doesn't care for the act of coming out either in theory or in practice. She believes that anyone she trusts enough to know gets to learn from context clues and anyone she doesn't trust will just never get to know her fully and that's good enough for her.

She doesn't sit her parents down and say, "Mom. Dad. I'm a--"

She doesn't sit her little apocalypse posse down and say, "Just thought you guys should know I'm a--"

She didn't tell Steve.

She doesn't say the word.

Because as much as she's able to accept who she is, it's so hard to claim a word that has been used like a weapon her whole life. Because as much as even her parents and her friends love her for who she is, there is something about saying it like that that makes her wonder if it could sully the support.

As if they'd realize oh, you meant like that...? and change their minds.

It's not until IUPUI, a little house in Indy with Steve, and a little record shop next door to the deli where Eddie got a job slicing meat that she starts seeing that word, feeling it anew.

There are zines at this shop, the ones behind the counter that she's offered after a few visits and a few conversations that she later recognizes as coded and questioning in nature.

There are stories and art and poetry and that word is all over them.

And the thing is? The thing that has Steve finding her crying in their living room one afternoon as she reads through the stack like it holds the answers to the universe?

Is that it is written and spoken and displayed like the most beautiful word in the world.

It's a compliment and a blessing and a brag. It's a little bit of magic and a great deal of history.

It's her, in the end. It's her and it belongs in her mouth, deserves to be spoken, because too many people are out there misusing it like a disgusting thing when it is divine, fucking love incarnate.

Robin tucks into Steve's embrace, his instinct to hold her even as he tries to understand what has her sobbing in the middle of the day, whether or not he needs to fight anyone about it.

He holds her and she holds him back and it only feels right that it happen like this when she takes his face in her hands, shaky but oh, so certain.

Steve was the first person she ever came out to.

If she's going to let the scary word become her favorite the way it is for the people writing it out so proudly, this is probably the place to start.

"Steve Harrington," she beams at the furrow in his brow, those big concerned eyes that she knows will be confused about this, but she knows will only hold her tighter once she explains. "Steve. Stevie. Guess what?"

"What's up?" he laughs, gathering the joy in her tears like she knew he would, and Robin feels something click in the moment before she says it to him.

Out loud and real.

Very nearly holy.

"I'm a fucking lesbian."

#dot post #steve: i know this and i love you #stobin #platonic stobin #robin buckley #steve harrington #butch!robin #not entirely relevant but it's important to me you know the truth #dot fic #i know robin is always the sort of most stable in her identity in fic but she's a KID #she deserves to have big feelings about the whole thing just like the rest of them

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: Jysh'parun, Outergod of Unwelcoming Earth

As distant and ancient as a mountain, as scornful as an axebitten tree

Many philosophies debate and negotiate the relation of mortals to their environment. Some see nature as a thing to be tamed in the name of survival, domesticated, exploited. Others proffer a more symbiotic path, a holistic system to be protected and stewarded.

Beyond these there are the ravings of those claimed by Jysh'parun, who claim that mortals have no right to exist at all, and survive merely by the beneficence of the trees and stones. While all but the most foolish agree that heed must be paid to nature, none but those under the unwelcoming earths dominion would think that there is some geological-feudal hierarchy to which we must all submit.

This then is the paradox of the Unbowing Mountain: a god that claims the worship of things that do not traditionally think, but views nature through a distinctly mortal lens of domination and hierarchy. It's an absurdity bordering on being a joke, atleast until Jysh'parun's influence washes over the land and the forest marches off to war while the rivers start demanding tribute.

Adventure Hooks:

Having come into possession of a disused tract of land, a young farming couple were picking the stones from their new field in preparation for planting when they came across the petrified remains of some indescribable horror. Resembling nothing so much as a horse sized mandrake-root with teeth, they've reached out to neighbours, the sheriff, even the local wizard looking for advice about what to do... only to wake up one morning and find the thing gone. Theft or reanimation are both equally alarming possibilities, and the whole region has been on edge since.

Having been thought dead for years after being lost in a winter storm, a dwarven cartographer descends from the mountains claiming to be their mouthpiece and demanding sacrifices in their name. Her words at first go unheeded, at least until the glacial rivers begin to run with noxious acid, transforming back only when something living is thrown in. Farms and villages are drying out and grisly offerings of livestock now fail to meet her standards she claims the mountains will only be satisfied when the people of the realm throw their rulers in and swear fealty to the peaks on high.

The king's palace is in chaos after a coup took place in the royal gardens, specifically when the great tree that shaded his majesty's favourite thinking bench stabbed him in the back with one of it's branches and then skampered off to replant itself on the throne with the crown in tow. Before Anyone knew what was happening, greenery had overtaken the palace locking most outside while trapping certain vital hostages inside.

Inspirations: Something that's all too often lost in the "madness and tentacles" misinterpretation of eldritch horror is that much of the genre is spun off from the particular phobias of HP lovecraft. When we use the iconography without understanding the anxieties behind it, we risk creating a shallow B movie version of the horror we want our audience to feel.

To write good horror then, we need to draw off fears we understand, and with Jysh'parun I wanted to tap into climate anxiety in a way I don't think I've seen before. We've all resigned ourselves to the fact that climate change is happening, with the understanding that its being driven by the bullheaded egos and greed of people who are so powerful their perspective on life bears no resemblance to anything we could possibly conceive of. Translate their willingness to let us suffer for the sake of profit into a psudo historical fantasy context and you get the Unwelcoming Earth: widening sinkholes that demand tolls from passersby while an approaching tsunami proclaims the divine right of kings. It's not only absurd it's fundamentally idiotic but that it doesn't mean it won't destroy you and everyone you know.

Worshippers: Delusional druids and geomancers. Goliaths and dwarvenkind who get too into being "children of the mountain". Sentient trees, Living crystals, and other elemental entities who seek to put themselves "above" other forms of life. Corrupted primoridals.

Signs: Aberrations that resemble roots or stone spontaneously emerging from nature, acid flowing from normally clear running springs, statues of lordly alien figures carved from erosion, not tools. Proclimations in an unknowable script engraved deep under the earth or on monumental scale.

Symbols: A glyph resembling a mountain range or branches of a tree in the shape of a crown.

Titles: The Unbowing Mountain, The Insuperable, King of all Corners,

Artsource

#outergod #lovecraftian #deity #divinity: earth #divinity: disaster #disaster #field #mountain #highlands #encounter mountain #encounter highlands #Jysh'parun

[arvandus]

A Cup of Affection (Part 1)

Pairing: Barbatos x f!reader

Content warnings: cisfem!reader; short-coded reader (or tall Barbatos, you pick!); reader's hair is able to be tucked behind the ear/brushed aside, but no further description provided; a lil’ steamy toward the end but no actual smut (that’ll be in part 2 *evil laugh*); reader loves sweets/sweet drinks; not proofread (watch me edit spelling/grammar errors later after this has been reblogged....)

**MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT FOLLOW OR INTERACT**

(divider credit goes to @benkeibear)

It was the worst thing he could have ever heard uttered from your lips.

“I think I’d actually prefer coffee today, if that’s okay.”

Barbatos stared at you dumfounded as if you’d grown a second head.  You flustered under his gaze, your fingers fidgeting and eyes dropping.

“I mean, if it’s not too much trouble,” you stuttered.  Your next words came out in a rush.  “Don’t get me wrong, I love your tea! It’s just... I used to drink it all the time back home, and I’m feel a little nostalgic for it.”

Ah, you were so cute when you got flustered... Barbatos could feel his resolve fracture just the slightest, and he tightened his mental control, like sealing a crack in a teacup.

Diavolo laughed.  “There’s no need to worry.  Barbatos’s coffee is just as divine as his tea. I’m sure it’ll be no trouble at all.  Besides, he just went to the market yesterday and restocked the kitchens.  Isn’t that right?”

Diavolo looked at him expectantly, innocence in his eyes, and yet Barbatos knew better.  The corners of Barbatos’s mouth quirked just the slightest in stiff acknowledgement as he made mental notes to increase the young lord’s workload for the next day or two....

“Yes, young master.  Although, had I known the coffee would be offered to guests, I would have purchased more of a selection.”

“I’m sure whatever you have is fine, Barbatos. I’m not very picky...” you reply encouragingly with a warm smile.

Barbatos stared at you for a moment and returned the expression with more warmth than he’d given the young prince.  “You’re very gracious, Y/N.”

Diavolo clapped his hands together excitedly.  “Lovely!  With all of this talk of coffee, I believe I’d like one as well. It’s been some time since I’ve enjoyed a cup.” 

How quickly one’s control over a situation can shift...

The butler bowed low.  “Of course, my lord.  I will prepare it immediately.” He straightened his stiff spine and stared at you, although he kept his gaze at the space between your eyes so as not to give away the heat he’d undoubtedly feel when looking directly into your dark pupils.  “Is it safe to assume you enjoy your coffee like you enjoy your tea?”

You giggled, the sound of it making Barbatos’s skin tingle.  “You mean more sugar and cream than coffee? Yes, please.”

Great. Just great.

Barbatos’s smile remained firm, yet he could feel its fakeness in the way the muscles at the corner of his mouth cramped. He hoped you couldn’t see it.

With a bow he retreated. As soon as he was out of your line of sight, his mask vanished, transforming from smile to frown.

You wanted coffee.

There was only one, large, glaring problem.  The only coffee in the entire castle was Hell Coffee. 

It was Diavolo’s favorite, his enjoyment of the acidic, bitter taste a constant, warm reminder of Barbatos’s fatherly affection. He only requested it when he required reassurance after a particularly difficult day, when Barbatos’s honest feedback and praise on a job well done weren’t enough.  Barbatos had no need for any other type of coffee, especially since he himself was renowned for his teas and cakes.  No one ever, in their right mind, would request coffee when offered Barbatos’s tea.

With each step, the calm butler began to lose more and more of his composure until he nearly slammed the door open upon his entry to the kitchen.

The three Little Ds in the room startled at his entrance. One stirred a large, steaming stock pot, one washed the dishes, and the other was chopping vegetables.

Little D Two, who stirred the pot, saluted him.  “Hi, boss!”

Barbatos glared. “Out.”

The Little Ds wasted no time in rushing through the door. But before Number Two could make it, Barbatos’s sharp tone caught him.

“Not you, Number Two.  You stay.”

Number Two began to visibly shake, his small hand scratching at his head.  “A-Are you sure, boss? You look like you wanna be alone...”

Barbatos did not have to repeat himself; instead, he pinned the Little D with a stern look.

The Little D began to return to the center of the kitchen where Barbatos stood.

“Close the door,” Barbatos ordered. Little D obeyed and then returned to his side.

Barbatos put his hands on the kitchen island and stared down at its wooden, weathered surface.

“She wants coffee,” he muttered.

“What was that boss? I couldn’t hear ya...” Number Two replied, inching closer.

“I said she wants coffee.” Barbatos repeated as he looked up, his brow furrowed in frustration.

“Who does?” Number Two asked.

Barbatos clenched his jaw for a moment before averting his gaze and answering.  “Solomon’s apprentice.”

He’d hoped referring to you by your title would ease the wildness of his pulse, give him the much-needed distance between his head and his heart.

It did not.

Number Two perked up. “Well, that’s no big deal! We have coffee, don’t we?” He began shuffling through the cupboards. “Where is it, where is it. Ah, here it is!” He held it up in victory and placed it in front of Barbatos.

Barbatos glared daggers at it.

Why would anyone ever invent such a thing, anyway?

Hell indeed...

“We can’t use this,” he muttered.

“What?? Sure we can! It’s Hell Coffee, we make it all the-Ohhh.”

Number Two grew very still and Barbatos’s jaw clenched.

The silence stretched an uncomfortable length of time as Number Two fidgeted.  Finally, he drifted in front of the butler, hovering above the busy countertop.

“So, you, uhhh-”

“Shut up,” Barbatos ordered through clenched teeth.  “Not another word.”

But Number Two didn’t know the meaning of the word. “I mean,” he continued, “it can’t be that bad, right?? Some people like it bitter...”

“Well she doesn’t. You do recall how she takes her tea, do you not?”

Two fidgeted some more, his nervousness worsening. “Ah, right. Good point. But how bitter can it get, really?”

“I’d prefer not to find out,” Barbatos replied.  “No, this will not do. There must be another way.”

“Can’t we just drown it out with cream and sugar?” Number Two asked as he began rummaging through the fridge.

“The purpose of Hell Coffee is to communicate fondness, Number Two.  The magic of that cannot be undone so easily.”

‘There wouldn’t be enough sugar and cream in the entire Devildom to drown out that bitterness...’ Barbatos thought.

Panic curled his fingers into fists, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.  Time was wasting. He had to return to you soon or you and the young master begin to grow suspicious.

But then, Barbatos had an idea.  “Tell me, Number Two.  What are your feelings towards the apprentice?”

“Huh? My feelings? I mean, she’s nice and she helps me out once in a while...” The Little D answered distractedly as he continued to rummage through ingredients.

“Perfect,” Barbatos replied. “You will make it, then.”

There was a loud thump as Number Two hit his head on the inside of the fridge.  He popped out, his little black hand lifting his hat to rub a sore spot. “Me?!”

“Yes.”

“I can’t make Hell Coffee!”

“Why not?”

“I’ve never done it before!”

“It’s not difficult.”

“But what if it comes out awful? I don’t even think Hell Coffee is supposed to work on Little Ds!”

“All the better reason for you to be the one to make it. Come now. Diavolo requested a cup as well. I shall make the first, and then I will guide you through the steps so you may make the second.”

----

Diavolo talked, but you were having difficulty focusing on his words as you felt the minutes tick by.

Perhaps you’d made a mistake...

In all honesty, you weren’t sure what to expect. All you knew was that Hell Coffee was the only coffee available in the castle, a little nugget of knowledge that Lucifer had given to you when he’d told the story of Diavolo attempting to make him the coffee himself.

As soon as you learned that little tidbit of info, your mind immediately went to Barbatos. Sweet, handsome Barbatos.  Barbatos who’s presence made your skin hum, who’s soft smile and deep chuckle made your gut twist in the most lovely way.  Barbatos who’s eyes seemed to read you like a book every time you looked into them, and yet gave away nothing short of amusement in return.

He was such a tea enthusiast that you’d never questioned the lack of coffee on his elegant and detailed menu. But now the thought of Barbatos making you Hell Coffee wouldn’t leave your mind.

After all, how else were you supposed to find out how he felt about you? Ask him?  Like a normal person?? Definitely not; the very idea was laughable.  You’d rather take his rejection through small sips of coffee rather than hear the words uttered from his mouth.

Because that’s what you were certain would happen. The acidity would be mild, the beverage more sugar than coffee. It wasn’t like the royal butler harbored any feelings for you, right? Sure, there was respect and friendship, but that was it.

So then why.... why were you so nervous? Why did hope flutter in your chest like a trapped bird?

Silly.

Anxiety twisted deep in your stomach, crushing your appetite and making your small desserts taste like ash.

But a moment later, he appeared, an ornate silver tray in his steady gloved hands, with two delicate teacups of steaming dark liquid.  He set the tray down and began to prepare them to yours and Diavolo’s liking. The close proximity made the delicious scent tickle your nose, and you inhaled and let out a happy sigh.

Barbatos was unmoved, his eyes kept to the teacups as he handed Diavolo his beverage first, and then yours.

Diavolo thanked him with a happy smile and took the first sip and winced.  “Ah, as bitter as ever Barbatos.  Glad to know you haven’t tired of me yet.”

“An impossibility, young master,” he replied smoothly.

You watched the exchange as you carefully brought the beverage to your lips and sipped.

Your heart sank instantly, the sweet tang clinging to your tongue.  It crushed your hope, silenced the unspoken confessions and washed them away to a place where they’d be left to slowly die.

“And how do you like yours?” Barbatos inquired, his neutral smile hiding any emotions worth noticing.

Or, as you’d just now discovered, where none lurked.

He respected you it seemed, had some basic level of fondness since the coffee still tasted of coffee, of course.  But it lacked the sharp, bitter bite that you’d hoped for, the one you’d experienced whenever one of the brothers made you coffee at the house.

You forced a small smile even as you felt your disappointment coalesce in your throat like a stone.  “It’s delicious. Thank you, Barbatos.”

Barbatos gave a polite nod and his posture eased ever so slightly. His satisfaction of your reaction to your bland, sugary cup only drove the painful truth home further, a nail into your heart.

Barbatos didn’t love you.

----

Diavolo stared at the empty teacups in thought as Barbatos began clearing the table.  “She seemed... disappointed, didn’t she?”

Barbatos glanced at him and then averted his eyes.  “Did she?”

“She certainly left quickly enough after the coffee.”

“I’m sure she simply has many errands to run,” Barbatos replied.  “The brothers and Solomon keep her nearly as busy as me.”

Diavolo stared at him for a long moment, then let out a gentle hum.

Barbatos graced his unspoken need for further attention with a lengthy side-eye.  “Yes, young master?”

Diavolo’s mouth quirked up slightly at the corner.  “Nothing... I just... I was certain that her cup would have been more bitter.”

Barbatos straightened up, the tray of now used dishes in his hand, his own mouth quirking up in return.  “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

Diavolor raised a challenging eyebrow at him.  “You do know I can tell when someone is lying to me, Barbatos.  Even you.”

Barbatos’s smirk vanished as quickly as it came, his walls up instantly.  “I have not forgotten, my lord. As such, perhaps you should cease pursuing this topic.”

“Have it your way...” Diavolo muttered.

Barbatos bowed. “If you’ll excuse me...”

He turned towards the castle, his eyes downcast on the half-drank cup of coffee you’d left behind.  As he began to walk back, Diavolo’s quiet voice followed him.

“You’re making a mistake.”

----

Diavolo’s words lingered in Barbatos’s mind following him into the next day, and the day after that.  It haunted him endlessly, making its appearance at the most inopportune times.  While balancing the budget, monitoring Lord Diavolo’s progress on his pile of paperwork, while running errands... he was far too busy to be so, so.... distracted.

Barbatos whole-heartedly disagreed with the young prince’s assessment.  In fact, in all honesty, Barbatos hardly ever made any mistakes at all, at least not anymore. He was far too careful for such reckless behavior.  Which was why Barbatos had a million and one reasons not to confess his feelings to you.  Between Devildom politics, his duties, and your mortality just to name a few, the cons far outweighed the pros... or so he tried to tell himself.

Even so, he couldn’t deny how you watched him when you thought he wasn’t looking, or the way your smile brightened in his presence... or the way you always managed to find a reason to cross paths with him at least a couple times a week...

Barbatos shook his head to himself.  No.  Best not to go there...

And yet...

‘You’re making a mistake.’

----

The truth of those words didn’t fully solidify until he ran into you at the market a couple of weeks later. Barbatos had already noticed how he seemed to be crossing paths with you less than usual. He already suspected you were avoiding him, putting distance between your heart and him.  He’d accepted it, a consequence of his own choices.

That is, until he saw the look in your eyes; the way you couldn’t quite hide the hurt fast enough behind your smile, the way your lips curled in artificial joy at seeing him.  Your words were brief and cordial, but he could tell you were eager to disentangle from his presence.

He’d watched your retreating back with his breath lodged like spikes in his lungs, the longing to grab your wrist and pull you back to him making his fingers twitch.

Barbatos had hoped that preventing an impromptu confession with cursed coffee would have allowed him to keep you at arm’s length, to keep his affections for you separate from yours.

But this felt less like separation and every bit like entanglement.  You weren’t just drifting farther away from him like two separate objects with nothing but empty space between. It felt more like ripping, a tearing of intertangled roots. It was painful and left an ache in his chest where your presence had made a home.

Perhaps the young lord was right....

----

Even so, Barbatos was as stubborn as he was prideful.  He filled himself with distractions to ease the pain, waiting for time to work its magic and ease the empty longing for both of you.

Another two weeks passed before Diavolo took matters into his own hands.

The prince entered the kitchen to see every single surface filled with extravagant desserts and warm breads. Little D’s were at every counter and stove, while Barbatos stood at the island in the center with a piping bag in his hand, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Are we having a celebration?” Diavolo asked jovially.

“No, young master,” Barbatos replied.

“Then what is the reason for the feast?”

“I have been making modifications to my recipes to perfect my menu.”

“You mean the menu you’ve already perfected three times this week?”  Diavolo crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with one particular sorcerer’s apprentice, would it?”

Barbatos’s hand flexed on the piping bag and a large glob shot out onto the cake he was decorating.  He glanced briefly at Diavolo.  “Of course not.”

“Then I’m guessing that it’s just a coincidence that you’ve chosen her favorite color as your decorating inspiration....”

Barbatos blanched and his eyes looked up from his work to take in the state of the kitchen.

Damn it, he was right... cupcakes, cakes, tarts, danishes, marbled bread, muffins... everything he’d made was somehow tied back to you.  Colors, flavors, textures... it was as if he’d gotten lost in his thoughts and his hands had written out apologies in the form of desserts rather than letters.

“Perhaps we should talk about this...” Diavolo suggested.  His amber eyes took in the exhausted Little D’s.  “Okay, break time everyone!”

A roar of cheers erupted throughout the kitchen, and a swarm of dark little bodies vacated the space in record time.

“Young master, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t override my authority within the kitchen,” Barbatos chided as he eyed all of the unfinished work.

“My dear friend, work them any harder, and they’ll all go on strike, and then where will we be?”  Diavolo closed the door behind him and made himself comfortable against the island, a pastry in his hand.  Barbatos returned to piping the decoration onto the cake that was nearly complete.  “You should talk to her, Barbatos.”

Barbatos froze and finally let out a heavy sigh in defeat as he set the piping bag down. He braced his hands against the weathered edge of the counter. “I cannot.”

“Why not?”

“It is not so simple.”

“Isn’t it?”

Barbatos chuckled.  “I sometimes envy your youthful, reckless optimism...”

“You’ve been sulking ever since that day with the hell coffee.”

Barbatos scoffed and straightened his spine in reproach. “I do not sulk.”

“Like a teenager with a broken heart ,” Diavolo pressed with an arrogant tilt of his chin and mischief in his smile.

Barbatos narrowed his eyes.  “If you have enough time to watch me so closely, then perhaps you can explain to me why you’re still so behind on your work.”

“Maybe I’m too distracted watching you clean the castle top to bottom and baking enough sweets to satiate even Beel’s bottomless gut.”

His words got under the butler’s skin and so he started straightening up the space, gathering crumbs of dough and flour into piles, wiping up blotches of icing from the wood grain.  “It is work that must be done my lord, nothing more nothing less.” Then he muttered, “A teenager? Really? You do realize I’m far older than you.”

“Yes, and how many of those years have you been alone?”

“I am not alone, young master. I have you, I have the Little Ds...”

“You know what I mean. When was the last time you fell in love?”

Barbatos froze, his vision blurring. He blinked and it refocused.

Yes... how long had it been?

“Look,” Diavolo said, “all I’m saying is that perhaps this is one area that you’re a little bit... rusty in.”

Barbatos was silent for a long moment, before giving a soft sigh and turning to lean against the counter the same as Diavolo.  “My lack of a love life isn’t the issue.  I can’t afford to jeopardize your position as prince by allowing myself to become emotionally involved with a human. And not just any human, but Solomon’s apprentice.  Many demons still haven’t forgotten how he’d singlehandedly opposed the Devildom centuries ago. I am your most trusted confidant, and as such I must err on the side of caution in all of my dealings.”

Diavolo’s eyes widened.  “Is that why you’ve been doing this?”

“I am your butler first and foremost, young master. You will always be my top priority.”

Diavolo blew air out of his cheeks and leaned his head back to stare at the intricate ceiling.  “I see. I appreciate the concern, friend. However, I believe, in this instance, it’s important that you put a little more faith in me to be able to keep the nobles in line.  Regardless of their opinions, I am the law of this land, and my position is final. Besides, she’s already intricately tied up in Devildom affairs considering she has pacts with all of the brothers.”

“All the more reason to be cautious,” Barbatos replied.

“Screw that,” Diavolo scoffed.

Barbatos gasped.  “My lord!”

“After all you’ve done for me, what kind of a prince would I be if I let the fear of the masses take away your chance at happiness?” Diavolo said firmly.  “You deserve to be happy too, Barbatos.  Now please, for the love of my father, get out of this damn kitchen and go apologize to her.”

Barbatos stared at the prince with wide eyes, before bowing low. “Yes, young master.”

Before Barbatos crossed the threshold, Diavolo called out with a chuckle in his voice. “You should ask her for coffee when you get there...”

Barbatos gave a soft laugh.  He had a feeling he wouldn’t have to.

----

For all of the inspiration and reassurance Diavolo had provided, Barbatos could feel his resolve slip more and more the closer he got to the front door of the House of Lamentation.

Would you turn him away? Run away to your room and allow the brothers to host him instead?  What if you weren’t even home? What if you were with Solomon?

A sharp stab of jealousy reared its head and he forced it back down.

That certainly wouldn’t do him any good, now would it?

He walked up the steps and rang the doorbell as he held his breath.

A silent prayer of gratitude and dread echoed through his mind as you answered the door. You froze when you saw him, eyes wide, your breath caught in your chest.

“Barbatos,” you said dumbly.  “What are you doing here?”

You clamped your mouth shut as you realized how rude you sounded, and all Barbatos could think about was how cute you were...

“I...” he started, and then froze.  He couldn’t say the real reason for his arrival, not on the doorstep where anyone could hear.  “I came to inspect the House of Lamentation for any infestations.”

Your shoulder slumped slightly in disappointment.  “Oh. Okay, come in.”

He bowed graciously.  “Thank you.”

As he stepped into the large foyer, you fidgeted nervously.  He stared the gesture and fought the blush that threatened to creep across his pale cheeks.  “Where are the brothers?” he asked.

“They aren’t here right now. Diavolo called them to a student council meeting.”

Barbatos’s eyes widened.  “Oh. I see...”

He wasn’t sure whether he should thank him or punish him...

He stared down at you as his heart pounded wildly.  “So you are by yourself then?”

“For a little bit,” you replied with a small smile.  “I must admit the quiet is nice once in a while...”

Barbatos’s own lips curled gently.  “Then I promise I’ll be brief.”

“W-would you like some tea?” you asked expectantly.

Barbatos hesitated, Diavolo’s words once again coming alive in his mind.

Ask her for coffee.

But Barbatos forced the suggestion aside.

“Yes, tea would be lovely.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.  Make yourself comfortable.” You retreated toward the kitchen, and Barbatos sat in a nearby chair.

----

Tea, tea, tea.....

You opened the cannister that sat on the counter and stared at it with wide eyes and an open mouth.

Empty.

No, that can’t be right... you always had tea.

With your brow furrowed, you rummaged through the lower pantry.

Nothing. Not a single tea bag.

No, no, no....

Dread started from your toes and crept up like invisible fingers brushing against sensitive skin.

You had hoped to make this as painless as possible; give Barbatos his tea, allow him to do his inspection, and then send him on his way.  But already things were going awry.

You hummed to yourself with a furrowed brow as you dug out any and all drink options.  Water, milk, juice, soda... none of those seemed suitable for Barbatos.

You went back to the cupboards, moving items around as you searched.  Your hand wrapped around a familiar bag and you pulled it out with trepidation.

 Coffee.

You stared at the bag of Hell Coffee with narrowed eyes as if it was the reason for the lack of tea within the kitchen.

No.  Absolutely fucking not. You’d already made that mistake once before and you’d regretted it ever since.

Panic filled your veins and you fought back the burning sensation in your eyes.

There had to be something....

Your eyes spotted the upper cabinet that was so often out of your reach. It often housed excess demonus when Lucifer’s own cabinets were full in his office.

Maybe... just maybe....

Who knows, maybe Lucifer had received some tea as a gift from Barbatos and put it up with the rest of the demonus?

You grabbed the stool that had become your best friend within the Devildom-sized kitchen and stepped up.

----

Barbatos sat and fiddled with his clothing, adjusting the uniform repeatedly. It felt awfully tight today, the house feeling particularly warm.

The minutes ticked by, time stretched, and Barbatos grew more and more restless. He checked the time.  The tall grandfather clock chimed its gong.

Finally, Barbatos got tired of waiting.  Perhaps you’d run out the back door, leaving him alone in the house...

He chuckled to himself.  You would never....

He stood up and made his way to the kitchen.  When he pushed through the double doors, he froze as he stared at the sight before him.

The kitchen was chaos, cupboards open and various contents spread out on the counter.

And you, you were on a stool, precariously balanced, as the upper half of your body vanished inside a high cabinet.

“No, no, this can’t be happening...” you muttered, unaware of Barbatos’s presence. He could hear the anxiety laced in your tone, the tension tight around your vocal chords. You were desperately searching for something.

It was almost comical, watching you stand on your tippy-toes, and it’d been so long since Barbatos saw you up close, that he paused to cherish the view. His eyes followed the curves and lines of your body, his lips slightly parted.

That is, until you started to wobble...

You could feel the balance shift, felt the scrape of the wood beneath your feet give way to nothing.

That split second of panic, of knowing you were falling, was interrupted by strong hands and lean arms wrapping around your waist, catching your weight against a firm, tall body.

The impact of your body against Barbatos’s forced his own back against the closed lower cupboard, but he held firm, keeping your feet from touching the floor. Your arms were around his neck instantly, survival instinct forcing you against him as if he were a tree.

Time felt frozen for a moment as your heart pounded with adrenaline.

You knew immediately who’d caught you. After all, there was only one other person in the house with you.

Not to mention you could smell the scent of sugar clinging to his uniform, could smell the tea on his breath as his own heart pounded beneath yours.

You were torn between embarrassment and desire, your eyes closed as you clung to him.  But then you remembered the hell coffee from weeks ago, recalled that neutral smile he’d worn when you drank it, and your heart broke all over again.

Slowly you loosened your hold around his neck and pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes.

“I... thank you.”

His green eyes stared back, his skin flushed, although you were sure it was due to the haste in which he had to have moved to catch you. Barbatos held you for a moment longer than he needed to before slowly setting you down on unsteady legs.

“You’re welcome,” he replied.  Then his eyes looked up past your head at the kitchen behind you.  “Might I inquire as to what’s happening?”

You opened your mouth hoping to find a believable lie there, but there was none.  Only simple truth came forth, clumsy and blunt.  “We don’t have any tea.”

“Oh...” Barbatos looked down at you.  “So you’ve decided to reorganize your kitchen.”

The emotion pounding in your chest finally gained enough strength to work their way up your throat and brim your eyes with tears.

“I... I only have coffee. And, and water, and juice, and soda, and...”

Barbatos watched the panic overtake you and he took your hand in his, his thumb gently rubbing across the back of your hand.

“Coffee will be fine.”

What he had hoped would assuage your fear only seemed to heighten it, causing the tears to finally break loose, running wet tracks down your cheeks. You refused to look at him, instead focusing on the details of his uniform.

“B-but... I only have Hell Coffee....”

Realization dawned on Barbatos’s face, and then his expression softened.  “I see... then let us make some.”

He began to step to the side to go around you but you clutched his hand tightly, halting his retreat.  “No, you don’t understand. It’s...” Barbatos waited patiently as you found your words. Finally, your voice came through soft and timid.  “It’s going to be too bitter.”

A soft smile spread across his lips.  “I think in this case I am willing to make an exception.”

Confusion furrowed your brow as he led you over to the counter with your fingers intertwined.  “I... I don’t understand.... I thought...”

“Y/N, I have a confession to make... and an apology as well.”

A few minutes later and the sound of laughter is filling the kitchen with the scent of coffee in rich in the air.

“So you really bullied Number Two into making it??” you laughed.

Barbatos gave you a reproachful look.  “Bullying is a strong term, Y/N... but yes, I suppose I did.”

“Well now I know how Two feels about me, I guess...”

“And you know how I feel about you, too,” Barbatos replied with a small smile.

“Wellll,” you hummed, “Yes, but...” you stared at the two cups of fresh coffee sitting in front of each of you. “I still want to try it...”

It was Barbatos’s suggestion to make each other’s cup, to assuage any lingering doubts.

“Then let us proceed,” he replied.

With your eyes locked you both picked up your cups and took a tentative sip.

Sharp, deep bitterness greeted your tongue and your face soured.  Barbatos’s cup seemed to be no better, as he attempted to stifle a cough.

“Oh...” he mustered.  “Oh goodness, that’s...”

“Truly awful,” you replied with a chuckle.  “In the best way, of course.”

“It really is, isn’t it?” he laughed.  He took another sip and you watched in amusement as his winced.

You sipped yours again as well, and forced it down with your eyes squeezed shut.

“Do... do we have to finish the whole thing?” you asked.

“It’s customary to do so... not finishing it implies you’re unwilling to fully accept the other person’s affections.”

You frowned into your cup with a pout.  “Silly Devildom customs...” you forced another sip.  “Blegh.”

Barbatos grinned, his cheeks warm as he watched you.  “Perhaps, however...” he said, “we can call a truce.”

“Don’t toy with my emotions, Barbatos,” you teased.

His expression sobered from one of amusement to calm affection.  “I promise, never again.”

Your skin felt hot and you averted your eyes down into your cup.  His hand came forward, and you felt him tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I am truly sorry for deceiving you,” he said softly.  “It was a poor decision and one I’ll always regret.”

Your gaze returned to lock with his, and suddenly you’re keenly aware of his close proximity and of the emptiness of the large house.

Barbatos’s hand lingered gently on your jawline, his fingers tucked behind your ear.  His eyes flickered to your lips before returning to your eyes again.

Then he closed the distance and kissed you, his lips soft and tender against yours.  You melted into it, melted into him, your fingers twining into the jacket of his uniform.

He pulled away slightly and you stared at each other. Then he kissed you again, his lips firmer, more confident.  His hand went from your jaw to your waist, pulling you close against him as your arms wound around his neck.  The desire written into his touch, his lips, emboldened you to open your mouth slightly and swipe your tongue against his lips.  Barbatos’s lips curled into a smirk against yours, a deep chuckle vibrating in his chest. He acquiesced to your silent plea and opened his mouth, his tongue meeting yours.

Your body awakened at the warmth and taste of him, the acrid coffee still sharp on his tongue.  You pressed yourself harder against him, and his body pivoted until you were pinned between himself and the counter, your coffee cups long since forgotten and growing cold while your body grew hotter.

Finally, Barbatos broke the kiss, his forehead pressed against yours as his hands tightened on your hips.  “You’re going to make me behave improperly if you continue to torture me so.”

He was taller than you, much taller; you barely came up to his shoulder.  It made the buckle of his belt press against your stomach.

And below that...

Heat pooled in your core, desire heavy in your gaze.

“Oh no, not improper,” you teased, your hands on his hips in return as you looked up at him with pleading eyes.

Barbatos chuckled as he cupped your cheek. “What a troublemaker... however,” - he forced his body to separate from yours - “I would like to perhaps court you before repurposing your kitchen.”

You pouted your lip in disappointment, and Barbatos stared at the gesture with flushed cheeks.  His thumb came up and brushed against your protruding lower lip.  “Don’t do that,” he chided.

You grinned and playfully nibbled at his thumb, trapping it between your teeth.  His eyes darkened. He leaned in to kiss you again, but your words halted his approach just as his lips started to brush yours.

“How about dessert?” you asked against his mouth.  “Our coffee was so bitter, we deserve something sweet.”

Barbatos froze and gave a frustrated chuckle.  “Is this how it’s going to be from now on?”

You grinned.  “Maybe...”

“Hmm,” he hummed. Then he leaned closer to you until his lips brushed your ear.  “Sounds like fun...”

Your legs felt like jelly, your heart pounding so fiercely you were sure it was going to jump from your chest into his.

But then Barbatos pulled away, putting distance between you. “Fortunately for you, I happen to have a wide variety of desserts waiting in the kitchen at the castle. So,” he extended his hand to and bowed, “if you’ll accompany me...”

You smiled and took his hand. “I’d be happy to.”

“Wonderful. Let us take a shortcut.”

Barbatos opened a doorway out of thin air, and with your hand linked with his, guided you through.

Part 2 (link coming soon!)

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