#and i still hate hazbin hotel with every fiber of my being it is in NO way an actually good show but i hate cashgrab adult cartoons far more

[the-sslimmest-shady]

Absolutely not glazing hazbin hotel rn I dispise it but ppl are always talkin shit like "if it's an adult cartoon why do so many kids like it?! They don't watch other adult cartoons so CLEARLY this is actually secretly a kids show and they're exposing kids to this content on purpose..." but bruh. No. Kids watch it because it actually has an interesting plotline and concept. And yall are the ones who taught them about the concept of hell and heaven anyways! They just made it fun! If yall stopped making shows that weren't just absolute dog shit you'd see the exact same phenomenon. Like, just look at south park: the only reason the kids who watch it are a bit older than hazbin hotel fans is that it's built on references that kids wouldn't really get, but thousands of teenagers watch that show! And most of them are just as weird about it! But it's an actually good and funny show dispite being an adult cartoon! Or for a more tame option, Bob's Burgers is a show I've watched since I was 10! Technically also an adult cartoon, even if its far more tame! And I haven't seen rick and morty, nor do I want to, but I've seen plenty of kids who are into it! Or at least into youtube videos of games based on it! Like seriously, if you think hazbin hotel is marketing directly to kids to purposefully expose them to shit like pornstars, drugs, and murder, that's just flat wrong and you have a warped perception over what a good adult cartoon is.

[rainforestakiie]

AdamsApple Month Harvest

Sweaters part 02!

hi everyone! haha i wrote this in Spain next to the hotel pool! darn it’s hot! i hope you like it! i worked hard on it!

Part 01 - Part 02

A few days had passed since Adam’s fiery encounter at the Hazbin Hotel. He had thrown himself into his work, every fiber of his being focused on fulfilling the avalanche of orders that poured into his shop. His hands moved mechanically, stitching fabric with practiced precision, but his thoughts? They swirled in a storm of anger and resentment.

“Fuck Lucifer,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and venomous as he carefully stitched teeth and bones onto a particularly macabre sweater requested by one of his more eccentric regulars. Each tug of the thread felt cathartic, like he was stitching his anger into the fabric itself. “Stupid fucking Lucifer, thinking he’s better than me!” His fingers worked deftly over the seams, his golden eyes narrowed in concentration. “As if I’m scheming something! Like I give a shit about his stupid kingdom.”

The rhythm of his work soothed him, but it also kept the thoughts at bay. He found himself repeating the same curses over and over, weaving his frustrations into every stitch, every scarf, every sweater. His shop was filled with the soft hum of the sewing machine, the scratch of needles against fabric, and Adam’s incessant grumbling.

Later, as he worked on a long scarf with a blue and black striped pattern, he found his focus sharpening on the intricate details. There were three ‘Vs’ stitched into the ends—a design request from a client with an eerie fascination with symbols. Adam paused for a moment, his hands hovering over the fabric, his eyes far away.

“Why the hell does everyone think the worst of me?” he hissed, the words slipping out, quieter this time, tinged with exhaustion rather than fury. His shoulders sagged slightly as he sighed, the weight of everything catching up to him. “Why can’t they see I’m just… trying to live my life?”

The shop felt colder suddenly, the air thicker, as though the oppressive presence of Hell itself was closing in on him. Adam’s hands slowed, his movements more deliberate as he carefully folded the finished sweater. He took a deep breath, eyes tracing over the delicate patterns he’d woven. His heart wasn’t in the insults anymore, the anger beginning to ebb like the receding tide.

He placed the sweaters and mittens into a box, the soft rustle of tissue paper filling the room as he packaged them with care. Each item was perfect, flawless in design, because despite everything, Adam still took pride in his work. It was the one thing he had control over, the one thing that he could do without question or judgment.

But the memory of Lucifer’s sneering face gnawed at him. The King of Hell’s words replayed in his mind, taunting him, filling him with a lingering sense of doubt. The way Lucifer had mocked him—mocked his very existence—stung deeper than Adam had anticipated.

“What did I generally do to them?” Adam whispered, his voice barely audible, as if speaking it aloud would solidify the painful truth. “Why does everyone hate me so much?”

His hands stilled over the box, his wings trembling slightly. It wasn’t just Lucifer. It was the way Vaggie had looked at him, the disbelieving scoff she gave. It was the way even Charlie had seemed uncertain, like she was waiting for him to prove her wrong.

Adam’s chest tightened. He wasn’t scheming. He wasn’t up to anything shady. He was just a man—or whatever he was now—trying to survive in a place that was never meant for someone like him. And yet, no one seemed willing to believe that.

The anger that had fueled him earlier had melted away, replaced by a hollow ache. He sighed quietly, his fingers tracing the edge of the box. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but what good would that do? It wasn’t like anyone would listen. Not here. Not in Hell.

His shop was his sanctuary, the one place where he could escape the chaos outside, the sneers, the assumptions. Here, he could create. Here, he could be useful. But even that felt fleeting. It was only a matter of time before the rest of Hell started thinking the same thing as Lucifer, wasn’t it?

“Fuck them,” he whispered, but the words lacked the venom they once held. They felt empty now. Hollow. He sealed the box with a finality that felt heavier than it should have and stepped back, surveying his work. Everything was perfect. Yet, nothing felt right.

For a moment, the room was still, the weight of his thoughts pressing in on him. Then, with a soft exhale, Adam turned away from the neatly packed orders, wiping his hands on his jeans. His eyes drifted to the window, where the neon glow of Pentagram City flickered in the distance, casting long shadows across the floor. The Hazbin Hotel loomed somewhere beyond those lights, a constant reminder of everything he wanted to leave behind.

But as much as he wanted to forget, as much as he wanted to bury the past and move on, the encounter with Lucifer had opened old wounds. The doubts, the fears—everything he thought he had put behind him was crawling back to the surface.

And yet, despite it all, Adam knew one thing for certain: he was never going to beg. Not for anyone. Not even for the fucking King of Hell.

With a deep breath, Adam picked up the next piece of fabric and threaded his needle. The anger may have melted away, but the determination? That still burned fiercely inside him.

And for now, that was enough.

Adam looked up as the bell above his shop door chimed, the familiar sound cutting through the quiet. He blinked a few times, pushing the lingering storm of thoughts away as his most loyal customer stepped inside.

Rosie. The cannibal with her floating black-and-red dress, gliding across the floor as if the laws of gravity didn't apply to her. Her eyes, black and pupil-less, sparkled in the dim light, and her high-pitched, almost sing-song voice greeted him with that same unsettling charm she always carried.

"Hi, sugar!" she chirped, her voice carrying an old-time accent that had always made Adam wonder just how long she'd been in this Hellhole. Her red hat was perched perfectly atop her head, framing her perfect white curls. As she walked further into the shop, her heels made no sound on the floor, a ghostly glide that sent a chill down Adam’s spine no matter how many times he’d seen it.

Adam swallowed, trying to pull himself together, but it was too late. Rosie had already fixed her gaze on him. Those shining black eyes, sharp and unblinking, zeroed in on his face. He could feel her stare peeling back layers of him, seeing more than he wanted to reveal.

"Oh! Pumpkin!" Rosie gasped, a dramatic gesture that had her hand flying up to her chest. "What's with the long face?" Her voice was teasing, but there was an edge to it, something that always left Adam feeling like prey. Before he could pull back, she was already upon him, her fingers cupping his face with a surprising amount of force for someone so dainty-looking.

"With a face this handsome, you shouldn’t be crying or frowning! No, no, nope!" she tsked, her red lips pulling into a sharp grin that sent a shiver down Adam’s spine. Her fingers were cold against his skin, her long nails tapping against his cheekbones in a way that made him feel like she was sizing him up—like a cut of meat in her butcher’s shop.

Rosie leaned in closer, her teeth gleaming in the low light, wickedly sharp as they caught the glint from the overhead lamps. “So cute, I could just eat you all up!”

She snapped her teeth playfully, but Adam knew the threat was never entirely absent. Every word she said was always dipped in a hint of menace, even when she was just being Rosie.

Adam forced a smile, gently pulling his face from her hands. “Thanks, Rosie,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to avoid her piercing gaze. “Just… you know, busy with orders.”

Rosie wasn’t convinced. She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head in that bird-like way she did when she was trying to read someone.

“Busy, huh?" She glanced around at the shelves, her fingers idly grazing one of the mittens on display. "Hmm, maybe that’s part of it, sugar, but I’ve been coming here long enough to know when something’s eating at you."

Her lips curled into a sinister smirk at the pun, the tips of her sharp teeth peeking out again.

Adam stiffened, trying not to let her words get to him, but damn if she wasn’t perceptive. He turned back to his workbench, threading a needle and pretending to be focused on the sweater he was stitching. “It’s nothing, Rosie. Just business stuff. Hell’s a tough crowd to please.”

Rosie sauntered over to the counter, her movements fluid, like a predator closing in on weakened prey.

“Oh, come on now, sweetheart,” she cooed, resting her elbows on the counter as she leaned forward, watching him like a hawk. “You’ve got a face that screams, ‘I’m about to rip someone's head off,’ and I’m guessing that someone’s not one of your lovely little customers.”

Adam’s hands stilled, the needle frozen mid-stitch. His thoughts flicked back to Lucifer, to the hotel, to the humiliation he nearly faced at the hands of the King of Hell. Anger bubbled up again, hot and bitter in his chest.

Rosie was watching him closely now, her eyes glittering with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “Come on, darling,” she purred. “Spill. What’s really going on?” She straightened up and fixed her hat again, her nails tapping on the countertop like claws against bone. "I won't bite... unless you ask me to."

Adam let out a heavy sigh, his grip tightening on the sweater in his lap. He wanted to keep it to himself, to shove it all down and keep pushing forward, but something about Rosie—whether it was her unnerving charm or the fact that she was the closest thing he had to a friend in this place—made him want to unload, even if just a little.

“My…old friend,” he finally said, spitting the name like it tasted bitter on his tongue. “Gave me shit. Tried to make me beg for help in front of everyone at the hotel. Like I need him or his damn protection.”

He shook his head, his wings bristling at the memory. “I don’t know why they all think I’m some... charity case. I’ve been doing just fine on my own.”

Rosie’s smile widened, dark amusement glinting in her eyes. “Oh, sugar, I bet he loves to remind everyone he’s top dog, but trust me, half of it’s just for show.” She tilted her head, tapping a finger to her lips. “Still, you’ve been ruffling some feathers, haven’t you?”

Adam scoffed, finally meeting her gaze, feeling some of his frustration seep into his words. “Apparently. He thinks I’m scheming something because I’ve got a business. Like I’m up to no good just because I don’t need him.”

Rosie chuckled softly, a sound that was both soothing and chilling. “That’s Hell for you, darling. The moment you start standing on your own two feet, everyone assumes you’ve got some dirty little plan up your sleeve.” Her voice lowered, almost conspiratorial, as she added, “But I wouldn’t worry too much about this friend of yours. He’s just pissed you don’t fit into his neat little box. You? You’re different, and that scares him.”

Adam blinked, taken aback by the comment. Different? Scaring Lucifer? He hadn’t thought of it that way. But something about Rosie’s words lodged in his mind, planting a seed of doubt and intrigue. Maybe he was different. Maybe that’s why Lucifer had been so intent on knocking him down a peg.

Adam sighed and placed Rosie’s latest order down. He arranged it with tissues and everything he gives to his best customers.

Rosie smiled sweetly, her sharp teeth flashing as she patted his hand. “Now, chin up, sugar. You keep doing what you’re doing, and let the King of Hell stew in his own insecurities. Besides,” she winked, taking her package. “if anyone tries to give you trouble, you just let me know. I’ve got ways of dealing with those kinds of problems.”

Adam let out a small laugh, despite the weight still pressing on him. “Thanks, Rosie. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Rosie tipped her hat and turned to leave, her dress floating behind her like smoke. “Take care now, pumpkin. And remember—don’t let anyone, not even Lucifer, make you feel like you’re less than you are.”

With that, she disappeared into the night, leaving Adam standing there, the shop feeling emptier but a little less suffocating.

It took Adam a long moment before realising Rosie knew he was talking about Lucifer. Adam bummed, glancing back at the closed door in awe.

Was he that obvious?

Rosie had a way about her, a strange, unsettling charm that somehow always managed to lift Adam's spirits. Her voice, though pitched in that almost-too-sweet tone, could cut through the thickest fog of his mood like a knife. After her visit, Adam had felt lighter—more focused, more himself. Her teasing words still echoed in his mind, "Pumpkin, with a face this handsome, no one should dare frown!" It worked, somehow. His hands moved with renewed energy, and the orders he had been dreading seemed to disappear as quickly as they arrived.

For days, he immersed himself in his work. Each stitch, each thread pulled taut with care and precision. His fingers danced over the wool, coaxing life into the fabric. He was no longer muttering under his breath about Lucifer, no longer grinding his teeth with resentment. Instead, a strange calm had settled in, and for the first time in weeks, Adam felt... proud. Proud of his craft. He'd completed more orders in that stretch of time than he had in months.

Days blurred together until, one afternoon, the familiar chime of his computer snapped him back to reality. A new order.

Humming the catchy, macabre tune of "Hell's Forever," Adam turned to his screen. But as soon as his eyes settled on the name of the sender, the lightness in his chest collapsed like a house of cards.

The Hazbin Hotel.

Adam’s frown deepened into something almost cartoonishly exaggerated, his brow furrowing so hard it could’ve cracked marble. He rubbed his eyes, convinced he was seeing things—some glitch in the system. But when his vision cleared, the reality remained, staring him dead in the face like a slap.

There it was, all neatly typed out with a message attached.

"Hi Adam, I’m so, so sorry for how everything turned out! Please come back to the hotel. You don’t have to stay, but we’d really love to talk. – Charlie"

Adam’s lip curled in disdain. Of course it’s Charlie, he thought bitterly. He quickly scanned the rest of the order. She hadn’t just ordered a couple of sweaters; she’d tripled the amount of money offered, the sum flashing on his screen was enough to make most Sinners lose their damn minds.

But Adam wasn’t most Sinners. He wasn’t just anyone. He was Adam—the First Man—and he didn’t give a shit anymore.

With one swift movement, Adam canceled the order. No hesitation. He shut the laptop with a decisive click, the sound echoing in the silence of his dimly lit workshop. "Fuck them," he muttered darkly, running a hand through his wild hair. "Fuck them."

As he trudged upstairs to his bedroom, his thoughts swirled in a storm of anger and exhaustion. "Maybe tomorrow will be better," he whispered to himself, pulling the covers over his head. But a bitter voice in the back of his mind scoffed at the idea. Nothing in Hell ever got better.

And, as expected, tomorrow wasn’t better.

The day after that, another order from the Hazbin Hotel. He canceled it. The day after that, same thing. Canceled. And the next day. And the next.

For a full month, Charlie kept sending orders, each one with a desperate little note attached. The amounts of money offered became increasingly ludicrous. At first, it doubled. Then it tripled again. Until, one day, Adam opened his computer to see they were offering him one million Hellbucks.

It was insanity. Complete, unbelievable madness. The kind of money that would make anyone else in Pentagram City salivate.

But Adam wasn’t just anyone.

Without blinking, he canceled the order again. And this time, he went a step further—he blacklisted the Hazbin Hotel, blocking them from placing any future orders. That’s it, he thought. That should finally shut them up.

He leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk creeping across his face as he folded his arms behind his head. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he was finally in control again. That was the end of it. Had to be.

But deep down, a shadow of doubt lingered.

In Hell, nothing was ever that simple.

The next day, Adam stood behind the full-length mirrors in his shop, working meticulously on his latest creation—a new dress for Rosie. It had been his most challenging project yet, every stitch and fold demanding the utmost attention to detail. Adam knelt beside her, carefully hemming the skirt, the copper-red fabric gleaming under the dim light of the shop. The color had been her special request, matching her signature look, and it wasn’t just any shade of red. Adam had made sure it was the exact tint that would blend perfectly with the bloodstains from her rather grisly meals.

Rosie admired herself in the mirror, her sharp grin reflecting back at Adam. She let out a delighted chuckle, her voice high-pitched and dripping with that old-timey charm that always made Adam smirk.

“Oh sugar!” she cooed, her black, pupil-less eyes gleaming with mischief. “It’s positively delightful!”

Adam couldn’t help but beam as he stood, brushing off his hands with pride. “I made it that copper-red just so the bloodstains will blend in,” he said with a wink, his voice carrying a mix of dark humor and satisfaction.

Rosie giggled, her laugh sounding like the sharp tinkle of broken glass. “Oh, darling! You’re so talented! You really do know how to treat a girl, don’t you?”

Before Adam could respond, the familiar sound of the door chime echoed through the shop. He tilted his head, expecting to see the usual—a loyal customer, maybe even that pretty white-haired succubus who frequented the place. But as he looked toward the entrance, his stomach dropped.

Standing in the doorway was something far worse. Something unexpected. Something... horrifying.

Charlie.

Adam squinted his eyes in disdain, a deep frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. Of course, it’s her, he thought bitterly, his golden eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of Hell’s naive princess. She stood there awkwardly, her fingers nervously twitching at her sides as she glanced around the shop.

Rosie, who had been admiring her new dress, turned slowly toward the door. A dramatic, high-pitched gasp escaped her lips as she spotted the newcomer.

“Oh, Charlie!” she exclaimed with mock enthusiasm, her grin wide and sharp. “If it isn’t the little pumpkin princess herself!” Her voice was sugary-sweet, but it dripped with a venomous undertone that made Adam’s sneer grow.

Charlie glanced nervously at Rosie before letting her gaze sweep over the shop. Her expression shifted from weary caution to something more innocent, almost childlike wonder, as she took in the sight of Adam’s work. Sweaters, scarves, and dresses adorned the walls like intricate pieces of art, each one meticulously crafted with a sinister elegance that only Adam could pull off. Slowly, her eyes brightened, and soon enough, she was smiling that same wide, hopeful grin.

“Rosie!” she squealed, her voice full of relief upon seeing the cannibal. She took a few steps forward, but her eyes were drawn back to the clothes surrounding her, the admiration plain on her face.

“This... this is amazing!” she said, her gaze flickering to Adam, though she seemed hesitant to meet his eyes directly.

Adam’s stomach churned with irritation. He hadn’t blocked the Hazbin Hotel from his shop just to have Charlie stroll in here like nothing had happened. The sheer audacity of it grated on him.

Rosie tilted her head, watching the scene unfold with amusement, her sharp teeth peeking out as she grinned at Adam.

“Well, sugar, seems like the princess has come to grovel. Isn’t that sweet?” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, but there was an edge to it that hinted at a dark kind of curiosity.

Adam’s fists clenched by his sides, his knuckles turning white. He had half a mind to throw her out right there, but something held him back. Maybe it was the way she looked at his work with such genuine appreciation, or maybe it was the memory of how things had been before the Hotel incident. Either way, it didn’t stop the flood of anger bubbling inside him.

Charlie, however, seemed to steel herself, her expression softening but determined as she stepped forward. “Adam,” she started, her voice softer now, almost pleading. “I... I’m so sorry about everything that happened. I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care,” Adam cut her off sharply, his voice cold. He crossed his arms, glaring at her like she was nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing in his shop. “If you’re here for another order, you can turn right around and get the hell out.”

Charlie flinched but held her ground, her smile faltering. “I didn’t come here to place an order,” she said quickly, her eyes flicking toward Rosie, who was still watching with that ever-present, predatory grin.

“I just... I wanted to talk. To explain.”

“Explain?” Adam’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Explain what, exactly? How you and your pompous ass of a father tried to humiliate me? How you keep sending me orders like I’m some fucking charity case? Please, enlighten me.”

Charlie winced again, but this time, her gaze hardened slightly, just enough for Adam to notice. “I’m not trying to make you feel like that. I just—look, I didn’t know how else to reach you.”

Adam let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You could’ve left me the fuck alone. That would’ve been a great start.”

Silence hung heavy in the room, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Rosie looked between the two, her grin growing wider as if she were enjoying every second of the standoff.

Finally, Charlie sighed, the weight of her frustration and regret evident in the slump of her shoulders.

“Please,” she whispered, “just... give me a chance to explain.”

Adam stared at her for a long moment, his jaw tight, his heart pounding in his chest. Every instinct told him to throw her out, to slam the door in her face like he had done with her orders. But there was something in her voice, something that made him hesitate.

Rosie, sensing the shift in Adam’s demeanor, leaned closer, her voice a low, teasing whisper. “Well, pumpkin, what’s it gonna be? Are we keeping the princess, or tossing her to the wolves?”

Adam’s golden eyes flicked to Rosie, then back to Charlie. He exhaled through his nose, frustrated beyond belief.

“Fine,” he muttered. “You’ve got five minutes. Say what you need to say. But after that, I want you gone.”

The tension in the room thickened, an uncomfortable silence enveloping them. Charlie shifted on her feet, fidgeting with her hands as if trying to find comfort in the motion. Her wide eyes, full of nervous energy, darted to Adam’s face, then away, unable to hold his intense, unwavering stare. Adam, standing tall, his arms crossed over his chest, broke the silence first.

“So,” he began, his voice low and biting, “where’s your bodyguard? No way you came to a place like this by yourself. Vaggie wouldn’t let you step foot in my ‘shady little business’ without her breathing down your neck.”

Charlie gave a weak, half-hearted laugh, the sound fragile, almost broken.

“Vaggie doesn’t know I’m here,” she admitted, her words falling flat, and Adam scoffed, a bitter smirk twisting his lips.

“Of course not,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as if the situation was almost too ridiculous to believe. His golden eyes flickered with something dark, like a fire barely restrained.

Charlie swallowed, her throat tightening as she glanced back up at him. “Adam, I’m... I’m so sorry for how I acted... for how we acted,” she stammered, her voice soft but filled with guilt. “I should’ve... I should’ve controlled the situation better. I just—”

She paused, the words catching in her throat. “This hotel... it’s mine. It’s my responsibility. No one decides who stays or who gets thrown out but me. And you... you shouldn’t have been treated like that. If you needed help, I would’ve helped you.”

Adam snorted derisively, but didn’t respond. He just stared at her, his arms still crossed, his gaze as hard as stone. The silence that followed was deafening, and Charlie visibly winced. She took a deep breath, clearly struggling to keep her composure.

“My hotel... it’s about giving people second chances,” she whispered, her voice faltering. “It’s about helping others, giving them a chance to change...”

Adam’s snort turned into a dry, bitter chuckle, but he still didn’t speak. He just let the weight of her words hang in the air like a dead thing. Charlie shifted again, her hands trembling as she tried to continue.

“But Adam, you... you hurt a lot of people...”

Before she could finish, Adam cut her off, his voice sharp as a knife. “I don’t care.”

Charlie’s eyes widened in disbelief, her mouth opening slightly as if she had been physically struck.

“You... you don’t care?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, her face painted with shock. “How can you say that?”

For a long moment, Adam said nothing, his jaw clenched tight. The two just stared at each other, locked in a silent battle, neither one willing to back down. Finally, Adam spoke, his voice low and filled with a quiet, simmering rage.

“Do you have any idea,” he began slowly, his words deliberate and measured, “what it’s like to have your entire life decided for you the moment you’re born?”

His eyes bore into hers, sharp and unyielding. “Do you?”

Charlie blinked, her lips parting as if she was about to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, she looked away, her expression growing more and more uncertain.

“Of course you had a choice,” she finally said, her voice weak, unconvincing. “Everyone has a choice.”

Adam shook his head, his jaw tightening even further.

“No,” he said firmly, his tone dark and unwavering. “I never had a choice. Never.”

Charlie’s brow furrowed, her confusion evident, but she stayed silent as Adam continued, his voice cold and bitter, like a man recounting a life of suffering.

“I was born in Eden,” he said, his eyes distant as though looking through time. “And from the moment I opened my eyes, I was told what I had to do. I had to name all the animals, tend to the fruits. I had to care for Eve, make sure she survived after we were cast out. I worked my ass off to make sure my children didn’t die from some illness or a bad wound.”

His words grew harsher, more guttural, as memories of ancient pains and burdens he had carried for millennia clawed at the surface. “And when I finally made it to Heaven,” he said, his voice darkening, “do you know what I was told? That humanity was my responsibility. That because too many of my descendants had sinned and ended up in Hell, it was somehow my fault. And I had to ‘deal’ with them.”

Charlie’s breath hitched as she listened, her eyes growing wide with dawning horror.

“They made me their fucking executioner, Charlie,” Adam spat, his voice a razor-sharp whisper. “I didn’t get to decide whether there’d be an extermination or not—that was already decided by Heaven. But I was the one who had to swing the blade, to kill them. And when I didn’t want to, when I so much as thought about refusing, I was punished. I was hurt.”

The room seemed to grow darker as Adam’s words sank in, the weight of centuries of anguish pressing down on the air around them. Charlie stood there, frozen, unsure of what to say, her own guilt and confusion written across her face.

Adam’s gaze darkened as he looked her in the eyes, his voice dropping to a near growl. “Do you know who my first children were?”

Charlie blinked, stunned into silence, her mind racing to catch up. After a long pause, she nodded slowly, her voice barely audible.

“Cain and Abel...”

Adam rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“Cain and Abel, sure. But I had more. Many more. Seth, Alimica, Miriam, Rachel... the list goes on. But they’re not around anymore.” His voice dropped lower, filled with a haunting sadness that carried the weight of endless grief. “Do you know why?”

Charlie’s mouth clamped shut, her heart sinking as she felt the answer lingering just beyond her understanding.

Adam’s voice grew dark, almost venomous. “Every time I tried to stray from Heaven’s rules, they eliminated one of my children’s souls. Cain and Abel might be the last of them, but I have no fucking clue where they are now. And that might be for the best because if Heaven finds them, if she finds them, she’ll erase them too.”

Charlie’s face paled, her hands trembling as the full weight of Adam’s words fell upon her. She couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t deny the pain in his voice, the absolute conviction in his stare.

“So don’t you dare talk to me about hurting others,” Adam said, his voice barely more than a dangerous whisper, “when the so-called ‘sinners’ you’re trying to protect are the same reason Heaven wiped out my children.”

Silence fell like a hammer, the air thick with the gravity of Adam’s confession. Charlie stood there, speechless, her world shaken to its core as she struggled to process the depth of the suffering that Adam had been forced to endure for so long.

“did as what I was told because I had nothing less.” Adam said blankly. “All I have left now is this shop. Something I built myself, there’s no shadiness behind it, no scheme to hurt hell or your sinners…”

“I just want to live happily and peacefully.” Adam whispered. “Please let me do that.”

Charlie opened and shut her mouth, trying to speak and failing. Her eyes watered and she gave a sharp nod, bowing deeply.

“I’m so sorry Adam! Of course you can live here happily and peacefully!” She let out with a sob. “I’ll make sure nobody will bother you!”

Adam nodded. Charlie’s breath hitched and she turned around, leaving the shop without another word. Adam felt guilty for making her cry but he was so tired. Tired of being blamed.

Adam stared at the door after Charlie had left, her sobs still echoing faintly in the shop like the remnants of a storm. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken words and shattered promises. He clenched his jaw, blinking away the faint sting of guilt that crept into his chest. He didn’t want to hurt her, but what choice did he have? He’d been carrying centuries of other people’s burdens, their sins, their mistakes—and for what? For this endless cycle of blame and expectation that never seemed to let him go.

"I did what I was told because I had nothing left," Adam murmured, his voice hollow, echoing in the dim light of the shop. "All I have now is this place... my own space. Something I built with my own hands, something that’s mine."

He looked around, his gaze tracing the sweaters and scarves he had crafted, each stitch a small rebellion against a fate he never asked for. "There’s no shadiness behind it, no scheme to hurt Hell or anyone else."

His voice lowered into a whisper, as if he was speaking more to himself than anyone else. "I just want to live happily and peacefully. That’s all I want... just some peace."

Rosie, who had remained silent until now, slid her hand onto his shoulder, her touch light but grounding. Adam didn’t flinch, but he didn’t look at her either. His eyes remained fixed on the door, the silence in the room broken only by the occasional creak of the old wooden floor beneath their feet.

Behind him, Rosie’s soft chuckle broke the tension. "Sugar, you did good," she said gently, her voice laced with approval. "You stood up for yourself. That's what matters."

Adam finally shifted his gaze to her, his brow furrowing. "But I don’t feel good," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Rosie tilted her head, her sharp smile softened by a rare look of understanding.

“It’s never easy, standing up for what you need," she said quietly.

“Sometimes it feels like crap. But give it time." She squeezed his shoulder lightly. "It’ll get better. It always does."

Adam nodded slowly, though he wasn’t sure he believed her. The tiredness in his bones ran deeper than anything he could articulate. It was the kind of exhaustion that didn’t fade with sleep or rest. It was the weight of centuries of being told who he had to be, of being molded into something he didn’t recognize anymore.

Rosie gave him one last reassuring pat before turning to the mirror, admiring the dress he had crafted for her.

"Gotta say, sugar, this copper-red is divine. Almost makes me feel like a new woman," she cooed, twirling with a grin that was both wicked and playful. "And you know what? It hides the bloodstains perfectly."

Adam managed a small smile at that, the smallest flicker of warmth creeping back into him. At least some things could be predictable. Rosie’s dark humor had a way of anchoring him when everything else felt uncertain.

As he stood there, watching Rosie twirl and tease, the faint sounds of the bustling street outside began to seep into the shop. The world kept turning, Hell kept moving, and Adam... Adam was just trying to find his place in it.

Maybe Rosie was right. Maybe things would get better.

But for now, all Adam could do was keep stitching, keep working, and hope that somewhere down the line, peace—true peace—would finally find him.

~#~

A full month had crept by since Charlie had stumbled upon Adam’s tiny, unassuming knitting and stitching shop. Each day that followed was a silent vigil, tense with the dread of her return, perhaps with her little bodyguard in tow this time. Adam’s heart had pounded with each chime of the bell above the door, every creak of the floorboards outside, bracing himself for the worst. But no one from that cursed place came. By the fourth week, the heavy knot of anxiety in his chest began to loosen.

He could breathe again. Maybe, just maybe, it was truly over. The quiet promise of peace settled over him like a fragile veil.

With his fears momentarily silenced, Adam threw himself deeper into his craft, pouring every shred of himself into fulfilling the requests of his customers. The rhythmic click of needles and the gentle swish of fabric under his hands became a kind of sanctuary. It wasn’t just about making scarves, sweaters, coats, or mittens anymore—it was about creating something that soothed his soul.

Happiness, real and pure, flickered within him as he lost himself in the intricate patterns and soft textures. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt truly at peace, the fear of judgment slowly dissolving like mist in the morning light. And as the days stretched on, the gnawing worry that had once haunted him receded into the background, leaving him to bask in the quiet joy his craft brought him.

The door to Adam's shop danced and chimed, a playful melody signaling the arrival of a new customer. He paused mid-weaving, his fingers frozen in a delicate dance of yarn and needle, and turned expectantly toward the entrance. But there was nothing—only the dimly lit street beyond, empty and quiet. Frowning, he shrugged off the strange chill that crept up his spine and returned to the sturdy boots he was meticulously crafting, trying to ignore the unsettling sensation that settled over him.

The soft chime of the bell rang out again, echoing through the stillness. Adam glanced up, his heart racing, but once more, the doorway was void of life. This peculiar game continued, the bell announcing an invisible presence at least five more times before frustration bubbled over. With a growl, he leaped to his feet, his heart pounding like a war drum, and stomped toward the door, flinging it open with a dramatic flourish.

His golden eyes flared dangerously as they locked onto a figure standing just beyond the threshold—Lucifer. The king's crimson and gold gaze flickered with surprise, as if he hadn’t anticipated being caught so easily. Adam's face twisted into a fierce sneer, a mix of anger and disbelief flooding his veins.

“Stop fucking around! If you want to talk to me, fucking man up and come the fuck in! God knows nothing’s ever stopped you from taking what you want before. There’s no point in being considerate now!”

Lucifer blinked owlishly, momentarily taken aback, but before he could retort, Adam turned sharply, storming back into his sanctuary, leaving the king to navigate the storm of his own thoughts. The air grew heavy as Lucifer hesitated, shoulders sagging under an unseen weight. He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the alleyway as if expecting some lurking shadow to leap out and drag him back into the darkness.

With a measured breath, he finally crossed the threshold, closing the door delicately behind him. The small bell above chimed softly, a quaint reminder of the world outside. As he turned to survey the interior of the shop, his eyes widened in awe, absorbing the myriad of colors and textures, the treasures Adam had poured his heart and soul into.

“Welcome to my shady little shop, where I’m definitely scheming something!” Adam announced with a mock flourish, thrusting his arms out wide, the words dripping with sarcasm.

Lucifer flinched at the proclamation, guilt and shame etching lines on his otherwise handsome face. The air crackled between them, thick with unspoken tension, as the vibrant chaos of the shop contrasted sharply with the solemnity of their uninvited meeting. The king seemed to shrink under Adam’s gaze, as if he were a mere boy caught in a web of his own mischief.

Lucifer swallowed hard, a nervous gulp that echoed in the tense silence of the shop. He stepped further inside, moving cautiously toward Adam, his expression a kaleidoscope of emotions—fear, uncertainty, and something that flickered like a fragile flame of hope. It was a mess of feelings that left Adam bewildered, unable to decipher the depths of the fallen angel’s intentions.

“What do you want, Lucifer?” he finally demanded, crossing his arms defensively. “If you’re not here to attack me again, then what do you want?”

Lucifer opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, he fell silent, his brow furrowing as he began to fidget with the sleeves of his sweater. It was then that Adam's gaze snagged on the garment itself, and his breath caught in his throat. The sight of it—the sweater he had crafted with such care—stunned him.

“You’re wearing my sweater?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lucifer nodded shyly, pulling at the hem of the fabric as if it were a lifeline.

“Yeah, it’s made really well…” He hesitated, then added earnestly, “you are very talented.”

Adam scoffed, a wry smile curling his lips. “Shocking, right?”

But the playful tone fell flat when he noticed the way Lucifer’s face fell, guilt shadowing his features as he bowed his head.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he murmured, the sincerity in his voice palpable. “It’s amazing. You are really impressive to have been able to make all of this.”

The honesty struck Adam like a bolt of lightning, leaving him momentarily speechless. He blinked in surprise, grappling with the unexpected compliment. After a moment of stunned silence, he managed a soft, “Thanks,” his voice barely above a whisper. He looked away shyly, taken aback by the warmth of the moment. Lucifer had never had a nice thing to say to him before, and the unexpected praise felt almost disorienting.

But the pull of curiosity tugged at him, and despite his instinct to look away, Adam found himself glancing back at Lucifer. His heart raced as he took in the sight of the sweater more fully. It was a cheerful golden hue, adorned with playful black and white highlights—a duck-themed creation that radiated an innocent charm.

Adam turned away quickly, a flush creeping up his cheeks as he remarked, “That sweater suits you.”

Lucifer's face lit up with a genuine smile, his eyes sparkling as he glanced down at the garment.

“I really like it,” he admitted, his voice softening. “It’s become one of my favorites.”

Adam nodded slowly, a sense of warmth blooming in his chest, even amidst the simmering tension between them. The world outside faded into the background, and in that small, cluttered shop filled with the scent of yarn and the echoes of unspoken words, something inexplicable began to shift in the air

Finally, the silence fractured as Lucifer took a deep breath, his golden eyes shifting under the weight of the moment.

“I’m really sorry,” he began, the words spilling forth like a dam breaking. “I was an ass towards you. I was out of line to talk to you like that.”

Adam remained silent, his heart pounding in his chest as he let Lucifer's apology hang in the air, heavy with unspoken histories and hurt. He could see the turmoil swirling within the fallen angel, but it only served to deepen the chasm between them.

“You’ve never been on my side before,” Adam interjected, his voice low and edged with pain. “Even in Eden, you thought the worst of me.”

Lucifer opened his mouth to deny it, but Adam pressed harder, fueled by a mix of anger and hurt. “You were assigned as my guardian angel, but you never liked me. You treated me like a pet, a dog you didn’t mind babysitting. But the moment you got bored, you disappeared and never looked back.”

The accusation hung between them, taut and crackling with tension.

“Do you even know what it’s like to adore somebody to the high heavens?” Adam continued, his voice rising with passion. “To treat them like they mean the world to you? To think they’re your best friend while that person sees you as nothing but scum? A pet?”

Lucifer tried once more to claim that wasn’t true, his brow furrowing with distress, but Adam shook his head vehemently. “You were so quick to believe Lilith’s lies about me, so quick to abandon me, and then you ask why? Why I don’t give you the time of day? Why I won’t listen to you?”

Their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills igniting the space between them.

“Hell,” Adam challenged, his voice steady, “I never raised my voice to Lilith. I never yelled at her, never raised a hand, never so much as touched her. Yes, I told her what to eat, but I guess she never told you why, right?”

Lucifer fell silent, the realization creeping into his features as he slowly nodded.

Adam huffed in disbelief, the anger boiling beneath his skin. “Well, there you go! She didn’t tell you she wasn’t given the ability to see what fruits and vegetables she could consume. I was made for Eden; nothing in Eden would make me sick or die. But for Lilith, it was the opposite. If I left her to her own devices, she’d kill herself by accident! I had to tell her what would be poisonous to her and what wouldn’t!”

Adam’s voice rose, punctuated by a mixture of desperation and indignation. “Unless you would have preferred me to just, you know, let her figure it out herself?”

The air crackled with the weight of Adam’s words, echoing off the walls of the cozy shop that felt more like a battleground than a sanctuary. The unspoken truths loomed like specters, and the silence that followed was heavy with the acknowledgment of past failures and missed opportunities.

Adam let out a long, weary sigh, the weight of the moment settling heavily on his shoulders.

“It’s fine,” he said finally, his voice softer than before. “I’ll accept your apology because honestly, I’m so tired. I’m exhausted from just…being miserable all the time. From being depressed and angry at how my life has been dictated.”

Lucifer’s lips curled into a weak pout, and he sniffed, his expression reflecting a vulnerability that Adam had never seen before.

“I’m tired too,” he admitted, the admission hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

Adam forced a pained smile, a flicker of understanding passing between them.

“Then let’s just agree to tolerate each other,” he suggested, his voice steady despite the tremor in his heart. “I’m not asking for your help. I’m not asking you to do anything for me. I just…like doing this stuff. There’s nothing sinister behind it.”

Lucifer met Adam’s gaze, and in that moment, something shifted. The fallen angel seemed to relax, his tension easing as he gazed around at the colorful array of items Adam had created.

“I believe you,” he said, a hint of admiration in his voice. “I can do that. I won’t get in the way of your business.”

“Thanks,” Adam replied, a genuine warmth flooding through him.

In that instant, a true smile blossomed between them, tentative yet brightening the shadowy corners of the shop. They might not be friends, and they might never have been, but it was okay. They were both much too old and tired to keep beefing with one another.

But the moment of peace shattered when Lucifer suddenly asked, his tone serious, “What if I want to help you?”

Adam’s heart skipped a beat, his brow knitting together in suspicion.

“What do you mean?” he asked, the tension in the room thickening once more.

Lucifer fell silent, his golden eyes flickering with thought as he wrestled with the implications of his words. After a few seconds that stretched like an eternity, he finally spoke.

“I want to work here.”

The declaration stunned Adam into silence, the words echoing in his mind like the chime of the bell above the door. The thought of Lucifer—a being of power and mystery—working alongside him in his small, humble shop was almost surreal. “What?” Adam managed, his disbelief evident.

Lucifer’s expression was earnest, stripped of its usual bravado. “I mean it,” he pressed, stepping closer, the tension between them morphing into something tangible and electric. “I want to be here, to help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Adam’s mind raced, thoughts swirling like the yarn around his fingers. This was a proposition he hadn’t anticipated. “But why?” he asked, searching Lucifer’s eyes for the truth behind his sudden desire to join him in this mundane world of crafts and colors.

“Because,” Lucifer replied, the weight of his words lingering in the air, “I want to understand you. I want to learn what it means to care for something outside of myself. I want to be part of something real.”

The vulnerability in Lucifer’s voice caught Adam off guard, piercing through the tension like a ray of light. Adam’s heart thudded loudly in his chest as he processed the gravity of what was being offered—an unlikely partnership, perhaps even a strange sort of friendship, forged in the crucible of their shared history.

“I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Adam finally said, his voice a whisper. “You’re not just some ordinary guy. You’re Lucifer.”

“And you’re Adam,” Lucifer replied, his gaze steady. “Maybe it’s time we stopped letting our pasts dictate our futures.”

Adam felt the stirrings of something new and unexpected—a flicker of hope intertwined with doubt. But the allure of this strange alliance was undeniable, pulling at the threads of his heart. He had spent too long being miserable; perhaps it was time to embrace the unknown.