#it'll be in the later chapter

[barblaz-arts]

Remember the Chaggie fic I talked about? I finally posted it.

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter Two - An Understanding

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Contains: No Y/N (Reader is an OC), Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Alcohol mention, Smoking mention (Tobacco), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me. No promises for future chapters though.

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

The captain looks at you for a long moment, dark blue eyes wide with surprise as he takes you in. You have to admit that he’s handsome, dark brown hair and well-groomed facial hair (muttonchops, no less) flecked with silver, and a nice nose that skews to the large side. It gives him a friendly, approachable demeanour, despite the weight of his stare. His heavy attention shifts from you to the other three, and his expression turns serious. “Lads,” he says, his voice a rumble that you can feel through your own body. “Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Weeeel. It might be,” Johnny says apprehensively. “But I did my research, sir. She’ll be perfect for ye, ye’ll see.”

“She’s a good girl,” Ghost adds. “Sweet as can be. Won’t be any trouble for you.”

“Already moved her in and everything.” Gaz gestures around the room, looking rather too proud of their work.

The captain nods slowly, taking in the new additions to the space. “So you did. And did this pretty little thing agree to having her life upended, or did you lads just decide for her?” His arms shift around you, and you feel almost protected, oddly enough, even though by the size of him, he’s just as dangerous as the others. Probably even more dangerous, the way they defer to him, standing in a line like cadets, eager for his approval.

“Not… Not exactly,” Gaz admits. “I mean, we didn’t ask. But this’ll be better for her. She was living in a real rat hole before. Tiny little apartment in a shite neighbourhood. Was only a matter of time before something bad happened. We’re just looking out for her.”

Johnny shuffles his feet. “Dealt with a few neds while I was doin’ reconnaissance, even. Poor lass coulda been in real trouble if I hadna been there. Bawbag employers would ask her to stay past the last bus to watch the bairns an’ no’ even offer her a ride or ta pay fer a cab.”

“It wasn’t that far a walk,” you protest, glaring at Johnny. As if it’s any of his business. “And they did offer to drive me, I just wasn’t— It doesn’t matter! You had no right—”

The captain shushes you, and your words wither on your tongue, your cheeks turning hot under his stern blue gaze. He cups your jaw and turns your head to face him again, the rough pad of his thumb stroking your cheek gently. “Sweetheart, you and I will talk in a moment. Soap’s right about that not bein’ safe, and you know it.”

Your stomach flutters nervously. He gives you a little smile, and his crow’s feet deepen, the lines fanning out further. There’s a moment where you’re tempted to smile back, but his legs shift under you, and you wince sympathetically instead. “Sorry, I should get off of you,” you say quickly. “I’m heavy.”

“I won’t stop you if you’d like to sit somewhere else,” he says, that cheeky smile deepening more. "But you’re not heavy, and I'd like it if you stayed put."

"Told ye he'd like her," Johnny whispers, loud enough that it shatters the isolated pocket of reality that, for a moment, housed only you and the captain. "Hasna even introduced himself an' he's flirtin' like mad."

"Soap!" Gaz hisses back. "Shut up."

Ghost scruffs them both. "Let's finish getting dinner on. Give 'em a minute to talk."

Johnny grins at you and gives you two thumbs up as he circles around to the kitchen, as if you’d actually been a willing participant in all of this.

"I'm John, by the way," the captain says, calling your attention back to him. He drops his hand and settles it on your knee, his fingers curling around the joint. "You alright, doll?"

A loaded question. "Well. Not really."

"You're keepin' it together real nicely, all considered. Wouldn't blame you if you were hissin' and scratching."

"I'm not much of a fighter," you admit. "And even if I was, I don't think it would do me much good."

John chuckles, squeezing your knee lightly. He's gentle, but there's power in those hands, the kind that comes from years of hard work. There's scars all over it, from his the tips of his calloused fingers up to the leather band of his watch, etched in evidence of violence. If there are scars further up his arms, their hidden by the buffalo plaid flannel. "No, it probably wouldn't."

"Are you going to let me go home?" you ask.

He sighs. "The thing is, doll, the boys have put me in an awkward spot here. If I let you go on home, you're going to get them in trouble, and I don't want to see that happen."

"I promise, I won't say anything, I just--"

He shushes you again, and you shut your mouth, biting your lip. "Let me finish, sweetheart. You're being so good right now because you're scared. But that's not gonna last, is it? And worse, it sounds like you don't really have much to go back to."

"I'll find a new job. I always do."

"With another family who doesn't appreciate the work you put in? That doesn't make you feel safe?" His fingertips toy with the edge of your skirt absently, but his eyes are on your face, studying your reaction with rapt attention. This is how a rabbit must feel, pinned under the stare of a grizzly bear, frozen in place and hoping that no claws come down on top of it. "I can read between the lines, doll. That man you were workin' for made you feel so uncomfortable that you'd rather walk through a bad neighbourhood at night than get into a car with him alone."

You can't dispute it, although you're surprised he can glean so much information from half an outburst. "It wasn't like that-- He wasn't that bad."

John hums. "You're tellin' me you've had worse?"

A dozen jobs with a dozen managers or coworkers that took your silence as permission to stand too close, or put their hands on you flash across your mind. Mr. Kinsey was just the latest of many. You know that the thought is displayed on your face, from the way his eyebrows pinch together just slightly, not angrily, but concerned. You try to deflect with a little laugh. "Oh, well. I suppose I have. But hasn't everyone?"

"Soap had a bad lieutenant once and locked the man in his own car when he was just a private. Just because you have a bad boss doesn't mean you have to take it." He looks at you so seriously as he speaks, his fingers dancing distracting circles against the top of your knee, rough fingertips catching on the nylons just slightly. The heat from the arm curled around your waist bleeds through the fabric of your dress, his hand twitching slightly, like all he wants to do is take a handful of soft flesh. “You should speak up when you’re not comfortable, doll. You just need some practice standin’ up for yourself, don’t you?”

If a statement could have teeth, this one would, and you’re not sure if agreeing or disagreeing will have him closing his jaws around you. He’s probably right, you do need to do a better job of standing up for yourself. But you’re certain that he doesn’t want you to start by standing up to him, or his three attack dogs either. “I’ll work on it,” you say meekly. You test his commitment to the statement by gently picking his hand off of your knee, although there’s nowhere to really put it either.

“We’ll work on it,” he agrees, lacing your fingers together. When he rests your now-entwined hands, it’s a little further up your thigh. “You want a drink, darlin’?”

“Oh, um, no thank you.” You wouldn’t mind another tea, but you don’t think that’s what you’re being offered.

The scrutiny he puts you under is intense, like he’s determined to figure out what every microscopic shift in your expression might mean. “You sure, doll? You gotta ask if you want somethin’, or you won’t get it.”

“I would like a tea. But I can make it, I don’t want to be trouble.”

“Nonsense. Lads?” he tips his head back slightly.

“On it, sir,” Gaz replies cheerfully.

Ghost leans over the back of the couch to hand John a tumbler. Whiskey or scotch, by the sharp smell that hits you. John pulls his hand away from yours to accept the glass. “Thank you, Simon,” he says pleasantly. "Good lad."

“S’your party, sir. An’ you’re busy, ain’t you?” Ghost rests his hands on the back of the couch and studies the pair of you, dark eyes gleaming with pride. The man has the demeanour of a cat that’s brought in a helpless little bunny to his master, while it’s still alive and struggling.

“Gettin’ to know our pretty guest.” John smiles at you over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. “She’s a sweet girl.”

“Isn’t she just?”

“Could I, um, sit over there?” you ask, glancing at the chair. Somehow John had managed to distract you from the idea of moving for a while, but you were still eager to get a little space from him, especially with Ghost looming over both of you.

“Of course, sweetheart,” John’s arm loosens, and you quickly get up and move to the chair.

You almost feel cold, without the heat that radiates off of his body. His attention feels weightier now too, or maybe it’s just that his body isn’t shielding the stares from Johnny, Gaz and Ghost, and you’re subjected to all four of them watching you, like you’re either fascinating or delicious (or both). You cross your arms over your chest and shrink into yourself as much as possible, eyes wide.

"Here's yer tea, hen. And may I just say, ye've go' a fantastic rack from this angle." Johnny hands you the mug and sits on the arm of the chair, leaning over you. "Weel. Ye've go' a nice rack from any angle. Nice arse too. Captain's lucky I like him so much, or I'd've gone for you myself."

You breathe in steam, wrinkling your nose slightly. It doesn't smell quite right. "Did you put something in this?"

"Aye. Finger of whiskey. Ye look all stiff and peaky still. Need a pick me up, don't ya?"

You look at him reproachfully. He sighs and plucks the tea from your hands and takes a big sip. "There's nothin' else in there, if that's what yer askin', ye suspicious wee daftie. A little whiskey ne'er hurt no one." He hands the mug back to you, smile crooked, doing his best to be charming, but he's too intense, too fervent, to be anything but unsettling.

“Got Johnny checkin’ everythin’ for poison, do you?” Ghost asks, chuckling. “Can’t say I blame you.” He nudges John with the back of his hand. “She’s smart, worth keepin’ an eye on that. Know’s ‘ow to ‘old ‘er tongue, but she’s listenin’ and payin’ attention.”

“Of course she is! Wouldna choose a lass withoot a brain in her head. Wouldna be worth the captain’s time. Weel, maybe worth a wee bit of time.” He winks down at you. “But no’ wife material, ye ken. Chose her because she’s delightful, no’ just ‘cause she’s bonnie.”

The few times you’d spoken to Johnny before you’d thought that he was so nice. Laughing and joking with you in the pick up line while you waited for the children you were respectively responsible, greeting his niece and nephew with big smiles. And Finn and Rory were always so excited to see him, you’d chalked him up as harmless. Clearly you hadn’t been paying enough attention then, too focused on the Kinsey kids and your job, maybe. You hadn’t noticed that he was appraising you like a piece of livestock, judging your value like you’d been put up to auction.

The whisky-fortified tea is a bit on the strong side, but you take a few sips anyway. Getting drunk would be unwise, but you’re so tense that your whole body is starting to ache, and that’s not doing you any good either.

“Dinner’s ready,” Gaz announces, untying his kiss the cook apron and setting it on the counter. “Hope you’re hungry. Soap made a cake earlier too.”

John raises an eyebrow. “You can bake?” he asks, surprised.

“Aye, picked it up while I was gettin’ rehabbed for the big fuck-off hole in my head,” he replies airily. “Was goin’ mental putterin’ around Kirsty’s waitin’ for the bairns to get out of school, so Ah picked it up. Isnae so hard. Just chemistry, aye?”

“He did make a big mess,” Gaz says. “Had to wash about fifty dishes before I could get started on dinner.”

“Everyone’s a fuckin’ critic,” Johnny complains. “See if I bake ye a cake for yer birthday, Garrick. Ye’ll be sorry then.”

“Oh no, how will I survive?” Gaz clutches his chest like he’s deeply wounded by the statement, laughing. “I have two mums, I’m still pretty much guaranteed a cake.”

“Always braggin’ abou’ that. Thinks he’s more evolved than the rest of us just because his da’s a woman.” He hovers next to you as you get up, and sticks close as you walk over to the table. You don’t choose a seat, in case there’s an order to things you’re not aware of.

“Pretty sure the whole point is that he dun’t ‘ave a dad,” Ghost says. “Now sit down, mutt. Yer not sittin’ next to the bird. You’re botherin’ ‘er.” He points at a chair, and Johnny sighs and slinks into it.

“Here, sweetheart,” John says, putting his big hand on your back to guide you the last few steps and directing you to a seat. He slides the chair in for you too, masquerading as a gentleman, and sits next to you.

Gaz settles in on your other side, all smiles. “Feeling better?”

They keep asking you how you are, as if the answer is going to change. Like all you need to adjust to the reality of being kidnapped and relocated to some stranger’s house in the country is a little time. Like you’re going to be just fine, if you just get a few more minutes to adjust. “Not really.”

"Ah, don't worry, doll. Captain's gonna be real good to you. You'll get there soon enough. Probably'll feel better once you've had a proper meal."

At least they don't try to make you talk much at the table. They fall into easy conversation between them, and let you eat roasted chicken and potatoes and carrots with some kind of sweet and mildly spicy glaze. Ghost pulls the mask down to eat, so you're able to watch when he goes slightly pink from what barely qualifies as spice. Gaz gives you a little side-long glance, and you almost laugh. There's some solidarity to be had, even in a situation like this one, something funny about how a little more spice could probably straight up kill the other three men at the table. Maybe that would be the key to you freedom: Murdering John by feeding him something full of chilies.

Admittedly, you do feel begrudgingly more charitable towards them after eating. You could maybe blame it on the tea too, which, against your better judgment, you do end up finishing.

John stops you from helping clean up when you stand automatically and try to stack Gaz's empty plate with your own. "No, sweetheart. C’mere." He guides you to the door and out into the chilly evening air. You wish that Ghost had let you put on a sweater over your summery dress, but he had been so keen to show you off, and you’d been too scared to insist. You curl your arms around yourself for warmth, and keep quiet, watching as John trims and lights a cigar, looking out into the darkness beyond the porch.

Fear has morphed from pressing terror to something that gnaws at you from the pit of your stomach. You could try to run for it, but you’d probably roll your ankle wearing the stupid red heels, and you have no real idea where you are, or how far you are from someone who could help you. Outrunning John would be a feat anyway. He’s older than you, but he’s in better shape, nearly perfect shape, broad and strong, that long military career not yet forgotten.

There’s a bench by the door, so you sit down to take the heels off. You’re not used to wearing them, it’s so rare that you have anywhere to go that calls for spicier footwear than your comfortable, worn in trainers.

“Here.” John slides his flannel shirt off and drapes it over your shoulders, and kneels down in front of you, cigar clamped in his mouth, pulling your heels off for you. Smoke curls around you for a moment, thin and blue in the scant light, before a breeze carries it away. He leans on his one leg and studies you, but he doesn’t stand. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You put your arms through the sleeves of the flannel, humming noncommittally. You know you’re pretty enough, by most standards, but you feel like his interest— And the interest of the other three— is disproportionate, too intense.

“I’d like you to stay a while, doll,” he continues. “I won’t force you, I’m not that kind of man, but I’d have a hard time letting you go back to living paycheck to paycheck in a bad nieghbourhood, workin’ for creeps that don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. You deserve better than that.” It’s as though he doesn’t even hear his own words though, or imagines himself better, because he absently runs his hands over your calf, squeezing the tense muscle gently.

“I have to work,” you protest, biting back a moan. You didn’t need to encourage him, even if you weren’t quite brave enough (or willing) to stop him. “I have student loans, and I send money to my lola in Vigan. I can’t afford to just disappear off the face of the earth.”

He nods thoughtfully. “How much?”

"Three hundred pounds a month to Lola. I know it might not seem like a lot, but it goes a lot further there."

"And the student loans?"

"Sixteen thousand. Not that much, I worked through my degree, and I inherited a bit of money from my parents. But I still have to--"

"I'll pay for both. You'll stay until you find a good job, and a safer apartment." He says it like it's a final edict, no room for argument.

You pull your leg out of his grip, tucking both further back under the bench. "No, John, I don't want to owe you either--"

"You won't. My boys kidnapped you and disrupted your whole life. I'd pay a lot more if it keeps you from going to the police over it. Least I can do is make sure you're better off when you do leave here, hm?"

You bite your lip. Starting over with a clean slate is tempting, but you're not sure you can trust John. He seems so earnest, blue eyes clear and guileless, but he can't be much better than the other three. Unless he was just holding their leashes tight as their captain, and had to let them loose when he retired.

"Can I think about it?" you ask.

"Of course." He puts his hand on your knee to steady himself as he leans across to ash the cigar in the ashtray that sits on a little table next to the bench. "But I think you'll say yes. You're a smart girl, hm?"

You're tempted to say no, just to test weather or not he's being honest about not forcing you to stay, but there's a niggling worry in the back of your mind that the veneer of civility will evaporate if you push him on it. He's nice enough now. And maybe that niceness isn't a show, maybe he has no darker side, maybe it's all just paranoia on your part. Perhaps the worst thing about him is his predilection to protect his "boys", even though all three are clearly insane.

Military is like that, isn’t it? The whole brotherhood thing? Maybe fighting for your life beside someone changes how you see them forever.

“How long did you all serve together?” you ask. “Johnny mentioned that he was SAS before— I asked about the scar once.” You tap the side of your head, the same spot where Johnny has a nasty bullet scar.

“Long time. Hand-picked Gaz and Soap for my taskforce about ten years back. Simon and I served together longer. He’s a captain now, even if the lads still call him LT. They’re both lieutenants, and Gaz’ll be a captain himself before long. Probably would’ve been already if he’d transferred out of the 141.” He gets up with a grunt and settles onto the bench beside you. “Don’t think Simon’s long for it. He’s only still in because he wants to keep an eye on Soap. Man’s a bloody romantic. Live together or die together.”

“I didn’t realize that they were together at all.”

“The way Soap’s been droolin’ all over you, I’m not surprised.” He puffs on his cigar thoughtfully. “But Simon’s just like that, as far as I can tell. The world’s divided into three categories. Enemies, his people, and everyone else. Enemies ‘n’ everyone else can’t touch what’s his, but he’s never given a damn about Soap sleepin’ with Gaz, or me.”

“I’m not his people.”

John looks at you and shakes his head. “Course you are, doll. You’re one of our people now. They might’ve gotten a bit overzealous, bringing you here the way they did, but those lads would do anything you asked of ‘em now.”

A bit overzealous. You laugh, but the sound comes out bitter.

"Relax, doll. I know you're determined to hate them, but they're good lads. Their hearts are in the right place." He pets a big hand over your head and rests it on the back of your neck, warmth seeping into your bones, relieving some of the ache from all the tension of the day. John has a way of soothing that terrified little animal in your chest that would otherwise threaten to kick it’s way free from your ribs and flee into the dark trees. “Lookin’ out for me, in their own way. Lookin’ out for you too. If your situation was a better one, they wouldn’t’ve plucked you out of it like that.”

There’s hope in his eyes when you look up at him, hope that you’ll forgive and forget, that you’ll come around to some kind of understanding in time. His thumb brushes a sensitive spot behind your ear, sending an awful, irrefutable thrill through you.

You’re worried that he might be right.

My favourite John Price to write is the sneakiest, most charming, manipulative bastard on the planet. I definitely take a lot of inspiration from 391780 's portrayal of him. The Rear Window and Neighborly have been forefront in my mind while working on this (Largely because I think my John would have taken a similar approach if the lads hadn't jumped the gun. The Rear Window is dark, so be warned! Early writes delicious dark fics, but that may not be everyone's cup of tea, so mind the tags.)

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[ffwix]

THEOOOOOODORE!!!!

Theo, who’s your favorite critter? (Smiling Critter that is.)

question 2

[chaossmith2]

Won't go into too much detail since it'll get into spoiler territory, but the origins behind Haggis/Flint's coat is it was originally a coat commissioned by the King and Queen, but Haggis stole it before the designer could ever finish it lol

Left is the state it was in when stolen, and right is what it would've looked like

[serasfanfiction]

Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The attacks did not stop at the one.

After the third attack, Lucifer decided it was time to take a more proactive approach. Knowing that Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, was at the Hotel and more than willing to literally eat their attackers alive wasn't serving as enough of a deterrent.

It looked like they were going to need a bigger reminder about who all resided in the hotel.

Unfortunately, they didn't know who was behind the attacks. Lucifer had snagged someone during each of the attacks, and each time, the story was the same: the group had received a call to go roughen up the residents of the hotel, but no names were ever given.

It was smart. Annoying, but smart.

Frustrated, Lucifer tossed the last of this round of goons to Alastor (and if the action mimicked tossing a dog a treat, well, no one had called him on it, yet). The redhead hummed in pleasure at his work, the sound somehow soothing rather than grating through his radio filter.

The King of Hell watched him, considering. Their opponent knew Alastor was here. Was wary enough of him not to give them any names. The skill levels of the goons were getting better, but they were still no match, really, for either of them.

The only one he truly knew to any capacity was Alastor, and he doubted the redhead was behind this. Alastor wasn't about to undermine the hotel he was so very obviously invested in, even if it was only for his own 'entertainment.'

It was most likely it was another one of those Overlords. Lucifer had only met a couple of them. Hadn't really paid attention to the politics since the system was just starting to get off the ground. He knew Carmilla Carmine for all that he hadn't seen her in nearly two decades. Their connection had been deliberately buried until only Carmilla, Lilith, and himself knew about it anymore.

He had met Zestial, only the once, but that had been back when the spider Overlord was young and new to his position. That must have been... three or four hundred years ago?

Which meant that enlisting Alastor's help was his best bet, something he absolutely did not want to do. Lucifer had managed to avoid anything more than a gentleman's agreement the last time they'd done anything transactional because Alastor had wanted his chance at a pound of flesh more than he wanted to escalate the tensions between them.

Asking for his help with an investigation, something that was going to take potentially a large amount of time and energy, was going to be costly.

Lucifer grimaced. At this stage, he was going to have to try it keep any transactions as one-off as possible. One time deals with a clear give and take. No loop holes or vague details.

Alastor, who had returned back to his usual form, watched him, having picked up on the change in mood. He appeared to be in a good mood, having just had a rather large meal and all.

Well, no better time to do this.

Lucifer lightly touched down in front him, just out of arm's reach. The distance seemed to amuse the deer demon, further adding to the hypothesis that he was closer to an agreeable mood than usual.

"May I speak with you. In private?" Lucifer grit his teeth, but forced out a polite, "Please?"

Alastor considered him. "I assume it's about this latest round of nonsense?"

"Yes, but." Lucifer glanced behind him. Charlie and the rest of the residents were watching them from the doorway, always ready to step in if needed. He turned back to the redhead. "I would prefer to have this discussion in private. If you feel better with it, we can discuss it in your room."

It was probably a little telling, giving up the familiar ground again, but he felt it was still the most likely place to keep Alastor agreeable.

Alastor hummed, placing his hands behind his back as he began the short walk back to the hotel. Lucifer came up to walk beside him, keeping his distance but forced to stay a little closer for the sake of privacy.

The redhead's smile was knowing, aware of what he was doing. "Very well, your Magesty. Perhaps after we send everyone back on their way?"

It was a subtle way of asking how public Lucifer wanted anyone to know about their meeting. "Later tonight, after everyone has gone to bed."

People were likely going to see them working together at some point, but he'd rather postpone that mess as long as possible.

Alastor's smile took on a hint of teeth, eyes half lidded with the promise of seeing something amusing. "I look forward to our chat, then."

Oh, Lucifer bet he did.

Lucifer put it out of his mind, surrendering himself to Charlie's inspection. The wound to his hand was long gone and not even a concern any more, but it seemed his daughter was still shaken by the fact that her father was just as vulnerable to Angelic Steel as her girlfriend was.

He spent the majority of the rest of the day in her company, something that had brought her comfort after the last fight, only escaping her clutches when she and Vaggie decided to call it a night.

"Night, Dad! Remember to take it easy tonight," she called over to him as she headed out.

Lucifer and Vaggie shared a look. The latter, taking pity on the former, took hold of Charlie's arms and began leading her away. "Yes, yes, he got the message. You're smothering him."

Lucifer heard his daughter gasp and he caught a glimpse of a fretting expression on her face before she was led around the corner. "He needs fretting!" he thought he heard her exclaim before she was too far out of earshot.

The blond knew he had a dopey smile on his face, but he was just so happy to get to spend as much time with her as he had been getting lately. He just wanted to soak it all up before she got tired of him and no longer needed him anymore.

"You need anything else, sir?"

Lucifer twisted around to face the bar, remembering the drink in his hand. He'd felt like something non-alcoholic tonight (he needed all of his wits to survive tonight), and since a wider variety of drinks had been added to the menu, he'd thought he'd indulge. "Nah, but thanks, Husk. Don't stay up on my account. I'll clean my glass before I leave."

The winged cat grunted. He finished up the final glass he'd been cleaning, placing it with the others. "Don't have to tell me twice. Night, sir."

Lucifer waved him off. They really did need to work on the 'sir' part, but Husk was as stubborn as the rest of them.

The hotel began to settle as one hour passed, then the next. When he could no longer hear and movement, he downed the rest of his drink. It didn't taste as good at room temperature, but there was no need to waste it. A little twirl of his finger and a touch of magic, the glass was as good as new.

He placed the glass in its designated spot behind the counter. He took a deep, steading breathe, resisting the urge to put this off. Better to get it over with.

Red smoke swirled around him as he transported him straight out of the lobby and up to Alastor's room. He didn't want to take any chances that someone would see him coming and going. He reappeared as close to the entrance of the room as he could, as to not impolite intrude more than he already was. Normally, he wouldn't care, but, again. Playing nice.

He looked around until he spotted his quarry over by the fireplace, still fully dressed as normal and sipping who knew what.

"Ah, sire, I was beginning to wonder if you'd keep me waiting." Alastor gestured to the small table set out between his chair and a second chair to entertain guests. "You'll have to forgive me. Your tea has likely gone cold, but I expected you an hour ago." His smile wasn't sorry in the least.

Well, so much for being in an agreeable mood.

Lucifer crossed the room to the vacant chair. He dropped into it, ignoring the drink. He wouldn't have accepted anything from the cannibal at this stage in their acquaintance anyway. "I'd like some information on the current Overlords."

Alastor placed his cup on the saucer resting on his lap. "Ah! Straight to business. Good, man." The redhead looked his guest up and down. "And what have you to offer in exchange for this information?"

Lucifer settled into his seat, crossing one leg over the other, as he lounged to the side. His elbow came to rest on the arm rest. "You tell me what you want and I'll tell you if I'm willing to pay it."

Alastor's eyes took on a golden glow, pupils morphing into dials. "You'll uphold the bargain, even if I don't have all the information you want?"

He hated to do it, but, "Yes."

The deer demon leaned forward. "This will be a binding deal, not an agreement."

Just as he thought. The blond responded, again, "Yes."

Alastor's body language shifted. Something sinister, never quite buried and never hidden well rising to the surface. Lucifer could almost see him considering his options, weighing each one in turn.

Finally, he settled on, "Your blood, taken at a time of my choosing."

Lucifer didn't wince, although he wanted to. He sighed, nodding. "One time. No ongoing feedings. We don't do it in public. If I need anything else from you after this, we can negotiate any terms at that time."

Alastor placed his cup and saucer on the table. "Also, you take on that delightful deer form of yours, and I get to feed until I'm full. No retaliation."

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at him, noting the word 'full.' "Can you actually get full? I know you're not a real windigo, but I can see the influences."

A red tipped claw waved the concern off. "Despite all appearances to the contrary, I am not a 'bottomless pit.'" Alastor did not actually use finger quotes around the phrase, which he seemed to find distasteful, but Lucifer heard them anyway. Someone had used this phrase against him in the past. "It simply takes a rather large meal to sate my appetite."

His grin widened with anticipation and a touch of excitement. "Whatever you seraphim are made of, your blood was exceptionally potent! I was very nearly full off of it all by itself."

Lucifer shuddered, even as he matched Alastor's grin with near manic one of his own. He certainly hoped it would be. Fallen or not, he was still one of his father's most powerful creations. "Your terms are acceptable."

Alastor held out his hand, the shadows that made up his magic unnaturally darkening the room. The stitches along his coat and smile cast a sickly green glow across his person. "I take it we have a deal?"

Lucifer felt his true form come over him. He didn't allow himself to hesitate. He reached out and took the Radio Demon's hand.

"Deal."

Shadows lit by green symbols spread out across the room and down into the hotel. The foundation creeked with the power of the binding being cast around the deal makers. If this had been the original building, it would have crumbled.

(Down in their rooms, the other residents shifted uneasily in their sleep. Husk, the only one still awake, stared at the ceiling in grim trepidation as evidence of his master's newest deal lit up his room.)

The magic faded away as they drew their hands away. Lucifer could feel the weight of the chain settle around his neck. Could see the other end of it wrapping around Alastor's hands, laying in wait for him to call in it.

It was not the most pleased he'd ever seen the Radio Demon, but it was close.

Alastor, sometimes capable of pretending to be meciful, let the chain disappear. He picked back up his drink, prompting, "You had some questions, your Majesty?"

Lucifer pressed his lips together briefly. He hated the way Alastor said his title on a good day. Knew he did it just to annoy him. Usually, he let it slide. Perhaps it was the new weight around his throat and the delight in every line of Alastor's body that made it grate this time.

He forced himself to relax.

"Tell me about the current Overlords. The territories they hold. What alliances they have."

Alastor leaned back in his own seat, making himself comfortable. "Well, if we're going to talk about anyone, we must start the esteemed, Zestial..." The radio host indeed proved to be knowledgeable in this area, providing concise and easy to follow information whenever Lucifer asked for clarification.

For instance: "Carmilla Carmine?" Lucifer had had ample practice with pretending he had never the Overlord. There was nothing in his tone to give it away. "She was the one that provided the weapons Angel and the others used, yes?"

"Yes." Alastor tilted his head to the side. "I must admit, I'm a little surprised you're not more concerned about how much Angel Steel there is laying around. It might be expensive, but it's certainly everywhere. Isn't it a danger to you and your daughter?"

It was only the fact that there wasn't any audible malice to the question, just the sense that the redhead was poking to see if Lucifer would be willing to share the information, that held his knee jerk response in check. This was, indeed, a Q&A for Lucifer to question and Alastor to answer. There was little reason to give anything away in this instance.

Ultimately, the blond settled on letting him have this, as the redhead had already seen him bleed.

Lucifer held up the hand that had been impaled. Alastor's eyes followed the movement, focusing in on the line of slightly lighter grey that was all that remained of the wound. It was darker than it had been just yesterday and would be darker still tomorrow. "Angelic Steel holds little threat to me or to Charlie." It might have, had she been a Nephilim born of the union between an ordinary angel and human, but as one born of a seraphim and the first woman? Not a chance. "It can hurt us, but it's little more of an inconvenience."

Now, if someone where to get their hands on Charlie's trident and attack her with it? Well. No one needed to know that.

Alastor made that humming noise he made when he was digesting a new tidbit of information. He picked up his narrative, going on to explain the alliance between himself and various other Overlords. From the way he spoke of her, Lucifer got the impression that Alastor actually liked this 'Rosie' character, while he just as clearly did not like the Vees, which was apparently the handle for a group of three separate Overlords.

He didn't realize he knew more Overlord names than he thought he did, until he recognized another name. "Valentino. He's the one that Angel has a contract with?"

Alastor nodded. "Yes. To my understanding, Valentino owns Angel's soul, but can only exert any control over him while in the studio. Seems a silly little loop hole, if you ask me."

The nonchalance, the so little care for Angel's clear suffering was a stark reminder that Alastor himself was an Overlord with his own souls. Lucifer frowned at him, a little of his contempt bleeding into his tone, as he accused, "A loop hole I'm sure you'd never allow your own souls, hm?"

Alastor laughed. "Ha ha! Oh no! Not at all. Any soul I own, it's total and complete." He smirked back in the face of Lucifer's disgust. "But I mostly deal with favors, more so than souls. I like to do little things for others, and later, at a time of my choosing, they do something for me." His expression grew thoughtful. "Why, cashing in a few of my favors is how I got that silly little advertisement for the hotel on the air. I'm sure you've gotten around to seeing it by now, yes?"

Lucifer felt his irritation simmering below the surface. Only allowed the sharpening of the claws he wanted to use to wipe that smug little grin off Alastor's face be the only indication of it. He pushed the conversation on, instead of letting the sinner have the point. "And do you hold territory?"

The Radio Demon held up his hands to bring attention the room as a whole. "Oh, nothing like that. My tower is more than enough, although I do get a bit possessive with the hotel itself, since I've invested so much time and energy into it." He pointed to the radio on the shelf behind him. "I don't really need more when I can reach anywhere with a radio on hand. My favors owed do a great deal of the work of covering any gaps in my coverage."

Lucifer remembered him mentioning he had a talk show. Now that it was brought up, he recalled seeing several of the old fashioned radios around the hotel. Charlie had one in her room and there was one in the main foyer. He had been thinking of adding one into his room, but hadn't gotten around to it.

Suddenly, he wasn't so sure that was a great idea. Perhaps he could sneak out the one in Charlie's room the next time he was in there?

He gestured for the other to continue. When Alastor finished, Lucifer took a moment to chew on the information he had been given. It was a good start, better than where he was at the beginning of the day. But it didn't really narrow anything down.

"Do you know of anyone in particular who might feel threatened by what the hotel is trying to accomplish?"

Alastor laughed, finding the question a bit absurd. "Any of us might find it threatening, my dear king. Our deals and our reputations are our most powerful tools. The possibility that souls can be redeemed means that those deals might be broken which threatens our power."

Lucifer supposed it was too easy, if there had been an simple response to that question. Alastor surprised him, though, when he added, "Really, I don't know why anyone is worried about the hotel, when supposedly you're a bigger threat yourself."

The blond frowned, attention sharpening. "What? Me? What do I have to do with any of that?"

Alastor's posture was as languid as it had been since he had settled in. Nothing on the surface seemed to have changed, but Lucifer could feel the weight of his gaze as he explained, "Oh, you know. That silly legend that's been hanging around."

Lucifer blinked at him, baffled. "What legend?"

"The one that says you can break deals."

Unbidden, a memory rose to the surface. Of himself standing above a sinner kneeling at the base of his throne. The sound of the shattering of their chain and the tinkling sound as the links hit the floor - once, twice - and then vanished. It had been the last time he'd ever interfered in the drama between sinners. Lucifer blinked, the memory vanishing like smoke.

He almost dismissed it. Almost let the truth die and remain a myth. Something about the way Alastor was watching him held him back. Whispered: this is important.

Telegraphing the movement, the Devil raised his free hand. Seeing he had the Radio Demon's full attention, he flicked the chain that represented their Deal, putting a little power into it to force the chain to materialize.

Alastor jolted, spine straightening and ears standing on end, half looking like he had received an electric shock.

Lucifer lowered his hand, letting the chain disappear. "I can't break deals I've made, if that's what you're worried about."

The redhead rolled the wrist his end of the chain was wrapped around, trying to work some feeling back into the suddenly numb limb. He still looked amused, but only by the skin of his teeth. "Come now, it's like you think I was accusing you of being dishonorable!" He visibly pulled his undaunted mask back into place. "I was merely asking if you could break other people's deals!"

Uh huh. Sure he was.

Still. With the same level of casualness, Lucifer straightened from his slouch. Dominant hand freed, he used it to reach out and pluck a different chain right out of thin air.

Alastor's eyes widened fully from the normal half-lidded state. One side of the chain was wrapped around the redhead's wrist, showing him the owner of the Deal. The other side trailed off under the door and out of the room.

If one were to follow it to its other end, they would have found themselves standing outside of Husk's door.

Lucifer watched Alastor, the latter's eyes glued to the former's grip on the chain. Anticipation was evident in Alastor's expression, but it was a little harder to parse out the other emotion in there.

Hope.

But hope of what?

Lucifer tightened his grip, testing the strength (Alastor's strength) of the Deal. The links creaked and groaned under his own power and he found that it would be easy to break them.

Instead of breaking them, however, he released the chain instead.

Alastor's left ear twitched, expression growing rigid, as if he had forgotten he was being watched. Something related to disappointment, but not quite, crossed it before curiosity took it's place. "You didn't break it?"

"Husk is an adult and he made his own choices. Contrary to popular belief, I do appreciate consequences." Perhaps Lucifer would be willing to change his stance on the subject in the future - he was growing attached to the members of the hotel, besides Charlie and Vaggie, by default. He certainly would if Charlie ever asked him to. "Besides, I'm not in the market to make anymore of an enemy out of you tonight than you already are."

There was that familiar amusement again. "Oh? Does that mean I'm growing on you, sire?"

Lucifer shuddered, waving the idea away like the smell of it was something foul and putrid, which only seemed to amuse Alastor some more. "Er, no. Absolutely not. Father, you're so lucky Charlie likes you."

"Indeed." Alastor looked to the clock on top of his fireplace, which drew Lucifer's attention to it.

Egad, Lucifer thought to himself as he saw the time, when did it get so late?

"Did you have any other questions for me, sire?"

Lucifer was both closer to his goal and yet further away from it than when they started. It did indeed seem like an Overlord was responsible for the attacks, but it was unlikely that this line of inquiry would bear any more fruit.

He sighed. He didn't like what he was about to do, but it had to be done anyway. "No, I don't have any future questions at this time."

Both sides felt the redhead's side of the Deal closing, Alastor's end fulfilled. His hands flexed around the feel of the chain and then settled. Perfectly polite, he said, "Splendid! Fancy doing business with you. You don't mind if we call this a night, then?"

Lucifer didn't want to poke that bear, but he couldn't help but ask: "You're not going to cash in your deal tonight?"

The Radio Demon looked at him, knowing he was really asking it so that they could get it over with as soon as possible. "Nonsense! I've already eaten a hardy meal today." Alastor grinned from ear to ear, looking for all the world like he was talking about a 5 Star restaurant's menu and not about drinking someone's blood straight from the source. "I'd much rather reserve this meal to a time I could enjoy it to the fullest."

Lucifer grimaced. Cannibals. Either way, the desire to not have those teeth in this neck tonight won over the need to get this over with and he decided that he was not, in fact, going to look that gift horse in the mouth that night. "Whelp, good talk!" The little king sprung to his feet. To avoid turning his back on the creature that literally had license to take a bite out of him, he decided he was just going to portal out. "Uh, let me know when you want to, uh, do the thing."

As he portalled out, he heard Alastor drawl, tone heavy with dark promise, "I most certainly will."

tbc

Part 6

[black-and-yellow]

Working on something

[blorb-el]

we shall be free; we shall find peace chapter 7! it is 7.2k and i had to add a few additional warnings for suicidal ideation so mind the warnings. Clark Does Not Like Answering Questions: The Chapter.

[nishicchikouchi]

HUEHEHEHEHEH. A friend of mine whose read ORV is now reading LCF. HEHEHE. She ship joongdok. And also starting to ship alcale. I have introduced ao3 to her last week. I sent the link of the tags for both. I haven't recommended a fic yet. I'm gonna break her in hehehe. HUEHEHEHEHEH

[soaps-mohawk]

Hey! I love your story so so much and I always look forward to new chapters!

I do have a question though. Is the whole General Shepard cameras thing still is part of the story? I feel like the buildup was so good and then it just disappeared and became unimportant. Like if the guys never find out about it, it's whatever.

I dont mean this as an insult to your writing at all, but I'm just wondering if it's gonna come back at all since it's been so long since it's been thought about by the mc.

Again, I love your work

You'll have to wait and see

[meownotgood]

hallo. if you'd like to be tagged when this fic releases, please reply to this post. you will be added to a taglist and tagged in all subsequent chapters!

please be 18+, and please make sure your age is visable, whether in your bio or a pinned post somewhere. something that says your age, 18+, or adult. otherwise you will be ignored!

[non-un-topo]

I just sat my ass down and wrote 4,000 words for the first time in MONTHS

[rhythmic-idealist]

Chase Trinaeste POV Shepherds of Haven fic? Yeah………….. Chase x MC fic? Yeah.......

And another friend’s OC is also mentioned in here? …..Yeah…………… dw about it..........

Listen though. L-listen:

---

You gotta learn to braid.

Thinking about it, your head is immediately gifted with images of him irritatedly brushing it out in the morning and chewing you out for bad technique. Better yet, he wears it to breakfast, thinks it’s good, and then chews you out only after Trouble makes some no-brained comment and he looks in a mirror for the first time. After all, you’ve got nimble fingers, makes sense to assume you were trustable.

Rock’s head is in your lap.

And his hair is going everywhere, and he’s always clearly taken his time with it (at your best guess he uses five different products at least), so that’s why you’re thinking about it. Don’t people with long hair sleep with braids, sometimes? Lavinet would probably teach you, and do you the favor of not announcing that you’re about to use your skills for evil.

He’s been like this since about five in the morning. You’re a light sleeper. As needs be, you rise either with the sunset or with the sun. Or elsewise, if you’ve got to— you have what some might call an uncanny sense for a well-timed catnap.

So you’re up again, working out the couple little kinks in your back from dozing upright like that. It’s another of the perks of the job: learn to sleep anywhere. You have a lot of little resume filler skills like that, just a tragic lack of resume to put it on. Idly, you wonder over the nonsensical notion of putting one together for the Order once your writing gets good enough to, and you’re kind of attached to the idea now. Blade wouldn’t read it, especially considering you’re already in, but there’s some small giddy joy you get out of the idea of putting it in his possession anyway. Maybe Trouble would read it. Maybe Shery would think it’s juicy enough that she can’t keep her hands off it, and then roll in the guilt about it for a few weeks after. ...No, you can’t do that to her. Funny as that is, she could read with permission. You might be cruel, but she’s a horrible choice of target.

Anyway— So you’ve been watching him be like this since about five in the morning, and thus have evidence of him being like this since about five in the morning. You remember falling asleep late last night, though. Waiting for him to drift first. It was probably one, two AM.

When six-thirty rolls around, you’ll have to wake him, you have a bright and early morning dose of espionage on the schedule today (it’s why the two of you are all the way out here, plus Lavinet and Ottilie graciously hosted in another wing) and you can’t have a grouchy Hero of Haven who hasn’t had a good hour or more awake to put his silver tongue back on.

Something something joke about that tongue’s many talents.

Head in lap is a surprise at all. It’s one of those things— Rock has done this thing to you where all your defenses are the ones that keep coming down first.

It feels a little like getting grifted. When you’ve caught onto a grift, though, and you’re playing along to see what or whom or where they take you to, you don’t feel like you’re in danger, because you’re good. You’re in as much danger as you want to be, or more like: when there are unpredictable variables, you know more or less where they’re going. Rock makes you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something you don’t fucking play with, and it doesn’t help that he likes to open his mouth sometimes just to remind you you’re rolling off a cliff.

Anyway. Then you get this, and you wanna be a charming shit about it, as usual (and you intend to), you just also wonder how much he’s falling off a cliff.

He gets bad nightmares. You know that because of the trip to the Reach. You do also know it because of the tightness in Blade’s lip when you mentioned it offhand later— there’s history there; they’ve been worse than that. You also know it because you picked the brains of a couple recruits who were standing around griping after Trouble sent them for something like twenty laps around the compound (not a real intuitive head for numbers on that man): apparently, it was Captain Nomura they’d been gossiping about, and Trouble was a hardass about it.

It’s the one thing that makes you feel borderline… even. If not even, then at least okay with it.

That’s a lie, you’d probably feel okay with it anyway, you got down to being okay with whatever he’s doing to you the minute you realized you were this invested. It’s just something you use to put things in perspective. There are things you didn’t exactly expect to peel open for him, about you. But there are also things he’s not asking to broadcast publicly to every hard-luck-fleer who wanders onto the Shepherds compound to recruit. Rumors about the head of the Thieves Guild abound, but the unflattering ones are usually less true, and the untrue ones abound so plentifully that no one knows heads or tails of that, anyway.

Feels fair he should have secrets from someone. You’re still gonna fucking dig your way into them before they bury him alive, it’s just. Yeah, you haven’t had your brain pulled open onto a projection screen.

So he has nightmares. You’re not actually sure how often. Technically, you don’t have proof they haven’t gotten better since you last heard. But since you’re not bound to the same evidence requirements as a court of law, and since it’s become a roulette game of how grouchy Rock’s gonna be minute-to-minute, he was dodgy about the prospect of rooming with you or anyone on this mission at all, and he’s recently had a god or demon or trick of the light try to tell him (plus all of the rest of you) that he’s less Mage and more something else’s torn out rib, you can look at two plus two plus two and say probably.

You’ve learned how not to dream. It’s basically the same as learning how to wake up when you want to. When you did dream, you dreamt of mutiny, imaginary holes you left and getting torn down through them. You were always yourself in your dreams—some people are characters, tropes, or other people they know, apparently; you wouldn’t know. Now you keep that in the waking world, and you keep ten paces ahead of it.

That’s the thing you’re deadly sure about in him. That he’s keeping ten paces ahead of something. You—your whole tether to his side—account for anything from like one to like eight of them, as far as you can tell. That’s all you know.

…Well that’s the quick way to tell it. He’s keeping ten paces ahead of something inside the Shepherds. Could be Blade, but you’re not sure why. Could be the Autarchy, but that’s too simple for you. Doesn’t feel like it. Could be Ottilie’s God-given plans for a pretty obvious heathen, but your nose also says it’s not that easy.

He looks dead asleep right now. Comfy, you’d kind of go so far as to hope. And anyway you look at his face, still waters, and you’re a little afraid to even brush his hair out of it.

You don’t even know if he meant to lay his head down on you at all, if that’s a cliff he made his shaky peace with (or if it’s a cliff at all, if means anything to him, Hael if you know) or if he was just miserable.

You don’t know if it’s you, like the stillness might be the effect of having another body in the room that he’s willing to lay his head against— …or if maybe he just doesn’t get them every night. Or if there is one under there. But you hope he’s not dreaming.

You try to bask in it, for now. Try to pose like a king with a sweet little kitten in his lap, like a guy painted on the front of a romance novel with the sweet, innocent angel he’s seduced to lay over him, nightgown slipping down her shoulder. You spend an hour with only walls to watch, dutifully still so he can finish sleeping, and it’s only a small handful of times that you have to stop and breathe through a creep of bile up your throat.

Six-thirty hits.

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

“Mmf. What.” Rock spits a strand of hair out of his face. Yeah, you probably could have done him a favor on that instead of leaving it there for him to wake up to. But it’s funny, so, you know. Win-win.

“The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, Ottilie’s slaughtering her morning chicken—” (she is not).

Rock seems to parse the reality of where he is, and peels himself up from you, sitting facing away from you— and then he glances at you over his shoulder, for a moment, and everything about it is horribly, disressingly raw.

He looks at you a little too long. The thing about Rock is his rules are a lot like yours, and you are not supposed to say anything about it, but he’s looking at you, like he’s asking you to, and it lasts a long time.

Then he goes to brush his teeth.

[f-imaginings]

I have finally FINALLY got up to the dream scene at the start of the last mabelcorn in kmky and everything is flowing nicely finally, and the scenes and characterisation all are smooth and make sense and I am no longer going over the same establishing scenes like a pedant trying to make them perfect. SUCCESS!

Just have to knock out these next few bits then it's onto unicorn beatdowns, funny hats, pizza parties and loophole heists!

[themintman]

finished my mock exams so I drew my Jack + Nurm designs from an unfinished fic of mine. As a treat.

[druidx]

I'm nearly done!!

...

oh, gods, I'm nearly done...

[serasfanfiction]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

The next few days were peaceful. The kind of peaceful Lucifer hadn't experienced since the Hotel was in the process of being rebuilt. He hadn't realized how much stress Alastor was causing him until he backed off.

Lucifer might even have gotten a full nights sleep last night! That hadn't happened in an especially long time!

(He wasn't thinking about the fact that his sleep had been haunted by the caress of teeth along his neck or glimpses of red, red sated eyes.)

The images threatened to steal his attention, even as he tried to bury them down with all the other things he was refusing to think about at this point. He forced himself to pay attention, tuning in as Charlie said, excitedly, "She's already spending half her time here! It's really only a matter of time before she agrees to join us full time!"

The campaign to get Cherri Bomb to join the Hazbin Hotel had been having mixed results since the fight with Adam and her participating in the rebuilding. She was clearly here mostly for Angel, but it seemed that the other denizens of the hotel were growing on her. Charlie was correct in that the cyclops spent just as much time at the hotel as she did were ever else she landed when she wasn't with them. She even had a room of her own, even if she didn't officially claim it. It definitely helped it was right next door to her best friend.

Lucifer patted her shoulder. "She'll come around in her own time. Remember, for this to work, they have to actually want it."

Charlie placed her hand over her father's, biting her lip and near bursting with excitement. "I know, but it just feels like we're so close! It'll be so great when she agrees."

"Yes, but in the meantime, we'll just continue to make her feel welcome." He smiled at her proudly. "Which you're already doing so well at!"

Charlie's returned the smile, pleased with his feedback.

The moment, like so often when one lives in Hell, was suddenly and abruptly interrupted by the entire building shaking.

Angel appeared on the landing of the second floor, the one that overlooked the main entrance and foyer. "What the hell? We haven't had any shady guests lately, have we?"

Alastor stepped out of the shadows near the entrance, a loud boom ringing out as something large and heavy hit the door.

Lucifer was suddenly glad he had reinforced the structure. It wasn't impossible that someone could break in through brute force, especially if someone was extremely determined, but the sheer effort would give the hotel guests ample time to mount a defense.

Loud shouting came from outside, words unintelligible through the thickness of it. Alastor ignored the hostile aura premating from outside as if he couldn't even feel it, throwing open the door.

"Oh my, you are quite annoying," he greeted the group at their door. The two fellas up front, stooges and the muscle by the look of them, were holding a large battering ram. Alastor eyed it distastefully. "Whatever business could you have with us that is worth all this racket?"

A nervous looking demon cleared his throat, unwisely drawing the Radio Demon's full attention. "We." He swallowed, complexion growing paler the longer Alastor stared at him. In a rush, he stated, "We were sent here to send a message!"

The radio host tilted his head to the side. "Message?"

The group glanced at each other, clearly psyching themselves up. Nodding, the 'leader' proclaimed, "Yeah, 'give up this shitty mission, or else.'"

"Or else what?"

The group collectively drew their weapons, an assortment of guns and knives. "Or else we're going to have to use force."

The widening of Alastor's grin should have been a warning. Lucifer would have felt bad for the little idiots for not seeing the flaming pile of shit they had just stepped in, but they were in the process of threatening his daughter and that was just a big no go for him.

"Oh, you really don't want to do that." Lucifer came up to stand beside Alastor, hands coming up in a shooing motion. "Like, seriously. Go back to whoever sent you and tell them they don't get a second warning."

The leader blinked down at him. He must have been new to Hell, because he asked, "And who are you?"

"Oh, little ol' me?" Lucifer's wings and horns appeared in all their full glory. "I'm the Devil, bitches."

The group barely had time to do little more than gape before they were sent tumbling arse over head from a powerful gust of wind, curtesy of the before mentioned wings. Fully prepared to rough them up a little before sending them on their way, Lucifer stepped out of the hotel.

Only to be halted by something wrapping around his waist. He glanced down at what appeared to be a shadow about the thickness of a vine. Now, where had that come from?

"Now, now, your Majesty, that won't do."

Ah, yes. Of course, it was one of Alastor's shadow tentacle things.

"Oi! Put me down!" The blond protested as he was picked up and then deposited on one of the second floor balconies.

Alastor didn't bother looking back at him. His tone was that of a parent talking to a particularly petulant child as he ordered, "Why don't you stay up there for a bit? There's really no need for you to get involved."

Lucifer had half a mind to take not just the goons out, but Alastor as well, but ultimately decided to let the Radio Demon have his fun. Besides, he was looking a little peckish lately. "Just leave one alive so they can tell their boss to back off!"

Down below, Charlie chimed in with, "Or we could leave all of them alive?"

Alastor near cackled as he grew in size, the invaders suddenly realizing they were in serious danger and attempting to make a run for it. Shadow creatures began to rise out of the ground, breaking off their get away. "Nonesense!" Alastor disagreed cheerfully. "Everyone mysteriously disappearing is a much more delicious way of keeping people on their feet!"

Lucifer rolled his eyes. Oh, he bet it was 'delicious.'

A noise behind him drew his attention. Lucifer looked over his shoulder, finding himself eye to eye with a wolf demon he'd never seen a day in his life. Especially not one that had no business sneaking into the hotel with a knife he was clearly intending to use.

They started at each other for a long moment. The guy must have been an idiot, because he apparently decided he wanted to take his chances and attempt to stab the King of Hell himself.

Lucifer reached up, fully intending to catch the blade. Under normal circumstances, weapons made in Hell couldn't hurt him and would have just shattered on contact.

But this blade wasn't just an ordinary blade made it Hell. Lucifer realized it must have been made from Angelic Steel when the knife cut straight through his hand like a hot knife through butter. He winced, despite himself. Somehow, he'd forgotten how much that could hurt.

The wolf demon made the mistake of not pressing his advantage, seeming to think that the pain of something as simple as a knife through the hand would be enough to make the first being to ever lead a rebellion against a real army to pause. Oh no, all it did was infuriate him.

Lucifer pressed his hand down the knife further, allowing him to take hold of the hilt. The demon's grip went slack with shock, allowing the blond to wretch it out of his hand. With his good hand, Lucifer yanked the offensive object out, carelessly tossing it onto one of the other neighboring balconies, where it would be of little use during this battle and could be retrieved later. "Oh, that was a very poor decision." Giving no quarter, he darted forward to wrap his hand around the demon's throat, wings flapping to give him the hieght to do so. "Tell me why you're up here, before I decide to be rid of you regardless."

The wolf grunted, hands clawing uselessly at his arm. He managed to choke out, "Like we said: we're just here to send a message."

Lucifer looked down at where Alastor was rounding up the last couple of stragglers, tossing a third into his mouth. The little nervous demon from before appeared to have peed himself from fright. The seraphim turned back to his captive. Something told him that those boo zoos were a mere distraction and this was the real leader of the group. Shaking him a little, Lucifer demanded, "Who sent you?"

A sneer came in response. "We're just for hire. We get a call and we do the job, no questions asked."

Lucifer realized he wasn't going to get anything of use out of this guy. And since he was likely the only real threat of the group, the blond didn't feel comfortable letting him be the return messenger.

A beat of his wings had them air born, bringing them to hover over Alastor, who's ears perked up as he realized he was about to get another morsel. "Whelp, in that case, it sounds like you're useless to me. Guess I'll just hand you over to the Alastor--"

"W-wait!" The wolf demon frantically choked out, "Isn't this p-place for s-second chances! Your d-daughter believes in that s-shit, doesn't she?"

Lucifer's eyes narrowed. "You're right. My daughter does have a gift for seeing the best in people, even when there isn't any. But me? My curse is that I'm damned to always see the worst in all of you." Between one blink to the next, he let his form bleed into it's most demonic, hellfire igniting and his broken halo taking form as the true crown of Hell manifested. His True Eyes opened along his coat, Seeing right through this worthless soul and all of his sins. "Tell me, honestly, do you regret, even a little, for pushing Elizabeth in front of that train? Did you care in the least that her husband only had a handful of voicemails to remember her voice by? That her son grew up without any memories of his own mother?"

The wolf demon gasped for breathe, eyes wild. "The- the reporter? I had to kill her." He squirmed and yanked to no avail, Lucifer's hand like steel around his neck. Frantically, he added, "She was no-no one! She- she was going to ruin everything!"

Lucifer sneered. "Wrong answer."

Without hesitation, he opened his fist. The wolf demon shrieked as he fell, the shrill sound abruptly cutting off as Alastor closed his mouth around his treat.

The nervous little demon, perhaps smarter than they gave him credit for, took advantage of the distraction to make his get away. Alastor let him in favor of watching his king, eyes alight and calculating.

Lucifer hovered above him, every one of his eyes trained on the sinner below him. He realized that while he had seen Alastor in his full eldritch form during their first meeting, this would be the first time Alastor was seeing him in his own full demonic form.

Alastor, like in every aspect of his life, neither blinked nor cowered. He brought up a hand, the motion that puppet slowness he'd showed when Lucifer had manifested the pair of deer ears. He brought it up until it hovered just below the Devil's feet.

Lucifer squinted at him, not trusting that if he let himself land in Alastor's hand, the latter wouldn't just drop him out of spite.

He never found out either way, as he became distracted by Charlie's alarmed shout of "Oh my goodness, Dad!"

Alarmed, Lucifer spun around, his demonic features melting away into his normal appearance. "Charlie? What's wrong?" He came down to land in front of her, reaching out to make certain nothing had gotten past them to hurt her. "Are you okay?"

Charlie grabbed onto his hand, causing him to wince. Horrified, she cried out, "Forget me! Your hand is hurt." She hissed as she assessed the full extent of the damage. "Oh shit, it went all the way through!" She twisted around to shout back at the other behind her. "Vaggie! Bandages!"

Lucifer held up his free hand. "It's fine, sweetie, really. It'll heal up in no time. Really, I'd be more worried about any survivors. Alastor is way too enthusiastic for a guard dog." He glanced over his shoulder at Alastor, who had shrunk down to his normal size. Lucifer caught a glimpse of a gold coated tongue past the the hand the red head had up to his mouth. Lucifer found himself reassessing if Alastor had been offering him a hand after all or if he had just been taking the opportunity to get another taste of angel blood.

Judging by the pleased look on the deer demon's face, and the fact that he was letting 'guard dog' comment slide, it was most likely the latter.

And this was why Lucifer had trust issues when it came to this little shit.

Charlie tugged him towards the inside of the hotel, saying something about bandaging his hand. He was forced to break eye contact with his rival or keep his daughter from carrying on with his fretting. Really, it was all too much. It would take longer than the usual for injury to heal - the scar would barely be noticeable in a few days! - there was really no need for all this fussing! He even tried to say as such, which turned out to be a bad idea, because now Charlie was making sad eyes at him and really he was just going to be quiet and let her do her thing because it was so much better than her crying.

In the mess of the clean-up, Lucifer completely forgot about the angelic blade.

tbc

Part 5