#love at first leak

[tokowwdefox]

Happy birthday to my beautiful wife, Ayato ♥︎

I love Ayato sm ♡♡♡

[hinamie]

I don't want to regret the way I lived

[sleepysebris]

ml secret santa gift for @raindrops-on-the-roof ! ✨ sorry for being a week late i have this problem where i over-detail things that were meant to be simple. I wanted to do a silly lil love square comic and somehow get alya & nino in there, and at the time, elation was all i could think about! lol (this takes place in a reality where that was the last episode i watched) Thank you @mlsecretsanta for hosting such a cool event 💙

[seventh-district]

Making Incorrect H:SR Quotes Until I Run Out of (hopefully) Original Ideas - Pt. 6

[Pt. 1] [Pt. 2] [Pt. 3] [Pt. 4] [Pt. 5]

[sqtorux]

man... every flashback of him makes me so sentimental it's like im yearning for my husband who's at war. oh wait.

[paperglader]

they really put alicent in bridgerton blue on the reunion and genuinely expected me to think that she didn’t in fact march all the way to dragonstone to get wifed up? bfr

[sakuraluck]

when i said i wanted to understand whatever’s going on in ivan’s head, i didn’t mean like this 😭😭

[duckiemimi]

gojo in jjk 236

i’m not one to advocate for prying away creative control from a creator’s (mangaka’s) cramped, overworked hands, and i understand that with oftentimes fandoms get so big that the story warps itself into something out of the creator’s control, but i do know what a good character arc looks like (i’ve seen it in this very story before) and i do know what public pressure can do to a creative mind.

that being said, keeping gojo dormant for more than a hundred chapters, then unsealing him only for him to gain nothing from his long-drawn out fight with sukuna is insane. i was assuming we were building up stakes in his character arc! i didn’t think he’d die prematurely without resolution! how could he be given a meaningless death when it was all he and geto talked about at one point?

gojo could’ve been living proof that change is possible and that fate is breakable. he was born after multiple cycles of six eyes and limitless users, he was born a baby-shaped building block, jujutsu’s atlas with the world on his shoulders. alone and untouchable. but he changed because he met geto. he changed because he met shoko, because he met megumi and yuuta and yuuji and every single character that has loved and cared about him. love changed him. to be loved is to be changed, and to have him go without an ending line to, “this is just a personal theory, but love is the most twisted curse of them all,” is such a loss. it’s like a sentence without a full-stop, abruptly cut short with no continuation.

i initially thought that he’d be weakened by sukuna, but then his allies would come running to back him up—there is strength in solidarity! his true strength should’ve stemmed from solidarity and love! interdependence and connection should’ve been the peak of his character arc! why did we end up with nothing even after tens of chapters of him fighting for his life? why did every other character sit still instead of using their advantage in numbers?

but i do see where gege is headed. with gojo gone, the baton has been passed onto the next generation. there is no longer a biological “hierarchy” of power amongst the sorcerers (to an extent), and perhaps sukuna himself will falter because the balance of the universe was pulled from under their feet. besides love, jjk is also about generational second chances: sashisu and itakugifushi; toji and maki; geto and yuuji and yuuta; geto walking to tengen’s quarters alone, delivering riko almost hesitantly, and yuuji waking to tengen’s quarters with megumi, yuuta, choso, and yuki. silhouettes in the dark of the tunnels. hell, you could even count yaga as a teacher and gojo as a teacher. or yaga’s CT and how he gave a child another chance at life. yuuji’s multiple resurrections. kenjaku and tengen. i get it, i do—i understand what gege’s trying to do here, but i’m tired of him using these characters as plot devices instead of giving them the resolution they deserve. (especially for jjk’s cash cow…he deserved more than a rushed end.)

i do hope that that one theory about gojo only being able to die if his head is cut off is true. but even then, after all of the fake outs we’ve had to read, that would be a shitty cheap shot. i’ll try to have faith; even that is wavering.

[introspectivememories]

goddd i just know that tim never takes off that fucking necklace. and you know bear doesn't have that much money so tge necklace was kinda cheap and it wasn't anything the bear meant for tim to wear regularly it was just like a keepsake y'know? wear it on a date or a nice outing. maybe when they're both home together. but tim is practically feral over it. like straight up refuses to take it off. it's turning his neck green at this point and everybody is soo done.

[ninjaaa-go]

I was just thinking that, if we do actually get amnesiac Jay, him eventually getting his memories back could be really interesting. Because obviously you’ve got all the great memories with his family and the people he loves, but at the same time just— the horrors. The guy has so much trauma piled up from over the years and I feel like that would be A Lot to have dumped on you all at once.

[satosuguuu]

JJK 268

HE SMILED I'M SO HAPPY THAT HE'S BACK AND ALIVE

[elevenenthusiast]

If those leaks about stranger things 5 on twitter are true then i have nothing else to say other than that it sounds ass.

[batbabydamian]

Al Ghul enjoyer PKJ as writer and Rebirth Nightwing artist Javi Fernandez for the new Batman and Robin team…fascinating…

this new run is distinctly darker in tone just based on the summary alone, but i’m so curious how “a different way to help the world begins to present itself” could mean for Damian!!

[odo-apologist]

Me enjoying a rewatch of a Red Dwarf episode, having a good time: 🙂

My traitorous brain: Hey, this scene takes place away from Red Dwarf and Starbug, Lister probably doesn't remember it after M-Corp

Me: 😧

[scarlettcryptid]

someone's probably already pointed this out already, but shigaraki said the same thing that bakugo said to deku before he was taken by the league:

ch. 82 bakugo: 来んな

ch. 416 shigaraki: 来るなあ

(don't come/stay back/stay away)

[duckie-darling]

Worth the Effort

Lucifer x gn! sinner reader (may skew more f! reader in later chapters)

Chapter 1: Slow burn, Fluff (for now), post season 1, 4.5k words.

1 of (at least) 5 chapters

Inspired by the very specific intersection of Luci hyperfixation and youtube hoof care videos and relating way too hard to this silly, sad little man.

Summary: During the upswings of depression, the King of Hell's love language is breakfast and over the top circus puns. But on the downswings, he needs help remembering that he matters, too.

It was hard to identify the smell wafting through your hotel room, beckoning you away from your dreams and out from under the covers. The streets of hell were often smoky with the faint burning smell of dumpster fires or smoldering brimstone. But this was a little different. Almost pleasant. Almost comforting.

You rolled over to your other side, trying to will yourself back to sleep. It was too early to deal with a fire in the hotel. Surely if it were serious there’d be screaming, right? And besides, if it was anything besides the viridian hell-fires hungry for the flesh of sinners, then it would be fine. It wouldn’t actually hurt the sinners in the hotel, just the hotel itself. Right?

But after a few minutes of trying and failing to fall back into slumber, your growling stomach convinced you that it’s not likely to happen. You reluctantly kicked the blankets down off of your body and laid there, soaking in the comfort for a moment longer.

You hadn’t been a guest at the princess of Hell’s hotel that long. Long enough to fall into somewhat of a routine, but not long enough for the absolute decadence of the plush pillow and feather-soft sheets to have worn off. Not long enough for the quiet and solitude of a room all to yourself to stop being exquisite. Not long enough to forget what it was like to be out on those streets, a hapless sinner trying to dodge knives and bullets and bad deals. No, the privilege of this room and this place hadn’t worn off yet, so you chose to soak in a few more seconds with your head on a pillow behind a securely locked door.

Although, your stomach disagreed.

Finally giving in to its demands, you reluctantly shuffled to your feet and flicked on the bedside lamp with a yawn, limply rubbing sleep from your eyes. The smell had turned from something your brain detected as burning into instead something sweet, slightly smoky, and inviting. Someone was probably making themselves breakfast, and according to your stomach, you should follow suit.

You had come here with only the clothes on your back and whatever of your belongings weren’t pinched by pickpockets. So at least the added step of having to change out of pajamas wasn’t keeping you from breakfast! Turns out there’s a bright side to having not a single possession to your name.

But you still felt the need to make yourself look like you hadn’t just rolled out of bed before facing the world outside that door. The princess didn’t really seem like the kind to kick someone out for messy appearances, but you couldn’t afford to take any chances.

So your stomach continued to murmur as you trudged to the bathroom. You combed your fingers through your bedhead, detangling just enough to be presentable, and gargled with tap water in a weak attempt to stave off morning breath. You also checked your face for dirt and ensured the clothes you slept in weren’t twisted around during sleep. The face staring back at you in the mirror wasn’t exactly your best - but it was presentable.

Stepping out into the hallway, you were pleased to find you were alone, at least for now. While the enticing smell was definitely stronger out here, it didn’t seem like enough to awaken any other hotel residents. As you slowly walked down to the main floor, the sizzling and chopping noises cutting through the silence made it apparent that someone was in there cooking up a storm.

Plenty of people in hell were night owls or just slept most of the day, but very few of them would wake up this early in the morning to cook a proper breakfast for themselves, whistling cheerily. If there was some kind of visitor coming this morning, maybe it would be better to stay out of there - lie low, maybe see if that bartender (Husker was his name, you think?) had any cocktail peanuts to nibble on until the place cleared out. You cautiously stuck your head around the corner to glimpse the source of all the activity.

In no way did you expect that all the activity you heard from this room was coming from just one person.

He stood in front of the stove, whistling a jaunty little tune as he held a skillet in his right hand. He skillfully jerked the skillet, flipping a perfectly browned pancake into the air, which then did an acrobatic little flip before plopping back into the pan. His left hand was whisking some sort of concoction in a red bowl, which itself was being cradled in the air by a swirling golden light. On the counter off to his right, yet another swathe of golden magic was wrapped around a chef’s knife, rapidly julienning potatoes into perfect little matchsticks.

He let go of the whisk, grabbing instead, straight from the air above his head, a black spatula. The utensil was decorated with a shiny red apple at the handle. That, it turns out, was your first clue, but when he twirled quickly in place before coming to face you, you were suddenly certain exactly who it was you had just been caught spying on.

Lucifer - fallen angel, ruler of demons, King of hell - stood before you. 

Making pancakes. 

In an apron. 

Patterned with rubber ducks.

“Goooood morning!” he chirped, eyes brightening as he flipped the pancake again into the air, angling it to land gracefully on a platter that was already piled with its siblings. “Oh, haha, you’re a new face! Well you’re in luck, because early risers get served first~!”

You blinked rapidly in surprise.

“Take a seat!” He snapped his fingers and one of the stools at the kitchen’s island pulled itself away from the counter as an invitation. There was a slight swirling sparkle of golden magic in the air above the surface, and a cascade of plates and silverware arranged themselves into a perfect place setting. The napkin was folded in the shape of a perfect origami swan (or duck?) in the middle of the plate.

“Are you thirsty?” He was talking too fast for you to move or even respond. “Apple? Orange? Pomegranate? Pick your poison!” Each word was punctuated by the fruit in question appearing in his hands, which he almost immediately started to casually juggle. Even just the fragrance of those fruits - a rare, almost unheard of delicacy in hell - made your mouth threaten to water.

He paused a moment, giving you just enough time to inhale in the hopes of replying before he interrupted.  “Oh, but not REAL poison, heh!” his voice cracked and he looked slightly bashful over the misstep, finally breaking the constant excited chattering and replacing it with a slightly awkward silence.

“I-.....” You suddenly realized that somewhere in all that you had been given a command by the king of Hell, so you promptly sat on the stool that had been pulled out for you. “O-orange…?”

The awkward smile turned less awkward, and his face lit up again. “Comin’ right up!” His 3 makeshift juggling balls quickly turned into four, five, eight, twelve. After a moment of showboating while he juggled them with ease, each orange in turn magically hovered over top of your glass, squeezed itself dry, and then helpfully launched itself into the garbage can.

He dusted his hands off on his apron and gave a brief bow, seemingly ending his performance. Then his eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance, stopping your heart until you realized he was staring at your glass. He snapped his fingers, adding both a silly straw and a ruby red paper umbrella. “That’s more like it.” He then spun on his heel, resuming his whistling as well as his work.

You sipped the juice. It was delicious.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the man before you. He gave off the least intimidating presence you could imagine, and yet he was almost definitely the most powerful person between the two of you. No, realistically he was the most powerful person in the realm. Just thinking of the broadcast footage from the final extermination convinced you that much was true. 

And sure, you had expected his once-in-a-while presence when taking up a room in the hotel. Rumor was he stayed in one of the corner suites, though you had never encountered his presence since you had gotten here. But this…this was not what you had expected. 

You swallowed hard, again struggling to find your words. Words that wouldn’t risk insulting him and lead to you having your soul tormented more viciously than ever before, or your organs squeezed as dry as those oranges. But you were thankfully saved from having to say anything when the door swung open with another visitor.

“AuuuuuUUUGUH,” Angel Dust groaned, slipping onto another of the stools and planting a bottle of vodka onto the counter, followed shortly by his face. “Boy am I glad yer here today, pops. Ya don’t even wanna know about the fuckin’ night I had. Val had me upside down blowin’ so many dicks I couldn’ get the blood rushin’ anywhere but my head.” He seemed too exhausted to even pounce on the easy “head” double entendre. “Think ya can just make me the usual?”

Lucifer made a flourish with one hand, and more ingredients landed on the counter in another golden swirl. “Buttered biscuit, over hard eggs, absolu-HOOTly no bacon, shredded potato, lots of cheese. Coming right up!” He rolled up his sleeves and started shredding potatoes for the order that he apparently knew by heart.

You cleared your throat for a moment, finally managing to speak again. “Is this….a regular thing?” 

Angel picked his head up, hair fluff falling over his face as he took a quick swig from the bottle. “Yeah, every once in a while.”

“That is-....that is, very kind of you, your Highness,” you muttered, addressing Lucifer this time.

The man in question paused from his nimble knifework to shrug and glance back at you. “Just Lucifer, actually!”

"But-", you stuttered, shifting in your seat. Was this a trick? “But you're the king and-”

"That I am!" He stood a little straighter, and from what little of his face you could see, his teeth shone through a smirk. “But to my darling Char-char’s official guests, I’ve decided to forgo those titles.”

He turned back to his slicing. “No matter how debauched, debased or demented! Whether pickpocket, peddler, porn star or poisoner. To all of the sorry sinners who haunt these halls, I am just Lucifer.” He stiffened a little, and then chuckled out a nervous laugh as his voice cracked. “I’m sure you’re just fi-iNe, though!”

The king glanced back at you, noting the nervous (or maybe confused?) energy. “But…you ca-can call me whatever you want! Whatever, uh, makes you more comfortable! Anything is fine exce-”

“So you’ll let me call you ‘Daddy’ now~~~~~?” Angel Dust interrupted.

“Except that,” Lucifer sighed. He was now tossing the shredded potatoes into a sizzling hot pan, and then grabbing his apple-handled spatula again, twirling it between his fingers like a baton. At some point in the rotation, it turned from spatula to whisk. He dipped it into a bowl full of egg yolks, beating them together with a practiced hand (and, apparently, wrist muscles of steel). The cheery whistling started again, and he tapped his foot gently to the tune. It was only now that you noticed he was standing on a stool in front of the stove.

He next grabbed a salt shaker, and you flinched a little as he tossed it into the air, doing a full 180-degree turn before catching it again and using it to salt the egg mixture.

“I gave you that bottle thinking you’d at least save a glass for me, Legs,” Husk growled slightly. He had apparently slunk in while-...while your attention was elsewhere. 

It wasn’t your fault, though. It was sort of mesmerizing. Like watching a master at work - you just didn’t expect that work would be breakfast sandwiches. And he seemed to take genuine joy in the art. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled, and his forked tongue stuck out slightly when he seemed to be focused on flipping the egg just right. The blush-pink circles on his cheeks did cause his expression to always seem slightly-...well, cherubic. The genuine excitement made his smile so bright you almost had to avert your gaze. “Morningstar” really was a fitting name.

Lucifer floated over a plate onto the counter, and Angel Dust tore into his greasy sandwich.

“Hm-...could I have-...pancakes?” you spoke up, finally brave enough.

Lucifer turned to you with wide eyes and a dopey little grin. “Well that is actually my specialty! What shape?” 

“R-...round?”

His face dropped in disappointment, scrunching up his nose a little. “That’s way too easy. How about a-”

“Duck?” Husk guessed with a smirk.

“...turtle. I was going to say turtle, BUT a duck is also an excellent idea. Do you want a duck? Please, say you want a duck?” he turned his eyes to you, almost pleading.

And how could you say no? “I-...yes, sure. Duck pancakes. Duck-cakes?”

“HA!” he let out an enthusiastic laugh. “Duck-cakes! DUCK-CAKES! That’s great. HahA!” 

He made your order with expected enthusiasm, and when the plate slid across to you on the counter, the top pancake was decorated with an orange-wedge beak and blueberry eyes. Taking a bite, it was expectedly delicious, the perfect balance of crispness and fluffiness. You couldn’t help letting out a little sigh of delight.

“Heeheh! It’s the shape that makes it more delicious,” Lucifer snickered with another toothy grin. “Don’t you think?”

“It m-must be. But I think the chef also had a lot to do with it.”

That got him to beam even more, but you didn’t get to bask in the glow of that expression for long before his gaze snapped up to the next visitor.

“Char-char~!” he exclaimed, and 3 pairs of wings burst out of his back, allowing him to cartwheel through the air to land gracefully next to his daughter. “Do you want pancakes, honey? Duck-cakes, DUCK-CAKES! How have I never thought of that?” His hands flailed out above his head in excitement.

“I’m pretty sure you have, Dad,” Charlie offered with a smile as she sat down, Vaggie taking the seat beside her.

“Oh.” His jazz hands fell and his face scrunched up in thought, trying to remember whatever time she must be referring to. “Well, anyway, what’s your order this morning, Char-char?” He poofed himself back over to his post at the stove, already preparing to start on his next order.

The rest of the morning went on similarly to that. Hotel guests (and crew) slowly filtered in, each seeming to know exactly what they wanted for their breakfast order.

The diminutive hotel maid, Niffty chortled and wheezed her way into the kitchen, skittering up to Lucifer and holding a plastic dog bowl above her head. “In this, please....hehe... ”

Lucifer glanced down at her from his spot on the stool, frowning skeptically. “...really?” His eyebrow arched gracefully, again forcing you to turn your eyes away from the way the light caught his pale, unexpectedly beautiful face.

“yES, hehe,” Niffty chuckled.

“Uh, okay," Lucifer said with a sigh and another shrug, “you-... oddly endearing little gremlin.”

The comfortable chatter in the kitchen started putting you a bit more at ease, and it was easy to stay seated right where you were as the morning waned. You sipped your orange juice as your eyes wandered around the room, observing the conversations without having the need to participate. 

Angel leaned an elbow on the counter, and his cheek on his palm, shaking the last bits of Beelzejuice into his own flute of freshly-squeezed orange juice. Charlie's face spread into a dopey grin as she sipped her mug of hot chocolate, and then began rambling to Vaggie about how she ‘never knew humans had invented something so delicious, so splendid, so warm and comforting!’ You also tried not to look too hard at Nifty, eviscerating her cockroach-shaped pancakes into a gruesome mush as strawberry syrup splashed out of the dog bowl. At least she seemed...happy?

But your eyes again found it difficult not to linger on the chef de cuisine. He was still standing on his stool, seemingly for a better vantage point to observe the results of his handiwork. His posture was perfectly poised, back straight and facial expression reserved as he sipped apple juice from a silly straw, but you managed to catch the smile. 

Not the paparazzi smile, the one he probably puts on for the public, the people who want something from him. But a genuine one, tilting up the corners of his mouth and arching his eyebrows with some sort of fondness for the sinners surrounding him (and surrounded you all were, because quite a few other residents had filtered in throughout the morning). 

He clearly seemed to be happy to do anything to please his daughter, but you also caught a sense of satisfaction when Husk, reaching past Angel, slid another pancake onto his place with a 'gimme one of those!' It was a struggle, but you caught his subtle grin when Vaggie, flushing as she took a bite from her girlfriend's fork, licked her lips so as not to waste a drop of syrup.

Not that it was a surprise for the literal sin of pride to get an ego boost from people enjoying his handiwork. But it was a softness you can’t say that you expected.

Lucifer’s eyes caught yours, and he tilted his head curiously, lips still clamped around the silly straw. You unfortunately could not control your expression, your eyes widening as you glanced away.

But it was too late, and you heard a little pop! of golden magic at the same time the stool next to yours was no longer occupied.

“So who are you, again?” his question was punctuated by loud straw slurping as he drained the last of his apple juice. “Oh, right! You’re new here. Right? That’s why I don’t remember you.”

You cleared your throat a little and turned to face him. “Y-yeah, pretty new. Got here a few weeks ago…”

He set the cup down with the tiniest hint of a frown on his face. “Ah. Well, it’s, heh, a big place, and I just can’t keep up with all the sinners Charlie brings in because-.....well, you know, because I’m usually in the suite doing-...very important paperwork and-”

“I, um-” you interrupted him, almost regretting it until you saw the relief on his face when he no longer had to keep talking, “It’s ok. I mean-! I mean, I’m not offended. It is a big place and-...I-I should say it’s an honor that you and Charlie are taking someone like me in and-”

“Oh, that was aaaaall Charlie! I don’t want a thing to do with managing the sinners,” he glanced over at his daughter with a gentle smile, full of pride.

“Oh…I’m sorry, should I-”

“Oh gee whiz!” he exclaimed, turning back to you with a frown. “No, that’s no slight meant to you, I just-” his delicate hands went to cover his face. “Obviously I’m no good at talking to humans any more. Or, I guess I never really was!” he chuckled in exasperation.

“A-as long as you don’t want me gone…then it’s alright,” you smiled, nervously but sincerely trying to reassure the Devil.

His hands left his face and he let out a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s try this again.” He turned to you with a smile, leaning his cheek on his hand and his elbow on the counter. He had managed to calm the nerves in his voice, and instead in a smooth tone that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, said, “So what brings you here?”

With that particular choice of words, the graceful way he crossed his legs and bobbed his foot, the inquisitive arch to his eyebrow and the frankly embarrassing way you’d been eating up the view all morning, it was hard not to imagine it as a pick-up line, and instead as the invitation for small talk that it really was.

“Well-...I-...before this, I was sort of just doing odd jobs that I could bear to stomach. Trying to get by without-...you know…doing something really terrible. The place is honestly a miracle, because it’s-...tough out there. I’m sure you know that.” You managed to make eye contact for a moment, and you were met with an expression of genuine interest, and a twinge of guilt.

“But-...if you mean Hell in general? I really wish I knew!” you admitted, glancing away again and turning to stir the bare ice cubes around in your otherwise empty glass. “I thought I was a good person. I mean, I’m sure I lied occasionally. Had a mean thought every once in a while. Didn’t always do my best or give everything my all. But, I really thought I would-...well, I didn’t think I would end up here.”

“HhhOOO boy do I know how that feels.” He inhaled deeply, then let out a sigh. “But-...ok. Listen,” his voice lowered, leaning in closer and giving you a whiff of what must have been apple-scented cologne. “I’ve tried to tell Charlie this, but the rules for that kind of stuff ma-ake no sense. It’s not even worth trying to figure out a ‘why.’” 

He sat up, glancing over at his daughter, then back at you. “You came here for help, anyway. That’s...that’s good enough.” He paused for a moment, staring at his own fingers drumming against the counter as he seemingly became lost in thought.

Would it be a mercy to break him away from his thoughts? Maybe.

“Can I- ….can I ask a question, actually?”

He blinked rapidly, looking around as if trying to remember where he was. "Can you-....oh, but I believe you already did just by asking me that~” he snickered, as his brain caught up enough for a witty retort.

“Okay, fine,” you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Can I ask you a question besides the one I'm asking you now? "

“Hmmmm, I'll allow it! I am a gracious king after all.”

“While you were cooking...you just, you know, created those ingredients. Poofed them into existence. Why go through the trouble of cooking it? Why not just-....summon up a finished product?”

Lucifer straightened up again, and the trademark toothy grin spread across his face. “Well, it would be wa-HAY less fun to do it that way. If I did that, I’d make them, but I wouldn't really make them.”

After you tilted your head in momentary confusion, he continued, “Isn't it more fun to-....to make something by hand? To bust out the elbow grease? To feel like you sculpted something bit by bit?” There began a rising excitement in his voice, and you could see the slightest flutter of the wings laying flatly against his back. “To look at a pile of bits and pieces, and create magic instead of relying on it? Sure, I could make anything anyone wanted.”

He shrugged, and seemingly just to prove it, twirled his finger and created a 3D ferris wheel pancake sculpture, complete with carts full of maple syrup.

“But-...you know-...when people bother to take that first bite-...it feels better when I actually tried. It may not be as easy as this,” he rested his chin in his hands, watching the flapjack wheel rotate. “But to truly enjoy creating something, you have to put in the effort…”

“That’s-...that’s quite a sweet sentiment coming from-...sorry, please don’t take offense, but the literal devil. From the Bible.”

He chuckled, again almost forcing you to look away from the brightness of his expression as your heart fluttered. “Yeah, well! You know what they say. Don’t judge a duck by its feather.”

And you couldn’t help but chuckle in return, “I d-don’t think that’s how the expression goes! But may-ha-ha! M-maybe it should~?” 

“Uh, wait is that not how it goes? Hold on- I could have sworn-” he rambled, as something about his expression kept you snickering. It was the lightest you’d felt in days, maybe even since you’d arrived in hell. A conversation with the actual devil had you tittering like a schoolgirl with a crush.

When you caught your breath from laughter and opened your eyes, you could swear his gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary, though it could easily have been your imagination. His sharp smile widened, and he leaned in just a little closer. “Well, however you say it’s supposed to go, doesn’t it roll off the tongue a little better? Doesn’t the image it conjures of a flappy little bird-o sound so-ho-ho much cuter~? And make you want to not judge his wittle feathers?”

You smiled again, picking up on the apparent fact that the duck obsession was more than just a pancake thing. “Okay, yes. Maybe the people-...up there on Earth will realize not to ‘judge ducks by their feathers’ either. Things can change...sometimes,” you shrugged.

He settled that dazzling smile into a gentler one, still looking at your face and making your heart flutter against your will. He then seemed to suddenly be aware of his unconscious gawking, and looked away, clearing his throat.

“Y-yeah-" he stammered, “...I guess sometimes they do.”