#one to two year plan

[2high4thissouthernenby]

New nearer future plans. But a nice little storage shed for outside to start going through my stuff and organizing things to sell, donate, or trash. After that, I want to get one of those free standing metal car ports. If one of us backs in, my partner and I won't have to get out in the rain or snow immediately. That way we can situate keys and bags.

[akanemnon]

I don't like this place. It's turning everyone edgy and sad.

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[dizzybizz]

KAEYA BIRTHDAY ??? ?? i love you mr alberich sir i love you oh so so so much.

uh dialogue for this one but more legible under the cut (and a messy ragbros page)

Klee: Kaeya! Come down here! Kaeya: Oh? heh. What is it, Spark Knight?

Klee: Happy Birthday! It is today? Right? I even double-checked with Albedo and everything but I don't know... Klee: It's a Calla Lily! You like those, right? Kaeya: I certainly do! Thank y- Klee: Oh. Klee: OK OK OK- Kaeya: Hm? Klee: Kaeya you have to promise to not tell Master Jean about this one! Kaeya: You can count on me to keep my lips sealed.

Klee: OK! Close your eyes- eye- and hold out your hands! Kaeya: Mhm! Klee: OK! You can open them! TA-DA~!

Klee: I made a bomb for you! It even has an eyepatch! He can look after you when I'm somewhere else. Take good care of him! Oh yeah- He explodes if you- Kaeya?

Kaeya: Thank you Klee! Thank you very much! Klee: You're VERY welcome Kaeya!

a lil ragbros too.... kaeya and his red siblings amirite (bursts into tears).. also i am so obsessed with chibi diluc saying "bring em in..."

[pangur-and-grim]

he is magnetically attracted to blankets and pillows

[moeblob]

I love them! So much!

[izzystizzys]

TW: discussion of something approximating suicidal tendencies but with the usual crack programming of this blog

“Ah, High General Windu”, says Fox, pleasantly. “So we meet again.”

High General Windu raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, Fox thinks, though it’s getting hard to tell with all the blood rushing to his head. “If I let you go, will you try to throw yourself out of another window?”

Fox makes a vague shrugging motion - or tries to, anyways. It’s hard to tell where any of his limbs are going, hanging upside down in the air as he is. “I am willing to discuss terms.” A bridge will do just fine.

Impossibly, the High General’s eyebrows climb even further up his forehead. “A compromise, then, esteemed Commander.” And so, he righths Fox the head way up in the air, but leaves him floating just above the ground, at which point several painted shells come skidding around the corner followed by billowing robes and screeches.

“WHAT”, says Kote, calmly, “THE BANTHA-KARKED, FORCE-LOVING KRIFF, FOX.”

“You’ll short out your helmet mic”, Fox advises him, sagely. Fondly, he thinks back to decimating his own on only his second time in the newly-christened official Coruscant Guard Scream Closet. He’d just received the comm about the Zillo Beast being transported to 000, and made sure to take his bucket off thereafter to improve the quality of his closet time.

High General Windu’s face does something complicated between sympathy and constipation.

Because the Galaxy doesn’t hate Fox enough already and Cody wasn’t enough on his own, Wolffe elbows his way through their batch to plant himself in front of him, shoulders squared and shaking with repressed rage. “If you try that again, dickhead”, he begins, in a low growl that quite frankly sounds more cringe that intimidating, “I’m going to resurrect you and then kill you again.”

“Ah, Wolffe”, Plo Koon says, in his deep, shivery timbre, “Remember our conversations about effective conflict resolution and communication of needs?”

Wolffe’s eyes narrow at Fox, because all non-Guard are sweet summer children who walk around buckets off on 000 like absolute lunatics. Fox prays they never have to find out why that’s a bad idea. “I feel”, his ori’vod presses out between clenched teeth, “that if you make me watch you throw yourself out of another window, I’m going to jump after you and strangle you on the way down, you little bitch.”

“That’s fair”, says Fox, and watches High General Kenobi bury his face in his hands. Wolffe twitches in place and makes an aborted groaning noise, the hypocrite.

“Excuse me, High Marshall Commander Fox, but I fail to see what’s so dire about this situation that the Jedi High Council and your brothers cannot help you solve”, says Windu, the only sane one left on this Force-forsaken bloated corpse of a planet. Behind the gaggle of Jedi and ori’vode already gathered in front of Fox, the rest of them come veering around the corner in a commotion that’s quite frankly embarrassing. High General Yoda is mounted on Skywalker’s back like he’s a race-Eopie, which is Fox’ only consolation.

He got up this morning at 0300, bleary-eyed and with a pounding headache as always, and all was right in the world. And then Fox got called into the Jedi High Council’s chambers and was ceremoniously informed that in the wake of Chancellor Palpatine’s unfortunate demise (hah), and through the emergency state of the Senate, as well as several invented promotions foisted on Fox to make the delegation of any and all paperwork less shady, he was now next in the chain of command and-

Well, Fox is the acting Chancellor, in short.

Haha, he had said, and been meet with several seconds of silence, until it got both awkward and exceedingly painful. Wait, he’d said. You’re kriffing serious.

Kriffing serious, we are, had said High General Yoda, and thus Fox launched himself out the first best window with a maniacal cackle of, you’ll have to catch me first!

And catch him, High General Windu sure did.

“The will of the Force this is”, Yoda interrupts Fox’ train of thought. He scans him thoughtfully from beneath his wizened brow, and hems to himself. “Shake things up, this will. Determine the fate of the Galaxy, this shall. A feeling, I have, that a good Chancellor you will make. A better one, hmmm.”

“That’d be high praise, if not for the fact that a dead lemming would make for a better Chancellor than the last one”, says Fox, drawing and indignant gasp from Skywalker. He doesn’t bother with either that or the green goblin’s cackle, lost in the deep sense of resignation that settles over his shoulders like a suffocating blanket.

“Alright, then, get me Thorn on the comm. As my first act in office, I’m firing all the Jedi. No offense, but you’re kind of a disaster. Then, someone get me to the Chancellor’s office, I’m calling Dooku to let him know the war’s off. And please get me Judicial, they’ll be up all night working on my datafolders - I’m having the Senate arrested.”

“Who - is - arresting - “, Bly pants, hands on his knees from where he’s just come sprinting around the corner with his Jedi.

Underneath his bucket, Fox smiles a smile that’s all teeth. “The Senate”, he says, sweetly, wondering if he’s just imagined the shiver that’s gone through the room. “I’m suing the Senate, and taking them all into temporary custody for abuse of sentient rights.”

[skeletoninthemelonland]

a glimpse of what their early dynamic looks like

[politicalprocrastinator]

Also to everyone saying what's the doctor doing at the club I need you to understand that the FIRST doctor literally met his companion at the club

[reineydraws]

i have this fic series i'm still working on where mihawk sort of becomes rayleigh's kid and spends ages 11-17ish on the oro jackson.

shanks and buggy imprint on him (bugs considers him a sort of older brother figure/sparring inspiration and shanks has a crush that eventually turns into full-blown love) and this is how i imagine they're like on the day mihawk sets off on his own haha.

[omaano]

New season's coming tomorrow, so Din's got an upgrade (shiny new weapon) and his kid in hand

(I've got new ideas to explore in this Hades style exploration besides the already existing interactions with Boba and Cobb - and look there is a pocket Luke already next to pocket Din in the background!)

[cerubean]

playing around w/ the landgraabs

[snekdood]

so uh

for 1. most people are gonna take advantage of black friday and wont see your specific niche tumblr post, I hate to say it

2. the us isnt running out of money for war any time soon, so...

3. this is just antisemitism???????? all we need is some (((echoes))) around the us and israel and then I'd have no reason to suspect otherwise from op...............

[transingthoseformers]

One of those aus where Starscream defects from the decepticons to the autobots in order to play spy— but the more he stays here the more he realizes he might actually prefer being an autobot

Does he get a redemption arc? A little bit

A little bit not though :)

[animc]

how the haikyuu characters fall out of love — part 1

kageyama tobio falls out of love like a sand castle being washed away by the sea. every move is calculated as he salvages what's left of the plans you two have made, deft fingers trying to keep the remains in tact while the water seeps in every crevice of the land. the heat of the sand underneath his knees is scorching his skin, making him wince and tear up until he is forced to stand—and he realizes that sand is sand, and it only takes but one wave to have everything crashing down.

tsukishima kei falls out of love like watching a rerun of a drama for the nth time. in his eyes, you're just the same as he remembers, and he can recount the way your story unfolded without much thought. scene one is when he catches your gaze in the crowded room, and scene six is when he tells you he loves you too. he smiles when he recalls you and everything the two of you shared, but even then, there are no butterflies in his stomach and heat no longer rushes to his face. his heart is but an empty shell full of memories... so he hits "stop" on the remote before trying something new—this time, maybe an episode without you.

kita shinsuke falls out of love like a flower wilting in a well-kept garden, where the sun still shines, and the soil remains rich, but something within the stem begins to fade. the petals, once vibrant, lose their blush, not from neglect but from the slow, inevitable retreat of life itself. his hands tend with care, yet even they cannot coax back what quietly slips away. love, like nature, does not always answer to devotion. it can wane despite the tenderness, leaving only the trace of beauty that once was, a memory of bloom now cradled in the air.

miya atsumu falls out of love like water boiling in a pot. everything is fiery, and he feels his body burn as it aches for your touch. your skin is fire that rages through his veins, and oh, does he wish to bathe in this heat forever—but passion can only keep him going for so long. there's warmth, there's heat, but beneath it all, the quiet transformation has begun. what was once steady becomes restless, bubbling with an urgency that feels almost inevitable. the steam escapes, carrying with it something unseen yet felt, something that cannot be held back. and when it reaches its peak, all that remains is the emptiness beneath the lid, a quiet vessel that was once so full, now cooled, and still.

miya osamu falls out of love like a phone call ongoing. voices drifting through static, familiar yet distant. at first, there’s conversation—full of meaning, rich with connection—but soon, the pauses between words stretch longer, the silence heavier. what once flowed effortlessly now stumbles, tangled in misunderstandings and words left unsaid. the connection weakens, the signal fades, until the sound of breathing on the other side is all that remains. he hesitates, fingers hovering, knowing what comes next. then, with quiet resolve, he clicks “end" then the line beeps. it's over.

kuroo tetsurou falls out of love like the rain pouring in the dead of the night—quiet, relentless, and unnoticed by the world. it begins softly, almost imperceptibly, a fine mist that settles in the air. but over time, the drops grow heavier, more insistent, until they beat against the window like a confession no one asked to hear. there's no storm, no thunder to announce its coming, just the steady rhythm of something slipping away, drop by drop. and as the night wears on, the rain becomes a lullaby for something ending, a quiet release into the darkness where no one is watching, and no one will know it was ever there.

kozume kenma falls out of love like wearing a jacket on a hot summer day—heavy, suffocating, and no longer fitting the moment. at first, it feels like protection, a familiar comfort wrapped around his shoulders, but soon the warmth becomes unbearable. the weight of it presses down, stifling, as if love has turned from shelter into burden. he tugs at the sleeves, loosening his grip on something that once made sense but now feels misplaced. eventually, he shrugs it off, letting the fabric fall away, leaving him bare to the heat of the day, exposed but finally free to breathe again.

[daredevils-advocate]

I think Sleep Token should come with a warning about how much these sad British men will completely consume your life.

[inhuman-obey-me]

Collab pair piece for Diavolo's birthday 2024!

Art by Mod Cosmos

Writing by Mod Chaos

His First Halloween

Can also be read on AO3 here Word count: 5.3k Description: Every year, the Demon King has always held those stuffy parties to honor the prince's birth. The nobility always come around to kiss up and pay due respects to their royals. It's a huge bore, and a chore of the noble class. But, every year too, just outside the walls of the Demon Lord's Castle, Diavolo can see a whole festival out in town! And it looks fun. It looks really, really fun. So maybe, just once...he could sneak out to see what it's like out there?

Diavolo's tiny fingers tangle nervously at the edges of his shirt as he prepares to ask. It should be alright, shouldn't it? It's his birthday, after all. And he's never asked for much on his birthdays, not really, always behaved himself well at those stuffy birthday parties that were held really more for the nobles' benefit than for his, year after year, so maybe, just maybe, this one time...

He waits for his father to turn around, anxiously deciding how to phrase his request. Careful not to sound too pitiful, or he'll get scolded for not having more dignity. Nor too proud, lest he be reminded of his place. Perhaps he could mention how well his tutors had said he'd been doing in his studies lately...?

"Diavolo." He startles out of his thoughts as his father's voice booms overhead, the Demon King's intimidating figure having turned toward him while he'd been distracted. "Why aren't you dressed yet?"

In an instant, his mind goes blank of all his considerations, and he blurts out, "Father, please, could I go out to the festival in town today?"

The silence he gets in response, however momentary in reality, feels like it lasts an eternity. Diavolo braces himself and darts his eyes down, afraid to meet his father's eyes, before slowly glancing up again to chance a peek at the other's expression.

But there's no change on the king's face. Not surprise, nor gentleness, nor even annoyance. Nothing at all, exactly as stone-faced as he'd been before asking. As if Diavolo hadn't said anything at all.

Well, it's not an outright no. That has to count for something...doesn't it?

Nervously optimistic, he decides to steel forward. "I-I saw them from my window this morning, while they were setting up, and...and it seemed really fun!" His voice picks up speed as he speaks, scrambling to make his plea before he might be cut off.

Still nothing. Not a single reaction from the imposing king, looking down upon his child.

"I-I know I'm not usually allowed to attend such events beyond the palace, but...just this once, for my birthday, could I go out to see it? Please...?"

At last, his father's disinterested expression is broken by a small, unamused scoff. "If you know you are not allowed to attend such things, why would you waste my time with such a ridiculous request?"

"But, father--"

"Absolutely not. The festival is for those on the outside. It is not your place to go gallivanting amongst the commoners on such an occasion. Now go and get dressed. The nobles will be arriving any minute for your party."

Diavolo's entire posture deflates. "Yes, father."

He leaves quietly after that, shooting one last wistful glance out of the hallway window. The colorful flags and tents wave back at him, beckoning him out -- but he can see himself as well, reflected in the glass, trapped on the wrong side of it.

It's just not meant to be, he supposes. Maybe next year. Or the year after? Or at least, whenever his father finally decides he's old enough? Yes, someday. Someday, he'll be able to go. Won't he?

--

"Young Master, have you made preparations for this evening's party?"

Diavolo nods, reassuring his butler that everything is ready and that he need not stress too much about the night's event. Yes, he remembers the evening's schedule. Yes, the nobles have all given their responses -- not that they need to really, none of them would ever turn down a personal invitation to the demon prince's official birthday celebration, though he almost rather wishes they would for once. Yes, he knows what he's going to say when he's inevitably asked for a speech. This is, after all, the first birthday since his father departed to the bottom of the Devildom to sleep, leaving the young prince in charge. They will want to hear his platitudes and reassurance. They will want to know that nothing will change.

But between each answer, it certainly doesn't escape Barbatos's notice how the prince's sullen gaze keeps drifting back towards the balcony.

"Is something the matter, My Lord?"

A pleading look crosses Diavolo's face, not unlike the spoiled puppy eyes he often gave the butler in the past when begging to hear stories about life outside the castle walls. "Have you ever been out there, Barbatos? To that festival in town?"

"Yes, of course. The annual three-day Halloween Celebration, honoring the day you were born, correct? Yes, I have attended a number of times in the past."

"Yes! Yes, it's quite a large event, isn't it?"

"Well, this is the capital, after all. It's only natural that the home of the royal family would be host to the largest Halloween celebration in the Devildom."

"Oh, of course! Right, the...largest." It's an oddly crestfallen tone, from the one who usually perks right up with excitement whenever Barbatos even hints at a grand tale waiting to be spun. But in this case, the reminder of its scale only makes him long to attend for himself all the more, making his disappointment at not being allowed to weigh all the heavier in his chest.

Then again, his father isn't actually around this year...

In an instant, his mind is made up. He nods resolutely to himself, golden eyes gleaming. "Clear my schedule for the afternoon, Barbatos."

A flurry of expressions crosses the butler's face -- alarm, confusion, concern. "Young Master?"

"They are celebrating my birthday, aren't they? I wish to attend."

"Lord Diavolo, you mustn't," Barbatos answers sternly. "We haven't made the appropriate security arrangements, nor have you gone into town enough thus far to know your way around. And there is too much work for you to complete besides. You cannot possibly shirk your duties now. The nobles have their eyes on you, and several of them will be on high alert for any sign of weakness. You must ensure that you are fully prepared for tonight."

Diavolo groans, sitting back down. Even though Barbatos was a bit less strict on him than his father, he should have known he would still not be allowed to go. "I see your point. I suppose you're right, there's a lot still to prepare. Very well then."

"Good. I'm glad you understand," his butler smiles peacefully, despite how menacing his voice sounds. "Then, please come to breakfast, and I have the latest documents ready for you to look over afterwards. You will find the rest of the day's agenda on your desk." His voice turns soft for a moment as he adds, "And, My Lord?"

"Yes, Barbatos?"

"I do wish you a happy birthday today. May it be a good one."

--

The demon prince plays listlessly with his pen, trying to force himself to read through yet another official document awaiting his signature. At his side sits a tray with a plate of perfectly rounded devilberry cookies, along with a fresh cup of tea, its steaming tendrils teasing his nose as they drift past him towards an open window. Barbatos had stopped by earlier to drop off the treats, and to see how he was doing with his work -- though, to the butler's chagrin, Diavolo had hardly made a dent in the pile.

It has been three hours since his earnest declaration of wanting to attend the festival, and hardly a minute of that time has passed by without some daydream of the festivities beyond. He's never attended a festival before -- at least not amongst the crowds, only from afar as he accompanied his father in making appearances for some official purpose or another. They'd always seemed so lively to him as he passed through in their royal processions, with games and music filling the air with sound, and every direction smelling of delicious food.

He looks down at the paper in his hand, trying again to make it through the page at least, but as his eyes glaze over, he surrenders to the boredom and picks up a cookie instead. It's about time for a break, surely? And the window in here does have such a grand view of the town, where he can look out at the realm that is now his responsibility.

But he's too restless. His head bobs around in the window, eyes drawn to every attraction at once. The main entrance to the festival isn't far off, but it really is one of the biggest events of the Devildom. Booths and tents stretch through whole neighborhoods, with a massive stage right at the center, where he can see brightly costumed demons dancing around. Balloons and flags are all over, and the crowds are larger than any he's seen before. Oh, how desperately, he longs to be there. And it's his birthday! Shouldn't a demon normally have fun on their birthday?

That's it, he can't take it anymore. There's half an hour before Barbatos returns to retrieve the tray of treats. That means a good half hour before the butler will notice he's gone.

--

Diavolo pulls the cloak tighter over his shoulders as he peers around the corner of the alleyway he's snuck in through. It was a last-second attempt at some kind of disguise, pulled from a random storage closet along with the overly large mask presently adorning his face, the ornate details of which now serve to obscure his horns -- and the edges of his view.

But as soon as he sets his golden eyes upon the sight beyond the small alley's opening, any concern over his poorly improvised outfit flies right out of his mind. He lets out a small gasp at the splendor of the town's decorations -- not in the wealthy, refined way he was used to, but an earnest, splashy kind of splendor, a scene designed not to boast superiority but to unite.

A row of magnificent tents stretches down the street in every direction, each one punctuated by a collection of colorful balloons. Merchants dressed in their best suits cheerfully call out to passersby, chatting up any potential customer whose attention they can get, while demons of all shapes and sizes stroll around, dressed in all kinds of outrageous ways. Several of them sport little plastic crowns or bizarrely shaped hats between their horns, while others laugh with their companions under colorful masquerade style masks, and others still wear fake dragon wings or tails upon their backs.

And the smells! The rich spice of grilled meats fills the air, permeated occasionally by the heavy aroma of frying oil that sweeps by him in tendrils. Both are interrupted in bursts by the sickly sweetness of syrupy pastries and freshly swirled cotton candy carried by passing crowds walking past his hiding place.

Before Diavolo even realizes, he's stepped out from the shadows into the crowd, hand outstretched towards a demon holding one particularly tantalizing treat, a string of rainbow candy bubbles magically suspended to dance in mesmerizing swirls in between bites. The demon in question, a lanky demon reminiscent of an olive tree, steps back slightly in surprise at the sudden appearance of Diavolo's burly form at their side, snapping him abruptly out of his reverie.

"Ah, pardon me," the demon prince says, straightening out his composure on instinct to more properly greet the demon and their two companions, a pair of plum-haired imps. "May I ask where you found that delightful confection? I would very much like to try one myself!"

The demon's head flicks upwards in mild confusion at the formality of his speech, and finds their eyes meeting deep, unmistakably golden ones in return. And it clicks to them then, though Diavolo doesn't realize it. "Uh, s-sir, yes! It's, uh, from a big yellow tent down that way! I think the shop was called Hellion Bonbons..."

"Oh, wonderful! Thank you, I will head that way immediately!" Diavolo laughs cheerily. And so he does, without hearing the frantic hushed whispers of the group as he leaves, amazed at their encounter with the actual heir to the throne, the prince of the Devildom himself.

As Diavolo makes his way through the crowd to seek out the vendor of the colorful bubble candy, he comes across quite a few other stalls that catch his interest. Several of them sell various types of jewelry and accessories, many of them highlighting wares with different arrangements of the royal colors, and others carry the same fake dragon wings he'd seen around earlier. From another, he picks up a stick of cotton candy shaped like his head, and he roars with delight at the sight of more than one stall selling various sized dolls of him as a baby. Souvenir stands dot the path at the corners where streets split off down new avenues.

"Step right up, try your hand at the Devilish Ball Catch!"

Diavolo perks up at the barker's call, turning excitedly to look at the game he's advertising. The game stall is shaped like a small room, wooden cherry walls enclosing each side except the entrance, which is blocked by a wide table where a pleasant-looking gremlin woman waves cheerfully out to the crowd. Inside, a festival attendee in a glittering orange mask is hopping around, dodging obstacles as enchanted balls shaped like horned demon heads whiz by at all sizes and speeds.

Quickly latching onto the slightest sign of interest, the fast-talking barker speeds over to him. "Well, hello there, sir, you look like a fine sort, don't you! Feel like a challenge, friend?"

To the staffer's surprise, Diavolo nods eagerly back at him without hesitation. "Oh, yes, do tell me more, please! What sort of game do you have here?"

"Why, it's the Devilish Ball Catch -- a game of diabolically wild enjoyment! Simple enough, simple, I swear! Here ya go, this is my dear associate, Tzitzimime, she'll tell you all about it!"

The gremlin at the table nods at him, and proceeds to explain. The game is simple, as promised, at least in rules if not in practice. The whizzing demon-headed balls would fly around the room, and a player has 3 minutes to try to catch as many of them as they can. Trickily, however, the balls had been enchanted with different spells, though certain counter-spells from players would also be permitted. Once caught, each one would drop into a bin on its own at the center of the room, and the score would be tallied at the end based on the sizes and enchantments of the balls caught, with smaller targets or balls with trickier enchantments being worth more. And the grand prize, worth too many points to have yet been won by any challenger -- a giant plushie of the prince himself, in full demon form, complete with a brilliant real ruby stitched into the royal dragon curled at its center.

Diavolo doesn't hesitate, swept up as he is in the excitement of the festival. "Absolutely, I would love to join a game!" he enthuses merrily, quickly passing over the grimm needed. He doesn't catch the suspicious look from Tzitzimime as she sees the all-too-familiar curve of his horn as he passes her - one she's been seeing all night already on a particular stuffed toy - nor the whispers between her, the barker demon, and numerous nearby spectators as he plays.

No, the prince of the Devildom is wholly consumed by the glee of the game as the buzzer beeps the start of the round. Demon heads speed by him from all directions, though he dexterously manages to catch most of the ones that cross his path right away. Some smaller ones slip past him, as do a few that teleport away just as his fingers begin to close around them. With about half the time left, he then turns his attention to the ones zipping around in the corners of the room, taking advantage of one of the permitted counter-spells to blast them still, a somewhat difficult type of magic normally but trivial to the demon prince's raw power. In no time, he's captured all but the smallest of the balls, which continue to whoosh around, their mouths splitting open into teasing cackles as the timer ticks ever close to the end.

In his excitement, however, he doesn't notice as his disguise gradually falls away, and with it, his relative anonymity. The hood of his cloak, already only able to stretch so far forward around his horns, has dropped entirely, revealing his deep red hair underneath, and peeks of his dragon wings begin to poke out from underneath, their golden tips catching the light as he bounds around the small room. So too do the golden marks adorning his wrist, as he swings his muscular arms to grab at the targets, gleaming beneath the sleeves of the cloak with every movement.

When the buzzer rings at the end of the game, he's floating on a rush of adrenaline, hardly even thinking anymore about the responsibilities of being prince awaiting him at home. Nor does it then especially register as strange in his mind as Tzitzimime remarks, "Truly an incredible showing, My Lord," while she hands the grand prize plush over to him with a slight bow. He's too excited over the fun and the thrill of the play, and the ecstasy of having won the elusive grand prize.

His mirthful laugh only ceases when he notices a young demon, hardly older than a toddler, staring up at him from the front of the table. "Ah, little one, you like this, do you?" he asks, crouching down to meet their gaze and waving the plush at them. "Here, you may have it."

The parent holding the child's hand rushes to refuse the gift, though he insistently gives it to them anyway. But the young demon's gaze remains unbroken, mouth agape with wonder. Diavolo tilts his head inquisitively, beckoning for an explanation. "Is there something else, little one?"

At this prompting, the young child jumps up eagerly, reaching tiny fingers out towards the prince's face. "Mister, mister, your mask is so cool! I've never seen anything like it!"

At that, Diavolo laughs again, delighted at the child's wonder. "Yes, it's very special. I'm glad you like it!"

"So, are you going to join the masked parade?!" The young demon's eyes shine up at him expectantly. "My papa said they're starting soon, from the...the...umm....ah! Right, from the...southern stage, he said! You're going to join, aren't you?"

The prince is taken aback, not having heard much about the parade, but he's jubilant at the idea. "Yes, certainly! That sounds like great fun!"

"Okay! We'll keep an eye out for you then!" the child squeals with joy. "It's going to look amazing with everyone else's masks around you, too. But I think yours is the best!!"

With a pat on the young one's head, Diavolo cheerfully waves them off before making his way to the southern stage as instructed.

--

When he arrives to join the throngs of other masked festival goers at the parade's starting point, even his elation at the experience so far isn't enough to distract him from the whispers that seem to surround him. He doesn't catch distinct words - the surrounding demons at least take care not to announce their notice of his presence too loudly - but there's certainly a buzz about him.

He's about to approach one of them to ask what's going on when a voice rings out from the gates where the parade is set to march from. "Attention, all participants for the masked parade. We will now be starting the route through the festival. Please make sure to stay behind this float at the front at all times, which will be opening the path for us to walk through. Again, we will now be starting the route through the festival. Please make sure to stay behind this float, and let's have a wonderful Halloween parade, everyone!"

On cue, Diavolo finds himself quickly swept into the crowd before he can ask anyone, and turns his attention towards jovially waving to the audience as he passes. The cheers in return seem to call out especially loudly around him, though it's hard to actually tell from where he is in the line. He makes sure to cheer back, amazed to see the full extent of how many demons have gathered here in town on this day to celebrate Halloween, the holiday marking the date of his birth so many centuries ago. It's truly incredible to see the many costumes around him, and humbling as well to recognize how many are looking to his future as the new reigning leader of the realm.

And then, it happens in just an instant -- another demon in the parade bumps up against the edges of his oversized mask, knocking it off one side of his face. Before he can even register the change, excited shouting emerges from the crowd around them, and he's suddenly surrounded by yells of "It's the prince!" and "Prince Diavolo!"

Immediately, he finds himself mobbed by frenzied audience members pushing forth to greet him. The parade grinds to a halt behind him, unable to get around the throngs, and he too is unable to move forward at all, engulfed in the horde of celebrating demons excited to get as close as they can to the prince himself.

Well, of course they would. After all this time famously hidden away in the castle for most of his life so far, except for a handful of official appearances and tightly secured royal events, it's no wonder they're shocked and elated at the chance to get within arm's reach of the royal heir himself. He himself is shocked and elated to see it -- proof before his own eyes of his beloved status among the people.

None of that, however, changes the fact of the current matter -- that Diavolo has been surrounded by a mob, and is unable to proceed past them, and therefore neither can the rest of the parade. Graciously, he smiles at them all, shaking as many of the hands thrust out towards him as he can, and thanking each and every demon for coming out to celebrate his birthday.

But gradually, his arms grow tired and his voice begins to fade, without any sign of the crowd thinning out. If anything, it seems only to grow further and further out, as word of the actual demon prince's appearance spreads throughout the festival grounds. He's faltering, and he knows it. And there's no end in sight.

Just then, he finds himself plucked abruptly from the crowd by one of the outstretched hands. The clamor of the crowd still rings in his ears, only a few feet from where he just was, but he finds himself led down into a dingy alleyway. He tries to get a look at his abductor - savior? - but, like the prince himself, his face is obscured by mask and shadows.

Scenarios flash through his mind. He'd like to believe this isn't a bad thing -- he was in a tough situation, and he's been pulled out of it now. But for who he is and all he signifies to the realm, is that realistic? But, would someone be so brazen as to kidnap the crown prince and acting leader of the realm right out of a giant crowd in the middle of a celebration for his own birthday?

Well, it's not beyond the realm of possibility. In the Devildom, vicious brazenness was the way of life until relatively recently. There are certainly those who would like to return it that way. And if it's one of those demons, then what do they intend to do with him? A ransom? Blackmail? Worse?

But he's too exhausted from the earlier mob. With reservations swirling in his mind, he allows the stranger to pull him through an unlit door at the end of the alley.

--

"And those floating candies, why -- they looked magnificent! What a disappointment that I didn't get a chance to sample them for myself. I wonder if Barbatos could make such a creation for me," Diavolo gushes excitedly, before taking another hearty bite of his burger.

They're sitting in a back corner of the kitchen, a few feet from the door which he'd been pulled through just an hour or so ago. It's a bit shabby in this room; the tiles of the floor and walls, though well-kept in cleanliness, certainly show signs of wear. So too do the counters, with small knicks and scratches across the tops. From farther in, staff work busily at their cooking stations, fulfilling orders at a shocking pace.

"You sit yourself down right there now," the abducting demon had instructed when they'd entered, pulling off his mask to reveal a surprisingly warm smile. He was visibly older, though not quite elderly, with mild creases of age showing beside a roguishly toothy grin -- or maybe those were just his demonic fangs flashing with mischief in the light. Either way, he introduced himself as the owner of the place, and it soon became apparent that he meant the prince no harm after all. Not long after, he'd presented the young royal with the delectably greasy sandwich, telling him, "Here, eat up. It'll make you feel better, after all that bustle earlier."

Thus Diavolo finds himself trying a common cheeseburger for the first time, and after his first taste, happily munches away at it, answering a few questions along the way about how he'd ended up in his earlier situation, as well as chatting about the wondrous other things he'd seen while he was out at the festival.

"Glad to see your spirits refreshed, Your Highness," the proprietor chuckles.

"Ah, yes! Yes, I'm feeling far better now. Thank you so much for your generosity, and for helping me out back at the parade," Diavolo beams. "Truthfully, I'm not sure I could have lasted much longer in that crowd. Perhaps I may have underestimated the risks of sneaking out on my own after all. Though, I thought that as long as I disguised myself...but I suppose a disguise is no use if my mask falls off."

"Disguise...?" An exuberant laugh escapes from the older demon, and he gives the prince a heavier-than-gentle pat on the shoulder. "My lord, calling what you had a disguise would be, ah, rather generous at best. Your wingtips are poking out from your cloak even now, you know. And that mask, well now...suffice it to say, it's a tad beyond anything I could afford." With a smirk, he adds teasingly, "Besides, this is a celebration of Halloween, the day of your birth, after all, Your Highness. Any demon worth their horns better be able to recognize the glow of the royal family's golden eyes when they're damn near surrounded by it."

"Oh! Oh, that's right, isn't it? Ah...that explains a lot about why people were so formal with me all day." Diavolo sighs deeply as the realization, which feels so obvious now but hadn't even occurred to him in the excitement of things, settles in. "I had thought it'd be nice to experience the festival from an everyday demon's perspective. But perhaps that's simply not possible after all. It seems it's not as easy to blend in with everyone as I'd hoped."

The owner goes quiet for a moment, pondering the dilemma. It's surprising to hear a member of the royal family lament being unable to experience the realm like a commoner, and for that, Diavolo certainly has his respect. But between his large frame, his distinctive aura, and his immediately identifiable hair and eyes marking him as royalty, it's hard to hide his identity even on a day like this, when masks and costumes are expected. On any other day, it'd be nearly impossible, at least without a very strong spell. Then again...

"Maybe you don't need to blend in," he says at last. "You just want to come to town once in a while and hear how things are going, right? Everyone's excited about you here today, but that's because it's hardly ever happened before. But if you were able to come down more often, maybe it'd become normal. The townsfolk wouldn't be afraid that this is their one chance to see you out here with them."

The prince's eyes widen at the suggestion, and he nods along excitedly. "I see! I see, that's a wonderful idea. Then, I'll simply need a way to get them used to my presence in town so they can get used to me."

Sensing an opportunity, the owner grins widely at him. "Well, I know what you can do. You're welcome back here to my restaurant any time, Your Highness -- Hell's Kitchen. I'll talk to my staff, make sure they know not to let anyone bother you while you're here."

It's shamelessly transparent self-promotion, of course, but Diavolo smiles and agrees anyway. Giving his newfound friend a small boost to business here and there is hardly much of an ask, considering how the demon had helped him today, and, well, the burger he's eating now certainly is delicious, in any case. It's a far cry from what he normally gets to eat at the castle, what with Barbatos nagging at him each dinner to finish his vegetables.

As if on cue to his thoughts, the butler in question bursts into the kitchen right at that moment, marching past all the staff directly towards them. "Young Master! Are you alright?!"

It's a relief to see his loyal companion, though Diavolo grimaces nonetheless, bracing himself for the inevitable scolding he's surely about to receive. "Hello, Barbatos. You've found me."

To his surprise, however, Barbatos's expression softens, and he doesn't remark about the prince's little escapade out of the castle. "Yes, Young Master. I have come to bring you home. I heard about what happened at the parade. I'm glad to see you are unharmed."

"Oh, yes, I have this gentleman here to thank for that!" Diavolo answers, perking up and gesturing towards the owner with the burger still in hand. "He helped me out of the crowd and brought me here to rest. We will have to prepare something to repay him when I return."

The restaurant owner tips his head in a bow with exaggerated modesty. "Oh, no need for all that, Your Highness. All I ask is that you grace us with your presence again sometime."

The butler's eyes narrow at the greasy wrapper, and he clicks his tongue lightly in disapproval, though not loudly enough for the others to hear. Junk food. They certainly do owe the demon for helping the young prince, but he'd rather Diavolo not eat such foods again. He is, however, proper enough not to let his disapproval show in his voice, answering smoothly, "No, I do believe you are owed a great debt for helping His Highness. We must reward you for it, I insist. I shall take care of it, Young Master."

With a curt bow, he adds, "We should be going now, however. If you'll excuse us."

"Ah, wait just a second, before you go," the owner answers. "I have something to give you, so wait just one moment please." He disappears out to the front of the restaurant and returns almost immediately with a small bag, which he hands to Diavolo. "Here, for you. A birthday present."

Diavolo gives him an inquisitive look, but Barbatos gives him a warning smile and reminds him of the time, ushering him out as quickly as possible.

"Come, let us hurry to get you ready before the party tonight. What did he give you, by the way?" the butler asks, as they make their way back.

Diavolo reaches inside and pulls out a souvenir plush of him in a purple mask, much less extravagant than his actual one and decorated with the words "Hell's Kitchen Halloween" stitched across the top.

And, hidden underneath, he can see a similar mask in life size peeking out, with a note: "For the next time you want to sneak out on your birthday. Come visit us common folk again soon. Happy Birthday, Your Highness."

A sly smile splits across Diavolo's face. "A birthday present. Just as he said."