#sad little sinner in the mirror

[paintinganangel]

Genesis (Music Video) by RAYE

[lucifersgirl]

Hi, I absolutely love your work! Can I make a request to have Lucifer x fem!reader have a "love at first sight" type moment where Lucifer reluctantly attends a party one of Ozzie's Clubs where he's sad/bored while sitting at the bar but suddenly hears the fem reader singing beautifully on stage they both see each other and instantly fall in love and with a little help from Ozzie they both talk, confess feelings, then have some backstage "fun".😘🔞

Backstage fun got me laughing 😂 Love it!! Hope this meets your standards :) Enjoy, loves!

Backstage

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ - THIS WRITING CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT. SMUT BELOW. MDNI.

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“Oh, come ooon, Lucifer! You haven’t been out of that penthouse of yours for years!” Asmodeus groaned into the speaker.

Lucifer rubbed his temple. “I know, I know…” he replied, rolling his eyes.

“Come on, Luce! Just once? Please?”

Lucifer could practically hear Asmodeus’s puppy eyes through the phone. “Ugh, fine,” he finally agreed, throwing his hand up in the air.

“You won’t regret it, Luci! I promise!” Asmodeus smiled.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright. I’ll see you tonight,” Lucifer said, immediately regretting giving in to Asmodeus’s invite. He hung up and groaned before flopping onto his bed. He was going to Ozzie’s that night, whether he liked it or not.

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Lucifer closed his eyeshadow palette, straightened his hat and grabbed his staff from the corner of the vanity. He looked in the mirror. “You can do this,” he told himself. “It’s just for one night. It’ll be fine.” He backed away from the table and snapped his fingers. He teleported to the Lust Ring and started his walk to Ozzie’s. “Oof!” He grunted as he felt something run into him. He looked to the side to see a demon running away. “What the fuck, douchebag?” Lucifer shouted.

“Sorry not sorry, shorty!” the demon called out.

Lucifer furrowed his brows. “EXCUSE ME?” he yelled, horns and wings sprouting.

“Luci!” Asmodeus greeted, taking Lucifer’s hand and guiding him towards the club. “How have you been, babe? I haven’t heard from you in, what, seven years now?”

“Almost eight,” Lucifer grumbled, ripping his hand from Asmodeus’s grasp.

“Riiiiight…” Asmodeus replied, looking concernedly at his friend. “You should get out of that castle more often, doll.”

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Lucifer sipped his red wine, looking around at the other guests around him. Three demons had already asked him for his autograph. He swirled his glass and looked up at the stage, rolling his eyes in sheer boredom.

“Aaaaaalrighty, folks! Our next act of the anight is one of our regulars here. Give it up for the hot, the sexy, the one and only ______!” Fizzaroli bowed and bounced off of the stage.

Your plutonian dress perfectly complemented your rose lipstick. You sang so beautifully, too (even if the lyrics were shitty).

Lucifer choked on his wine when he saw you. Once he recovered, he stared at you, jaw dropped in awe. His heart pounded harshly in his chest.

You noticed his stare and smiled at him, your own heartbeat increasing in speed. You continued to sing, occasionally glancing at the starstruck man. Your song came to a close and the crowd erupted into applause. You bowed, winked at Lucifer and walked off stage.

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The show was finally over. The loud singing and overwhelming noise from the guests was over. Lucifer got up from his table, signed a few more autographs for the sinners and started to walk out of the club.

“Wait!” A voice called out.

Lucifer turned around. He blushed when he saw that it was you waving at him.

“You’re Lucifer, right? The king of Hell? It’s so nice to meet you!” You smiled brightly.

“Yep, that’s me! It’s, uh, nice to meet you, too,” he smiled up at you, his teeth glinting in the light. “You look absolutely stunning tonight.”

You laughed warmly. “Look who’s talking,” you replied. You looked happily into his eyes. “Hey, why don’t we go somewhere a bit more quiet?”

Lucifer, feeling tipsy from the three glasses of wine he had downed in the past two hours, smiled devilishly. “Why not, love?” He whispered.

You giggled and linked arms with him, pulling him to your dressing room. When you reached it, you felt Lucifer tug you into the room. You smiled once again and locked the door behind you.

Lucifer’s lips were on yours in no time, pulling you in like a fishing pole pulls in a catfish. He bucked his hips up, already painfully hard.

“Needy already?” you teased in between kisses.

He pulled away, his eyes darting to the floor. “It’s just… it’s been so long…” he whispered, his hands moving from your face to your hips.

You cupped his cheeks in your hands. “It’s alright, Lucifer. We’ll take it slow, yeah?”

He nodded shyly, his eyes still on the floor.

You tilted his head up with your hands and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. “Are you okay? Do you want to keep going?”

Lucifer nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I wanna keep going. I-I just don’t wanna let you down.”

You laughed again. “Honey, we just met! How could you let me down? Just let me take care of you, hmm? Would that be okay?”

Lucifer cracked a smile and nodded again. “Can I, uh, do something with you first?”

It was your turn to nod. You led him to the bed, gently kissing Lucifer as he laid down. “Alright, love. What would you like to do to me?”

He blushed and his hands rushed to your hips. “Up,” he whispered, pulling your waist above his face.

You giggled. “Okay, okay! I’m going!” You positioned yourself so that your hips were right above Lucifer’s mouth.

Lucifer gulped before using his finger to pull your panties to the side. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he said before licking a stripe up your cunt.

You moaned, grinding against his mouth to gain more friction. “Hell, baby, you’re good at this,” you gasped as he expertly sucked on your clit. His tongue prodded at your hole, making you yelp out in pleasure. His tongue explored your insides, making your eyes roll back. “I-I’m gonna cum, L-Lucifer!” You cried as you clenched around his tongue. You moaned as you rode out your orgasm. When you got down from your high, you smiled down at him. “God, you’re good at that.”

He smirked. “I know,” he said, licking the remnants of your juices from his face. His purple eyeshadow was smudged from the weight of your thighs.

You kissed him softly, tasting a hint of yourself in his mouth. Your hands traveled down his body, finally reaching the hem of his pants. You slowly reached your hand into his underwear, gently tracing along the sides of his dick.

Lucifer hissed. He was hard, painfully so, and your teasing wasn’t helping. “J-just fucking touch me,” he whined, not holding back any longer.

“So you are needy,” you continued to tease him. You jerked your hand up and down his cock at a fast pace when Lucifer gave you a look of annoyance.

The annoyance on his face melted into an expression of pure pleasure. His eyebrows furrowed and his hands clutched the bedsheets, desperately trying to ground himself. He was already close. “I-I’m-AH-so s-sorry! AHM!” he cried before he came all over your hand, moaning as white spurts squirted from his cock. He breathed quickly, trying to catch his breath. When he looked at you, there were slight tears in his eyes. “Did I disappoint you?” He asked, the tears starting to fall.

You wiped away the droplets with your finger. “Don’t cry, my love. It’s okay. You didn’t disappoint me, honey. It’s alright now,” you comforted him, kissing his forehead lovingly. “How do you feel?” You asked after the tears had passed.

“G-good. That was good,” he replied.

“Do you want to keep going?” You asked, running your fingers through his light hair.

“I-I wanna keep going. But just one more round, if that’s okay,” Lucifer added.

“Sensitive?” You teased.

He groaned and flipped over onto his side. “Don’t even.”

You laughed and pulled him towards you. “Now how am I supposed to sit on your cock if you’re on your side, lover?”

Lucifer’s dick twitched at your words. “Fucking Hell, woman. You’re making me go insane.”

You gripped his hips and forced him to your side. “That’s the whole point, sweetie.” Your hands traveled down his chest before suddenly grasping his cock tightly in your fist.

Lucifer’s face contorted in a mix of pain and pleasure. His eyes narrowed as he recovered. “Not nice,” he scolded you.

“Aw, poor baby,” you said, patting his head. You took out a condom and slipped it over his length. Slowly, you moved down his body, hovering over his cock. You took him in your hand, moving his tip to your pussy. “Say please.”

“Fuck, darling,” he whimpered, “please!”

You slid his tip into your waiting hole, gasping just a bit at the stretch. You got adjusted and pushed his cock into you all at once, taking all of him in. You hissed in pain, but it was worth it to see the look on Lucifer’s face.

He let out a shrill scream as you engulfed his dick. He was a blubbering mess beneath you; his eyes had filled with tears again as you clenched so deliciously around his length, his breathing was labored and his eyeshadow was even more smudged. He glanced at you through his wet lashes. “M-move…ple-ANGH!” He cried as you bounced on his cock rapidly.

You whined as his member hit your g-spot repeatedly, making you squirm in delight and pleasure. “C-cumming, Lucifer! Oh, GOD!” You moaned, your eyes rolling back into your head as your came.

“C-close! Oh, FUCK!” Lucifer yelped as his second orgasm rippled through him, his warm cum painting your insides white.

When the two of you had come down from your highs, collapsed next to Lucifer on the bed.

“That was amazing,” Lucifer said in between gasps of air. “We should do that more often.”

“Agreed,” you nodded, also breathing hard.

“D-do you have a shower here?” Lucifer asked. “Maybe we could cool off there.”

You laughed happily. “Yeah, I do. It’s right there. But let’s get this off of you before we go, yeah?” You said, gently tugging the full condom off of his dick.

“Thank you,” Lucifer sighed. “And I mean for everything. Tonight was better than every night since Lilith left. I really, really appreciate it.”

“Anytime, handsome,” you smiled, pressing a light kiss to Lucifer’s left cheek. “Now, about that shower…”

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[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.”

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Twist of Fate; Twenty-Two

Pairings; LADS OT4 x reader

Word count; 2,055

Themes; isekai, slowburn (eventual smut), canon divergence

Rating; swearing and mature themes

Notes; Hey guys! A little late on the update, but I finally got around to finishing 22! I'd say half of 23 is gonna be Foreseer Zayne and then we're onto Lightseeker Xavier (I know the Zayne chapters have went on for a long while, but I haven't written much for Zayne so...This is for the Zayne Biased <3). I'm sorry I can't rush and have them back to the current timeline just yet, but I'll try to keep it short and sweet.

I'm also working on a few things for Divisa! So I'll probably be up late tonight, unfortunately for me.

prev || next

☆ Masterlist ☆

The moon masks the sun, and only a golden ring remains. A beam of light strikes the Creatio protocore. Light reflects off of it, forming chaos and patterns of disorder, which is brought into the hands of the Foreseer.

Ancient symbols gradually appear as he pieces together a puzzle. Astra’s will has presented itself, and the Foreseer’s indifferent facade reveals a hint of indignation as he too is imprisoned by the prophecy. Astra has spoken.

Those who defy fate are sinners and shall be punished by Him.

When you finally open your eyes, you find yourself lying on the floor of your room. Moonlight cascades onto the empty bed. You only recall being overwhelmed by a strange feeling at dawn…Were you unconscious for the whole day?

You look in the mirror and realize…the marks have already reached your neck. Your clothes will no longer be able to hide them now.

If you take the Creatio protocore…will the Foreseer still be Zayne? And if he isn’t the Foreseer, he’s doomed to be trapped in the Tower forever. Doesn’t that make him a prisoner? You don’t want to hurt Zayne, but…You can’t die like this.

What if you told Zayne the true extent of your illness..?

You enter the library and ice appears in front of you, forming an arc. “Good morning, Jas…Is the Foreseer here?”

The phantasm sways from left to right.

“So he isn’t… You and the Foreseer dislike lies. Would he ever forgive someone who has lied to him?”

Jas sways in an agitated manner.

“Of course..” You say with a sigh, “He won’t forgive me then.”

Jas hears sorrow in your voice, and a platform of ice appears under your feet, lifting you up. More ice appears, shimmering and glittering.

It’s trying to comfort you.

You can’t help the sad smile that ghosts across your lips nor the tears that mist your eyes. “Thank you, Jas.”

You sit on the ice, traveling between the endless rows of shelves. Has Zayne read all of the books here?

“I wonder what the Foreseer does when he’s upset. Then again, he might just scowl regardless of his mood.”

As you mumble to yourself, it suddenly begins to snow. You’re in awe, watching snow descend like flower petals dancing in the wind. A few snowflakes fall onto your hand. They sparkle like crystals and do not melt.

“What are they?” You murmur, running your thumb across the snow in your palm.

“Were you not the one asking about what I do when I’m upset?” You hear a calm voice from below. You sit on the floating platform as Zayne stands at the door, looking up at you. 

“So it is possible. Was the prophecy not to your liking?”

“It matters not. Only a true envoy of the king can deliver it.” You stay silent at that, pursing your lips.

It seems he still hasn’t let that go…

”You are mocking me again. You aren’t upset then.” Zayne lifts a finger and the ice carries you down to him. He looks you in the eye.

“And you? What do you do?”

“I…” You think of the flowers you planted in the past as they sway in the breeze. “I dance.”

“I thought humans only dance when they are happy.” 

“Not all of them. The more upset I am, the more I try to move around.” 

You hear Zayne audibly sigh before he glances at you, then holds out his hand. “May I?”

 “...Are you requesting a dance? Here?” A small laugh of disbelief slips from your lips, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“We will both feel better if we dance under the snow.”

You hesitantly look at Zayne. His expression is reminiscent of a merciless blizzard as per usual.

“Would you prefer we do something else?” 

“We can dance.” The warmth of Zayne’s hand spreads from your fingers to the rest of your body. In the Tower’s library, you waltz. Snowflakes gently flutter about, and you step on the jasmine-shaped ice. 

Everything has led to this precious moment. You gaze into each other’s eyes, your hands touching, your steps synchronized.

“You’ve lived here by yourself since the beginning so…who taught you how to dance? This can’t be your first time.” You question and Zayne looks away for a moment, “Perhaps my body still remembers the motions from the past.”

“...Are you referring to your other lives?” Your tone was softer than usual, almost matching the slight change in tone that the Foreseer also carried.

 “The Foreseer cannot truly die, so your description isn’t right.” Zayne looks at you, but it feels like he’s gazing into a time long gone.

“What is it like to remember things from another era?” This was a question you could get behind.

Especially since you were currently remembering things from a time forgotten. 

“It is no different than being in a never-ending snowstorm.” You watch Zayne, the lonesome air surrounding him. Though you are in the same room, moving to the same rhythm, he is a dreamer whose dream may soon come to an end.

However, you felt the same way. This dream of yours was bound to end soon and you’d find yourself in yet another one soon after.

You squeeze his hand. “If the snowfall is eternal, find someone to dance with you. At the very least, the two of you will be happy.” Zayne’s gaze sweeps across you like a feather brushing across your cheek.

“You don’t seem to be upset anymore.” His voice was barely above a whisper and you cheekily reply, “Our dance would be better with some music.”

Following the rhythm of your steps, you start to hum. Your voice echoes within the library.

“You…always hum this melody when watering the jasmine.” He notes, avoiding your gaze. “So you’ve noticed…”

“Will you sing for me?”

“To the afterglow cries cosmic demise. Our world in deceptive amber paradise.

In these sands of time. My frozen bouquet awaits.

With your gaze so full of wonder, I hold four jasmines asunder. His secrets revealed.

Hark the bard, ‘O legends unfold. This distant tale they sing to you. Unspoken desires, sincere and true.

A jasmine in time’s embrace. A fragrant aria, a moment’s grace.”

○o。.

.。o○

Zayne…couldn’t recall the first time the jasmine appeared. Ever since he took upon the mantle of Foreseer, the Tower of Thorns had always been home to the jasmine that never bloomed.

It is like a riddle waiting to be solved, or maybe it’s a metaphor for his fragmented memories. The jasmine’s existence is an unremovable thorn— a reminder of his past, or his failure to remember who he is.

Zayne dreams the same dream. It is one he has dreamt of many, many times. He kisses the jasmine bud, and then his entire being sinks into darkness.

“Zayne. Zayne.”

Yet he hears her, her voice cutting through the shadows.

Why does her voice sound as if it’s from the jasmine itself and from the distant past?

Zayne waits for the darkness to swallow him once more, yet when he opens his eyes, the jasmine he kissed in his dreams has turned into the face of a girl. 

A girl he knows all too well.

○o。.

.。o○

“Zayne…Zayne?”

You frantically knock on Zayne’s door, time passing by ever so slowly before he finally opens it. He appears to have just woken up, his eyes hazy with sleep.

“I thought you were normally awake at this hour?” You question, one hand on your hip.

Though, Zayne doesn’t respond. Instead, he only looks at you…as if you were a stranger.

“Ah…Nevermind. Follow me!” Brimming with excitement, you grab his sleeve and you’re surprised he lets himself be dragged out of his bedchamber.

You’re trying to keep your pace slow since Zayne had just woken up, but you were too excited. You bring him to the top of the Tower.

In the joyous glow of the sun, the jasmine’s trembling petals unfurl one after another.

“Zayne, look! The jasmine has bloomed!” You quickly turn to face him, wanting to see his expression﹘curious about his reaction. His eyes hold a burning spark as he looks at you.

“I…What?” You let out a nervous laugh as you rub the back of your neck. “Haven’t you been looking forward to this?”

However, Zayne is still silent. He lowers his gaze, suppressing the light in his eyes. It seems he’s looking at the jasmine and…you.

“...At last.”

“So? Am I not a skilled gardener?” 

“You were late.”

“Huh?” You shake your head with a small smile on your lips. “When not a single blade of grass grows here but a strange jasmine, you don’t need a gardener.”

“Hence why it only bloomed in your presence.” 

Zayne was…being strangely nice today. He also appeared to be much happier than before. You wonder what he dreamt about that would make him feel less cold than before.

“...Don’t shower me with praise. Now you’re making it sound like this was bound to happen.” You clear your throat and step closer to the jasmine, fingertips brushing against the soft, fragile petals.

Deep in thought, Zayne continued to stare at you. “Have…I offended you again?” You tilt your head to the side. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His gaze shifts to your hand still holding his sleeve.

Huh…You must’ve forgotten to let go.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was too excited.” As you let go, Zayne grabs your hand.

“This is not a mere coincidence.”

“...What?” You’re not exactly sure what to make of Zayne’s words. You gaze drifting down to your hand encased in Zayne’s much larger one.

“You are not the first to step foot in the Tower of Thorns. No one has been able to make the jasmine bloom. Only you have succeeded.”

Something…about his voice makes your heart beat more quickly. An unfamiliar emotion spreads through your chest.

“What is it? You’re not acting like your usual self…” He’s acting slightly like Doctor Zayne– your Zayne.

“You’re right.” Zayne hesitates to continue, an indescribable emotion flooding his eyes.

“Allow me to take you to another place.”

“To where? You said I could leave once the jasmine blooms, did you not?”

Ouch, it feels a bit rude to bring up leaving right as an unemotional man starts acting emotional but…Sure, let’s go with that.

“Do you want to leave now?”

No.

“I…”

Do you?

Do you want to steal the Creatio Protocore, make Zayne lose his power, and leave him imprisoned in the Tower forevermore?

No…You don’t want him to be “perpetually frozen” anymore. But…you’ll die, won’t you? Without the Creatio Protocore…

☆ミ

You never expected Zayne to take you to the field of jasmines in Philos: Floral Inquiry. Under the warm sunlight, you walk amongst the seemingly never-ending sea of flowers.

“Zayne?” You question as you walk side by side and he turns to face you. The expression on his face is familiar yet unfamiliar. It’s unfamiliar because of how different the Foreseer and you are— the distance between you a chasm.

But…The current him reminds you of that wraith and of your Zayne.

You don’t understand…Is the person in front of you real or an illusion?

“Why did you bring me here, Zayne?” You were at a loss. You weren’t sure how this dream was going to end, feeling like it’s been going on for forever at this point.

You really thought it would be wrapped up by now…but surely all of the angst and sadness is done, right?

Zayne’s eyes shimmer like a lake on a midsummer’s day. “I wish to confirm something.”

His words give you little to interpret so, instead, you repeat to him, “...What is there to confirm?”

He suddenly cups your cheek, seemingly losing himself in your eyes. His gaze shines bright. Your heart begins racing, violently thundering in your chest.

What…is he doing?

“That…I won’t lose you again.”

…Huh?

…Again?

Then, a suffocating indigo is all you see. The blinding light consumes your vision while your heart feels like it’s being crushed. Your hand clutches at your chest and you catch a glimpse of Zayne’s panicked expression before you faint.

The Cryoriais.

That damned icy disease. 

I barely did any proofreading so if there's any misspellings or skipped words, I apologize 😭 i just wanted to get this chapter out bc i felt bad for missing Friday. Anyways! I'm leaving to go type up a few more chapters. <3

Taglist; @orphicmeliora , @yoongi-tunes , @mitzkooni , @hiqhkey, @tanspostsblog , @shypotatoes013-blog

[sentientcave]

Mace of Bakes

Read on AO3

Contains: Non-canon character death (cancer mention), Reminiscing about the army and merc work, Mace deciding on a new path for himself, Community building through food, Self-discovery time for Mace. x Single mom reader (eventually, she's not really in this part) Basically fluff with some sad stuff at the start.

~3.6k - SFW

"Are you happy, Mason?"

His mama looked all wrong, laying in a hospital bed. Mace had never known her to get sick. He'd never thought that she'd get old. In his mind, she was still young the same age as when he left home. It startled him to realize that he was the same age she'd been when he left home. Thirty-eight.

She wasn't even sixty now. Too young to be laying there, all the warmth drained out of her skin, too young for her tightly coiled hair to be grey, too young to be dying.

He itched to get up and do something. Anything. But he'd already done everything he could think of. He'd brought her sunflowers, chocolate from that fancy little place down the block from the house he'd bought her the moment he'd been able to, brought her pretty stationary and a pen so she could write letters to her friends in shaky but still clear script. He'd even prayed. Gone to church and sat down in a pew and bargained with god. The world would be better with her in it, and him gone. If there was one thing he'd learned from his years as a soldier, it was that violence only begat more violence. Put down one enemy, and another popped up in his place. But people like his mother made things better.

She was no saint, of course— Hard to be, in her position, raising a headstrong boy furious about losing his father in some far off conflict he couldn't understand— but she was good. Patient. Dedicated her time to helping her community. Helped kids like him make better decisions than he had. She always picked up the phone when he called, no matter what time of day it was for her. Better that she live, and he die.

But god made no bargains with sinners, it seemed.

"Mason," she repeated, reaching for his hand. Her grip was weak. "Are you happy? Are you living the life you want?"

Was he? Did he even remember what it was to be happy?

The trouble with wearing a mask is that you become more of an idea than a person.

It had been years since Mace really thought about himself. He'd just been a kid, angry and afraid, desperate to get out of his home, out of his city. He was smart, but his grades weren't good enough to get any kind of scholarship. He was athletic, but he wasn't much of a team player, so there was no college team that wanted him either, no matter how big and strong he was already at eighteen. The army was just about the only thing he could use to drag himself up, so he gripped that uniform and held on tight, until his knuckles creaked with the effort. He should have known better, after what happened to his father, but maybe he just wanted to see something of his dad when he looked in the mirror.

(One of his drill sergeants had called him a fighting dog. Mace had grit his teeth and taken it, because as much as he wanted to bite back, it would just be proving the man right. And Mace would take a lot worse than that if it meant showing the whole damn world how wrong they were to dismiss him outright, to decide his fate before he'd taken his first step. But that was the way things were. The way they still are.)

But the thing about the army is that people notice when you're good at what you do. He'd moved from regular army to the rangers by the recommendation of that same sergeant. He earned respect. He'd joined an international task force and met someone who reminded him far too much of himself. Funny how someone from thousands of miles away could look him in the eye and see the things he thought he'd buried. Simon Riley, Ghost, more an idea than a person. And Mace put on that mask, same as Riley's, and they were like brothers.

Until they weren't.

Mace kept the mask though. And the lesson.

He left the army. Joined the Shadows. Joined the Jackals. Worked his ass off anywhere he went. He was efficient, brutal when he needed to be, bold and creative, one of the best.

And now…

Graves had offered him a spot with the Shadows again. But in truth, the soldier's life was wearing on him. He'd bled for his country, bled for money, bled for his homeland.

None of it had made him happy.

The words caught in his throat. "No. But I'll try to be."

"That's all I ever wanted for you."

Things got worse, and she didn’t get better, but he held her hand while she slipped away. Held it together to plan a funeral, shaking hands with everyone who came to pay their respects. It twisted something inside him painfully. All these people that knew his mother better than he did. That loved her, laughed with her.

Who would come to his funeral, if he died right there? A few old war dogs, if word got to them in time. He had few friends. No one would care about his passing the way they did his mother’s.

He stood in the graveyard for a long while after they buried her, staring at the gravestone. Kendra Ward, 1966-2024. She was the best of us.

It wasn’t enough. But what could be?

Her estate was easily settled. Mace still owned the house, on paper, and she didn't have that much else. No matter how much money he sent her, she didn’t like to spend more money than she needed to. He gave the house to his cousin Jessie, since she had four kids and a too-small apartment, gave the car to his aunt, let them split what little jewelry she had between them. He kept her wedding rings, and his father's, since she'd told him that she wanted him to have them, and he took some of the photo albums. He couldn't bear to look at them now, but maybe someday he'd want to.

He thought about staying. It was nice, for a few weeks, to spend time with Jessie's kids, get to know his family again. He'd thought it would be hard to talk to children, but it really wasn't, in the end. It was easy, because all he really had to do was listen, and let them win any games they played.

Still, there was another brother out there he needed to make peace with. One that wouldn't so readily accept that he had changed.

So he went to England.

He didn't expect to see Riley for a long while. He wasn't sure that the man lived in Manchester, if he ever even left base anymore. They'd both become the mask over the years. It wasn't easy to start being a whole person again.

He tried a few jobs on, but they fit like an off the rack suit. He couldn't stand the noise of most trades, didn't have any patience for customers or desk work. Maybe he could move out to the country and be a farmer. The thought appealed to him somewhat, although he knew deep down it was just the fantasy of the life that he wanted. He didn't particularly care for getting muddy, and he didn't know the first thing about animals.

He was walking home when he noticed the Help Wanted sign in the window of the bakery near his apartment (flat, as the locals called it). He liked the place, in part because Sharon, the older woman with graying curls that worked the counter reminded him a bit of his mother, and partially because the smell of bread baking wafted in through his window early mornings, and it was hard to resist the siren’s call.

The little bell above the door jingled pleasantly as he walked in, head nearly brushing the damn thing.

"Hi, honey," Sharon said with a smile, popping her head out of the kitchen. "We don't usually see you so late."

"I saw the sign in the window, ma'am. Thought I might as well ask you about it."

“Our baker quit in the middle of his shift. I’ve been running back and forth all day.” She pursed her lips, taking in the broad and tall expanse of him. “You’re interested?”

“Yes ma’am. Was a soldier for a long time, and I’ve been having trouble finding civilian work that suits. At the very least, I know I’d respect my boss.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit sheepish. It wasn’t as if she had time to train a raw rookie, but… “Don’t know dick all about baking, but I’m good at following orders.”

Sharon thought about it for a moment. “Can you promise not to quit in the middle of a shift?”

“Figure nothing you throw my way could be worse than desert warfare.”

Sharon grinned. “No, we only do dessert warfare here.”

Mace barked out a laugh despite himself. He’d always loved a bad joke. “Got a bakery rival?”

“Of course. Where d’you think my baker went off to?” She shook her fist at the far wall, laughing. “You’re hired. Can you start now? If I’ve got to mop the floors after the day I’ve had… Well, I don’t want to. Better the young do the heavy lifting, yeah?”

“Can do, ma’am. Just show me to the mop closet.”

He wiped down the little cafe tables and stacked up the chairs so he could sweep, mopped the cafe floor, emptied the display case and bought the wire trays to the kitchen to run through the dishwasher. Sharon was portioning out dough and quickly shaping it and putting it into baskets. He watched for a moment, and then went back out to finish cleaning up the front of house.

When he returned again, Sharon beckoned him over. “Wash your hands well,” she ordered. “I’ll show you how to shape these loaves. This dough’s a little sticky, so you’ve got to be decisive.”

He did his best to mirror her movements. The dough was really sticky, but there was a slight resistance to it, and once he got the hang of the consistency, he was able to produce a ball that Sharon didn’t have to reshape a little before it was tucked into it’s little basket to rise overnight. Each one was better than the last.

It felt nice to use his hands for something productive. This wasn’t much like anything he’d done as a soldier, and it was a relief that he was still able to learn new tricks. That he wasn’t so busted up by everything he’d been through to do something good.

Each basket went on a tray with three others, and then onto a wheeled rack, and soon they’d filled two. Sharon covered them with a plastic sheet (to keep humidity in) and they slid them into the big walk in fridge.

There were a few more things to do, cleaning up the kitchen, but soon enough Mace was hauling the trash into the dumpster behind the bakery while Sharon locked up. She handed him a box of leftovers from the display case, which he accepted gladly.

He ate a chocolate chip cookie on his way back to his apartment, humming. That felt like the right kind of work. Busy enough, quiet enough, and he wouldn’t have to be the one dealing with customers. It was going to be a hell of a learning curve, but he liked the idea of being a baker. The sort of career that his mama would be proud to see him in

He ate a cold sandwich and several more pastries for dinner, then showered and went to bed early, setting his alarm for four am. He stared at the ceiling for a little while, arms tucked behind his head.

Yeah. This would suit him just fine.

The next morning had Mace out in the pre-dawn chill, waiting beside the bakery. He'd ended up watching a few videos on bread shaping while he ate breakfast, feeling a strange apprehension, like a student desperate to cram as much information as possible into his head before a big exam. He really wasn't qualified. He didn't know shit about cooking or baking-- He'd eaten mess hall meals and MRE's for the majority of his adult life. He knew what good food tasted like, but making it was a whole other beast.

He was pretty sure he'd gone into war zones less nervous than this.

Sharon waved at him when she turned the corner a little ways up the street. "Showed up after all, did you? The early mornin' didn't scare you off?"

"No ma'am. Said I'd be here." He followed her down the alley, hands in his pockets.

"An honest American," she said, faking a look of shock as she unlocked the door. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"You just dealing with tourists? Or do you have a vendetta I should know about?"

Sharon laughed. "Vendetta. An American woman stole my son away to Florida. I hardly see him now."

"I've got friends down that way. You say the word and I'll have them ship him back to you."

"Tell them to bring my grandkids too!"

Mace soon found out that Sharon was a great teacher. Funny, when she wasn't bone tired after a long day, and especially now that he wasn't a customer anymore. That polite customer service smile that he had gotten used to was replaced by a wicked grin, and she swore a blue-streak as she gave him instructions and gossiped. He learned more about his neighbourhood in a few hours than he'd found out in his months of living there.

Sharon's husband, Veer came in to open the storefront so Sharon could stay in the kitchen to train Mace.

"Had to take a week of vacation," he said when he brought two mugs of coffee back for them. "So you'd better be worth it! She makes me wear a beard net when I work the front counter." He winked at Sharon.

Sharon just rolled her eyes, her own hair totally secured by a bonnet. "You never wear the beard net, you just wear a mask."

"Perhaps. 30 minutes till open, anyway."

Mason started loading loaves of bread into the baskets that sat on the shelves behind the counter, and Sharon got started on assembling pastries. By the time he was putting out the last basket, the first customers were entering the store.

The display case filled, and then the sourdough for the next day mixed (Sharon said she'd portion and shape it closer to close), and the day was over before Mace knew it. He wasn't certain he knew what to do with himself for the rest of the afternoon (it seemed very strange to get off work by 1pm), but it seemed that he could stand to work on his baking skills at home too.

He went to the shops to buy everything he could think of to stock his cupboards, since they were rather bare, and made cupcakes when he got home, lamenting his lack of a piping bag when it came time to frosting them. They didn't look quite as impressive as he'd hoped they would, but they tasted pretty good-- One of the tips in the recipe's comments recommending "blooming" the cocoa powder with a bit of hot water seemed to be a neat trick. He wanted to try combining it with another tip about coffee bringing out the flavour of chocolate too.

Next time.

He cleaned up and made dinner, and offered cupcakes to his neighbours, feeling strangely shy. He was a grown man, he'd been shot more than once, but somehow knocking on the door of the college girls next door and the old man across the hall and the young mother by the stairs made him break out in a cold sweat, stumbling over his explanation. Why was it so much easier to kill people than offer kindness? There had to be something pathologically wrong with him.

(The part of him that knew he had to be kinder to himself too whispered a reminder that it was just unfamiliar ground. Hadn't his hands shaken the first time he held a rifle too? Hadn't he slunk off to puke his guts up and cry after the first time he'd killed another person? It was just so long ago that he'd forgotten.)

He outran the nerves that evening, as the sky turned dark, and put himself to bed early, ready to do it all again the next day.

The routine was good for him. Weeks passed, and he settled into an easy rhythm, waking early for work, joking with Sharon while he worked, setting himself up with a new project every other day.

(He would have made it every day, but while he was growing very fond of cooking and baking, he didn’t love doing the dishes.)

It gave him time to start going to the gym again, at least. He’d started putting on a little weight around the middle, which he didn’t hate. He kind of liked it, especially when he heard the college girls giggling and whispering about his dad bod. Still, he didn’t want to have to buy new clothes, and he wanted to stay in good shape, and he found he still really liked lifting weights, especially now that he did it for fun and not out of necessity. Even better, lifting weights meant that he got to eat more. So it worked out nicely.

His neighbours started talking to him more, everyone more than a little interested in getting on the list for receiving little treats. Everyone had sort of avoided him on principle before, unsure about the giant American loner that settled into their building, but now everyone knew him by name. They asked him for help when they needed heavy things moved. The girls down the hall asked him to make them a birthday cake (Which he was more than happy to do. He was getting better at decorating all the time).

The old fellow across the hall, Percy, turned out to be a veteran too, and he invited Mace out to drinks a few times with some of his old air force buddies, and he got to listen to the old men swap stories and complain about young people these days and the price of groceries (and drinking with old men was ideal, since he could still be in bed early enough to get plenty of sleep before work). The college girls were Morg and Corrie, and often Kailee, who didn’t actually live in the building but was there so often that she practically did. They were possibly the silliest girls he’d ever met, but he at least partially had to attribute that to the fact that he understood only about fifty percent of what they were saying at any time, between the giggling and the slang he didn’t understand.

They tried to thank him for the baked goods by inviting him over for dinner once. A valiant, but ultimately bland effort. He’d eaten worse, but not in a long while, and they spent half the meal flirting shamelessly. He made a promise to himself in that moment that he would never date a woman under thirty.

The single mother, Tammy, was a lot more sensible, but not as single as he’d assumed. Her friend that came over often turned out to be her girlfriend. The kids were funny, especially the younger two, who took every opportunity to talk his ear off about school and dinosaurs and some youtube video game streamer with a silly name. The oldest kid was in that awkward teenage phase of thinking his own interests were cringe and looking for a new identity that was cool. He seemed baffled by Mace, like he couldn’t quite connect the dots on why someone who looked and sounded like a soldier would be spending his free time doing favours for others and baking.

Mace wasn’t sure if it were his place to say anything, but he hoped the kid would come to understand that what Mace was doing now was a hundred times better than being a soldier. A thousand times more meaningful.

He felt like a new person. Born again, like the last twenty years could be chalked up to a bad dream.

(It wasn’t as if he were ashamed of it. Maybe he should have been. But he’d always been principled about his work. Not everyone agreed with his actions, he’d found himself down-barrel of a once friendly gun more than a few times. But that didn’t mean he would stop doing what he thought was the right thing.)

He was sure that this contentedness was what his mother had wanted for him. He wished he’d listened to her a long time ago.

Of course, as it so often happens, pleasant routines get shaken up. For Mace, it was on an otherwise ordinary day in late November, when Sharon was buzzing excitedly about her daughter moving home.

(Divorced, and with a three year old she would have to take care of all by herself. She’d probably come work the front counter, so Sharon could be in the kitchen more for the busiest season. Didn’t it work out so nicely?)

And the timing did seem good. Mason was glad for anything that would give Sharon more time off. He worried about her overworking herself, and she always complained about not seeing any of her grandchildren enough.

Still, he found himself stopping short, nearly dropping the tray of cookies he’d been carrying when he came out of the kitchen.

“Oh, wonderful,” Sharon said, grinning. “Mason, come meet my daughter!”

And you smiled at him, sticking your hand out. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Nice didn’t even begin to cover it.

Title Card made in Canva ~ Image Credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 ~ Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[daughterearth]

Directions to the Devi - The great Goddess

All the above answers are valid and deeply respected. Also, they may change with time like they did for me.

We can always hold space for something greater than a simple answer.

I'm writing this post in conversation with @spilledpoetries 's post and all thanks to @rhysaka's wonderful initiative to form this small well knit community.

Before that my humble agrah- I'm nobody to define or even limit the goddess through my words. This is not an academic discussion or an exploration of philosophies. It is simply my love for her that I wish to show what I can for others to find.

Q.Devi's association with Tantra.

For one moment really take her in - Her imposing, defying posture, her bareness, her dynamism --- she presents a contrast to all demure presentation of goddesses we see.

She's provocative, angry, ready to strike- her hair flying, blood smeared across her body and through the corpse's bleeding neck. She's terrifying and triumphant. She's the image of death and destruction and fear. And she's lavishing in it.

Through thousands of years of foreign oppression, of internal conflicts, of being second class citizenship of girls and women, of imposition of pardah and forced inferiority - SHE STANDS HERE STILL with contrasts.

What makes her so enduring and so striking to your imagination?

Tantra is another form of rigorous study. On the fringes of society - marred with elements we don't commonly consider forms of divination or worship it has survived eons. But it breaks the boundary of what is worthy of devotion, of ego and for us, its metaphysical elements presently would suffice.

''If you feel drawn to Devi in any form right now, it marks a call to war, your innate knowing - a yearning that cannot be sublimated, an uprising of your consciousness.''

You are being called to transcend what is beyond black and white.

Evaluate yourself -

Do you feel called to what you cannot yet explain? An incompleteness in every joy and sadness?

Are there areas in your life that trigger you deeply? Including your relationships, your sexual nature, your anger or repulsion, your path in life?

Is there a deep resounding need for belonging, of feeling like an outsider, a lone wolf or pushing against tides? As difficulties seem to corner you into a dead end.

If any of these strike in for you, Devi is the answer you are looking for. When the student is ready, the teacher appears.

This is a list of elemental inquiries I wish to share with you -

each is as deep as you wish to seek, each as shallow as words can convey. Take what speaks to you and let the rest be an offering.

###

When you stand in front of her in full honesty, observe without shame- your own nakedness, your own body, to every abysmal change in life - how malleable and how human we are to every pain and joy. How minute and how magnificent. This blessing of pain, of being a sinner and a saint, of deep longing and half refusals Then, lay them infront of her simply - like a child puts her doll infront of her mother - ravaged by years of playing. Let her speak to you in the stillness of your complete surrender and acceptance. She is bigger than every emotion or thought you have. More powerful.

###

If there are very strong emotions regarding some situation in your life, some previous hurt or destruction you are hurt by - Devi stands to point towards its metabolism.

Every bad things that has ever happened in your life- has peeled off a layer of your egoic attachment, it has loosened the shackles that tie you to a way of life you must transcend to something greater.

All this to say, clears the dust of the mirror of your heart to shine the presence of her within you. Her invincible presence, her radiance, her spirit. When everything is lost, something bigger than us, remains. That is what defines your true nature. And that is the beginning of your possibility. Devi represents that non-duality of being.

###

In a forest when a she-wolf births her children, she doesn't teach them how to hunt or hides her from the world. She teaches them what to look for and beware of - activating a latent energy, a latent knowledge. Devi is a concentrated form of that dynamism.

The red associated with her -- some say it is menstrual blood is the deep red of life and sacrifice. Every endeavour in your life - be it university exams or emotional toques and tensions - everything needs a vision. But the problem arises when there is no life forthcoming from it all. It's like dancing to a tune there is no end to.

She represents the end. When the woman attuned to Devi, she understands the pauses, the reflection, the stopping.

Devi's devotee picks an endeavour, not to prove, or be something but for the versity, the joy of the work, the growth, the ability to say yes to difficulty and knowing she has a force greater than her own delineated abilities - she summons a life by her own name.

This is Devi's grace.

She is a river flowing through you, her wild nature pours out endless possibilities, acts as birth channel, invigorates.

She's a calling to your own wild nature otherwise you wouldn't be so attracted to her halo.

She's a reflection of what it means to be, and wholly bloom and in time disintegrate and rise again to our own calling. And I believe it is time for you to undertake this journey.

Author's note: Please allow me to ask forgiveness for any wrongs in this passage, they are wholly mine. Thank you for your time These words are all I have to offer. I can pray for more guidance for all of us, and more radiance of hers to show us the way. I would love to know if there is anything more I could do.

Till then, with much respect and love, thank you.

~ Namaste ~

[madly-enthusiastic]

Sooo, remember the previous chapter I posted? I decided it'd be an epilogue divided in two parts! The first one being from Lucifer's POV and the second one being from Charlie and Alastor's POV!

Sooo, here it goes! (I still don't have a goddamn name for this, damn it.)

_____

How much pain can someone suffer?

If you asked Alastor, he'd tell you that pain is merely a state of mind in which the person starts to torture itself, reminding its user that whatever pain they are feeling is 100% their fault and there is nothing they can do about it.

While he takes pride in considering himself as untouchable as a God, he forgets that there are true gods out there that could destroy what he was and would be with a snap of their fingers.

And this what was happening to him right now.

An incessant tug could be felt coming from his neck, his chain was being pulled by its owner. A silent command for him to get back at his feet rather than on his knees.

As he slowly rose, his owner watched intensely, just waiting for him to look up and meet its gaze.

"You understand perfectly what you will have to do, right, Alastor?"

"... Yes."

______

Alastor woke up after a few seconds, he stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling before he sat up and looked around for his monocle. After finding it, he changed to his usual attires and went to the mirror to fix his hair.

As he finished doing so, he looked up, only to be met by the sight of his terrifying smile, still long and wide, hiding secret behind its teeth. Well! There is no time to waste! He thought as he faded in his shadows only to reappear at the lobby.

Charlie was making plans with the others about some kind of 'special' visit from a 'special' someone. This intrigued Alastor so he quickly dove into his shadows to reapper next to Charlie, scaring her by the sudden presence.

"As I was explaining, he'll be arriving by- OH FUCKING SATAN-" She yelled, almost falling over Vaggie who was standing right by her side. Vaggie turned to give Alastor a death glare that could have made anyone cower in fear, not Alastor though.

"Ah! Why, hello my dear! I deeply apologize for scaring you! I must have miscalculated where I was supposed to appear!" He spoke, grinning widely. For anyone else, it was clear that Alastor was lying and that he did plan to scare the girl but Charlie wasn't 'anyone else'.

"Oh! It's fine, Alastor! Actually, I was wondering if you could help me organize the place, we'll be receiving a special visit around 4:00 pm!" She explained, clapping her hands together, not noticing the way Vaggie raised her spear as if ready to attack Alastor for just daring to breath in front of her.

"Ah, I'm sad to have to decline the offer, my dear! I have an important meeting with a friend of mine that I'm afraid it can not be delayed! I'm not sure if I'll be able to arrive in time, but I'll try my best to do it, Charlotte!" Alastor replied, placing his hand on top of his chest as if he was truly wounded by the fact he wouldn't be able to be present at the time.

"Is that so? That's a bummer! But thanks for the honesty, Alastor! Anyway, guys—" Charlie's voice was tunned out by Alastor's thoughts filling his mind. Who could this 'special' visitor be? Maybe someone close to Charlotte? Well, it's a pity they won't be able to be graced by my noble presence!

With that, he followed with the day, going to his meeting with Rosie.

______

As Alastor walked through Canibal Town, he came to greet its people as the usual. He greeted Milton, who he asked about the man's wife and the man answered: "She's better now! I'lll give you a piece of the dinner we cooked later on!" Alastor only nodded in acknowledgment and followed his path to Rosie's Emporium.

He greeted Ellenoir. Such a nice little lady, already following the path of her dad and biting sinners! He thought as the kid passed by him, waving at him before she walked away, holding a crowbar in her hands and pointing at a random sinner.

He even greeted Susan. I hope you die in an alley and the dogs come to piss on you because even they can't be around your awful smell, if you were to be eaten, it'd be by a bunch of worms because they prefer trash. He thought, sighing dreamily about the day it'd happen, already fantasizing in laughing at Susan while she was killed.

_____

Meanwhile at the hotel, Charlie was organizing everything to make sure it'd only cause the better and the best impression on her father about the hotel.

She obviously knew he didn't actually believed in redemption but he was still there when she needed him, so, she'd let that one slide as long as her father behaves well around the others resident.

She had a serious talk with Angel about his jokes and how he shouldn't do them around her father because:

•1th - Her father isn't the type to enjoy sexual jokes

And

•2nd - ANGEL SHOULDN'T BE EVEN FLIRTING WITH HER DAD CUZ IT'D BE WEIRD AS FUCK TO HER!

Having cleared that with the spider, she moved on to tell Nifty to tidy the place and the maid only answered with: "Those bugs won't even see it coming!" Before she sprinted so fast that it was as if she had vanished. Then, Charlie asked Husk to look after Nifty so she shouldn't scare the heck out of her father.

Husk didn't even try to argue because he knew Nifty could scare anyone and in that anyone, The Devil itself was included.

As the hours approached, Charlie sighed loudly, fidgeting nervously. What if dad doesn't like the place? What if he laughs at it? Her thoughts were cut short by Vaggie placing a hand over her shoulder, squeezing it to make Charlie understood that, no matter what Lucifer says, Vaggie will stay by her side.

Charlie placed her hand over Vaggie's and smiled at her girlfriend before she turned to the clock, taking a deep breath and finding courage to face her father after many years.

It's time to do this.

_____

Tã-dã! Whaddya think? I hope I managed to grasp Alastor's true essence or in others words: him being a lil' prick.

Susan's part was funny to write

AND NOPE~! You won't be getting what Alastor had talked with Rosie, nuh-uh! This is for future chapters!

[onomatopagu-et-cie]

Some (too many) mental notes & questions about D. Gray-man!

(SPOILERS UP TO CH. 247 & sorry if the terms used are awkward esp. the localization of the manga, I read it in french!)

I recently re-read DGM as the new chapter came out. I stopped catching up after volume 22 years ago and I am so glad I re-read the series!

If it was already beautifully sad and cruel, the volumes 23 to 27 hooked me even more. Like other manga (eg. Witch Hat Atelier, Berserk), the panel composition was already beautiful in the previous volumes but I was fascinated through my reading. The attention given to hands in these volumes (like MHA) was mind-blowing!

The Allen-Kanda-Johnny-Link group (and now Tiedoll) works really well, I didn’t expect that at all! Oh, and the character development/decline of every character is great, especially Allen & Neah, Kanda & Link (and Cross and Road in those flashbacks?????).

DGM wouldn’t be DGM if the mysteries didn’t keep growing even more cryptic as the story unfolds, so I guess here are some notes and questions I’ll come back to one day to see if they are answered!

► Now that we know the D. in DGM stands for ‘Dear’ (I already sense the tragedy in the title for both Allen and Mana aaaaa), I don’t know if this was intentional, but Mana in front of the mirror strongly reminded me of The Picture of Dorian Gray, especially the end (I shouldn’t have read this scene late at night, I was spooked haha). The characters of Allen and Neah, shrouded in mystery, also encapture the elusive personality of Dorian Gray.

► Paying extra attention to all the parallels between the Ghost of Mater & the Artificial Exorcists Arcs was Pure Pain. I’m always amazed how far the details go and make (even more or a whole new) sense later on.

► Lenalee and Komui’s story touched me once more aaaaaa ► Miranda’s power is really cruel, I wish we could see more of her someday ;;

► Road used for super-human the word ‘choujin’, which also seems to refer to the concept of übermensch in japanese ie. the ideal superior man of the future who could rise above conventional Christian morality to create and impose his own values... NOW THAT IS INTERESTING.

Especially regarding Road and Cross meeting & Allen’s prophecy as the ‘Destroyer of Time’ (the fact he could ‘sense’ Lenalee’s dream and interact with it, Cross ‘death’ by Apocryphos hands, past!Allen’s mystery over his rejuvenated body, Apocryphos observation on ‘Allen’s’ long existence as a parasite, and so on …)?????????????

And could she have a link to Allen and Lenalee’s dream of the future?

► The overarching theme of humans, akuma, Noahs and even the Earl at God’s/The Heart’s mercy manifests in many little plot points eg. the Ghost of Mater (that could even foreshadow the whole Cross/Road meeting), Road dressing Lenalee as a doll, Lenalee and Miranda taking their suffering as the Innocence testing them, Link turned into a puppet, Crown Clown and so on …

► Could this be Campbell’s mansion Allen will visit in the next chapters… ?

► Reever’s devotion to Komui ;;;;;;;;

► Fascinating how everyone except Allen is at risk of becoming a Fallen One, despite everything he does ‘against’ the Order, God and the Innocence: it could be explained by the role he was given by the Heart now that we have a bigger picture And it is foreshadowed since the Suman Dark Arc:

-> When Allen says Suman betrayed ‘God’, the kanji for god is used (kami), but the furigana read as Innocence:

And Allen even says later the Innocence punishes sinners as God itself, devuring Suman from the inside like a worm ……….

-> While Komui says he has betrayed God and the furigana read as God this time:

I love the word plays in the original versions with the furigana (I wonder if this has a name?), another example:

The kanji for family, kazoku, is read as the english « home », which we always saw used to describe the Order as a comforting place to return to: the Order was never Suman’s home, he always longed for his family

► Will this ever be explained? That, and Cross's special bond to God or the Heart!

Also this????????

AND ALSO CROSS HATRED FOR TIMCAMPY???????????

► Could Cross be a Bookman?

Neah’s flashback mentioned an ‘excentric uncle’, so it could also be Cross, given how he remembers Mana’s smile from his childhood, I am Confused Or he could be their childhood friend, as his appearance in the flashbacks suggests he would've had the same age past!Allen, Neah and Mana would have, around 35yo? Idek anymore! Either way, he has an obvious hold over his age like past!Allen, maybe through magic or their nature?

Was the unknown language Bookman spoke when the Ark was disappearing in the sky the same Mana taught Allen? In Komui’s corner, we learn Bookman knew in advance they would synchronize with an Innocence when their mission began???????? Do they somehow have links to the Heart or Apocryphos? Are they from the doomed world Road told Cross, as some sort of witnesses of the Noah's struggles on behalf of God?

► Tyki’s nature is hinted at by Road even as early as ch. 93, and the confrontation with Neah in the volume 26 makes me really think he’s some sort of copy of him

► This panel is Pain:

► I love Lenalee and Lavi’s relationship so much!! Lavi’s arc was gripping, and took Lenalee’s words on the boat (‘am I still in this world?’) to a whole new context

► About Luberrier :

How in hell was he aware of the 14th without even Cross telling him? His dialogue with Zuu before saving Link strongly suggests he knew the 3rd gen. project would cause the Noah attack on the laboratory and the 14th awakening, isolating Allen, as though he made a deal with a Noah or sb else. The ch150 (Hevlaska and Luberrier’s past) is haunting me, I’m really curious to see where this is going!

► About Link : We know so little about his past, how he became a Crow, how his devotion was built by the Administration (Link’s flashback with Luberrier after recovering was scary, how easily he gave in & Luberrier’s whole behavior was ugh)! Komui’s corner mentions the two red dots on the Crow’s forehead are scars left by the operation that made them sorcerers against their will + Allen tried to touch it, which made him mad GAHHHHHH I NEED MORE CONTEXT

Ch247 hurts even more considering Neah used the same words as Allen to greet Link but rang false aaaaaaa

Link’s profile is cut from the Central Administration’s organization chart from volume 25 (when he admits feeling conflicted over Allen’s fate), before his profile was included in the same box:

Komui’s corner once mentioned comforting food thanks to the emotional value they hold eg. Allen and Cross’s porridge. Link says he had something similar so I wonder if this will ever be showed in the manga!

► About past!Allen: This might be a reach, but ch221’s flashback made me think Atuuda’s magic (its symbol in particular) can be linked to past!Allen with the whole spiral of life theory (+ the fact his body rejuvenated by some miracle):

There are also many parallels with other dynamics in the manga: -> Neah-Cross & Mana — he was set on eliminating anything else that draws near Mana, as a promise he made to Neah -> Luberrier-Link & Neah-Allen — Luberrier needs Link in order to protect and save them from anyone -> past!Allen & Neah — he promised Neah he would protect his memory from anyone (-> Kanda & Alma — he was the only one that could save Alma)

(I don’t want to think about Link potentially becoming another host for Neah, sacrificing himself for Allen for example aaaaaa)

I saw Hoshino’s sister loves Link’s character and what happens next to him will potentially be pure pain, I get her because his potential is skyrocketing and I’m definitely not ready aaaaaaaa

► What was even going on between Neah and past!Allen???????????????

► Allen’s past was really devastating. Mana’s words by the sunset ;;;;;

► In ch216, Cornelia’s wood destroys Timcampy in a similar way Red is bound eyes and ears from the scene when the Earl comes back in the circus in the recent chapters (with those little black hands)

► The parallels & oppositions btw Kanda & Link (the potential of the trio Kanda-Allen-Link!!!!!) : -> both presented in a negative light at the beginning -> both now deem themselves unworthy to be a part of Allen’s life: Kanda is glad Johnny is there to support him, Link says he will disappear from Allen’s life if he defeats the 14th (and also That Panel when he saw Allen come back to his senses and save Johnny). Both have feelings they suppress when it comes to Allen, in a stark contrast with Johnny’s honesty -> both were objects of experimentation/intensive training but Kanda feels no loyalty to the Order, while Link does strongly to Luberrier -> both wound up with a shortened lifespan they hide atm (Kanda as a Fallen One & Link with Atuuda) -> both were targeted by Apocryphos and had their memories rewritten -> Kanda wants to kill the 14th, Link is ordered to aid him -> hands shown as holding dominion over them both (the Innocence, Luberrier and the Heart)

► Predictions for the next chapters: Since Johnny is going along with Allen & Link, there’s a chance : 1) Link will drive Johnny away so Neah wakes up ; 2) Neah will do it since he sees everything through Allen’s eyes and even challenges Link’s ‘loyalty’ 1) would be logical as everyone in Allen’s group feared it while Allen accepted the risk but given the whole arc, Link seems VERY conflicted over the whole matter (and their shoujo-esque reunion damn, that and volume 25 whole vibes) Also Road seems to have led Allen to the mansion through his dream because she thought he was dangerous (????) AND a ‘bookman’ was there, so a lot will happen!

Have a nice week-end!

[gutspiller]

let the light in - at your back door yelling 'cause i wanna come in

read it on ao3 here

You knew you would die painfully.

From the moment you gained conscience, the ill thoughts of death always trickled in the back of your mind like wild daisies in the middle of the sidewalk— It was fate, everyone knew it deep down.

Once you’re gone there’s no memory to preserve, especially once the Earth’s rotted by the Sun and tossed into galactic dust. We all know it.

That awful day when you met your husband changed your view. We’ll all go to Hell.

And we all know it.

Something sharp and spindly cuts into your neck as your vision starts to crawl out, your head spinning with nausea. You look around to see the blood moon next to a golden one, and a scarlet sky twinged with black clouds. How long have you been here, thorns resting in the crook of your neck, digging in with every toss and turn?

This is an unholy sanctuary.

He’s here.

Your first thought when you wake up sends you into an upright position, glancing to every side with a desperate fervor. To no avail, you do not hear or even see your husband anywhere around.

The screams around you from pleading sinners would’ve masked his gentle voice, anyhow. They should just take it like what they’ve deserved in this life. They fell down the wrong path, you chose this— every miserable sinner here should’ve been at your mercy.

Why are they so loud, knowing what they’ve done?

Why are you still thinking about your husband, so sure he’s still enamored with you?

Everyone has their reasons, you suppose, as you stand up and wobble on your new two feet. Looking down, you’re disgusted to see four grisly gloved claws, adorned with white silk and a few bows to match.

Not modest, but.. You’re sure in Hell there are lots of madames. They do the dirty work, but surely they don’t deserve to roam in the darkest of depths, no?

Caught up in your own needless thinking, you don’t notice a girl come hurtling down your way. You gasp breathlessly as she begins to talk. “Hi, oh my gosh, um..” She hasn’t even said anything you can grasp yet, but her mouth still somehow moves a million miles an hour. “So! I’m.. gathering residents for my spectacular redemption hotel! It’s called the Happy— Er.. Hazbin Hotel! I’m sure you’re scared, I saw you wake up just now and—!” You scoff, placing your hands on your hips and rolling your eyes. "No, thank you."

The blonde persists, tapping your shoulder as you turn to walk away. Frustration finally boils over, when will this lady be quiet? You swing your head to face hers, an unamused expression donning your face. “Didn’t ya hear me, ya chatta’ box?” You snarl, pushing her away.

You almost feel bad, especially with the way her puppy-dog eyes plead for you to join her little hotel. Too bad, so sad, though. You were here for a purpose, not to rise up to some unattainable goal like fucking going to heaven of all places. Really? You just got here and you’re already being phished by some random woman.

Not to mention the fact she’s dressed particularly modern, the tux an eyesore to your newly uncovered eyes. It reminds you of your husband— clad in his pinstriped suits. He was always such an innovator for his time, a supporter of the new age. This girl though.. No manners to be seen at all!

Your husband would have smacked her upside the head, you think! “No, I came here for a reason, and I’m not going to waste it on some charity case.” You barely hold back raising your voice; that would be improper manners for a lady, yes? Especially one who wasn’t sure about her husband’s love for her dwindling— Or having been there in the first place.

Even if he didn’t, you could still try. You hope.

Take on a new shape, a new form if he didn’t already recognize you— Try someone more delicate, prettier, fancier, more akin to his tastes..

What do you look like, minus the claws?

You could use a mirror.

[hongluboobs]

wrath/gloom/sloth he’s SO fucking not normal you guys

the only other Hong Lu with gloom is liu. wrath used to be pretty rare in his kits but liu, w corp, and hook Hong Lu have it so it’s not really that rare anymore! No lust is also something to note because right now the only Hong Lu identities that don’t have lust affinity somewhere are the corp ones!

It’s a little bit of a reach but his lustless ids being specifically the corp ones reminds me of something from dream of the red chamber. In that book, there’s a character named Zhen Bao-yu, who seems identical to and is even called a “mirror version” of Jia Bao-yu(the most likely equivalent to limbus Hong Lu) in the text. The two look very similar and even have the same jade, but the difference is instead of remaining silly and whimsical (to quote the text, “full of lust”) like Jia Bao-yu, Zhen Bao-yu eventually matures out of this. When the two finally meet in person, Jia Bao-yu expects to meet a kindred spirit but soon realizes Zhen Bao-yu isn’t actually like him and is a “career worm”, which he hates.

All the corp hong lus get their jobs from nepotism, So that can potentially provide deeper meaning for why the Corp Hong Lu’s don’t have lust if you’re a little too insane about the text, but what about this one? he sure as hell isn’t working at a corp?

If I have to connect it to the text, this Hong Lu reminds me of the Jia Bao-yu (who i’m just gonna call Bao-yu for brevity bc Zhen Bao-yu isn’t relevant to here) near the very end of the book. Here, he returns to the land of illusion and is enlightened this time! He reads a bunch of forbidden knowledge that pretty much amounts to the fates of everyone he cares about, and DOESN’T forget it like he did the first time. This makes him develop an ambivalent “it had to happen this way and i couldn’t stop it” view of life and he starts to gradually disconnect from reality. Eventually he just. fucks off to become a monk

Of course, this might not be what they’re going for. I don’t even know how equivalent they’re trying to make things related to Hong Lu to the text, i just know it’s not gonna be one-to-one. On the other hand, red chamber is also a long ass book i don’t think many people in this fandom have read through, and it’s one of our biggest hints for what Hong Lu’s canto could hold.

Also the s3 sloth reminds me of k corp Hong Lu and i like that guy. i almost forgot to say this

i’m sooo excited for this id to drop ohhh my god. i need to see all the fucked up shit he says. i need some freak i can run on a sinking team who isn’t named lcb sinner Hong Lu. and thank god this games equivalent of bao-yu fucking off to be a monk isn’t bald bc i’d be really scared if he was (monk bao-yu cuts off all his hair when he fucks off. it’s really sad)

[i-am-bella-donna]

To Remain in the Sky

AO3

Story Summary:

Emily loved being an angel. However, it took her a long time to realize that “being an angel” and “being good” were far from the same thing.

Pairings: Familial Emily x Sera

Word Count: 1,727

CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

A/N: I wrote this on a whim. I want to see how many HH fanfics I write before the next two episodes come out.

Because we know so little about Emily and Sera, I did my best with their characterizations. I hope you like it.

~~~

“How long?”

If Sera was surprised to see Emily appear in her bedroom, she did not show it. She had most likely been expecting her—Sera always seemed to know exactly what Emily was thinking, just like Emily always knew what Sera was thinking. They were two peas in a pod, and Emily admired her older sister like she had hung the stars.

She and Sera never kept secrets. Not from each other.

Or so she had thought.

Emily took a deep breath, the unfamiliar sensation of anger overwhelming in her chest. “How long has Heaven been doing this, Sera?”

Sera turned away from the wall mirror, watching in silence as Emily approached. Her expression was unreadable.

“How long ago did you give Adam permission to take our people down to Hell for—” Her voice caught and broke off. She heaved another breath.

Humans died. That was a fact.

But the dead were not supposed to die again.

Emily struggled to keep her own expression neutral, even as her fingers twitched. How much double-death had occurred down in Hell—a cruel fate not even caused by the Sinners themselves, but by her own people?

How did I not know?

“Emily…”

She snapped back to attention.

Sera was watching her with furrowed brows, concern plain in her expression. She opened her arms, and Emily wanted nothing more than to fall into them. To let herself be fussed over like she was a small child again. No matter what was wrong, her older sister had always made everything better.

But Emily was no longer a child, and Sera could no longer placate her with hugs and sweet words.

Shoving the hands away, Emily tried her hardest to ignore the hurt that flashed across her face. “How many human souls have been destroyed because of us?” she exclaimed. The words scraped against her throat as they left, leaving a barely-recognizable metallic taste in her mouth.

In all her years, Emily had rarely seen blood. She had no reason to—blood and injury were rare in Heaven. But what about Charlie? Had her estranged cousin grown up surrounded by the slaughter of her own people? Did she ever have to fall asleep to a lullaby of screams as angels led a massacre all around her? Did the streets flood with red? Did—

“You don’t understand,” Sera began softly. Emily pushed the vivid images out of her mind as quickly as possible. She wanted to focus on this conversation and get answers, but Sera looked so tired and sad—

I bet the Sinners we kill are sad, too.

Fury and betrayal filled her once more.

“What is there to understand?” Emily shot back, cutting her sister off to both of their surprise. She knew she should stop. She should take a few deep breaths so they could talk like reasonable adults—but the emotions swirling around her head and clouding her mind were suffocating in a way she had never felt before. She was left choking on her own thoughts and wanting to throw back her head and scream—not with excitement or laughter, but with confusion and pain.

If every day in Heaven was happy, did every day in Hell feel like this?

If Sinners were already suffering, why did they need to be killed?

Emily could not understand, but the questions were filling her with bitterness.

“Charlie showed us!” she pleaded. “The human souls in Hell—they can be good! That man in the feed from Hell—Angel—he was becoming better! And his friends were getting better, too! They just need some help.”

She and Sera—they were leaders of Heaven. They were supposed to be merciful. They should have been the ones going down to Hell, offering redemption to Sinners who wanted to work for a second chance. Charlie should never have had to claw her way up and beg for an audience—especially not with the way it turned out.

Sera was her older sister. She was an angel, and Emily wanted to believe that she was a good one.

But as chaos and discord unfolded in that courtroom, she had looked at her estranged cousin and seen the kindest soul she had ever met—only to watch that spark get crushed at the hands of Sera and Adam.

As if reading her mind, Sera continued. “The situation is so much more complicated than you could ever know.” Her voice was still gentle. Before, Emily might have found it calming. Right now, it only made her angrier.

“So what?” Emily took another step back and glared up at her sister. “I’m supposed to do nothing? Ignore how our people have been committing annual genocides?”

Emily tried to shove away the images that Adam had accidentally displayed—the screams and blood and fear.

Did it really matter if they were Sinners? The fear in their eyes was human, first and foremost.

How many times had Charlie and Vaggie had that fear in their eyes? What about their beloved friends from the Hotel?

Her heart almost stopped.

The Hotel.

Her stomach twisted as the blood drained from her face. Lightheaded, she stumbled back, barely noticing as Sera extended a worried hand.

“You’re going to stop the next Extermination, right?” she asked desperately. Her vision blurred slightly, but she did not care to understand why.

Sera winced. Pain, shame, guilt—they were all written clearly on her face.

Emily released a shuddering breath.

None of these emotions were supposed to be present on the face of her older sister. Sera was good, and wise, and—

And complicit in millions of deaths.

Sera looked away.

Emily felt her heart fall into her stomach. “Sera?” she asked weakly.

Sera blinked, and it was her turn to step away. She turned back to the wall mirror and stared at her reflection with dull eyes. When she spoke, her voice was heavy with exhaustion. “You’re still so young, Emily.”

“I’m older than any human on Earth—”

“But you aren’t even a millennium old yet!” Sera abruptly spun back to her, her expression pleading. Emily felt her own eyes grow wet in response.

Blood and death and screams and fear—

“There were thousands of years—thousands of catalysts—that built up to the first Extermination. Things were so much more complicated than you could imagine. Than I would even want you to imagine.” Sera started to reach for her, only to drop her hand. She looked as though she was in physical pain. “I never wanted to do this, Emily—but I had to do what was best for us. I had to keep our people safe.”

Sera took a shaky breath, turning away slightly before stepping forward once more. She kneeled and placed her hands gently on her shoulders. “Sometimes…” Her voice was softer than before. Resigned. “Sometimes, being a leader—even a leader of Heaven—means getting blood on your face so no one else has to.”

Emily swallowed. Her mouth was uncomfortably dry.

The Extermination was still going to happen. Adam had planned it—he was proud of it—and Charlie and Vaggie and all of their friends were going to be in danger again—

Her breaths were coming shorter and shorter. Her throat felt tight.

In some ways, Sera was right. Being a leader meant doing the tasks that no one else was willing to do—no matter the cost.

Her blood ran cold.

Sera was beginning to look worried at her lack of response. “Emily?”

Her heart pounded.

“Then…maybe I don’t want to be an angel of Heaven anymore.”

The words loomed in the air. They were out, and they could never be taken back.

Sera froze.

“Emily—”

“Those people—Charlie and her friends—everyone will need all the help they can get.” Emily heard her voice shaking as she spoke—it sounded strange to her own ears. She pressed on, smiling without any humor. “I love being an angel. I used to love watching you—I wanted to be exactly like you.”

Of course, Sera already knew that. Sera knew everything about her.

Her head spun with the memories. Had they really been so recent? This day might as well have lasted several years.

“I loved doing good. I tried to follow your example in any way possible—if I could be even a fraction as compassionate or kind as you were, I would be happy.” Her smile grew brittle. “But I want to keep people safe, too. I’ll do whatever it takes to help those who need it—even if that means walking straight into Hell.”

Sera yanked her hands away as though she had been burned. The terror on her face rivaled the fear in the eyes of Sinners as they were murdered—it was almost enough to make Emily falter.

Almost.

It hurt. It hurt more than Emily had even known was possible—she did not understand how she was not writhing in agony.

But the screams remained locked behind her lips and the smile stayed glued upon her face, and she kept silent as shaking hands reached above her head and snapped her halo in two.

~~~

Sera remembered the night that Lucifer Fell.

She had been there for all of it—from the buildup to the aftermath—and she wanted nothing more than to forget.

The scariest part of the Fall had been its namesake—the horrifying moment when the sacred ground of Heaven gave out and sent her once-best friend plummeting toward Hell. The horrifying moment when she locked eyes with Lucifer just in time to see his fear before he was disappearing through the floor.

She did not get to say goodbye, or to thank him, or to apologize. There was no time for any of it.

Sera had only seen one Fall, but that was more than enough. She was living proof that even Heaven could not keep the nightmares away.

And as her stupid, brave, caring little sister snapped her own halo, Sera watched as her worst nightmare became a reality. The halo had barely hit the ground before Emily was falling.

One second, she was present.

The next, she was gone.

And that was it.

The silence was deafening.

Two broken pieces of a halo—the only indication that Emily had been there at all—lay innocently on the floor. Thoroughly numb, Sera took the pieces into her palms. She could only stare as the jagged edges cut into her skin, smearing her hands with bright angelic blood.

Her head spun.

What have I done?

~~~

A/N: This was fun to write!

I thought that Emily must have been rather horrified to learn about the Exterminations. She spent her whole life in Heaven, where everything is perfect—only to find out that her people have been committing annual mass genocide for centuries.

In this story, I decided to use a slightly more sympathetic portrayal of Sera—she is still awful, but she genuinely believes that the Exterminations are for the best. Do I believe this interpretation will be canon? No. Is it fun to explore? Absolutely.

Also, I considered adding another couple of chapters (about Emily going down to Hell and meeting Charlie at the Hotel). Would anyone be interested in that?

[tomas-licanto]

I see a sad little sinner in the mirror

the devil works hard like my liver.

[doehoney]

I SEE A SAD LITTLE SINNER IN THE MIRROR, THE DEVIL WORKS HARD LIKE MY LIVER, I DONT WANNA BE ALIVE BUT I DONT WANNA DIE, FISTFUL OF PILLS AND RIVERS IN MY EYES, IVE GOT NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE, DEAR GOD IN THE SKY, HEAR MY CRY, HEAR MY CRY, ITS TOO DARK TO SEE, LET THERE BE LIGHT

[jalicefanficblog]

Hush, my brave Excorcist Angel

>>I was wondering if you could do a platonic Exorcist!Vaggie & Parental Figure!Seraphim!Reader, it'll be a hurt/comfort after one of the extermination.>>

Some Parental Support for our dear Vaggie is coming right up :-)

The Spear landed on the ground with a clanging sound. 

Vaggie felt the adrenaline slowly wear off and the events of the extermination of Hell burned themselves into her memory bit by bit. Even after all the years that Vaggie has been part of Adam and Lute's team, a successful Excortizant Angel and one of the angels with a high kill count, this year's extermination had been more strenuous. 

Vaggie felt exhausted and not for the first time, doubts crept in as to whether she would make it another year. She knew that in this way she was helping Heaven... to ensure that the safety and prosperity of the heavenly place continued from now on.

And all the sinners in Hell, the Hellborns and demons who are well-deservedly slaughtered down there... are nothing more than numbers on an endless list of annoying final bosses. 

And yet Vaggie felt too tired and exhausted... maybe even a little sad to want to attend Adam's victory party. Adam held this victory party every year. For the angels who were part of the extermination team. Of course, only the exterminated angels and the seraphim were allowed to know about it.

Not only about the party but also about the annual extermination of the inhabitants of hell.

"What a... exhausting day... I feel like I've been beaten up more than the killed Sinners...", Vaggie grumbled and disappeared with her head hanging towards the bathroom to change her clothes soaked in sinners' blood. And to take a shower.

But as soon as Vaggie entered the small bathroom of her apartment and cast a weak glance in the mirror, her exhaustion and the spiral of tumultuous emotions reached a new high.

Her hands rested on the edge of the sink and her body felt like lead. Vaggie turned her gaze away from the reflection of herself in the mirror and closed her eyes.

Which was a big mistake, because immediately the panicked looks of a family of sinners appeared before her mind's eye, calling for their dead adult children and running in panic through the streets of hell. Vaggie suddenly opened her eyes again, turned her back to the bathroom mirror and sank down onto the floor, onto the small carpet in front of the sink.

She deliberately ignored the fact that her hands were touching the still-drying spots of the sinners' blood. A heavy sigh left the angel's lips and she rested her head wearily on the palms of her hands for a moment. Why had this extermination been so emotionally exhausting? She always kept her distance and this time... it was like this... oh, Vaggie couldn't quite define it either.

"Vaggie? Darling? You're not at Adam's party?" - the gentle voice of the Seraphim angel, who was a parental figure for Vaggie and with whom Vaggie had a good relationship because she really saw the Seraphim as a parent and with all her worries and hopes after all the years , in which she had received complete support from the high-ranking angel and always experienced so much care and support, penetrated through the ajar bathroom door.

"Um... no, I... don't feel so good... it... was exhausting and...", Vaggie's voice broke and a quiet, involuntary sob escaped the otherwise so confident Vaggie. Which was the reason for the angel on the other side to carefully open the bathroom door and kneel lovingly in front of Vaggie, who was crouching on the floor.

The Seraphim carefully placed a hand on the angel's shoulder, ignoring the blood.

It didn't bother the Seraphim and the angel's golden eyes sparkled with concern but also great parental love and affection. The other gently stroked Vaggie's short white hair while the Seraphim angel hummed a few quiet, soothing words from an old children's song.

Vaggie recognized the melody and closed her own golden eyes for a moment.

"Extermination is an important part of keeping Heaven safe and if you'd rather stay home, I'll keep you company. How does that sound? A nice movie night, some popcorn and the oversized pajamas from last year for your birthday?" - suggested the parental figure in Vaggie's life.

Uncertain, Vaggie opened her eyes and looked into the face of the Seraphim she trusted so much and it sounded so soothing to just let the evening end, with nothing wild or strenuous.

"I know...thank you for trying to cheer me up but...you know...there was that family that was looking for their dead adult children on the street and...", Vaggie voiced her concerns and began to tremble.

The Seraphim quickly pulled Vaggie into a protective, calming hug and also wrapped its own large wings tightly around himself and Vaggie like a fluffy blanket.

Just held the Exorcist angel and gave her the security and support that Vaggie needed at that moment.

The parental support that she was making the right decision and that she was doing a good job.

"These sinners are in hell for a good reason and you did an outstanding job, like every year. I am so incredibly proud of you Vaggie, never forget that darling? It's understandable that you are exhausted and maybe a little agitated... go take a shower and then I'll prepare everything for the film... and make you the hot chocolate that you like so much? With an extra heart cookie? There's the cautious smile that suits you so wonderfully Vaggie," - the Seraphim angel said soothingly when Vaggie's trembling had subsided and Vaggie sought eye contact and was even able to show a grateful smile.

The Seraphim's wings loosened again and a hand stroked Vaggie's cheek in a parental , way before the Seraphim sat up and turned on the shower water ,so it could warm up before the Seraphim turned around to Vaggie again and helped her to her feet with one hand.

"Thank you...that...was exactly what I needed...can you...look out for the heart cookies with the chocolate pieces?" Vaggie replied gratefully.

"Anytime, Darling. And i look, if we still have your favorite cookies? If there's anything, just call for me and I'll come faster than the wings clapping together of the postman angel!", said the parental figure and gently patted Vaggie on the shoulder, before the Seraphim made its way out of the bathroom.

"Thank you...", Vaggie said one last time and was truly grateful from the bottom of her heart , for the comfort and the comforting gestures and words of her parental figure and the hug.

Another parental smile was given to Vaggie by the Seraphim angel before the bathroom door was closed from the outside and Vaggie got rid of her partially torn and blood-stained clothes and jumped into the shower.

When the warm water hit her exhausted body and not only freed her of the blood , residue with a little shampoo and shower gel, the self-doubt and the troubled emotions were also washed away.

At least for this year's extermination.

Vaggie didn't want to think about next year.

She would slip into oversized pajamas right after her shower and take it easy for the evening, enjoying the company of the parental Seraphim angel...who had been like a parent to, her since her arrival in Heaven so many years ago, acting as a buoy of light on stormy seas.

She would always see the light, no matter how turbulent and chaotic the sea raged beneath her.

Always.

THE END

[poblouznenedevce]

I see a sad little sinner

in the mirror

The devil works hard

like my liver

Don't wanna be alive

but I don't wanna die

A fist full of pills and rivers in my eyes

I've nothin' left to lose

dear God in the sky

Hear my cry

When it's too dark to see

Let therе be light

[hazbincalifornia]

Whoah if we could see that. Stella doesn’t know cash personally, doesn’t have memories or probably even knows what he looks like, or experiences like her dad had raised by him. But if she saw him, a bit jarring as she sees him who resembles her dad a lot but worse, haggard and old, husk of a man. A dismissive statement about oh, you’re his grandkid, huh? What’d your dad have to do, or who’d he have to spread his legs for to get someone funny looking like you

She took him in with just a glance. Nice clothes that had been long since worn with time, and hanging off a thin frame with a head he could barely seem to hold up from the weight of his horns and the stink of cheap, heavy booze that oozed through the pores of the skin and colored his tongue.

"A prince."

"Hmm?"

"I have two dads. One of them is a prince of the Ars Goetia."

It took him a moment to process that, voice crackling with age and alcohol as he did. "You're shittin' me."

She spread her arms as if about to take a bow, flicking the feathered end of her tail. "Look at me. The fuck else would I come from, old man? Sinners can't have kids, and nobody else looks like birds."

"…Son of a bitch." He squinted at her, and she watched him back. It was almost wild, how he looked like Dad but thrown through three layers of funhouse mirror, with everything she cared about suctioned away and twisted into broken glass. Shrunken, compared to her. Small. "Sold himself, did he?"

"Nope. Papa just liked him." She blinked. "He lives in the palace now. I've got two sisters and a little brother." Pause. "He never told me much about you."

His face wrinkled at that before he shook it off. "Ungrateful little shit. He ruined everything for everybody, and then didn't even bother coming back when he caught some rich titty to suck off of? It'd be the least he could do."

"My papa was…." Blitz crossed his arms, bouncing his foot as he figured out how to phrase it. She was young, too young to get details even though she'd heard him sometimes when he was drunk and curled up against Papa when she was supposed to be in bed. His fingers tightened ever-so-slightly on his biceps, so subtly she was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to notice, but she was real good at noticing little things like that. "Not great. Nothing I did was good enough for him, even when I tried my best." He dropped down to one knee, setting a hand on her shoulder. "I don't ever want you feeling like I don't care, alright, sweetie?"

"Yeah, well." She tilted her head. "He did it all by himself. He runs a business now."

He raised an eyebrow, tail cracking like a whip. "What kind?"

"He kills people. He taught me how to do it too." She spread her fingers, pulling her favorite gun from nothingness with a few sparkles and a rip in the fabric of space. "A lot of people tried to kill me when I was little, so I had to learn fast." She spun the gun around on the edge of a slender finger, watching as the blood flooded his face as it fell into place in her hand like it belonged there.

"Now, sweetie-"

"I like my Daddy a lot." She aimed the gun, and he took a step back. "And I know he doesn't like you."

"C'mon, I'm your grandpa-"

She fired. It went right between his horns, and his eyes darted up as the smoke curled before jolting back to her.

"Sometimes when he drinks too much, he talks about you. It makes him sad, and I don't like that. If you ever get close to him and make him feel bad again, I'll put the next one between your fucking eyes. I'm good at finding people too, even when they try to hide. Got it?"

From the way his head bounced like a bobblehead, he got it.

Good.