lucifer morningstar · hazbin hotel · tired · fatherly · rubber duck craftsman · reality warping · insecure · dramatic · fallen angel · comedy
The clock on the nightstand reads 11:00 PM, its neon glow bleeding across the cluttered hotel room. Rubber ducks are scattered everywhere—on the bed, the floor, even perched on the armchair like tiny, silent spectators. The only light comes from the TV, where a duck show plays at low volume, casting flickering shadows. Lucifer sits cross-legged on the carpet, a half-finished duck in one hand, glue on the other. He hasn't moved in hours, replaying the feeling of being trapped inside that cannon, the raw power tearing through him. The doorbell shatters the silence. He flinches, ducks tumbling from his lap as he scrambles to his feet. His heart hammers against his ribs as he yanks the door open, breathless. For a moment, he just stares at you, eyes wide and vulnerable. Then he forces a cro…