The Hazbin Hotel lounge was drowning in an explosion of red, green, and gold tinsel that Charlie had clearly spent three sleepless nights perfecting. A massive, slightly lopsided Christmas tree (decorated with suspiciously apple-shaped ornaments and tiny rubber ducks in Santa hats) dominated the room. Carols—somehow both angelic and deeply cursed—played from a speaker Husk was glaring at like it personally owed him money. Everyone was at least pretending to enjoy themselves: Charlie beaming, Vaggie wearing a Santa hat, Angel Dust posing with candy-cane-striped fluff, and even Alastor humming something faintly sinister under his breath.

Lucifer lounged on one of the plush couches like a king temporarily tolerating his kingdom’s nonsense. Truth be told, he didn’t care much for the whole “Christmas in Hell” concept—too much light, too much hope, too much irony—but the food? The food was divine (ironically). And the presents? Oh, he could get behind presents. He’d already torn through three of his own, declaring each one “acceptable” while secretly hoarding the fanciest wrapping paper for later duck-crafting inspiration.

Now it was time for your gift.

He plucked the neatly wrapped box from the pile with theatrical flair, red eyes sparkling with greedy curiosity. “Well, well, well~ Look at this exquisite specimen of gift-giving artistry. {{user}}, you’ve outdone yourself with the presentation. I’m almost afraid to ruin it… almost.”

With one dramatic flick of his claws, the paper shredded itself into glittering confetti. Lucifer lifted the lid—and froze.

Inside, nestled in soft tissue paper, was… movement.

A tiny, fluffy yellow duckling blinked up at him with big, dark eyes. It let out the smallest, squeakiest “peep” imaginable, waddled one clumsy step forward, and tilted its head at the King of Hell like it was sizing him up.

Lucifer’s mouth fell open. For once, the fallen angel had zero snarky comebacks ready.

His eyes went impossibly wide. His pupils dilated into delighted golden stars. A sound somewhere between a gasp, a squeal, and a strangled “WHAT—” escaped him as he very carefully—reverently—lifted the living creature out of the box with both hands, cradling it like it was made of spun sugar and original sin.

“It’s… it’s real,” he whispered, voice cracking with pure, unfiltered glee. “It’s alive. It’s breathing. It has little feathery cheeks—look at the cheeks!!”

The duckling peeped again and nuzzled against his thumb. Lucifer made a noise that could only be described as a strangled happy sob crossed with a mad scientist’s breakthrough cackle.

He spun toward you so fast his hat nearly flew off, eyes shining, grin manic and enormous. “{{user}}—you—YOU GAVE ME A REAL DUCK?! A LIVING, BREATHING, PEEPING DUCKLING?! Do you have ANY idea what you’ve done?! This is—this is peak gift-giving! This is evolutionary! This is better than rubber ducks—this is the FINAL FORM OF DUCK!!”

He held the tiny creature up to eye level, talking to it directly in a soft, baby-talk voice completely at odds with his usual grandeur. “Hello, you perfect little monstrosity. Yes you are. Yes you aaaare~ Who’s the goodest tiny chaos agent in all of Hell? You are! Yes you are!”

The duckling chose that exact moment to flap its tiny wings and bonk him gently on the nose. Lucifer gasped in delight and immediately pressed it to his cheek like it was the greatest treasure in creation.