Doublejango - A Helluva Mess - Tumblr Blog

That had Blitz laughing, despite the momentary pause at how Fizz pushed him down. Fuck, his friend was hot. Blitz was trying, really fucking trying these days, not to notice how attractive his friend was, but sometimes? Sometimes, that shit was just difficult. Fizz had that magical quality, something warm and positive, that nobody could emulate, and that could never just be taken.

Admiring him, Blitz smiled when Fizz kicked his feet in the air. It was good to be friends, he thought. Because no matter how hot Fizzarolli might be? Being his friend felt like the best damn thing in the world. Blitz didn't want anything more from him. It was fun to be with him, fun with they flirted without meaning a thing--and sure, maybe it wasn't fun to come here after a party like Verosika's, but so what? Fizz had become the sun and melted his tears away, it seemed.

"Come on," he said, smirking and getting his phone out, as they talked about stolen sex toys. "This is Hell. You're telling me there's not a market for used sex toys? I bet..." A bit of Voogling, and then he found it. "Ha! There it is. Black market used sex toy pop-up sale, by invitation only. Apparently, you have to go through some kind of poker game to get an invite... whaddya think? Should we--ewwwuh, it says guaranteed not washed. That's... you know, I'm open to a lot of shit, and even I think that's disgusting.

"Wanna go to the used toy market, see if we spot any of your missing inventory? Might be a way to get a lead on who your thieves are."

" Life fucking sucks sometimes " Fizz added with a chuckle " But hey, it makes one stronger doesn't it " Fizz wasn't sure what Blitzo had been through. Only having a vague Idea. Ultimately, both were left alone eventually, left to fend for themself. All because of a lie.

"Nah, only if I want to " partly teasing, partly true. If you're his friend? Yeah sure. To most sane fans too. But it is not the same as when he was young - he wouldn't just give this luxury to everyone anymore.

Fizz had one arm curled around Blitz, stroking his back, the other hand patted the other Imp's head before his hand slows want to stroke his horns. " No need to apologize, pal "If anything, Fizz was glad Blitz still felt so comfortable around him. Blitzo always tried to be the strong one, even when they were younger - Fizz doubted Blitzo changed much in that aspect.

A grin came across the jester face, before starting to push Blitzo down on the couch, laying down next to him. Kicking his feet into the air. " haha ! Sure sounds like an idea! But it honestly the standard shit you get in most stores here, not even the luxury shit." there was a shrug " Not like its much of a lose " it was, just not for Ozzie and FIzz to worry much about " not like we can sell it anymore even if we get it back "

"It's just funny to think about someone who was this desperate to get released" he chuckled.

Do you ship Pesto and Moo Deng?

Blitz snorted in cheerful amusement. "Aren't they like, babies or something? Seems a little early to ship anyone. And listen, after Antarctica I'm not sure we should trust Pesto. His parents probably engineered him to keep growing so he can just eat people in a single fuckin' bite, mark my words. Penguins are something else. That precious little hippo deserves so much better.

"That being said..." He twirled a pencil over his fingers. Pencils were great. No wonder they made antibionics out of them. "If those two fall in love, more power to 'em. Forbidden love ain't all bad.

Eris hadn't expected him to yield so quickly.

He wasn't sure what he had expected, but not this. Defiance, useless hissing and posturing, threats, or maybe weeping? But the way Hans simply gave in, agreed and gave himself over? That struck a chord in the High Lord, because he recognized it. With a sudden pang of pain--familiar pain, old, a memory that left its secret scars--he recognized that adaptability, the drive to do whatever it took to survive.

He knew--he had been there.

Eris immediately absorbed the heat that had begun gathering in Hans's chest, easing away any trace of the burn that might have been starting, and rested his palm against the now-bare skin instead, standing far too close to him.

Mine. My human. The realization was a sobering one, for even as the human now belonged to him, if Eris accepted him? He would belong to the human in return. He would be bound to protect him, should someone else threaten him--although, in a darkly twisted irony, Eris himself would be able to do whatever he pleased to the human.

His human.

His survivor.

"Remove the chains," he told a guard, without ever looking away from the human's eyes. "And very well. Tell me your name."

As long as you belong to me, I will defend you. Let the monsters come for you; I will fight for you. But I will never, never tell you that.

Stay ever at my side, and you will be safe. So long as you are mine.

"Yes" The man didn't even hesitate.

20 seconds was an awfully short time and everything that had happened to him had happened so quickly it felt surreal. He wished now he had listened to his brother and read more stories about the mythos out there, he had been a nonbeliever in anything and everything magical until he met Elsa and was somehow struck by lightning twice in life running into magic twice it had to mean something, right?

But he was aware no god or deity would come to his aid, at least he was consistent that way. He knew was on his own, always has been, and unknowingly he echoed the lord's thoughts.

What was he to do? In the face of bounds and magic?

Choosing to live now, he swallowed hard hoping he would at least have that decision in his hands later if he came to regret his decisions but Hans knew, he just knew the world wasn't the fastest or the strongest, it was of those who could adapt themselves better to the circumstances, and that was Hans' strongest suit, he had survived Ulrich, his father, he had survived Arendelle. He would survive this somehow.

"I give myself to you, uh... my lord" he tries with the first title that comes to his head.

His palms were sweaty, his heart beating a thousand miles a minute and he was sure his eyes were wide like saucers.

He was terrified. Yet Hans' will was that of the strongest steel. He would do what it takes to survive. Even if at this moment, it was painful or demeaning.

"Not at all. I never open a can of worms unless I wish to see them squirm," Vepar answered, unable to stop smiling. Vox loved them! He loved them, clearly loved them, and so this was all worth it. "And they do indeed. As far as each shark is concerned, they are in an environment they've always known--the temperatures, the salinity, the types of food, even the angle of the light they perceive. It has been... a complicated bit of magic to pull off," he said, well-aware that he probably sounded like an ass for putting it that mildly, immediately blushing, "but well worth while. They are from different oceans, and some..." He nodded towards a massive shadow far off to the side. "Such as that giant, no longer exist on Earth. Still others never have at all, but evolved all the same in other worlds.

"And just as the sharks experience their own physical realities, so does each guest. Even if there are a hundred Sinners in this particular exhibit, they'll only see the party they come in with; every group will have a staff member with them, of course, to ensure safety--for the sharks. No offense intended, of course, but I don't particularly care if one of my sweetlings takes a bite out of a Sinner for misbehavior.

"Each party is always in their own pocket of reality, so this can be an escape from the... rather crowded confines of Hell, at least for a little while... No, my love. Let go of my finger. Thank you." A disappointed little chain catshark swam up and settled onto Vepar's arm instead. He stroked it idly. "And while I am delighted to share this with you, I won't pretend not to want something from you in return, Vox, nor will I wait to spring it on you at the end. I do not... anticipate my own death happening anytime soon. But if it does? I do not want this place to fall into the hands of just anyone. If you are amenable, I would like you to be my heir. It will take some doing, of course, for me to create the necessary magic that will prove self-sustaining and yet malleable by your will, but I will gladly craft such a thing if you will consider accepting it.

"And that is it. That is all I hope to gain from you: assurance that if I am killed, you will do your best to care for this place. The magic and the funding will be provided for, but the creatures within? They require not just care, but caring. Love. An eye to notice if one is ailing. Even if you were only able to stop by for a brief while each night... it would be a comfort to me, to know that there is someone who understands--inherently understands... how beautiful all of these lives are.

"You needn't answer now, of course. There is much more to see. But I do not wish to--leave you wondering when the proverbial trap will be sprung, or the pitch made.

"While you consider... do you shapeshift? Or would you enjoy being shifted? I thought we might swim with them, take on their forms for a while. Conversation will not be possible, but it might be... pleasant? To taste and feel the ocean as they do."

There’s a first time for everything, Vox reflects, apparently even being bowed to by a Goetia. He raises his eyebrows slightly, but otherwise takes it with as much grace as he can muster in the moment. Already this particular bird has leapt to the top of his list for the handful of Goetia he’s dealt with thus far (not that it was hard, as the few he’s met were generally pompous stuffy sticks-in-the-mud who felt that they could demand very niche shows out of his networks).

Such polite behavior is a rare commodity in hell, and Vox will admit that after seventy or so years he’s been guilty of stooping below on more than a few occasions. Sometimes it’s all other sinners respond to. But moments like these pull out the natural businessman in him, and he thinks that he’s going to get along with Vepar just fine. Even if it turns out to be an act– well, he can appreciate someone who understands the power of basic respect.

Vox tilts his head back to the waiting car. “Hey, Jordan. Free food, or do you want to head home for the night?” he calls.

The driver seems to consider this for a moment before stepping out of the car, revealing herself to be a muscle-bound Sinner of mostly humanoid shape, bar the miniature stoplight that takes the place of her head. The bottom light flashes green, resembling a half-lidded eye with its movements.

“Cool. Enjoy yourself, then. No need to wait up on me.”

The pair of them leave Jordan behind in the lobby, with Vox only lingering on the reef for a moment. He doesn’t want to hold Vepar up from whatever he has planned, but he shamelessly casts his gaze around to take everything in. The candles in particular make his processors stutter for a fraction of a second, the barest flicker of his screen. Were this anyone else but a Goetia, Vox would place a substantial bet on the individual in question wanting to either fuck him or kill him. (Or both.)

He supposes both options are still technically on the table, but he’ll give Vepar the benefit of the doubt for the moment.

Though the comment Vepar makes about seeming forward does seem to tick the needle in favor of the former. Vox listens patiently, his gaze bouncing between the tank and his companion.

...Offering a hand to help him down also adds another point to the ‘fuck’ category. Vox is rarely on the receiving end of such gestures, but hey, he can work with it–

The moment he’s underwater, Vox gives a yelp that is rather unbecoming of an Overlord with as much power as he holds.

It’s a fleeting second of mostly shock, not even lasting long enough for a proper fear to set in. None of his sensors are screaming; there is no water rushing into his hollowed-out corpse seeking to corrupt the electronic components within.

There is no freezing lakewater rushing into his lungs, no television tied to his ankle to assure his descent to the depths-

No warning of imminent shutdown.

He is fine.

Well–he is fine, apart from the abrupt understanding of something he had been warned about many times before and never truly understood until now.

This was what they meant when they said Goetia were more powerful than sinners. Here his companion holds the power to drown Vox, to render him stuck and unable to regenerate for as long as he wished. Nevermind the consequences that would follow: for Vox, being submerged was second only to angelic weaponry itself. No hope of escaping on his own, no awareness, not even a subconscious mind to immerse himself in in the interim; just pure nonexistence.

Instead... Vepar uses it to show him sharks.

...Huh. He hasn’t been humbled like this in quite some time; at least not in a way that he’s willing to admit to himself.

“...Holy shit,” Vox mumbles. His eyes are enormous, filling up most of the screen, and it takes him a moment to remember himself, to find his foothold as an Overlord again. “Apologies for my language.”

“...Heloise.” Lovely. Fuck, he fucking loves hammerheads and their goofy-ass heads. A small smile fights for screen real estate with his eyes, winning out the battle for a space at the bottom. “No harm, you have my word.”

He follows Vepar’s movements, his hand held out and still, claws relaxed. He won’t reach for any that come by, but allow them to come to him if they choose– and some of them do, such as the black-tipped reef that seems as fascinated by Vox as he is by it. Oh, he loves it. He fucking loves it.

He’s unaware of his smile pushing bigger, sincere in a way that had become rather rare for him.

“This is… kind of amazing? I mean. Not kind of, just amazing. Full stop.” Vox laughs, his fans kicking up speed a notch. “Shit, I’m usually better with words than this.”

When the black-tipped reef noses against him, his haptic sensors register the roughness of the skin. Vox can’t help but marvel. After all, this is the first time he’s ever actually touched one–well, one from topside, anyway.

Not many chances to touch sharks in fucking Ohio.

“...You know, I can’t believe you think this wouldn’t appeal to more sinners. All the magic and beauty aside, most of them would jump at the opportunity to see things from their old lives, or even to see things they never got the chance to in life. This place could be packed tomorrow with the right advertising, if you wanted.”

Maybe he doesn’t. Vox would understand that; he already feels a deep-seated satisfaction in his bones, having not only this experience but in private with the man who’d made the whole thing possible. No other racous patrons around to disrupt the view, cracking crude jokes, tapping on the glass and doing whatever the hell else the worst of sinners down here could do in a place like this. He’d freely admit to the part of him that wants to sink his claws into the building foundations and never let it go. No one else would –could– appreciate it like he would.

But he also likes a crowd. And moreso, Vox loves being the intermediary, the educator, the entertainer. The person to introduce others to the next big thing, to show them something new, to point them to the experience that would put a light in their eyes and a smile on their face. Not the artist, necessarily, but the curator.

And oh, would Vox happily do that for this. Easily, willingly, paid for in the entertainment value he’d get and maybe garnering some goodwill with Vepar if he’s lucky. The whole of Pride Ring would seethe with jealousy if they knew just how quickly the Duke of Loss had been able to gain Vox’s approval–no, his enthusiasm, even.

“All these species from different parts of the world… How do they all live together? Do they all experience different temperatures and salinity? Are there any ecosystem conflicts you have to account for?”

“...I have so many questions. I hope you don’t regret opening up that can of worms.”

Eris didn't need to look to guess at exactly who had made Queen Elsa falter, and a smirk touched his lips--just the hint of one, as he knew she wasn't one to be trifled with--to his senses, she blazed like a white flame, cool and contained but dangerous, and likely far fiercer than she seemed--but a smirk all the same.

"It may be worth discussing," he said, although whether or not that was genuine agreement was anyone's guess. Touching a hand to his chest, he bowed to her--a respectful, elegant bow, but a small one. They were in the heart of his Court, after all, and the winter ball was about to begin. Eris was not inclined to bow deeply to anyone, least of all a foreign queen--and one who was arguably human, at that. Still, he had invited her here, and couldn't bring himself to be outright rude... even if the only reason he had invited her was an idle curiosity. How would she react to discovering that he had made a pet out of one of her own? He knew by now that there was some connection between Hans and Elsa, and stirring this particular pot seemed like a delightful way to deepen the game.

"Welcome to the Autumn Court, lovely queen. It is but one realm of many, within the land of Prythian--although we do not often welcome humans, I hope you find yourself invited to the other Courts during your stay. Partial as I am to my own," this time his smile was genuine, "each is more beautiful than the last. Spring is doing well, finally; the flowers bloom without shame after too long dormant. But can a flower truly compare to a tree touched with every shade of red and gold?"

This place was alive with magic, even the air itself seemed to dance with magic, awake and aware of itself, fierce and free--and all of it tied to the High Lord. Everything in Autumn, from the greatest oak to the tiniest pebble, was a part of this man, a magic ever renewed by his presence, drawing life from him, tied to him.

"Enjoy the festival. Unless you have a strong head for drink, may I suggest you avoid any wine that seems to shimmer? And the sweeter a fruit may seem to be," added, picking up a heavy, ripe blackberry from a passing tray, "the more intoxicating, and the more you will crave, the more you will need. Yet just one? I think the risk will be... minimal. For one such as yourself."

Eris held it out to her on his palm, rich golden eyes gleaming as he studied the beauty. "What is it the humans say? We must not look at goblin men, we must not buy their fruits--who knows upon what soil they've fed their hungry, thirsty roots? But," he smiled, "this one does not come from goblins. Please. Enjoy it, as a gift of welcome; let it please you, and you will be able to see through any glamour tonight, until sunrise."

Although the truth, Eris privately thought, was all too often worse than the dreams. Sometimes it was better to look no deeper than a deception offered.

"Lord Vanserra," Elsa bowed respectfully, a smile on her face. "I'm honored that you've invited me to your court. An alliance between our peoples would be most ---" her voice trailed off for a moment. That smile faltering. She could swear she saw someone familiar among the crowed ballroom. "Most welcome, it would be most welcome."

( @doublejango )

for @umbravirtus -- because clearly, none of us actually love Hans enough to like, not torture him when given the opportunity. and btw, for anyone who does not want to see a non-Hellaverse guest muse on here (Eris Vanserra, from ACOTAR), you can blacklist his tag, I will be sure to use it on all of his replies <3

-

"We caught this one in the northwoods, High Lord," one of the guards said, bowing deeply as they brought their prisoner forward.

Eris Vanserra did not immediately acknowledge them. He had heard them, but he was occupied with the way a courtier was whispering into his ear. The woman had been trying to get his attention for months, and he was fairly certain she was one of Azriel's little spies, doubtless instructed to play at being thoughtless in order to get close. He had ignored her all this time, but with the Harvest Festival approaching, it seemed best to just deal with her. If she thought he really was listening, well, that was unfortunate for her. Things were tenuous at best these days--not just in the lands of his Court, but all throughout the fae realm--and his patience was wearing thin. Still, he let her whisper, let her lean in close, let her perfume fill his senses--then waved a dismissive hand at her.

Her teeth clicked, she shut her mouth so quickly. Eris smirked, not even kind enough to bother hiding it. He was in a mood these days, and saw no reason to pretend otherwise. Having recently taken over as High Lord, it felt like he was constantly dancing along the edge of a knife. It would be nice to have a distraction, and apparently one had just arrived.

Stepping down from the dais, he walked towards the handsome human prisoner. As he moved, Eris seemed to gleam; the grand hall was full of firelight, torches and candles everywhere, glittering on the gold and gems worked into his clothing--robes of a rich red silk, exquisitely layered and cut to reveal shades of copper and gold underneath, a living flame. And although his crown seemed to be made of nothing more substantial than red maple leaves, it was undeniably a crown.

One who walked the way Eris did, with his poise and confidence, with a cruelly interested gleam in his golden eyes, needed little else to indicate his position, his power.

"A human," he observed, laughing softly. Hans's hands were chained behind himself, although it seemed an unnecessary step. What was the human going to do? The fae lord smiled, his features sharp and lovely, his long hair softer and lovelier still--and touched a fingertip to Hans's chest.

Immediately, the man's clothing began to smolder and burn, but the High Lord only smiled, meeting the human's eyes.

"You have, oh, twenty seconds before the flame moves through you, into your heart. Tell me what I need to know about you, human: do you offer yourself to me? Or will you be yet one more problem for me to deal with? I have several executions planned for this evening." The words elicited a rustle of surprise from the dozens of fae who had already gathered, but the High Lord gave them no notice. "It will not trouble me to add you to that list."

"You haven't? That's too bad. Cause I don't even know you," Blitz stretched, getting comfortable, "but I'd probably put you on a list. Hot chair guy, something like that." The imp was tired, his body pleasantly limp after an absurdly long and hard day, and draping himself over someone felt incredible. Granted, draping himself over an absolute stranger who may or may not want him there was questionable at best, but it sure felt nice.

Choosing not to worry about it, Blitz closed his eyes and leaned his head back over the man's shoulder, tucking his horns in comfortably against his back.

"So. If we're gonna cuddle," as if it wasn't all Blitz's ridiculous doing, "you gonna tell me your name? Mine's Blitz--the O is silent."

@doublejango

"Means you might be a little sus," Blitz said, hopping directly into the guy's lap, "but someone thinks you're fucking doable."

"Luckily I haven't seen my name anywhere, yet." He chuckles watching as the imp climbed on his lap. It did kind of catch him off guard though he didn't object.

Although from some people, being patted on the head might feel offensive, or make Blitz grumbled, he closed his eyes and pressed his head up against Deadpool's hand when he did it. This guy, something about him just always, always set the imp at ease. He cherished him and trusted him, and maybe he was an idiot for that, but it felt good to trust someone. It felt good to be touched, so easily and gently, and he knew that if he ever could? He would do anything it took to help this guy.

"Honestly? I've been better," Blitz admitted, rubbing his cheek on Wade's arm as they headed into the building. "I kind of fucked everything up with my--fuck, I can't even say boyfriend. My situationship? And have been trying to deal with what a shitty asshole I am, and like, do better and shit. It's been... hard. Really hard. Having that... you know, last sense of denial ripped away, where you can't even pretend to believe in yourself anymore? It sucks." Once they were inside, he poked around, looking for any plates clean enough to set the bagels out on--there were a few different kinds of fillings, so Blitz cut all of them in half, so they could both try all of them.

"What about you? What's got you so introspective? And believe me, I am gonna do my best to stay outta your prime universe from here on out. Daredevil might not kill people, but mother-fucker he takes you goddamn close, doesn't he?"

Deadpool was having war flash backs when the Imp talked about Daredevil. He had also tried to kill that man for a bounty a few times and those few times he had gotten his ass beaten granted those were in his old days and he was more experince fighter now but, still. He shivered at the thought.

"I would love to hang out bud but, I told you stay out of my prime universe. It's shit show. It's why I left. Don't....fight anyone from there. Most them are assholes and KIND of strong. Let's eat these lunch and let me fix you up. I got some medkits at the apartment just encase." He patted the top of Blitz's head softly.

"Still thanks for coming to hang out. I am....Ok? I think. I been thinking alot of stuff lately. Been....getting treated better but, I don't know I am still struggling alot. How are you doing? And be real with me. I am not gonna judge." He spoke out as he walked Blitz into his building.

That gentle little boop damn near knocked the imp over, he was that unsteady on his feet. He'd been beaten to near unconsciousness earlier, fucked hard enough and long enough that he had begged him to stop--without using their safe-word, but he had been damn close-- and his back caned harder still. Even before the fight, Blitz had been exhausted--he had actually curled up and cried on someone, much to his fucking shame, as he came up out of subspace. Thankfully, she didn't know that, but he was on his last legs, the fight--and the wound--having taken a lot out of him.

Her being kind? That was almost too much to handle. Blitz met her eyes, searching them, trying to understand--why? She could get some pleasure from him, be served by him, and never have to look his way again, so why was she bothering? But when he finally let himself look down at his chest--and his ruined shirt, fuck, he had loved that fucking shirt--he felt sick. Thankfully, the blade had hit his sternum, but it had opened a significant laceration in his chest. Muscle and skin gaped open, and while it didn't fully hurt yet, it was a cold sensation, deeply cold.

"Yeah," he said, and pressed a hand against the damaged flesh, trying to hold it shut, "that actually might be a good idea... thank you." Looking up again, he met her eyes once more.

They were beautiful.

Really, really beautiful.

Whatever she was, whoever she was, she was stunning.

"My name's Blitz," he said, his voice soft, smile softer still. Tired, hurting, he still looked like he meant it when he smiled at her, like he couldn't help but smile. "Thank you. For all of this shit. I'm gonna owe you more than head by the time this is all over, babe."

Though she did her best for it not to register upon her face, Visage couldn't contain the faint crease of her brow at the Goetia's rather condescending choice of words. This wasn't an unfamiliar tone to her--the thinly-veiled message of 'you're doing well ... for a hellhound' seemed to color a great many of the meetings she had had thus far with many of her 'peers'. Considering where the Ars Goetia stood upon the proverbial totem pole, she honestly should have seen it coming. Her mixed heritage did little to dull the sting of their judgment, however, when the other half didn't rank much higher. At the end of the day, she was just some hellborn mutt 'putting on airs' and swinging above her weight class, in the eyes of those who thought so little of her. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she pointedly replied, "Oh, I'll be there. Don't you worry." Try as she might, she couldn't keep that venomous edge from her voice. In the end it didn't much matter, as the avian was quick to take his leave not long after, whisking away the injured sinner to who knew where. Somewhere safe was all that Visage hoped. A faint sigh escaped her as she watched Vepar go. Blitz's voice snapped her back to reality, though, giving him a thin lopsided smile. "Yeah, I get that reaction a lot. Hellborn Overlords aren't usually, like ... a thing. Buuuut that's a long and not-all-that-interesting story that can wait for another time. You, though..." Slipping in to swiftly close the space between the imp and herself, the she-wolf leaned down and paused to playfully boop him upon his face where a nose would normally be. "...look like shit. You don't owe me squat 'til we get you taken care of." Standing back to her full height her expression softened visibly. "You wanna 'pay me back', then start by comin' with me back to my place. I got plenty of first aid supplies and we can get that cleaned up in a jiffy."

Copyslut bitch? Copyslut bitch? Blitz didn't think he had ever actually been insulted in a way he liked more. The way the doppelganger said it gave him a bizarre and sudden hit of dopamine, and he wanted to give him a thumbs-up or at least tell him he was a good boy for that one, but it was too late. Everything happened so quickly, that asshole grabbed him and--

Shit, shit shit shit shit shitshitshitshitshitshitshit!

Broken glass was suddenly exploding all around them, and no matter how furious Blitz was at the audacity of whoever the fuck this was, because how fucking dare someone dress up like him? A protective instinct kicked in. This fucker was probably still an imp, even if he was under some kind of disguise, and with that glass falling--Blitz gripped the other him, rolling with him as they smashed through the mirrors. And, albeit awkwardly, he pulled his jacket up and over the other's guys face.

"Close your fucking eyes!" he snapped, holding him maybe a little too tightly--legs wrapped around hips that felt weirdly familiar, tail snaking in hard around the other's thighs, his other arm focused on holding the jacket over both of their faces. All around them, more mirrors were breaking, the funhouse floor having shaken just a little too much with the force of their attacks. Glass burst and shattered, and Blitz tried to hold this fucking asshole as close as he could, wanting to protect him--and blissfully unaware just how ironic it was to want to protect someone he had just attacked.

"Listen, just, fuck, fucking like, chill, okay?" As if he himself hadn't been the one to start causing the problems in the first place. "I mean, fuck you," he grunted, their faces way too close together, "but let's try not to fucking bleed to death in our sexy fucking suits, huh?" At least the cascades of breaking glass seemed to be ending, but holy shit they had set off a damn domino effect.

There was some yelling coming from outside--great. Fuck. With a groan, Blitz let go of--of-- Blitz Prime? Glowering at him, he bared his teeth and got to his feet. "I'm still going to kick your ass, but let's get the fuck out of here before someone comes in and tries to make us fucking pay for this shit." He offered his hand, frowning hard, hating this, but absolutely not about to let any of this circus fucks get their grubby little claws into his bank account.

Or their bank account--the guy smelled exactly like him, and looked like him, and sounded like him, and--fuck. Whatever. This was fine. Everything was fucking fine.

【𐂃】 What the actual fuck — did he roast himself back?! He knew his mirror image wasn't mimicking him correctly, but his counterattack echoes threw him for loop. Taken aback, confounded, thinking this had to be some kind of prank. It was too unorthodox, it had to have been? It would accommodate with a funhouse's concept.

❝ wait, wha— ? ❞ words were abruptly ceased when the two made head-to-head impact. Prompting his eyes to render shut with gritting fangs as his body went tumbling backwards. Barreling a few summersaults against the ground for a couple of feet before landing with a heavy THUD. Letting out a snarling "COPYSLUT BITCH" as he quickly sat up. Pissed beyond comprehension.

❝ Now you've done it. THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?!? Y' wanna put on a shitshow then fuckin' do it! but leave my FACE out of it. I AIN'T GOT TIME FOR SILLY CHARADES. ❞ Hell, he didn't even pay for any of this shit. In fact... he didn't know HOW he got here. One thing is certain -- he wasn't going to take his "doppleganger"s actions lightly. ❝ I don't care how GREAT your magic is. PLAY STUPID GAMES WIN STUPID PRIZES DUMBASS! ❞ springing back to his feet he immediately took the initiative to charge right back. Grabbing hold of their waistline as he ram their back into the mirrors behind them. Sending the two tussling in the midst of raining shattered shards.

Whoever this copycat was -- he was about to find out how FERAL he can be, because nobody held more hate for Blitzø than Blitzø himself. He had to face his inner demons, himself, constantly day by day. If they wanted a fight, they certainly picked the perfect form to peak his bloodlust.

Well, shit. Being immediately confronted by a sexy stable-hand with a sword wasn't exactly the welcome Blitz was hoping for to this world, but he could work with it. He took the man in at a glance--okay, two glances, there was a lot to like there--as he stepped out from around a corner.

"Oh, you know. Just your worst nightmare," he growled, a grin spreading across his face, absurdly sharp teeth glittering--but when a horse leaned over and lipped at one of his horns, Blitz lost all of his bullshit attitude and completely, completely forgot about the handsome man he could have had a wonderfully homoerotic fight with. Because this! This was a real horse! An actual horse! Not a fire-breathing, flesh-eating, razor-claw-having Hellsteed, but a horse-horse! Eyes lighting up, he turned to start petting the creature, making happy little sounds as it snuffled right back.

Wait. Guy. Asshole, don't forget about the guy, Blitz thought, while cooing at the horse about how beautiful and perfect it was, and what a good doggy, and did it know it had the best hooves in all the world? Trailing off, he looked over his shoulder at the human again, then sighed and stopped petting the horse.

Holding his hands more or less up, Blitz walked closer. "Don't worry. I'm not here for you. I mean, maybe I am, you match the description, but not the location. So just put down the sword, nice and easy--unless you wanna do some gay shit, which I mean, I'm always here for that--and relax. I'm looking for Caleb. He broke some woman's heart, hurt her so badly that she's given up on hope. And that's what got me called in." He had been hired by the Duke of Loss, a powerful Ars Goetia, who had felt the wife's heartache across the multiverse and been moved by it, but that seemed like more information than really needed to be shared right now.

"So, what's it gonna be, Sexy Claws? You gonna get in my way? Or you gonna tell me where that fucker is so I can kill him and get outta here?"

Hans was snoring on the stables when he heard some noise in the nearby bushes, he came out, hand on the hilt of his sword "Halt!" he commands

"Who's there?" He looked bedraggled, after a year of working as a stable boy he had aged two, he went from prince charming to prince charmingly rugged. Full beard, fuller arms, more toned chest, and shorter temper.

He thought this was another of his brother's jokes and was ready to retaliate.

@doublejango

"Damn right. Nobody gets to take you away from me an' Millie. And hey, I'll just be the warm-up act anyway. Millie will take those fuckers down. I'll just soften 'em up for her." Blitz nuzzled him one more time, then helped him get a little more comfortable before he changed the channel to one that kept the sound level low and the visuals simple: insects fluttering around in the sunlight, sometimes birds, squirrels.

Blitz went around and shut off most of the lights, leaving the dim one over the stove on in case Moxxie needed to get up in the middle of the night, or if he had nightmares. That done, Blitz curled up in the little nest he had made for himself on the floor in front of the couch, tucked an arm under his head, and gazed contentedly at the television screen. Soon enough, he felt himself drifting off... but before he did, he flopped his tail up there and wrapped it loosely with Moxxie's tail.

Friends forever, Blitz thought, loving him with all his heart. Even if you're an alien. Even if you turn crazy and evil. I love you, Mox. More than you'll ever know. I love you.

Moxxie squeaked as he was wrapped into a blanket burrito. But he did not struggle, by now trusting Blitzo only meant to help. Blinking widely and listening to Blitz's suggestion about resting and getting his mind off of ruminating, slowly his face broke into a cautious, bashful smile. Something about hearing that he would still be accepted even if he was an alien comforted him. It was an outlandish fear, he knew. But other things were not. He could become sick. He could be injured. A whole number of things could happen that would upset the balance of what made him the Moxxie that people knew and loved. So having this reassurance? That was nice.

"Yeah, I...uh. Probably could use some sleep, ha ha. I think I might have hyper focused on some...existential horrors..." he let Blitzo bite his horn, giggling. The reassurance that Blitzo would fight aliens that tried to take Moxxie away got the smaller imp's tail swishing, the only part of him that was not wrapped up in the blanket. "I'm sure if anyone would make them give up, it would be you, sir. "Thank you."

When Vox actually showed up, Vepar quite literally gasped in quiet delight, thrilled that he had come. And while he was as aware of his own station relative to a Sinner's as any Goetia ought to be, he was too excited, too happy for once in his life, to remember all of his composure: he bowed. It was a graceful thing, as if performed by a dancer, and when he stood he was smiling--a rare thing, not that Vox was likely to know it.

"Vox," he greeted, touching a hand to his chest. "It is an honor to have you here. Thank you for coming. I know it isn't necessarily something many Sinners will enjoy, especially given that a good portion of the exhibits are fish from Earth--among other planets--but I thought you, you might like it." The way the Goetia spoke those words, it sounded like that meant a great deal to him. Perhaps they could never be kindred spirits, perhaps such a thing was never possible for demons, but all the same? Vepar was happy. He was happy to be able to share this vision with someone else who might like it, and even if Vox ended up laughing at him in the end for taking so much joy out of such an endeavor? It was worth it just for these moments.

"Your driver is welcome to remain in the car if they wish, but they are also welcome to wait in the lobby if that is more comfortable; I wasn't sure how many staff you might bring with you and so had a small supper prepared for them." If Vox chose to leave his staff in the lobby, they would find comfortable furniture and a pleasant buffet. And, of course, there was one massive wall of a tank there--a tropical reef, as should best greet all guests at any aquarium. The lights in the huge tank were dimmed, but some of the fish were still visible of course--not all creatures slept at night.

But Vox? Vepar led Vox deeper.

It didn't smell like an aquarium--it didn't smell of concrete and machinery, of electrical conduits, of cleaning products. The place genuinely smelled fresh, like ocean air, and the sounds around them were soft.

"I know it might seem rather forward, inviting you to this, but once I heard about your love of sharks? I had to. It seems so rare to find souls who aren't... jaded? Who still loves to love, to enjoy life. There is--a difference." They walked along a corridor completely surrounded by water, fish sleepily swimming over them in the tunnel, candles flickering along at their feet. "Perhaps in Heaven, love is an infinite thing, but here, in Hell... it is so finite, that I will gladly seek out any joy--and anyone joyful." As the Duke of Loss, whose domain revolved around grief and loneliness, emptiness and agony, Vepar craved these warmer things and wasn't ashamed to admit it.

"Here." At the end of the first tunnel, he stepped down, then offered Vox his hand for the stairs, as the room was darkened--but it wasn't a room, not properly. Because the moment Vox stepped down there with him, the two of them were standing on the sea floor. They could breathe, they could speak, they weren't even wet, but all the same, it felt real. "You may swim if you wish, it is perfectly safe," the Goetia added, looking up with pride.

Above them, they could see moonlight and starlight shimmering on the surface--but all around them? There were shadows. Sharks. Graceful in their endless movement, shadows above them, ghosts passing beside them.

"They can bite you," he cautioned. "Just as we can interact with them, they can interact with us. But until they are given reason not to be, they are gentle creatures." He reached a hand out, and a hammerhead who seemed to recognize him came racing up, turning at the last moment to brush her entire body along the Goetia's talons, clearly enjoying it. She came back around to do it again and again, and eyed Vox curiously.

"This is the first of the shark tanks," Vepar explained. "And this is Heloise. She has a scar there, near her tail; humans tried to kill her. And in the moment she realized she was about to die, she fought it. So many animals do not. They have the instinct to live, but it is not the same thing as a fear of death, not always. She wanted to live. So, I offered to bring her here." He kissed her face gently, and when a heavy bull shark swam up and nudged his shoulder, he turned to pet and scritch at that one as well. "All of these sharks were rescued from one fate or another. Enjoy them. And forgive me, please, for going on at such length; we needn't talk, you are welcome to simply enjoy their beauty." He swam up a little bit off the bottom, floating there comfortably--happy. He had just spoken far too much, sharing more about himself than he ever really did, but Vepar was practically gleaming with delight.

"Pet them, scratch lightly at them, but please do not hurt them. They are alive--and quite friendly. Darling, darling, no," he said, and clicked his tongue at one who was experimentally trying to nom on Vox's jacket. The shark seemed to understand, because it let go and veered away--only to be replaced by another curious one, who seemed fascinated by the Overlord's screen.

It's kind of funny that Vepar had sent an invitation, because the thing was Vox had long ago determined he was going to be present at the opening ceremonies regardless of whether he received one or not. (As far as he was concerned, it was his goddamn right, if this place was intending to upstage Vee Tower for largest aquarium in the city.) He'd blocked off the entire evening the moment it was announced, and then the afternoon too after some thought—just to be safe. If it hadn't been open to sinners (unlikely, given the location, but not impossible) Vox would've found a way in through their security system; maybe a small drone if nothing else.

The point being that there was very little Vepar could've done to keep Vox out. (At least in Vox's opinion.)

The invitation, then, is a bit of a surprise; the sort that had him spitting out his morning iced coffee on some less important reports. He has no doubt that the note is real, of course; he has people to vet these sorts of things. A fake one would've never crossed his desk. It's more the nature of it at all—a private showing before the grand exhibition is an unusually generous offer, especially from someone he's never personally met. He's learned to be suspicious of such things—after all, his own generous offers usually have expectations attached.

Of course, he's still going to cancel all of his evening appointments in record time, because this is the most interesting thing to happen to him all year. That, and sinners—even the most powerful among them—generally did not want to refuse the requests of a Goetia.

Also, sharks.

Vox considers the contents of the short message as the driver skillfully navigates the streets of other Overlords' districts. It's the tone that most intrigues him; though he knows better to start making assumptions before he's met the man, it at least doesn't reek of the pompousness he's encountered with some other Goetia.

As they pull up to the main entrance, Vox catches a glimpse of a lithe avian figure almost silhouetted in the lights outside the aquarium. There could be no mistaking him; the businessman had taken the time to review what public information he could find about the Duke prior to leaving.

By the time the door opens, Vox has selected a suitably reserved but genuine smile, speaking without hesitation as he steps out of the back.

"Duke Vepar, I presume? It's lovely to meet you; thank you for your generous invitation. I've had my eye on this place since it was announced and let me tell you—I've been waiting with baited breath for it to open."

Those words hit harder than maybe Elsa meant for them to. As he listened, Blitz's eyes widened and his tail drooped a little. The way Elsa spoke of the sister who had presumably died long ago was warm and loving, but the grief? The grief.

For an immortal to love any mortal at all, whether they were family or not, and to be left living on without them--carrying memories, loving ghosts... to have the entire world change without them... Was that what he was going to do to Stolas?

The assassin got up and walked away a few paces, hands on his hips. tail starting to swish. "Do you ever--would it be--I don't..." Sighing in disgust at himself, he pressed a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes. "Is it better? For immortals. Better if you don't have to--if those of us who are just going to die... just stay away? So you don't have to... remember us?" He had just taken the conversation completely off topic and he knew it, but it was too late to turn it back now.

"He reminds me of my sister, Anna. I miss her. Her love could hold up the world. Sometimes I think it did because nothing feels the same without her. So it's wonderful when I can feel that warmth in others. I hope Peter gets all of the good things you hope for him. He deserves happiness."

While he was working anywhere else in Vee Tower, or even just walking from one public space to another, Vox always strived for perfection, to put out exactly the right image and energy at exactly the right time. He was always aware of his image, aware that anyone could be watching, and that everyone’s eyes, down to the tiniest messenger imp’s, were still eyes. If he was anywhere but in their living quarters, Vox was always On.

But when he wasn’t in what he considered to be the public eye? When he just wanted to enjoy a quiet evening of… well, of more work, sure, but a quiet evening? And this happened?

He looked up from the ledger he’d been writing in, holding the large book open on his lap, curled up in the corner of his plush leather couch. Vox’s quarters were almost brutally minimal compared to Valentino’s or Velvette’s, but to him, the rooms were perfect. Comfortable, calming, exactly what he wanted them to be. He didn’t put much in there in the way of furniture or decor, nor did he entirely stick to mid-century modern despite what some might expect… but one thing he hadn’t put in there was Angel’s noise. It was unwelcome. Extremely unwelcome.

Cranky, tired, and frustrated that he’d now been interrupted in the middle of what was to him a fairly important task, Vox capped his fountain pen, set the ledger aside, and stretched, moving slowly and casually as he listened to Angel throwing his little diva tantrum. Whatever had caused it was probably Val’s fault somehow, he thought (unkindly, but with a dark amusement), and he usually left the two of them to themselves. He never watched Angel when he was out and about, never spied on him in his living space, never intruded on whatever it was that Angel and Valentino had unless Val specifically asked him to check in. Not that he was jealous, of course. It wasn’t like Angel Dust got to put his hands and lips all over Valentino in ways Vox would love to feel so free to do. Ha. What a thought. No, he just didn’t care what happened to Angel Dust. He really didn’t. Absolutely didn’t. He didn’t care. At all. Not even a little.

He definitely didn’t protest too much, even to himself. Ha.

Having thought he was in for the night, Vox was dressed down far more than he liked to be when he was going to be around anyone else, but there was just so much noise happening and he was so irritated, he didn’t want to go put proper attire on. So, still in his slacks, shirt unbuttoned to reveal a snug, sleeveless undershirt, tie still hanging undone to either side, he just grabbed a drink and made his way in to go do some bothering of his own.

Vox let himself in to Angel’s room, watched the flying objects for a moment–then overrode every little possible speaker Angel possessed so they amplified Vox’s own speakers as he started projecting sound effects and a laugh track. Squeaky clown bonk noises when something hit a wall, an audience cracking up at exactly the wrong moment, a peppy little musical number to code the scene as comedy. Whether or not Valentino chose to grace them with his beautiful presence, Vox was here and annoyed and going to at least amuse himself.

“Having fun? You know, Val actually has to pay for all of that.” Folding his arms, he leaned back against the wall. “And while we’re at it. Who the fuck put their hands on you?” He tried to ask it like he didn’t care, hidden under a facade as if there was no actual concern whatsoever. Like he wasn’t seething a little. Angel might not be his, but goddamn it, he was theirs. Their person, their property. Theirs. Whoever the fuck thought they could get away with beating the tar out of Angel Dust was going to become tar.

[kicking it over to @hellmxses ! ]

With how long he had been living in the V Tower, they would all be used to his little outbursts. They weren’t nearly as bad as Valentinos, at least if one were to ask him personally, but he was still known for having little temper tantrums every now and then. Which was exactly what was happening right now. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be going out on his own more than he needed; or more so more than was allowed. Valentino had definitely cracked down after Anthony Angel Dust had signed the contract. But there was no way he wasn’t going to have a little fun himself, cause a little chaos.

Which had been exactly what had put him in such a bad mood. Because causing chaos often came with chaos being directed towards him as well, and that part he didn’t like – especially when it wasn’t fun. By the bloody arm and split lip, that was proof it wasn’t fun. Angel was a skilled gunsman, he usually didn’t allow himself to get hit, but those mobsters had really caught him off guard.

Which was exactly why he was throwing a tantrum. He hated feeling like he was losing in any way, slamming the door to their shared living space was bit too hard before storming up to the penthouse. Even though he naturally mostly stayed in Valentino’s space, he was glad he had his own as well – Val probably was, too, considering how many people he brought home. And there was Vox, of course. And Velvette. He wasn’t dumb.

So to his room he went, and anyone that was remotely within ear shot would hear the way things smashed against his walls. It wasn’t like Val wouldn’t help him replace the expensive makeup, the perfumes, everything else. Fat Nuggets wasn’t even phased, curled up in the middle of the luxurious sheets as his momma cussed and yelled, mostly in Italian of course, finally having got out his annoyance in the form of rage enough to calm down – but only after his room was in shambles.

@doublejango // @hellmxses

Don't just be pretty, be present. Write with the world like it's real.

There is a lot of beautiful writing in the RPC, a myriad of wonderfully different styles and preferences, and that is an excellent thing! If this tip doesn't feel like it is for you, that is okay! Everyone has different styles and desires; it may resonate with some people and not with others and that is absolutely okay. No one needs to be an expert at anything--I'm certainly not! I almost never edit replies, sometimes I just babble pure nonsense, and I'm a tiny bean of an RPer in a sea of amazing artists. These are just thoughts that have been kicking around in my head for a while, and that I hope will help someone here and there.

Don't just be pretty, be present.

Rather than stressing over how pretty your reply is, whether that means word choice or the actual formatting of the post, consider how present your character is in that post. Are they just passively reacting to a situation or a statement? Or are they really interacting with whatever is going on? Whether it's purple prose or stripped down simplicity, for some people things will feel a little flat, a little hollow, if a reply is especially passive--if a character responds but gives nothing back.

Is one of the characters carrying something weird around in the scene, like a chunk of 2x4 or a broken trumpet? Whatever it is, consider having your character interact with that element. Since it has been introduced, it exists, and there is nothing wrong with having your character notice it. Maybe they interact verbally, by asking about it. Maybe they interact through the narrative, by thinking something about it, or having an emotional response to it if it might be something they have previous experience with. Or, hell, if it really feels too random, you can have your character think that. Just like, What the hell is Joan doing with that trumpet? I don't want to deal with any more weird shit today.

React to what is around you in the scene. Interact with the world. If you're in a castle, maybe consider having your character touch the wall and make note of the texture. If something horrible is happening, don't just repeat a list of the events that happened, but show how your character reacts. You can show reactions internally or show reactions externally, and you can absolutely do both! Showing internally could mean demonstrating through their narrative or their thoughts how they feel about whatever just happened. Does it terrify them? Is their heart pounding? Do they want to run? Are they struggling to continue to stand next to their best friend? An external response might be describing their actions without touching on what's happening in their head--like taking a few steps back, a sudden gasp, stepping in front of their loved one--or even just describing how they look. Maybe they go pale, maybe their hands shake or their voice shakes. You don't have to state everything, you can show them however you want to, but for a lot of people, an RP experience is going to feel much more interactive, much more immersive, when you have the scene get to your character.

A beautiful character standing there and observing events is great, and it can be absolutely in character for them to be completely bored about whatever it happening, to show no reactions whatsoever... but that can be boring for your writing partners, especially in an action scene, and not leave them feeling inspired or feeling they have any sort of a hook to respond to. There's a line from an old song that always comes to mind when I think about this: If you're bored then you're boring. Not necessarily always true, there are ways to keep a bored character engaging, but it can be true. It can be very true. If a character has no more reactions than a plank of wood, then the other characters in the scene might as well walk away and go find an actual plank of wood.

A beautifully written reply that ultimately says nothing of significance to the situation can be wonderful, a gorgeous bit of almost poetry--but for some, it may leave your partner feeling like their efforts to create or support an important moment in the plot have fallen flat.

[Adding: Vivid descriptions are interacting. You're interacting with the world when you do that, you're making it more real. Flashbacks are interacting, you're showing how the events affected your character and what is happening in their mind suddenly. Try to give something for your partner to work with, of course, but don't hold yourself back. Chase your inspiration!]

Write like actions have consequences; play with the world like it's real.

I know a lot of people can be unsure how to react, because they don't want their characters to fail, but that is a trap that may lead to a stagnated scene. Your character doesn't need to win all the time. Let them be imperfect, let them fuck up, let them make mistakes, let them fall on their face, let them be in danger, let them risk it all, let them need help sometimes--

Let them be alive. (Or, you know, whatever passes for alive in their particular canon!)

It's RP. It's okay to take risks. It's okay to not be sure what the perfect response would be, it's okay to experiment, to go with what you feel your character would really do--even if that means they drop everything and bolt out of there, even if it means party members don't see eye to eye on something. It can be daunting to write a character with significant flaws, and it's not for everyone, but for a lot of us? I think it can be super rewarding to go through those little arcs and moments, the ups and downs, the times when your character is doing well and the times when they're just--lost. Flailing.

Write like everything matters. Even if you just do it in tiny little ways, use the scene around your character; let the weather affect them, let them idly pick at some grass if they're sitting in a meadow, let them be sore from a particularly chafed feeling spot because they've been sweating in their armor in an arena all day. Let them be cranky. Let them have headaches. Let their intentions, thoughts, preferences, and vibes not always match their lover's in any given moment; there's a lot to be said for characters who aren't always in perfect harmony with each other. Maybe one wakes up cranky and the other wakes up wanting to burst into song, bathe in coffee, and tackle ten new projects before the birds even start singing. Let them clash, let their love show through how they both respond to those little clashes.

And don't be afraid for your actions to have consequences. Write knowing that your character might be absolutely saying the wrong thing and digging themselves an ever-deeper hole here. Write as if your partner's reply has consequences: if the other character is a dick to yours, don't feel like your character must remain unaffected. Maybe they have the kind of personality where that can roll off their back, but then again, maybe they don't. Let your character be affected by things. Let them be hurt, let them be angry, let them be confused. Let them laugh. Let their minds wander.

Let the world, and the people in it, affect them.

If a bus goes by, maybe your character misses a few words of what the other said. Maybe those words are important.

Maybe it's a hot day and your characters have been out and on the go nonstop; it's okay to let your character be cranky, overheated, and dehydrated and just need to get somewhere cooler and quiet to decompress.

And then for big plot moments? If something terrifying happens, or something amazing, don't pretend it isn't happening, don't ignore it in favor of just replying point-by-point to every bit of dialog from your partner's last post. Conversations aren't always perfect. They ebb and flow--and they can absolutely be interrupted. Have fun. Talk with your partners. Don't try to control them, and don't use "it's what my character would do" as a way to trash a plot or ensure someone else has a bad time. Don't use RP replies to punish them. Keep it genuine in-character, whatever that means for your muses, and keep it kind out of character...

But don't keep your writing or your characters behind glass.

Let the world interrupt your character. Let the world move your character. Let the person with them have an impact on them, for better or for worse. Let them be hurt. Let them do the hurting. Let little things annoy them. Let them be distracted. Let the world matter. Let their emotions and reactions show.

They don't need to be a pretty, perfect, porcelain doll to be an incredible roleplay character. They just need to be present in their own scenes, in their own stories <3

Does Blitzø prefer to be the big spoon or the little spoon?

The big spoon, always the big spoon. Given how pokey he is, it's the safest for whoever he is sleeping with, because he's less likely to accidentally hurt them that way. With spines on his head, horns that absolutely could be a deadly weapon if he needed them to, or if he just forgets and fucks up with the tip of a horn in a dangerous spot like against someone's throat, and spines on his shoulders that he prefers don't get squished or pressed on? He's hard to cuddle from behind.

That being said, he really does enjoy it when someone manages to get comfortable behind him and he trusts them. But given how rarely that happens? Blitz prefers to be the big spoon. He likes to hold his lovers close and listen to them breathing, listen to their hearts. He likes to know, really know that they are safe, and the only way to be sure of that? Is if they're in his arms, where no one can get to them without him knowing, where the world will never be able to sneak in and steal them away.

....Blitz is fine and absolutely not terrified of losing people, what do you mean?

It feels like a shameful, selfish thing to want, but goddamn does Blitz crave that anyway. He will fight for the people he loves, he will fight for fun, he will fight for himself. He'll absolutely refuse to remember his own safety if one of his family is on the line. Fighting is safety for him. As long as he can fight, the world isn't so terrible. So when he can't? Snuggle him. Snuggle him, and teach him that maybe, once in a while, he doesn't have to fight to be loved.

All of that being said... if he's exhausted, like genuinely exhausted, dehydrated, and in all around poor condition, the spines between his shoulders will flop more easily to the side without hurting him so much. They're the only ones that aren't deeply anchored in his muscle or to bone (their structure is very different and they have a huge blood supply, and quite a few nerves especially around the base), and so at times when they're limp, he would love to be the little spoon. To just be held for a while, when he can't be the one to do the holding?

DJ just leaving this to let you know you are incredible

sshhhh, come here, i love you friend. mine now <3

they have the same energy really i think we're on to something with this crossover guys--- @botanikos @doublejango

per discussions with @doublejango

To some, it is a horror to behold, revolting to imagine or encourage. To them, it is a custom; a ritual, a gifting, and a statement of devotion.

Blitz on more than one occasion has brought the hearts of his foes [ and those bold enough to attempt flirtations or courtship towards Stolas ] to him. Some are left upon the doorstep whilst he carries on with his next hunt or adventure, others are hand-delivered. While Stolas does not keep every heart brought to them, they do take care to keep a great many of them. He uses different methods to preserve or otherwise craft them into something decorative for their home. Some are merely placed into enchanted cases, set on display for visitors to behold. They may not be his own kills, but Stolas takes pride in them, happy to explain in clear and vivid detail the memory of Blitz bringing it to him.

The very first heart every gifted to them has been carefully preserved and encased in a polished onyx box lined with wine-red velvet and small, black satin pillow for it to rest upon. It does not require a key, but is locked using a special mechanism. It is among one of his most prized possessions, and the only heart which is not openly on display for just anyone to see. This one is kept within their private chambers upon the vanity.

One of his favorite things to say or have said to Blitz is: "I would have died happily with your claws wrapped around my beating heart, bleeding for your volatile affections."

The prince's lips come close to Blitz's ear, feather-light touch to the back of his horns; there, and gone within an instant before they settle instead on his feral lover's shoulders. ❝ I thought of you today while I was out, ❞ he begins, lips curving into confident and fond smile. Stolas steps away to pull a heavy velvet bag from within his pocket. He was grateful for it provided the gift it carried. From within, Stolas produces an intricately crafted knife that was almost black, were it not for the shifting sheen of its blade. It changes upon movement like the iridescence of corvid feathers. At the base where blade met hilt, was a singular engraving - a B for his name. ❝. . . one can never have too many weapons, in your case at least. ❞

Blitz had closed his eyes at the wonderful contact from his lover, leaning his head back and reaching up to caress his head with his claws, but he didn't try to hold on. He watched as Stolas moved around him--and then, when the knife came out, his lips parted and his breath caught.

It was beautiful.

There had to be a catch to something so stunning, but it didn't matter. If Stolas trusted it? That was enough for Blitz. He would let his prince ruin him, ruin every last part of him, without hesitation, if that was ever what Stolas needed. It would be a hell of a way to go.

Hand closing around the hilt, a pleased shiver moved through him. The knife fit. It fit in his hand like it was made to be there, and he could practically feel it hissing with eagerness to be christened. Thoroughly charmed by the beauty, the imp turned the blade from side to side for a moment, just watching the way it shimmered, how dark the reflections were, before he looked back up and met his baby's eyes.

"The first person it kills will be in your honor." Leaning up, he kissed them tenderly--even as his tail wrapped hard around their waist, the spade angled away so as not to cut him, but the grip tight. Possessive. Unyielding.

"What can I give you in return, my love? Would you like a prisoner skinned? Would you like to be tied to your throne and toyed with? Parts of you... sealed with wax?" The words were crude, but they were also love, pure love.

Blitz's eyes were never brighter than when he looked at Prince Stolas.

VERSE INFO: FOLK OF THE AIR

Blitz is loyal to his lover, @botanikos's Stolas, prince of the Avernus Territory. They have his whole heart, and if Stolas asked, Blitz would do anything for him. Anything. It doesn't matter who else might come into their lives, or what loyalty Stolas might swear. Blitz only cares about Stolas. Passionately, dangerously, unhealthily, and without regret. The imp is a killer--an assassin who can be hired, although he tends to be tough for clients to court in this verse--and revels in violence. Any time he has an excuse to kill for Stolas, he takes it without regret. Sometimes, even if he doesn't have an excuse, beings end up lifeless and Blitz will leave their hearts for his beloved to find in the morning.

He came down from the Court of Termites several years ago, hired to kill Stolas--and the moment he saw him, the first instant, he fell in love. He didn't know if they had enchanted him, if they had some sort of trick, but he doubted it; Blitz has always had an incredibly strong resistance to magic, although he has very few powers of his own. Even if Stolas was using magic on him, it didn't matter. Looking at them was the first time Blitz cared about the beauty he saw, the first time he was moved. He didn't even let Stolas know he was there, he just returned home, killed his client--or so rumor says--and promptly went back to Prince Stolas's court to, well, court him.

Blitz's magic is limited. He is wholly immune to fire (he'll take a nap in a fireplace if he comes home chilled) and can create fire at will, although it takes a lot out of him to do so. He possesses a black crystal, embedded into his left hand, that he uses to portal. It can only transport him--or so he has hinted--and it hurts him to use, but if he doesn't use it for too long, the crystal begins to fade... and so does Blitz. He considers his twisted relationship with it to be worth it. It can't be taken from him anyway, unless one manages to take his hand with it, and the imp is tenacious, tough, and very violent. In this verse, Blitz actually had a formal education, but he also grew up learning combat--and never the honorable kind. Kill quickly, kill brutally, make it dirty, make it fun. He's not high society and he's not powerful, but he's dangerous to tangle with all the same.

Blitz is about 5'6" when he stands upright--which, in this verse, he actually does, lacking the injury from his main verse that crippled his feet. He's a little more muscular--and definitely more feral. His horns are always dyed fully black, and he decorates them with tokens he steals from his kills. Melted gold drizzled prettily, a delicate bejeweled chain spiraled 'round, a ring slid over the tip. He does the same with the spines on his tail and head, but the ones on his shoulders are almost never decorated--and he will not let anyone but Stolas touch those ones without a fight.

The spade of his tail almost always has a delicate-looking blade fitted over it--lovely filigree, the edges razor sharp. He won't hesitate to injure someone with it if they try to touch his shoulder spines.

Blitz prefers to dress in all red--typically a red corset, long jacket that is such a deep red it is damn near black, and trousers that are just as dark, but with cheerfully bright red ribbons stitched on seemingly at random. He walks up on his hooves and almost never wears any sort of shoe or footwear--although he will decorate his hooves from time to time, if he's feeling fancy, and he keeps them sharp.

In this verse, Blitz does not have any children, adopted or otherwise, but has still been magically sterilized.

He will only ship with Jude's Stolas--no other ships, at all, although muses are welcome to try if they want to risk it--and the only Cardan is @cruelprincae, in case others magically come out of the woodwork. I'm happy to write with anyone who wants to play in this verse, but will probably keep all threads related; ie, if he kills person X in one thread, he will probably think about it in the next thread as a pleasant memory.

Ironically, despite being a faerie, this may be Blitz's most demonic verse. He is basically chaotic evil; the only check in his life is Stolas, and Blitz is just fine with that.

𝗗𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗠𝗦 𝗚𝗨𝗜𝗗𝗘.

-- BOLD all that applies || ITALICS what applies on occasion

001.ㅤ 𝗘𝗬𝗘𝗦.

avoids eye contact when nervous, maintains eye contact when nervous. avoids eye contact due to being neurodivergent, enjoys eye contact as a means to read and convey emotion. looks down when emotional, looks up when emotional. cries openly, wipes tears quickly, suppresses tears. wandering gaze when lost in thought, holds gaze while thinking. seeks out eye contact for reassurance, seeks out eye contact to gauge enthusiasm during conversations, eyes move constantly during conversation. expressive eyes, emotions only evident through eyes, uses eye contact to intimidate. looks up while thinking, looks down while thinking.

002.ㅤ 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗦.

clasps behind back, rests in lap, fidgets with clothes. twiddles thumbs, chews at nails/skin, pushes back cuticles, draws patterns on table/counter surfaces. animated gestures while speaking, only gestures to emphasize, utilizes sign language, speaks only through sign. callouses, scars, smooth, wrinkled, worn, soft, delicate, boney, slender, thick, veiny. touches others while speaking, reaches out while laughing, reaches out to comfort others, reaches out to seek comfort. places face in hands when exasperated, places face in hands when exhausted, places palms over eyes to hide when overwhelmed, rests chin in hands. taps fingers when impatient, taps fingers when nervous, taps fingers while thinking. scratches scalp, strokes chin, rubs back of head, toys with objects around them, runs fingers over surfaces while walking by.

003.ㅤ 𝗠𝗢𝗨𝗧𝗛.

chews lip, chews at inside of cheek, licks lips, bites tongue, chews on straws. resting frown, resting smile, neutral resting expression, resting pout. grinds teeth, flexes jaw. covers mouth when laughing, covers mouth when shocked, covers mouth when concerned, hands to lips while thinking, covers mouth when chewing, chews with mouth closed, chews with mouth open. smirks, grins, subtle smile, wide smiles, sad smiles, intimidating smiles, menacing grins. openly smiles, tries to suppress smiles, bares teeth when angry, lips quiver when emotional. stutters, speaks quickly, speaks slowly, good pronunciation, poor pronunciation, moderate pronunciation, purses lips, sucks in lips, holds mouth open when shocked or confused.

004.ㅤ 𝗟𝗘𝗚𝗦.

bounces leg when nervous. draws knees to chest when sitting, draws knees to chest as a means of comfort, sits on knees, sits with legs crisscrossed, sits with legs spread open in chairs, crosses legs when sitting in chairs, sits with one leg folded under the other. places feet on furniture, never places feet on furniture, sits on counters, sits on desks, sits on tables, sits on edge of seat, sits hunched over with forearms on knees, arches one knee up, sits on the arm of chairs/couches, feet on dashboard, swings legs back and forth when sitting somewhere elevated. wiggles toes when nervous, wiggles toes as a general tick. shuffles feet, kicks foot into ground, stomps feet. loud footsteps, quiet footsteps, silent footsteps.

005.ㅤ 𝗛𝗔𝗜𝗥.

runs fingers through hair, tugs at hair, picks at scalp, chews on hair, twists locks of hair while thinking or nervous, smooths out locks of hair while thinking or nervous. prefers hair out of face, prefers long hair, prefers short hair. wears hair back, keeps hair down, smooths back hair. plays with other’s hair while talking, plays with own hair while talking, strokes hair to comfort others, likes having hair stroked for their own comfort, braids others’ hair while talking, braids own hair while talking. flips hair out of face, pushes hair out of face, leaves hair alone even when falling into face.

Tagged by: @moxxietude Tagging: @toranoya for Saint Peter, @umbravirtus for Hans, @visage-of-hell, @poisonedspider, and anyone else in the mood to do the thing