doublejango

[doublejango]

What is Blitzø's type?

Give him a burly silver fox type of guy, Blitz will absolutely catch heart eyes. Or a confident woman who knows exactly who she is and what she wants. He is very much attracted to confidence, a strong sense of self, and people who are and look like grown-ass adults--Blitz will usually be hella drawn to someone in their thirties or forties. He's 36, so someone in their late twenties is as young as he's comfortable with, as young as he ever gets drawn to. Like 28, 29, but mostly he'll go for people in their 30s and 40s. He isn't usually into humans, but can sometimes be persuaded.

Basically, his weakness is experienced, confident, mature adults. If a pretty twenty year old twink dances with him at a club, Blitz won't reject the dancing itself, but he'll be keeping an eye on their drink later--and lowkey making sure someone isn't legit creeping on them with bad intentions--rather than eyeing them up, and will gently discourage any interest they show in him. Very much an "I'll make sure they get home safe" vs an "I'm going home with them" attitude.

Even if they're, say, a magical being who is a thousand years old but looks like they've only been old enough to get into bars and clubs for a few years, they're not going to be attractive to him.

TL;DR -- Adults his age or older with confidence and imperfections.

[doublejango]

There was something so goddamn reassuring about receiving affection and forgiveness from a Sin that Blitz almost hated it. The moment she touched him, he understood why Hellhounds flocked to her; that contact, the gentle kiss, felt like some sort of damned affirmation to something deep within him. Imps might not have souls, but whatever they had, Bee left a little bit of peace behind when she moved away. Blitz was never going to feel simply about her--he wouldn't forget that she had spoken up for him at the trial, but also wouldn't forget that she hadn't actually done anything to save him either, more focused on sibling rivalry than on the importance of one single life--but that also meant he was never going to be able to dislike her. Not really. Not completely. Bee might frustrate him, but she also brightened his spirits and lifted his heart, and hw love the effervescent way her energy left him feeling, like he was sparkling inside or anything.

His golden eyes were calm and thoughtful as he regarded her for a moment, then he reached out and took her hand. To be an immortal being, nearly all-powerful, and yet to still choose to be kind more often than not? That meant something to Blitz. Giving a gentle squeeze, he smiled a little.

"You got it. Ice cream's on me. And Bee... thank you. For intervening when you did, at the party. I wasn't okay. At all. And I was too far gone to consent. You've probably never... been so self-destructive that you let yourself end up in hands you hate the feeling of, and you pretend for all you're worth that it's all fine, because you've gotten real good at pretending like that?" His cheeks burned with shame, but he went on; Blitz needed to make this right, sincere. "But that's where I was that day. I didn't want Dennis, didn't want his hands, his tongue, the rest of him, but I was so wasted and hated myself so much, it was... easy. To just go along with whoever reached out. I've run into Dennis a few times and like, he's probably a nice enough guy, but..."

But he makes my skin crawl and feel stained, Blitz wanted to add, but didn't. He hesitated, looking down, then back up at her eyes.

"Anyway. I wasn't capable of consent and I didn't care what happened to me. Pretty shitty combination. It was my fault I got that way, I chose to get that wasted in that fuckin' mood, but still. You stepped in and let Loona know. Thank you. For that. If I'd woken up in his bed," or more likely, used and not remembering by whom but still able to taste the bitter remains of a long night, Blitz thought, "or someone else's... it would've been really fuckin' bad for me."

To say the least. He squeezed her hand again. "Thank you, so much, for protecting me when you could. You didn't have to. I'm not from your Ring. But you did it anyway. And I'll never forget that." Blitz cleared his throat, wiped an arm quickly over his eyes--he totally wasn't crying, ha--and let go of her hand, stepping back with a grin. "But hey, ice cream plans! You got a human disguise by chance? Cause I think there's a place you'll really like, but it's a hop, skip, and a jump to get there."

"Just the one bingo, Bee, cause I'm waaaay more than kind of a dick. But if you ever wanna compete again, maybe go toe to toe on a dance competition or somethin, winner gets to pick where we go for dinner? I'm always down to kick your ass again."

Well, wasn't this a surprise for that silly little bingo card she'd sent out into the world? She hadn't expected Loona's dad-guy to pop up with the page in hand, a single bingo filled out, but fair was fair! Her lips pulled back into a sharp grin, a teasing remark on the tip of her tongue...

Which died there, at the Imp's next words.

The apology was awkward, and just as surprising as Blitz appearing with her bingo card. But she could feel the sincerity of it pouring off of him, could taste it in the air, sweeter and lighter than any ice cream could ever be. She took a moment to look at him, to take in the sight of him outside of what she'd seen at her party, before her grin softened into a kinder smile. A hand reached out to place itself on his shoulder, and the Sin of Gluttony kissed the middle of his forehead. "Baby, you got yourself an ice cream date. Buuuuuut you're buyin'. Consider it reparations or somethin'."

@doublejango | re:

[doublejango]

One reblog for the weekend crowd, as I'm putting this out tomorrow 💖 Hope everyone is having a good day!

Btw am absolutely planning on writing up an RP wishlist post either when I get home or on Sunday... but if anyone specifically wants to plot, or wants me to @ them with a suggestion in the wishlist post, like or comment to let me know.

Mwa!

[doublejango]

I ain't good for much else than sex. Blitz hadn't really been paying attention to the leggy person climbing around on the bar, but those words hit hard and cut deep. How many times had Blitz told himself that exact same thing? How many times had he reminded himself that sex was all he was good for in most people's eyes, so if it was all he had to pay with then so fucking be it? The spider Sinner sounded tired, worn out in ways Blitz immediately understood--

And then it clicked to him exactly who this pretty, pink, pastel-Goth spider Sinner was. Angel Dust. A popular adult film star, but one whose work seemed, at least lately, to be everything Blitz couldn't find attractive. Dubcon and noncon that didn't look like acting, that weren't obviously consenting adults agreeing to a roleplay. If consent wasn't there, then sex damn well wasn't sexy. Something inside him hardened, some self-protective little barrier, and Blitz stood up a little straighter, trying to process everything the guy had said that he really hadn't been paying attention to.

"Oh, uh. Yeah. Everyone's probably out at the riot. I actually uh, didn't mean to come here at all, but it was the one place I could actually get to. Was hoping to find somewhere to crash for the night." In old jeans, a sleeveless shirt, and his battered old leather jacket, with the stick taped to his leg and a cut on one cheekbone, Blitz realized belatedly that he probably didn't look like someone asking for a place to stay for the night--especially considering the firearm over his shoulder. He probably looked like he'd come here to loot or some shit.

Thankfully, Angel Dust didn't seem too threatened. And why would he be? Sinners were immortal and had magic powers, while imps could be permanently snuffed out on a whim.

I'm being bitchy. He ain't done anything to me. Suppressing a sigh towards himself, Blitz forced a smile and went over towards the spider.

"Guess a drink wouldn't be so bad. It's Angel Dust, right? My name's Blitz, the--" But he stopped himself from saying that the O was silent. Considering the company, it might sound like some kind of vaguely threatening come-on, and Blitz was too tired and sore to deal with that. Instead, he tried to recover with, "the hotel's nicer than I thought. I usually say fuck hotels, but guess this ain't too bad.

"How does it work? Are there rooms for people to rent just for a night? Um," eyes widening slightly, he looked around the lobby again. Yeah. Fancy shit. Too rich for him, probably. "Like, affordable rooms." Turning his attention back to the spider, he once again tried to consciously suppress the immediate dislike. Just because Angel did so much dubcon didn't mean that was the only thing he was into, right?

And maybe he just does it cause it sells? I gotta quit judging this guy. And with that thought came another: was Angel okay? He seemed tired, yeah, but as someone who was in pain from injuries of his own, Blitz couldn't help but feel he was seeing pain in Angel's eyes, too. Repressed, ignored, a fact of life, but there all the same. Maybe his friends had left him behind because he was hurt, so he couldn't go out and riot...?

Is that fresh meat he hears? It's the first thought that crosses Angel Dust's mind as he raids Husk's bar. He needs something strong and numbing after his last session with Valentino and since the damn feline isn't here, Angel is just going to help himself.

He pops up to look at the newcomer and finds himself surprised by what he sees. He climbs over the bar, bottle of vodka in hand as he settles there, throwing one leg over the other as he undoes the top of the bottle. He doesn't much feel like standing - it hurts. Sitting does too, but it's better than standing on sore muscles.

"Heh. Never expected to see an imp here. You lookin' for redemption, sweetheart?" It's only a tease, Angel Dust is well aware that hellborn can't get into heaven.

"Anyway." A wave of Angel Dust's hand is given, gesturing to the entirety of the hotel. "Charlie ain't here right now and neither are the others." Come to think of it, where the hell is everybody? Oh well, not his problem right now. He's too tired to give a shit.

"So, guess you're stuck with me, baby.'' Angel purrs at him as he leans backwards, one palm on the bar top to support him. He's got great balance but he doesn't trust it right now.

He tilts his head back to take a couple of rather large gulps before extending the bottle to offer it to Blitzo. "Want some? I ain't good for much else besides sex but I know where Husk keeps the good stuff, at least."

[doublejango]

I love the thought of snarking becoming a bit of a love language between Blitz and Via. Via feeling secure enough to know nothing she says can really push Blitz away or come between either of them and Stolas while Blitz finds familiarity in affectionate razzing as bonding. I tried a lot of different stuff with this one artistically, and I'm pretty happy with all of it! I'm not sure if I'll ever settle into a consistent comic style, but I'm having lots of fun 😌 Bonus doodle comic of a slightly rough start below the cut! 😂

[doublejango]

For one thrilling moment, Alastor was certain he had miscalculated and misjudged, and badly at that. When Lucifer's wings flared and something like rage seemed to burn through him, a sudden and intense reaction to the Radio Demon's words, Alastor couldn't help but think, this is it, then. He would fight his own demise, of course, but it would be a wonderful way to go, to be destroyed by this man--the only tolerable ending, really.

But the ending didn't come.

Lucifer reined himself in, tugged the two of them closer--and when he spoke of his heart, Alastor actually felt his own. A rare thing, that. It was usually so quiet, a dark and cold place, warmed to fondness only by Niffty's odd, sadistic purity, or sometimes by some antic or other of Charlie's. But with Lucifer? He felt something awaken in his breast, confirming that yes, the desires he had been feeling, however unfamiliar they were, were real.

And that was likely to be a problem one day. Alastor had never been one to feel a sexual or romantic interest in other people. Doubtless, the way he felt for Lucifer would pale in some way, prove to be some sort of disappointment, lacking the passionate saccharin so many people seemed to yearn for... but until that happened, he promised himself, he would do his best. He would adapt, he would find ways to understand, to love... and really, there was no losing in this scenario, not if they both wanted to try.

If they ended up happy together? They both won. If Lucifer were to destroy him? Alastor would lose nothing at all, for to cease existing would mean the ultimate freedom.

And if Alastor managed to destroy Lucifer? If he broke him Then he won it all and would have everything he needed...

But I won't break him. Not unless he tries to break me first. And that was love, wasn't it? That was what it meant to care about someone, to hold off on ripping shreds off of their soul because you were waiting to let them start it? Something about that didn't quite ring true to Alastor, but it was enough for him to start with.

"I am," he agreed, and reached out to wrap his fingers around Lucifer's waist, "and you are mine. As for a courtship, you should know that I am--of rather low experience when it comes to romance. I haven't... I don't..." This was humiliating, and his smile took on a frustrated edge. The Radio Demon? Out of words? Vox would have a field day. But the message was too important to simply gloss over; Lucifer needed to know, deserved to know, what he was getting into here.

"I don't work the way most people seem to. Whatever switch or wire it takes for someone to feel lust readily, or to... feel at all... I've never had that. I may... disappoint you, Lucifer. I will try. But you should know. Romance and sexuality have never been part of my nature--nor something I've ever missed or truly fretted over for long. Not until now. You... have been wounded before. I want to lick those wounds, to... fix your pain... but if you want sex, or feel I am not being... attentive enough, emotionally. I need you to tell me. With words. I don't," he actually lost his smile, ears turning back, as a memory from life arose, something humiliating enough to heat his cheeks even here, in the damned afterlife, "I don't object to intimacy in any form. But were you to... attempt to drop hints, I'll likely miss them, and you may be left feeling unwanted.

"Help me by telling me, Lucifer," Alastor's discomfort eased away as he looked back into those strange, sweet, pretty eyes, "and I'll destroy anyone who ever seeks to harm you. Whatever it takes."

It takes all of Lucifer's willpower not to lean up on his toes the moment those long fingers cup his face. The touch is so tender, it pains him, sending a thrilling little sensation through his lithe frame. Being held in such a small way made him want to purr; made him want to crawl up into Alastor's arms and settle as close as possible. He maintains his composure, however, and blinks up at him lazily. Despite the lack of tension in his posture, there's an attentiveness that still lingers. Always on guard, always watching. The Sinner was right and it brought a smile to his lips. He was a passive player most of the time, exerting himself in doses as necessary. "I am. Yet, I don't sense much fear out of you.~" Something Lucifer was silently grateful for, but would never admit. While he had no issue exerting his power and position over others, Lucifer did his best not to do so. Instead, he liked to utilize it to create crafty and innovative solutions.

He couldn't do that with Alastor, though. It was all a push and pull, an ebb and flow, an equivalent exchange of some kind. Lucifer noticed he never pulled rank, not in a way that the other couldn't retaliate in some way. Oddly enough, for all of the infuriating barbs, he also found himself lured into a sense of comfort and safety. There was a charming bit of fun to it all. His walls slowly dropping, brick by brick by brick, falling away. The last time he felt like this, he lost everything.

Lucifer shivers, and when Alastor steps back, his words ringing through him like the chime of some great bell, the world spins. He remains firmly on his feet, heart raging in his chest. It beat against his breast, fighting his ribs as though they formed a terrible cage. His tail loosens for a fraction of a second before coiling more tightly around the other's leg and tugs. Lucifer closes the small gap between them and his hands hover briefly, uncertain of where to land or if they should at all. As if touching Alastor would burn him to cinders. Wings flare suddenly, spread wide with the intensity of emotions coursing through him.

"You can handle the consequences of your own actions?" An empty question, spoken aloud merely to reaffirm Alastor's claim.

There are consequences to feeling safe, to feeling loved, to feeling desired. There are consequences for placing your life, your trust, and your heart in someone else's hands. Could he handle the consequences? Was he ready and willing to rise against the flames once more? The sun was there and it is warm and brightly burning. . . What if Alastor lost interest? What if he grows bored? What if he can't handle the days where the king feels most lonely, where he withdraws into himself and can't bring his head above the dark water? What if it was all a ploy to get close, to knock him down and watch him crawl?

Lucifer takes a breath and a loose hold to the front of Alastor's coat, fingers smoothing over the edges as though admiring the detailing.

Can I brave another fall? he wonders, lifting his gaze to the Sinner's once more. His wings fold, disappearing as the peak of his emotional surge lowers just a fraction. Will you catch me?

"You haven't asked me to dance yet," the King of Hell taunts softly, honeying the words with a sorrowful note. But a flicker of amusement and something sweeter, fonder, shines in his eyes.

"You mean more to me than you realize, and more than I care to admit. If you break my heart, I'll never forgive you." With a toothy grin, Lucifer steps back and releases his hold on Alastor. His tail flicks behind him with restrained excitement.

"I enjoy a good courtship, with claws out or otherwise. Does this mean you're mine?"

[doublejango]

Trevor rails hard

"Excuse you? How do you know I'm not a pass-around party bottom?" Trevor asked the stranger, while coiling his whip and replacing it at his side. He smirked ever so slightly though, clapped the fellow on the shoulder, and winked.

"You want my advice? Don't think about it too hard. Or anything, for that matter. Life immediately becomes better." He strolled away, already putting the oddly inappropriate comments out of mind even as he put the stranger out of sight.

[doublejango]

Calliope leaves a homemade small, personal sized flamed basque caramel cheesecake, surrounded by layered strawberries for Azathoth to enjoy. With it is a bottle of semi-sweet dark red wine she came across and thought he might enjoy with it. And a small vase of fresh cut flowers and fern limbs collected by Julian's precise hand. Just a little something nice to hopefully be of help to brighten things up. Or be a tasty little treat! Sometimes, it's just the thought — of literally being remembered or thought of, that makes a difference.

A small card is left with it that reads;

Hello, Sir!

We hope you enjoy this dessert. Please drink responsibly, and if you need or want for anything else, do let us know!

Cali & Julian

Why was this enough to break his heart? Not that it was so strong a thing these days, given that the jagged pieces were barely held together at all, but all the same. The kind gesture, and the touches that had clearly coke from both of them, broke what little resolve he had to get through that day as any sort of proper gentleman. Tears sprang to his eyes and a fierce ache reawakened in his chest.

Very careful fingertips ghosted over everything, not leaving so much as a mark, as he fought against the tears. Kindness shouldn't be enough to break someone like this, but here it was... and that note about drinking responsibly! He couldn't drink irresponsibly even when he was trying, it seemed, as what he considered drinking to excess proved to be far below the threshold to intoxicate a Goetia. The twins could laugh at his inability to even over-indulge properly, but no. No. They acknowledged that he wanted to... which, he suspected, meant they saw right through him. They knew he wanted to erase himself to some extent, didn't they...?

"And yet they offer me a tether," he murmured. He flicked his tail feathers, dabbed a sleeve lightly against his eyes, and picked up one of the berries.

"Thank you, my friends." The words alone would not likely be heard by them, but he sent them with a little pulse of magic, a hint of gratitude in the blessing energy, something warm to hopefully leave them both feeling appreciated.

[doublejango]

A swift, gentle, fleeting little peck to the top of Blitz's head! And then, as if an afterthought, a second! Oh, and then a third and fourth to each side of his favorite imp's face! Just some small tokens of affection.

"Stolas, what are you--ow, dangit, are you biting me? You pecking-ass motherf... c'mere!" He bowled into Stolas, arms and legs and tail wrapping around him the moment contact was made. Laughing, absolutely in gremlin mode, Blitz started biting them back, little (harmless) chomps all over whatever part he could reach.

"Yeah! Ha! Take that you gorgeous motherfucker. Yeah, how do you like them applejacks?!" Chomp, chomp, chomp, maaaaaybe a sneaky smooch here and there, to the places he had chomped--and then he scrambled to get free, laughing happily, eyes bright and vibrant, tail whipping side to side behind him.

"Looks like we're even now. So what's it gonna be? Duel to the death? Wrestle to some sexy music? Let's go!"

[doublejango]

Does blitz have a bad dragon collection?

"I meaaan, I wouldn't say a collection," Blitz said, looking over his shoulder towards the closet door, "but I've got a few. Or like, stuff like theirs, anyway. We don't really get that brand down here--and aren't they like not necessarily the most body safe of those options anyway? I dunno, have heard some shit from Sinners.

"I've got a handful of weird toys, but they're all ones I can like, get really fuckin' clean and not have to worry about anything weird leeching out of 'em, you know? A few of the people I see uh, on, I guess, on repeat, are into playing like that. And safety's kind of a big deal for me, so... wait, why are you asking? Worried I won't have something you like?" Grinning, he folded his arms and leaned against the wall. "Cause it ain't necessarily about the toy itself, you know. I'm always up for a challenge."

[doublejango]

broke: Stolas ruined his own life with bad decisions

Woke: Stolas was born into a social order that explicitly inhibits him from (and punishes him for) making his own decisions, even though he almost without fail makes the moral and ethical choice when given an opportunity, even against his own best interests

[doublejango]

"Safe for us, maybe! We're gonna lick the competition's ass!" Wait, he'd been corrected on that one before, hadn't he? Wasn't the expression kick some ass? Hm. Still not as much fun as the alternative, but Blitz kicked cheerfully at the air to try and show that he remembered. Clearing his throat after, he pulled the text back up to show Moxxie the picture of the bear:

A grumpy looking incubus was doing his best to hold it up in frame, the bear dwarfing him. It looked like a real teddy bear too, probably stolen from the living world, clean and cheerful and cute and bright.

"If the whole thing won't fit in your place, maybe we can just bring Millie the head," he mused cheerfully, before sending a quick reply text: WEEL BE THER, PREPAIR TO GET FUKKED UP.

"Alright. Let's fuckin' strategize! What's our color for the night?" Blitz tossed his phone aside, all attention on Moxxie, eyes bright with delight in the fact his friend was going to play this with him. They were a damn good pair in combat, Blitz was sure they'd be just as fucking good in dance.

At that line about being filled with cheese and sauce and being compared to food, Moxxie felt his face grow hot. Pulling at his collar, unsure why hearing something so corny would get him feeling like that, he didn't recoil though. On the contrary, he leaned in to hear if Blitz said anything more about the potatoes and cheese and sauce. Curious to see where this kind of...culinary talk went. But his friend pulled away and gave him space. And he wasn't about to get pushy about it, so he ran a hand through his hair and thought of what to say next after Blitz's phone call. But it seemed something interesting was going on.

Blinking at the invitation, at first he was about to decline shyly. Last club they had been to was a blur. He was in his krampus state and only grateful that Blitz didn't hold that over his head. But then his eyes lit up at the mention of the teddy bear.

"Oh! Millie would love that!" his tail wagged. "It's been a while since either of us won each other something like that! How giant? Does it say?-- Oh, uh, the size doesn't matter." he rolled his eyes. "It's a big teddy bear. She'll like it."

He wasn't mentioning that maybe also he wanted to see what Blitz could do too. He had already seen Moxxie act up around Sinsmas time when in krampus mode, so he wasn't too worried.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind this. You'll be with me. It'd be safe if we're together," he exclaimed.

[doublejango]

for @brokendreamscreation continued from here--

"Yeah? Good! Cause," Blitz's tail slithered up around Lucid's arm, then in around his upper chest, "it's been way too fuckin' long, buddy." He would hug him, but the imp was enjoying being held too damn much. Any time someone picked him up, he liked it. Whether they did it to use him as a weapon, hug him, chuck him, or fuck him, it really didn't matter. It always triggered some sort of simple, kittenish joy in Blitz, and left him more relaxed than any day at a spa could manage.

So, unable to stop smiling, half in the delight of seeing his friend again and half because Lucid always seemed to know how to just make everything better, Blitz made absolutely zero effort to get free or reclaim any of his dignity. Dignity was for chumps, right? At least, when being picked up and loved on was on the table, dignity could suck it.

"You remember where I live? Cause if you wanna fly us to my place, I got some food we can grab for them, and protective like, fuckin, ankle wraps," he added, remembering that the last time anyone had fed the ducks at the particular pond he had in mind, the news reports said something about 'degloving' and 'exposed bones' and 'rogue geese.' "My building ain't that far... goddamn, you're pretty. Still weird looking," he added, unable to resist a bit of lighthearted teasing, "but pretty." It would always be weird how much Lucifer and Lucid looked alike, but Blitz didn't ultimately mind it. They were each so purely themselves, and Lucid was just--fuck it.

Blitz finally writhed to get free--but only so he could fling himself at Lucid's chest entirely and hug him with every last ounce of strength the imp possessed, arms and legs and tail wrapped around him, purring up a storm, rubbing his face all over the angel's face.

I missed you. I missed you, I missed you, I fucking missed you.

[doublejango]

"You are my king," Yves reminded him, unable to help but react with kindness, softening. "And so you can never be difficult, or merely a guest." Something was wrong, something had upset Lucifer, but where such a realization would usually frighten Yves in someone so powerful, a sudden sense of peace descended, wrapping around him like a warm blanket. This was the king, and so there was nothing left to fear. Whatever would be, would be. Lucifer's will was all that mattered, and so no anxiety or trepidation was of any use.

He offered the king his arm before dropping away the protection of his wings. Thankfully, it wasn't a long trip back to the command tent, and despite the way the canvas-and-hide walls billowed and flapped, it was warm in there, secure. A stove burned merrily, there were throw blankets on the chairs, and it smelled pleasantly of coffee. It was the largest tent up there in the war camp, designed for creatures who needed their space, but a touch of magic here and there kept it a haven.

"And yes, of course. Tea can be arranged. Make yourself comfortable. Sit wherever you'd like. And if you'd like to watch remotely, the map shows updates in very near real time; I believe the delay is a little under a second." Yves went to the stove to heat more water, and gestured to the large table. The map itself was beautifully preserved hide from some massive beast, the details drawn in blood -- mountains, valleys, the thousands upon thousands of troops actively participating in this wargame. Dried blood seeming to indicate which companies had been killed or deactivated, while liquid blood moved and flowed effortlessly, showing the forces still managing to hold out against a mock heavenly assault.

"For this game," Yves said, a ceramic lid clinking as he lifted it to scoop tea out, "we decided to try and see, what would happen if the air we rely on is not what we expect? If Heaven manages to wrest command of it to serve as support, and weapon, for their host? And so our flyers have been angels, while the infernal air elementals do everything in their power to destroy the rest of us."

"Injuries have been high," another voice said, smoother and lower; Vepar stepped into the tent. "But that is as it should be, and no lives have been lost. Your Majesty." Dressed in segmented armor, old and somewhat worn, but well-fitted to him, Vepar looked far less polished than usual. His feathers were ruffled, one shoulder was drooping noticeably, and when he stepped closer it was with a limp, but he smiled all the same. "It is..."

Surprisingly good to see you, he thought, and those words were true. It was good to see Lucifer again, terrifyingly so. Lucifer was every bit as beautiful and charismatic as he remembered, a gleaming spark, and the moment their eyes met, the heat of Vepar's fury towards him ebbed away.

"An honor to have you among us. Please, forgive me for not being here sooner. Time escaped me, the fault is entirely mine."

Vepar dropped gracefully to one knee in front of Lucifer, bowing his head. Although he usually kept his wings hidden when around other higher ranking demons, they were out now -- the same black iridescence as the rest of him, but the strong, feathered wings of an angel. Two large wings, draped half on the floor as he knelt--exhausted, sore, but a gesture meant to convey friendliness and trust and a deliberate degree of affectionate informality, despite the bow.

When he looked up, his black eyes reflected the light for once. Candles and lamps flickered in the tent, making the Goetia's eyes shimmer like polished obsidian, and he couldn't stop himself from smiling--or stop his heart from aching.

He didn't forgive him. He couldn't. Not yet. But Vepar tried so very hard not to be a fool, not to let his heart grow hard. If he was going to have a vendetta against the king, he damn well owed Lucifer the chance to fix things first, which meant Vepar needed to be honest and open with him. If Lucifer proved to be the monster Heaven so thoroughly believed of him, well... so be it. That bridge could be burned when the time came. But until then, he was going to do his best to treat the Fallen one fairly--and with the same compassion Vepar would offer to any suffering Hellborn.

"Have you been well?" His voice was soft, kind.

Holy fucking Rings of Fire, that WIND was absurd. Lucifer felt every fiber of his existence feel as though it might begin to fray or stand on end. He wonders briefly what it might feel like to let it absolutely plow him into the dirt or sweep him endlessly across the landscape. Just let it move him freely without restraint or objection. He blinks the thoughts away, mouth twitching at the edges as he reels himself back to the present, back to the wonderful young man shielding him from the wrath of the storm. Maybe it was a physical manifestation of what the universe felt for his misdoings.

"Elemental battle, huh?" A part of him thinks of requesting a vantage point. The other felt as though he might be imposing. Despite the invitation for a chat, and yes, he is King of Hell. . . . Lucifer didn't think it meant he had the right to infringe upon something so personal, something he hadn't been directly and specifically invited to. Boundaries existed. He felt it best not to cross this one. An almost carefree scoff leaves him and he waves a hand in nonchalance. "That's alright. I can wait. My schedule is flexible today and my timing was likely off. Just show me where to wait and I can keep myself entertained."

It was half an act. These days, Lucifer felt as though he were trying to crawl out of his skin and escape. He felt himself splitting into fragments, attempting to make up for lost time, lost ambitions, lost everything. There was only so much he could do, so much he could be, and this meeting left a strange pit in his stomach. Was Vepar filled with fury, loathing, distaste, or surprise? Did he welcome Lucifer's return from neglectfulness, or did he intend to tear him to tiny shreds like grated cheese? The thought causes him to wince, which he hastily laughs away before Yves can make a comment. He really needed to work on schooling his features. . .

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd enjoy some tea while I wait. Otherwise, you don't need to fuss over my presence. I promise I am not a difficult guest."

[doublejango]

Blitz cackled as soon as he realized Striker was actually going to chase him. This wasn't going to be easy, because the sketchy cowboy was genuinely badass, but damn it was going to be fun. He wasn't going to give up and make this easy on Striker, either; they'd had a blast together at the Pain Games, so why not go in for round two of that kind of play?

"I may be a dorkius maximus," he called over his shoulder, while leaping up onto a dumpster just barely in time to escape Striker's claws, "but at least I don't use grembo unironically. What's a grembo, huh? Is it slang for--shit," shit shit shit shit Striker was fast, Blitz had to shut up and run for all he was worth towards a fire escape, "slang for a thirsty boy who wants to tie some freaky snake fucker up and lick him good?

"Cause it better be!" Not his most scathing taunts, to be sure, but Blitz was having a delightful time.

He was also running out of room to run, about to have to choose between crossing a highway or standing his ground. Dammit. Well, standing his ground it was. Grinning, he skidded to a stop (on all fours) as he spun around to face his pursuer.

"Come to daddy, Slithers." All of Blitz's fangs were showing, his tail was swishing, and he was ready to pounce. Whether Striker got him or he got Striker, it didn't really matter; this was fun, and even if he was sweating from the long race through town, he was having a good fucking time.

@doublejango asked:

"Hey Striker! Guess what, asshole? You're fucking IT!" Blitz tags him with a quick smack of the tail and then goes racing away in the blink of an eye, laughing like a ridiculous little gremlin as he tries to get Striker to play with him. They may have an issue or two between them, but damn it he loves playing with this fucker when opportunity presents. And what could possibly go wrong? Pffff.

Striker puts his cowboy-crocks into sports mode and zooms after Blitz, intending on tackling him with both legs to coild them up like a boa constrictor and spank the everloving sin out of their ass. "Teach ya ta' smack me ya little grembo, gonna make ya wish IT was just the clown and not what I'm doin' to make ya redder than what ya already are you dorkius maximus!" He jests, but how often does he get to hunt people down and spank them? Never, totally never, no one ever wants that from him, so here he goes.

the crocs

[doublejango]

Stolas was still so fucking beautiful that it hurt. It never seemed right or fair for someone to be that stunning and yet always out of reach--and Stolas was out of reach, wasn't he? Hadn't he always been? No matter what they did together, neither of them had ever really let the other close, and they'd both been left hurting for it. At least, that was how Blitz understood things. Maybe it was different for Stolas. Maybe the former demon prince had never been on the same page as the imp...

But Blitz was done just writing people off.

Turning back to his companion, he met their eyes and gave a small nod towards Stolas. "I'll catch up with you later, okay? I gotta go check in with him." Maybe Stolas was just coming to watch, but if there was even the slightest damn chance that he wanted more, wanted to actually interact, or maybe just sit together and think about letting their hands touch, Blitz wanted to take it.

The handsome incubus with the overgrown wings, large enough to wrap completely around himself and another person, looked over towards Stolas and nodded. For a moment, it looked like he was about to say something, but he thought better of it. He smiled, but his eyes were sad as he reached out and squeezed Blitz's shoulder before flyijg away.

Blitz only watched him go for a moment, then went over to meet Stolas.

Fuck.

Stolas was still so beautiful.

"You look good," he said softly, once they were close enough to each other. "You doing okay?" Asking that felt wrong somehow, like maybe he'd be hurting Stolas by asking it, but it would have felt more wrong to just assume, to not give Stolas the same care anyone else should get.

Maybe he was the night sky itself once... but he's still my stars. He always will be. I wonder if he'll ever believe me if I tell him...?

HE STANDS ALONE IN THE AMBER WASH OF THE DYING STREETLIGHT,

shoulders cloaked in a threadbare ash-grey shawl that does nothing to obscure the grandeur he once wore like breath. gone are the constellations stitched by devout hands, gone is the mantle that hummed with power; yet even now, without his crowned top hat, he glows faintly with memory, like embers stubborn against dusk.

he watches @doublejango from across the street. blitzø laughs - too loud, too brittle - shoves someone playfully. stolas does not move, he merely observes, like he always has, uncaring of the imp's boundaries. there is a moment, a flicker - blitzø turns, catches his eye, not for long - recognition twisted into something unreadable. stolas smiles, wan and crooked, with a mournful affection he knows is not welcome.

(he never was, but did he care?)

you still burn, he thinks, not bitterly; and I am like a moth, drifting toward the flames, only to feel your scorching warmth for a moment.

talons scrape against the hard pavement - no portal will spirit him away now. no flash of power, no theatrical exit. just steps lost in the din of a heaving city; but his shadow, ever faithful, lingers half a moment longer, looking back.

[doublejango]

Blitz stared, unable to speak as this strange, beautiful creature flowed around him, graceful and effortless as a current. He turned, unwilling to let the stranger out of his sight, eyes huge.

He'd been aware of the color blue, of course. Everything seemed blue up here, the light dappled and dancing. Some of the fish were blue, or had blue stripes. But a blue mer? A person?

Breathtaking.

The guy seemed so friendly, despite looking delicate and alluring as a wandering jellyfish, Blitz hardly knew how to react. And he wasn't even being shy about showing his gills! Gills were such a vulnerability that even now, in these strangely peaceful seeming waters, Blitz was still wearing a band around his lower torso to hide them. It was uncomfortable, of course, but he was accustomed to the feeling of always being smothered. It kept a person alive.

But this stranger...

And even his voice sounded sweet somehow, sweet and appealing and lovely...

Wait. Shit. His voice. He had said something. What the fuck had he said? Unable to remember, Blitz cleared his throat quietly and raised his free hand.

"Um, hey. I'm Blitz. Who... what are you? You look like a mer but you're so... are you real?" Because how the fuck could he be? No, the explanation that made the most sense was that maybe Blitz had died on the way up here, and this being was the guardian of the afterlife. There... there weren't just beautiful, friendly, shimmering blue and gold people...

Were there?

Sunlight filtered through the rolling waves, dancing the waters reflection upon the watery world below. A steady current gave Lucid a lazy push across the reef, idly turning his fins and body in any direction of interest. Draped across his person was a net fashioned into a functional bag, bearing the treasures he’d collected so far today. An empty conch sucked clean by a nurse shark, a two foot broken plank of wood smoothed by the churning tides, a couple coral pieces for ingredients, and two coconuts he’d found drifting at the surface. He’d take them back to his crevasse for storage after his foraging was complete.

Before Lucid even hear the voice call out, he sensed him. A soft tingling that ran down the length of his body, a lateral line, alerting him to the presence of a larger body in the area. Ducking low to travel through the fringe channels of the reef, Lucid’s ear fins perked attentively. Finding an underwater arch in the corals, the blue scaled merman slipped underneath, peering from beneath the overhang. Sky blue hues widened in shock at the sight of the fellow mer, he was not like the others he’d known. The horns of course being the most prominent feature to grab his attention.

Lucid fluttered his tail fins, pushing him forward and out from beneath the overhang. Sunlight bounced off the scales of his lower torso, the shades of blue changing depending on the angle. Blue and golden scales flicked over his upper half like freckles, the gills along his obliques flushed gold. A soft series of clicks announced his approach before speaking, his expression bright and welcoming.

“If you count me as people, then yes! Not very often I get company on this side of the reef. Who are you, friend?” Like a playful, inquisitive dolphin, Lucid circled around the red mer, inspecting him from all angles. He took note of the poisonous spines running the length of the others body. In comparison the blue mer had softer, flowing fins along the sides of his tail and arms.