"Damn Right!" Blitz Couldn't Stop Smiling At How Cute All Of Them Were. "Hey, Do Any Of Them Like Scritches?

"Damn right!" Blitz couldn't stop smiling at how cute all of them were. "Hey, do any of them like scritches? These little fuckers are adorable. Yes you are, look at you! You're gonna grow into those big feet, and you're gonna get biiiiiiig chompers, and everyone's gonna live in terror, yes they will, oh yes they will."

The little dinosaur Blitz had scooped up blinked in confusion, but didn't really object to the affection. The imp was scratching it and rubbing its horned head on it, and that felt homelike enough to settle the dinosaur halfway to sleep.

Blitz looked up at Lucid before reluctantly offering it back out. "You tell me if anyone ever tries to hurt these fuckers. Oh, I will end a bitch!"

I mean Blitz brought Audrey II home. How bad could it be if dinosaurs come to Hell too? Lucid should definitely bring them all! What could go wrong? - @doublejango

Context xxx)

“You know what? You’re right! I will bring them all home. I bet Luci would be thrilled to have dinosaurs back too!”

In EXES AND OOHS, Blitz mentioned that killing other demons in Hell "ain't exactly our business no more." So...what's the story behind that? What kind of hits did Blitz do before getting his [gremlin] hands on the Stolas' grimoire?

Anything and everything he could. He had to make ends meet and was fucking determined to do it purely with hits--honest day's work, honest day's pay, etc. Taking contracts for people in Hell wasn't his first choice, it always felt a little more sleazy, but he would do it.

He actually got into a lot more trouble, more dangerous situations, doing that than he has on Earth yet, even including the penguins, because Blitz had absolutely no problem taking on highly powerful targets. Blitz was getting hurt all the time, sometimes pretty badly, but it paid the bills. He did what needed to be done and set money aside, knowing that once he adopted a kid--which was part of his plan for a long time, wanting to do what little he kid to make help someone--his expenses would go up. But eventually, he started making enough money--and gaining enough notoriety--that starting up a new venture didn't feel out of the question anymore, and he couldn't have been happier.

He had to be a much more vicious person then, but he did it and did it well. Now, though, Blitz feels more like a person, more like who he wants to be--less like a monster. Which, you know. Still a murderer. But hey at least he's... not killing his own kind? That's a win, right?

Unless he absolutely could not take the time away from work, Vox had a personal policy: he always accepted invitations to business meetings, especially when they came from fellow Overlords. Whether the Overlord in question owned one soul or a thousand, or a hundred thousand, didn't matter to Vox. He always sent a hand-written thank-you card -- his desk pen was a sharp stub nib, the cardstock rich and creamy, the ink a deep oxblood -- along with his response.

Usually, the meetings were a snooze, some sad little lost soul pitching terrible ideas, or just wanting to ramble off bizarrely violent fantasies and fetishes in the hopes that he would put a show together for that specific thing. Vox always tried to stay polite and upbeat, cheerful and engaging; whenever he was in the public eye, he assumed he was being watched. It was never just the eyes of whoever he was meeting with on him. It was all eyes on him. That was the only way to keep himslef sharp enough to never show his disappointment or frustration. He treated each and every one of them like a valued companion, even when it killed him a little inside, even when he struggled to find a friendly, upbeat way to say No. And all too often, it was a No. Not always--Vox loved to try new things, loved to be innovative--but most of the time, because most of the time, it felt like someone would need to suffer to make a certain pitch a reality. Val might play fast and loose with his employees' happiness and wellbeing, but Vox valued his--

And considered everyone a potential subscriber, a rich and bountiful vein to be mined for gems and gold.

Besides, most people in Pride--in all of Hell, for that matter--were already his customers whether they knew it or not. He was in damn near all of their modern technology, he could see out of any camera that connected to any of his many, mny networks at any time, he watched every credit card transaction, he paid attention to surges in the movement of souls-as-currency. Vox violated everyone's privacy to sone degree, and it was absolutely glorious. So, they were all his customers, and he would always, always make time for customers.

Still, walking into Visage's club? He was fairly certain he had made a mistake--or that she had. Given that the invitation was to her own establishment, he'd brought a bottle of decent wine with a nice ribbon on it as a gift, but the moment he set foot in here? He felt drastically out of place. He was tired, the ports in the back of his head ached from overuse that day, and he wanted to go home and unwind. Why was he here? This place was thriving, the flow of cash certainly noteworthy, and the dancers looked...

"Excuse me," he said, reaching out to stop one who was dancing nearby.

"You're supposed to go to the VIP booth, sweetie, keep going to the back," she told him, without missing a beat.

"Oh, no, I'm--yes. Thank you. May I ask you something?" At a nod from her, he frowned, hesitating briefly, studying her face intently. If she was going to lie, he wanted to know it. "Are you safe here?" Because that was it, wasn't it? That was why this place didn't feel as sticky and seedy as the haunts Val liked to drag him to? The employees here didn't look furtive, didn't look frightened or harassed.

The sparkle in her eyes before she smiled said it all. Stunned, Vox hurried on to go meet this strange new Overlord.

-

When he saw Visage, he was sure of it. He wasn't supposed to be here. She must have gotten him mixed up in her mind, and intended to invite Valentino. The woman was stunningly beautiful, enough that Vox actually noticed, despite so rarely letting himself notice. There was a sultry energy to her, but a sharp intelligence to her eyes.

Confused, he nonetheless offered her the wine--French, smuggled in from the living world, worth a few thousand souls or nothing at all, depending on one's tastes.

"Visage!" Vox's smile was bright and professional, and he stood with his customary poise and confidence, as if none of-- of this was happening around him. "I hope you'll accept this, a token of my gratitude. Thank you for thinking of me, and inviting me here." He offered his hand. "It looks like the night is going well? Profitable, anyway!"

(For @doublejango's Vox, because I have no impulse control. WHOOP! WHOOP! -- Visage despised politics. It was one of the many reasons she had never been all too thrilled at her 'promotion', but that ship had long since set sail. It was what it was, and she had done her best to make the most of it. Indeed, to make more of the position than many of those that were her peers. Where most of them saw fit to jealously covet their power and collect the souls of the downtrodden, Visage had instead seen an opportunity for change. There was a better way--she would prove it to them. Unfortunately ... going against the grain, especially in an industry so near and dear to another Overlord's heart, didn't come without its fair share of risks. Valentino was not a rival to take lightly, by any means. And while she lacked to power, experience and resources to face her opposition directly ... if she was clever, maybe she didn't have to.

Setting up a meeting with any of the Vees, for someone in her position, probably seemed like suicide on the surface ... but Visage felt confident all the same. Misplaced confidence based on inexperience? Perhaps. There was only one way to find out. Having deliberately chosen one of the busiest nights at the club as an opportunity to show how her business was thriving, the hellhound waited patiently in her personal VIP booth near the rear of the club. The invitation she had extended to the Television Demon had been accepted, but would he actually show...? Time would tell. Normally, the lupine Overlord preferred more casual attire or a 'business chique' sort of look when she was on the clock, but not this time. This was a night of making lasting impressions, and so she had taken the task to heart, dressed in a figure-hugging black glittering leotard with several large sections of missing material ... with just enough in just the right places to keep her breasts covered. These were paired with black metallic cargo pants with a low enough waistline to show that she was not, in fact, wearing any undergarments beneath that leotard. Just enough to make it seem that she just so happened to be caught on a night where she was wearing more revealing attire. Pure coincidence, really.

for @botanikos's sweet Stolas, who deserves to be allowed to sleep in but unfortunately got involved with a gremlin. continued from here, because of reasons

.

"We're just going down to your kitchen, and don't worry, you're gonna love it!" Blitz declared with far, far too much confidence. Deep down, he had the sneaking suspicion that he might have maybe fucked up, and that Stolas might finally kill him... but hey, the chances were good that Stolas would actually love his present, right? So, fuck it! Hashtag Worth it!

He carried him towards the kitchen--and past all of the staff who might normally be going in and out of there. Now, they were all just standing there, some with wide eyes, some looking frustrated, one or two afraid. Their morning routine had clearly been destroyed by whatever Blitz had done--and one of them was tying the majority of Stolas's forks to himself, apparently as some sort of armor.

"I saw it," Blitz declared, "and the poor thing just seemed so stuck. It was squished up in a dumpster on Earth, and I know you're into this shit, so..." Pushing the door open, he carried Stolas through--and up face to face with an extremely large carnivorous plant. Hell had its fair share of them, of course, as did Stolas's palace--but this new plant, while very similar to some of his, wasn't from Hell. A few of his kitchen plants had edged away nervously, scooting as far away as they could get, while the 'rescue' Blitz had brought him sat proudly in the middle of the room, stretching its roots and vines.

At their entrance, the plant quickly wilted, putting on its most feeble, harmless act, just as innocent and helpless as a lamb--as innocent as it could look with one of Stolas's other plants still sticking partially out of its mouth, wiggling feebly.

Blitz set his baby down and hopped over to stand next to the hungry giant, holding his hands out like this was a prize on a game show. "Look! Ain't it great? It's like, exactly what you grow, right?"

The plant snickered under its breath.

"Of course. You're doing so very well with your district, Visage, I'd be quite pleased to spend some time with you, if you would like that. It's always good to see the--" Vepar's speech faltered for a moment, when the cat Sinner whispered something to him, and his expression abruptly softened. "I know, little one," he murmured, and rocked him gently, as if he were a child. "I know. Hush." Only when the cat quieted did the Duke look back up at Blitz, then at Visage. His black, black eyes drank in the light, their depths almost inviting, as if one could fling themselves into those eyes and fall forever, finding sweet oblivion, peace, and acceptance.

"Forgive me. As I was saying, it's always a pleasure to see the little local governments in action, such as you have here. And really, you're doing so well. Your district is surprisingly safe, for what it is." He hugged the cat closer; by this point, the battered submissive was very nearly asleep. His eyes were half-open, tears slipping out, but the look on his face was the contentment of someone truly exhausted who had finally found their way home. And, all around him, subtle blue-green magic glittered, fine lines in a netlike pattern hugging all around the little Sinner, holding his wounds shut, keeping him together.

"Come at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon, Ms. Visage. The club is not open at that hour, but you will be expected. You are welcome, of course, to bring bodyguards, should you feel more comfortable that way, and you will be able to leave with a substantial reward.

"Thank you both for your efforts here tonight." He turned and swept out, taking the cat with him.

Blitz, swaying slightly, flipped him off as he went. "Fuck that guy. Looking down on us!" He growled, but didn't really have the energy to stay angry. So, deflating, Blitz turned back to her. "So yooouu... are an Overlord? That's, you know, fuck it. I'm not questioning anything else tonight." He hopped down off of the table--faceplanted--and stood quickly, brushing himself off. Exhausted didn't even begin to cover how the fuck he felt right now. Still, he looked up at his ally, a woman he'd never seen before and never could have imagined, his golden eyes gleaming.

"I did promise to thank you in a pretty particular way. You want me to do that now? Or if there's another room you like better...?" It didn't matter that he could barely stand, or that she was mysterious as fuck. Blitz had offered a deal, and Satan fucking damn it, he was going to follow through on it if she asked him to. It didn't matter how exhausted he was. Blitz was tired of letting people down, and determined to keep his word whenever someone asked it of him.

The she-wolf's head snapped back to the doorway at the sound of another unfamiliar voice, a single brow raising at the appearance of the unexpected sight. A Goetia? Here...? As far as she knew, all of their kind were high-and-mighty nobility among hellborn. Fancy birds that lived in grand estates, ruling over the lowly 'rabble' beneath them. To see one of their kind in a place like this...? A myriad of questions flooded her mind. A cast-down pariah of a noble family? A bored duke or prince with a strange hobby? The curiosity was neigh overwhelming. Even so, Visage was always one to trust her instincts and everything about the avian put her immediately on edge. Something was ... off. The ease with which the feline sinner was won over was too convenient, the bird's offer too seemingly sincere. Alarm bells were ringing. But the hellhound found herself at something of an impasse--if she looked further into the club's odd owner and remained behind to ensure the sinner's continued safety, she couldn't also make sure her newfound imp comrade's obvious injuries were properly tended to. What to do? With a momentary crease of her brow, a forced smile quickly swept across her face to mask her ill-ease. "Oh, no, we were just leaving ... though I'm sure you won't mind me coming back tomorrow to follow up? I have some questions for our feline friend, here, but his treatment takes top priority right now. A shit Overlord I'd be if I didn't conduct a proper investigation into an incident like this in my own domain, mm...?" She let the question hang in the air with a small cant of her head, smile widening. It wasn't much, but it was enough to imply that she expected to see the sinner again, which would hopefully be enough to keep him safe until she could return while not openly voicing her distrust. Besides--the opportunity to remind the Goetia that his establishment resided within the territory of a hellhound Overlord was too delightfully petty to resist.

The mun is presented with an [offering] 

An Asvine P36 Piston Filling Fountain Pen, with a complimentary bottle of dark crimson "Writer's Blood" Diamine ink.

Listen, Writer's Blood is quite possibly the BEST INK OF ALL TIME. So if anyone is considering trying out a fountain pen? Do it. Do it. Get a cheapie fountain pen and get a bottle of Writer's Blood and indulge in the sweet sweet goodness. It's the only ink I have actually finished multiple bottles of. It's so smooth, it shades beautifully on the right paper, it has a subtle golden sheen sometimes, it looks like blood in the pen but a sweet soft purplish-red (blood with way too much wine in it; ie, writer's blood) on the page, and it is just. so. good! SO GOOD.

It's harder to use with a dip pen because it's just so wet, you need really good paper (Unison brand composition books, made in Vietnam, are AMAZING and affordable), but you can use it with a dip pen too, if you want to feel really extra.

Writer's Blood is amazing and this ask made me smile so much, thank you!