RACIST PENGUINS?

RACIST PENGUINS?

I don't know what's funnier: the implication that these penguins know enough about imps to have slurs for them that can't be repeated on this show, or the implication the Blitzø speaks penguin

for @cruelprincae, whose muse unfortunately has certifiably the worst brother ever of all time--

-

Assisting Balekin would certainly prove to be an intriguing prospect, Vepar had no doubt, if the usurper ever actually called on him. It might be enough for this brother of his to simply be kept out of the way, of course, and that was an entertaining prospect. Although the faerie had been delivered to him unconscious, Vepar was already having a wonderful time. He knew next to nothing about these beasts. A quick check in his library didn't reveal much more than that they enjoyed 'free air.' Well, ventilation was doable, of course. His manor in the mountains had an abundance of fresh air, and was in one of the rare, cold parts of Hell. One room in particular had sturdy stone lattices to make up three of the walls--surely that would be the most appropriate place to put him?

So, he settled his new pet down on the bed in there, trying not to worry. Was this enough ventilation? A cold breeze was scouring through, but he didn't want this one to overheat... Still, temperature preference might best be left up to the creature to show him, and he wasn't entirely convinced that Balekin had been honest with his caretaking instructions. "He requires a fish-based diet if you're going to feed him solid food, but I wouldn't bother; let him choke on his own foolishness" and "the only milk he's suited for comes from cats, don't try to offer him anything else" seemed... less than sincere. But, for now, it was worth trying at least. He had sent several of his servants to obtain cat milk before even bringing this one home, and while they didn't find it exactly, they did their best: a little box of 'Kitten Milk Replacer' had been left on a nightstand, along with a glass, a straw, and a warming plate.

Perfect. Vepar got the little one tucked in under a comforter--dark blue velvet, nearly black--and touched his forehead, a trifle worried at whatever had been done to him to keep him out this long... Frowning, he sent a whisper of healing energy into the young creature, to hopefully ease any pain he might be in, and help him return to consciousness.

"Come now, little one," he murmured, talons lightly stroking at those curls. "Wake when you are ready. You will be well looked-after." Vepar stood and stepped away from the bed, stretched, and sighed as he walked over to look out the stone lattice. Magic hung heavily about his manor, all the more so now that he had a pet capable of using magic himself--although according to Balekin, his powers were a paltry thing, weak, used only for ugliness. Well, whatever they were for, Vepar would keep him safely contained here--however he raged, whatever he tried to throw against the wards, he should be secure. Nothing would ever hurt him--

And he would never be able to leave.

Hey Blitzø, have you ever seen what an owl looks like without its feathers? Would you like to?

Blitz snorted. "How bad can it--holy fuck, does no one feed them?!" He clutched the stranger's phone so hard the screen cracked, eyes wide in horror. "That---are they like, are they okay? LIke, not this dead fucker, but owls in general? How many mice do I need to feed Stolas a day to make sure he doesn't like fucking waste away?"

You know i dont get homoerotically pinned to the wall nearly enough

❝ I love you, even if it means saying goodbye. ❞

Blitz tried to answer, but he couldn't. He closed his eyes, fighting against the tears, but he lost that fight, too. They slid out, a trickle at first, but then steadily, and he shook his head.

"I love you too, Stolas," he whispered. "And maybe I'm not... not... maybe I'm not ready to be what you need. But I want to be. I want to. Whatever you need from me, I want to do. To try. Even if that's--even if you just--even if you just need to fucking, to go. And live your life, do what you want. I won't stand in your way. Just... Fuck." Humiliated, face burning, he took Stolas by the hand and dragged him into the nearest bar. Rude and small and shameless, because this might be the last time he ever got to see Stolas, he got into a minor tiff with the DJ, but was quickly put on stage--taking Stolas with him...

His heart in Stolas's hands.

Blitz wasn't the singer that Stolas was, but he knew now how much music meant to Stolas, how much the beautiful prince connected through it. Maybe that was because music had been the only safe outlet for him for so long, maybe it was just in his nature. Either way, Blitz owed him a song. The tears still fell, but he never looked away from his baby.

These were words he knew by heart.

"Just cause it's slow don't mean it's sad Just cause it's wrong doesn't mean it isn't right Just cause it hurts don't mean it's bad Just come over, come over tonight...

"Just cause we're fighting Just cause we're crying Just cause the stars in the sky, they aren't shining Just cause I told you that it was over That doesn't mean I don't need you by my side No, it doesn't mean goodbye..."

"Oh, right," Blitz immediately snapped, turning to look at his reflection, "I'm the broken dipshit? Bitch please. You don't even have my bloodstains from today, where's your sense of pride, huh? Some mirror. You--

"You..." He slowly lowered the finger he had been pointing, eyes widening, before he sniffed the air.

"I can fucking smell you. What kind of fucking funhouse bullshit is--you know what?" And that was it. Without any more deliberation, without any sense, without any kind of good decision-making process in the slightest, Blitz lowered his head and charged at this other him. Fuck that noise, fuck this funhouse, fuck the fucking carnival, fuck everything, he wasn't going to stand for--for--for whatever the fuck this was! Today had been shit (everything had been shit recently though, hadn't it?) and being confronted with himself, with having to look into his own eyes, with having to hear his own voice echoing off of the mirrors? That was too much.

He had horns, and damn it, he was going to fucking use them. Whoever was wearing a BlitzoDisguise2000, or whatever this was, was going to regret coming in here.

℧ :: starter with /  @doublejango

【𐂃】 He couldn't remember how he ended up in a place like this, an abandoned amusement park, looking like it had been sitting for the past few decades. It didn't help that his asmodean crystal wasn't complying with his attempts to open up a portal too. Fuck it, whatever. While he was here, he figured he could take a minor stroll around the place. Entering the first thing that piqued his interest, a funhouse.

Pacing through the labyrinth of obstacles, he looked down at his phone -- trying to obtain signal. Venturing deeper && deeper until -- he found himself stuck... in what appeared to be a maze made out of mirrors. Some ranging in shapes, others looking shattered. "Shit" stashing his phone away he raised his arms forward, trying his best not to bump his face against the clear glass. Inevitably coming to a standstill when he perceived a particular reflection. One that wasn't looking his way.

❝ This mirror is fuckin' broken. Shitty version of mine can't even mimic my movements right. dipshit. ❞