"You Haven't? That's Too Bad. Cause I Don't Even Know You," Blitz Stretched, Getting Comfortable, "but

"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.

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?

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.

"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."

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