For @umbravirtus -- Because Clearly, None Of Us Actually Love Hans Enough To Like, Not Torture Him When

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

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"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."

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.

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."

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?

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."

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