"Blitz, There Is A Crowd Full Of People Here Who Cared So Much, They Throw An Entire Fucking Party About

"Blitz, there is a crowd full of people here who cared so much, they throw an entire fucking party about hating you every year. Do you know how much you have to care to do something as stupid as that?"

Something I love about Blitz and Millie--

When Millie was fighting to get Moxxie back so he didn't have to marry Chaz, Blitz stayed out of her way, but was always watching. He joined the fight what, once and a half? When she was momentarily knocked down, he stepped in just to provide a distraction long enough for her to get back on her feet and continue absolutely destroying Crimson's idiots. When she was ready to take the car, he was there and kicked the door shut for her. They're good at knowing where the other is on the battlefield and they respect each other's skills.

I love that. I love it so much, love that Blitz might be an idiot, but he knows how incredibly badass Millie is. He knows that in general, Millie doesn't need anyone's help when she's in the mood to fight. Millie sure as fuck doesn't need anyone to hold her hand.

That woman is a powerhouse. Dainty, feminine, dangerous, capable, kind, and ruthless. Blitz respects the shit out of her. He doesn't put her on a pedestal, doesn't think she can do it all on her own, he's ready to help however he can whenever she needs it, but he knows that Millie's limits are so damned far above most people's, and honestly, Blitz loves that about her.

Any time there's a scene where the I.M.P crew are fighting together, just flawlessly having each other's backs, staying back when needed, counting each other's bullets, working seamlessly together, I love it so damn much, because that shit is hard. It's hard to fight together. It really does take time, it takes training together, it takes practice, it takes trust. And so every time any of them show what they can do together, how they can support each other and be so much stronger together? It just gives me so much joy.

Okay, I'll hush. I just. Yessss. I love them, Your Honor.

Why was bro so cunty in these photos?

I'm going to leave the Vees.

There it was. Something had been building all evening, some tension that settled in between the dishes, hanging in the air like smoke that couldn't be dispelled. Vox had been on edge ever since the invitation--not because an invitation in and of itself was strange, but because something was off. Something had been off, really; until now, he would've been willing to concede that it was all in his head, that there was nothing wrong with Valentino...

But not now.

Vox frowned at the announcement. He waited for a moment, perfectly still, expecting there to be something else, something more. Maybe Val would demand that he wanted to be the most public facet of the Vees, and then he would stay. Maybe he wanted his own building. Maybe he wanted Vox and Velvette to design another studio for him for whatever kink was trending these days. Maybe he wanted...

But he didn't.

The beautiful moth didn't add anything else. He wasn't throwing a tantrum. He didn't even seem angry. Valentino was being calm, deliberate. He had planned this.

Vox set his flatware down as well, regarding him for a long, long moment, before he took a drink. Whatever was about to happen, it would go down better with wine.

He set the glass down, huffed, then got up and walked over to him, his steps quiet.

Vox turned Val's chair out away from the table with him in it, then dropped to a knee. Frowning, he took his hands and held them between his own--not hard, just trying to be reassuring, to establish a connection.

"Is somebody fucking with you?" he asked, his voice just as calm and tense as the strange energy of the night, frowning. "Val, while I know you can handle yourself, if someone is fucking with you, threatening you, making you do this--don't let them win. We're not the V from Victims, remember? We're the Vees in Survivors. It's what we do. Survive and thrive. Together." Vox shook his head. "So whatever's going on, baby, talk to me. Let me help. I've got your back, you know that."

Because this had to be what was going on. Someone had gotten to Val, messed with his head, threatened him with something... Valentino could be the most impulsive and emotional sometimes--or so Vox believed, firmly in denial about his own ridiculous emotional outbursts when it came to certain broadcasters--and someone had doubtless taken advantage of that. There was no reason to be angry. No reason to be hurt. Because this wasn't a problem. It wasn't real.

Val wasn't really going to leave.

@doublejango redemption starter

He had invited Vox to dinner in his penthouse because he wanted to tell him about his decision in person. As they sat at the table in front of the glazed wall, Val carefully set his fork down, his plate of pasta half-finished as he looked at the TV demon's face.

ཐིཋྀ "I need to tell you something.", Val started, sounding much more serious than during their light-hearted chatter before.

"I'm going to leave the Vees."

for @holyfurnace, a ten year late plotted starter--

-

So far, so good. There had been a few fumbles with using the crystal, which apparently had a learning curve, but Blitz was nothing if not comfortable with fumbling while trying to learn; he was used to it, and fucking up in practice was just par for the course. He'd get there eventually, he knew--and besides, the more he practiced with this fucking thing, the busier he was, the less he needed to think about Stolas, or about Verosika and her shitty-bitch party, or about, about, about...

Fuck.

About any of it.

No thinking.

Only doing.

Still, he thought as he prepared to open a portal, wouldn't it be some kind of fucking heaven to just have all of that stuff behind him? If he could just learn to be a less shitty person somehow...

Blitz sighed and jumped through the portal, which was supposed to take him to Hell's Kitchen, apparently some place in New York where some dude was running around playing a devil--Dare Devil? Weird name, but humans were weird. He felt himself fall, smacking hard onto a surface that... didn't... feel like concrete. It... shit this definitely wasn't New York, he knew that immediately from the taste in the air, the smell. Something here was clean and fresh and appealing and--

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" ANGEL. ANGEL, ANGEL, ANGEL. Blitz had fallen onto a fucking ANGEL'S DESK? He scrambled, backing away, and abruptly fell off of the desk. "What the fuck? How the--did you fuck with my portal?" he demanded, hurrying to get to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at the angel--because clearly, clearly this was somehow her fault.

— Khalil Gibran