earned his moniker without hesitation.
❝ Most of the stuff I own is monster parts and trophies, ❞ he continued. ❝ But, I could wear one of those shirts you've got until it smells like me. Hell, we can probably cycle them out so you always got one. ❞
❝ If you're feelin' generous, ❞ Bask growled in agreement. He was never much for jewelry, but Nova's scent had always brought him some measure of comfort so the necklace seemed like a good idea. A bracelet was a bit more though. He'd cherish it of course, but he would probably
"Hmm.. maybe I'll make more than one thing," she responds, with a slight smile. "People won't question it much. And if they do, well... they'd be better off mindin' their business."
She's already thinking of how to incorporate a ward of protection into what she's going to —
put it in a case when he was out on mission so that it did not accidentally get damaged.
He didn't even really mind of others poked fun at him as it was par for the course at this point. But, if he heard Nova's name in a mocking mouth, he'd show them exactly how and why he'd
❝ Don't wear shirts too often, ❞ Bask replied. ❝ I was thinkin' like a ribbon or something. Or maybe a lock of hair in a necklace. Sounds kinda sappy now that I think about it, but I don't think anyone in Hell has the stones to question me about it. ❞
Not that Baskerville
All of her. Of course, he'd say that and mean it entirely; she kinda set herself up for an answer like that.
He was brave for saying aloud how he'd really felt, she thought. He didn't normally do that. Nov's pulled ever so slightly closer when his arms wrapped around her, her —
was part of the upper echelon of Hell or anything, but he spent most of his time among lesser demons. And they were, frankly, terrified of the "Omen of Death". Although. . .it did briefly cross his mind how they might react to Nova being his woman now. She had a few friends in
together. If we live, we do that together too. But I choose the potential of a life with you over my trauma, Amaymon. If you'll put up with a grumpy old dog for the rest of your life, that is. ❞
What if he didn't come back?
Baskerville had never thought about that. Not because he was invincible, but because, until May, there was none who would have cared. He was a weapon. And, when a weapon broke, it was discarded and forgotten, not mourned.
But, what if he didn't
sound was sharp, final, like the severing of a chain.
It was time to do what 𝘩𝘦 wanted. And what he wanted was their fucking heads on pikes.
❝ Let's go kill some bastards, ❞ he said to Amaymon, the resolve present in the enraged shape of his eyes. ❝ If we die, we die