Preface

if there's a future, we want it (don't try to take this from me)
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/56125561.

Rating:
Explicit
Archive Warning:
No Archive Warnings Apply
Category:
M/M
Fandom:
Helluva Boss (Web Series)
Relationships:
Blitzo/Stolas Goetia, Blitzo & Octavia Goetia & Stolas Goetia & Loona
Characters:
Blitzo (Helluva Boss), Stolas Goetia, Octavia Goetia, Loona (Helluva Boss), Millie (Helluva Boss), Moxxie (Helluva Boss)
Additional Tags:
Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Gardens & Gardening, Mutual Pining, Featuring a Daring Heist, Stolas Goetia Has a Cloaca, Family Bonding, Runaway Stolas Goetia, Background Relationships, tiny bit of Millie and Moxxie, demon transformation, Miscommunication, Autistic Stolas Goetia, POV Alternating, it's mostly Stolas except for one chapter, POV Stolas Goetia
Language:
English
Series:
Part 1 of Garden of Wrath
Stats:
Published: 2024-05-23 Completed: 2024-05-27 Words: 26,311 Chapters: 5/5

if there's a future, we want it (don't try to take this from me)

onetwothreefourfive

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

I actually started this before the other flowershop au and I kept getting stuck with it, but then the boys worked it out for me, so here we are

The hour before he opens up his shop in the morning is Stolas's very favorite part of the day.

He gets to make the rounds, attending to all of his lovely plant friends and children, checking on the ones that were wilting or sickly, watering them, fertilizing the ones that need it, talking to all of them as he goes. Sometimes, when Octavia is awake early enough, she even joins him to help, and he gets to bask in the glow of having his whole little family, all together. Taking care of so many varieties of foliage with different needs is a great deal of work, but he loves it and wouldn't give it up for anything.

All of his plants are unique, and Stolas is constantly learning new things about them. The majority are native to Wrath, to alleviate some of the requirements for keeping them happy in the early establishment of his shop, Garden of Wrath. Many of them develop the most delightful flowers in all manner of hues and patterns, and coaxing them to bloom bright and beautiful is always a pleasure, especially when he can manage it in the off-season, now that he has his greenhouse! It was quite the endeavor to have it built, but the Wrathians have been extraordinarily kind and generous in helping him find reasonably priced materials, and a few of them even assisted with the labor, despite the fact he could no longer offer to pay them fairly.

The ones that know who he is waved him off, insisting that agreeing to curse the harvest in secret this year is payment enough. But even the ones who don't know—he is starting to see regulars at the Garden, even!—told him they would refuse payment anyway, were he able to afford it. It meant a lot, particularly after a rough start, the first month or so, with everyone wary of him and his odd mannerisms, and even after he was discovered it took a while before anyone could really trust him, which was understandable.

Stolas thinks he has been unbelievably lucky, all things considered.

"Dad?" Octavia calls, peeking her head into the greenhouse. "Hey, can I go shopping today?"

"Again, darling? Did you not find what you were looking for yesterday?"

She shakes her head. "No, but they told me they were getting some new things today and to check back. Please, can I go? I promise I'll be quick and keep a low profile, just like you showed me."

"Come here," Stolas says, beckoning her into the greenhouse. She grumbles, taking a few steps into the structure before planting her feet, stubborn. Stolas looks her over with a critical eye.

He misses both her cute little beak and her brilliant red eyes desperately. But they need to be cautious, here, lest any rumors spread of an owl demon taking up residence. That would be catastrophic, and ruin the months of planning it took to get them both here, unobtrusively.

So instead of a beak and blue-grey plumage and brilliant scarlet eyes, Octavia has short, striped horns on her head, a long tail with a spade at the tip, and red skin.

He does as well, for that matter. He will not allow either of them to leave the house without their imp disguises, and often insists on them inside the house during business hours, as well. They can never be too careful.

But Octavia's disguise looks convincing to him, although it's still new to him and he's unsure if he would be able to catch any discrepancies.

"Could you stop by the neighbors before you go, just to double check?"

"Daaad," Octavia groans, "they gave the the okay yesterday, taught me all about bartering and not letting the salespeople fleece me and stuff. I did fine yesterday, no one had any idea, I promise!"

Stolas hums, reluctant, but then sighs. He supposes there are limits to even her patience.

"Very well. But don't take too long, alright? And check in with me as soon as you return?"

"Thanks, Dad!" Octavia darts in to peck him on the cheek—a strange experience still, with her impish lips instead of her sharp beak—and dashes out of the greenhouse before Stolas can get another word in, or rethink his decision.

But they are now far, far away from Stella and the rest of the Goetias, and Octavia doesn't have to worry about studying the grimoire or being forced into an arranged marriage or terrible parties neither of them want to attend. This is, without a doubt, the preferable arrangement for both of them. He made sure to check with Octavia as soon as they were out of the palace—he hadn't wanted to risk telling her before, he'd barely breathed a word of his plans aloud since the moment he decided on them—and while she'd certainly been surprised and anxious at first, she grew accustomed to her new circumstances quickly.

They both miss Pride and the city, sometimes, particularly as rural Wrathian fashion is quite far removed from either of their typical tastes. But Stolas supposes dressing in their usual styles wouldn't make for a very good disguise, so perhaps that is for the best.

He shoves down his worry, putting it aside for now. He has no reason to suspect anything will happen, and there is very little point worrying about it needlessly until an obstacle arises. He can deal with it when the time comes; he no longer has the ability to look into the sky for a glimpse of prophecy, at least not without tiring himself significantly. He's not sure he can recall the precise incantations, either. He returns his attention to his beloved plants, and preparing his shop for its opening in less than twenty minutes.

He misses the stars, and the ability to use his magic without consequence, but he would trade them away for his and Via's freedom again in a heartbeat.

*

The Harvest Festival is a little different this year, ostensibly without its prince around to give his cursing, but the Wrathians have made do without a curse before, and aren't ones to pass up the opportunity for a little fun and competition.

And of course, most of them don't know it, but they're still going to get their curse, just a little less publicly than the last few years.

Joe and Lin helped Stolas to set up the secret tent behind the stage, obscured from view and placed to look like another tent full of supplies and stage equipment. Stolas would have to wait until the crowd has dispersed, well into the night when most will be asleep, before opening up the skies to allow the light of the Harvest Moon to shine through.

He will be drained and weak for a couple days after the rite, as well, but he trusts Joe and Lin to make sure he and Via will be safe getting back home. Stolas wishes he could watch the games, but is still uncertain he can pass for a typical imp among a crowd of strangers, and does not wish to test himself around so many. He mostly stays off to the side with Octavia, observing from a distance, studying how they act and move and speak, absorbing as much as he can while remaining as unobtrusive as he can manage.

It's a little easier now that he does not tower over all of them.

When Lin approaches him and insists he and Via watch some of the Games with her, however, she does not take no for an answer, and they end up seated in the stands to watch some of the activities anyway.

Stolas very nearly stops breathing when he looks over the contestants this year, his gaze falling on an imp he would recognize anywhere, despite having not laid eyes on him for over twenty years.

His very first friend, the little circus clown boy, Blitzo, is among the challengers this year.

Lin looks at him, sees his panic, and immediately helps him to discreetly retreat out of sight. They've been over what they will do if they see anyone who might recognize Stolas, and he is endlessly grateful for her foresight and the way she takes action, casually and without hesitation.

She finds him a place to comfortably wait out the rest of the festival until it's time for the rite while Joe makes sure Octavia arrives home safely, and Stolas is relieved.

But there's also a desperate ache in his chest, because he so would have loved to be able to talk to his oldest friend were the circumstances different, and he feels a wave of homesickness stronger than any since leaving the palace.

But this was the decision he made, and he will not risk Octavia's safety and happiness, not for anything.

*

Eventually, Lin comes to get him. It's gotten dark, and all the Wrathians have gone home, and the coast is clear for Stolas to open up the sky and curse the harvest, as he does every year.

He'd known it would be difficult, but he still manages to vastly underestimate how much his grimoire assisted in the process. Without the spell to look at, without the steady flow of energy that the grimoire constantly emanates, without the words written out so he does not have to spend days beforehand memorizing every word and making sure he knows how to pronounce it, and without its focusing influence, Stolas finds the process is incredibly difficult. He manages, but concentrating on the words while he tries not to drop the threads of magic or let them get out of control takes all of his attention and energy.

By the time the sky closes again, Stolas can barely stand. Luckily, Lin and her daughter, Sallie May, are nearby, and they help him drag himself over to their tractor so they can drive him back to the Garden.

Stolas falls into a doze almost as soon as his ass hits the back seat of the tractor, and he can't help leaning against the warm body of the imp who drives him home, far too out of it to remember the trip. Frankly, it's a miracle he doesn't drop his disguise, but he manages to hold it for the whole journey.

When they arrive at his shop, Stolas feels a tail poke him in the arm. He isn't deeply asleep, and the gentle nudge is enough to rouse him, but he's so tired that it takes him until he's slid off the back of the tractor and is halfway to his front door before he realizes he recognizes the voice of the imp that had driven him home, and it's not Lin or Joe or Sallie May, or Millie, or even Millie's little husband.

"You gonna make it into the house, or do I have to carry you?" Stolas freezes, looking up at the imp that has Stolas's arm draped across his shoulders and is holding a substantial portion of his weight.

"Um," Stolas stutters, because of all the imps he expected to see, the one who was paid by his father to spend a day with him twenty years ago was very, very far down the list. He realizes he never told Lin who it was that he recognized earlier today, he didn't have a chance because she sprung into action so quickly.

Does he recognize him? Is Stolas's plan ruined already?

"You are... not Lin," he says, ever the well-raised, polite, socialite prince. And so observant.

"Nope. It's Blitzø," he says, and doesn't seem surprised, or like he expected Stolas to know already, although he apparently pronounces it differently than he did as a child. Maybe Stolas has finally had a stroke of luck, after a lifetime of misery and a fate that was smothering and very nearly inescapable.

He mostly looks annoyed, actually, and a little bit like he's concerned Stolas isn't quite right in the head, which he supposes does not indicate an inclination to run and report his whereabouts to the Goetian household. Right?

Unless that's because he already did it while Stolas was half asleep on the tractor.

But maybe Blitzø doesn't recognize him? Has he called him by name? Stolas can't recall.

"Hey, Hell to plant guy," Blitzø says, reaching around with the arm on the far side of his body, the one not currently wrapped around Stolas's waist, to poke him in the chest. "You alive in there? It's kinda cold, and I don't really wanna stand in your yard all night."

"Oh," Stolas says, glancing up at his shop. "V—my daughter," he says, gesturing with his free arm. "I can—if you would be so kind as to get me to my door, I can manage. My daughter is inside, waiting for me."

"Bet," he says, and takes a step, then another when Stolas matches him, stride for stride. "Uh, how old is she? Can she carry you?"

Stolas snorts. "That will hardly be necessary, I will be able to walk on my own in a moment, but yes, she is quite strong. And seventeen, so very capable of taking care of herself. And me, for that matter." He sighs. She's had to do that quite a bit more than he would have preferred, since coming here. Sometimes he misses his household full of servants, able to see to her every whim, so he never had to worry about her not having food, or medication when she was feeling unwell, or assistance with her homework—

"Alright, got it, I wasn't questioning her competence or anything. For all I knew, she was, like, a toddler. All baby-sized."

"Fair enough." Stolas's voice is quiet, and he decides to reserve his energy for getting into bed independently rather than focusing on being heard, or presenting himself as an eloquent conversationalist.

If Blitzø did recognize him, that's a problem he's going to have to deal with tomorrow, anyway. It's not as though he could do anything about it in his current state.

When Blitzø knocks on the door, it only takes half a minute before Octavia opens it, her eyes going wide as she takes in Stolas, draped rather pathetically around Blitzø.

"Dad," she says, reaching out, but Blitzø stops her with a raised hand.

"I'll help him get into bed, just show me where we're going," he says, and Octavia studies him for a moment, then shares a glance with Stolas, who shrugs. He's already come this far, what does it matter now? He doesn't have the strength to argue with him.

"This way," Octavia says, holding the door wide, and directing them up to the second floor, where the kitchen and bedrooms are.

Stolas slowly makes his way up the stairs, grateful for Blitzø's steady presence at his side. "While your assistance—is much appreciated," he manages between steps, "I admit, I was expecting—oof—Lin or Joe to see me home."

"What, am I not pretty enough for you? Or is it the fact I can't be bothered to be polite and shit?" He readjusts his arm slightly, taking even more of Stolas's weight, inching slightly lower down so he can help Stolas lift himself higher. This puts his arm right around where Stolas's lower back transitions into his rear end, and Stolas feels a wave of heat that burns in his belly.

He giggles, slightly hysterical. "Yes, because manners and looks are paramount for us Wrathians," he says, figuring a little testing might be in order. Especially because he needs to not be thinking about how Blitzø is more or less fondling his ass, which he has definitely not fantasized about before, that would be very stupid, he's been in his presence for a grand total of one day and about fifteen minutes in his entire life.

"Hey, I ain't no Wrathian," Blitzø says, putting on an exaggerated fake drawl. "I was born in Pride, although we moved around a lot. I'm just visiting."

"Ah, my mistake," Stolas says, half his brain still fixated on all the contact between them.

"You robe's on the bed, Dad," Octavia says, reappearing at the top of the stairs. "Need anything else?"

"No, thank you, Starfire," Stolas says, only panting a little as he finally makes it to the top of the steps. He pulls away from Blitzø, just a little, and is relieved when his legs seem to be tolerating his weight on their own. He reaches for Octavia, and she leans in so he doesn't have to bend too far to give her a kiss on the forehead. "I think I will go right to sleep, and worry about the chores in the morning."

"I cleaned up already, and I can do the rounds tomorrow morning if you need to sleep in," she says, only grimacing a little.

"Oh, I'm sure that won't be necessary, my owlet, but thank you," he says softly, and it's not until Octavia looks at him, wide-eyed, that he realizes what he's said.

Oh, fuck.

Maybe he didn't notice.

Play it cool, idiot bird. Suave, like—like a Wrathian imp. He can be a suave, Wrathian imp! He's been practicing for weeks, now.

"Anyhoo!" Fuck, no, stupid! "Good night, dear. Thank you again, for your assistance, Blitzø."

"I'm leaving after I see that you can make it all the way to the bed still upright," Blitzø says, and then wiggles his eyebrows at him, and Stolas has a whole new reason his legs are barely supporting him.

Fuck.

Fuck fuckity fuck. What is wrong with him?

"Okay, gross," Octavia says, her face scrunching up in disgust, and Stolas feels some dismay as she retreats to her room, leaving Stolas alone with Blitzø.

Dammit.

"Come on, you're almost there," Blitzø says, shooing him toward his bedroom, but without actually touching him, which Stolas is grateful for.

"I really am fine, just a bit tired," Stolas says, and is a little horrified when Blitzø actually follows him into his bedroom.

"Yeah, well, maybe I have an ulterior motive," Blitzø says, and the bottom of Stolas's stomach drops out. That... could be very, very bad.

"Oh?" He asks, and while he meant for it to come out unconcerned, maybe even a little flirty, he's fairly certain he only manages nervous, with an undercurrent of terror. "Are you here to ravish me?"

"Relax, I'm kidding. Well, mostly, anyway." He guides Stolas over to the bed, and then takes a step back, hands on his hips, between Stolas and the door.

"Okay, don't freak out," he says, "but I do actually remember who you are, Stolas."

Oh, no.

Oh, no no no.

"Stolas? Hey, I said not to freak out," Blitzø says, snapping a finger in front of his face, but Stolas barely hears it through the ringing in his ears and the thundering of his heart as his pulse takes off.

He's been so very, very stupid. Of course Blitzø recognized him immediately. What had he been thinking?

"Stolas!" Blitzø says, shaking his shoulder, and Stolas is shaken out of his panic, only for a wave of dizziness to crash through him.

"Whoa, okay. Calm your tits, I'm not gonna tell anyone, I swear."

"I tried so hard," Stolas whines, horrified to feel tears welling up in his eyes as he stumbles backwards and lands on his mattress with a thwump. "Were our disguises that poor?"

"Oh my god, don't be a drama queen. No, I'm just observant as fuck. And I read the news, unlike the freaks who live around here."

"The news?"

"Yeah, you've been all over the headlines in Pride for months. Well, less now, it's finally settled down. But yeah, they've been searching for you for a while. I wasn't actually sure it was you, but then I saw your kid."

"Oh, Via," Stolas sobs, "I can't let them take her back, they'll—"

"Stolas!" Blitzø shakes his shoulder again, looking intently at him, face inches away. "Listen to me! I'm not going to tell them fuck all."

Stolas frowns at him, trying to work out what possible reason Blitzø would have to keep his secret. The reward for turning him in would be... well. Difficult to pass up, certainly.

"Come on, Millie would never forgive me if I did that. I think the whole town might lynch me, actually, they are weirdly fond of you, I was threatened like three separate times to leave you the fuck alone when I asked who the hell you were."

Stolas sways a little, relief mixing with the lingering terror and uncertainty.

"There's also another reason I'd rather you not be turned in, though."

Here it is. Stolas braces himself. "What do you want?"

Blitzø scowls at him. "Not like that! I mean, it would be a favor, but I'm still not handing you over, even if you tell me to fuck off. I'm just saying, I have an interest in you staying here, in secret. If you're willing to help me, that's kind of a bonus. A big bonus, but still."

"Will you just ask already?"

"So, I kind of stole your book."

"You—you what?!"

Blitzø grins, wide and sharp, and it goes straight to Stolas's groin. Right, he thinks, because that is exactly what I need right now.

"Your book, I stole it. The night you ran away," Blitzø says, and Stolas stares blankly at him, turned on and terrified for his life and incredibly annoyed all at the same time.

"You have my grimoire?" Stolas asks, incredulous, and Blitzø nods.

"Yup. And you're exactly the person I need to teach me how to use it!"

Chapter 2

Stolas does not wake up the following day until just before dusk. He feels groggy and lethargic, and looks at his phone three times before the numbers mean anything to him.

When he pulls on his robe and stumbles out into the kitchen, he's shocked to find Blitzø sitting at the little table.

"About time, birdbrain," he says, without looking up. "The mini-you's just finishing closing up, she'll be back in a minute." He sips coffee out of Stolas's favorite mug, and Stolas does not think about that at all.

"It is nearly six in the evening," Stolas says, because other than that fact, his mind is drawing a blank, a mug-shaped cutout where brain activity should be.

Blitzø raises an eyebrow at him, finally looking up from his drink as Stolas approaches the table, and then goes still, wide-eyed and staring. Stolas realizes he is still in his true form, and it must be the first time Blitzø has seen it since they were children, and he blushes, searching for the magic to bring back the imp glamour, finding it without too much difficulty. His robe can accomodate both forms, although not... particularly well, and he holds the loose fabric tightly around his shoulders.

"Uh, yeah. Octavia threatened me, told me she'd respond with violence if I tried to wake you. Cute kid you got, there." Stolas wonders if Blitzø is being sarcastic, but unless he is mistaken, he sounds genuine.

"I— did you sleep here?" Stolas asks, glancing over at their tiny sofa, still attempting to catch up with... everything.

"Nah, I went home after you passed out, then came back this afternoon to check— on, uh. Our deal. To decide when you're going to teach us how to use the book. Since you fell asleep before we'd actually, you know. Worked out any details."

"The book," Stolas says, replaying what he can remember of the previous evening. Which is... blurry, but he remembers most of the salient points, he's fairly certain. "You want to use my grimoire to portal to the human realm."

"Righty-o. So when can you start giving me lessons?"

Stolas closes his eyes, reaching for the magic that is innate to him, that would not require the grimoire's assistance to wield, but it's muted, and far away, especially when he needs to use some of it for his imp form. Stolas frowns.

"I'm afraid I am still quite drained from yesterday. It may be a few days before I can open a portal, and possibly longer before I will be able to open a second to return myself home. And I would— I would prefer not to be away from my shop, and Octavia, for longer than necessary."

Blitzø shrugs. "Sure, fine by me. I'm not gonna go out of business, like, tomorrow, or anything. We should probably drive to Pride, though, I don't really wanna leave my van here."

Stolas slumps into a chair in relief. He hadn't been sure how demanding Blitzø would be, and it wasn't as though he would be able to deny him, if he decides he wants something.

Blitzø has all of the leverage in this situation, and while that wasn't an entirely new experience for Stolas— he'd been at the mercy of his father, and then Stella, up to and throughout their engagement, trying desperately to do whatever he could to make the arrangement as tolerable as possible for both of them, only to be faced with her sneering disdain in response to every action he took. And then he'd been under Joe and Lin's care when they recognized him, and he'd had nowhere else to go. They had been kind to him, but the moment Stolas makes a single wrong move, that may change and Stolas will be helpless and alone.

A part of him is still waiting for that moment to arrive.

"If you're hungry, Octavia made lunch and there's some in the fridge. If you want it," Blitzø says, and it shakes Stolas out of his rapidly spiraling thoughts.

"Oh, that would be splendid, yes," Stolas says, and scoots his chair back, only for Blitzø to beat him to the fridge before he's even had a chance to stand.

"She's a decent cook, for growing up a spoiled little rich kid," Blitzø says, dumping the contents of a plastic container into a bowl and popping it into the microwave. When he turns to see Stolas's vacant look, he grins. "She let me have some 'cause I was helping her downstairs earlier. She was running all over the place and looked like she was about to drop, so I offered to lend a hand while you slept in."

"Oh. That was very kind of you," Stolas says, honestly. The guilt swoops in, heavy, at the thought of Octavia having to manage by herself, but he also feels an aching warmth, glad that Blitzø was there to help her and had chosen to do so, even though he didn't have to.

Unless, of course, he was expecting something in return.

"Eh," he says with a shrug. "She reminds me of Loona, so."

Stolas takes a moment to search his memory, but comes up empty. "Loona?"

"My kid," Blitzø says, and opens the door to grab the food from the microwave just before it beeps, sliding the bowl in front of Stolas, and pulling open a drawer— the wrong one, apparently, because he closes it again before checking the one next to it, which is the one with the silverware— and grabbing a fork, handing that to Stolas, as well.

"I adopted her a few years ago. I'd do anything for her, but she's already an adult, who doesn't actually want me to do anything for her at all. So I take every chance to help out when I can, you know?"

"I do," Stolas says, taking a bite of the food. Blitzø was right, it's pretty good. Octavia has been practicing, with a little help from the neighbors, especially since they don't have access to most of the foods that used to make up their diet, here in Wrath.

"Dad? Are you finally awake?" Via calls, and Stolas turns toward the stairs as she softly climbs them, stifling a yawn as she reaches the top, shifting into her owl form with a blur of magic, her edges going indistinct briefly before she solidifies again.

"I am, my owlet, thank you for taking care of the shop for me today. I can handle everything tomorrow, I am feeling entirely recovered."

"No you can't, because we got a bunch of orders in today for herbal remedies I don't know how to make yet, so you're going to need to work on those while I manage the front," Octavia says, brushing a talon  along his shoulder as she walks by. "I'm glad you're feeling better," she adds softly, with a kiss to the side of his head, "but you should probably stop calling me that. Anyway, I'm knackered, so I'm going to go lie down."

"Of course, darling. Thank you for all your hard work, today." Stolas watches her retreat to her room with a wave, and then turns to Blitzø, who quickly looks away. "And you as well, I truly appreciate you helping Via while I have been unable to."

Blitzø shrugs, ducking behind the mug in his hands. "It's whatever. I'm just here to learn how to use the book. But it's boring waiting around, so. May as well keep busy."

Stolas smiles, because while Blitzø sounds irritated, he also is just slightly pink, and has lingered to help for several hours, and seems to want nothing in return.

Stolas finishes the rest of his bowl in a companionable silence, before taking it to the sink to clean it, and then pulling on the sweater that he'd left draped over the couch the previous day. "I am going to go look over the new orders. You are welcome to make yourself at home, and I don't know what your sleeping arrangements are, but I will be unlikely to sleep for quite some time, so you may use my bed if you wish."

"Fuck no, you gotta get your sleep to get your freaky magic mojo back. Besides, you're huge as fuck, and you can't sleep as an imp, right? I'll be fine on the couch."

Stolas stares for a moment, caught off-guard by how much Blitzø has been paying attention, before glancing to the couch, and then to his room. He has a point; he would likely be unable to sleep very well on the couch.

"I will move the cushions to the floor to sleep, then," he says, turning back to see Blitzø with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.

"Look, I'm not kicking you out of your own bed."

Stolas glances back toward his room, and has a very inappropriate idea, which he immediately dismisses and tries very hard to pretend he did not have in the first place.

"Suit yourself, then," he says, turning toward the stairs and fleeing without looking at Blitzø again, because he does not know how he would react if he had to try and make eye contact with him just at that moment, especially once he has visions in his head of what it might feel like to have Blitzø's hands on him. Inappropriate in the extreme.

He hurries downstairs to see what he can do to prepare for the next day, and doesn't see Blitzø's reaction to his abrupt departure. He doesn't want to, because he's not sure he could keep his thoughts to himself, and that would be so very dangerous.

*

When Stolas returns to his room many hours later, already fatigued even after such a short day, it's to Blitzø curled up on his sofa, snoring. Stolas huffs a frustrated sigh, grabs a spare blanket from the closet to drape over him, and collapses into his bed in a pile of feathers for the few hours he has before the shop is scheduled to open.

He suspects he will likely need a nap tomorrow, but before he can figure out how to rearrange his schedule to allow the time for one, he is already asleep.

*

Stolas and Octavia do their best to move around the kitchen quietly the following morning, something even more difficult to achieve with hooves than with clawed feet, but space is somewhat limited, and so it's little wonder they only manage to get halfway through breakfast before Blitzø wakes. He grumbles and makes his way over to the table, and when Stolas jumps up from his chair and offers it, scowls.

"I am finished," Stolas says, despite there still being food left on his plate. Octavia glares murderously at him, and he flinches, drawing his arms in closer, as though she might bite them off if he let them wander too far. "I—I will finish later," he says, pitch rising, and he shoves his plate in the fridge and flees downstairs, hoping their various chores might keep her busy enough to forget her ire.

While Stolas finishes assembling and packing the custom herbal remedy orders, Blitzø hovers around and asks questions. (What's this for? Why do they need that? I don't even know who it's for, how is that a 'privacy violation'? What crawled up your butt and died, birdy? Okay, there's no possible way there's a use for this besides sex, c'mon, look at the shape of it. Hey, stop laughing! I'm serious!)

When Stolas scowls at one of the orders, of course Blitzø notices immediately.

"Shitty customer, or shitty request?"

"Hm? Oh, neither," Stolas says, distracted. "Just... this would be a lot easier if I'd been able to take the rest of my nursery with me."

"The rest? How many kids do you have?" Blitzø asks, a little scandalized, and Stolas giggles.

"It wasn't for my offspring. The term is used for a space where plants and trees are grown, as well." He sighs, grief settling over him as he recalls everything he'd had to leave behind. "I had one in the palace, before I... came here. But I could not take my entire garden with me, it would have made escape impossible. I imagine most of my nursery likely did not survive long, in my absense."

Stolas shakes himself from the memory, glancing back at the order in his hand. "Anyway, the flowers from Audrey, one of the plants I... left behind... produce a nectar that would have been very helpful for this particular remedy."

"...Sorry about your plant babies," Blitzø says gruffly, and Stolas smiles sadly at him.

"Thank you. I do miss them, but I cannot say I regret leaving, even considering the cost."

Blitzø nods, and then when Stolas keeps staring at the page in his hand without moving, goes back to asking relentless questions until Stolas realizes he has made very little progress on the orders and kicks him out of the greenhouse so he can finish them before the end of the day, and then tend to his plants with some peace and quiet. But the questions did distract him from his melancholy mood, and he wonders if that was intentional.

He has finally finished preparing the custom orders when there is a loud crash from the front of the shop, and Stolas drops his watering can to rush out and see what the commition is all about.

"Who the fuck you think you're talking to, huh, assclown?!"

Stolas sighs. "Excuse me, what is the problem here?"

"This idiot—"

"Was looking for some flowers, I think," Octavia says, subtly kicking Blitzø's hoof. "I can show you and suggest some you might like," she says, and then looks pointedly from Stolas to Blitzø as soon as the customer's back is turned. 

"You should fire that guy," the imp mumbles to Octavia just before they're out of earshot.

"Come with me," Stolas says quickly, and when Blitzø opens his mouth and takes a breath, rage clearly at a boiling point, Stolas decides there are few options left to him. He grabs Blitzø's tail and pulls, dragging him up the stairs. "This way," he says, and ignores Blitzø's strangled yelp, because he snaps his mouth closed and trails after him.

"Fucking—you can't just do that," Blitzø hisses at him as soon as they get to the top of the stairs, and Stolas releases him.

"You were not listening to me, and we are trying to run a business, which I was under the impression you knew something about," Stolas snaps, whirling to face him. He's still not used to being shorter than anyone, especially imps, and Blitzø is currently several inches taller than him, but he still shrinks back a little under Stolas's glare.

"That guy was being a total dick to Via! Plus, he was being all skeevy about buying flowers just so his wife would sleep with him again, you should've let me punch him. Was fuckin' bragging about it. Piece of shit."

Stolas rubs at the space between his eyes with a thumb, thinking of the best way to phrase what he wants to say delicately. "We do not make judgements upon our customers' choices regarding their lives, here," Stolas says, ignoring Blitzø in favor of filling up his kettle, because he desperately needs some tea. "It is not my place, and frankly, we cannot afford it."

"What do you mean, can't afford it?"

Stolas stares at the kettle intently as it slowly begins to heat up. "I would've thought that would be fairly self-evident."

"That's not what I fucking— your family was super rich. Didn't you take shit with you when you left?"

Stolas feels a weight, one he tries not to think too hard about, his awareness of it heavy and constricting.

"Over the span of many months I took what I thought wouldn't be missed or traceable, but I used almost all of it to buy this shop, and the rest was exhausted by the time I arrived here. Finances are only part of it, though, as we must remain... discreet, lest we attract the wrong sort of attention. I cannot afford to be choosy about my clientele, or attending to their wishes. If they complain to the wrong demon—"

"Fuck that noise," Blitzø growls, insolent. "Why would any of that put you in danger? Some shitty customer complaining about an imp in a flower shop wouldn't link back to some missing owl prince from another Ring."

"I am new to town. It is only myself and my daughter, and very few know anything about our lives prior to arriving, or our reasons. You figured it out almost immediately. I do not want any scrutiny upon our presence here, lest it arouse suspicion, primarily for Octavia's sake."

That one shuts Blitzø up, finally. Stolas breathes out a sigh of relief, and pulls his tin of tea out of the cupboard, along with honey, and milk from the fridge.

"So I guess murdering shitty customers is out, too, then?"

Stolas groans, mostly to cover the huff of amusement. "That would be accurate," he says, taking a sip of the tea. It's too hot, but if he sips it slowly enough, he won't burn his tongue. He would have thought himself immune to burns in imp form, but it seemed some things were not affected by his magic. Or, if there was a way to do it, he had yet to discover it.

He's had plenty of injuries from angry customers that have served as thorough testing of his physical limits as an imp, and scalding tea doesn't come close to the boundaries he has pressed up against. Besides, he still heals just as quickly as ever once he drops the disguise.

Stolas sighs, content, as the warm tea slowly eases into his stomach, the warmth bringing him comfort and allowing him to relax.

"Let me try some of that," Blitzø says from inches behind him and Stolas yelps, very nearly dropping the mug, before catching it with magic, which he instantly regrets because he can feel the drain on his limited resources.

"Fuck, you're jumpy," Blitzø says, catching the mug before it can fall to the floor as Stolas releases the magic, and Stolas tries to subtly inch away from him, the closeness overwhelming and making his skin buzz with— with discomfort. Just that.

"I am accustomed to more sensitive hearing, and you startled me," Stolas says, reaching to take his mug back, but Blitzø pulls back and up, holding it out of reach.

"Oops," Blitzø says with a wide grin, watching him, and Stolas goes still, the buzzing and tingling getting louder, hotter, sweeping from his stomach outward through the rest of him.

Blitzø chuckles. "Wow, I've never seen an imp get as red as you," he says, Stolas scowls, stomping his hoof.

"Knock it off!" he says, reaching up for the tea, and Blitzø holds it farther out of reach.

"Drop the glamour and take it back if you want it so bad," he says, his voice dropping lower, and it goes straight to Stolas's—

Nope, no. Can't. Way too dangerous.

Stolas drops his glamour—he's wearing a loose, wide-necked top with a skirt today, and the skirt doesn't sit right on his feathered hips now, and his shirt becomes a crop top, but at least neither tear—and desperately snatches the mug from Blitzø's hand, his long talons moving so quickly that Blitzø can't pull the mug back in time, but he does scratch a long cut along Blitzø's wrist in the process, and he hisses in pain.

"Oh!" Stolas sets the half-empty mug of tea on the counter and steps in, pulling Blitzø's hand toward him to look at the cut. "My apologies, I didn't—"

"It's fine," Blitzø says, tugging his hand back. "Seen worse."

Stolas shakes his head, stretching around Blitzø toward the cabinet with the first aid kit, which he can now reach easily.

Blitzø clears his throat. "You don't gotta do that, it's barely even bleeding," he says when he sees what Stolas has in his hands, but Stolas ignores him.

"I injured you, and I am not going to sit here and let you bleed all over the floor," he grumbles, taking out some disinfectant and a bandage. "This will only take a moment if you hold still. Now, behave."

Stolas ignores the shit-eating grin Blitzø shoots him at that comment, keeping his attention fixed on Blitzø's hand and the first aid kit, squeezing a small dab of disinfectant over the cut and smoothing it into his scarred skin with a finger as gently as he can. Blitzø manages to stay blessedly quiet while Stolas finishes wrapping the bandage around the cut, and finally lets go with a satisfied pat, the wound clean and protected, and looking like it will heal properly.

"There. That wasn't so hard," he says, and then promptly stops speaking when he sees that Blitzø is watching him closely, and unless Stolas is mistaken, his skin is a few shades redder than usual, as well.

Oh dear.

Stolas's spine goes ramrod straight, and suddenly he's aware of every single spot where he'd touched Blitzø's skin, can feel the disinfectant warm as he smoothed it across his wrist, still tacky on his fingers as it dries. Luckily in owl form his head is significantly further up than when he's an imp, and at the moment he is immensely grateful for that extra distance. He jumps to his feet, needing the distance to be greater.

"I should—get back to the shop," he says, reaching desperately for the first thing he can think of, because his brain is still stuck on the look on Blitzø's face and how he'd been close enough that he could smell him, just a little, the typical infernal smoke and ash imps usually had, with some sweat and soil from helping with his plants in the greenhouse mixed in. It did not make Stolas want to tuck his head under Blitzø's jaw and kiss and bite and see if that got a reaction, because that—

No.

There was too much at stake. There was Octavia's safety on the line. He would not, regardless of how badly he wanted to. Besides, Blitzø was probably drawn to his imp form. There was no way he would want—

He forces himself to take another step back, and then several more, as he turns around and only just remembers to change back into an imp before he descends the staircase back to the shop, where there is plenty of work and chores to distract him and keep him occupied.

Blitzø doesn't follow him down.

*

"We appear to be out of fertilizer."

"How the fuck could we possibly be out of fertilizer?"

"Well, Via, when you have to feed numerous plants every day, and you don't go to the store to pick up more before your last bag runs out—"

"Dad."

"Can you run out and grab some for me?"

"No, because while you've locked yourself in the greenhouse again, there are five people in the shop and I'm in the middle of helping another, they just needed some of—" Octavia reaches past Stolas to grab a handful of herbs from a potted plant on the shelf next to him, and Stolas backs up to give her room.

"But—I can't leave you alone," Stolas whines, and Octavia just stares blankly at him.

"She runs the store just fine without you, actually," Blitzø says from behind her, where Octavia presumably left the greenhouse door open, and Stolas's pulse jumps.

"I do. Will you get him out of here already so I can help these people? Joe will have some extra, if you can't make it before the regular place closes."

"Got it."

"Via!" Stolas shouts indignantly, but Blitzø gets a hand curled into the back of his vest and pulls him out the front door before he can protest any more than that.

Via waves at him, smirking. "Have fun, Dad! Don't get lost!"

Oh, she's such a scheming little traitor. But also, he is going to stop telling her not to get lost, because wow, it sounds condescending. Does he sound that condescending?

"You do, yeah," Blitzø says, and Stolas realizes he's been thinking out loud. He could swear he does not do it as much in his owl form.

"Will you let go of me already?" Stolas says, swatting at Blitzø, who does release him, and then grabs on to his arm instead when Stolas stumbles, not expecting him to give up so easily, releasing him the second he has his footing again. "That was mean."

"Really? I thought it was pretty funny," Blitzø says laughing at him, and Stolas scowls.

"Hardly," he says with a sniff, and Blitzø just laughs harder.

"See, it's shit like that that's going to give you away, eventually. No imp from around here could ever sound so damn full of himself, or be so bad at using his tail to regain his balance."

"What?" He runs back over their exchange in his head, replays the scene from an outsider's perspective, and gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. He's pretty sure he's never heard an imp say 'hardly,' and certainly not with that tone, let alone wobble precariously like a newborn. Oh, shit.

Blitzø rolls his eyes. "Calm down, it's not that big of a deal. Most people will just think you're weird, honestly. And it's just me right now, so it's not like there's any danger."

That is not remotely true, Stolas thinks to himself.

"I'm really not going to rat you out to your shit family. If I was, why would I wait this long?"

Stolas scowls. "How is it you so often seem to know what I'm thinking?"

Blitzø shrugs. "You're expressive. At least, when you're an imp. I'm guessing you're not used to having, y'know. Pupils, a flexible mouth. It tends to give stuff away when it might not with a beak and shit."

Stolas frowns, and realizes that is probably true. Then he notices Blitzø's expression, and knows that Blitzø has just seen him make a face and probably knows exactly what he's thinking, and scowls petulantly at him again.

Blitzø laughs. Again. "Spend some time in front of a mirror or something, you'll get the hang of it."

Stolas very much doubts it, but he supposes there is little else he can do, at this point.

As he directs Blitzø to the establishment where he usually acquires his fertilizer—last time it was in exchange for some rare seeds, but he didn't have time to grab any, so it will likely be coins today—he is rapidly realizing there are a great many things about his grand escape plan that he had not fully thought through before putting it into action, and a lot of them boil down to this infuriating, courageous, terrifying imp who seems to be uncannily adept at reading him, and is able to find every tiny flaw and tear it into a gaping maw of an oversight.

("Did that dude just call you Eustoma?!"

"Erm, well, I needed an alias, and it's a type of flower, and I thought if Via accidentally slipped and called me Stolas it might be close enough—"

"Fucking hell. That is the worst cover name I have ever heard. Christ on a stick, we're in Wrath. I take it back, how the fuck you managed to keep your identity a secret this long is a goddamn mystery.")

And, of course, he is wildly distracting in the worst, most dangerous of ways.

Stolas has never felt so out of his depth before. It's deeply unnerving, and, unfortunately, also a little bit of a turn-on.

A lot of a turn-on.

It's an endlessly frustrating combination.

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

I forgot some tags, so I've been adding them

content warnings

sexual content

Stolas has decided that Blitzø is a damned, rotten liar.

He says 'no rush,' that he can wait, that Stolas can rest until he's able to open portals again, no problem. But after that first day he has not been able to sit still for more than two consecutive seconds without restless fidgeting or tapping or bouncing, will glance at the window in the middle of a conversation and then lose track of it and need to have things repeated, and keeps asking if Stolas is feeling better.

He's not subtle. Stolas is beginning to wonder if Blitzø is capable of subtlety.

And he knows that he's on a very strict time limit, and Blitzø could decide he's had enough and run to the Goetia at any moment. Not to mention, Blitzø has had to put his business on hold while he waits for Stolas to recover.

So, three days after Blitzø showed up in his shop, Stolas sighs and stops Octavia from flipping the sign on the door to say open for business. "We will be remaining closed for the day," he explains, when she raises an eyebrow at him.

"What? Why? We never stay closed," Via says, immediately concerned. Stolas raises his hands in a soothing motion.

"Nothing to worry about, Starfire. I'm just going out with Blitzø for the day, and I do not wish to leave you to deal with the shop alone. I promise I will return tonight, and be prepared to open as scheduled tomorrow. Our patrons will just have to exercise patience."

Octavia stares blankly at him. "You're going out. With an imp you met three days ago, and you're closing the shop to do it," she says, slowly, emphasis getting stronger with each word.

Stolas grimaces, and tries not to let it show on his face. He's pretty sure he's unsuccessful.

"It is necessary," he says, unwilling to tell her any more.

But she is smart, so smart, and she immediately narrows her eyes.

"He's making you," she accuses, and Stolas can't help the panic that rises.

"Hardly! It is an exchange, and one I agreed to willingly," he says, in as reassuring of a tone as he can manage. Octavia is definitely still skeptical, and he's going to have to come up with something more convincing, but he'll worry about it later.

"I will be fine—we both will. Now enjoy your day free of responsibilities, won't you? I will endeavor to return before dark, but in all honesty, I am uncertain how long this will take."

Octavia allows him to wriggle out of any further explanations, giving him a quick hug before he goes upstairs to find Blitzø, who has not yet moved from the couch.

"I am prepared to see to my part of our exchange," he says, and Blitzø's head snaps up from the television, where he'd been spacing out at it blearily, clearly not yet awake.

He's awake now.

"What? Already? I thought you said it'd be a week," he says, getting to his feet and closing the distance, squinting skeptically at Stolas' face. Stolas wonders if he still looks as tired as he feels.

"I am sufficiently recovered for the trip, and I do not wish to keep you from your business any longer than necessary," Stolas says, and it's entirely true. He will need quite a lot of time to recover afterward, certainly longer than a few days, but he can do it, and he cannot tolerate Blitzø being impatient with the possibility of giving up their secrecy at any moment hanging over his head.

"Alright," Blitzø says, swinging his keys around on his finger. He pulls out his phone to send a text before looking back at Stolas. "My van's across the street."

*

The drive begins somewhat quiet and just a little tense. Blitzø lasts about ten minutes before it gets to be too much for him, apparently.

"So what the fuck is wrong with you? Didn't you used to curse the festival and make portals all the time, no problem?"

Stolas can't help the snort that escapes him. He grew up around so much propriety, so much keeping his reactions and thoughts so tightly held and carefully guarded; the way Blitzø just blurts out what's on his mind is still taking some getting used to. Plenty of Wrathians can certainly be just as blunt, but they tended to avoid topics of a... personal nature.

Overall, Stolas thinks he likes it. Maybe a lot. It's so much easier, talking to people when he doesn't have to guess.

"Portaling without a book or other medium to focus on and amplify the magic can be taxing," he explains, and then remembers he's supposed to be trying to sound more like an imp and less like an ex-prince, but he's still not sure how to do that. "I'm also... rusty." Blitzø taps thoughtfully on the wheel as he turns onto the highway that leads to the Elevator.

"You mentioned you took the grimoire soon after I left the palace?"

Blitzø hesitates, but after searching Stolas' face for a moment, nods. "Yeah?"

"May I ask—what was the plan, exactly? Did you assume it would be simple to discover how to use it?"

Blitzø scowls at him, eyes narrowing. "How the fuck was I supposed to know magic was fuckin' complicated? I've never ever seen any before," he grumbles, tail flicking back and forth where it dangles over the side of the seat. In irritation, presumably? Stolas chuckles, which was probably not the correct response, but he can't help it.

"Fair enough," he says, and sighs. "I suppose this does explain the search expanded outside of Pride so quickly, and continued for so long, if they thought the book still in my possession. I had rather expected them to exert a cursory effort and then abandon it when I didn't come crawling back within the week."

Blitzø opens his mouth, hesitates, and then closes it again, which Stolas finds interesting. It seems he is capable of restraint, and frequently chooses not to display any.

Stolas thinks he can get used to that, as well.

Or he would, if he had the opportunity. Instead he will teach Blitzø how to use the grimoire, and then he will likely never see him again. That would certainly be the safest, given the current situation. Stolas glances out the window as the car shifts colors under the red light of the Pentagram as they exit the Elevator and return to Pride.

"I didn't... think about that," Blitzø admits, muttering the words, almost as if the only one meant to hear them is himself.

Stolas looks over at him and shrugs. "You had no idea I was planning to leave. I can hardly blame you for taking it, and you have good reason; it was merely inconvenient, and now it is in the past, and neither of us can do anything about it. To be perfectly honest, it is some small satisfaction to me that my father is left with neither myself, my heir, nor the only valuable thing I ever owned."

Blitzø grins at him, sharp and feral, and it zings up Stolas' spine, warming his guts. There was a little thorn left in his father's side, to accompany the betrayal and perceived theft, and it was a team effort. The spite and satisfaction hum and crackle on the surface of Stolas' skin, to the tips of his feathers, and Stolas feels energized and warm, and has never felt better about his rebellion.

The rest of the drive is mostly quiet, Blitzø turning the radio on briefly only to turn it off again when an unfamiliar pop song begins playing. Stolas' gaze keeps drifting to Blitz's hand where it rests on the gear shift, thinking about how easy it would be to just reach his out to place it on top, wondering what it would feel like. He can't remember ever wanting to know as badly as he does with Blitzø, an ache that runs all the way to his roots; he ends up holding his own tail, just to remove the temptation, his fingers rubbing it in little soothing circles.

Eventually they are pulling up to a somewhat run-down looking office building, and Blitzø leads him inside to a conference room.

"Sir? Is that you?"

Stolas startles at the sudden, somewhat familiar voice coming from the small kitchenette.

"Yeah, I'm here, Mox. And I found a teacher for us."

"A teacher, sir? I wasn't aware we needed instruction."

"Stolas here is gonna teach us how to use the book," Blitzø says, puffing out his chest with pride. "I gotta go get Looney so she can be here for this. You staying, or coming with?" He turns back to Stolas, who blinks at him, eyes wide.

"Um," Stolas says, but another imp approaches him from behind Moxxie, and she speaks before Stolas has a chance to make up his mind.

"Eustoma? What are you doin' all the way here, and not in your shop? And did Blitzø just call you Stolas?" Millie barely waits for a response before grinning and tugging on Stolas' arm, pulling him along with her to the kitchen and insisting on making him tea and telling him all about the business and showing him around the office, with Stolas too stunned to protest or resist.

Millie. Joe and Lin's daughter, who he'd met a couple times when she visitied.

And apparently works for Blitzø.

Her open, friendly warmth is just like Joe and Lin's, of course, but her brazen attitude reminds him of Blitzø, and he finds that he doesn't have much reason to complain as she shoves a mug of tea at him, peppering him with endless questions she doesn't seem particularly insistent on getting actual responses to in any kind of depth, and then presenting him with snacks she pulls out of a cupboard one after another until they land on something they both like. Moxxie has questions of his own, and is a bit more interested in Stolas' responses, but mostly he just wants to know about the book.

Millie's family already know about him, and have proven trustworthy. Stolas doesn't see how he can teach them without explaining how he is able to use his grimoire so well, and he clearly is familiar with its contents, so he ends up telling them the story of his frantic escape from his previous life. He leaves out Via for the time being, and several other details. He does not mention that he is a Goetia, although he can't imagine it would be difficult to figure out.

By the time Stolas has a moment to take a breath, Blitzø returns with Loona, and their lessons can begin.

*

Teaching Blitzø and his employees to use the grimoire has.... mixed results.

Loona takes to the book with ease, for the simple spells. Luckily portaling is fairly straightforward, as taxing as it can be. Stolas describes to her how he pictures a location, preferably one he is familiar with, or has seen pictures of, and builds the scene in his mind from the ground up. He instructs her to think about smell and sounds she's likely to hear, feel the way the air moves, take into account any notable features of the destination and how they might affect it, to make the sensory experience match; the closer it is, the easier to weave the connection.

None of them can manage more than a few attempts at a portal that day, but Loona is able to create a small window on her third try that Stolas cheerfully fits his head through, which is beyond impressive. When he tells her so, she scowls and rolls her eyes, and her tail rises. It's now a familiar reaction, and he can't help but find it endearing.

Moxxie and Millie are beginning to get a feel for using the book, but don't manage more than some spacial distortion on their first day. Stolas suspects Loona will be able to help them get far enough that they can serve as a backup soon enough, though.

As for Blitzø...

Stolas can't quite tell if Blitzø is incredibly ill-suited to magic, or if he just isn't trying.

He seems to barely be listening when Stolas is describing the sensations that he should be feeling, when he lays out the precautions to take, and how to know if you're opening one in the right location, or how to maintain it when your environment is hectic, which Stolas suspects theirs often will be. Loona appears to be on her phone frequently, but then she will flawlessly incorporate everything Stolas says, so he quickly realizes that whether or not he has her direct focus is rarely an accurate assessment of her level of attention.

The same cannot be said, however, for Blitzø.

"Are you listening to me?" Stolas snaps, when he begins explaining for the third time, entirely for Blitzø's benefit, how to reach for the magic.

"Am I—yeah, yep, for sure." Blitzø waves a hand in a circular please, continue motion.

Except, this is Blitzø. So it probably would go more like, Why aren't your lips flapping? Unless you want me to put them to a different use.

But that would be wholly inappropriate, and so Stolas is going to pretend he did not just mentally envision Blitzø saying that.

And there would certainly not be any eyebrow wiggling, because that would be... absurd.

"There should be a sort of tingling, in the air, that's how you know you've found the right frequency. And if you pull on it, a little mental tug, you'll feel it begin to bend, and it will become more malleable, and may grow warm as the energy—"

"Yeah, okay, I got it. Buzzing, tugging, warm air. Yup."

"So try again."

Blitzø blinks, gaze sharpening on Stolas' face, and looking far more perturbed than the situation calls for, in Stolas' opinion. They've been attempting the same thing for three hours, now. None of it is new.

"What?"

"Try. To make a portal. Again," Stolas says, slowly, one fist clenched and resting on his hip. He narrows his eyes at Blitzø, because unless he is very much mistaken, Blitzø had been managing to parrot his words back to him without actually hearing any of them.

"Portal. Right," Blitzø says, rolling up his sleeves. "Opening a portal. Take twelve."

Blitzø holds his hands in the air and frowns. Wiggles his fingers. Glances briefly at Stolas, gulps, and returns his attention to his hands. More finger wriggling.

Not so much as a flicker of magic.

"I think we should probably finish up here for today," Stolas says, turning to the other three. "You all are doing quite well, I doubt it will take very long at all before you can begin accepting clients with targets on the surface. If it is suitable for you, I can return next week at this time to further instruct you, should you need it."

"Thanks, Stolas!" Millie says, always cheerful, even when she's clearly feeling the fatigue from long hours of intense focus. "You're right, we need to call it a day, I think," she says with a glance over at Moxxie, who has fallen asleep with his head pressed into the conference table. "You portalin' back to Wrath?"

"Ah—yes," Stolas says, deciding that whether or not he is able to actually conjure the portal (and he is thinking it rather unlikely) he does not wish to trouble them, especially when they are clearly so tired. He has plenty of options for getting home.

He may have to text Via to wait at Lin's, however, because he is not certain he will be making it back before it gets late, let alone for dinner. He will have to make it up to her tomorrow; he so hates when he does not keep his promises.

"Loonie, can you help Millie get limpdick down to the van? I'll be there in a minute," Blitzø says, and Stolas gets a sinking feeling it's not so that Stolas can have free reign to interrogate him about why he wasn't paying attention to him all afternoon when he clearly cared a lot about his business and the success thereof.

But Stolas doesn't see a way to avoid the conversation other than miraculously manifesting the magic required for a portal, which he still does not seem to have. He'd been certain he would be able to that morning when he agreed to make the trip, but he had to demonstrate the magic before they could really understand what to do, and that in itself seems to have depleted him already. Perhaps he should have waited another day after all.

"How are you getting home, really?" Blitzø asks, the moment the door closes and they are alone.

"Excuse me?" Stolas asks, because out of all the things he'd considered Blitzø might ask, that is definitely not one of them.

"Yeah, you're a shit liar. You told Millie you would portal, but I'm pretty sure you can't right now, even though you just showed us how earlier. So, how are you getting home?"

Stolas sighs. "There are plenty of transportation services—"

"Sure, expensive and unsafe ones. I can drive you."

"Absolutely not! You are just as exhausted as your team, and you would not be returning here until nearly dawn," Stolas says, indignant. "I am perfectly capable of securing a ride, and I am hardly defenseless."

"Look, either you portal, I drive you, or you're staying here. Those are your options. Seeing as you can't portal, and you won't let me drive you, then you're staying with me. You can go home after you get some sleep."

"That hardly makes sense!" Stolas said, desperate. This is a very, very bad idea that he absolutely hates.

"What, your couch is good enough for me, but my futon's not good enough for you, your highness?" Blitzø asks, jabbing a finger in his shoulder. Stolas is annoyed that he can reach that high in his imp form, when he would barely reach his hip if he were his actual height.

But he doesn't hate anything quite as much as he hates being called 'highness.'

"You are impossible!" He growls, and actually stomps his hoof, like a rebellious teenager. He is immediately mortified at himself.

"Yeah, well, I'm not the only one," Blitzø grumbles back, and glares at him. "Are you gonna stay put, or do I need to take you with me to drop off M&M?"

Stolas throws his hands in the air, his voice breaking. "It hardly matters!"

"Great, because I changed my mind. You're coming with, that way I don't have to drive all the way back here."

Stolas feels like screaming and can't help the sound that escapes his throat, but rather than a full yell it comes out in a strangled, indignant groan.

"Glad you agree," Blitzø says, opening the door and holding it for him, taking a step back with a sarcastic flourish so Stolas can go through first, which only makes Stolas angrier.

What an ass.

A stubborn, headstrong, recalcitrant and unreasonably attractive ass. With... well, an attractive ass.

But Stolas isn't thinking about that and it's off limits, so it's totally irrelevant and not about to become a huge fucking problem.

Neither Millie nor Moxxie react at all when Stolas shows up and climbs into the back of the van, which he finds a little irksome, but that might be a combination of his fatigue and his conversation with Blitzø. The drive to their apartment is not long, and after dropping them off pretty soon they're pulling up to a sprawling apartment complex. By the time they pull into the lot, he has received a reply from Via, who tells him not to worry, and that she'll be fine for a night, and he's pretty sure she's right but he hates that he's not there with her.

There is animal excrement along the pavement and mysterious stains on most of the walls of the building, and overall Stolas finds it a bit off-putting, particularly when it comes to the olfactory experience. He's gotten used to similar smells in Wrath, certainly, but they're different, somehow. In the city everything is... denser, and all mixed together, making for a brutal combination that assaults the senses.

Particularly smell, which he is definitely still getting used to.

He is relieved to find that Blitzø's apartment smells fine, for the most part. Loona beelines for the shower soon after they enter, leaving Blitzø to wander toward the kitchen to start preparing dinner, and Stolas follows for lack of anything better to do. They're chopping ingredients, after arguing over a recipe for several minutes, when Loona emerges from her room, fully dressed and makeup done.

"I'm going out, I'll be back in time for work tomorrow."

"You haven't eaten," Blitzø says, and she shrugs. 

"I'll eat while I'm out," she says, and Blitzø hesitates, tail twitching, but then gives her a huge grin. 

"Okay, have fun! Make good choices, sweetie!" He says, and she's gone, and then it's just the two of them.

In Blitzø's very small apartment.

Where they are going to eat, and then... sleep.

"I could have used the book," Stolas says suddenly, knife hovering over a carrot.

"What?" Blitzø says, pausing his stirring of a bowl full of chopped ingredients.

"The book was at the office. I could have just used it to portal home. Why the fuck did I not think of that?" Stolas rubs at his eyes, digging them into his skin. How stupid. He left Via all alone for no fucking reason.

"I guess," Blitzø says. "Do you want me to drive you back?"

Yes. Yes, that would most certainly be the smart thing to do. For several reasons.

But Blitzø has already accommodated him quite a lot the past few days, and he doesn't want to ask him to drive all the way back to the office and then home again, surely that's asking more than crashing on his couch at this point. And Via is safe at home, she seems fine, the Garden is locked, and he can get back before opening as long as he doesn't oversleep.

And he is fucking exhausted.

"No... No, that's not necessary," he says, sighing.

Blitzø just nods and continues stirring. "So how does Millie know you?" He asks as he pulls out several seasonings from a cupboard.

"Uh," Stolas says eloquently, thrown a little by the abruptness of the question. "She is Joe and Lin's daughter."

"Well, no shit," Blitzø says, dumping Stolas' chopped carrots into his bowl, "I meant how did you meet all of them."

Stolas tilts his head, watching Blitzø as he puts the bowl of ingredients into the microwave. "I curse the Harvest Festival every year. You were there," he says, trying to figure out what Blitzø is getting at.

Blitzø groans, his tail swishing side to side erratically. "You went to them when you ran off, right? From your family."

Stolas hugs his arms around his midsection, no longer liking the direction of the conversation. "Not really. I went to Wrath. I... had intended to keep to myself, but I was... not good at blending in, apparently. As you've pointed out. They figured out who I was fairly quickly. Embarrassingly so."

Blitzø raises an eyebrow at him. "You thought it would be easy, pretending to be an imp?"

Stolas flushes, and ducks his head. He hates that he can't seem to figure out how to fit in—not with his family, not in Wrath, not anywhere. "Well, I... I did not have very many options."

Blitzø frowns at him, takes the food out of the microwave when it beeps and splits it between two plates, sliding one in front of Stolas. "It's not like standing out is always a bad thing."

Stolas scoffs. "Right. Being the strange, outcast loner hovering on the edges of the crowd who can't seem to do anything right at all the parties is quite the enviable role." Stolas immediately regrets everything he just said, burying his face in his hands. "Please ignore me. I am exhausted, and apparently, moody."

Blitzø wraps his tail around Stolas' wrist and uses it to tug his hand away from his face. Stolas would be fascinated with the dexterity if he weren't too busy being mortified at himself over freaking out about Blitzø touching him with his tail. Luckily, the contact is brief. "It's fine. I prefer it, actually. Eat your food."

Stolas highly doubts that, but he supposes Blitzø is likely trying to make him feel better. He can be a decent host, especially once you get accustomed to his brusque manner. Stolas does as he is told, and while the meal is certainly not gourmet cooking, he's so hungry that it tastes divine. His plate is half cleared before Blitzø has taken more than a bite.

When Stolas finishes his plate, he finds he is not quite full, but would cut off his own tail before admitting it, opting to wash his plate instead.

"You don't have to do that," Blitzø says, but Stolas doesn't stop.

"Nonsense, it's the least I can do to repay you for your hospitality."

Blitzø sighs, which Stolas only hears over the running water because Blitzø is suddenly standing right behind him. "I mean, I did pretty much force you to stay here." He grabs a towel, and takes the dish from Stolas once he's finished rinsing it so he can towel it dry and put it away.

The domesticity, not to mention the proximity, is intoxicating. Stolas' skin feels like it's humming, giving off a constant low heat, all of his senses attuned to Blitzø's every move. He can't look at Blitzø directly, especially not when he feels like every single thought is displayed clearly on his face.

That would be... profoundly inappropriate, and a very rude way to repay Blitzø's kindness. Because that's what all of this is, he is certain. He could have made his way home easily a number of different ways, but Blitzø was determined not to let him go alone, and had to bully him into accepting his gesture. And Stolas repaid him by fighting him on it.

And now Stolas can't seem to keep his thoughts under control.

Finally, the kitchen is clear, and Blitzø moves far away enough that Stolas feels like he can breathe again.

"You do know you can go back to your regular form here, right? It'll be just us until tomorrow, and I'll make sure to warn you before Loona gets home."

Stolas is about to argue, but he can't sleep as an imp anyway, and holding his disguise is one more small drain on his magic. Really, he should have dropped it sooner. He must really be tired, to be making so many idiotic mistakes.

He glances down at his clothes, which are very much imp-sized and shaped. "Do you have anything that might fit me when I change? I did not plan ahead for these circumstances."

Blitzø stares at him for a second and his tail lifts, but then he shakes himself out of it. "Um, yeah. One sec, I should have a loose t-shirt somewhere, and some sweats. They'll be short, but they should work."

While Blitzø searches through a dresser, Stolas clenches his teeth together, teeth which he's not going to have very soon, as he considers what possessed him to allow himself to be in this situation. But he forces himself to relax, focusing on his jaw and then slowly working his way down his neck and shoulders, through the rest of his body. It's easier to drop the magic when he's calm and relaxed and not tense, but he's finding it particularly difficult today. For... no specific reason.

Finally, after a few minutes he's relaxed enough, and he goes into the bathroom to remove his clothes and shift back in his owl form, having to hunch over slightly to avoid hitting the ceiling.

"That took longer than usual," Blitzø says from the other side of the cracked door, opening it just enough to drop a t-shirt and sweats as well as a towel through. "I figure you probably want to shower or something?"

"Oh. Um, yes, that would be... good," Stolas says, having trouble stringing words together as the fatigue from the day settles over him. He sinks down onto the toilet, which is nearest, when he feels like he's getting unsteady.

"Or you can do it in the morning, you sound pretty wiped," Blitzø says, and Stolas decides to pull the shirt on. It has a rainbow-colored horse on the front and hangs almost to his waist, which is going to have to do. He pulls on the sweatpants next, which barely reach past his knees, and hang loose on his hips, especially since they won't fit over his tail, but they stay up when he tightens the string. He gets up and opens the door the rest of the way to find Blitzø right on the other side. 

He crosses his arms as Stolas walks over to the couch and drops onto it heavily. "Why are you so tired? You were looking way better this morning."

Stolas sighs. "I have not had to open a portal in some time, I suppose it took a greater toll than I was expecting," Stolas says, picking at a loose feather on his arm. He must truly look atrocious if Blitzø is noticing and commenting on it.

"Are they supposed to do that?"

"What?" Stolas looks up to see Blitzø watching him.

Watching him pluck out a loose feather, and toss it on the floor.

"Shit," he says, reaching down to grab it. "My apologies, I did not think—"

"Stolas, it's fine," Blitzø says, resting a hand on his arm to stop him. "You're not sick, are you?"

"Um," Stolas says, and has to work very hard to concentrate on the question. "N-No, I just—haven't had a chance to preen in a few days. Usually Via and I—we help each other remove the loose ones."

"I could help you out, there," Blitzø says, and Stolas stares at him.

"What, is that weird? You said Via helps you, so it's not like, a sex thing, right? 'Cause that would be pretty fucked, if it was a sex thing."

"It is... not a sex thing, no," Stolas says, and has to try very hard not to think about how it would feel to have Blitzø's fingers running through his feathers and against his skin in repetitive, soothing motions.

"What? You look... uncomfortable."

Very. Extremely. "I—am having trouble thinking. Clearly. Because of—fatigue."

"Okay, well, I'll make up your futon then," Blitzø says, getting off the couch and going to a closet, and Stolas lets his eyes drift shut as the relief crashes through him. Finally, he can breathe again. For the love of Satan, coming here was such a bad idea.

Blitzø is back entirely too quickly, tapping at Stolas' shoulder and shooing him out of the way so he can pull the futon-sofa flat, and as Stolas watches him fit the sheet over it, he frowns, and glances around the room.

Loona's room, and the other door is the bathroom. Kitchen. Front door.

"Where is your room?" Stolas says, turning in a circle as though it will make another door magically appear.

"Pretty much here," Blitzø says, reaching for the top sheet and unfolding it, flicking it to settle it evenly across the mattress. It's crooked, so he has to circle around it to tug it more centered. "Been looking for a bigger place, but can't afford it yet, with the business being so slow."

Stolas puts his hands on his hips. "If I am taking your bed, where are you sleeping?"

Blitzø glances up at him with an eyebrow raised. "The floor?"

Stolas is affronted. "Absolutely not! I am not taking your bed and leaving you to sleep on the floor in your own home! Especially after you refused to take mine!"

Blitzø wiggles both eyebrows, and he has absolutely no right to make it look sexy. "You suggesting we share?"

Stolas flushes scarlet and wants to die, and very conspicuously does not answer. Blitzø's eyes go wide.

"N-No!" Stolas says as his brain catches up, but he has a sinking feeling that the damage is already done, his grave dug, flowers laid atop, the sermon... sermoned.

He really wishes his brain was working.

"So you do wanna fuck me!"

Stolas squawks in an entirely undignified manner. "I—wh—I beg your pardon," he says, and he can feel his face lighting on fire, and all his feathers are rising, and oh heavens, how is he supposed to hide it when he is being so goddamned obvious?

Blitzø jumps up onto the futon, making a mess of the sheets he'd so neatly arranged, and stomps across it to jab a finger at Stolas' chest. "You liar. Your tail should've been a dead giveaway, but I couldn't tell if it was a weird owl-demon thing that was getting mixed up with the whole disguise bullshit, so I let it be. And you're red all the time, but for all I know—and then all the shitty politeness!"

Stolas is reminded viscerally of the several times that Blitzø has touched him today, grabbing his arm, the tail wrapped around his wrist, and then back to that first day helping him into the Garden after the festival, and now the finger jabbing into his chest is all he can think about. Well, that and Blitzø's affronted expression inches from him, which is a little scary but also really endearing and he just wants to—

Blitzø scowls. "You're not listening to anything I'm saying, are you?"

"Huh?" Stolas manages, but he can see Blitzø's pointed teeth when he curls his lip like that, and he wonders what they would feel like—

Suddenly Blitzø leans up, and digs his claws into the short feathers along Stolas' jaw, and then his tongue is in Stolas' mouth.

It certainly doesn't belong there, but Stolas finds he's forgotten that entirely and instead is determined to keep it for as long as he can manage. He gets a talon up to the back of Blitzø's head and runs into his spikes there before he figures out how to hold on, and then gets distracted when Blitzø licks the roof of his mouth, and he can't hold back his needy whine, he's never had a tongue in his mouth before and it's a little weird but also amazing, and Blitzø is constantly finding new ways to improve the experience.

Stolas is abruptly aware that he has absolutely no idea what to do with his own tongue, or his hands, or anything else, honestly. Blitzø pulls back to break the kiss, looking up at Stolas with an unreadable expression, and then bites his lip, and oh fuck.

"Okay, so that explains some stuff," Blitzø says, and Stolas desperately wishes he could say the same.

"Uh," is all he manages, and Blitzø grins at him, quick and lethal.

"Sit," he says, and a shiver goes up Stolas' spine and he drops to the futon like his strings have been cut, needing both of his hands to steady himself.

"Okay. Okay," Blitzø says, crouching down in front of him, grin a little shakier than it had been a moment ago. "I can—yeah, okay. Cool." He grabs Stolas' arm, guiding him closer to the center of the futon, up against the cushions that serve as a small, soft headboard. As soon as Stolas is settled against them comfortably, Blitzø climbs into his lap, and Stolas stares at him, wide-eyed, and watches his tail flick up and then circle his thigh, coiling around it, holding tight.

"Off," Blitzø demands, pointing at Stolas' shirt. Or, Blitzø's shirt, which Stolas is currently wearing.

Stolas obeys, and suddenly feels very exposed under Blitzø's intense scrutiny. He supposes he would  want something... more compatible, were he in Blitzø's position. He reaches for his magic, but it's far, far away still. "I—I do not think I can change my appearance back, at least not right now," he says, hesitant.

"What? Why would you do that?"

Stolas looks up at him, expecting—frustration, maybe, or disappointment. But he only sees confusion, followed by a glimmer of understanding.

"Wait, do you think I want—That's a disguise. It's not the same. Right?"

Stolas opens his mouth to respond, and then realizes he doesn't have one, and shuts it again.

"Do you want to wear a disguise? 'Cause sexy costumes are a thing, if that's what you're into."

"No," Stolas says, and that feels correct, although he couldn't explain why. "I don't—I don't think so," he amends, because he's not totally sure, either. Sometimes getting to pretend to be someone else is nice. But right now, he thinks he would rather just be him.

"'Kay. Tell me if you change your mind," Blitzø says, layering his tone with firm authority. Stolas nods. It doesn't sound like he answered wrong, based on Blitzø's reaction, so maybe he hasn't messed up too badly yet.

Blitzø reaches out and runs his hands through the feathers on Stolas' chest, digging his fingers in. The scratches are just short of painful, the marks he's undoubtedly making invisible under the layers of feathers, and when Stolas gasps he leans in to kiss a path down Stolas' neck, and all the sensations are almost overwhelming.

"Untie this for me, pretty bird," Blitzø purrs into Stolas' feathers, playing with the drawstring on his sweatpants, and Stolas feels an aching want race through him, heat coiling down low and his hips jerking up without his input. He feels like he's at Blitzø's mercy, and as terrifying as it is, he can't deny how badly he wants it.

He reaches down to loosen the knot, and as Blitzø kisses his jaw he can feel the smile of his lips as they press into his feathers, his hot breath sending tingles radiating outward. "Good, just like that. Now touch yourself for me, just one finger. Start slow."

Stolas gives a whole body shudder and obeys, sliding a hand down into the waistband. He's done it before, of course, has experimented a little here and there, but it was always a little lackluster, compared to how others talked about it, compared to what he saw in the videos he found.

But now? As Blitzø watches him, shifts his weight slightly so he can grind down against Stolas' thigh, all the heat and intensity of his attention on Stolas as he presses his single finger inside, just enough to tease and rub in circles, is a revelation.

"Deeper," Blitzø commands shifting back enough to tug Stolas' waistband down so he can watch, groaning lightly as he reaches his other hand into his own boxers.

Stolas whines, less because of his own efforts and more as a result of watching Blitzø start to breathe harder, and squirm on top of him, and increase the movement of his hand.

"Yeah, gonna need more than this. One sec," Blitzø says with a low snarl, his weight suddenly gone as he rolls off of Stolas, going through his pockers and then discarding his clothes. "Get naked," he says without even looking at him, and Stolas doesn't know why but everything Blitzø does goes straight to his cloaca, scrambling his insides and making all his coherent thoughts evaporate, and he frantically slides the sweatpants off, kicking them to the side and spreading his legs, waiting.

"Oh yeah," Blitzø says when he looks over and sees him, grinning, and Stolas has never really thought about his appearance before, at least in this way, even with all the effort he puts into it, but right now he feels... good. Wanted.

Blitzø crawls across the mattress to gives Stolas a filthy kiss, pressing him back into the pillow, and then Stolas yelps when Blitzø presses his hand against Stolas' cloaca, sliding in easily with how wet Stolas has become.

"I wanna fuck you," Blitzø says, holding up a condom with his other hand.

"Please," Stolas moans, desperate, and he can't even find the ability to be embarrassed about it, especially when Blitzø's eyes go dark, and he presses two fingers in and curls them, and Stolas feels a rush of burning heat as Blitzø tears open the condom with his sharp teeth. He waits with barely contained agitation as Blitzø has to take his hand away to use both of them as he rolls the condom over his leaking dick, and Stolas realizes what's about to happen and the size of it and wonders if it will be painful.

But he will never forgive himself or Blitzø if he doesn't try, as soon as possible. Stolas scoots forward, pressing impatient kisses to Blitzø's jaw, dragging his talons along Blitzø's thighs where he can reach, reveling in the texture of Blitzø's skin, warm and smooth, then a little rougher where he runs across the scarring.

"Alright, almost got it. Grab that pillow for me," Blitzø says, shoving his face away with a grin. "Trust me."

"I do," Stolas says automatically as he gives Blitzø the pillow, and Blitzø looks stunned for a second before he yanks it out of Stolas' hand and tugs on his thighs until he lifts his hips so Blitzø can shove the pillow underneath.

"Good," Blitzø says, and Stolas takes a moment to revel in the bubbly warmth that arises at the praise, that does every time, because it feels precious.

"I'm gonna start slow, tell me if it hurts," Blitzø instructs, watching Stolas and waiting for him to nod. "I mean it. Tell me, or tap me, anything. I won't know if you don't say something, but if you tell me I can adjust and it will feel better."

"I understand," Stolas says, breathless, and then, "if you don't hurry up and fuck me with your huge cock right now, I will never forgive you."

Blitzø snorts. "Alright, brat. You asked for it." Blitzø leans in, pressing another maddeningly perfect kiss against Stolas' mouth, and then his dick presses against Stolas' cloaca, sliding forward little by little. Blitzø guides himself with one hand, the other stroking a path up and down Stolas' chest, until his feathers are mussed and sticking out in every direction, but Stolas doesn't care. He doesn't even notice.

Blitzø presses in, licks Stolas' cheek as Stolas pants, unable to concentrate on returning the heated kisses, attention constantly shifting from Blitzø's mouth to the hand on his chest and in his feathers to his dick, stretching him, filling him, sliding deeper and sending fizzling sparks up his spine with every inch.

"Blitzø," he moans, clinging to whatever he can reach, first Blitzø's forearm and then up to his shoulder. wrapping both arms around Blitzø's neck when he bottoms out, inside Stolas all the way to the base of his cock, snug and hot and perfect.

"Yes," Stolas says with a groan, "oh you feel so good, Blitzø, don't stop. Fuck me harder."

Blitzø dips his head down to bite at Stolas' neck, the pain shocking Stolas enough that he stops talking, and then Blitzø draws back just enough to push in again, with a little more force.

"Oh!" Stolas gasps, and the lingering pain of the bite with the pressure and friction and deep satisfaction of Blitzø's dick inside him is mind-numbingly good.

Blitzø barely gives him time to revel in it, repeating the process a little faster, a little harder, pulling out just a little more, until he is pounding into him at a relentless pace. Stolas feels sweat beginning to gather, sliding down his neck, behind his knees, bent where they're pressed to either side, and he feels hot all over, pleasure rapidly building in his core.

"Ah, I'm—hng, I'm going to—" Stolas can barely get the words out, and then Blitzø grunts as Stolas' climax hits him, rips through him with force, and he feels his hot cum leaking out around Blitzø's dick as he continues to thrust, deep but more and more erratic, and he clings desperately to Blitzø as he fucks him through his orgasm.

Blitzø starts to slow, feels like he's going to pull out, so Stolas holds him more tightly, clenching down on him, and then says, "come on, cum inside me," and it doesn't even make sense because Blitzø is wearing a condom and Stolas feels a little silly but Blitzø whines and gives a final thrust and shudders before he goes still, and Stolas presses lazy kisses to his shoulder and up his neck and scratches lightly at one of his horns, still holding on, but loosening his grip enough that Blitzø can pull away easily when he wants to.

Eventually Blitzø pulls out, reaches down to yank the condom off and throw it into a bin, and then Stolas reaches for him so he leans back in to kiss him obligingly. It's less frantic, with less teeth, and Stolas never wants to stop.

"I need to grab new sheets, you made a mess," Blitzø says between kisses, and then when Stolas doesn't stop, waits for him to take a breath and then reaches up a hand to slip it between Stolas' beak and his mouth.

Stolas whines.

"I'll be back in like two minutes," he says with a snort, and Stolas feels a pleasant ache at the grin twitching the corner of his mouth up, and doesn't stop him when he swings his legs over the side of the bed and tugs on his boxers.

He brings a glass of water, and also the discarded towel, and Stolas realizes he really doesn't want to go to sleep without cleaning himself off after all, accepting them both.

He tries not to feel a little disappointed when Blitzø doesn't follow him into the bathroom, realizing he should probably take a moment, because... wow. Fuck. Fuck him stupid.

Well, Blitzø did that already, but. Yeah.

Stolas had no idea anything could feel the way—that way. He wonders if it's always supposed to feel like this, if it would with someone else, or if it was just Blitzø. If it's some kind of power Blitzø has over him.

He wonders if he would mind.

When he returns to the futon Blitzø has changed the sheets and is scrolling through his phone, still in his boxers. He goes into the restroom after Stolas slides into the bed, and Stolas is asleep before he comes back out.

He's not sure later if he dreamt it, but he thought maybe even through his mostly-asleep state he could feel someone slide into the bed next to him, wriggle close, and press their face into his feathers.

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

content warning

demon transformation. i get a tiny bit eldritch with it

Stolas wakes, looking across the futon and finding it empty. He glances around, but he sees no sign of anyone. He quickly changes to his imp disguise, just in case, and glances around until he spots a note on the nearby end table.

went 2 wrk. loona not hom til aftr, round 4ish. bgael n cheez in frijh

He left, without waking him. Stolas does not know how to interpret that. He supposes he left him breakfast, sort of? And told him—what, when he would be home? Or was it meant to indicate how long he had to leave? The note was factual and succinct, without any indication one way or the other.

Stolas crumples the note in his hand. He supposes it is most likely an attempt at a gentle dismissal. He feels stupid—what had he been expecting? Some sort of—of relationship? How much of a foolish idiot could he be? They hadn't made any promises, or anything of the kind. Sometimes people had casual sex. It happened and was normal, right? That's what you would expect, from this type of situation, when nothing had been discussed beforehand.

He takes the bagel out of the fridge; it feels rude to leave it there, like some kind of petty retaliatory rejection. But he's not really hungry, so he opens a portal without eating it, because he doesn't think he can stand to be here any longer. He will tend to his wounds in the privacy of his own home. Or, at least, the privacy of the tiny second floor of his shop.

Before he closes the portal he glances over to the front door, checking that it's locked. Then he looks at the table where Blitzø left the note, and hesitates. It wouldn't be presumptutous to leave his number, right? If they're having issues with the book, it would certainly make sense to have a way to contact him more easily than a drive to Wrath, after all. Blitzø can always throw it out if he doesn't want it.

He doesn't see any more notepaper, so he smoothes out Blitzø's crumpled note as best he can and scribbles his phone number on it, with a thank you, and an offer to contact him if he should need anything. There. Not too demanding or needy, right? Just... providing information. In case.

He shakes his head and hurries through his portal, leaving before he can overthink it or re-crumple up the note and throw it out in a fit of grief.

He will return to his shop, and it will be okay.

*

Blitzø does not contact him later in the day, long after he must have returned from work and seen the note, nor does he the following day, or the next weekend. Stolas assumes they have gotten proficient enough with the grimoire that they no longer require his assistance, has a good cry (or several), and returns his attention to the Garden, his pride and joy.

Octavia of course did a marvellous job without him, and was able to open the morning of his return without issue, even with the slight delay. Stolas took over in front and suggested Via tend to the greenhouse in the back, so she could have a break after dealing with so many customers lately. She did not complain, which he translated as teenager for extreme gratitude. He likes interacting with customers; they always want to tell him all about what they're buying flowers for, and often ask him for his opinion on good arrangements, or sometimes the meanings behind certain species, which he is always delighted to answer, in as much detail as they can stand.

He is describing one such flower, a couple weeks after his return, when his phone chimes. He always checks it immediately in case Octavia requires assistance, but this time it's from an unknown number. Stolas opens it and promptly inhales his own spit, choking and coughing to clear his airway.

sos. ned halp. portil asap?

There is no location, or any further information, or any follow-up texts as Stolas continues to stare at it, completely at a loss. Just the one message.

What the fuck is he supposed to do with this?!

"Dad?" Stolas startles, turning to Octavia, who is the only other person currently in the shop. He doesn't even remember what he'd been doing a moment ago.

"What's going on?" She asks, and Stolas shows her the text. "Is this from Blitzø?"

"I would presume so," Stolas says, and Octavia frowns.

"He has your grimoire?"

Stolas nods.

"Can you sense it, the way you used to be able to?"

Stolas loves his perfect, brilliant daughter. He squeezes his eyes shut and searches inside deep, looking for the connection he's had to his book since he received it so many years ago.

It takes him a minute, but he can sense it, somewhere in the human realm. He can get an approximate location, but he can't seem to force open a portal there—something is interfering. Or his magic isn't strong enough, he can't tell which.

But they have his book, and they're among humans. So he has another option.

"Via?" He asks, holding out his hand. She immediately grabs it. "I am going to require a little of your magic for this, if I am to get there."

"Do it," she says, determined. "I'm sure as fuck not using it."

Stolas smiles at her. "Thank you, Starfire. I am forever grateful that you are my precious daughter," he says, and closes his eyes again, feeling some of her magic trickle across the connection between their hands. He focuses on the area of his grimoire, zooming in closer until he can pick out two humans in the room with his grimoire, turns his attention to one of them and concentrates with all the magic he has available, and some of Via's.

Possession can be tricky, and took him years to get right, but he hasn't quite forgotten how it works. Probably couldn't, even if he tried. It's a bit like muscle memory. He settles his essence, even over such a great distance, into the form of his chosen vessel, expanding it to fill the available space, pushing the original inhabitant to the very edges. He is angry, and terrified, and lets that pour out of him and into the human, yanking on their limbs like a puppeteer pulling strings. The human's movements are jerky and wrong, but they do what he needs them to. They draw the circle, his symbol, a pattern burned into his mind that he can never forget.

Stolas drops his impish form, sheds it like an outer layer, ill-fitting and weighty as though drenched from a torrential storm, and it tumbles from him into an incorporeal heap of discarded magic. Next is his usual form, that of the owl prince. This one is a skin-tight jumpsuit, enveloping him from crown to toe, shifting effortlessly with his movements, weightless and familiar.

But this also is an outer layer, a second skin. He peels it away, strip by strip, until what is left is a writhing black mass of rage and dark smoke in the shape of feathers that flicker between empty and solid, searing molten heat, smoke and shadow. He claws his way across the space between where he stands and the circle, dragging his form along with elongated, flickering, inky talons, and crosses the threshold between realms.

He screams, the sound not anything corporeal vocal chords could produce, and it reverberates in the humans' skulls; he can see the effect it has, follows the vibrations with his demonic eyes. There is no color, he can't see it in this form, but he can track movement and sense fear. The humans have backed into a corner, as far away from him as they can get.

You dare threaten my little imp?

Part of Stolas is unsure where the words come from, but he is not thinking clearly, not acting from a place of reason or sense, purely murderous intent masking a deep panic. He wants to frighten, to intimidate, to let these worthless creatures know whose territory they have encroached upon. They know only that he is a demon, and he plays the part.

When he feels he has threatened them sufficiently, he slowly gathers the strips of his discarded mask, piecing them back together, lining up all the edges, pouring himself back into the vessel, deliberately collecting all the feathers and smoke and shadow until he's sure he has it all. Contained.

He turns to Blitzø with eyes that can once again interpret color and light in the way he is used to, and sees him, standing in front of his employees and daughter, arms out. There is blood all over their clothes, but they are all standing, and breathing, and awake. They seem to be intact. Blitzø's eyes are locked onto him, but Stolas can't think about what he does or does not see there.

"Are you alright?" He asks anyway, because he needs to hear the words, see the response for himself.

Unfortunately, returning himself to his owl body took everything he had left, and so he collapses to the ground before they can answer. Or maybe they did, and he just doesn't have the ability to parse the words.

The ground doesn't feel as solid or as cold as he expected, he thinks vaguely, before he loses consciousness.

*

When Stolas starts to regain awareness, his hearing returns first, and he can pick out voices. He cannot make sense of any words, but they are hushed and he can detect worry in the tone, and he feels a vague concern knocking at the edges of his mind. Is something the matter? He wants to ask, but everything feels like the gravity has been increased by several orders of magnitude, and moving is quite impossible. He manages a tiny whine, he thinks, although he cannot be sure it's audible, and then succumbs once more to the warm embrace of sleep.

When he begins to regain consciousness a second time, he is convinced he must be imagining something combing gently through the feathers on his crown; only Octavia has ever done so, and she cannot be here. Or perhaps she is, and he has scared her. He hopes not. He leans into the touch, and sighs happily, because it feels gentle and comforting. Then the touch goes away, and he wishes desperately that it would come back, and he tries to chase after it, seeking the comfort. After a moment it returns, and he can relax again. He does not manage to stay awake to enjoy it for very long, but he appreciates it all the same.

*

Stolas blinks awake, somewhat abruptly, and glances around the room.

It's dark and familiar, although it is not the Garden and he cannot place it at first. He has no idea how long he has been here or what time it is other than likely night judging by the low lighting, which is concerning. Glancing to the table at the side of the couch he is sprawled out on he finds his phone, and also his daughter, asleep where she kneels on the floor next to him, her head resting on the cushion by his hip, one hand resting over his arm where it's tucked against his side.

He cannot reach his phone without disturbing his daughter, who looks disheveled in her sleep. He feels a deep ache as he remembers leaving her so abruptly without much explanation, and hopes he didn't worry her too badly.

"You were out for almost twenty-four hours, it freaked her out a bit," says a soft voice from behind the couch, and Stolas whips his head around to find Blitzø leaning over the back of it, his cheek resting on a palm as he stares down at them. Stolas's heart picks up its pace, racing, and he looks back to Octavia but thankfully he hasn't woken her with his distress, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Unfortunately, that doesn't help with the fact that he is less than a foot away from Blitzø. And the low voice he speaks in so as not to disturb Via—well, it's not calming him down at all.

"I suppose everyone knows exactly who I am now," Stolas says, recalling what he can of his impulsive forced summoning.

"Wasn't much of a secret. And they're not gonna rat you out any more than I am, I swear it."

Stolas doesn't want to think about how many different people he's just handed the key to his destruction with his stupidity, people he's only known for a short while, because he will likely not be able to remain calm. Whether they're trustworthy or not, it's a huge risk that he took without even thinking about it, which is probably the part that scares him the most.

"How did she get here?" He asks, because talking about Via is a safe subject. Probably.

"She used your phone when you left it behind, so I told her that we were fine and you were unconscious but breathing. She demanded a portal, and I figured it was better to just get her here than force her to find a way to get here herself. She didn't seem like she was gonna drop it."

Stolas sighs. "I suppose that was probably for the best, then."

Blitzø goes quiet for a moment as Stolas delicately runs a talon through Octavia's feathers, smoothing them down.

"I didn't know you could do that. The whole—demon form thing."

Stolas pauses, wondering how much he should say. "I do not like to," he says. "Maintaining control in that form is... challenging."

"Seemed pretty in control to me," Blitzø says, offhand and without hesitation. Stolas looks at him, and the soft glow of his yellow eyes stands out brightly in the dimly lit room.

Stolas clears his throat to buy himself time before responding. "I should not have exhausted myself so thoroughly," he says, wincing. "Normally I would not have."

"Because you didn't have your book?"

"That may have been a factor, but..." Stolas reallizes abruptly that he does not want to continue his sentence, and falls silent, his beak snapping shut.

"But?" Blitzø prompts, and Stolas feels heat redden his cheeks as embarrassment swells in his chest. He is such an idiot.

"I—I may have overreacted, and. Panicked. Slightly."

"Panicked," Blitzø repeats, sounding skeptical. "You were worried about some humans? Can they even hurt you?"

Stolas scoffs, shaking his head. "I was not concerned over some humans, no. They cannot do any meaningful damage to me, with or without my grimoire."

"So... you were worried we'd lose your book, then?"

Wouldn't that be less embarrassing. "No, I was not concerned about that, either." Stolas pulls at a loose thread at the hem of his shirt, wondering if he's going to have to discard it, and trying very hard not to think about Blitzø's scrutinizing gaze on him.

"Stolas."

He lets out a frustrated huff. "You sent me an emergency message! Out of nowhere! I figured you would only do that if it was—a life-threatening situation. So. I panicked, and lost control."

There. Now he knows, and can see how much of a careless idiot he is. Stolas drops his face into his hands, because he does not want to see Blitzø's reaction.

"You do realize we're all alive because of you, right?"

It doesn't sound like disappointment to Stolas. He risks looking up at him, and is confronted with a wicked smirk that twists his stomach into painful knots of nerves, and a searing heat.

"I definitely owe you for the timely rescue. How ever can I repay you?"

Stolas is reminded, vividly, of what it felt like to have Blitzø's cock inside of him, and he feels a pulse of need, desperate to experience it again. To have that, with Blitzø. But, while he wants it more than just about anything...

"I—don't need to be repayed," Stolas says, forcing the words out, which takes effort, given how aroused he is. It pains him, to turn down the offer, but he just can't. "I don't think I can—do that."

"Oh," Blitzø says, and straightens up a little. "Got it. No problem."

Stolas frowns, because Blitzø almost sounds upset.

"It's not—I want to," he says, before he can think better of it. "No, wait, that's not—I—shit. I don't want a... a meaningless... I don't think I can do—fuck. I am not explaining this well."

Suddenly, Via shifts, her head rolling to the side. "Mmngh—Dad?"

"Oh! Good morning, Starfire." Stolas turns to her and then, out of the corner of his eye, sees Blitzø dart a glance at her before retreating without another word, slipping quietly out of the room through the front door. Stolas doesn't want him to go, feels as though he's kicked Blitzø out of his own damn apartment which is a terrible way to return his hospitality and care, but he also has no right to beg him to stay if he wants to be elsewhere. And Via deserves his full attention right now, anyway.

"Dad!" Via shoots upright and throws herself at Stolas, arms wrapping tightly around his neck. Stolas doesn't even have time to lift his own arms before she pulls away with a furious expression.

"Don't do that to me!" She says, jabbing a sharp talon between his eyes. "You disappeared and didn't come back and I didn't know—" She starts to tear up, and Stolas feels the guilt squirm violently in his stomach and he reaches out to grab her hands, holding on tightly.

"I am so sorry, my owlet. I—I lost control. I swear to you, I will do better."

"Ugh. Shut up, I can't stay mad at you if you just apologize right away," she grumbles, leaning forward to rest her head against his chest.

"Ah, of course. Shall I feign being defensive and irate for a while first, then?" Stolas jokes, resting his cheek on the top of her head and preening the few feathers he can reach. "I could stomp around for a bit, perhaps lock myself in the bathroom and throw a tantrum, scream bloody murder?"

Octavia laughs wetly, and Stolas resolves to do his best never to make her worry ever again, if he can help it.

They stay like that for a few minutes, just sitting quietly without saying anything, until the door across the room opens and Loona emerges.

"You're finally up," she says, making her way over to the fridge. "Either of you hungry? I'm gonna make myself a snack."

"Ooh, do you have any more of those spicy chips you gave me earlier?" Octavia asks getting up to follow Loona into the kitchen.

"Sure thing," Loona says, reaching into a cupboard and pulling out a bag to hand to Octavia. She then looks over at Stolas, who blushes.

"Oh, no, I'm quite alright—" And then his stomach betrays him with a loud growl.

"Fuck it, I'm ordering something," Blitzø says, emerging from the front door, the smell of smoke hovering around him. "There's not a whole lot still open, but I should be able to find a fucking pizza or something. What am I putting on it?"

They argue about what pizzas to get for a while, all having somewhat incompatible topping preferences, but eventually settle on three pizzas with enough variety to appease everyone. They place the order, and then when things settle into a mildly tense quiet, Loona suggests they turn the TV on. Octavia climbs onto the couch next to Stolas to curl up against him with Loona and Blitzø sitting on the floor in front of them on cushions and blankets, all of them watching mindless reality shows and making fun of the idiotic premises and melodramatic participants while they wait for the pizzas to arrive.

Stolas has spent so much time with just Via, the only one he can be in his true form with, be himself with, that the contrast as they all sit together and eat and watch shows is quite stark. Here are two more people who have gotten to know him, who have accepted him and his daughter both, and so far haven't demanded anything from them that they aren't willing to give. They talk casually about unimportant things, nothing serious or heavy, and it's both unfamiliar and soothing.

He'd been wondering if they would ever have this, after leaving the palace, and he is intensely relieved to discover that it might be possible to find it again. His family might not just be the two of them forever, terrified and alone. Well, there were always his plants, but seeing as they couldn't talk back, it wasn't quite the same.

After they eat their fill and chat over another episode of the show they're watching, Octavia yawns loudly and her eyes droop closed, and Stolas decides they should leave before they overstay their welcome.

"We should return to the shop," he says, squeezing Octava against his side, which she responds to with a sleepy grumble.

"I can open a portal," Loona offers, and Stolas smiles gratefully at her.

"That might be wise, at least until I get a couple more days of rest," he says, and Octavia opens her eyes enough to glare drowsily at him.

"Try a week, dad," she says, "minimum." Stolas laughs, exasperated and fond.

"Yes, princess."

"If Vee texts me that you're not listening, I'm siccing Blitzø on you," Loona says with a glare. "Don't think I won't."

Stolas blinks up at her, and then back at Via. "You two cetainly have gotten well acquainted while I was unconscious. Should I be afraid?"

"Very," Via says, but her scowl is undercut somewhat with sleepiness and restrained laughter. "Loona is not to be messed with—I learned that the hard way—and she isn't scared of either of us."

"Hell no," Loona confirms, crossing her arms, and Stolas feels an incredible swell of affection for both of them that he barely knows what to do with. Mostly he feels grateful that Via had people looking out for her while he was... incapacitated.

"I will behave myself," Stolas says, and with one last long look punctuated by a nod, Loona goes to grab the grimoire from her room.

Stolas is startled when he turns to see Blitzø's eyes on him, intent, looking as though he wants to say something. But he doesn't, and Stolas tries not to let the ache bother him too much.

Then a portal opens next to him, and Loona says, "Hah! Nailed it," when it reveals a glimpse of the Garden, and Octavia cheers and runs through before sticking her head back out to give Loona a thumbs up and a "nice!"

Stolas follows after her, at least until a claw around his wrist stops him.

"You'd better actually take it easy," Blitzø says, expression serious. "If I catch you doing anything besides watering those thirsty plant babies of yours—"

"I said I would, and I have no intention of going back on my word," Stolas says, crisp, and pulls his arm back, easily slipping from Blitzø's loose grip, and quickly goes through the portal before anyone can see the misery he feels as it cracks his ribcage in two. He doesn't need Blitzø to act out some drama just for Stolas's sake, and he doesn't think he can handle much more of his... games. The flirting, followed by the disappearing and silence, only to reach out suddenly and toy with him again, as though nothing had happened.

He wipes at his eyes as soon as the portal closes and he's safe, back in his little shop, with only Octavia to see him deflate. He assures her he's just tired, which he can tell she's not buying, but she also doesn't press him for a real answer, which he appreciates deeply.

He will find a way to be okay, he promises her silently.

He has to.

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

content warning

sexual content with slight dubious consent (it isn't at all, i promise, they're just Bad At Communicating)

Blitzø is pacing in his office. He's been doing that a lot over the past week, but sitting still is impossible and they don't currently have a client and his skin feels like there's an electric charge skittering across it constantly and maybe if he paces enough it'll chill the fuck out, or something.

Hasn't worked yet, but what the fuck else is he supposed to do?

He sent a text to Stolas that morning, and then one to Loona to double check with Octavia that Stolas was actually resting, because he didn't trust the asshole to be honest with him. So far, he hasn't gotten a response from Stolas, and Loona has only replied with an eyeroll gif.

She is perfect but she is also abandoning him when he needs her and is a filthy traitor. Who he loves with his entire being and has never done anything wrong, ever, in her life.

He's about ready to strangle someone, and he's wondering if he can get Loona to open a portal so he can go check for himself when he finally gets a reply.

[Stlz🪻 9:17 am] I am working in the greenhouse today. It will be very dull and involve no risks or strenuous activities of any kind. You need not concern yourself.

Well, fuck that. That means he for sure is up to something.

[9:18 am] im comin ovr n e wayz. deel w it

He doesn't bother to wait for a response, leaving his office. "Loonie!"

"No."

"Oh, c'mon! It's been a whole week!"

"No!"

"You're really gonna make me take the van? All the way to Wrath?"

"It's the morning, what if a client shows up?"

"All the more reason to portal me, so I can get right back if I need to!"

"Ugh." Blitzø can tell by the way she says it that he's won. Fuck yeah.

As soon as he steps through the portal into the second floor of the shop, he skips several stairs on his way down to the main floor and finds Octavia.

"Greenhouse?"

"Yep," she says without looking at him, and he takes that as permission. Or, good enough, anyway. She'd probably tell him to fuck off if it was gonna be an issue.

Blitzø slips in silently and locks the door behind him, determined to prevent Stolas from slipping away before he can get an actual answer out of him. Then he sneaks over to Stolas, who is on the other side of the greenhouse tending to some little tree-shrub-things, talking to them the way he always does, tail swinging back and forth as he coos over them, indicating a good mood.

It's fucking cute. Blitzø is mad that he even notices the little habits, and has missed them. That's not the kind of—it's weird. And he is going to stop doing that, because. It's weird.

"Stolas," he says when he's a few steps behind him, and Stolas yelps, throwing the shears in his hand across the room, and they would have whizzed not too far from Blitzø's head, but he's ready for it and he takes a step to the side so he can reach out and snag them from the air before they can cause any damage.

"You could take out someone's eye with these," he says, handing them back to him, and Stolas scowls at him.

"You did that on purpose!" He accuses, looking at the door of the greenhouse and then back at Blitzø. "No one is supposed to be back here besides Via and I."

"Are you kicking me out?" Blitzø says, jumping up on the counter to watch as Stolas returns to the plant he's trimming.

"What? No, I meant I wasn't expecting—"

"Good. You eat yet?"

Stolas huffs out a sigh, head falling back as he looks to the ceiling. "Yes, Octavia made sure I ate this morning, and it's too early for lunch, which she also prepared ahead of time. I swear, between the two of you—"

"Don't pass out from overexerting yourself and then sleep for a full day because you're so tired, and we won't have a problem," Blitzø says, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes, and Stolas winces, glancing sadly down at his shrub. Tree. Thing.

Blitzø isn't trying to guilt-trip the guy, though. That is not his intention at all. Blitzø grits his teeth in frustration and kicks lightly at Stolas's leg, where it peeks out from behind his apron. Blitzø likes the apron, thinks it's cute. It's blue and has little leaves embroidered on the pocket.

Blitzø would like the apron even better if it were on the floor.

"I just mean—stop being so stubborn. If you actually do what you say you're gonna do, I'll stop checking so much. Just be honest."

"Did I not say I would be in the greenhouse all day?" Stolas gestures around at the greenhouse and raises an eyebrow at Blitzø.

Blitzø hesitates. He hates being called out on his bullshit, that's a right reserved for him and him only. He wants to punish Stolas for his sass by biting him. But Stolas doesn't seem to want him to bite him, which is horseshit, because sex with Stolas was awesome and why wouldn't he want that again? Ridiculous.

"I did walk in to see you holding a sharp weapon," Blitzø says, mostly to try and distract himself from his train of thought. "No risks of any kind, my ass." Now that he looks closer at them the sharp shears are shaped almost exactly like Stolas's talons when he's in his demon form, and that is really, really not helping him keep his train of thought from wandering.

"I have not injured myself pruning in many months," Stolas grumbles at him, and his little scowl is pretty much the cutest thing Blitzø has ever seen. It's really not fair.

"You did almost take my head off with them, though, I'm just too badass to let something like that happen."

Stolas glares at him, affronted, and points at him with the shears, sharp tip not far from Blitzø's chest. "That was your fault!"

Blitzø grins. "Oh yeah? You sure? 'Cause from where I'm sitting it looks like you really just wanna get those sharp blades into me. And I gotta say, I don't hate the idea."

Stolas blushes scarlet and yanks the shears back toward himself, glancing down at them, and then throwing them down on the counter as though they'd burned him and he needed to get them out of his hands as soon as possible.

"I-I, I was not, it wasn't—" Blitzø scoots down the table and shoves the shrub—tree plant thing—aside, until he's sitting right in front of Stolas, leering into his face. The counter is just about hip-height, which means they're almost at eye level, with Blitzø and inch or two higher than Stolas's imp form.

"Well, I was," he says, hooking a finger over the top of Stolas's apron and tugging on it lightly. He spreads his legs a little wider, and Stolas allows himself to be pulled forward between them, his face inches from Blitzø's, his hands landing on Blitzø's thighs, his eyes drifting down to Blitzø's mouth.

And that definitely looked like interest. Strong interest. He's got dilated pupils, his breathing is heavier, cheeks dark, and he lists forward just a little, like he can't pull away.

Yahtzee.

Blitzø kisses him, hard, tasting the tiniest hint of mint, and shudders at the relief he feels, finally getting his mouth on him. It's different with Stolas in his imp form, and Blitzø isn't sure which he prefers. One hand goes to the hair at the back of Stolas's head, holding him there, and the other goes to his hip, meeting the thick canvas of the apron, so he follows it around to the knot at Stolas's back and starts working it loose when he can spare the attention that's not absorbed completely by breathless, searing kisses.

Stolas digs his claws into Blitzø's thighs which elicits a filthy moan, and then he slides them into Blitzø's open jacket and wraps them around Blitzø's lower back, slipping under his shirt to claw at skin.

It feels so good, so right, so perfect, and Blitzø wants more, wants—he doesn't actually know what he wants, he just wants Stolas. Always Stolas. Wants to be near him, needs to make sure he's not being stupid, being reckless, being unsafe.

That's the deal he made with himself. Stolas teaches him how to use the book, he makes sure Stolas stays alive to do it. And he can't fucking do that when Stolas doesn't answer his goddamn phone, doesn't do what he says, doesn't listen, doesn't—

Suddenly Blitzø gets a face full of feathers and he pulls back, startled, and it takes Stolas a moment to focus, and realize what's happened.

"Shit, I can't concentrate when—when we're—"

"Fine by me. Door's locked anyway," Blitzø says, voice rough as he tugs, and Stolas has to bend low to reach him, and there's a tearing sound, cloth ripping.

"Fuck me," Stolas curses, and Blitzø grins.

"Happy to."

He has to use his tail to reach but he finally gets the apron untied, and it tumbles to the floor, and Blitzø is trying not to rip Stolas's shirt to shreds as he tries to get it off of him because he needs to get his hands in his feathers right now immediately but holy heaven it's a struggle. He wants the shirt gone, banished to another plane of existence, right the fuck now.

Stolas has gotten his hands on Blitzø's fly and unzips it, pulling Blitzø's dick out, not bothering with clothing removal first. Smart guy. Blitzø finally gets Stolas's shirt off with only a couple tiny new holes, aside from whatever tore when he shifted, and takes the opportunity to shove his long coat down his arms and off before releasing Stolas's beak so he can bury his face in Stolas's fluffy chest feathers. He inhales, deep, and grinds up into Stolas's hand where it's still wrapped around his dick, stroking it firmly, while Stolas's beak scrapes lightly along his horn, pressing kisses where he can reach.

Blitzø needs—he reaches for Stolas's loose shorts, shoving them down as far as he can push them and wheezing from the rush of arousal when he realizes Stolas isn't wearing anything underneath them. He grabs at Stolas's hips to tug him closer as soon as Stolas steps out of them, a needy whine slipping from between his clenched teeth.

"Condom's in my coat," he growls into Stolas's feathers, and when Stolas leans over to reach the pocket of his jacket, he tries to follow, but Stolas holds him back with his his other hand on Blitzø's face.

Stolas hands him the packet, and Blitzø rips it open with violence, and then immediately regrets it when he realizes his claw tore the condom along with the wrapper.

"Fuck."

Stolas snorts. "Not with that one. I don't suppose you have—?"

Blitzø shakes his head slowly. More than one didn't really fit in the pocket without making them buldge annoyingly, and his other pockets were busy with other important shit. He'd never needed more than one in his coat; usually his van was never far away.

Stolas looks at the ruined condom, and then looks at Blitzø, and then looks down at Blitzø's leaking dick.

"Well... I haven't, with anyones else," he says, shrugging, and Blitzø's dick jumps and his nerves light on fire.

"I'm clean," he says, "it's only been you since I checked last."

Stolas stares at Blitzø's mouth, expression shifting so quickly between emotions that Blitzø doesn't have a prayer of following, especially not in this form, before he leans in and kisses him again, letting out a soft whimper.

Well, that answers that question.

Blitzø gets his tail around Stolas's waist and tugs him closer so he can reach, and then wraps hands firmly around Stolas's ass and tugs him up onto the counter, so he's straddling Blitzø's lap, and Stolas is already dripping, sopping wet, and sinks down on to Blitzø's aching cock. Blitzø holds him there for a moment and breathes, the relief crashing through him until the ache of want rises to war with it for attention and he tilts his head up and Stolas bends enough to meet him for a kiss before lifting himself up off of Blitzø only to drop down again, sinking onto Blitzø, and he bites down on Stolas's neck, which he can just barely reach with Stolas curled around him, not hard enough to truly wound, but it makes him gasp and jerk his hips and Blitzø sees stars.

He lifts his hips as best be can to meet Stolas as he continues to fuck himself on Blitzø, kisses and bites getting messier and less frequent as they lose themselves to the rhythm, up and down, in and out, and all of Blitzø's nerves are singing to the tune of this right here, this is everything, this is where I belong, I'm home.

"Come on, birdy," he croons into Stolas's feathers because he's not going to last much longer, "let me hear you. I want your cum all over me."

Stolas whines and gives a final shudder, going rigid and then clamping down around Blitzø and he can feel it, the way Stolas pulls Blitzø's cock deeper, holding him there, and Blitzø's orgasm crashes through him with the force of—of fuckin'—real shitty weather. Y'know, like a hurricane or some shit.

Blitzø doesn't think he's ever come that hard in his goddamn life.

"Fuck," he says, but he stretches it out with his sigh so it's more like fuuuuuck, and like. Fuck. Fuck him.

Maybe next time.

Stolas shifts, pulling off of him and turning around to sit on the counter next to him, and then he sniffles, and every inch of Blitzø's skin turns to ice.

"Whoa, hey, you okay?" Blitzø jumps down from the counter so he can face Stolas, reaching out to wipe gently at a stray tear as it falls down Stolas's face, and then puts both hands in the feathers on either side of his head, holding him and scratching gently.

"I am fine," Stolas says, closing his eyes. "I just—I have made a terrible mistake."

Blitzø goes still. A mistake? Then again, who's he kidding. Stolas is a demon prince—former? whatever, either way—and he's an imp. Of course it was a mistake. How could he be such a fucking idiot?

"Oh," he says, letting go of him and backing away. He should put the rest of his clothes back on. Why did Stolas let him touch, if it wasn't—if he didn't—

"Wait, darling, no," Stolas says quickly, reaching out, but Blitzø doesn't let him, steps back out of range, zipping up his fly, gabbing his coat. "Please, I didn't mean—I just should have been clearer about what I wanted, that is all," he says, more tears spilling down his face, and Blitzø feels...

"What did you want, then?" He says, tugging on his coat, waiting for not an imp, or maybe less baggage.

Stolas wraps his arms around himself, and Blitzø is relieved he's stopped trying to touch him, even though the desperate desire to reach out and soothe is almost as strong as the impulse to recoil.

"I... I do not think a casual... fling... is something I can do, right now," he says, scrubbing at his face, wiping away the tears. "I am terribly sorry I did not say so before, it's not—I should have. I let myself get carried away with—with the fantasy."

Blitzø frowns. Not casual? But that just leaves—

"You want a boyfriend?"

Stolas winces, just a little, and Blitzø's first thought is that he's misunderstood and Stolas thinks the idea is abhorrent, but that really doesn't make any sense with everything he's learned about Stolas, does it?

"I... suppose so," he says slowly, hesitant, more like he's terrified of the words, of letting them out of his mouth, where he can't take them back.

Okay. Well. If Stolas is looking for exclusivity, that's easy. Long term? No one sticks around forever, but Blitzø can do it until then. He's done it before, he doesn't have a problem with it. If it means he and Stolas can—yeah, he can do that.

"Okay," he says, and it takes a moment for the word to register, before Stolas's head snaps up to look at him.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, I can do... boyfriends. If—if that's what you want," Blitzø says, and his stomach squirms wretchedly but he'll do just about anything to be able to keep seeing Stolas, to feel his hands on him again. Often.

Stolas studies him for a while, and Blitzø is pretty sure he's going to go insane if Stolas doesn't do something besides just look at him, but he also feels locked in place, an insect pinned in a display case with a little spotlight aimed up at him, to show off the pretty colors and spots that decorate his corpse.

"I would not ask something like that of you," Stolas finally says, hugging himself even more firmly. "I would hate for you to feel... obligated, or. Coerced."

Fear coils in Blitzø's belly, bitter and ice cold. "Where's the coercion? You asked, I said yes. What's the problem?"

"Blitzø, the very idea is clearly terrifying to you. You look as though I have asked you to—I don't know, consume nightshade, or something equally horrific. I may be naive, but I am not blind."

Blitzø frowns. "Do you want me to eat a plant? Because I will eat a plant, if that's what you need me to do."

"Blitzø. I do not require you to do anything."

"But you think I don't want to be—be boyfriends," Blitzø says, refusing to acknowledge just how much of a struggle even saying the word is, this time.

"I do not."

"Bitch, you have no idea what I want. You're not in my head."

"Perhaps not, but you are clearly upset. This conversation appears to be very distressing to you, and that is more than enough evidence, I think."

Blitzø's pulse is racing, and he feels hot all over. He doesn't even know why, all he knows is that Stolas is rejecting him. Stolas wants him, but he's saying no anyway, and Blitzø doesn't know how to fix it.

He can't let it stay like this. He needs—

"How can I prove it?"

"Prove what?"

"That I—want to try. Dating. Boyfriends."

Stolas sighs. "I... I don't know."

"So, you're saying it's impossible then," Blitzø snaps, anger and pain blending into a horrible, nasty concoction inside of him. The vitriol is going to eat him from the inside if he can't find a way to get it out.

"Of course not," Stolas says, eyebrows furrowing, and it looks like irritation.

"So you don't believe me, and you won't tell me what I can do to convince you, but there's definitely a way. Okay. Sure. Fucking—let me know if you decide on a hoop that I can jump through, your highness," he says, snide and cruel but he can't seem to help it. He books it for the door, needing to be out, away, before the awful corrosive miasma in him can do any more damage.

At first he tugs the door and it doesn't budge, because it's locked, he'd locked it, and he curses, flipping the lock open and finally yanking the door wide and storming out.

It's probably a good thing that Stolas doesn't want to date him. Or does, and won't. Safer that way, because Blitzø doesn't even actually know if he can do that kind of—of relationship—without ending it by stealing credit cards for horse riding lessons. Maybe that's all he'll ever be good for—a good fuck, a catastrophic argument, and bitter memories.

He pulls out his phone to text Loona, but then pauses, looking around the shop, and a memory surfaces through the dark sea threatening to engulf his brain.

He has an idea. And it's probably a really, really terrible idea, but those are usually his best ones. And he thinks about discarding it—walking away, saving Stolas from having to deal with him. But.

"Via." Octavia looks up from her phone, startled.

"Uh. What?"

Blitzø shoves as much of the mess as he can down, and focuses on the facts.

"I think I... messed up. But I want to try and fix it, and I can't do it by myself. Will you help me?"

"Okaaay?" She says, and she sounds hesitant, but it's good enough for Blitzø.

"Great. Go to I.M.P. after you close. Text Loona for a portal if you need one. And don't—don't tell him. Not yet, okay?"

Octavia immediately looks far less sure. "Wait, that's not really—"

"I'll explain later. You can decide if you want to help after that. Fair?"

Octavia gives him a once-over, glancing back toward the greenhouse, and then nodding. "Okay."

"Fantastic. Sell lots of flowers and shit," Blitzø says with a wave, and then finally sends the text to Loona, hopping through the portal that opens up almost instantly.

He has some serious planning to do, and a whole lot of stuff to furiously not think about while he does.

*

"I cannot believe you two out-voted me."

"It makes sense, Blitzø. Stop being such a baby."

"Do you have any idea what Stolas is going to do to me when he figures out what I got her into?"

"Hey, I'm right here. And I got myself into this, and I will tell him that, so Loona's right. You can stop being a baby, especially since we are attempting a break-in right now."

"Satan, you and your dad are so alike sometimes it's disgusting," Blitzø grumbles, but he also shuts up, because she's not wrong. He finally picks the lock to the servant's entrance on the main floor, and slips into the palace, Loona and Octavia right behind him.

He has his reasons, honest. They're even pretty good ones, for him!

"This way, right?"

"Just let me lead," Via hisses at him and shoves him out of the way. "The servants won't shoot me on sight, which is more than I can say for either of you."

"Remind me why I'm here again?"

"Because you're the bestest daughter in the whole world," Blitzø tells her fondly, "aaand we may need a quick exit, and you're still better and faster than us with the portals."

"So get good, you little freak."

"I'm trying! I hate stupid magic languages, regular normal-ass words are bad enough."

"If you two don't shut the fuck up—"

Blitzø wraps a hand over Octavia's beak, which in reality does very little because he can't get his hand all the way across, but luckily she takes the hint and falls silent just as a shadow appears at the end of the hall. They duck quietly into a doorway, hiding in a closet until the figure of a servant imp passes by, and they all breathe a sigh of relief.

"Alright, no more chatter until we're at the damn nursery," Blitzø says, more seriously this time, and Octavia and Loona nod at him. He tried to plan it late at night when they'd be least likely to run into anyone, but with a place like this that might be almost impossible.

Rich people. Always making life harder for everyone else.

"Who's there?"

Oh fuck, Blitzø thinks, and whips his arm out to tug Octavia down to duck behind a large statue that guards the hall, pulling her as close to the wall beside him as he can, holding absolutely still and listening for all he's worth.

There's a soft ti-tic of talons against a marble floor that grows louder from the end of the hall until a tall, imposing figure comes into view. "If I find out one of you little toads have the audacity to steal from me, I swear, imminent death will be the least of your problems!"

The shrill voice echoes down the hall, and Octavia flinches, but makes no sound. After a moment the figure continues past the hallway, muttering angrily, and Blitzø can't hold back the sigh of relief as she turns a corner at the end.

"Some family you got there, kid," Blitzø says, but when he looks down to check on Octavia there are tears gathering at the corners of her eyes and he regrets it immediately.

"Whoa, hey, you alright?"

She sniffles. "I always knew... that she wasn't very nice, but—I guess I forgot how awful she was," she says, and then takes a stuttering breath, shaking her head, and then looking over at Blitzø with resolve. "Let's hurry up and rob this place and get away with it."

"I can do that," Blitzø says with a smirk, and checks behind them to see Loona peeking out from a doorway she'd ducked into farther down the hall. He listens again, and when he doesn't hear even the echoes of talons on the tile or any other sounds, gives her a wave, and starts creeping along the hall.

They have a plant baby to kidnap, he has a former prince to convince, and he's not gonna let some rich bitch get their way. Not today.

They have to dodge a couple more servants on their way to the room Octavia is leading them to—doesn't anyone in this fucking palace sleep?!—but after almost an hour, finally, they approach the kitchen, which Octavia insists is the right place.

When they open the ornate glass doors, however, there are no plants in sight.

"Fuck," Octavia says, going over to the large bay windows on the other side of the room, "She was right here. If she fucking killed her, I swear—"

"Princess?"

Fuck. Fucking fuckstick he'd stopped listening for half a second, how could he be so careless?

"Winston!" Octavia says, but she doesn't sound scared. "I'm so glad she didn't fire you, or worse, we were worried she would."

An imp in a suit with a bowtie approaches her on hooves that barely make a sound, even on the tiled kitchen floor. "I'm better at my job than that, madam," he says with a huff. "My role in your escape went quite unnoticed."

"I'm relieved to hear it," Octavia says with a grin, and Blitzø relaxes slightly, lowering his gun.

"I presume you've returned for Audrey?"

"She's alive?" Octavia asks hopefully, and the imp hesitates before giving a sad shake of his head.

"I'm afraid not; we could not hide her in time, and her Highness's anger had... many casualties. But I did manage to rescue a small clipping, which I've kept in a room off one of the service hallways. Working around her has been troublesome, as she loves to bite at anyone within reach just as much as Audrey did, but I hoped she might find her way to you one day."

"Oh, thank you, Winston!" Octavia says, a grateful hand on his shoulder, and Winston smiles at her, pleased.

"Well, let's get going then," Blitzø says, "before we get caught."

"Indeed. This way," Winston says, and leads them through a small imp-sized door into a back room, which they follow him down several twisting hallways until Winston beckons them into a room with a small, bulbous plant sitting on a shelf.

"Okay," Blitzø says, staring at it. "I hear this thing has a taste for imps. You got some rope or something, so we can get it through the portal without injury?"

"Just a moment," Winston says, disappearing through a curtain.

"So you're sure we can trust him?" Blitzø asks Octavia, while they have a moment to themselves.

"Yeah, he's the one Dad trusted to buy the shop for him and help us escape. He's known where we were the whole time."

Well, Blitzø supposes that's about as trustworthy as you can get.

Winston returns with a soft cloth and some twine and they carefully wrap it around the tiny plant, doing their best not to damage her, and by the time they're done Loona has opened a portal just large enough to get them all through into the greenhouse on the other side.

Octavia gives Winston a quick hug goodbye. "Please tell me you're going to get the hell away from her as soon as possible," she says, and Winston laughs.

"I don't plan to be here when she wakes. I and several others have been planning to leave for weeks, many already have as we've found better options, but I wanted to wait as long as I could before abandoning Audrey's clipping."

"You should come visit us in Wrath if you ever get the chance," Octavia says, and then with a final wave, steps through the portal, Blitzø right behind her, and then the portal closes behind them with a magical pop.

"What in the seven Rings is going—Blitzø?"

"Surprise," Blitzø says, and starts to loosen the rope around the plant so Stolas can sweep the rest of it off of her.

"What? How?" Stolas says, choking back tears as he drops the imp disguise as soon as he realizes it's just them, running his talons lightly along the clipping's leaves, and she opens and closes her leaves—mouth?—and blinks at him. Blitzø presumes it's some sort of sign of affection? He has no fucking idea.

"I kind of robbed your ex," Blitzø says casually, "with some help."

"You went... to the palace?" Stolas asks, turning to face him. "Blitzø, she would have killed you!"

"I knew I wasn't gonna get caught. Assassin, remember? And good at it."

Stolas's gaze flicks over to Loona, standing behind him, and then over to Octavia.

"You brought Via back to that place?" Stolas's edges flicker with inky blackness, and Blitzø shudders. There's fear there, sure, but that's definitely not the only thing he's feeling.

He knows it's inappropriate, but he can't help it. Demon Stolas is hot.

"I wouldn't let him go without me. I know the palace and where to look, and if we had gotten caught, Stella wouldn't hurt me immediately. I could've helped them get away."

"Via, darling, the entire reason I left was to get you away from that place, and you risked it for a plant?"

"Shut the fuck up, you love your plants," Blitzø says, taking a step forward to point angrily at his face. Or, as far as he can reach, which is only about his sternum when he's on the tip of his hooves. Whatever, close enough. "And I stole it to prove a point, asshole, since you apparently won't believe me without the dramatics."

"I—you did this for me?"

"Obviously!"

"But... why?"

"I already told you, I want to try!"

"Okay, this is getting gross, so I'm out. Vee, you coming?"

"Yes, please," Via says, and they both step through a portal to Blitzø's apartment.

Blitzø isn't sure whether to be worried, or...

"You... remembered me telling you about Audrey?"

Blitzø shifts his weight, deeply uncomfortable, but knowing that it's important he explain himself. "Duh, you mentioned her a bunch of times. I didn't remember the name, but... I know you really hated that you couldn't take her with you. So."

Tears spilled down Stolas's face, for the second time that day.

"Fuck. Shit." Blitzø rubbed his hands down his face. "I know I didn't think, but—"

Suddenly there are arms around him, sweeping him up into a crushing hug, lifting him right off the ground.

"Oh, Blitzy, thank you," Stolas says, squeezing him tightly, smothering Blitzø's face with his chest feathers where they spill out over his loose robe.

"Wait, so you're—not mad?"

"I'm furious with you for taking such a huge risk for such a terrible reason!" Stolas says through tears, rubbing his beak against Blitzø's horns. "But no one's ever done anything like this for me before, either, and I—" His talons clench in Blitzø's jacket, probably tearing it to shreds, but Blitzø doesn't care at all.

"I'm sorry I doubted you," Stolas says, softly, against Blitzø's skin. "I promise I'll try to listen better next time."

Blitzø grumbles, wrapping his tail tightly around Stolas's waist. "I didn't... exactly... give you much reason to believe me, so. It's not really your fault. And you weren't wrong, exactly, this shit is... it isn't easy. For me."

"It is possible we are both very bad at this," Stolas says with a sniffly giggle, and Blitzø can't help grinning in response.

"Maybe," he allows, and they both stay like that for much longer than Blitzø will ever admit.

He doesn't actually mind.

*

"Loonie, where's my jacket?"

"How the fuck should I know?"

"I just bought it yesterday, you were there! How did I lose it already?"

"Again, I ask the same question."

"You're no help at all, sweetie!"

"No shit!"

Blitzø continues to tear apart his small apartment in a frenzy, looking desperately for his new jacket. He doesn't actually care all that much about the jacket, except he totally does because he bought it just for this occasion and he thought a lot about what he was going to wear because he can't just wear the same thing he always wears, it has to be special. That's, like, the whole fucking point of a—

A d—date. He's going on... on a date. With Stolas. And it has to go perfectly, and he can't fuck up right off the bat because he lost a fucking jacket he bought less than twenty-four hours ago, dammit!

"This it?" Loona asks, stepping into the doorway and holding up, miracle of miracles, his new fucking jacket.

It's black with spikes, and not exactly the most expensive or nice looking thing in the world, but it wasn't his coat. It only went to his hips!

"Loona, you're the best, i love you so much," Blitzø says, grabbing his jacket and tugging her into a squeeze before she can escape.

"Ugh, gross," she says, but she wraps an arm around him briefly before letting go. "Hurry up, I'm supposed to open the portal in, like, two minutes."

"Fuck!" Blitzø dives into the bathroom to brush his teeth and check himself in the mirror, which was a terrible idea because he looks like a mess, like always, and he starts to panic.

Well, panic more.

Luckily, Loona calls, "time's up, loser! I'm opening the portal, so it's now or never!"

Blitzø shoves aside his fear to deal with later, takes a deep breath, and opens the door. Octavia is already stepping through the portal.

"Hey, Loons. Good timing," she says, and looks behind her. "He was about to change, again."

"Mine too," Loona says with a roll of her eyes, and Blitzø balks.

"Fuck you, was not!"

He totally was.

"Blitzy?" Stolas steps through, in imp form, and Blitzø needs a second to remember that he's supposed to breathe. He's got a dark blue vest over a loose, sheer top with puffy sleeves and little glittering sparkles and golden stars decorating them, maybe in a pattern of some kind, Blitzø isn't really sure, and he's wearing long, loose trousers that sway as he walks, and won't get torn to pieces if he switches to owl form. Blitzø immediately wants to rip it all off of him.

But that will happen later. In the meantime Blitzø is just going to have to suffer, he supposes. He definitely wishes Stolas could go wherever he wanted without needing a disguise, but for now they still need to be careful.

"Oh, Blitzø, you look wonderful!" Stolas says, his hands clasped together happily, his cheeks turning pink.

Okay, so maybe his new jacket is pretty good, actually.

"You too," Blitzø says, and it's so beyond inadequate, but he doesn't think he'll ever be able to put how good Stolas always looks into words.

And if he tells him how much he likes the ensemble he's going to make the girls both very uncomfortable, which is also something he's been working on.

"Shall we?" Stolas asks, holding out his hand, and Blitzø takes it.

It's not easy; part of him wants to recoil, reject it, and insist that Stolas doesn't actually want him, want to go on this... this date with him, that it's a mistake. But he shoves that aside, too, because if he listens then he doesn't get to go out with Stolas.

And as he's proven, that is something he just can't tolerate.

Chapter End Notes

the end! i've been struggling with whether or not to do one last scene and i'm not sure if i actually want to include it, and decided to just post what i have before i anxiety-looped myself out of finishing, lmao. i may revisit the scene if i can get it right, but it's got some bits that are outside my wheelhouse. in the meantime i've got a merpirates au, so if that's your jam you can check that out >:)

Afterword

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