give back the things they took from you

Stolas stares up at the large vessel docked at the pier and runs his hands over his silky cravat nervously, enjoying the soft texture against his palms, trying not to fidget and adjust the rest of his clothes that cling terribly and make him wish he was wearing his far more comfortable robe instead.

But he's already caused enough trouble with his family, he thinks miserably, and begins walking up the ramp to the deck of the ship, clinging to the rail as it shifts underneath him. He tries to keep his tail out of the way of the servants as they load his luggage all around him, darting up and down the ramp and across the deck, yelling back and forth, the noise of the dock constant and surrounding him and making his head feel like it's filled with bees, and he hopes the ship itself won't be quite as loud for the whole voyage or he's going to have to spend the journey buried under a pile of blankets in his quarters. 

That morning he had asked his father one final time if maybe he would rethink the arrangement, if there were any other options besides a marriage to that horrible woman. But as usual his father hadn't listened, had barely acknowledged the fact that he was in the room, shooing him from it impatiently.

So Stolas is here, as ordered, boarding a ship, because apparently Stella wants to get married on a luxury yacht and then go on a voyage to see the sights before being "chained to him and his boring as shit palace forever." He... can't say the feeling isn't mutual. He sighs, trying not to think of the bleak future laid out in front of him, and fails.

Before departing there is a great deal of fanfare, including live music, fireworks, and vast quantities of alcohol. Stolas partakes but soon finds the events overwhelming. He discovers very quickly that remaining below is almost as unpleasant as the festivities, so as soon as the deck quiets down he resurfaces, spending most of his time lingering by the guard rails above, staring out at the open water with his feet dangling over the edge of the ship.

He's only been anywhere near open water once before, he'd had to cross several Rings just to get here, and it's truly a novel experience. He doesn't mind the salty air, the frequent cool gusts of wind that buffet him about, or the bird calls that fill the sky over the pier and for a short while after they pull out of port.

Being up on deck so much does mean that he spots the dark speck off on the horizon well before anyone realizes what it is, or how poorly advised it was to make such a public spectacle of their departure and wealth. Stolas has been on the open ocean for less than forty-eight hours when he begins to suspect his trip might be ending earlier than anticipated.

The whole vessel is well and truly panicked long before the other ship is close enough to board them, and while their pursuer is a vessel of similar size it's much more maneuverable— an actual sea-faring ship, with several massive sails, rows and rows of oars for more fine tuned navigation, and canons.

Lots of canons.

Their vessel, designed for luxury and affluence, does not stand a chance.

Paimon hired some security for him, as is customary, but when the crew of the other vessel throw ropes, netting, and planks across and begin to board, Stolas realizes they are hopelessly outmanned as well as outgunned. He should probably be a bit more terrified, he supposes, and maybe on another day he would use his magic to put up more of a fight, but with his marriage the only thing to look forward to on the other side of the hostile takeover... Well, he doesn't really see the point. So he doesn't resist when a snarling imp with an eyepatch shoves a blessing-tipped rifle in his face until he holds his hands out and allows them to be tied together.

It's a formality—he could escape the bindings easily—but he cannot see any reason to. It's not like he has anywhere to go.

"Alright, you rich fucks, pay attention!" A raspy voice calls loudly from next to the helm, and Stolas drags his attention up, only to go rigid in surprise.

He has never seen the imp with the broken horns and long, prosthetic limbs who is currently yelling (although he does sound somewhat familiar), but he most definitely recognizes the tall, broad Sin next to him, who is staring out over the deck with an intimidating glower.

Stolas can't remember the last time he saw Asmodeus, but now that he thinks about it, he does recall Paimon complaining about him failing to materialize at an appointment some time ago. How had he managed to miss that he'd quit his duties entirely?

The imp descends the steps to the main deck and continues shouting instructions to the poor crew his father hired, all of whom are doing the smart thing and following whatever instructions they're given. Asmodeus follows the imp, remaining silent until he gets close enough that recognition dawns on his face.

"Stolas?"

"Asmodeus," Stolas says, with a weak smile. "I never imagined I'd be at your mercy! At least, not quite in this manner."

Asmodeus chuckles, and it's a warm sound. Stolas wonders if that means maybe he isn't going to die today, after all.

"I knew this ship belonged to that dickhead father of yours, but I had no idea you would be on it. What in Hell are you doing here, birdy babe?"

"Oh, you haven't heard? I'm on my way to my engagement," Stolas says, with a smile so wide it twitches.

"Shit, babe. I hope it's not still with—"

"Indeed."

"Fuck me. Well, can I offer you a kidnapping in this trying time?"

"That... would be most welcome," Stolas says, before looking around, hesitant. "Is that truly an option? I would hate to inconvenience you."

"Are you kidding? We take in new folks all the time. We're always lookin' for fresh blood." He pauses, giving Stolas a once-over. "It won't be easy, though. It's a lot of work, everyone pulls their weight on my ship, and it's dangerous."

With a flick of his wrist Stolas uses his magic to incinerate the ropes binding his hands, and gives Asmodeus a wide smile, this one with a feral edge and much more genuine feeling behind it.

"I can think of a few ways I might meaningfully contribute."

Asmodeus grins back at him, and throws an arm around his shoulders. "Well, welcome aboard, then! Hey Fizz, come meet this fine feathery friend of mine!"

*

It turns out magic is not the only thing Stolas can contribute to the effective sailing of Ozzie's ship, the Dixie Normous.

Asmodeus is perfectly capable of managing his own books, but as Captain he has so many responsibilities throughout the ship that they've become terribly outdated and poorly managed, and Stolas is delighted to catch them up and straighten them out, rendering every one neat and organized, sorted by date, and clearly labelled. He hasn't quite learned how to navigate yet, but he's familiar with the skies and understands the concepts, so it won't be long before he can help with that, too.

Studying the currents and trade routes is a lot of information to take in, as well, but he knows he will soon have it memorized, purely out of necessity.

He quickly learns he is entirely useless at all forms of manual labor; he has no muscle and less balance so rigging is a complete nonstarter, and he becomes fatigued and nauseous even with the simplest of cleaning tasks. Not to mention, the sound of cleaning products with their wet sloshing and abrasive scraping is... problematic, with his sensitive ears, and they make him feel like clawing them out until the world returns to blissful quiet. It takes some time for the crew to stop resenting him for his shortcomings, which they notice immediately without the counterexample of his other contributions to improve their impression of him. He certainly does not ingratiate himself very much when he attempts to help in the kitchens, either. He is banned from it permanently after one attempt, in which the cook was doused with lemon juice, nearly lost his finger, and had to put out a grease fire. Twice.

But he begins advocating for the crew, ensuring that everyone works equal shifts and has the opportunity to perform their preferred duties as often as possible, often spending time working out how to rearrange schedules to accommodate such preferences, and he carefully oversees their salaries to be certain everyone receives fair compensation after each prize they take, and slowly, the crew begin to accept him.

He learns that Ozzie met Fizz at a performance for Mammon, and Stolas does not blame Fizz for wanting out of that particular contract. Both of them insist the other seduced them into piracy (Stolas determines it was likely a mutual seduction, given their near nausea-inducing behavior every time they are within the vicinity of one another, which he finds equal parts charming and envy-inducing). Both of them claim to be much happier since their career changes, and given what Stolas has observed of the crew, they all seem to agree.

Stolas can now relate, from firsthand experience. It's exhausting, and very often terrifying, but it is also the most fulfilling work he has ever done, and it helps to have a crew that have proven many times over that they have his back, even when they still disliked him immensely.

It doesn't hurt that Stolas has freedoms he never had in his former life. Asmodeus would allow him to leave, if he ever wanted to, and when he becomes interested in trying a new skill there is always someone to teach him, and someone else willing to take over his duties for a while if he needs it. They all work together, their responsibilities clearly laid out and shared fairly, and Stolas wouldn't trade this new life for anything.

*

Stolas has been a pirate for almost half a year when the lookout begins shouting from the crow's nest, clearly alarmed.

"Cap! Bad storm brewing, see those clouds?"

Ozzie pulls out his spyglass and aims it in the direction the lookout is pointing, and when he puts it away his expression has darkened considerably.

"Sound the alarm," he says, and then nods to Fizz, who immediately begins climbing up into the rigging.

"Oz?" Stolas asks, approaching him nervously. He'd been out on deck, studying the sky, when the lookout began yelling.

"Find something to anchor yourself, birdy, this is gonna get rough," Ozzie says, and Stolas feels a weight drop down into his stomach.

Asmodeus doesn't sound like that very often.

Stolas finds some rope and ties himself to one of the main masts along with several other crew members, who are all securing as much of the deck as they can before the storm hits.

There is not much Stolas can do apart from wait and observe. He does not know the procedure during a storm, they haven't had to go over it yet, most of the weather has been mild and when it hasn't they've had ample time to dock and wait the bad weather out on land. He's never experienced one like this before, let alone at sea, so he has no idea what to expect.

It ends up being one of the longest, most miserable nights of Stolas's life.

The light drizzle at the start is disarmingly benign, and the frantic movement of the crew a sharp contrast to the mellow weather and the dark clouds that slowly roll in, gradually blocking more and more of the Pentagram's light until it feels much later than it is. Then Stolas can feel the shift as the air becomes charged, and the light changes, gets even darker, thicker, and the rain gets heavier. And heavier.

Soon, Stolas can barely see anything in front of him, the wind picks up into a gale, and the ocean begins to churn.

It feels like no time at all before waves taller than the ship are crashing into it, sweeping anything still loose on the deck off the ship and into the sea with all the nonchalance of swiping at an inconvenient cobweb, but with the overwhelming force of an avalanche.

It's during one of these monstrous waves that Stolas realizes his rope is coming loose. Like a fool, he thinks he has time to re-tie it before the next wave hits.

He does not.

The wave crashes into him, lifting his feet right off the wooden deck, and sends him crashing into a pile of debris, and then over the rail.

Stolas falls, and it feels like he's falling through the air for dozens of seconds, maybe minutes, before he hits the icy water that feels more like a cement floor. He lands shoulder-first, the water slamming into him, and he is immediately soaked through and chilled to the bone, barely feeling anything as he sinks down into the sea, the salty water quickly entering his mouth, stinging his eyes, making it impossible to breathe.

He has no idea if anyone saw him, can't hear the shouts even if there are any, submerged in the ocean as he is.

Everything is quiet, and an eerie dark green, until it gets so dim there really isn't any color at all, and slowly Stolas sinks.

What a waste of an existence, he thinks morosely to himself as he continues to descend, weightless, the cacophony and destruction of the storm far away overhead. Not that he can tell which direction that is. I didn't even get a chance to punch my father in his stupid fucking face.

He closes his eyes and drifts, misery and disappointment his only companions, as his lungs burn and he sinks to the bottom of the sea.

Stolas cracks his eyes open, just a sliver, and is met with blinding light.

His first thought is accompanied by irritation: why the fuck am I awake? He can tell he's still exhausted, he feels stiff and heavy and slow, and everything hurts. If he kept sleeping, maybe it would hurt less.

Then there's bitter shock with a pinch of confusion, because he's pretty certain he's supposed to be dead.

As he pries his eyes open wider and his vision slowly focuses, he turns his head to the side and sees a scarred red face staring into his, and he sits bolt upright, which he of course immediately regrets as pain lances through his skull, straight into his eye, and he hisses at the sharp ache.

"Oh good, you're not dead. Would've sucked if I dragged your feathered ass all the way here for nothing."

Stolas slowly lowers his hand, blinking through the pain as it recedes slightly, and he studies the man in front of him.

Stolas is cold and his clothes are stiff, mostly dry but saturated with dirt, grime, and salt, deeply uncomfortable but with no alternatives other than discarding them. He's currently sitting on a rock at the edge of the water staring down at an imp with two large striped horns extending from his head.

He's scarred, quite extensively across his face and torso, which Stolas knows because the man is shirtless. Very shirtless, and toned, and leaning up out of the water to rest his chin on crossed arms by Stolas's leg as he stares up at him with glowing yellow eyes and little red irises. He has little markings above and below each eye, and a symbol on his forehead that Stolas does not recognize, although it does look vaguely familiar.

"I am not dead, no, which apparently is due to your intervention?"

The imp shrugs. "Yeah, saw you fall from that ship. I've been around this islet before, knew it was nearby. Seemed like not too much trouble to drag your scrawny ass out of the water. You're welcome."

As the imp speaks, a memory surfaces from the depths of Stolas's mind, of walking by the water, on one of his father's "educational" You Are Going To Command Legions One Day, There Are Some Important Things You Need To Know trips. He'd escaped from the excruciating lessons full of strangers he didn't know speaking condescendingly at him about things he didn't understand or care about, and ran outside straight to the ocean, because he'd never seen it before and he wanted to know everything about it; up to that point, he'd only had information from books to go on.

As he dangled his feet into the water, enjoying the slight tickle as he kicked his clawed feet and felt the splashes land on his skin and feathers, he gasped when a red head and pair of horns poked out of the water and asked him what he was doing.

Stolas remembered the imp from his childhood, with his striped horns, a similar but slightly different symbol on his forehead, and...

He leans to the side so the imp's shoulders aren't blocking the rest of him and, yeah, just like in his memory, he doesn't have legs.

"Blitzo?"

The man blinks, very nearly owlish.

"You remember me?"

Stolas tilts his head, confused. "It took me a moment, but of course! You spoke with me for hours while my father completely failed to notice that I left the building." Stolas giggles, covering his mouth with a talon. "He was so angry, but it was definitely worth it."

Blitzo's eyes study him for a moment before he responds, the tip of his fins poking out of the water as he flicks some drops at Stolas with his brightly-colored tail, orange with broad stripes of white and a thin black border between.

"The o is silent now."

"The... o?"

"My name. Blitzø. Silent o."

"Ah, my apologies! Blitzø. It is nice to see you again. And it goes without saying that I greatly appreciate your timely intervention; I owe you my life. Twice over, if you account for the fact that I'd been considering throwing myself from a balcony that day before I met you. I'd nearly convinced myself I made you up! I'd never seen a mer—merman?"

"Half," Blitzø says, holding up his hand in a so-so gesture. "Half imp, half clown."

"Half... clown? Oh, because of your tail! Like a clownfish! That is very funny," Stolas laughs, watching as Blitzø's eyes go wide, and then he flicks more water at him.

Stolas wonders if it's meant to be playful, the water flicking. He very much enjoys the sensation, although it is a little chilly.

"Okay, well, I'm glad you're not dead. Good for you, and everything, but I should really go. It's not safe for me here."

"What? You're leaving? But—"

"You'll be fine, ships stop here pretty often. Not reputable ones, but they take passengers. I'm sure someone will agree to get you wherever you need to go, but I can't be here when they show." With that, Blitzø slips soundlessly down into the water, and Stolas panics.

He really, really does not want to be left alone.

"Wait! Come back!" Stolas throws himself into the water without thinking about it, swimming out in the direction he thinks he sees a flash of orange down in the depths.

Or, he would, if he actually knew how to swim. That wasn't a skill that was particularly valuable for a prince of Hell in a very landlocked region of Pride, so he flails his arms fairly uselessly and kicks his legs as hard as he can and goes nowhere, until he begins to sink again.

Only this time, there is no storm to blame, only Stolas's idiotic impulses and complete lack of self-reliance or preservation instincts. The world would probably be better off without him, honestly, and Stolas wouldn't blame him if Blitzø decided to just let him drown this time.

A slippery hand wraps firmly around his wrist and pulls him roughly, and soon he breaks the surface of the water, coughing and splashing frantically.

"Stop thrashing, holy fuck! Calm your tits, you're fine, I can't help you if you claw the shit out of—OW." Blitzø's shout of pain finally cuts through Stolas's panic enough for him to realize that he's no longer dying, and he can breathe, and he stops clawing and lets Blitzø tow him back to the rocks.

"Motherfucker. Fine. I'm not going anywhere, okay? What the fuck is wrong with you."

"I'm—s-sorry," Stolas says, shaking slightly, the chill much worse now that he's completely soaked through again, his skin clammy and icy under his heavy, soaking feathers.

"Shit. You need to dry off and get warm. Come on, back this way there should be a blanket or something."

Blitzø follows along at the edge of the water, guiding Stolas back along the stretch of rocks into a small cave that sticks up out of the water, inside which he discovers a small, rickety pier with some crates of supplies. Stolas watches Blitzø the whole way as he glides smoothly through the water, occasionally dipping his head down but always staying near the surface, clearly visible.

It's mostly rope and some nets, but he does, in fact, find a blanket. It looks awful and smells worse, and if it smells bad to him with his limited senses, it must be truly terrible. It's discolored and has almost more fraying holes than fabric, but it is dry, and he pulls off his soaked shirt to wrap the blanket around his feathered shoulders, returning to the edge of the pier and sitting down again. He feels better with the extra layer of dry fabric around him, even though texture is terrible, and gradually his shivering begins to lessen.

Just like he said, Blitzø hasn't tried to leave again, and Stolas could cry with gratitude. But he knows better than to do that, and it would probably make Blitzø very uncomfortable, so he does his best to hold the tears back.

"Given that I owe you my life, and I think that's three times over now, there must be some way I can repay you."

"What?" Blitzø squints at him, disbelieving. "Why would you do that? I'm... a half-imp."

"Yes? Half imp, half clown. I did understand the joke."

Blitzø wrinkles his nose in a pinched expression that Stolas isn't sure how to parse. "No, I mean... aren't you, like. A prince?"

"I suppose I was, before I became a pirate. I'm not sure what that has to do with—"

"Wait a second. You're a pirate? You. A pirate."

"Um. Yes? For several months, now."

Blitzø cackles, slapping the water with his hands, a few drops landing on Stolas's blanket. "That's fucking hilarious. How in the seven Rings did that happen?"

"Er, well. I was on my way to meet with my fiancée before my engagement, and my vessel was attacked. By pirates."

"Huh. That happens around here, I guess. Pirates don't tend to like letting people live very often, though, in my experience. 'Specially not rich types."

"Well, I suppose I did have... a bit of an advantage. I was already acquainted with the captain."

"No shit! Lucky bastard."

"Indeed. Asmodeus has been very kind, allowing me to—"

"Wait, Asmodeus? As in Ozzie, captain of the Dixie? Is his first mate still Fizzarolli?"

"You are familiar?"

"Uh, sort of. They shouldn't be far, at least, last I checked they were headed for a port less than a day from here, and I think I can probably help you find your way back to them."

"Oh! That would be wonderful! I was quite disappointed when I thought I was about to die and wouldn't get to sail with them any longer."

Blitzø sighs, and it goes so long it turns into a groan, and he runs a hand down his face, dragging his cheeks down.

"Alright. Okay, if I—if I help you get back to them. You have to promise me that you won't tell anyone that I exist. Alright? It's hard enough surviving around here without circuses and freak shows actively hunting me down."

"Of course! I would never endanger you. Not knowingly, in any case."

Blitzø stares at him for a long moment before his shoulders drop, and he dips under the water for a moment before shoving himself up onto the pier and dragging his tail onto it behind him.

Stolas yelps in surprise, then grabs his arm to try and tug him up further onto the pier as he gradually wriggles himself forward. When he's fully out of the water, Blitzø rolls over onto his back, closes his eyes, and then Stolas blinks and Blitzø's fin is gone, and he has two hooves and a thin, impish tail in its place.

"Oh, wow! I didn't know you could do that," Stolas says, admiring. Until he realizes that he is staring, and Blitzø is not wearing any clothes, and he flushes scarlet and looks back out over the water. Then he removes his blanket, no longer feeling remotely chilly, and throws it at him.

"Oof. Ugh, fine. Landlosers are so weird about nudity. I was just as naked before I had legs, dumbass."

"Your legs are not the problem!"

"What, never seen giant fish dick before?"

"I—No! I have never seen any dick before, fish or otherwise!"

"What? Seriously?"

"Did you miss the bit where I was engaged to be married a few months ago? It would have been quite the scandal to violate the terms of that agreement. And also my father would probably have had me assassinated! Or, perhaps merely disowned."

"Yeah, your dad sucks, Stolas. Pretty sure I knew that even back when we were kids. I mean, mine sucked too, so I get it, but still. At least Cash didn't give a shit who I fucked, I guess."

"Is he also to blame for your disdain for clothes?"

"Nope, that one's all me."

"Thrilling."

"You say that with sarcasm, but I know it's true."

*

Stolas convinces Blitzø to take his shirt once it dries, which isn't much but it's better than nothing, at least for Stolas's sanity, and Stolas is fairly certain his pants wouldn't fit Blitzø, even if he could convince Blitzø to wear them, which he thinks is unlikely. And the shirt isn't as scratchy and terrible as the disgusting blanket, which makes it preferable, as far as he is concerned.

Stolas starts to panic whenever Blitzø is out of his sight for more than a few minutes. He's mortified at his reaction, and tries to tell himself it's fine, and he's not Blitzø's responsibility, and he's a goddamn strong, independent pirate, who has to be able to figure his own shit out without the help of beautiful, benevolent half-fish demons. But Blitzø seems to notice his shameful behavior, and instead of giving him more grief for it, stays within eyesight instead.

Stolas has no idea how he's supposed to explain how much it means to him, and so he doesn't even try.

Blitzø is incredibly self-reliant, which Stolas learns very quickly, and he watches in wonder as Blitzø dips into the water and comes up with seaweed, fish, metal hooks, several feet of fishing line, and all sorts of things that he leaves in a pile next to Stolas who does his best to build a small shelter to sleep in as the Pentagram begins to sink lower and lower beneath the horizon. He doesn't bother with a fire, eating the fish Blitzø brings back raw. They taste different from fish he's had with the crew, although most of their food tends to be in the form of salted rations that can be stored in the hull, preserved for a longer voyage.

He finds a berry bush while exploring a little further inland on the islet, but Blitzø, who has opted to walk with him for a while to 'get used to having legs again,' slaps them out of his hands and informs him they'll just make him sick.

"I'm—I'm sorry I'm so useless," Stolas admits, later that evening, curled up in his pathetic, barely-standing shelter made up of a couple pieces of driftwood, some seaweed, and the fishing line Blitzø found.

"No one's good at being stranded, especially not the first time," Blitzø says, offhand. He's rolling around in the shallows near Stolas's shelter, getting wet sand all over himself, but he seems more relaxed than he has been since he first swapped out his tail for legs.

"You could have left," Stolas says, rubbing his bare arms in an attempt to warm up a little. And maybe also because it's soothing, and it's been a very long day.

"What, and let you drown?" Blitzø says, grinning crookedly at him, and Stolas is pretty sure he's teasing. He wants to feel comforted, but he still just wishes he weren't such a... such a burden.

"I can... I can find my way back to my ship. On my own. I promise I won't jump back into the water this time," he says, quietly, and fear twists his insides into a tight, painful knot, but the idea of keeping someone tethered to him out of obligation... that would feel even worse.

"Fuck no."

Stolas looks up at Blitzø, startled, to see him scowling, and is hit with a very confusing wave of emotions, the onslaught causing his face to heat, and he feels moisture begin to gather at the corners of his eyes, which he hates and desperately wishes he could turn off.

"I'm—excuse me?"

"You think I'm gonna leave now, and let your dumb ass go get yourself killed, or stranded, or whatever? What would be the point of dragging you out of the water, huh? Forget it, I'm not going anywhere. So you're gonna have to deal with it."

Blitzø sounds annoyed, and he's scowling, and Stolas doesn't know what to make of it other than to take him at his word. He has a point, after all—if Stolas went and got himself into trouble, then it would render Blitzø's efforts somewhat meaningless.

He supposes the best way he can pay him back is to stay alive, until he figures out something more appropriate, something big enough to measure up to the incredible gift Blitzø has given him. Blitzø has awakened him, in several different ways. When he was a child, Blitzø was his first friend, showed him the shape of what having a companion could be. It meant the world to him then, and he's never forgotten how it felt. And now, by saving his life and providing him with an opportunity to return to his ship, he's made it painfully apparent to Stolas just how much he values his ship and his crew, and how badly he wants to get back to his new life.

He would be lying if he said that was all Blitzø has taught him, but, well, he's not—that's not going to—It's irrelevant, is what it is. Blitzø is only helping him get back to his ship, and then...

And then, Stolas is going to have to figure out what he's going to do from there.

"Thank you," Stolas says, with as much genuine gratitude as he can manage without getting weepy. "I... truly appreciate everything you have done for me."

Blitzø shrugs, turning away from him. "It's whatever. No big deal."

Stolas vows that he will find a way to convince Blitzø somehow that it is, in fact, a big deal.

*

It's only a couple days before Blitzø's claim proves accurate—a small ship docks at the barely-functioning pier to shuffle supplies around and meet discreetly with another ship at their little out-of-the-way cave... hideaway... islet-place. Stolas isn't quite sure what to call it, only that there is a dock that is accessible through a small, hidden cave that leads farther into the center of the tiny island, where there are several tunnels that connect pockets of air only accessible from underwater. Or so Blitzø claims; Stolas is not willing to be underwater long enough for Blitzø to actually take him to see for himself, but Stolas believes him when he says they exist.

Blitzø has apparently traveled with the crew of one of the docked ships before, and they made it clear he was not allowed anywhere near them ever again for reasons Blitzø does not elaborate on, so he finds the quartermaster for the other vessel instead. They are reluctant, but agree to take him and Stolas to their destination, given that it's only a day away and the port is their next intended stop anyway.

They also throw some spare threadbare trousers at Blitzø, who still only had Stolas's shirt to wear, and Stolas, for one, is grateful. Blitzø grumbles, but agrees to wear them onboard the ship.

They do not give Stolas a shirt, which he tries not to read too much into. At least his feathers provide him a layer of protection and warmth, and he will have to make do until he is reunited with the Dixie and his belongings. It is much less cold during the day, so he thinks he will manage until then without too much trouble.

Despite the shirt situation Stolas feels they are fortuitous in the extreme, but Blitzø just shrugs. "Most ships around here are headed to that port, it's a big hub. Odds were in our favor."

He scratches at the scales around his knees where they poke out of the short trousers as Stolas watches, anxious.

"Relax, I'm fine, it's only a day. I'll go for a swim as soon as you're back with your ship, and it'll be fine."

"How long have you gone before, with your legs?"

"Eh, plenty long. Stop worrying."

Blitzø's cavalier attitude does not make Stolas worry less, especially when he scratches at his scales again less than a minute later.

The ship is not nearly as well-run as the Dixie; the crew snipe at each other and bicker constantly, and Stolas ends up enduring the nauseating sway of belowdecks in an effort to find a quiet corner with Blitzø so they don't have to interact with them any more than absolutely necessary. They both opt to skip meals, as well. Due to Blitzø's hunting efforts before the ships arrived at the island—it had been the longest hour of Stolas's life, he was certain, watching him disappear into the depths and waiting anxiously to see whether or not Blitzø would return with food—they manage alright for the short journey.

Until they finally dock at the port, and the quartermaster approaches them before they can disembark.

"We don't allow freeloaders 'round here. Unless you got coin, you owe us for the ride."

"But we—we were stranded! It was only a day! Surely just this once, you can make an excep—"

"You got any idea how many stranded folk we pick up from that cave? Most of 'em at least have the decency to lend a hand in return for passage."

"I was not aware you expected labor in return for passage. Look, allow us to buy you a drink. We'll—"

"Birdy babe?!" Stolas turns to look over the guardrail down toward the pier where the ship is docked, and is elated to find Asmodeus walking along the floating wooden walkway below.

"Oh, fuck," Blitzø mumbles beside him, hunching down and pulling up the collar of his loose shirt. "I gotta go, right now, before—"

"Ozzie, what the fuck are you doing? We still need to—wait, is that Stolas? You're alive?!"

"I am!" Stolas says, waving enthusiastically down at them, and stepping in front of Blitzø to block him from view. "I was stranded, and this kind gentleman agreed to escort me back here, but he has decided the cost of the trip has increased in the meantime."

Asmodeus slowly raises an eyebrow at the quartermaster, who pales dramatically.

"Haha! It was just a funny prank! I'm kidding, Captain Asmodeus, sir, there's no problem here. They're all yours!"

"Splendid," Stolas says, waving jauntily at the scheming sinner as he retreats back into the depths of his ship. He's about to take a step toward the gangway when he pauses, turning to look at Blitzø, who hasn't moved.

"What's the holdup, Stolas?"

"Just one moment," Stolas says, holding up a finger for Asmodeus to see before turning back to Blitzø and approaching him cautiously. "What is wrong? I very much doubt they would be upset with you for rescuing me."

"I—I told you, you can't tell them about me! I have to go."

Blitzø turns to walk in the opposite direction from the gangway, toward the far side of the main deck.

"Stol, what's the hold—wait a fucking second, I know those horns. Is that Blitzo?"

Stolas turns to see Fizz has climbed up the gangway and is standing at the top of it, and is staring, wide-eyed, at Blitzø.

"Fuck," Blitzø says, equally wide-eyed, and his hands are shaking slightly.

"You're alive too?!" Fizz shouts, and Stolas can't tell if he's angry or just surprised, but it's loud and Fizz jumps forward to grab Blitzø's shoulders, shaking him.

"I—I'm sorry," Blitzø says, squeezing his eyes shut, and Stolas wants so badly to put himself between them, to shield Blitzø from whatever is upsetting him so terribly.

"Please calm down," Stolas says, approaching Fizz. "I do not know what's going on, but Blitzø saved my life, and helped me get here."

"You asshole!" Fizz shouts, and something in Stolas snaps.

"That is enough," he says, pushing Fizz away from Blitzø.

"Why didn't you tell me you were alive, you dick!" Fizz says, voice ragged and ignoring Stolas completely, and Stolas freezes, because that definitely sounded... different, and he is fairly certain it isn't anger. Not entirely.

Asmodeus lays a hand on Fizz's shoulder, approaching from behind him and circling around while they'd all been distracted by the escalating argument. But Fizz just throws him off.

"We are not doing this here. Back to the Dixie, come on," Asmodeus says, using his Captain voice except for the end, which he directs at Fizz in a softer voice.

"You gonna disappear again, asshole?!" Fizz barks, sniffling, and Blitzø flinches and doesn't say anything.

"Let's go, Froggie," Ozzie says, and Fizz finally lets himself be pulled back down the gangway.

"Blitzø," Stolas says, voice soft. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he says, automatic, and Stolas can see him wince and take a shaky breath, finally beginning to let go of his rigid stillness now that Fizz is out of sight. "Not... not really," he says, and Stolas aches.

"I am very sorry I could not honor your request to be discreet," he says, miserable that Blitzø had only asked for one thing, and Stolas had immediately ruined it.

Blitzø shakes his head, reaching out and grabbing Stolas's talon so he can't dig it into his other hand in distress. "This is... it was my fault. It's not—you didn't do anything wrong. It's my mess."

Stolas frowns. "You knew running into them here was a possibility, but I begged and you agreed to take me anyhow. I could have gotten here on my own if I weren't such a useless coward."

"Stolas. I can't—I can't do this right now," Blitzø says, squeezing Stolas's talon tighter, desperate.

Blitzø was just shouted at, and has been stressed since he pulled Stolas from the water, and doesn't even want to be at this port at all, and is around a lot of demons he doesn't know and hasn't been able to swim in over a day, and now Stolas is making it about himself and his stupid, self-absorbed, shitty fucking feelings.

He is a such an asshole. Has he learned nothing, after six months of working with a crew, being part of a team, figuring out how to put his own needs aside for the welfare of the vessel?

"I'm sorry. You are right. What do you wish to do? If you would prefer to go slip into the water and leave this place, I will figure out how to help you do it without being seen, and explain it to them."

Blitzø looks up at him, expression unreadable with so many different things all mixed together, and all Stolas knows is that he wants desperately to make Blitzø feel better and has no idea how. He waits for Blitzø to make up his mind.

"No, I—I owe Fizz an explanation," Blitzø finally says, glancing out at the water. "I should have talked to him before, but I..."

"Well, you certainly do not owe me anything," Stolas says softly. "Not your story, or anything else. But... I think you should do what you want to do. Whatever will make you happiest."

Blitzø swallows, then nods, and inhales, deep. "Let's get the fuck off this ship first," he says, and Stolas follows him down onto the pier.

"I imagine whatever conversation with Fizzarolli, if you intend to have it, will be more manageable after he has had some time to collect himself," Stolas says, tapping his beak thoughtfully. "Shall we find something to eat, in the interim?"

Blitzø barks out a laugh. It's a little bitter, but not without humor. "You're diabolical."

"I like to think so, but I am also merely hungry."

"Yeah, alright, let's find something."

By the time they track down food that is palatable for both of them that Blitzø manages to steal (hey! All of Stolas's money is on the Dixie, he has no choice—he can make up for it later!) and eat it, a little over an hour has passed. Eating with Blitzø on the pier is wonderful; he's observant and funny, and while Stolas can tell he's a little subdued and clearly trying to keep himself together, he's preparing to do something he finds terrifying, instead of putting it off or trying to find a way around having to deal with it, and Stolas can't help but admire him.

Maybe if Stolas had a fraction of Blitzø's strength, he would have been able to stand up to his father instead of running away.

Asmodeus greets them on the deck of the Dixie when they finally make their way back to the ship.

"He was half convinced you'd swam off," he says neutrally.

"Thought about it," Blitzø quips back. Stolas thinks there's a good chance it's not actually true, but decides to keep his beak shut about it.

Ozzie snorts, and softens. "He's calmed down, and is waiting in my quarters. Come on."

Stolas goes to follow automatically, but then realizes that would be presumptuous. "Do... would you prefer I come with, or find you later?"

Blitzø glances up at him and grimaces. "I'm only gonna say this shit once, so. You may as well be there for it."

Stolas hesitates. "I meant what I said. I will be fine, if you would rather keep it between the two of you."

Blitzø rolls his eyes. "It's not a secret. Just... come on." He grabs Stolas's hand and drags him along, and Stolas supposes that is a fairly definitive answer.

When they enter through the doors to the Captain's quarters behind the helm, through the outer room lined with books and maps and cabinets filled to bursting with bottles and knickknacks and trophies, they find Fizz seated at a small table and Asmodeus circles around it to hover by his shoulder.

"Alright, let's hear the excuses," Fizz says, leveling Blitzø with a sharp glare, but at least he isn't shouting this time.

Blitzø takes a deep breath and sits in the chair across from him, and Stolas moves to stand by his elbow, silent but supportive.

"So, just to recap for these two," Blitzø says, nodding at Stolas and Asmodeus, "when I was pretty young, my dad decided I was less use to him than whatever he could get for me, and sold me to a freak show. That's how Fizz and I met."

"Boo hoo," Fizz snarls at him, "poor you."

Blitzø glares. "You're such a brat," he says, but when Fizz opens his mouth to retort, Asmodeus rests a hand on his shoulder, and he glances up at him briefly before falling silent again, sinking lower in his chair and crossing his arms sulkily.

"Fizz would talk to me like I was an actual person, even though no one knew whether I could understand anything, and a lot of it I couldn't. Accents are hard in your second language, it's fucking annoying, and everyone at that damn freak show had a different one, and no one could ever seem to say anything slowly enough for me to figure it out, especially from inside that nasty-ass tank. Anyway, it was Mammon's show, so obviously it sucked major dick. And I wasn't gonna last very long at the rate it was going, so. I decided to cut my stay short when I saw an opportunity."

"You couldn't give me a heads up, asshole?!"

"I tried! I didn't know the sign for 'fire,' or 'I'm gonna do a bunch of crime, go find cover.' It was mostly 'yes' and 'no' with you. And I had to be careful what I did when those creepy twins were around, you know they would've ratted me out to Mammon in a second."

"...Okay, fair."

"And I—I almost died. I tried to find you, but... once I was out of that shitty tank, I needed to get to the ocean. I would have suffocated, and I'd never done my leg trick before. I only figured that out later."

"So why didn't you find me after things had calmed down?!"

"Well, for a while I thought you had died," Blitzø says, staring hard at the table. "And then by the time I found you and realized you survived... you were here, on a ship with a crew, and you looked... happy. I didn't—I would have just caused problems."

"You think not saying anything was better than letting me think you were dead?!"

"Well... yeah. You didn't have to deal with me anymore, no teaching me or getting me food or whatever. You wouldn't be stuck by the water, you could go wherever you wanted. Why would I mess with that?"

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Fizz, you almost died because of me! You would have—I wouldn't blame you if you hated me," Blitzø says, no longer yelling by the end.

"You dumb, idiot, stupid jackass—I never hated you, I missed you!"

"You... what?" Blitzø sounds dumbfounded, and Stolas isn't sure he's ever seen a more upsetting response.

"We were friends, and then you were suddenly gone! I don't give a shit about that fucking place, or whatever you did to escape, and I didn't then! I just wanted my friend back!"

Blitzø doesn't seem to know how to respond to that, and after moment, Fizz narrows his eyes at him. "Speaking of which, you look terrible, dickhead. When's the last time you slept?"

"I sleep plenty!"

"Oz, this guy needs a bath and some food, stat."

"On it, babe," Asmodeus says, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead before gracefully crossing the room in a couple long strides and disappearing out the door.

Blitzø stares at Fizz, mouth open, for several seconds before his brain catches up with him. "I'm not staying here!"

"You can for today, at least," Fizz says, getting up to lean over the table, close enough to stare Blitzø directly in the face, nose inches away. "You are not leaving this ship until I say so, shit-for-brains. Is that clear?"

"Y-You don't own me!" Blitzø says, very nearly a whine, and Fizz backs down, just a little, tone not quite as harsh.

"No, I don't. But you're here, and I'm not ready for you to leave yet, because you're an ass who let me think you were dead for almost a year. So I'm asking you to stay for now. Okay?"

Blitzø crosses his arms and grumbles, turning pink. "I—fine," he says with a huff.

"Good. Glad that's settled. Your tub will be ready in twenty minutes and you can soak, and by the time you're done I'll have some food brought in. And you're rooming with Stolas, since you need a whole-ass tub with some privacy, and his quarters are the only place we can fit one, besides in here, which is absolutely not happening. Got it?"

"Um. Pardon?" Stolas says, but he's cut off by Blitzø.

"No! Absolutely not, that's—"

"This isn't that big a ship, you dumb baby, and it's only for a little while. First mate's orders, get over it." With that Fizz also leaves the room, smooth and quick with a quiet whir from his prosthetic legs, and then Blitzø and Stolas are left alone, staring at each other in awkward silence.

"How did you snag yourself fancy private quarters?"

"Oh. Erm, there are quite a lot of books and charts to maintain, and they kept getting moved around and left out and I was spending most of my time with them, so I—sort of just. Moved in."

"Huh. Well, I guess you've got a roommate for a while. Sorry about that."

"Oh! It's no trouble at all, it's actually rather lonely by myself—I mean! Not that I don't appreciate having my own space, but, you know—most everyone sleeps down in the crew quarters, and I—"

"Yeah, I know how it works. Come on, let's go see if the tub's ready, my legs are so fucking itchy I'm about to claw my scales off."

"I—right," Stolas says, following Blitzø, and not daring to question the invitation, lest he decide to rescind it.

"Aren't you supposed to keep the water outside the ship?"

"Fuck you, asshole," Fizz says, poking Blitzø in the side with a finger and then signing at him for good measure. Blitzø scowls at him, because that was rude and also really not necessary after swearing at him out loud, but he's also just so fucking relieved he gets to have this with Fizz again he can barely keep himself in check.

He thought he'd lost it forever, and then just like that... they were back, almost to how they'd been before the— before the fire.

It felt fragile, like Blitzø could have it just until the next stiff breeze knocked it right out of his hands again, and maybe this time it would sink to the bottom of the ocean, deeper than even he could swim.

"Alright, that's enough for a good soak," Fizz says, shaking him out of his thoughts. "By the time you're done we'll be ready to pull out of port, so you're stuck until after that, got it?"

"Wow, you're really determined to trap me here, huh? You do realize I can just leap off the side of the—"

"Try it, fucker," Fizz says, shoving him against the door, with enough force to make his point. "I will hunt you down, so help me."

"Alright, I got it, calm your tits," Blitzø says, desperately shoving down the emotions writhing and twisting in his chest, desperate to keep his shit together, just for a little longer.

Fizz wants him here. Fizz says he would chase him, if he ran. Fizz doesn't hate his guts, at least not enough to never want to see him again.

Fizz finally leaves with one last glare at Blitzø, and then, after glancing at Stolas and back to Blitzø and shrugging, leaves them alone in Stolas's room.

Right. Stolas.

Stolas is here. Because it's his room. And Blitzø told him to follow him.

Just because he'll be basically helpless sitting in a tub in Stolas's room with a fin that's useless on a ship instead of the ocean where he belongs, and for no other reasons. None whatsoever!

"Grab that brush over there, would you?" Blitzø says, beginning to shed his stupid clothes for humans who have legs and making his way over to the tub.

"Oh! Certainly," Stolas says, grabbing the soft bristle-brush sitting out on a table, and rummaging through one of the cabinets, pulling out a towel as well as soaps and oils and all sorts of other bath items, many of which Blitzø has no idea what Stolas expects him to do with.

Blitzø uses the opportunity provided while Stolas rummages to discard the rest of his clothes, hop into the tub, and shift back to his proper form, relaxing into the water with his long tail hanging slightly over the far lip. It feels so good to have water on his scales again, to get to fan out his fins and feel the glide of the water along his scales as he squirms happily down deeper into the tub, until only his eyes are visible where they peek out over the surface.

"Is it terribly uncomfortable, to be out of the water for so long?" Stolas asks, setting the towel and all the various jars along the floor near the bath, almost eye-level where he sits next to the tub.

"It's dry and itchy, yeah. And everything is too... solid. Stationary. I miss the currents," Blitzø says, waving his arms through the water. "The water is great, but..."

"It's no ocean?" Stolas offers, and Blitzø nods.

"Yeah." Blitzø sighs, and tries to enjoy the bath for a quiet moment, even though it's not home.

"What is the brush for?" Stolas asks, picking it up, and Blitzø glances over just in time to see pink fading from his cheeks.

"Scales. Need to clean them, haven't in... a while."

"What would be best? I presume most cleansers would be rather abrasive?"

Blitzø blinks at him. "Uh, just some oil. To keep them from drying out. If that's... what you're asking."

"Indeed!" Stolas reaches for one of the bottles, uncorking it and sniffing delicately. "Hmm, not the most alluring of scents, but it should be gentle enough... what do you think?"

He holds the bottle out for Blitzø, who takes a sniff. It's a light floral, not bad, but also not something Blitzø would choose for himself.

"It's probably fine," he says, and Stolas nods, handing over the bottle.

"Would you like me to get any difficult to reach areas?" Stolas asks, eyes trailing along Blitzø's long tail, slowly, and Blitzø feels a searing heat curl in his belly, squirming and twisting with want.

"Only if you promise to be rough with me," Blitzø says, leering, and Stolas squawks and his eyes snap back to Blitzø's face.

"I—I didn't mean—"

"You sure?" Blitzø cuts him off, leaning over the edge of the tub, into Stolas's space. "Because you could've fooled me."

"I—wouldn't want to, to take advantage," Stolas stammers, eyeing the tub, and Blitzø snorts.

"Who's taking advantage? You think you can take me?"

Stolas swallows, eyes going wide, and shakes his head.

Blitzø would like very much to keep pushing him, see how far he can take it, how far Stolas will let him before shutting him down, but decides he's gone far enough for the moment, instead dumping some oil into his palm and lifting his fin until it pokes out of the water, proceeding to rub his scales lightly with the oil.

Stolas just watches in fascination, and Blitzø would think he was being lewd on purpose, except the way he's studying him seems to honestly be some sort of... academic interest, studying his technique and idly mimicking it with his own hands where they rest on his knees.

"If I get too dry, I start to lose too many scales," Blitzø explains, and then holds up a few loose scales that had fallen out while he'd been working in the oil.

"Is it painful?" Stolas asks, reaching out to drag a talon lightly along the scales around a spot where some were missing. Blitzø holds in a shudder; the touch is almost teasing, and he's pretty sure Stolas doesn't mean it that way, it's not his fault Blitzø hasn't been close enough to let anyone touch him in... well. A while. Not a whole lot of other merfolk in the ocean, these days, especially after how much Mammon pays for them. For people like him. He pulls his tail back a little, just enough to break the contact.

"Nah, losing a few here and there like this is normal," he says, as casually as he can, running his own hand over his tail. "If I lose too many the skin underneath can get raw and tender, though, especially without the scales there to protect it."

"I see," Stolas says, examining the scales when Blitzø drops a few into his hands, eyes going wide as he inhales in awe, tilting the scales around and admiring how they catch the light, probably noticing their slight iridescence. "Beautiful," he mutters, and Blitzø feels his face light on fire and he dips under the water until only his horns are visible.

Goddamn... pretty motherfucker. Blitzø desperately wants to tear his clothes off and drag him in with him, even the playing field a little, maybe get his claws all over his feathers, see how he likes it.

When he surfaces, he sees that Stolas has moved to the end of the tub, where his fin rests over the lip, and he has some more oil in his hand. "May I?" He asks, pointing to Blitzø's tail.

The end, which he can't easily reach on his own. Blitzø swallows. "Sure," he says, without thinking too hard about it.

Stolas coos happily and begins rubbing the oil in gentle, circular motions along his scales, just like he'd seen Blitzø do, and Blitzø can't help the content groan he lets out before his hand flies to his mouth to smother it. But Stolas just giggles.

"I assume that means I'm doing it correctly?" He asks, teasing, and completely unnecessarily.

"Fuck you," Blitzø mumbles, sliding back into the water. Stolas smiles and methodically makes his way around the base of Blitzø's fins, spending extra time on the areas that are dry and have loose scales, and Blitzø wants to die, it feels so good and he's missed having someone to do this for him, desperately.

Even Fizz never helped with his scales before, not while he was trapped and on display, that was always something Barb would— 

No, he's not going to think about that. He's not. There's nothing he can do; she's made herself clear, and he has to respect that.

She's probably already found plenty of people that will help her, and is perfectly content wherever she is, without him. And he's going to find a way to be fine with that, he is. He's... working on it.

"Blitzø?" Stolas asks, and Blitzø shakes his head, splashing water over his face and hoping Stolas managed to miss the way his eyes started to brim over. Hah, right.

"Uh. Yeah, that's probably good," he says, flicking a few drops of water at Stolas with his hands, delighting in the affronted scoff he gets out of Stolas as a result.

"What about, um," Stolas mumbles, holding up the oil again. "Are you... able to reach your back?"

Oh. Right. "Uh," Blitzø says, and Stolas turns redder. "Right, my back. May as well," Blitzø says, turning over in the water before he can think too hard about it, and Stolas moves around the tub to sit by the side where he can reach, without saying a word, and starts rubbing the oil into Blitzø's back.

The scales there are much smaller and harder to see, with large areas discolored with scarring and some patches where the scales never grew back fully.

Stolas carefully navigates the patches, gently working his way around them, careful not to irritate the skin or dislodge any of the tiny scales where he still has them. Blitzø can hear Stolas's gentle breaths when he's this close, and can see his tail feathers when he adjusts out of the corner of his eye, and tries not to lose his mind over how he feels about Stolas's hands on his back, around his injuries, gently soothing his dry skin, his old wounds.

He doesn't think at all about how easily Stolas could trap or hurt him, like this. If he really wanted to. Sure, Blitzø could have his legs back in a moment, but would he be quick enough, really, if Stolas decided he wanted to trap him, hurt him, sell him for a profit? Blitzø isn't really sure.

But Stolas has had plenty of opportunities to be rid of him, on the islet, or the ship they took to get here, wandering down the pier and eating lunch, but he hasn't taken any of them. Blitzø actually thinks it may not even have occurred to him to do so, and he has to kind of marvel at a supposed pirate who doesn't seem interested in treasure or selling people to get booze and sex and whatever else pirates consider valuable.

"Much better," Stolas says, leaning back and giving Blitzø's scales a final once-over, and Blitzø doesn't think about what the loss of contact feels like.

"Thanks," he says, and then shoves his face under the water again, but the water is starting to taste like the oil instead of just salt and ocean, and it's pretty gross. He concentrates on his tail and focuses on the image of having legs with hoofed feet instead, and feels the shape of his body contract to match. By the time he lifts his head out of the water, he has legs again.

He stands, and Stolas wordlessly holds out the towel as Blitzø steps out of the tub, and he's red again, and Blitzø wonders what Stolas would do if he ignored the towel and sat in his lap, instead.

Then there's a soft tap on the door.

"Food delivery for you, Stol!"

"Ah yes, thank you, Mildred," Stolas says, rushing over to the door to accept the food.

"There's a lot here, you throwin' a party I don't know about in there?"

Stolas laughs, and Blitzø pulls on a skirt he finds in Stolas's drawers (no way any of that lanky bird's pants will fit him, and it's more comfortable, anyway) and tries very hard not to think about how much he likes Stolas's various laughs, of which he has many. Or the fact that he's wearing his clothes, has been wearing his clothes. But he doesn't have any of his own clothes, so he has no choice.

"Ah, I do have a roommate for the time being, yes," Stolas says, but he doesn't move out of the way or open the door any wider. "You will meet him soon, I'm certain."

"Okay, I'll let you keep your secrets for now, mister," she says with a playful shove, and Stolas shuts the door after she leaves.

"I'm afraid you will most likely have to meet the rest of the crew soon, there's not much in the way of privacy around here, but that can wait until you've eaten," Stolas says, setting the tray of food down on the table. "Oh good, you found something that fits! Although, perhaps Fizzarolli might have something closer to your size?"

"Eh, this works," Blitzø says, sitting down at the table and tugging the tray closer, eyeing the fluffy bread, cheese, and fruit arranged neatly on the plate as his stomach grumbles in anticipation. As he starts to shovel food into his mouth—he loves fish, he really does, but Satan he has missed seasonings and bread and (some!!) land people food—he notices that Stolas is staring at his legs.

Or, more specifically, the gap between his legs, because the skirt is not terribly long and Blitzø is going to sit in whatever way is comfortable, and that does not include pressing his legs neatly together.

"I can make it whatever size I want," he says with a smirk, and it takes Stolas a moment to realize that he's said something.

"I—whatever size you want?" He looks confused, and Blitzø's smirk widens. Stolas understands, then, snapping upright and rigid, his face going the reddest Blitzø has seen yet. "I wasn't—I didn't—" Then, his eyes go wide. "Any size? Really?"

"Yep," Blitzø says, with a filthy pop to the p, and Stolas's expression goes a little hazy.

Fizz shows up a minute later to check that Blitzø hasn't bolted, insults him relentlessly, and assigns him duties while he's on the ship. He also offers to let Blitzø take a couple things from his wardrobe, until he can find his own. Stolas barely says a word, and Blitzø is torn between feeling bad for maybe making him uncomfortable, and desperately wanting to see if he can do it again, but worse.

*

Blitzø falls into something of a routine.

Unlike Stolas, he's strong, good with heights, and doesn't have to worry about drowning if he falls overboard, so he ends up high in the rigging a lot, although it takes him a while to figure out how to navigate without getting his horns hopelessly tangled. He also has lots of experience with ropes and knots, and once Fizz explains how the sails work, he ends up spending a lot of time on the deck, climbing up and down the rigging, working on getting more nimble with his dumb separate imp legs. Making them move independently is still something that takes some thought, but he gets better at it every day.

Another skillset Stolas lacks that Blitzø takes to quickly is cooking. Blitzø is fascinated by "land people food," and he quickly makes friends with their resident cook in an effort to learn about it for himself. Moxxie is wary of him at first, more so even than the rest of the crew typically are of strangers, but Blitzø has a way of winning people over, and even though he mocks and argues with Moxxie constantly, they warm up to each other quickly.

But mostly Blitzø loves being out in the fresh air, and sometimes, if they're moving slow enough and there aren't too many crew members out on the deck, he'll actually dip into the water and swim alongside the ship for a while, being careful to stay close to the ship and not surface where anyone will notice him. He gets good at climbing the netting on the side of the ship up to the gunwale and sliding in through the cannon openings, since the gundeck rarely has crew around when they're sailing and not in the middle of combat or hunting down a prize.

Fizz catches him climbing the side of the ship once after a swim and has a small freakout about it, but Blitzø quickly realizes it's more about thinking he was trying to leave and worried about him not keeping his secret than being upset with him for swimming. He decides to limit his ocean swims to when he really needs it.

Which isn't all that frequent, because every evening, Stolas helps him bring in water to fill his tub and soak in it before sleeping. Stolas's magic helps quite a bit, allowing him to get the water through the small porthole in his quarters without having to carry it all the way from the deck. Convenient.

Stolas doesn't offer to help him with his scales after that first day, which Blitzø doesn't let himself feel disappointed about. He does linger in the room, usually reading or looking over charts, but he'll always talk to him if Blitzø pesters him, and doesn't seem annoyed by it. But he doesn't watch as Blitzø gets in and out of the tub, either. In fact, he seems determined to keep his eyes to himself, his staring decreasing noticeably from when they'd met.

Blitzø wonders if he's getting bored of him already, and if he should start planning his departure from the ship soon. He loves spending time with Fizz, but nothing about his situation has really changed—he's not cut out for pirate life, long-term. He lives in the ocean, not above it. And... he misses his home reef, the familiarity and the way it stays put. It's where he belongs.

He used to be sure he'd have a big family there, one day, but that was before his father sold him to a freak show. Still, though. Some part of him still wants that, somehow, someday. And he's never going to find it on a pirate ship.

It doesn't mean he wouldn't like to fuck the owl pirate before he goes, though. He really, really wants to fuck the owl pirate. He's even pretty sure his transformed body has all the right working parts, and he'd love to know for certain.

But every time he thinks Stolas might want to find out, too, he hesitates, and Blitzø has been too scared to ask why. What if Stolas is grossed out by merpeople? What if he actually thinks Blitzø is weird or annoying, and is just too polite to say so?

So, Blitzø makes lewd comments but doesn't push it, and Stolas blushes but doesn't do anything about it, either. They both have a tendency to shed clothes as soon as they get back to Stolas's room. For Blitzø, it's because he spends evenings in a tub of ocean water. He has no idea why Stolas will immediately discard all his clothes except for a very loose robe, but it's not like he minds. Then Blitzø climbs up into a hammock that's only a few feet away from Stolas's bunk, listening to him breathe and hoot softly in his sleep, and does not cross that short distance. He's pretty sure he would fit, if he did, even though it's not a large bed. But Stolas hasn't offered, so he's not going to do that.

At least, not yet.

He wonders which will break first: his self control, or the desire to stay (the only thing stopping him from diving into the ocean and swimming as fast as his legs—no, his tail—can push him).

"Alright, crew! Gather round," Asmodeus calls out to the deck, and Fizz emerges from below a moment later with the rest of the crew, so they're all gathered around in a semi-circle looking up at the quarterdeck where their captain stands and watches, waiting for them to quiet down.

Stolas glances up to the crow's nest, where Blitzø has begun to scurry down, much faster now than he was when he first climbed up only weeks ago. Has Blitzø only been on the ship with them for a few weeks, nearly a month? It feels like much longer, to Stolas.

"We've spotted a merchant ship with no escort a few hours out, to the southwest," Asmodeus says, pointing to the horizon. Stolas can't see anything from here, but he knows the ship will be visible from the crow's nest with the aid of a spyglass. He wonders if Blitzø was the one who spotted it, the idea making his chest swell with pride. Blitzø seems to fit in so well here, and he and Fizz have been getting along much better. At least, as far as Stolas can tell. He knows he has trouble sometimes, telling the difference between genuine camaraderie and keeping up appearances, and he's never been close enough with Fizz to feel comfortable asking him about something so personal.

"We're gonna take her," Asmodeus finishes with a fierce glint in his eye, and the crew cheers. They're all ready to have some fun, haven't gotten to in a while, and taking a merchant ship usually means they'll get to have some fun trading in the spoils the next time they dock.

Stolas swallows nervously. This is definitely not his favorite part of being a pirate, if he's being honest. He realizes robbing the wealthy who hoard their money is kind of the whole point for a lot of demons, but for him? Not so much.

He had wealth, once. It didn't make him happy, and frankly, he's perfectly willing to give up most of his shares to the rest of the crew, keeping only enough for his necessities, and maybe a couple luxuries, like his preening oil and the occasional decadent stuffed-shrew dinner. He'll take a rat feast, too, if shrew is scarce—he tries not to be too picky.

But if there were an option to skip the actual fighting, he would take it. Unfortunately, that is not the case on Ozzie's ship. If you sail, you help take prizes. Every man on deck means better numbers and a quicker surrender, with less resistance and fewer casualties. It makes sense.

Stolas runs his talons over his silky cravat, this one a dark blue instead of the usual white, and feels his magic buzzing on the edges of his awareness, never far away.

He's still a royal. He's hard to injure, and harder to kill. But many of the crew around him are not, and his presence in the fray means they are all much safer, especially when he puts on a good show of intimidation. He just has to be cautious when their prey is supplied with Carmine weaponry, which is not infrequent.

"What's up, birdy?" Blitzø asks, and Stolas starts, unaware that he'd gotten so close, suddenly appearing right at his elbow.

"Oh! Nothing, I just... I don't particularly enjoy this part," he admits with a weak smile.

"Aw, don't worry. I'm great at violence, I'll make sure you don't gotta get your shiny talons dirty," he says with a sharp grin and a spin of the pistol Fizz gave him, and Stolas feels his face heat up.

"Alright you useless fucks, let's catch this wind and get hunting!" Fizz shouts, and the crew cheers and scurries around the deck to begin preparing for the fight, checking ammunition, loading up cannons and weaponry, readying rope and hooks and gangplanks so they'll be prepared to board the ship the second they're close enough.

Stolas finds the anticipation of a confrontation even worse than the fighting itself, and he's mostly useless out on deck, so he retreats to his quarters while they slowly close on their prey, going over their supplies and calculating what they'll need, minimum, for a good haul and resupply when they reach their next destination.

Two hours pass with him buried in books and calculations before there's a knock at his door.

"Enter," Stolas says, writing down the sums in his head before he looks up to find Asmodeus ducking through the doorway.

"Everything alright, Stoly?" He says with a coo, pulling up a stool so he can sit next to Stolas at his desk. "I know you're not big on the prizewinning, but we're almost ready to engage. You want to sit this one out?"

"Oh! No, of course I will be present. My apologies, I merely lost track of time," Stolas says, wrapping up his notes and closing the ledger he'd had weighted open with a bottle of ink, clearing his desk so it's pristine and everything is neatly put away where it belongs.

"Are you sure? We can take it without you, it's not a problem," Asmodeus says, laying a large, clawed hand on Stolas's arm, forcing Stolas to stop his fussing and look at him.

"No, really, I'm fine. I know how important it is to be there at the start, and nothing intimidates the masses quite like royal magics. Not that you don't have the intimidation covered! But two is even scarier than one. I will do my part, for the crew."

Asmodeus studies him, a slight crease between his brows. "I appreciate everything you do for my crew, Stolas. You don't have to earn your place here, you know you've done that many times over already, right?"

Stolas swallows. No, he didn't know that, and frankly, he's not sure he really believes it. But it's very nice of Asmodeus to say, regardless.

"Thank you, Captain," he says with a smile he hopes doesn't look too strained. "I will be on deck momentarily."

Asmodeus tilts his head thoughtfully and then breaks out into leering smirk. "So is this about your fishy imp, then? You showing off for our newest crewmember?"

Stolas lets out an involuntary hoot—more of a squawk, if he's being honest—and turns away. "I don't know what you're talking about! Show off? What for?"

Ozzie cackles. "Oh, you're not fooling anyone, birdy-babe. You're as bad as I was with Fizz for those first few months."

"That cannot be true," Stolas wheezes, mortified, and Ozzie slaps him on the back with enough force that Stolas lurches forward.

"Oh, it's worse," he says with a huge smirk. "And he's just as bad as you."

"I—No. What? That's—"

"Go impress your man, babe. Sweep that fish off his fins."

"Ozzie!" Stolas scolds, turning scarlet. Ozzie continues cackling as he gets up and heads for the door.

"You better be up on deck in ten minutes, Stolas! Then it's showtime."

Stolas allows himself ninety seconds to panic, his face plate pressed into his desk as his thoughts tumble and spin in his head, before he takes a deep breath and finishes tidying his room. He focuses on organization and making certain everything is in its place, where it should be, and it soothes some of the turbulence everywhere else.

Then, when he can find nothing else to neaten, he steels himself and leaves, ascending to the main deck.

The salty air whips across his feathers as soon as he opens the doors. The merchant ship is well within range of their cannons, and Stolas is surprised to see neither have fired, until he sees a flicker of white fabric waving in the breeze from the ship.

"They surrendered?" He asks no one in particular.

"Total letdown, right? I was so ready to murder the shit out of some demons today," Blitzø says from where he's sitting on the steps leading up to the quarterdeck, kicking his feet idly.

"Hmm," Stolas says, eyeing the other ship. It's quite big, for a merchant vessel. Bigger than theirs, even. And... it does appear to have cannons, although not quite as many as the Dixie. Still...

"Something wrong?" Blitzø asks, and Stolas turns to look at him, unaware he was being studied, and trying not to freak out about it.

"Oh, no. Well, I hope not. It's just... Usually they at least put up some token resistance, especially lately. Terrible for your trade partners, if they find out you surrender to pirates without a fight. And it's not a tiny fishing sloop, nor is it unarmed; in those situations a surrender makes sense. It's just... unusual."

"Everyone knows the Dixie, though. Maybe they're scared shitless."

"Mm, perhaps. His reputation has been growing, of late." Blitzø goes quiet for a minute as Stolas continues studying the ship, before hopping to his hoofed feet and jumping down next to Stolas on the deck.

"Well, I'll keep an eye on things, make sure they're not pulling something sneaky. We can always bail if things go bad, right?"

Stolas winces. "The Captain will only retreat if it is truly necessary. I doubt that will be required, in any case. I'm sure I am simply worrying needlessly."

Stolas offers Blitzø a smile, hoping desperately that he is correct, and the feeling in his gut is erroneous, but resolves to point out his concerns to Asmodeus regardless.

It wouldn't do to be caught unawares, if something is truly amiss.

*

Boarding the merchant ship is a strange experience. Stolas has never walked across a gangplank with a backdrop of tense silence before. Typically he dashes across amidst shouting, gunfire, and terrified screams, dodging bullets the whole way. The entire crew soon fills the upper decks of the merchant ship, with the ship's meager crew gathered down on the recessed main deck packed into a circle, glancing around at Asmodeus and his crew warily.

Not terrified, Stolas notes. This crew has probably dealt with pirates before, which only causes his concern to grow.

Having already sent a group to check through the rest of the ship, Asmodeus is giving his typical intimidating speech—we're here for the merchandise, not to kill you, if you cooperate you can leave the encounter alive, et cetera—but Stolas isn't listening to him, because many of the crew are still armed. Several are fiddling with their weapons, anxious.

Almost as though they are waiting for something.

Suddenly there is a loud crash from belowdecks, immediately followed by the gunfire and screaming that had been so conspicuously absent, sudden and startling after the oppressive stillness.

"Fuck," Blitzø says, and dashes toward the steps leading into the bowels of the ship, and Stolas and more of the crew are quick to follow, until the crew they have surrounded begin drawing their weapons and shouting, as well, and the whole deck erupts into chaos.

Stolas knew it. He knew something was wrong, and he hadn't listened to his instincts, and now—

He swallows down his frustration and his fear, and taps into his anger, instead, reaching for his magic.

"That is enough," he growls, and reaches out with a shadowy tendril of power, targeting limbs holding weapons and crushing several to pieces before they have a chance to fire on his crew, and then sweeps across a cluster of bodies knocking them all off their feet, and towers over them, eyes burning with fury.

"Out of my way," he hisses, heading in the direction he saw Blitzø run, only to pause halfway when a large group of demons come pouring out of the stairway, blood-soaked and screaming and shoving each other out of the way if they're not moving fast enough.

There's a familiar cackle, and then Blitzø emerges from the depths of the ship, more blood streaked across his face—for a horrible moment Stolas worries it's Blitzø's, but as he watches, Blitzø doesn't seem to be acting as though he's injured or in pain—and he chases the demons, firing his gun with remarkable precision, downing their targets left and right, stabbing with his knife when he gets close enough.

Stolas is distracted when there's a sharp pain in his side, and he looks over to see a sinner with long eyestalks and large clawed hands has shoved a blade into his side. He scowls at him, the sinner's eyes turn wide, and then Stolas turns him to stone with a glare.

The wound stings, but it is not dangerous, and it will heal within a couple hours. He returns his attention to the new batch of demons that emerged from belowdecks, and with a quick sweep of the mess of fighting taking place across the deck, is not sure where his efforts would be best utilized, and turns his attention to the upper deck to see that while Fizzarolli is only utilizing one of his prosthetic arms both he and Ozzie are still upright and fighting, and look like they are holding their own, for the moment.

The relief is short-lived, however, when Stolas hears the click of a gun cocking from behind him, and turns to find a barrel uncomfortably close to him and aimed at the back of his head, with a familiar pattern of white swirls decorating the side.

He barely has time to register that he's in danger before the hellhound wielding the Carmine gun smirks, aims, and then jerks forward violently as a gunshot rings through the air, and the gun drops out of his hand as blood splatters Stolas's shirt from a wound in the hellhound's chest.

"We're in the middle of a battle, what the fuck are you doing?!" Stolas takes a moment to check himself, insuring that he has sustained no further injuries, before he acknowledges the half-imp shouting at him, watching as he picks up the discarded gun, opening the chamber and emptying the rounds with a flick and popping it into a holster on his back.

"Hey, you okay?" He says, when Stolas doesn't respond.

"I believe that makes four times, now," Stolas says, still a bit dazed, the words coming out thin and a little strangled.

"Hey, you're fine, breathe," Blitzø says, and it's so stupid, because Stolas knows he's fine, and Blitzø is the one absolutely soaked in blood and much more in danger here than he is, now that one more blessed weapon has been dealt with, and he lets Blitzø tug on his arm until he's bent down at eye level with him, staring into golden eyes with bright scarlet irises, watching as Blitzø takes slow breaths, and he seems to be trying to get Stolas to do the same.

Stolas rests a taloned hand, fingers long and sharp, against Blitzø's face. Blitzø gasps in surprise, but he doesn't pull away or brush him off when Stolas leans in and presses his beak to Blitzø's mouth.

The kiss is brief, and while Stolas would love nothing more than to deepen it, to press closer and touch and feel Blitzø's body pressed up against his, he doesn't know if—

He pulls back and remembers suddenly that they are still very much in the middle of a battle, the sounds of violence all around surging back into his awareness, and he feels his face get hot as embarrassment, absolute mortification, wars with his intense desire to ignore all of it and continue kissing Blitzø for everything he's worth.

"I—I'm—so sorry, I did not—terrible timing, I mean—in the middle of—oh dear," Stolas says as he straightens up, covering his face with his hands, unable to bring himself to look at Blitzø, terrified of what he's going to find there, because Blitzø still has not reacted or said anything and oh Satan, what if he's fucked everything up, what if Blitzø hates him, what if—

"Come here," Blitzø says gruffly, grabbing Stolas's shirt near the waist where it's come loose, and drags him back toward the Dixie.

"I—beg your pardon?" Stolas says, yelping as he's pulled nearly off his feet with Blitzø's efforts.

"They've got things handled out here, we need to go to your room. Right now," Blitzø says, and Stolas is confused but intrigued, and allows himself to be pulled across to their ship, where a few of their crewmates are tending to some superficial wounds, but Blitzø hurries past them until they reach Stolas's room, and he pulls Stolas inside, shuts the door behind him, and then turns to face him, a determined look on his face.

"Too tall," he grumbles with a scowl, and then pushes Stolas's hips, backing him up a few steps until he hits his mattress, falling onto it with a soft oof and Blitzø immediately follows him and climbs up into his lap, twisting his claws into the short tufts of feathers on the sides of Stolas's face.

"Much better," he says with a grin, and leans in to return Stolas's kiss, with interest. Except this time, Stolas isn't bending over awkwardly and Blitzø was the one to initiate the kiss which is all Stolas can think about, at least until Blitzø starts pulling at the strings at Stolas's collar, loosening it, tugging at the silky cravat tucked into Stolas's shirt, ripping it off somewhat aggressively and then lifting the lower hem of Stolas's shirt just enough to get his clawed hands into the feathers at Stolas's waist, up to his chest, and Stolas is having trouble breathing, his heart racing, nerves tingling from how fiercely Blitzø is kissing him, and then biting at his jaw and neck, anywhere he can reach feathers and, underneath, skin.

Stolas gasps and whines, closing all four of his eyes, holding onto Blitzø's horns desperately, because it feels like Blitzø is surrounding him, devouring him, and he just wants to let him.

Blitzø reaches for the buttons at Stolas's waist, and Stolas inhales sharply, arousal coursing through him, mixed with a heady dose of fear and doubt.

"You green, Stols?" Blitzø asks, and Stolas takes a moment to process the words, trying to figure out what they mean, but he can't think of any context that might help him narrow it down. Certainly not for sure, and something tells him this is important.

"G-green?" He asks, and Blitzø pulls back, studying him intently, and Stolas worries he's done something terribly wrong already.

"I—yes, anything, please don't stop," he says, and Blitzø relaxes a fraction, letting go of the buttons to run a hand over his feathers again, up and down, but it's more soothing than heated.

"Okay, calm down. I'm just checking that you're good with this. Green is yes, good to go, as in enthusiastic consent. If you or I have anything we're worried about, anything at all, that's yellow, and we can talk about it, or switch it up, whatever is more comfortable. Red is stop. Got it?"

Stolas nods.

Blitzø leans in, kisses him again, softly, and Stolas finally begins to relax again.

"So... can I take these off?" Blitzø asks, one hand going back to the buttons and flicking at them, spinning them around with a grin. "Color?"

"Green," Stolas says immediately, watching Blitzø's hands, breath picking up, heat coiling in his stomach, his hips lifting just a little, trying to get closer to Blitzø's fingers, give him easier access. Blitzø chuckles, and undoes the buttons, achingly slow, one at a time, pausing between each to tug lightly at the new, short feathers that are exposed, getting darker and softer the lower he goes.

When all the buttons are unfastened, Blitzø leans forward to kiss Stolas, and then pushes roughly at his shoulder, and Stolas falls back onto his small bed with a grunt, Blitzø scooting back so he can tug at the fabric and get it off of Stolas entirely before crawling back up to kiss him again.

Stolas almost feels like each kiss is another way to check in, a way to ask his color without words, giving him a moment to catch up and make sure he's still in favor of things progressing further with each step, and the consideration takes his breath away. He returns each kiss enthusiastically, loving the way Blitzø's tongue slides against his, slightly rougher and so amazing, and Blitzø's hands continue to caress and pull as he drags his fingers through his feathers, scratching at his skin underneath, slowly making his way lower, across his stomach, to the tops of his thighs, and then dipping gradually down between them.

"Can I touch you?" Blitzø asks, fingers inches away from his skin. 

Stolas nods, whines a soft, "yes, please, hurry," and clenches his talons in Blitzø's shirt, feels them sinking into the fabric as he keens, needy and impatient, until finally Blitzø obliges, dipping a finger into his cunt, teasing as he circles around the edges, then rubbing at the nerves nestled near the top, and Stolas feels a pulse of heat shoot through him, white-hot and desperate.

"M-More," he gasps, almost a sob, grinding down into Blitzø's hand, and Blitzø adds a second finger, increasing the pressure, and Stolas spreads his thighs, fans his tail where it drapes over the side of his small bed, wraps his legs around Blitzø as much as he can, pressing close, trying desperately not to dig his talons into skin so hard he draws blood but not sure he's going to be able to stop himself at this rate.

"That's a good bird, keep making those noises for me, just like that," Blitzø purrs, fingers dragging in and out, adding a third finger, and then dropping down to bite at Stolas's chest, his other hand digging into Stolas's thigh, and Stolas feels like he's losing his mind, he can't think, it feels so good.

"I-I'm so—ah!" Stolas gives a shuddering gasp as he hits his peak, careening right over the edge, harder and faster than he ever has before, Blitzø's fingers in him and mouth on him, holding and stroking him through it. Stolas clenches around him, feels liquid leak out around Blitzø's fingers, shakes as Blitzø keeps stroking him through it, muttering praise into his feathers the whole time.

"Good bird, yeah, so pretty for me. No, don't hold back, I want all of it. Yes, perfect, so good."

Stolas feels a finger swipe underneath his lower eyes, and is horrified to realize tears have been leaking from them and he hadn't even been aware. "O-oh," he says, turning away to hide them, but Blitzø just follows, his hand stubbornly refusing to let him pull away.

"Hey, you're okay," he says, scooting up higher so he can reach and press a kiss to Stolas's face, under his eye, right on the tear tracks. "You still green, Stol?"

Stolas nods, sniffles, and slowly turns into Blitzø's palm. "I apologize, I did not mean to—to get so—"

"I know, it happens, give yourself a minute. Let me grab some water," Blitzø says, sitting up and reaching for the bottle Stolas keeps by his desk.

Stolas does not beg, because that wouldn't be a very good way to show Blitzø his appreciation. He waits patiently for Blitzø to get the water and a small cloth, cleaning them up after he hands the bottle to Stolas, who takes a long drink from it. He's not particularly thirsty, but feels as though he should anyway.

"You're thinking a lot," Blitzø observes as he climbs back onto the bed, dropping onto Stolas's chest and looking up at him, playing with Stolas's chest fluff. Stolas turns pink, and drags a talon down one of Blitzø's horns.

"I don't want to—I feel as though I have been quite selfish," he says, blushing harder, and Blitzø grins at him.

"Oh yeah? How so?"

Stolas frowns at him. "I believe you know exactly what I mean!"

Blitzø's grin widens, and he drags a tongue up Stolas's chest, but then stops and makes a face before spitting out some small, fluffy feathers. "Okay, that was a bad idea."

Stolas giggles, covering his beak with a talon. "Serves you right for teasing me."

"Oh, I'll show you teasing," Blitzø says, grinding down onto Stolas's thigh, and Stolas can feel his dick, hard and thick, pressing against him, even through the clothes Blitzø has still not removed.

Stolas decides it's time to even the field, but he can't be bothered to figure out how the hell to undo all the fastenings, and realizes there is a much easier way to deal with it. He waves a hand, a purplish glow surrounding it, and then Blitzø's clothes are off of him, in a heap in the floor instead.

"Hey, that's no fun!" Blitzø says, sitting up. "I had a whole strip tease planned, why are you so impatient all of a sudden?"

Stolas follows him, leaning up so he can reach out to drag a hand up Blitzø's thigh, similar to how Blitzø had for him, earlier. "I'm done taking my time," Stolas says, hands inching higher. "Color?"

Blitzø sucks in a breath, "Yeah, green, super green, the greenest," he rambles, watching Stolas's hand, squirming as he gets closer and closer to his destination.

Stolas feels incredible, having Blitzø's attention exactly where he wants it as he wraps it around Blitzø's leaking cock, and it's warm and heavy in his hand, and he begins to stroke up and down the length, using some of the precome from the tip to slick up his hand, but it's not nearly enough.

"Just a moment," he says, and summons a jar of lube from his desk.

"You had this in there the whole time?" Blitzø says, watching Stolas dip a finger and swirl it into the jar, and then rub it between his fingers, warming it up slightly.

"Of course," Stolas says with a grin, "this is my room, after all."

"Only because you took it over for yourself, brat," Blitzø says, and then stops talking abruptly when Stolas grabs him again.

"It ended up working out quite well for both of us, I think," Stolas says, and feels a thrill of victory when he squeezes just a little and Blitzø cuts off before he can retort, groaning, wrapping a hand around Stolas's wrist tightly, not stopping him, but more like he's grabbing on to it as a tether, a lifeline.

Stolas leans in as he continues to stroke him, dragging his beak along Blitzø's horn. "I want you to fuck me," he says, and Blitzø twitches, pressing his hips up onto Stolas's hand.

"Gonna have to let go right now if you want that to happen anytime soon," Blitzø says, and then grunts, gasping when Stolas releases him to lay back on the bed, spreading his thighs wide, dragging a finger up his opening, the feathers still wet from his orgasm.

"What are you waiting for?" He taunts as Blitzø watches him, and then trills when Blitzø's eyes snap up to him, his eyes huge and his cheeks red, and he leans forward, dipping down to drag a tongue along the path Stolas had just traced with his fingers.

"I was admiring the view," Blitzø says, and then reaches higher to shove his face into the feathers on Stolas's stomach as he gets up on his knees and pulls Stolas's hips up to bring him close enough to line his dick up with Stolas's hole.

"Really gotta teach you some patience," he says with a grin, and then slides in, gliding neatly to sink all the way to the hilt in one move.

"Ah," Stolas gasps, reaching down to wrap a talon around Blitzø's hand where it's gripping Stolas's thigh, holding on as Blitzø begins to move, thrusting in and out, quickly picking up his pace until he's fucking him at a bruising rhythm, hard and relentless.

It doesn't take very long before Blitzø goes still, pressed in deep, and Stolas isn't far behind with a second orgasm, not quite as brain-melting as the first one, but no less intense.

They lay there for a moment, together, breathing before either of them say anything. It's just long enough for Stolas to begin to wonder, and for doubts to begin to creep in from the corners of his mind, suggesting any number of reasons why Blitzø might be quiet and subdued.

It was too fast, he's too clearly inexperienced, too selfish, too demanding, too—there could be any number of things. Too loud, too messy, too much.

"Does this mean we're even, now?" Stolas asks, and Blitzø finally looks up at him, expression carefully blank.

"What?"

"You know. For all the life-saving," Stolas says, forcing out a laugh, trying desperately to keep it light, easy. "Or do I still owe you?"

"Uh, no, we can—we can call it even," he says, and Stolas feels a sinking hollowness open in his ribcage.

He was right. Blitzø was looking for an out, clearly. He must have done something wrong.

"Okay," he says, keeping his voice as level and steady as he can, his grasp tenuous. "Um, thank you, then. I—"

"Yeah," Blitzø says, rolling off the bed and grabbing his clothes from their pile on the floor. "This was great, I'll just—go check on things, the whole. Seizing a merchant ship, and all. Get out of your way."

"Oh," Stolas says, not ready for him to leave yet, but also not nearly selfish enough to ask him to stay, not when he so clearly wants to leave. "Um, yes. I will—see you later?"

"Sure," Blitzø says, not looking at him as he tugs his shirt on. "See you."

Then he bolts out the door, leaving Stolas alone in his room, certain that he's made a horrible blunder and no idea what he did to make Blitzø upset.

*

By the time Stolas has pulled himself back together enough to leave his quarters and venture out on deck without feeling like he's on the verge of sobbing at his own incompetence, the rest of the crew is back aboard the Dixie and they're preparing to leave the other ship behind, all the valuable items liberated from the ship and relocated to their own hull.

"Stolas! I was looking for you," Asmodeus says, and Stolas gives him a sheepish grin.

"Ah, my apologies. I did not intend to miss the rest of the excitement," he says, glancing around the deck.

"I think I can overlook it, just his once," Ozzie says with a smile, wrapping an arm around Stolas's neck and tugging him against his side. "Was that our little fishy friend I saw, leaving your room a few minutes ago?"

Stolas chokes on air, coughing violently. "I—that is hardly—Captain!" Stolas says, pleading.

"Relax, birdy-babe, it happens all the time! The heat of battle with all that adrenaline? it's one of the reasons I love this gig, and I'm happy for you."

Stolas feels something shrivel up in his chest. Before he opened his stupid mouth, it might've meant something, but now—

"Oh no, what's wrong, babe?" Ozzie asks, immediately picking up on Stolas's misery, and Stolas shakes himself with a frustrated grimace. He's not going to drag anyone else into his mistakes, he's done quite enough damage for one day.

"Nothing, I'm doing quite well," Stolas says, and rubs his talons together. "It looks as though we got a decent haul from that merchant vessel, yes? Or whatever it ended up being? I assume I will be going over our newly acquired inventory, and doing some calculations, perhaps for many hours."

Ozzie shakes his head with a sigh. "I can't believe you actually find that shit fun."

"Haha! Yes, it is very enjoyable for me," Stolas says, and normally that is completely true and there is no other reason for wanting to hide himself away in the bowels of the ship by himself for a long stretch of time. As a matter of fact, that is also true today! Nothing unusual about it whatsoever, that's just the way he is.

Weird. Difficult. Better off alone.

"Hey, I was just teasing, Stolas," Ozzie says, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh! Yes, I—I apologize, I am just tired. You know, big day and all. I will begin taking inventory right away, of course!" Stolas retreats into the ship before the conversation has a chance to continue, because he's not certain how much longer he can keep up the façade before it cracks.

Fucking landwalking assholes.

Blitzø can't believe he was ever stupid enough to think he could actually fit in with them. Sure, they're nice enough when you have something they want. They'll put you in a tank to ogle, and happily add you to their cute collection of playthings! But the second you're no longer useful, they discard you, like trash. Like a heap of useless garbage, right into the ocean where they think it does no damage because it's damage they can't fucking see, that they don't have to live with.

He wants to kill something. Part of him hopes they run across another ship just so he has something to fight, to shoot, to rip apart with his bare hands.

Why is he even still here?

"Hey, shitstain," Fizz says, climbing up the rigging to the crow's nest, where Blitzø has been curled up for the last several hours. "Your watch ended like twenty minutes ago, it's time to get some food."

"I'm fine," Blitzø snaps, and Fizz pauses, looking at him more closely.

Fuck. That was stupid and obvious.

"I'm going," he says instead, but Fizz grabs his arm before he can start climbing down.

"Whoa, you're moody. Like, even more than usual, which is impressive. What's up?"

"It's nothing," Blitzø snaps, which of course is a dead giveaway that it is very much not nothing.

"Uh huh," Fizz says, raising an eyebrow, and Blitzø sighs, sitting back against the wooden slats that circle the little platform.

"It's stupid, I'll be fine in a bit. Just... I made a stupid decision, and it blew up in my face. That's all."

"This about the prince?" Fizz asks, jumping into the crow's nest to sit next to him, and Blitzø stares at him, a pit of horror growing in his stomach.

"Uh. Would you believe me if I said no?" He asks hopefully, and Fizz gives him an unimpressed stare. "Fuck."

"So what did you do this time? Sabotage his life and then abandon him? You've gotten pretty good at that," Fizz asks, elbowing him in the side with a grin, and Blitzø can't help but laugh and smile back.

"Wow, asshole, way to go right for the guilt trip. Does his captainly-ness put up with that shit from you?"

"Ozzie has nothing for me to guilt trip him about, because he's never done anything wrong, ever, in his life," Fizz says with his hands pressed over his heart and swooning dramatically. Blitzø barks out a laugh and shoves him, Fizz shoves him back, and then grapples him by his horns and they're wrestling.

Probably not smart, but Blitzø has to admit, it makes him feel a lot better.

Eventually Fizz pins him—those extendable limbs in the confines of the tiny crow's nest are a serious advantage, shut up—and looms over him, resting his chin in the palm of one hand.

"So, out with it. Spill. Give me details!"

Blitzø groans and rubs his hands down his face. "Don't wanna."

"Too bad! I won, and I'm demanding details as my winnings."

"Oh my god, you're the worst," Blitzø growls, and doesn't mean it at all. "Look, I just—we fucked and I thought it was—but he didn't. That's all."

"Okay, whoa, back up. You're telling me you weren't fucking already? 'Cause when you stayed in his room I was sure—"

"Wow, fuck you. No, we were actually sleeping."

"Sleeping, and taking daily baths? With him in the room?"

"Motherfucker, yes, I have a tail. A real tail, not this tiny bullshit, this is useless to me in the water," Blitzø says, picking up Fizz's tail with a couple fingers. "There's nothing sexy about soaking because I'll shrivel up into a dusty pile of dead skin if I don't."

"Gross," Fizz says, yanking his tail out of Blitzø's grasp. "Okay, so, you finally made a move after a month of disgusting flirting, don't even try to deny it, it was painful to watch. And then what?"

Blitzø groans. "He made the move, technically."

"Ooh, I didn't think he had it in him! Way to go, birdman," Fizz cheers, and Blitzø glares at him. "Okay, geez, right. This is your bitch time. But man, he is nuts for you, you have to know this."

Blitzø looks away, out to the sea. "Could've fooled me."

"He can be... a little weird, especially with the talking," Fizz says carefully, and Blitzø glares at him again.

"Fuck off, no he's not." Fizz raises an eyebrow. Again. He has got to stop that, it's so annoying. "Okay, fine, he's a little weird. But not in a bad way, so leave him alone."

"I didn't mean it in a bad way, I meant it in a sometimes-I-completely-misunderstand-what-he's-trying-to-say way."

"I—" Blitzø cuts himself off, and thinks back over the time he's known Stolas, and some of the wild things that have come out of his mouth. "Okay, yeah, fair."

Fizz drops his chin to rest on Blitzø's sternum, and grins at him. "So, what are you gonna do?"

Blitzø groans, dropping his head back to the wooden platform. "Figure out what the fuck he actually meant," he grumbles.

"That's my guy!" Fizz pats him on the forehead, and Blitzø leans up to bite him, but Fizz is too fast, and then he's reaching his hands way way up to grab at the rigging and pulling himself out of the crow's nest and off of Blitzø. "Go get some food first though, dumbass, you're so cranky when you haven't eaten!"

Blitzø follows Fizz out of the crow's nest and down to the deck, and descends into the ship until he reaches the kitchen, where he proceeds to annoy Moxxie until he runs out of patience and shoves food at him and kicks him out. Fizz must have a point about his crankiness, because he achieves food-and-eviction in record time.

"Thanks for the food, Mox, tasty as always," he says on his way out, hoping that will suffice for an apology. He doesn't wait to see his reaction, still a bit raw after talking with Fizz.

He really needs to figure out how to talk to people without feeling like a radioactive grenade afterwards, ready to blow at the smallest provocation.

With his bowl of stew in hand, he looks around at the tables and realizes that Stolas is also sitting down with food, by himself in the corner, stirring his full bowl without putting any of it in his mouth. He looks... sad.

Blitzø shoves down the toxic sludge that rises up—the dejection, the hurt and worthlessness—and goes over to the table to drop his bowl across from him and settle into a seat.

Stolas glances up, his eyes go wide, and then he looks back down at his bowl, hunching into himself, seeming almost even more miserable than before.

That's... not the reaction he expected, if he's being honest.

"It's much better hot, Moxxie will have a fit if he finds out you let it get cold," Blitzø says, and shoves a spoonful into his mouth before he can say something stupid. Well, stupider.

Stolas stirs the stew, and still doesn't eat any. "I'm afraid it is a little too late to do anything about that."

Blitzø looks at his sad bowl, where the oils are beginning to separate into little floating chunks, and down to his, which is still steaming and smelling incredible. He squeezes his spoon—such a fucking sap, and a pathetic idiot—and reaches across to steal Stolas's bowl, shoving his own in front of him instead.

"If you let that one get cold too, I'm gonna be pissed," he says, shoving lukewarm stew into his mouth. It's not bad, but the flavors are definitely not as strong when it's been sitting out, and the way the oil separates is... eughh. But he can tolerate it.

Stolas blinks at the bowl in front of him, and then finally looks up at Blitzø. He dips his spoon into the bowl, and puts it in his mouth.

"Oh, this is quite good," he says, and hurries to take another.

The rest of the meal is silent, but both bowls are empty by the end.

*

Blitzø doesn't see Stolas much for the next couple days. Not because he's avoiding him, this time, but just because they have so many spoils to go through, and Stolas is determined to make sure it's split fairly, so it takes him quite a long time to go through it all and calculate the value accurately, and Blitzø is going to either break something or cry if he has to watch Stolas do any of it for a single second, it makes his brain hurt to watch him.

By the time Stolas gets back to their room in the evenings, he's almost dead on his feet. He helps Blitzø clean his scales, handing him the oil or brush or whatever he needs, but he collapses into his bed right after, and Blitzø can't really blame him. He also has a tendency to focus for long hours at a time and skip meals, but every time Blitzø goes to find him to make sure he's eaten, he refuses to be distracted until he's finished with whatever task he's currently doing, and so Blitzø decides to let him do his thing for a while.

Finally, just before they're about to arrive at one of the busiest ports in Envy, Stolas announces that he has finished with his calculations, and he has everything divided up fairly.

When Blitzø sees his share, he scowls. "Hey, what the fuck's this?" He asks, holding up the note.

"Ah, yes, my apologies. Asmodeus has a strict policy with new members of the crew, to reduce the temptation to join on a temporary basis. Your next take will be much larger, I assure you. And..."

Stolas hesitates, and then turns red, and Blitzø's glare narrows. "Is this because I dragged you to your room to fuck you?"

Stolas coughs, startled, and then shrugs, waving a hand in the air. "Well..."

"Oh, come on!" Blitzø says, waving the note. "This is ridiculous!"

"We left before the fighting was concluded, which is frowned upon! I docked my own salary as well, if it helps," Stolas says, looking anywhere but at Blitzø.

"Fuck that. It's your fault for kissing me, you owe me."

Stolas looks heartbroken at that, and Blitzø backtracks, realizing what he's said, and feels like a damn hypocrite.

"Fuck, I didn't mean—shit. Not like that. Just... I dunno, we're about to dock and we'll be in port for a day or two, right? Let's find something cool, a new gun or a—I dunno, new bath oils, or something. Maybe a cool seahorse figure," he mutters, mostly to himself, tapping his lip in thought.

Stolas perks up at that. "Oh, they have some splendid shops! I would be happy to show you," he says, and then hesitates, adding, "if... if that is what you would like. I would understand if you would rather—"

"Sounds good," Blitzø says, extremely uninterested in whatever Stolas was about to suggest. "I've never spent much time on land before, so it should be interesting."

Stolas coos happily, and Blitzø isn't quite sure exactly where they stand—it's not like they've talked about it—but this feels like a pretty okay place to be, for the moment.

It's not like it can last forever, either way. He can feel himself getting antsy and itchier over time, and even daily baths sometimes aren't enough to make him feel properly hydrated. But he'll take what he can for now, until he's forced to return home, to the ocean.

But he doesn't want to give this up just yet, he's not ready.

*

Getting to walk on land is... weird. If Blitzø thought being on the ship was strange, without the water around him, being on solid ground is even weirder. It's not his first time on land, but it is his first time on land where he's not by himself, and doesn't feel like he's constantly being scrutinized by every single demon he walks past.

He and Stolas visit several shops, Stolas finds preening oil and even helps Blitzø pick out a couple shirts and some trousers for himself so he doesn't have to wear Fizz's all the time. Then Stolas finds a bookshop and gets way too absorbed in reading, and Blitzø can only sit around for so long before getting fidgety.

"Uh, I'm gonna keep looking around," he says, nudging Stolas until he looks up from his book.

"Oh! Yes, of course, I'm sure you want to—"

"You can keep reading, I'm just gonna wander," he says, gesturing to the door. "I'll be fine."

"If you're sure," Stolas says, looking hesitant, but he doesn't stop Blitzø or follow him out of the shop, which is actually kind of a relief. He wants to see as much as he can before they have to move on, and things with Stolas are still a little uneasy. He's glad to get some air and explore without having to worry about saying something idiotic or shitty without meaning to.

He still has a little bit of money left, and he can decide how he wants to spend it. He's not sure why that appeals to him, stealing has been fine and it's not like he gives a shit that he's hurting poor small demon businesses or whatever the fuck, it's not his problem. They should try not fishing his kind to near extinction before they get all guilt-trippy about a little theft, in his opinion.

But at the same time, there's something about the fact that it's his money, that he earned, and he can choose what he wants to do with it, and no one can stop him. It's... satisfying, in a new way he's not used to. Threatening people with weapons to get them to do what he wants just isn't quite the same, and he was always way too outnumbered to risk that on land, anyway, although he'd be lying if he said he hadn't fantasized about it. A lot.

Walking down the streets of the busy seaside town, smelling all sorts of food and hearing music and conversation all over the place... the last time he was around so many people was the freak show, where he was a novelty on display for paying customers to gawk at.

Before that... Once, he'd had a family. It wasn't huge, and it was never completely whole, because of the whole mer having a kid with an imp situation, but he'd had one, for a little while, and he lived in a colony with more of his kind. Sometimes he sees something, a shell or a school of fish in the sea, and he'd have a moment of vague recollection, reminding him of what he had once, living in the water with other mer near their reef.

He doesn't remember if they were happy, he was too young to have many memories at all, before his dad tore him away from it. But it was his, once. And sometimes... in his weak moments, all he wants is to be back in the ocean, with his little family.

But that's never going to happen, so he swallows down the thoughts whenever they arise, and turns his attention to his surroundings. He joins in with the rowdy songs, finds something tasty to drink, even better when it's alcoholic and can get him fucked up enough that he stops thinking about his shitty childhood. Because thinking about his fucked up past is a total waste of time. One thing the land has over the ocean: way more alcohol (and some other options) for dealing with his shitty brain and its shittier memories!

Stolas finally finds him hours later, slouched over the counter in a pub, arguing with the bartender over whether or not he needs another drink, because he absolutely needs it, fuckyouverymuch, and this fluffy Sinner bartender is terrible at his job, what the fuck.

"Blitzø?" Stolas says, sliding onto the stool next to him and looking at him some kind of way. Blitzø refuses to analyze it, he's not in the mood.

"Hit me, c'mon, I knowww you got more back there, gimmee the good stuffff," Blitzø slurs, waving his empty mug. "Jus' one more, what's the holdup."

"You said the last one was three drinks ago," the bartender replies, because he's a bitch.

"Ssso? whaddayou care. 'S money, right?" Blitzø says, slapping more coins down on the counter. "Gimmee!"

"I think perhaps it might be time to leave," Stolas says, picking up the coins and trying to put them back in Blitzø's pockets. He giggles.

"Stop, that tickles," he says, swaying back and forth. "No teasing unless we're gonna play." He twists a finger in Stolas's cravat, for emphasis. He will take playing, if that's what he can get. He can like playing, for Stolas.

Stolas looks a little confused, and is frowning lightly. Blitzø doesn't like that, that's not right, and he leans back, but then he leans too far and loses his balance. Stolas grabs Blitzø's arm to steady him and then tries to pull him the rest of the way to his feet, but Blitzø does not want to move, he likes his stool, so Stolas huffs out a frustrated sigh and scoops him up off of it instead.

"Hey!" Blitzø grumbles, smacking a hand against Stolas's face. "Put me down," he says, but he doesn't really struggle, because Stolas's arms aren't bad actually and he doesn't think he minds, and then he tucks his head under Stolas's jaw but he only gets a face full of cravat, so he untucks it from where it came loose when he pulled at it a moment ago and he manages to free it, throwing it off to the side and picking at Stolas's shirt until he frees enough feathers to nuzzle into them, because they are very soft. He knew this already, of course, but he missed them and it's nice to get to feel the softness again.

"Um, right," he hears Stolas say, the vibration against his face pleasant. "What do I owe you?"

The bartender waves him off. "He's square, you're good."

"Ah, in that case, thank you for your services, and for attempting to cut him off." That is so dumb! Thanking him for being bad at his job, pshh.

"Sure," the bartender says, and Blitzø can hear the smirk, so he flips him off, but the asshole just laughs at him. Stolas does not spend much longer in the building, taking Blitzø outside into the cool evening air, and Blitzø feels oddly comfortable and has no desire to change the situation, so Stolas continues to carry him.

"Wanna stay here," he says, rubbing against the soft feathers.

"You like this town that much?" Stolas asks, sounding skeptical.

"Hmm? Not here," Blitzø says, scoffing, waving dismissively out at the night. "Here. Yer feathers 'r soft."

"Oh," Stolas says, and it's a quiet sound, but Blitzø is right near his throat, so he still hears it. He might worry about that, about the whole situation, if he weren't so chill right here at the moment, the alcohol still a pleasant hum in his blood. He thinks he should probably stop talking, if he doesn't want to hate himself any more tomorrow, but he keeps forgetting and talking anyway.

After a little while Blitzø feels sheets and smells the familiar scent of Stolas's oil as he's set down on the bed in their shared room, which is probably better than his hammock because he's not sure he would be able to stay in the hammock if he were put there right now. He feels Stolas remove his boots and coat, which he could have done himself, thanks, and then a blanket is pulled over him.

But then Blitzø doesn't feel anything else, no feathers, no warm body next to him. He sits up, and his head swims a little, but he manages to say, "Stols?"

"Yes? What do you need?" Stolas moves a little closer, into range of Blitzø's hand, so he tugs on his arm.

"You need sleep, too," Blitzø mumbles, laying down and taking Stolas's arm with him. "Sleep."

"I will be fine in the hammock for tonight," Stolas says, but no, that's wrong.

"Nuh-uh. It's your bed," Blitzø says, patting the mattress next to him. "You sleep."

When Stolas still doesn't lay down, Blitzø pushes himself upright again, and scoots forward to slide off the bed. "Fine, I'll go—" he waves in the direction of the hammock, "net-thing. Henck. Help me up."

"No, that's a terrible idea," Stolas says, lifting him back up onto the mattress instead. Blitzø scowls at him, petulant.

"Well, either—either you bed and I leave, or both bed. Pick." Blitzø's eyes are closed. Did he close them? He opens them to try and look at Stolas, but he's so tired, and the room is dark, and his head is starting to hurt, and he just wants to sleep, but Stolas won't let him.

"I'm tired," he says, and yawns. "Hurry an' pick."

"I—very well," Stolas says, and kneels on the mattress. "Lay down," he says, and Blitzø does.

Stolas shoves himself up against the wall, leaving as much of the mattress empty as he can, which is dumb. "Dumb," Blitzø says, and grabs Stolas's arm and pulls it over himself, tugging Stolas towards him. "Sleep," he says, patting Stolas's talon where it's draped across his middle. Finally, Stolas is in his own bed, which was what Blitzø wanted, so he can sleep now. He stops thinking, enjoying the feeling of feathers against his arm and talons scratching lightly at his horns, a warm body pressed along his back.

*

Blitzø wakes up a few hours later, stumbles over to the bathtub, throws up in it, and then turns to face the bed. He goes to rinse out his mouth and get himself a glass of water, then comes back, and stares some more. He knows he should probably go to his hammock, but Stolas is fast asleep, so he'd never know the difference, right? And his feathers are so, so soft, and he smells good. Like his oil, but also just... him. Comforting. He'll probably sleep better in the bed, too. Fuck his brain for telling him that, he didn't need to be thinking about that.

Blitzø goes back to the mattress, tucking himself under Stolas's arm, and is asleep within minutes. He's going to enjoy this while it's an option, dammit. He's sick and tired of sleeping alone.

When Stolas wakes, he's alone in his room.

He tries not to let it worry him. He has no idea how much Blitzø remembers, or regrets from the previous day. He can't even imagine how he would attempt to talk about it without messing everything up, so he decides he'll follow Blitzø's lead, and pretend he didn't hear anything if Blitzø is more comfortable that way. But something he said did give him an idea, and it can't hurt to do a tiny little bit of research, right?

He won't do anything without discussing it with Blitzø first, but... he thinks there's a chance it might give Blitzø some options that he didn't know he could have, and that can't be a bad thing. 

Right?

He pulls out several books from his shelves, and while they discuss topics that are similar to what he's looking for, none have the specifics he needs. He's going to need to look through Asmodeus's personal library, he thinks, or possibly visit a more well-stocked library on the shore.

Well, they haven't left port yet, so there's at least one place he can look before they're back on the open water with only the materials already on the ship to comb through. He hurries to disembark before they're scheduled to leave, recalling one or two small magic shops and a bookstore that he can check for the information he's seeking.

He lucks out at the second magic shop, which has a whole section dealing on transformations he somehow missed when he walked through yesterday. There are several ingredients listed that he were also mentioned in the books he already has, so he picks up the ones he's missing while he's there, along with a couple of the more promising books.

By the time he's finished it's very nearly time to depart, and he hurries back to the ship. His room is still empty, so he takes the opportunity to read through the books more closely, studying the magics and the theories and slowly crafting his own version of a transformation spell.

Most of what he finds are listed under headings for curses, but that's just a matter of nomenclature. If it's a spell that has a lasting effect, but it's one that is desired and performed on a willing recipient, that would be considered a blessing, would it not? Or at the very least, something... benign. Neutral.

Once he perfects it, and is relatively sure it won't have any unintended consequences, he will make his offer.

And with any luck, Blitzø will consider it, and then he will have a choice he didn't have before.

*

It takes a couple weeks before Stolas is confident enough to make his offer.

In the meantime, Blitzø has been... tense. He gets upset easily, and has been avoiding him. He's asked several times to be left alone to clean his scales and soak, and Stolas wonders if he would prefer to have his own room.

But there are also a couple nights where he climbs into Stolas's bed to sleep, which is... Well, it's certainly welcome, but it's also incredibly confusing. Stolas never sleeps better than when he's curled around Blitzø, but most of the time when he's awake, Blitzø seems to want very little to do with him.

And then in his sleep, he grabs onto Stolas's arm tightly, claws digging into his feathers.

There was one night where Blitzø thrashed in his sleep, presumably from a particularly terrible nightmare, and the spikes on his back flared out, digging into Stolas painfully. But when he rubbed soothing patterns into Blitzø's back, humming softly, he steadily stopped thrashing and eventually calmed down and slept peacefully for the rest of the night. Stolas knows because he watched over him the whole time, unable to relax enough to get back to sleep. Stolas was relieved to see he was fully healed by the time they got up.

He's pretty sure he managed to vanish the bloodstains from the sheets without Blitzø noticing, as well, so with any luck, he was none the wiser to the whole incident. Stolas wonders if he's able to sleep better on the mattress than he can on the hammock, and considers offering to trade with him, until he remembers how Blitzø reacted when he tried that on the night he was drunk, and decides not to ask after all.

So things are... strange, when he's finally ready to present the spell he's come up with to Blitzø, and he's a nervous wreck.

"Um. Blitzø?" Stolas asks, dropping down next to him at the table where Blitzø is finishing his lunch.

"Hey, Stolas," Blitzø says without looking at him. "I gotta get back up to the—"

"If you could just wait one moment, I have something I wish to discuss with you. I promise it will not take terribly long."

Blitzø freezes, going tense, and Stolas feels the fear twist and writhe in his stomach. Blitzø very obviously does not want to talk, but, perhaps that is because he does not know the topic. He can only hope it's not because he doesn't want to talk to Stolas at all.

"I have been looking into... well, your legs, actually," Stolas says, and Blitzø loses some of the tension, which is a relief.

"My legs?" He asks, and sounds confused.

"Erm, yes. You... It must be frustrating, requiring such frequent bathing, and maintenance daily. Not to mention having to keep it a secret. I certainly—I am not suggesting you make any changes, not if you do not wish to, but... I thought, perhaps, there might be another option, and I think I can likely do it, if it was something you wished to consider. I only thought of it because—"

They hadn't spoken of it, but surely... Surely it can't be that terrible, to bring it up?

"You... You said you wished to—to stay. And... the solution I've found, well. It may make it easier, if... i-if you decide that is what you want."

"Stay?" Blitzø asks, almost a hiss, and Stolas doesn't see his expression because he's too busy staring intently at his hands, so he doesn't know what his reaction is, certainly can't tell just from the tone of his voice alone, but he can't bring himself to look at him.

"On the ship, yes," Stolas says, and takes a deep breath. "I believe there is a way... using magic, to make the transformation... um, permanent."

Blitzø doesn't say anything, so Stolas continues to ramble.

"I have done quite a lot of research and I believe it will work. However, I am not confident I can undo the change, so I'm afraid it may be quite irreversible. Or, at least, beyond my abilities to reverse, if you later changed your mind. I of course do not expect you to make a decision quickly, or at all. But... I wanted you to know that you had an option. If you want it. You should... no longer require the maintenance, this way, I believe. Your legs would be fully that of—of an imp."

"What, so you can keep me? Like some kind of pet?"

"What? Of course not," Stolas says, horrified, finally looking up to find a deep frown etched onto Blitzø's face, and his stomach sinks. "That was not my intent at all, I was—"

"You don't like the tail? Am I that weird, or gross, or whatever?"

"Blitzø, I love your tail. It was only because you had said—"

"So—So what, I said a bunch of dumb shit while I was wasted, and you took me seriously?!"

"Oh," Stolas says, and feels something in him wither and fade. He supposes that was rather a large assumption to make, yes. Not... Not everyone always says what they mean, after all. He always seems to forget that, doesn't he?

"I... I beg your pardon, it was a terrible idea, pretend I never suggested it," Stolas says, and jumps to his feet, needing to be as far away as possible. He flees the room before Blitzø can say anything more, unsure he would be able to stand it, to survive it if he keeps going and tells him—

Well, tells him the truth.

That he doesn't want to stay. That he doesn't actually like Stolas, he was only here for Fizzarolli, or for some treasure, or for the novelty of the experience, whatever the reason. And now he wants to go, and never look back.

Stolas pauses in the hall. He realizes his room won't do, but there's very few places on the ship to hide, so he retreats to the small deck at the stern of the ship where he used to go when he first joined Ozzie's crew and needed some time to himself, before he took over a room of his own. He hasn't been back here in months, but he needs the space and the quiet, just for a while.

He cries, and tries very hard not to think about what life will be like going forward without Blitzø in it. He's grown to enjoy Blitzø's presence, even for the silliest and smallest of things—his funny jokes he distracts him with while he's trying to concentrate on updating the books, the way he's still figuring out how to use his imp tail so it often moves in a swaying motion more reminiscent of his actual tail instead of the quick flicks that he's seen many imps do, the face he makes when he's assigned to duties he doesn't like even though he gets them done without complaining anyway. Well, not he does complain, but he still does them, which Stolas thinks is admirable for its honesty and a bit of a shield, to protect himself, to prevent people thinking he's as thoughtful as he is.

Stolas is going to miss him desperately.

He still can't bring himself to go back to their—to his—room, hours later, and ventures into the crew quarters instead, relieved to find there are still a couple of open hammocks. He climbs into one, achy and miserable and he knows his feathers are a mess but he feels exhausted enough to sleep anyway. It still takes him ages to actually fall into a proper slumber, and the multitude of snoring and creaking of the ship and endless shifting of the crew don't make it easier, nor does the way the hammock sways, more mobile than the mattress he's accustomed to.

But he is able to fall asleep, eventually, and it's not restful or comfortable but he supposes he's going to have to make do. He will not inflict himself on Blitzø any more than he already has, if he does not want Stolas around.

*

He cannot avoid his room forever, and the next day has several hours' worth of work to do that require his books and papers and materials he keeps in the room. He puts it off for as long as he thinks he can, but when Ozzie asks if something is wrong, that he usually doesn't see him out on the deck this much, he quickly assures him everything is fine and he just needed some air and that he'll go get his tasks completed right away.

He opens the door to his room and is dismayed when he finds that it is occupied.

"Where the fuck were you?" Blitzø asks, dashing up to him, staring up into his face.

"I was sleeping, I... apologize. I will require the room for two or three hours to complete my duties, and then I can leave again."

"What? Why? This is your fucking room."

Stolas flinches, and takes in a slow breath. The ache is terrible, but he must get the words out anyway. "I did not wish to be intrusive. You require your own room, whereas I can sleep in the crew quarters without risk. I will sleep there as long as you are here."

Blitzø's tail flicks, in a much more impish way than Stolas has seen before, quick and sharp.

"You want to get away from me that badly? Just because, what, I yelled one time?" Blitzø snaps, furious.

Stolas looks at him, eyes wide, and tries to choke down the tears that are threatening to well up. "Of... Of course not," he says, twisting his fingers together, rubbing at them anxiously. "I thought—I thought you would be more comfortable, if I left."

"More comfortable?"

"You... do not want to be here," Stolas says, the words crushing him on the way out, but he has to say them, anyway. "It's not fair to ask you to stay if you do not want to. The least I can do is give you some space to yourself."

Blitzø growls, runs a hand down his face, and starts pacing. Stolas watches, at a loss for what to do with this reaction. He thought Blitzø would be relieved, maybe even excited. This makes no sense to him.

"I... I don't understand," Stolas says, honestly.

"Yeah, I see that," Blitzø snaps, and Stolas flinches again, and Blitzø stops pacing. "Fuck. I didn't—fucking, shit fuck. Dammit. Okay." Blitzø takes a breath, and then takes a step toward Stolas and reaches for his hand. Stolas flinches again, pulling it back, more confused than ever. Blitzø just slowly reaches out further, wrapping his fingers around his wrist, and holding on. His grip is tight, just shy of painful.

"I—I don't—I'm not good at this. At... s-staying. I haven't—UGH." Blitzø squirms in place, shifting his weight, and Stolas watches him, riveted. Something small flares to life, but he waits, wanting to be sure he hears Blitzø out, this time.

"You kinda... threw me. I didn't... I didn't mean it, when I said, you know, the angry stuff. I..."

"You do want to stay?" Stolas asks, small and hopeful, and Blitzø flicks a glance up at him before dropping back down to his hand, still frowning, and nods.

"Yeah," he adds, squeezing Stolas's wrist, and Stolas feels his feathers lift.

"You're sure? You're not just saying that?"

"Ugh, yes," Blitzø says again, and Stolas trills, delight soaring through him. He runs a talon along the claw Blitzø has in an iron grip around his wrist, and Blitzø loosens his hold, enough for Stolas to pull his hand up far enough so he can lean down to press a kiss to the back of his hand.

Blitzø blushes, and then takes a step closer, pressing his face into Stolas's stomach and grumbles.

"Please don't make me talk anymore."

Stolas giggles. "Very well. I really do have to get some work done, but I would be very happy if you would stay, and after... Um, maybe, cuddle? Just a little?"

Blitzø nods into Stolas's shirt, probably wrinkling it terribly, and Stolas doesn't know what to do with the bright burst of happiness that fills him up.

*

They don't talk about the magic for a while. At first, Stolas wonders if it's just too much for Blitzø, that it's taking him time to process, to recognize that Stolas actually wants him to stay. He asks that a lot, seems to need Stolas to tell him, frequently, that he wants him around. Stolas can't believe he didn't realize that sooner, it seems so obvious now, but he supposes Blitzø was trying very hard not to seem... weak? Or perhaps needy?

And that's stupid, Stolas is frustrated and furious he was ever made to feel that way, and is determined to do his best to ensure Blitzø never feels like he has to hold back, ever again. Not with him.

He know what it's like, after all, to put on the performance. It almost destroyed him.

Even with his reassurances, though, he finds Blitzø staring out at the ocean often, lost in thought. And he seems... subdued, somehow, moreso than he has been since he arrived on the Dixie. Stolas is beginning to wonder if it's more than his insecurities behind his moods. Stolas loves being a part of Asmodeus's crew, and he thinks Blitzø does, too. But giving up a whole ocean, maybe permanently, is much bigger than anything Stolas has ever had to give up. Stolas has asked him about it, and although he hasn't pretended it's nothing, so far Blitzø also hasn't been willing to elaborate, either.

Stolas is out on the main deck, not-so-subtly watching Blitzø climbing up the rigging, when Mildred spots him.

"What's with the long face, Stolas?" She asks, sliding right up next to him where he's leaning against the rail. She nudges him with her hip, and prods his thigh with a finger. "You seem extra out of it today."

"Oh, it's nothing serious," Stolas says, smiling at her. She's always been kind to him, even when he first joined the crew. He's never met someone as welcoming and warm as Mildred, and it meant a lot to him, especially when the rest of the crew was so wary of him.

"That don't mean it ain't important," she says wisely, and then glances up where he'd been staring before she approached him. "This about Blitzø?"

Stolas wishes his problems weren't so obvious, and... always seem to be the same one, as well. Is he so predictable?

"Um, in a way, but not really," he says, unsure how he could even begin to explain his dilemma to Mildred without telling her far too much about Blitzø.

"He really loves it up there, don't he?" Mildred says, watching as Blitzø swings through the rigging, up into the crow's nest, where he can look out over the open water.

"He does," Stolas says, and sighs. "I had an idea, but... it would have a heavy cost. I would hate to ask someone to give up something important to them, just for my convenience."

"It's their choice, though, ain't it?" She asks, and Stolas looks at her, and smiles.

"Yes, of course. But that doesn't make it any less of a loss. I... I would be asking him to give up... so much of himself. I don't know that anyone is worth all that."

Mildred studies him, thinking. "It has to be one or the other? You can't find a way to have what you're lookin' for, without asking him to give up somethin' huge?"

"Yes, it—" Stolas pauses, because, wait. Maybe that's not their only option.

He's asked Blitzø to give up the ocean, and Blitzø seems to be considering it. At least, he hasn't said for sure that he won't. But if he can figure out the magic needed to transform Blitzø, then surely—

"I need to look something up," Stolas says, and Mildred grins at him.

"That's much better!" She says, waving at him. "Talk to you later, Stols!"

Stolas waves back automatically but he barely hears her, his head too full of ideas. And he knows exactly which book to look through, because he just bought it, and it told him everything he needs to know about transformations, which allowed him to plan out a spell for Blitzø.

He rushes back to his room, pulls down the book he needs, and flips through it frantically until he gets to the section he's looking for.

This will work. He knows it will, can feel it in his bones as he reads the passage. And he has everything he needs, except some extra blood, which he will have to draw himself. But aside from that, everything is in his room already.

This will mean Blitzø doesn't have to give up his home. They can stay together, without having to keep anything a secret. He may have to give up pirate life, but that's no big sacrifice for him; it was always an escape, and it has served its purpose well. Now he's found something he wants desperately, even more than the freedom pirate life allowed him to get a taste of for the first time.

He won't ever be able to go back to his family, but he was never planning to, because there is nothing there for him to go back to. Nothing that he misses. Not like Blitzø would.

He supposes he should probably give Ozzie some warning, though, so he has a chance to find a suitable replacement to fill in if he can no longer see to his duties. He resolves to do that tonight, to give him as much time as possible.

Not that there's any big rush— this will be a huge change, and not one he should make lightly. He will have to think about it some more, until he is certain this is what he wants.

But something tells him he isn't going to change his mind, that he's found his solution. And he hopes Blitzø will find it satisfactory, as well.

*

Asmodeus doesn't like his plan.

"Are you sure you've thought this through all the way, birdy-babe? Don't you like being a part of my crew, with people who can look out for you?"

"Of course I do, and it meant so much to me that I had an option besides obeying my father out of some misplaced sense of obligation. But you know how useless I am in a fight, I'm a liability, and you have magic without being barely able to defend yourself. It's not like I'll never see you again, just... not every day."

"I'm still not sure about this," Ozzie says, pacing. "Have you talked to him about it?"

"Not yet," Stolas admits, "but I'm going to, and... and I think this suits both of us better. I think he will agree."

Their conversation is interrupted when Fizzarolli bursts into the room, out of breath and shaking.

"Oz," he says, and Asmodeus is at his side in an instant.

"What is it, Froggie?"

"Mammon," Fizz says, and then he's up on Asmodeus's shoulders, holding on tight.

"Sorry, Stoly, we'll have to continue this later," Asmodeus says, and Stolas nods.

"Yes, of course," he assures him, and then they're gone, out the door, and Stolas stumbles to his feet to follow after.

Mammon, who Fizzarolli once worked for, who ran the show that tormented Blitzø so long ago, who was responsible for taking him away from his home. Who is largely responsible for merfolk being so rare, for the way they've been hunted down and treated like a damn commodity.

Stolas doesn't know what is going on, but he knows he wants to face the Sin responsible for so much pain and suffering, and see what he can do about repaying it. With interest.

He stops by his room and grabs the small bag of supplies he carefully packed away before talking to Ozzie, and then hurries to the main deck where Asmodeus and Fizzarolli are preparing to address the crew.

"What's got Fizz's limbs all in a twist?" Blitzø asks, when he spots Stolas, abandoning his mop where he was scrubbing at the deck.

"It has to do with Mammon, I believe," Stolas says quietly, not wanting to spread rumors before they're ready to give orders, but deciding that Blitzø deserves the advanced warning.

"What?" Blitzø asks sharply. "I thought that prick never left his nasty-ass Ring."

"I do not know any details," Stolas admits, before turning to Blitzø. "There is something else I wished to ask you about, before—"

"Alright, you lazy assholes!" Asmodeus shouts, his deep voice ringing out clearly across the deck, able to be heard easily over the wind. "We've got a new target!"

"Oh, dear," Stolas says, sucking in a breath. While he was still eager, he wasn't sure actively chasing down another Sin is the smartest move.

"We're hunting the greediest motherfucker in all the Seven Rings, so you know the prize is gonna be good," Asmodeus continues, which is a strong opening for enticing a group of pirates, and so far, the crew seem intrigued and are listening attentively.

"We just got word that Mammon himself is less than a day from here, and we have some scores to settle," Asmodeus says with a growl, and the deck goes silent.

Then, there's a resounding, angry cheer.

Everyone in the crew knows Fizzarolli, of course, and at least a little about what happened to him, and how he was treated working for Mammon. Many likely know others who have been abused by him. Maybe Stolas has underestimated their anger, and their courage.

"Fuck yeah," Blitzø says at his side, and Stolas loses his last shred of doubt.

They are going to fuck him up.

Preparations for going after a target like Mammon, however, take some time.

They don't want to dock and resupply, because there's no way they would be able to retain the element of surprise. If they want to catch Mammon off guard, pulling into port and announcing to everyone in the vicinity that they're stocking up for violence is the last thing they want to do, and it would cost valuable time for Mammon to get further away from them.

So they aim for the ship Mammon is rumored to be on—a huge, extravagant thing, according to Fizzarolli, one that he rarely takes out on the open water—and sail as fast as the wind will take them.

They're all still riding the success of their last encounter, and fantasizing about the winnings they'll have when they beat Mammon into a bloody pulp and take it from him, which they're of course all convinced is going happen. Surely they're tougher than some lazy, greedy Sin who rarely goes on the open water. Mammon isn't a true sailor.

Stolas has reservations, but he also has something none of them except for Ozzie know about that might even things up, if it gets to the point where it's looking dire.

He hasn't had a chance to talk to Blitzø about it with all the frantic preparations, which is the only thing he regrets, but every time there's an opportunity there's always been some duty or another that calls one of them, and Stolas can't bring himself to put his responsibilities off when it could be the difference between success and failure.

Also, a part of him in the back of his mind is terrified Blitzø is going to hate his idea, and then they're going to be back in the same place they are now, with no good solutions that mean Blitzø doesn't have to make a huge sacrifice.

First, they have to destroy Mammon's ship, take whatever they can from it before it sinks, and ensure that he can't continue to terrorize the seas they call home.

When they get close enough that the ship is visible on the horizon— a mere speck in the distance, but visible all the same— is the moment, oddly enough, that Stolas realizes this is real and not some sort of fantastic story from one of his more far-fetched romance novels.

They're really going to take on Mammon.

They're about as ready as they can possibly be without more time to plan ahead, and the deck becomes eerily subdued the closer they get to their target. There's far less of the loud, raucous behavior the crew usually engage in, and much more focus and tense wariness, everyone watching the speck on the horizon as it gradually grows in size.

Stolas sees Moxxie and Mildred huddled together, giving each other what comfort they can and psyching each other up. Mildred helps Moxxie check over his guns, clean them, and fill them with fresh ammunition while he helps her sharpen and oil her throwing axe.

Asmodeus is with Fizzarolli at the helm, and from the intense look on their faces, they're talking strategy. At least, until Fizzarolli says something that makes Ozzie turn pink and scold him playfully, which Stolas suspects is not about their looming conflict. It fills him with a mixture of peace and longing to see the way they clearly communicate so well, and easily, and know just when the other needs their focused attention and when they need something to lighten the mood. They've always been so... in sync, whenever Stolas has observed them. He knows from talking to Ozzie that he's had his share of doubts, that they have both gotten very proficient at keeping their insecurities hidden from the crew when they need to be leaders... which doesn't mean they don't exist. All the same, it's incredible to watch them, and Stolas wishes that it was a skillset he had a prayer of being able to learn, but something tells him it's quite far out of his reach, still. Maybe it always will be.

Stolas is no leader, was never meant to command legions. He wishes his father had understood that; in an alternate timeline it might mean he wouldn't have to run quite so far away from him, from that life. He wishes he'd been persuasive enough to convince him not to push the marriage, too, for that matter.

But then, if he'd stayed, if he'd been persuasive, he never would have joined this crew. He likely never would have found Blitzø again. Maybe everything worked out just as it was supposed to, in the end.

Stolas wishes there was something for him to plan, to calculate, to distract himself like he did before their last battle, but he's been spending so much time getting ahead lately that there's simply very little for him to do. He hates it. He paces back and forth across the deck, searching for anything to occupy himself, but he continues to find there's nothing to do and his mind continues to spin horrible possible scenarios at him instead.

"Will you hold still for second?"

Of course Blitzø finds him again. He always seems to find him.

"Oh, sorry. Nerves," he says, and takes a shaky breath. "Trying to keep busy. And... not think about Mammon."

"Yeah, the idea of fighting a Sin is a little scary." Blitzø looks up at Stolas, and then at the speck on the horizon, and back up at Stolas again. "Want a distraction?"

"Oh, yes, please," Stolas says, and then looks down at Blitzø's expression, and recognizes the look he finds there.

"Oh, yes please," he says, and follows Blitzø to their room.

He intends to bring up his new idea, he really does, but Blitzø barely waits for him to get through the door before occupying his mouth with activities that do not allow for much conversation, and soon Stolas is not thinking about anything except Blitzø's mouth, his hands, his horns, and every other part of him.

Hopefully he won't need his last resort, and he can talk to Blitzø after the battle is over.

*

As they get closer and closer to Mammon's ship, the Sin of Greed greets them with some cheeky cannonfire.

They're still too far away for much accuracy, and they're approaching from an angle that makes it difficult to aim directly at them, but it's also impossible for them to return fire without slowing their chase to angle their ship so their cannons have a line of sight on their quarry.

Asmodeus is not willing to slow down, instead using their slightly smaller ship's better maneuverability to approach closer at speed, but they're still prepared to swing their ship around in case Mammon decides to tack into the wind to aim a full volley directly at the Dixie, which could do a lot more damage. So far, it's mostly been warning shots at an awkward angle, as though Mammon doesn't actually expect it to do much besides taunt them.

They're very nearly evenly matched, as far as cannons go, and Stolas does not like those odds overmuch, but there's little he can do about it besides prepare as much defensive magic as he can think of, in the hopes of protecting the crew around him from the worst of the damage. He only wishes he could wrap the whole ship in a protective bubble so it couldn't be harmed, but unfortunately he has never been anywhere near proficient enough to do something that big. He's not sure he could even with years of focused practice.

With any luck, they can get into close range before the cannons have a chance to do too much damage, and subdue the larger ship by other means. There will always be casualties, but he can protect his crewmates so much better at close range, when he's trying to stop blades and bullets rather than cannonballs and flying pieces of ship.

He's always hated when sea battles persist to the point of an entire vessel sinking; it's so much unnecessary suffering and loss of life. If Stolas had his way, every "battle" would be settled with a negotiation, maybe a duel or two if one or more parties are being particularly difficult. Simple, and direct. No loud noises and explosions and shattering of his ship all around him, no wondering how many of his beloved crew will live to see another day.

But Stolas is not the Captain, this is not his ship, and he does not make the rules or give the orders. So, sea battle until they're close enough and then boarding seems to be what's on the schedule for this encounter. He tries not to dwell on it.

Lucky for him, Blitzø has given him quite a lot to think about. He worries about what Blitzø will think of his plan, but mostly he just remembers Blitzø's hands as they tugged at his feathers, the way he groans when Stolas rubs the spaces between his spines, and the moments just after, when they're both content to lie in the afterglow.

It makes him sick to think he could lose all of it, if things go poorly today. Even worse, Stolas is fairly certain he will make it through intact.

Stolas looks toward the upper deck, where Asmodeus is watching Mammon's ship with an intense expression, and looks up into the rigging to see that both Fizzarolli and Blitzø are high up, signing back and forth, half instructions and half middle fingers, ready to adjust the sails and then raise them when they get close enough.

The waiting is certainly the worst part, especially when there's the bang and high whistle of another cannon being fired, followed by the relief when Stolas hears the splash as it hits the water instead of the wooden crack it would make as it creates a jagged hole in the hull.

Or, in a worst-case scenario, one of the masts.

Some cannons hit their target, but they've been lucky so far, nothing has done irreparable damage to the Dixie, there are merely a couple injuries from shrapnel and debris, and they're quickly approaching a range close enough that cannons will no longer be the most effective choice.

Stolas watches his crew work together as a unit, in sync and helping each other as the gap slowly closes. Then Asmodeus gives a shout.

It's time to prepare to board.

They're moving too fast for gangplanks, or to swim and climb up from the water. Their only option is jumping directly onto the other ship, or, if Stolas can manage to hold it open, a portal. It's critical to get as many people onto the other ship as quickly as possible, so they don't get picked off before they can overwhelm their target. Stolas does what he can to help the hooks find their place and sink in securely to the side of Mammon's ship, hoping it's enough for his crew to do their jobs, and then prepares his magic.

Both ships are raising their sails, which makes Stolas nervous. He much prefers close combat, but why does Mammon seem to want it as well? Is he that confident that he can defend against them if they try to board?

Stolas takes a deep breath, uses a flash of magical light to distract a couple fighters from Mammon's ship who were about to knock some of his crew off the side, and prepares to open his portal and clear the way for more of his crew to follow behind him.

Whatever they have planned, Stolas is there to even the odds.

It's oddly calm when Stolas steps through his portal, just before the first of his crew climb over the side and onto the deck. Some of Mammon's demons look up at him, startled, before Stolas sweeps them off the ship and into the water with a wave. When they start aiming guns at him and then at the crew members pouring out of his portal behind him, he is much less benevolent.

Amidst the chaos of shouting and smoke and noise, Stolas keeps an eye on as many of his people as he can, intervening to defend them, attacking Mammon's demons when there's an opening. As more and more demons swarm up from belowdecks to join the fray, Stolas realizes that Mammon has the advantage of numbers, and his demons aren't going down easily. They're tough and can take a lot of hits before they slow down, and Stolas can't always sweep them neatly into the water; many of them have wings, and he is forced to find other ways to stop them. He turns them to stone with a glare when he can, but it's dangerous to lose his awareness of his surroundings even for the moment it takes to use his powers when there are this many hostile foes around him.

He gets a scrape along one arm from a knife wielded by an incubus he hadn't noticed approaching despite the way they're waving it wildly, and then when he's distracted dealing with the knife he takes a bullet in the other arm. It's not blessed, but it is annoying, and limits his movement slightly while he heals. Raising that arm above shoulder height might be problematic.

He dives in front of a crew member and ends up with another gash that was aimed for his crewmate's lung, which instead finds his leg. It slows him down, makes it harder to race across the deck to wherever he's needed most. They are still quite outnumbered, and it feels like they haven't made any progress, despite how many of Mammon's crew they've incapacitated or killed or thrown into the water. Stolas wonders how long the fighting will go, before a winner can be declared. How many more will be injured, will die in the melee.

He sees Blitzø across the deck, firing with precision and felling demon after demon, but he's slowly being cut off and surrounded.

"Oy! What's takin' so fuckin' long, ya cunts?"

Stolas sees Blitzø's attention zero in on the upper deck, where Mammon sits, surrounded by a personal guard of several robotic versions of, unless he is seeing things, Fizzarolli. Stolas feels a renewed surge of disgust at the sight, something about the way the robots move and grin and act nothing like Fizzarolli is unsettling, but he doesn't have time to stew in it because Blitzø is taking aim at Mammon and Mammon sees it and Stolas feels terror wrap around his chest and squeeze.

Then a colorful figure extends smoothly down from the rigging right in front of Mammon and punches him in the face with a very loud "Fuck you, you piece of shit!" to go with it.

"Oh, you asked for it, ya worthless little fucker!" Mammon snarls and smoke gathers around him; Stolas feels the energy crackle as he vanishes into it before long, spider-like legs reach out of the smoke, and there's a hissing noise emanating from the cloud.

With a burst of colorful fire Asmodeus is right there behind Fizzarolli, and there's a brief standoff as both Sins glare at each other over Fizzarolli's head, and some of the fighting stops as heads turn to watch the Sins' battle of wills.

Then one of the Fizz-bots lunges at the real Fizzarolli, Asmodeus roars in anger and goes to attack it in retaliation, and Mammon cackles before launching himself at Asmodeus, and the fighting across the deck resumes with renewed fervor.

Stolas can't keep watching the Sins because he has too many other things to worry about. He swipes at a demon mid-air before it can land on top of Moxxie and knock him off his feet, but no sooner has he done that than there's two imps jumping down on top of him and he tries to throw them off but they dig their claws into his shoulders and hold on with stubborn determination, until a shot rings through the air and one slides off, suddenly dead weight, which frees up Stolas's arm but it's the one that was injured earlier and he can't reach up to dislodge the other one and he can't turn his head with the way the imp has a grip on his feathers. Instead he shoves the imp into the nearest mast as hard as he can, pinning the imp between the solid wood and his shoulder until they let go and Stolas can pull back, finally free, but his wounds are piling up and he's starting to feel fatigue settling in, and still their numbers aren't looking any better.

He has a moment with nothing actively attacking him, and glances up to see Asmodeus still grappling with Mammon and Fizzarolli seems to only be facing one Fizz-bot but his limbs are definitely not moving as smoothly as they should be, and he doesn't see—

Ah, a bullet finally downs the last Fizz-bot, and Stolas follows the trajectory of the shot to see Blitzø, on the other end of the deck, lowering his gun and giving Fizzarolli a thumbs-up, and when Fizz replies with a hand sign he turns around to jab the butt of his gun into the demon that was trying to sneak up on him, and then pulls out his knife and finishes him off with a bright spray of blood.

The demon falls, but she manages to swipe at Blitzø on the way down, and tears a hole in his clothes, and Stolas sees more blood splatter the deck and he can't hear Blitzø's yell from this far away but he sees him open his mouth in a shout before kicking the demon roughly and dropping to his knees.

Stolas has a vision in his mind, of Blitzø, immobile, watching helplessly as he's surrounded, and he feels a spike of terror through his core. He won't allow it, not when he can stop it, and he can only pull it off if he hasn't been incapacitated yet. He hesitates, but their numbers are still not looking good and Mammon is holding off both Asmodeus and Fizzarolli and cackling like it's nothing and he makes a decision. He shouts for his crew to clear out of his way, hoping enough of them hear him, because they all know what that means. Or, they usually know more or less what that means; this time is going to be a little different. His crew begin disengage where they're able, making their way to the sides of the ship if they can't get all the way back to the Dixie, clearing as much space for Stolas as they can and regrouping.

Stolas throws himself over the side of the ship, into the ocean. He tries to ignore the spike of terror as the water surrounds him again, and he pulls out the small bag of magical supplies with shaking hands, reaches into it for a piece of fabric with a sigil painted on it that he'd drawn in his own blood before the battle started. It's gotten stained and it's beginning to smudge a little in the water, but it doesn't matter; the magics are already beginning to work.

Stolas weaves the energy together, focuses on himself, on his body, and tries to ignore the way his lungs burn as they start to run out of air. There's a strange pulling sensation in response, as the magical threads begin to do their work, unpicking the fabric of his owl demon form and beginning to reknit it into something else. The feathers along his arms and legs shrink and become small spines, and then flatten out into scales, the scrapes he'd accumulated disappearing with a splash of inky smoke. Then he feels his legs become bendy and much more flexible, and longer. Much longer. And they come together to form one long limb instead of two.

Something deep within him, something he's always carried, awakens as the magic takes hold. He remembers his father telling him about another form, a more menacing form, that he could learn to wield, useful for commanding his legions. He'd never gotten very far, the idea of becoming some sort of monster not terribly appealing to him, but he'd always been able to feel it, lurking deep. And now it seems to be responding, and it's not happy about Stolas's spell. It screams.

Which means that Stolas screams, a keening wail that pierces through the ocean for leagues in every direction, and then splits the air as he breaks through to the surface, his body still twisting and reknitting with horrible tearing and squelching sounds, painful and horrifying, the demon within fighting against it, and he feels like he's being torn apart. The dark black of his talons spreads up his arms, across his body, staining him pitch black from head to toe, and his legs—leg—tail?—splits, right down the middle, and becomes two again. And then four. And then eight.

Stolas's beak becomes sharp, incredibly sharp, and longer, and his arms stretch out, his claws grow, he feels himself getting bigger, much bigger, expanding until he can see up over onto the deck of Mammon's ship, and then gradually, just a tiny bit, the pain begins to lessen as the magic starts to settle, to coalesce, as it agrees on the shape it's taking. Then he realizes he can breathe again, and he takes in a jagged gasp of water that feels like it's tearing through his brand new gills on the way in but it fills him with oxygen and clears some of the fog in his mind.

It's not what he intended. The demonic thing within him has changed it, influenced it, and he only has a vague idea what he looks like, now. But the inky black that had engulfed him recedes just a little, from his face and chest, and the tips of his... tentacles. He seems to have tentacles, now. Definitely not part of his original plan.

Stolas reigns in what little of his awareness he can, and begins dragging himself up the side of Mammon's ship, his various limbs searching out prey as he tears at the surface, shredding it with his massive talons as he goes, and he continues to wail, angry and scared in equal measure, taking out his fury and his fear on the ship in front of him, doing his best to avoid anyone who looks familiar. But they're so small and they all blend together, a little, especially with all the chaos of the magic gone twisted, the unexpected result of his meddling with powers he clearly does not understand.

He doesn't know how long he goes on like that, lashing out, grabbing crew and throwing them into the water, squeezing some to a pulp or crushing them, hoping desperately that he's giving his crew the advantage he intended.

He tries to look for Mammon, knowing he's likely the biggest threat, but his mind is scattered and he has trouble focusing on faces, on distinguishing one demon from another. But he can sense power, and he knows what Asmodeus's fire feels like, tastes like, and he focuses on that, searching for the adversary he last saw him struggling to hold off.

He finally finds what he's looking for, a clash of Sins, copper against gunpowder, and he can pick out the sickly smoke that must be the Sin of Greed, and he grabs on, holds him in place with a long coiling limb, and squeezes. He's not quite sure what happens after that—he knows he can sense Asmodeus move, and hears the mechanical whir of Fizzarolli's prosthetic limbs, and then Mammon is not in his grasp, and he loses track of what's happening, thrashing as he pushes anyone who gets close to him away, because he can't tell anyone apart and he doesn't know who is a foe looking to maim.

His awareness continues to slip, focus going in and out, the chaos painfully loud and then muffled and distant in turns and his vision unreliable and stained with ink when it's not blood-red. He feels like he's losing his tenuous grasp on himself, like he's becoming something else; even though his shape has settled, that doesn't mean the magic is done with him, and he's not sure he can hold on to whatever is left of himself.

Suddenly there's a hand pressed into one of his limbs, and it's so gentle Stolas notices it immediately. A new fear and horror threaten to overwhelm him as he looks over, already knowing who the hand belongs to and wonders frantically what his reaction is going to be, and it's abruptly all he can think about.

Half imp, half clown. Standing on the deck, looking up at him, his hand pressed into one of his many writhing limbs, his Blitzø. Stolas stills. Lowers himself down gradually, shrinking a little to fit onto the deck next to him.

"Wow," Blitzø says, watching him. "That's... a little overkill, don't'cha think?"

Stolas lays his head down on the deck, not sure what noise he's going to make if he opens his mouth, and looks at him, mournful.

"Sorry, sorry. We can get to that later." He looks around and grimaces. "For now, I think we should go back to our ship, this one looks pretty good and fucked. Give me a lift?"

Stolas continues to stare at him, and tries to process the fact that Blitzø doesn't seem to be afraid of him in the slightest. Even after... everything he's just seen.

Slowly, Stolas rests a hand on the deck next to Blitzø, palm up, still large enough to carry him in it easily, and Blitzø steps onto it, giving his thumb a pat where it's sticking upright so he can hold on. "Giddy up," Blitzø says with a grin, and Stolas lifts him high up into the air, and recedes from where he's wrapped around the ship, part of him taking in all the gashes and blood and destruction he leaves in his wake. He slides into the water, and Blitzø continues to hold on as holds him above the surface and floats over to the Dixie. He lifts Blitzø up onto the deck and gently deposits him there, and then slides back into the water, trying to see if he can reign in—

Yeah, no, that's not going to work. His owl form is... gone. He can't begin to figure out how to pull the scattered pieces of it back together. But... he thinks he can maybe control his size.

He focuses, thinking about Blitzø and trying to match him in scale, and when he finally opens his eyes he's in the water alongside the ship and clinging to the side, small, almost as small as he used to be. He grabs onto the netting along the side and pulls himself up, and it takes him a while because he's not used to not having legs with taloned feet and he thinks he probably weighs significantly more than he used to but he finally makes it up the side of the ship with shaking arms and flops onto the deck.

He looks around at the crew, who are watching him warily. Blitzø approaches easily and drops down next to him on the deck, scowling. "Took you long enough. That was a hell of a move, birdy," he says, reaching out a hand, but pausing before touching. "Can I?"

Stolas blinks, and then nods. Blitzø runs a hand along one of his tentacles, and Stolas shivers a little at the touch. It feels different than it did when he had feathers, and he's not sure how he feels about that. But Blitzø's scowl is fading as he looks over Stolas's new body. Stolas watches Blitzø wonderingly. How is he so calm about this? Stolas still doesn't know how to feels about it, to be frank.

Asmodeus comes to stand in front of him with a frown, and Stolas dips his head, waiting for the scolding he's sure he's about to receive.

"You were supposed to give me time to find a replacement, babe," he says, and then chuckles. "But I can't exactly argue with the results." He looks over at the mangled remains of Mammon's ship as it sits lower and lower in the water, and the many, many demons in the ocean around it, clinging to the debris. Some of the Dixie crew have already lowered their lifeboats, and are starting to scoop anyone still alive out of the water.

Blitzø glares at Stolas as he points to Asmodeus. "You told him you were planning this?"

Stolas shakes his head vigorously, and opens his mouth only for a terrible hissing warble to emerge. He closes it immediately, concentrates on his throat and what it felt like before he became... this, and tries again.

"This was... not quite my intent," he says, slowly, and the words are definitely not made in the same way he used to be able to talk and produce sound, and he's fairly sure he no longer has vocal chords. There's an echo to it, and his consonants are... a little muddy. He will have to practice. It also takes more effort than he's used to, he's fairly sure he has to use magic to make words happen, and he is already very tired and nearly tapped out. He can also tell he's going to need to go back to the water soon, but he doesn't feel like he's suffocating or anything yet, just... drying out, a little bit.

Asmodeus looks over Stolas, and then nods to him. "You're free to go whenever you need to, Stolas. Like I told you, you earned your place here a long time ago, and I'm not gonna get in the way of whatever you wanna do next. You'll always be welcome on any ship of mine. And that goes for you as well, little fishy friend," he says, turning to Blitzø. "Anytime either of you wanna visit, feel free. But maybe find us while we're docked, so we don't have to figure out another tub situation. And ain't no way you're gonna have a private room again, so keep that in mind."

Asmodeus leaves them after a grin and an eyebrow wiggle, and then the deck is mostly empty, with a few exceptions.

Fizzarolli stretches his limbs to land lightly next to Blitzø, scowling, and then punches him in the shoulder. "You're leaving again, aren't you?"

"Ow," Blitzø says, rubbing his shoulder, and then he's pulled into a crushing hug.

"You're not gonna stay away and pretend to be dead anymore, right?"

"Nah," Blitzø says, squeezing Fizz back. "I'm over that phase. It was kind of childish."

"Damn straight, asshole," Fizz says, pulling back. "We should be back in Envy, right around that port where you joined up, in a couple months. If I don't see you there, I'm gonna be pissed."

"Got it," Blitzø says, saluting. "Envy port, two months. Wouldn't miss it. Cross my balls."

Fizz rolls his eyes. "Gross. Do you even have balls?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Blitzø says with an eyebrow wiggle, and Fizz looks disgusted. He pushes Blitzø's face away, extending his arms to get extra distance, and then turns to look at Stolas, who stiffens, attentive. "And you. Keep an eye on this dickhead, okay? He's too good at getting himself into trouble. And he's shit at taking care of himself."

Stolas nods, and Fizz looks satisfied, ignoring Blitzø's affronted "hey!" from under his hand, and giving him one last shove, cackling before he extends his legs and disappears into the Dixie. Blitzø watches him fondly before turning back to Stolas, who shrinks down, curling in on himself.

"I'm sorry," Stolas says, wrapping his arms around himself. "I was going... to tell you, but..."

"Yeah, I'm a little pissed about that. First you offer to give me perma-legs, and then this. Give a guy a second to think things over next time, will you?"

Stolas nods. "I... I will understand if you don't want—this was quite unexpected," he says, raising his arms, turning his hands over as he inspects them. "I was trying... to give myself a tail. So I would be able to see your home, since you got... to see my ship. But I know you did not agree to this, and I—I do not have any expectations."

"Hey, Stols. Stolas," Blitzø says, digging his hands into the few feathers Stolas still has on his cheeks, which he can reach now that Stolas isn't standing on long bird legs that lift him high out of his range. "It was your call. Your body. If this is what you wanted, no way in Hell was I gonna stop you. Was this what you really wanted? Aside from the... y'know, the unplanned bits?"

"Yes," Stolas says easily, because that was never in question. Not for him. "And I would do it again, in an instant." Especially if it means Blitzø is alive and safe.

"Okay." Blitzø squeezes his face a little, looking from his eyes down to his beak before he leans in to press a quick kiss to his face. "Okay. Then we're good."

Stolas's eyes widen. "We're... good?"

"Yeah, sure. We got stuff to work on, but. This... This means we can go swimming," Blitzø says, and looks absolutely elated.

"I have... never been swimming before," Stolas admits, and Blitzø cackles.

"That must make you the worst fish demon in the entire ocean, then," he says, and takes his hand. "Squid demon? Whatever. Come on, I'll show you. You'll be a pro in no time."

Blitzø holds his hand as they slip off the side of the ship, and has swapped his legs for a tail by the time they hit the water, and Stolas lets Blitzø pull him along with the current.

It feels strange, and it takes him a terrifying moment to figure out how to breathe properly with gills when he's used to lungs, but Blitzø is right, once he figures it out it feels... natural. Swimming is fun, he can talk underwater easier than he can above it, and he has an entire ocean to explore, and a half-imp half-clown he adores to explore it with.

He's never been more excited about anything in his entire life.

Blitzø is swimming home as fast as he can, racing through semi-familiar waters.

He hates leaving for any length of time, but especially multiple days—it feels irresponsible, somehow, even though they both agreed there was little danger. Still, he hates it, and can't wait to be back at his reef, snug in familiar territory with familiar demons around him.

It's not the reef where he was born, although they'd visited that first. Seeing the ocean where he'd spent a little of his childhood was surreal, and painful. It made him miss his mom, and Barb, who he still hasn't heard from, but he's trying not to look too hard, even though it still aches. It was also nice to go back and see his old reef in some ways, even though there were far, far less mer there than he remembered. Only a couple, and they were wary of him, didn't remember him at all.

It definitely wasn't home, anymore. That hurt, too, but because Stolas was with him, it hadn't hurt as badly as it might've. As it once would have.

Finally, he can see the familiar coral and rock formations that border his territory, and he puts on an extra burst of speed, anxious to see his boyfriend.

The boyfriend thing is still new, and it feels ill-fitting, to Blitzø. It doesn't feel big enough of a word to contain everything he feels for Stolas, but he's still working on fighting the impulse to run away, constantly, so maybe it's the perfect word, for the moment. Just enough to keep him from bolting.

No, that's not true. He can't run, especially not now. And he hates that he still thinks like this, sometimes. But Stolas would tell him that just because he thinks awful things, it doesn't always mean he believes them, and he doesn't have to let the thoughts linger. He can just tell them to fuck off.

So that's what he does, and he races home to his boyfriend, who is waiting for him at home, in his reef, in the territory they've claimed for themselves.

He finally sees him, sleeping curled up on a flat rock. His head lifts as soon as he hears Blitzø, about half a second after Blitzø sees him, which Blitzø finds oddly endearing.

"Hey, babe. Sorry it took me so long," Blitzø says, sinking down to lay next to him on the rock, snuggling into his side, a little thrill going through him when Stolas immediately adjusts to curl around him, an arm slinging across his lower back. "Everything calm while I was gone?"

"Oh, yes, no trouble at all. There really have been fewer fishers in these waters, I believe they have finally begun to believe the rumors about me."

"Or it's just the off-season," Blitzø grumbles, and Stolas chuckles.

"That is also a possibility, yes. I suppose it won't hurt to stay vigilant for a while longer."

Blitzø grumbles, tucking his head under Stolas's chin. "I hate dealing with those shitty fuckers, especially now. I don't like you leaving the nest. I wish I could go kill them so you could stay here, but I can't get all kaiju-big like you, you freak."

"I know, darling. I promise it's no risk to me, or the little ones. They aren't even armed, most of the time!"

Blitzø scowls. "Most of the time?"

Stolas titters, stroking a talon along his horn, which is cheating because he knows how much that calms Blitzø down. "There's been the occasional spear or two, but that's it, I promise. I haven't seen any Carmine weapons since we were on the Dixie."

Blitzø mumbles, still disgruntled, but it's hard to stay that way with Stolas touching him. It always is, and the asshole knows it, and uses it on him constantly.

He can't really bring himself to mind, though, not really. He knows he gets stressed out over stupid shit, and Stolas is just trying to help, and that calms him down almost as much as the touching does.

Blitzø picks up his head, suddenly, and can't believe he waited this long to ask. "Where's Loona?"

"Oh, she's around here somewhere. You know she likes her space."

Blitzø looks up at him, studying him, and Stolas honestly seems relaxed, and he feels some of his wire-tight tension ease a little in response. "Yeah, I know. I just... she looked really bad, when she showed up, and I haven't seen her since I left, so."

"I know, dearest. I saw her not too long ago, and she was doing quite well. Her wounds are nearly healed! And she's found a lovely cave not very far from here at all. Would you like to go check if she's there? I can show you where it is."

"No," Blitzø says immediately, not wanting Stolas to move. "No, I'll look for her later. I'm comfy."

"And you swam quite a long way today. I trust Fizz and Ozzie did not mind that I was not able to join you this time?"

"No, they didn't say anything, but Moxxie was kinda sad about it. I think he's finally done being a little pissbaby about us keeping secrets from him. He just whined about how you always say nice things about his cooking, and how the rest of the crew aren't nearly as polite. I think he misses you."

"Oh!" Stolas says, tearing up. "That is very sweet of him, I will have to bring a special gift for him when I am finally able to see him again, as an apology. Do you think he needs any seasonings? I can't imagine what he would do with ink... Ooh, perhaps I could bring him some pearls! I believe Mildred would appreciate them, too."

"You know you're the only one who doesn't call her Millie, right?"

"Am I? She never corrected me, I wonder why."

Blitzø chuckles. "Who the fuck knows. Maybe she likes it."

"Hmm, remind me to ask her."

Blitzø hums back, and lays his head down on Stolas's chest when Stolas adjusts to lay more on his back, his tentacles curling around Blitzø's tail affectionately. He misses the chest fluff sometimes, it's still there but definitely less fluffy, more thick tendrils that are soft but also slippery, and a darker color than his chest feathers used to be, a deep blue instead of the pale grey. His skin underneath is covered in small scales rather than pores, but the scales he thinks he actually prefers, and they're definitely better suited to life underwater.

"So... I haven't seen you in, like. Three whole days."

"Mhm," Stolas says, sounding like he's not paying attention, but a smile curls at the corners of his mouth.

"That's such a looong time, I haven't been away from you for that long since..."

"Since we met, I think," Stolas says, rubbing a talon lightly up Blitzø's back, around his spines, teasing. His eyes are still closed, the fucker. Blitzø squirms a little, relishing the sliding and friction where his tail brushes against the tentacles wrapped around it, but Stolas still doesn't react.

"Well, I guess I can wait, if you're too tired—"

Stolas's eyes shoot open, all six bright red and glowing in the water, and his tentacles squeeze just shy of painful around him. "No, I'm awake! I was just kidding!"

Blitzø laughs, grabs Stolas's face feathers, and tugs him lower until Stolas loosens his grip on him enough that he can drift up to reach his beak and kiss him, long and slow.

"I know, I'm fucking with you," he says, pulling back to rest his forehead against Stolas's, between his largest set of eyes. "You're an insatiably horny, hot squid monster I haven't seen in days, obviously we're gonna fuck."

"You're incorrigible," Stolas says, but he smiles, and kisses Blitzø again, needier and messier, a series of kisses really that span most of his face and neck, and Blitzø forgets to ask him what the fuck the word means, because he's pretty sure it's not a real word, but as soon as Stolas gets his hands on him and his tentacles inside him, he finds he cares about which words are real words a whole lot less.

As he kisses Stolas he can't stop thinking about his little reef, his little family which is about to grow, and the very real, very heavy words that linger at the back of his mind every time he sees Stolas, every time Stolas touches him, whether it's a morning hello kiss or fucking him or just a casual caress when he's distracted with his underwater garden or reading (Oz keeps a little library just for him, it's disgustingly cute) and he thinks he might be able to say them, probably. The words. The ones that matter. Not today, not yet, but maybe soon.

And he knows Stolas will light up and blush and trill and make those really cute warbly seamonster noises, and he won't tell him he doesn't want to see him anymore, because he's said so many times that is the opposite of what he wants. And Blitzø believes him, now, even though he definitely didn't the first few times.

Maybe the first few hundred.

But he's been working on it, and he's getting there.

He knows now that Stolas will wait for him, because that's what he's always done. Blitzø may still be a mess and he knows he still fucks up sometimes, but every day, every time Stolas just smiles his unfairly pretty smile and helps him fix whatever mess he made, he finds it bothers him less and less.