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Chapter Text

The most terrible thing that Octavia has ever asked of him--the most awful thing she has ever said, even more than her tears and farewell--happened when she had been just barely six years old.

Stolas remembers it clearly: a late morning, not two weeks after he and Stella had agreed to separate bedrooms, and he'd still been reveling in the novelty of a full and peaceful night of sleep. He'd been idly paging through the newspaper, contemplating perhaps even trying out the crossword in his guaranteed peace--Stella had some nonsense tea party she had expressly forbidden Stolas from attending, and he'd only been too happy to agree. (Perhaps he'd been too happy, from the way her face had twisted into a scowl; he'd need to be more stoic in the future, so she would think he actually had any sort of interest in those inane gatherings.) He remembers that the tea had been slightly oversteeped, and that he'd been peering into his cup when Octavia had come toddling into the kitchenette.

Of course, the instant that she appeared in the doorway, Stolas had nearly tossed away his cup, scooting to the edge of the bench and holding his arms open with a smile. No puzzle of any sort could compete with his daughter.

"Good morning, Octavia!" he'd cried, and her answering smile had been enough to warm him through entirely. He'd waited, patient, as she made her unsteady way over to him. As soon as she'd been close enough, he'd swept her up into his arms, running his beak quickly through her crest to smooth down the most unruly feathers. It had made her giggle and kick her feet, but she'd also allowed it without complaint. "And how is my little starfire, this lovely morning?"

She'd giggled again, then ruffled herself, trying to school her expression into something more serious. Stolas remembers watching that and feeling his heart ache; six was far too early for any child to be so solemn. He remembers watching as she pulled out a stack of papers from under her arm, all covered in her charming, brightly-colored crayon drawings.

And then she'd held the first one up to show him, and she'd said, "Daddy, I want a little brother."

As crystal-clear as the rest of his memories of that morning are, things go fuzzy right after she'd made that declaration. Stolas remembers his ears ringing, the dull grinding roar of funerary bells, drowning out Octavia's very serious, very sincere petition. The pictures had blurred together in his vision for a few seconds--he recalls one with himself holding hands with Octavia on one side and Stella on the other, and on Octavia's other side had been an egg.

He remembers keeping his smile plastered on his beak, holding his breath so that his body would not give away his trembling. He remembers listening to the whole of her petition, but he doesn't remember all of what he said to her in response. Bits and pieces, certainly--some sort of lip service that this is a decision that includes Mummy too, darling, we'll have to talk about it, and promising her that he would... and then doing his best to distract her from that quest. They'd ended up playing in the garden, with Stolas allowing her to feed some of his largest carnivorous plants, and by the time she'd gone down for her nap, she'd forgotten to continue pestering him for that desired little brother.

He remembers this as the first time he'd lied to his daughter, because when Stella had come home that evening, he'd not spoken a word of it to her. The very idea had made his stomach churn despite being empty, threatening to bring up bile and worse.

In the end, he'd simply kept quiet. If Octavia had petitioned Stella in the same fashion, she'd also said nothing. And Octavia had never asked him again, though that wish lingers in the back of his mind to this day.

Oh, in some different world, on some different path, he would have welcomed the idea. As a nestling himself, he'd been fascinated by the idea of siblings growing up closely; for all that his lessons included memorizing his own family tree, none of his many, many siblings were anything more than names and portraits to him. His adventure books had painted such a lovely picture of siblings--a few years older, a few years younger, twins--growing up together, friends even when they were enemies, united against the world.

Like so many of his dreams, that had slowly withered, even if a kernel of wistful desire remains. Even now, months after his banishment, it only takes a heartbeat to remember the empty, echoing halls of that palace.

How dreadfully lonely it had been for him, his whole life. How dreadfully lonely it must be for Octavia, then and now.

But even that hadn't been enough to overcome the sheer revulsion he'd felt even considering the idea of laying with Stella again. The ordeal of Octavia's conception haunts him to this day; he thinks it would even if Stella hadn't turned it into yet another thing to lambast him over in front of her dreadful friends. Just skirting around the memory in his own mind leaves him cold and shaking years later.

Perhaps if he'd been brave enough to leave sooner. Maybe if he'd gathered his courage and broke things off with Stella before they'd both calcified into their roles, he could have--...

But with whom? He cannot imagine trapping another woman into life with him--even setting aside whether he could find one that was both able to withstand Stella's continued presence in the periphery of their lives and not part of her entourage--and the alternative is...

Is...

Well.

The alternative exists, and it is as out of his reach as his beloved daughter is: a peculiar quirk of goetic biology allows any individual to serve as either sire or dam for children, so long as all conditions are met. There's a whole raging debate on the hows and the whys of it, though Stolas admittedly has never delved too deeply into the topic. It's outside of his general areas of interest, and in his heart of hearts, perhaps it's too sensitive of a subject for him to pursue of his own accord.

He'd found it as a teenager, desperately seeking any alternative for his impending marriage. From the age of fourteen to seventeen, he'd spent night after sleepless night pouring over records and prophecies for any sort of thing that might free him. He'd even done another reading on his own fate, on the fragile hope that maybe, somehow, the other seers had made a mistake.

Unfortunately, it all came down to the same thing: that Prince Stolas, the final child of King Paimon, was destined to sire a child for the goetic court. Even assuming he could find a partner who would be willing to help him defy his father's orders--there is no getting around his predestined role.

He has no illusions of what would have happened. Any egg that he produced would have been taken from him the moment it was laid, and then hung over his head like his own personal Sword of Damocles. He'd never know if the egg had simply been destroyed, or if there was a child out of his reach, and that would have been used to keep him in line until he'd done his proper duty.

The fact that this alternative exists--that perhaps, had he been allowed to choose his own partner, he could still have had Octavia in his life... oh, it's almost too terrible to contemplate. There are some fantasies that he has tenderly nurtured for his entire adult life, daydreaming about romance and desire to help him survive the mundane horrors of each day--but there are others he cannot bear to go near, even in the complete privacy of his own mind.

He cannot love Stella romantically--he has known this since the moment he first laid eyes on her photograph. There had been a time where he had hoped that they might come to love each other as friends, allies against the system that forced them together, though that had been fleeting... but he will always, always be grateful to her for giving him Octavia.

It feels like a betrayal, in some way, to consider that there might have been a way to have his daughter without having to share her with her mother. He knows that Octavia loves Stella, with her soft innocent heart, and he has to believe that Stella loves Octavia as well, in her own way. To imagine that Octavia could have been born out of a love-match, rather than an arranged one--she has already obviously inherited so much of him that it worries him, as much as he adores her--well, that's just...

If Octavia is the one true and good thing he has accomplished with his life, he must believe the same of Stella. As much as the animosity between them is true and unwavering, he does not want to take that from her.

Even now. Even after everything.

Perhaps that makes him weak--maybe he is just as pathetic and useless as Stella has always made him out to be. Were their positions reversed, he doubts she would have hesitated at all.

If one wants to be completely accurate, in fact: she hadn't.

The immediate weeks following Sinsmas remain a blur even in memory. Stolas knows he's incredibly, incredibly fortunate that he wasn't left on his own in the aftermath. He'd made some vague distracted offer to move out, to leave that apartment so full of love so that he would no longer taint it with his presence, only to be thoroughly refused--and not just by Blitzø.

He honestly remembers very little of that moment, but he does recall that while Blitzø was frothing and ranting, Loona, as clever and bold and no-nonsense as her father, had simply stared at him until he blinked first.

And then she'd said, "Don't even think about it, dumbass," which had been the end of that.

Truly, it is only because they were kind enough to fold him into their lovely little family that he exists at all today. That feels so terribly dramatic when he turns the thought over in his own mind, but that doesn't make it any less true. Either some resentful Hellborn would have ended him, or he simply would have... faded.

Of course it's true that he had no real idea of how to care for himself at the time. It's a humbling experience, to be an adult and have to learn how to survive outside of one's cage. Things that were so simple as to be inconsequential to Blitzø and Loona are entirely alien to him, and even now, months later, he knows there's still so much he has to learn. It's entirely possible--and entirely likely--that he would have killed himself in some completely accidental and ignoble way. The microwave is still terrifying to him after the lightning incident.

But on a deeper level than that, Stolas knows how easy it would have been for him to simply... give up.

For years, he had merely existed, going through the motions of the duties expected of him: an owl in a gilded cage, utterly resigned to be nothing more than a placeholder among the ranks of the Ars Goetia. And then had come Octavia--his beautiful, brilliant daughter, and everything in his life had both narrowed and expanded to her. Even at the height of his delusions with Blitzø, she had always reliably been the one thing to ground him, to pull him back to reality.

Without her, what was left?

In all honesty, he still isn't certain. Which feels petty and foolish, but is also an immovable object, settled deep within him.

He knows he has a tendency towards melodrama; his emotions tend to either simmer sullenly at him from a distance, or explode into flashfire, burning so hot that he is also left in ashes in their wake--

Well. Even if he recognizes those tendencies in himself, he still struggles in controlling them.

And the truth remains the same: that cut loose from his role as his daughter's guardian and guide, no longer welcome in her life, he'd been left dangerously adrift. Left alone, it would have been extremely tempting for him to give up on life entirely, without anything or anyone to anchor him.

But that was where Blitzø and Loona had come in. Despite the fact that he had been an interloper in their lives--and one who had been breathtakingly careless and callous in so many ways on top of that--they'd been kind. He'd been given shelter unasked for, along with a job that he could use to rebuild the shattered foundations of his life. They'd given him kindness he hadn't deserved, and though he knows that neither would demand repayment, he feels a bone-deep obligation to try.

And in order to do that, he has to live.

Which is far easier said than done, especially at first. He does eventually claw his way back to first a degree of functionality, and then to something that is actually... bearable? Decent?

Maybe even... good?

It often feels like a betrayal in so many ways, though in none that he can properly articulate. There is a guilt that churns in him whenever he catches himself enjoying a moment--laughing at some clever joke of Blitzø's, having a rousing argument with Moxxie about whether musical composers should end up in Heaven or Hell, exchanging gardening tips with Millie, or even just basking in the domesticity of evenings with Loona's music coming through her closed door and Blitzø singing along all cheerfully off-key. He'll find himself smiling or relaxed, and then he'll think of Octavia: alone, angry, and--though he knows she would deny it--afraid.

Who wouldn't be, in her position? By the time she was eight years old, she never turned to Stella for comfort or company. When she'd turned thirteen, and had begun the physical transition from nestling to fledgling, Stolas had been the one to coach and coax her through the moodswings and flares of temper. He'd given her books to explain to her the details he could not, as a masculine goetia, and he'd spent many nights researching as well, on the chance that she might come directly to him with questions anyway.

With a clearer head--and a handful of sessions with a discreet and sympathetic therapist who was willing to undercharge him for every other visit--he knows that he tied too much of their lives together for too long. He'd been both the wind beneath her wings and the stone around her neck; she'd been both the light of his life and the chain to his darkness.

Ultimately, if he truly hopes to reconcile with her, the break needed to happen. He understands that intellectually, even if his heart still aches at the thought of her wandering the halls of the palace with no guard between her and her mother's temper. As much as he will give Stella the grace to believe she loves their daughter, he also knows that her love, as it exists, must be a withered and paltry thing.

Would it have been better for all of them, if he'd gotten over his trepidation and approached Stella for a second egg? Perhaps the second chick would have resembled their mother, and that might have appeased some of Stella's dissatisfaction along with giving Octavia a companion and playmate. He'd swallowed so much for her, surely he could have--

...

No. No, he could not have.

Still. As Octavia's eighteenth birthday draws near, he finds his thoughts returning again and again to that long-ago morning. He thinks of her small weight in his lap, the utter sincerity in her eyes and voice as she made that innocent request.

Does she even remember that day, herself? Does she remember that childish desire?

Surely if she does, it's only as the first in the long line of disappointments that her father had bequeathed her. He sometimes wonders himself if his desperation to latch onto anything she enjoyed, however small and fleeting, was part of some desire to compensate for that first betrayal.

Either way, he misses her terribly. He has not told anyone of the upcoming date, but he's certain his coworkers and--... his friends have noticed the dip in his mood. They're gentle in ways they haven't been since the earliest days of his exile. Blitzø in particular seesaws between a frantic sort of smothering care and an almost jealous sort of... well, possessiveness is the best word Stolas can use for it. He's either rushing around trying to provide Stolas with anything he thinks might help--a cup of tea, a stuffed horse, a fresh rat, and on one memorable occasion, the office's lemon tree--or he's practically glued to Stolas's side. He'd even growled at Moxxie once, when he'd brought Stolas a file folder he'd asked for.

It's the sort of thing that Stolas would have swooned over, just the previous year. It's dramatic in a way that appeals to his aesthetics, it's bold and it's romantic, and it's--

...It's honestly quite confusing, because they're not like that.

The thing about Hell is that romantic love does still exist within it. There are those among the goetia that believe it's utterly a myth, a fantasy that creates weaknesses to either exploit or have exploited. There are plenty of humans who believe the same, and their presence as Sinners in Hell only seems to reinforce that fallacy.

But Stolas knows better. He was, and still is, a fool in so many ways--but he was once a prophet who'd walked directly amongst the stars. He knows the truth.

And in this, he knows the truth: that he is quite hopelessly in love with Blitzø, and Blitzø does not love him in the same way in return.

Stolas has accepted the fact that his tender dreams were nothing more than that, and he has learned some hard truths about many things he'd romanticized previously. He is forever and always intensely grateful for Blitzø's kindness and care--even more now, when he can witness the sheer amounts of love that Blitzø has for those he allows into his life. There is so much care in Blitzø's heart, walled-off and thorny as it is, and Stolas considers himself extraordinarily lucky that he has found his way inside. Even daydreaming of having more feels blasphemous.

But his own heart is a growing thing, uncoiling itself after years of being caged. As he learns to let more people into his expanding world, it only drives home just how much he will never move on from Blitzø. His love is an ember in his chest, the only remains of the bonfire that had once consumed his life: banked, still warmly glowing, but untouchable. He cannot allow anything to feed it back to the same intensity as before.

He has Blitzø in his life, as a close friend and a companion. They live together, and Blitzø has made it very clear that he wants Stolas to stay close, despite how cramped their living situation is. Put together, that's more than he had before; what is sex, in the face of what he now has? Blitzø loves him, even if he is not in love with him.

He can be more than content with just that.

If he could only find a way to bridge the distance between himself and Octavia--something that would allow him to truly reconnect with his beloved daughter--then he could consider himself a truly happy man. And as he recovers from the devastation, as his new friends teach him how to build a true foundation for himself and his life, he finds something else in him stirring. How ironic it is, to feel empowered to act now, when he'd been so powerful once, and so hobbled.

For now, all he has are ashes and dreams, but he also has hope, which is truly the greatest gift that Blitzø could have given him. Oh, the guilt is still there, and he knows it may always be, no matter how much he atones; even if by some stroke of sheer luck he redeems himself in Octavia's eyes, he will never forget what has happened between them.

Nevertheless, he still hopes.

Perhaps, and only just perhaps, that gap is not so impossible to cross. But that perhaps is more than he had for months.

Thing is, Millie's always thought she'd like Blitzø's birdy boyfriend given half a chance. The little bits and pieces she's picked up from him always seemed real charming, for all that Blitzø was more jealous of sharing any info than a hellcat over its prey. Sure, he was all snooty and up his own feathery ass at first, just like any goetia would be, but even like that, he'd done something she'd thought near impossible: he'd gotten Blitzø invested. He'd gotten him to skip past any of the stages where Millie could've given any kind of shovel talk and gone straight to actually getting Blitzø to admit he was heartbroken over how their thing wasn't really a thing.

Then he'd done another near-impossible thing, and he'd willingly thrown his own self onto the block to save Blitzø's life. Millie's not a fan of romances--she's read a couple of Moxxie's at his hopeful asking, but they're all just too damn fluffy for her--but she knows the tropes when she sees 'em.

'Sides, things're real different when it's your own best friend living his romance right in front of you.

So, best friend obligations aside--not that she wouldn't still kick his ass if it came to that, but Millie ain't the sort who likes tussling with someone who can't give as good as he gets--she's always thought she'd like Stolas. And then he'd been literally tossed into their lives, and you know what? She was right.

He reminds her of her Moxxie in lots of ways, but especially the sad ones. He's a sweet guy who's sometimes scared of his own damn shadow, and even though he doesn't have his big fancy powers now, it's the kinda fear that gets learned over a lifetime, not in a few months. Someone had the power to fuck up that bird's life long before Blitzø entered the picture, and she's got a few guesses beyond just the ex-wife. He's got a whole high and mighty attitude that goes from annoying to adorable and back again faster'n a spinning knife.

And he's gentle. Ain't no one who could have watched him pleading with his baby girl, or the way he fell apart after she walked away, and think he doesn't have a gentleness in him that has little place in Hell.

Though... that said, it had still been Moxxie's kindness that had first drawn her to him. She hasn't asked, and she ain't gonna ask, but she'd bet real dollars that Blitzø has a similar story, deep down. It's one of the reasons why she made the conscious choice to embrace Stolas as a part of her life now: as much as he'd hurt Blitzø, that softness in him seems to be just the final thing Blitzø needs to really be happy in his life.

So when the big bird starts getting all droopy again, near three months after Sinsmas, it doesn't surprise her that Blitzø goes ballistic as a result. The more surprising thing is that he manages to keep it mostly contained to Stolas, and curse his heart, but he is fucking shitty at dealing with Stolas being sad. And watching them, Millie comes to a shocking conclusion: that one or both of 'em haven't gotten their heads outta their asses long enough for any sort of Real Conversation, and maybe it's just her head playing tricks on her, but suddenly the office smells reeeeeal strongly of pine.

Still, Blitzø's lovelife ain't none of her business if it ain't ruining their business, and it's pretty fucking obvious where all his stress is currently coming from. The less obvious piece is what exactly is eating at Stolas, especially since he'd been doing a helluva lot better in the recent weeks. For someone who'd been kicked from the top rung of Hell's society all the way down to the (jagged) rock bottom, he's actually been sorta starting to thrive in it all. It's just like her mama's always said about hard work, only she didn't need to say it to him. He just picked it up on his own, once Blitzø got him in the office chair and he learned a lil more about how to deal with the business's usual clients.

He actually enjoys the paperwork and the number crunching, rather than facing it like a grim necessity, the way she'n Blitzø do--and with less high-strung stress than Moxxie does. And with him fixing all that up and continuing to handle it, it helps I.M.P. do better, and with I.M.P.'s fortunes improving, it means all of 'em are riding that success wave together. That scraggly lil lemon tree that's been in the office forever now has friends all over the damn office; Blitzø's wardrobe now has five new horse shirts; Loona has started putting colorful streaks in her hair again; Moxxie's bought season passes to the theater (Satan help her--she loves that man, but she is absolutely not ready to spend multiple regular nights trapped in a theater while folks screech off-key about Satan knows what) among some key other things; and Millie--

...

Well. Millie's got a big old decision she needs to make, and she knows she's been dragging her heels something fierce.

Sallie May's been the best sister she can ask for, supportive and still willing to kick her ass--or rather, read her for filth, since she hasn't yet been able to get away from Wrath to visit just yet. Post-Sinsmas is always busy at the farm, and their parents don't know yet. Moxxie's been her rock as always, once she got over herself enough to tell him (after a frankly wretched sorta fight, after a day where dozens of little things kept piling up and piling up till they were snapping and snarling at each other like hunting hounds in a box, in a whole fucking storm of tears and snot that she's fucking embarrassed about in the aftermath), but he can't make the choice for her.

No one can make this choice except her.

So she's also been a bit moody herself, for Reasons (capital R, 'cause she keeps shying away from naming it for real even in her own head), and watching her new friend slowly crushing himself and Blitzø over something he also won't name... well.

Hard work ain't always a physical thing. That's something Millie learned from Moxxie, though it took her some time to get through her head. She ain't stupid, no matter what some of their clients or Hell at large might think, but she prefers when things are straightforward and physical. She likes working with her hands a sight more than anything else.

But it's pretty clear that Blitzø ain't ready or even willing to sit down and have any sort of serious talk with his bird yet, and Stolas and Moxxie are still circling each other like barn cats, unsure of where their separate territories lie. Millie's of the opinion that they'll settle sooner rather than later, but things are still touchy there. She loves her man to pieces, but he ain't always the best at a more delicate approach.

And the less said of Loona's people skills, the better. It ain't impossible to appeal to her, and Millie's mostly learned how to speak her language by now, but she figures testing Loona on her daddy's boyfriend ain't the best idea.

So on a Thursday, when things are at a bit of a lull--they've got jobs scheduled for a month out, but Stolas has been adamant that they keep a stretch of time in the work day for the field team to rest, and Blitzø is a fucking whipped simp, so he barely protests--Millie hops to her feet and says, "I'm thinkin' a coffee run and lunch. Y'all want anything?"

"Have they started putting shots into their drinks?" Loona asks from the couch. She's got an open magazine over her face and her phone clutched in both hands. For all that she loves to mock their age difference, her hangovers always seem fucking killer compared to any Millie's ever survived.

"Nope."

"Then nothing for me." She waves a hand blindly. Blitzø pokes his head out of his office.

"Coffee? I heard coffee. You going to the shitty place, or the less-shitty place?"

"I'm thinkin' about Greedbucks," Millie says, because Blitzø's whims (and the specials being run) means that whichever place qualifies as "less shitty" changes from week to week. "They got their spring drinks available now."

"Cool," Blitzø says. "Get me something iced and with enough sugar to kill a man. Daddy needs his inspiration."

She rolls her eyes, but she can't help the smile, even as Moxxie scoffs. "Inspiration? Sir, are you drawing horse comics on company time again?"

"I'm onto something big here, Moxx, don't fuck this up for me," Blitzø says, which is a yes. He ducks back into the office as Moxxie makes an irritated noise.

"Honestly, you'd think that after the last permanent forum ban, he'd at least try and change things up a little... I'll have my usual, honey." He leans up, and Millie leans down so he can kiss her cheek.

"You got it, baby," she tells him, and she has to linger long enough to rub their cheeks together, then turns to the only desk in the office, and the thin hunched figure sitting behind it. "Stolas? You up for helpin' me out, hon?"

He doesn't answer at first. Millie crosses the room and peers up at him; his eyes are fixed on the papers in front of him--the end report of I.M.P.'s last mission to take out a handful of sorority girls--but he don't seem to be focused on much of anything. Millie gives him a few more seconds, then waves her hand in his line of vision, which has him startling, poofing up like some fancy featherduster.

"Oh! Oh, I--my apologies, Millie, I was--may I help you?" He gives her an awkward smile, wringing his hands together. Sometimes, he really is so much like Moxxie when they first met that it hurts. Especially knowing what she does now about her Moxxie's childhood--she's seen enough to put pieces together. And while she'd never been the sort to say boo to how any parents chose to raise their kids in the past, she's learned that maybe she should. Because fuck, maybe she ain't a mother just yet, or maybe ever, but that don't mean the folks that have kids should--

Later. One crisis at a time. She gives him her biggest and most charming smile, and says, "I'm gettin' lunch and coffee for everyone. You wanna come with?"

He blinks a couple of times, looking simultaneously hopeful and unsure. "Oh," he says. "If... if you're certain? Where do you think you're going?"

"The Greedbucks on 6th and Battery Acid," she says. "C'mon, it'll be a nice walk for us both. I got everyone else's order, you've got Blitzø's credit card, it'll work out."

Stolas blinks again. "I'm only supposed to use that in emergencies, I--"

"Lunch is an emergency, Stolas, honey," she says. She circles the desk and gives his chair a gentle lil push. "C'mon, the forecast says it won't rain till this evening. Let's go."

He chirps, which is just the cutest little thing, but he gets out of his seat, smoothing down all his clothes as he does. He no longer has the fancy wardrobe from his princey life, but Millie's got a real good guess at who's dressing him these days. If the form-fitting part wasn't a dead giveaway, the fact that literally every shirt Stolas has worn since his exile has a convenient featherboob window makes it pretty fucking obvious. The material's on the cheaper side, the way Hell's fast fashion always is, but he makes it work better than Millie would have expected.

Once he's satisfied, though, he gives her a tiny, hopeful little smile. "All right," he says. "After you."

He doesn't fully bow as he says it, but he does dip slightly, his one hand sweeping out. It's still all fancy, and Millie ain't above enjoying a little fancy, now and then. She giggles, and she does her best princess flounce to the door. It'd probably work better if she had on skirts, but by Satan does she hate that sort of shit. Her wedding dress is the only dress she's ever been comfortable wearing--she's got no fucking idea why Blitzø loves 'em so much. But she can play it up as a silly thing, and it makes Stolas hoot a little, which seems to be his kinda equivalent of laughing, so that feels pretty good.

Out on the streets, Stolas gravitates closer to her as they walk. He has his shoulders hunched and his arms tucked in close. She's watched him do this before, wrapping his arms around himself like he could make himself smaller--which is pretty hard to do, on account of him being so damn tall. It makes her heart ache a little to see it, because all his prince bullshit had been annoying, sure, but she hates seeing him cringing like a kicked hound.

In the first month and a half, it'd been more defensive than anything, she's sure, because there hadn't been any shortage of folk who wanted to take their grievances out on the only available goetia. She'd seen the kind of shit (sometimes literal) that had been flung at him; it'd died down some when Blitzø started shooting the assholes instead of just yelling or making it a brawl, and it'd faded more when some scandal broke about some rising star Sinner gunning to become a new Overlord. At this point, she's pretty sure he only gets stuff thrown at him once, maybe twice a week.

She gives him a couple of minutes, as they wind their way down the block before she clears her throat and says, "So... you doin' okay, hon?"

He startles, like she'd said something far worse, and then he looks all remorseful. "Oh--ah, n-no, I'm not... why do you ask?"

Millie tilts her head and raises an eyebrow at him. To his credit, he doesn't pussyfoot around any more than that. Everyone else would--Blitzø and Loona with annoyance, Moxxie with guilt--but Stolas just sighs and runs a quick hand through those top feathers of his, the ones that act the most like hair on his fluffy body.

"It's... foolish," he says at last. His steps slow as he talks, and Millie slows down too. Wouldn't do either of them any good if they got to their destination before he spits everything out. "It's only that--well--Via--my daughter's birthday is soon."

Oh. Millie winces a little at that, because how can she not? Fuck, that's gotta be a nasty feeling, when you can't see your baby for her special day, and not 'cause of all the shit going on around you--or, okay, not all 'cause of that--but because your baby herself said I don't wanna see you anymore.

"Stolas..." She reaches up to put a hand on his elbow. He jumps like she'd shocked him instead, those big eyes swinging over to her. It'd always been eerie before he'd had those pupils full-time, with some part of her always wondering where he was looking, exactly... now she can see the full extent of the anxiety that's eating him up. "You'll get her back, hon. You can't beat yourself up 'cause of how things went."

"Can't I?" His voice gets all rough as he asks that, and Millie makes the executive decision to grab his arm, dragging him into an alley. There's a couple of petty crooks trying to make some kind of drug deal already there, but they take one look at Millie (and her knife), and they decide there's probably a better place to do business. Stolas, curse his heart, doesn't even seem to notice, still rambling. "It was entirely my choice to do the things I did. I abandoned her, Millie. I left her behind in a life that was suffocating me, but I at least always had her... now she's all alone, and her mother and her uncle are, well, you've sort of met her uncle, and I assure you, he's just as terrible in all other areas as he is in the courtroom--"

"Stolas," she says again, all firm-like. It's the way that makes Moxxie stop spiraling for at least a couple of seconds and pay attention, and it doesn't surprise her in the slightest when it works on Stolas, too. "Honey, you listen to me. Just 'cause you made decisions that your baby girl didn't agree with don't make them bad ones. Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"No!" He almost yells it, so fast and passionate that something in her relaxes. They'd probably need to have some real serious words if he tried to walk back saving Blitzø's life. "No, I don't--I know it was the right thing to do. I stand by it. What happened to Blitzø, and to all of you... that was blatantly unfair, and the worst part is, none of them even care, if they even realize." He curls in on himself, rubbing all restlessly at his arms, like he's cold. "I don't regret saving Blitzø. It's only... my own choices in the ways I raised her. The ways I failed her. She has every right to feel the way she does, and I should not be taking this so to heart."

"If you were a shit daddy, sure," she says, and he startles again, blinking those big eyes at her. She crosses her arms. "Making mistakes don't make you a shitty parent, Stolas. Hon. You know that, don't you?"

He swallows hard. His head dips, so he's staring at his feet. "If all you do is make mistakes, then..."

"Don't you remember what that baby girl of yours said, when we were facing that ice pop peacock down?" Millie stares at him, willing him to look at her, but he doesn't just yet. "She was real clear that he wasn't to lay a hand on you. She came looking for you at the office with those meds of yours." He winces again, like she'd hit him, and she's real sorry for that, but she isn't done. "If your baby really truly hated you, even with everything that's been done, she wouldn't've done that. She'd've just been like 'fuck you,' and left without saying shit. She wouldn't've protected you, hon."

"I--"

"I don't know shit about what things were like for you, when you were married and all," she says. "Blitzø hasn't spilled any beans, if you're worried about that. Much as that man acts like an idiot and an asshole, he'll keep secrets. But I don't gotta know to figure things out, honey. I got eyes."

"They're very nice eyes?" Stolas says, like he's hoping a compliment might distract her. She snorts, but it does make her smile.

"Kind of you to say, hon, but you'n I both know that ain't going anywhere, and also that ain't the point." This time, he does glance up at her, and she tries to make her smile as sincere as possible. "Stolas, honey, I helped raise all of my siblings 'cause I was the oldest. I sure as fuck made mistakes, plenty of times, but I'm still fucking proud of the people they've become. You think we didn't have our hard times?"

"I--no, of course not," he says. It's all wary, like he's expecting a trap in the words. "Blitzø speaks rather highly of your parents, and of your sister. But I... I fail to see how that is relevant to my own shortcomings."

"My sister, Sallie May," Millie says, "when she was fifteen, she and our daddy had a big old knock-down fight. Took 'em a whole year to even start patching it up again, because I love my daddy, but he's a stubborn cuss, and sometimes his fucking pride gets in the way. All of us're like that. I knew he regretted that fight the day after it happened, but he didn't wanna say anything because he'd made a mistake in getting mad, and he knew it. And before you say anything, I know it ain't the same. It's just..." And here she has to pause at last, making a few helpless gestures with both hands. "You ain't anything but yourself, Stolas. Same as all of us. It don't matter if you're a goetia or an imp or whatever, you're yourself. You're gonna make mistakes. And that's okay."

His brows draw together, all tight and knotty, and he frowns. His arms are still wrapped around himself, but he does uncurl a little, so she'll take that as moving in the right direction. "I..."

"Thing is, Sallie May also said some real awful shit to him, while they were fighting," she says. "Nothing to do with him getting mad that day, but just... things you just pick up, as a kid watching your parents. She had every right to be fucking mad at him. We all were, even Mama and the boys. But Sallie May did and said some things she needed to apologize for, too. That's just how it is, with families and people."

Stolas's beak moves. She thinks he might be repeating her words, just to himself. It's bizarre, looking at him--looking at Blitzø, and Moxxie, and even Loona--and realizing just how damn lucky she is, to have the family she does. Even with their flaws, they ain't ever been this sort of horrible to her.

She goes up onto her hooftips so she can squeeze his arm again. "Your baby girl still loves you, Stolas. I'm sure of it. She's just hurting right now, and when you're hurt, it's easier to be angry. It makes you feel like you're all strong, even when you're falling apart. You just gotta give her that time."

He blinks at her, his eyes all watery, and he takes a shaky breath. "You... you're right," he says at last, softly. "Blitzø has said very similar things. I don't even disagree, only..."

"Her birthday, right?" Millie says, equally soft. "How old?"

He closes his eyes and uncoils his arms, stretching them out. Millie might not know him real well just yet, but she recognizes the gesture for what it is, and she catches his hands in hers, squeezing.

"Eighteen," he whispers. "In the eyes of the courts, she'll be an adult. Everything that was taken from me should legally go to her."

Millie waits for a moment, then says, "But?"

"But?" He blinks.

"The way you said it, hon." She squeezes his hands again. "Made it sound like there was a 'but' hanging 'round in there."

"Oh. Well." He swallows hard and looks away, but he leaves his hands in hers. "While I would like very much to believe that neither her mother nor her uncle would cause any harm to her..."

His hands are shaking now, and Millie gives them another encouraging squeeze. She thinks about the fancy peacock who'd been strutting around the courtroom like he owned the damned place, and the way he'd planted a foot on Blitzø's face with the supreme confidence of an asshole who's never been told no. She doesn't know a damn thing about the ex-wife, except that she knows enough.

"Nothing is gonna happen to your baby," she says firmly. "Even if your ex tries to pull any sorta bullshit, you think Blitzø's gonna let that happen?"

He glances at her sideways and then looks away, still all hunched and awkward. "I wouldn't want to put him through any trouble," he murmurs. "Not after everything he's already done for me."

She stares at him for a few seconds, and then she realizes: well, shit, he means that. So she clears her throat pointedly so that he looks at her fully, his head tilted. It's a cute little bird thing he does on occasion. "You... know that Blitzø's gonna take care of you no matter what, right, hon?"

Stolas only blinks at her, then clears his throat himself. He doesn't uncoil, though, which she knows is a bad sign. Sure, she's only basing that on how similar it is to what Moxxie does, but it's still a familiar enough gesture. "I've told him he's not obligated, and I hope that he takes that to heart--"

"Hon," she says, all firm-like, the kinda no-nonsense tone she used to take with her brothers when they were snot-nosed kits. It makes him straighten up a little, which she doesn't entirely love, but at least she's gotten through. "He ain't doin' it out of obligation. Listen, I get you guys have some sorta star-crossed thing going on--"

"It was never anything like that," he mumbles, his face going a little pink.

"--but I've been that man's best friend for a solid five years now." She gives his hands a shake, which gets another surprised little bird noise outta him. "I'm tellin' you straight, that man's not gonna do a damn thing out of obligation. Never has, never will. If he does something for you for free, it's because he loves you." Her lips quirk into a smile, which Stolas returns in an awkward sorta way, like he's not sure what to do. "Even if he tries to pretend he don't, he's only gonna put himself out there for the people he loves. That means you're in."

Millie's not quite sure what she expected from saying that, but it's not the response she gets: Stolas just kinda collapses in on himself, his tall long body just sort of folding in like he just wants to--what's the opposite of explode? Implode, that's right. Her brow furrows. "Stolas?"

"It's very kind of you to say so," he says, and he's just staring at their feet now, looking green at the edges. "And I... I'm sure it won't come as any surprise to you when I say that I wish that were true."

"It is--"

"We're friends for real, now, I hope," he says softly. "But I'm... what I want is not... oh, that's so selfish of me, I shouldn't even be--I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to listen to my silly desires." He tugs at his hands, and she lets go of one so he can fish an honest to Satan handkerchief out of his pocket so he can dab at his eyes. His pretty eyeliner's running. Shit. Blitzø's definitely gonna notice. And it ain't her place to fix the things that're still so clearly broken between them, but it makes her heart ache to see him doing this. "Secrets are so burdensome."

She's quiet for a moment. She can feel her tail lashing, all nervous-like, a hellcat's tail tempting fate against the runners of a rocking chair. Does he know what that kinda thing means? If she had to guess, he probably does--he's been remarkably good at reading imp body language from nearly the beginning, once his head had started clearing up again.

And because she's pretty sure he's gonna get too into his head about it, she takes a deep breath and says, "I'll trade you."

"--Trade me?" He pauses at scrubbing at his face. His upper eyes slant together like his sad eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you a secret of my own, and we'll call it even," she says.

"Millie, I don't want you to feel like--"

"I'm pregnant," she says. "And I don't know if I wanna keep it."

He freezes completely, all four of his eyes going big and round. His beak even falls open, which she thought only happened in staged comedies, but he's looking at her like he's never seen an imp before. In her hands, his start to shake. "You're--what--"

"I'm pregnant," she repeats again, and has to swallow against the uneasy urge that curdles in her belly. Every time she says it, it feels more real, and she's still not sure she wants that to be true yet. "Found out on Sinsmas Day, actually."

"You're--but that's..." His frown deepens. He's probably doing the math in his head, because he's good at that kind of thing. "That was nearly three months ago at this point, and you're--"

"Not really showin', no," she says. "My mama was the same way. Surprised the tar outta my daddy when she announced she was havin' my youngest brother."

He opens his beak again, then catches himself and takes a deep breath. "Forgive me if I'm mistaken," he says, "since in my own case, Octavia's egg was laid a month after Stella was confirmed gravid, but--how long do you have to decide...?"

"Till the end of the fourth month," she says. Her voice wobbles as she says it, and she takes a breath. "And 'fore you ask, Moxxie knows. Took me too long to tell him, but he does."

"I see." His voice is all soft. It's funny, because most of what she knew about him when he was a prince was that he was loud--flamboyant, dramatic, saying things with his whole fluffy chest; this gentler side of him is a surprise. It ain't unwelcome, though. "The important thing is that you did tell him."

She curls her free arm around her middle, her hand on her belly. "Yeah," she says, equally soft. "He's gonna support me no matter what I choose, but he says it's my body, so I gotta decide if I wanna go through the whole thing. And I dunno what to do. So." She takes a breath, looking up at him expectantly. "That's my secret. Your turn."

Stolas takes a deep breath, enough to make his whole body rise and fall, and he says, still barely more than a whisper, "I used to think I was in love with Blitzø, and I convinced myself that he felt the same, even if he wasn't demonstrative. And now I know that I am in love with him, but where does that leave us? I don't want him to only love me as--as a friend. A family member. But I'm already dependent on him for everything I currently have. What could I even give him, that he doesn't already have from you? From Loona and Moxxie?"

For a moment Millie just studies him. Truth is, she'd seen him a couple of times years before she'd ever left the farm--she remembers being in the crowd with her family during the Harvest Moon Festival, watching a gangly prince curse the harvest and standing all ethereal and distant under the light of that full moon. He'd been the kinda thing that folks told stories about, all untouchable and powerful: an honest to Lucifer prince of the Ars Goetia come down from the Pride Ring to their little town. He'd had the kinda money that imps could only dream about, power, prestige, all of those things that're supposed to mean you're at the top, you've got every fucking thing...

...and the only thing Millie has ever seen him truly miss is his baby girl.

He's done and said some ass-backward shit in the months since he joined I.M.P., but in her estimation, it ain't that much worse than the stuff Moxxie still says, and he's been outta his daddy's house for a lot longer.

"You can give him you, hon," she says at last. It ain't her farm, ain't her horses, but she can't exactly just stand by and let him crash. Especially not since she's seen Blitzø crashing out for want of a bird in his life. And frankly, things have been going real damn smooth since Stolas got up to speed with his office management job. "You just gotta trust him. And yourself. You think I wasn't scared as shit to tell Moxx about this? I was."

Stolas blinks. "Surely," he starts, then catches himself, smoothing his hand down his arm. She thinks if he weren't wearing long sleeves, he'd be pulling at those feathers of his. "No, what I meant is--I certainly don't know either of you all that well, though I would like very much to change that, but... I cannot imagine any scenario where Moxxie would be anything but supportive."

She laughs a little. It's all watery and shit, but Stolas only reaches into his pocket and produces another clean handkerchief, which she gives to her. She scrubs at her own eyes for a second, then says, "We worked fucking hard for where we are, Stolas, honey. That don't mean we're perfect. There's shit that Moxx's been through that'd turn anyone off of being a daddy. But it worked out."

"Because you talked," he murmurs.

"Because we talked," she agrees. In her pocket, her phone buzzes, and she finally lets go of his other hand to check it. Like she suspected, there's a handful of missed messages from Blitzø, each increasingly more worried, and a final one from Moxxie: Better be ready, he's coming to find you.

She turns her phone to show Stolas, who blinks rapidly a few times. His feathers poof up a little when he does, which she's gonna take as a good sign.

"He's coming?" he asks, and his hands flutter around, smoothing those fancy head feathers of his. "Oh dear, we haven't even made it to the coffee shop yet, he's going to know--"

"If he tries any funny shit, I'll kick his ass," she says warmly. When he gives her an alarmed look, she smacks his back--gently, because she's got no idea how delicate his bones are when he's got no magic to enforce 'em--and then steers him out of the alley. "You just leave him to me, honey, and you think about what I told you, about talking."

He makes a little noise in his throat. At first she thinks he's gonna argue with her. She's ready for it, because curse his heart, but him and Blitzø really are made for each other, with how fucking stubborn they are.

But what he says is, "If... if you would like someone to talk to, Millie, as... as someone who also was terribly unprepared and unwilling to be a parent all through his child's gestation period... I would be more than happy to listen."

She near trips over her own damn hooves at that. "You--what?"

"I don't regret my Octavia," he says, so firmly that there's no doubting him. "From the moment she hatched, I fell in love utterly and irreversibly. But that does not... it doesn't change the fact that I had no choice in the matter. I remember how I felt, in waiting."

Satan, if that ain't way above her paygrade. But she feels an odd sort of relief from the comment, and she gives him a friendly little hipcheck as they walk. He can't make the decision for her, but there's something to be said about not feeling quite so alone about it.

"I'll keep it in mind," she says. "...Thanks, Stolas."

He smiles at her, a sweet and shy little thing. He's not her type in the slightest, but looking at it, she can see why Blitzø fell so hard for him.

"No," he says. "Thank you, Millie."

On Friday, a card arrives that just fucking stinks of goetian magic and it sends everything to double superhell.

It's been a decent day, all things considered. He still hasn't gotten either Stolas or Millie to spill about what the fuck took them so long to grab lunch the other day--they can say it was nothing all they fucking want, Blitzø knows what it looks like when Stolas has cried enough to ruin his eyeliner--but it seems... positive? Maybe a little good? Because Stolas is still all quiet and sad like he has been for weeks, but he smiled at Blitzø when he'd caught up to them, and he'd even laughed a couple of times over dinner.

And after that--a shitty Friday is still a Friday. Three of the day's hits go so smoothly they're outright boring, and the fourth gets kinda dicey, but he's still happy for some kind of challenge. He gets his arm grazed by a lucky shot, which fucking stings, but also Stolas coos and fusses over him and bandages him up, so you know what? Net win.

But they step out of the elevator on their floor and it hits him right in the fucking sinuses. It's familiar but not--it's not a smell, exactly, but it's the closest word he can get to describing it. There's this whole pressure-tingling sensation in his sinuses, like getting a deep whiff of bleach and hot peppers at the same time.

Imps and hellhounds weren't designed to have their own inborn magic, but they were bred to work for goetia. They can sense that shit, even if they can't do a fucking thing about it. And there's probably stuff to unpack about how Stolas's magic never triggered this sort of budding migraine, even at the very beginning, but that's not something to worry about right now.

Blitzø stops one step out of the elevator, every spine on his body go up in alert. In a better world, he would've played it cool, but both Loona and Stolas know how to read his body language.

"Dad?" Loona's ears are up and alert. She can probably smell it too; her nose is fucking miles better than his. He glances at her briefly, and she's got her lips pulled back in the start of a snarl, scanning the hallway with narrow eyes. There's a split second where he's so damn proud of her, even if there's still a part of him that hates that she's doing field work now. She's always been a fucking strong fighter, but she's learned to work with people, not just charge in on instinct alone.

"Hold back a sec, Looney," he says. "Cover me."

Stolas makes a confused little chirping sound. "What?" he asks. "What is it?"

"Magic," Loona tells him, as Blitzø approaches their door. He draws his gun, though if whoever the fuck was by the apartment earlier is still hanging around, it's not gonna do fuckall... but if he can buy a few minutes for Loona to grab Stolas and run, that's all that matters.

"Magic?" Stolas's voice goes up, into that high upset tone. "What in Lucifer's Name--"

Blitzø mostly tunes them out as he slouches closer--and then pauses when he sees the card. It's lying on the floor in front of their door, which is frankly a fucking shitty place to leave anything in this building. The mail room gets broken into like once a month, but that's still safer than having shit delivered to your door. He's got an understanding with their neighbor across the hall, where neither of them steal each others' packages anymore, but he still gets the important stuff shipped to the office.

This, though? He's not surprised no one's touched it. In the dim light of the hallway it glows all icy blue-white, and he feels a growl building in his throat before he can stop himself. He's only "smelled" this shit twice before, but it's not exactly the sort of thing he's ever going to forget.

As he starts to reach for it with his tail, to maybe shove it under the ratty carpeting, a hand touches his shoulder. He jumps and spins to snarl, but it's Stolas. All the angry shit in his throat dies at the look on Stolas's face.

"Knowing him, it's likely set up to curse anyone who picks it up before I do," he says softly. And fuck, Blitzø hates a lot of things and people in his miserable life, but in this second, he's never hated anyone fucking more than that piece of shit that is Stolas's ex brother-in-law. It's just more shitty fucking posturing, and he knows it--a taunt that he knows where Stolas lives now, that he could just swing in whenever the fuck he felt like and leave shit behind that could hurt him or Loona.

And Blitzø is a sturdy bastard; he's tanked worse than anything that shitty peacock could throw at him--but he knows Stolas would never forgive himself.

So all he can do is stand there with his thumb up his ass (metaphorically, okay, let's make that clear) as Loona comes to stand beside him, and they watch Stolas pick up the card. Everything about it screams Fucking Expensive, even though it's just a little square of paper. Even without the glow of magic, the paper itself is all satiny, and there's an honest to fuck wax seal, which Stolas cracks with his talons. His expression is grim as fuck as he pulls out the card inside--also on fancy crisp paper--and opens to read it.

Then--fuck.

The feathers of Stolas's face are already white, and while he can blush through them, it turns out that feathers in general can hide a lot of fucking sins. So it's not like he goes visibly pale or anything, but he stiffens like he's been stabbed straight through the heart, his eyes go huge, and his pupils shrink to little vibrating pinpricks. His beak opens, but the only sound he makes is a horrible gasping wheeze.

Then he sways like he's gonna faint, and Loona lunges to grab him when his knees just give way. The card flutters from his hand, and Blitzø snatches it without second thought.

And then it's just, it's right fucking there, so he looks.

The peacock's writing is just as obnoxiously fancy and frilly as everything else about him. Honestly, he's fucking amazed Stolas was able to read this shit as fast as he did, because Blitzø has to squint at it for a few seconds before the swimming letters finally start making sense.

The Honored Marquis Andrealphus and the Princess Consort Stella hereby
UNINVITE
The FORMER Prince Stolas
In two weeks' time
To the eighteenth birthday party
And subsequent engagement party
Of the Princess Heir Octavia

He looks up. Loona's holding Stolas now, who's just hanging from her arms like a ragdoll, breathing in deep heaving breaths. She looks about two seconds away from panicking herself, because fuck it all, she is his daughter and she's half-allergic to feelings even at the best of times.

Wordlessly, he holds out the card. She takes it, and they do an awkward exchange juggle. It's been almost a year since he's had to carry Stolas, but his body still remembers how to handle those long lanky limbs. With a bit of adjustment, he gets Stolas's body tucked nice and snug against his, and waits for Loona to unlock the door so he can carry him inside. She follows at a slower pace, and he knows when she's actually read the card, because she sucks in a sharp breath.

"Well, fuck," she says.

Chapter Text

On Via's thirteenth birthday, her mum had tricked her into meeting a boy.

It sounds so sinister put that way. It's the way her dad would have phrased it, and thinking about her dad still hurts.

But she remembers it clearly, because they'd had a smaller party with just the three of them (and the servants to sing backup for the birthday song) in the morning, and then a far larger gathering in the afternoon and evening. Via remembers being stuffed into the new dress her mum had bought as a present, but instead of her tiara, her dad had given her a flower crown to wear. She'd recognized them as from his garden, and that had made the starchy tightness of the dress a little more bearable.

She remembers her mother sending her to fetch a drink, and being waylaid--fuck, that's a Dad word again--by a ram goetia. She still doesn't know how much older he was than her, but he'd been tall and broad-shouldered, and he'd been awfully handsy from the first word. She hadn't known him--everyone at the party were Mum's friends and contacts along with their families, and she'd barely been able to keep the adults straight--but he'd known her.

He hadn't even bothered to introduce himself, either. He'd simply leaned in, undeterred by how Via had cringed away from his hand on her back--her back! Not even her shoulder, but her back!--and the way he'd gotten progressively more annoyed as she'd tried to step around him. Even though they'd been in the middle of the ballroom, with everyone watching, he wouldn't stop.

In the end, her dad had come swooping in to save her. It had been the first time Via had ever seen that side of him: cold, unflinching, without any of those dorky little mannerisms that made him so embarrassing, sometimes. For just those few seconds, staring down the ram boy, he hadn't just been her goofy silly dad, he'd been Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia.

That hadn't even been the biggest surprise, though. The biggest shock had been later, after the party. Via had been creeping to the kitchen to see if any of her birthday cake was left, when she'd heard her parents having a terrific row: they usually had one every week, but that night, she'd been close enough to hear they were fighting about her.

She doesn't remember the exact words that they threw back and forth. Mum had screamed about how it was important for Via to start meeting potential suitors, that as an heir, she could not afford to be picky or delay. That had been normal enough; Mum had always been the loud one, for as long as Via could remember.

What had been weird was Dad's response.

Normally, as far back as Via can remember, he'd always been--passive. If Mum wanted something and he didn't immediately capitulate, all it took was a bit of shouting and he'd cave. He'd always bent, always moved with the storms of Mum's tantrums--and Via's, even though that's so embarrassing to admit--and in the end, he always gave way.

Not that night, though. As Via had stood there, out of sight and shaking at Mum's words and the implications--suitors, that ram had been on purpose, Mum had been trying to find her a husband--Dad had simply said: "No."

Which... Dad never said no. Sometimes he would try to coax you to change your mind, throwing all sorts of suggestions and ideas to try and distract you or convince you to agree with him, but he never, ever said no. Via knew that--knows that still--and so had Mum.

There'd been a beat of silent before Mum had gone utterly ballistic, screaming until her voice echoed. There'd been the sound of crashing and thuds, and Via had known she was throwing things. When she'd peeked around the corner, she'd seen her mother grabbing whatever she could, stalking around the room when she ran out of things in easy range. And she'd seen Dad, standing calmly in the center of the room, tall and unmoving--but somehow, in spite of everything Mum threw directly at him, not a single thing landed. They'd all gone wide, or fallen before they reached him, and when Mum had finally stopped, heaving and still furious, Dad had said again: "No, Stella."

She'd shrieked at him, and the memory of that feels forever burned in Via's mind; Dad would sometimes hoot or chirp or squeak when he was extra excited or pleased, but Mum always scolded Via when she caught her doing the same. It had to mean a lot, that Mum would make any sort of avian vocalization.

But she had, and then she'd sneered at Dad before she'd stormed out of the room. Via had only managed to duck out of the way just in time, and because she hadn't wanted Dad to know she'd caught them fighting either, she'd just tiptoed her way back to her room.

The next day, their obligatory family dinner had been stilted and quiet, with Mum clearly still fuming and Dad somehow still so completely, unshakably calm, and Via had just eaten as fast as possible before bolting from the table. Looking back, she doesn't know if that's when the awkwardness had begun, intensifying until she'd started bringing her music to dinner to deal, or if it had always been like that, and she'd only finally started to notice.

Ultimately, though, Mum had never tried to trick or directly introduce her to boys again...

...until now.

Not that Via would consider "showing her a photo and telling her 'this is your new fiancé, you'll meet him on your birthday, and by the way the second half of the day will be your engagement party, now smile and let's go get you some new dresses'" as introducing her. And in typical Mum fashion, she'd said it so fast and casual before sweeping out of the room that by the time Via's brain had caught up to what she'd been told, Mum was long gone.

Now she sits in her bedroom, staring at the whole rack of new dresses in front of her, and wonders what to even do. It's been a whole fucking week since the news dropped, and every avenue she's considered for a way out has been a dead end.

There's no one here to tell Mum no anymore. Her friends would never; even with Dad disgraced and banished, his bloodline has enough influence that people are still trying to suck up to her and to Via. Only Uncle Andrealphus seems willing to push back against her, but he's definitely still Mum's ally, not hers. When Via had been younger, he'd been an annoying but amicable escape from her parents' home--he'd never seemed quite sure what to do with her, but he'd never hounded her to stick to etiquette like Mum, and he'd never obnoxiously hovered the way Dad did. As she'd gotten older, she'd seen the way he sometimes came swinging in like--like a weapon, somehow, like he was another thing for Mum to throw at Dad.

And now that Dad's gone, beyond Mum's reach--now that Uncle Andrealphus lives here, in the palace, and only leaves for his estate every other weekend to tend to business there--everything's become weird. Weirder.

Via squeezes her star stuffie, folding herself nearly in half around the soft shape. She should get rid of this silly old thing. Mum would be so annoyed to find she still has it. Most of the things Dad had given her are packed away, stuffed into back closets and rooms--Uncle Andrealphus had made a casual comment about selling them as novelty items someday, which had made both of them cackle like they'd actually said something funny, and--

A pained noise slips out of her, then a miserable little series of chirps, and she sits bolt upright, slapping a hand over her beak and looking around. It's stupid, she knows it's stupid, because even Mum wouldn't spy on her in her own room--

(because her mum doesn't care, she's too busy spoiling herself with all the money that was Dad's, will be Via's, and is currently hers)

--and there's no one to catch her out for making those stupid, stupid sounds. They're the kind of sounds her dad would make, and Via's not her father's daughter, she's not, she's not--

She blinks and her vision goes blurry. Some little detached part of her thinks: Oh. I'm crying, and that just makes her cry harder.

Via wraps herself as best she can around her star stuffie, and maybe it's just her own delusions, but it still smells the tiniest bit like her dad's favorite cologne. And somehow that's even worse, because it's been so long since she's smelled it--on the last day she'd seen him, in the few seconds she'd been wrapped in his arms, he'd smelled like cheap soap and cigarette smoke. He'd smelled wrong, he'd looked wrong with the pupils in his eyes and the pale streak in his crest and his unfamiliar clothes, everything had been wrong, wrong wrong. With Uncle Andrealphus's ice everywhere, all the plants that Dad had grown to make that cologne are all dead, so there's nowhere for her to go to find any last trace of him--not that she wants that, fuck no, not after everything, and--

"Daddy," she sobs, and that's so embarrassing, it's downright humiliating; she is a princess of the goetia, even if she isn't one of the Ars Goetia like he is, and it is her duty to do what he couldn't, to take the role of reading the stars and deciphering their prophecies until the next Stolas is born. She is going to be an adult in two weeks. She has to get it together, and crying for a man who doesn't love her, who maybe never loved her because he'd been forced to have her--because who could love a child you didn't even choose to have--crying for him isn't going to do her any good.

But once the word is out, she can't stop it from coming again and again. It's like being a nestling again, crying in the darkness of her room, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, where are you? and he'd be there in a heartbeat, sweeping in and taking her into his arms, holding her like she'd actually been something precious to him--

Via isn't sure how long she cries, curled over herself and her star stuffie. It feels like she's trying to hold in her own guts with her bare hands, as if someone had taken a knife and sliced her down the front. Which is patently ridiculous, because both Mum and Uncle Andrealphus have insisted on a full delegation of bodyguards just for her, especially as her birthday approaches, and there's no one who could get close. And even if they did, her goetic heritage means she'd heal without any issue. She would be okay.

But it still feels like her heart and worse are pouring out of her, no matter how hard she tries to keep them in place.

Eventually, though, it passes. Like every storm, it fades. She's left exhausted, hunched forward, and she has just enough energy to tip herself over, so that she can lie curled on her side instead. Everything is still blurry and faded. The stuffie in her arms is soaked with her tears.

She should get up. She should be examining the dresses more closely, so she can make her final choice on what to wear. Knowing Mum, she'll have to pick two--one for her birthday, and one for her engagement. Mum has always been better at knowing and caring about fashion than either Via or Dad had ever been or cared to be; it would be gauche, to wear the same thing to two separate events... never mind that they'd be on the same day, back to back, in the same place.

And they're pretty enough, as far as dresses go, even if they're not anything Via would have ever chosen for herself. They're frilly, fluffy things, all of them white with different pastel color accents. In Mum's words: it's a shame you took so much after that father of yours... he's always been so boring to look at, darling. You'll have to work three times as hard to be presentable. You're my daughter, after all, so people have expectations of you. You'd better be ready to live up to those.

Then, like a traitor, there's Dad's voice--a memory of the last time he'd taken her to Stylish Occult, warmth in his voice to match the bemused smile on his face: I can't say I understand it, darling, but if it makes you happy, that's what matters to me.

Via groans, pressing the heel of one hand against her eyes and taking a deep, shaky breath. She wants to hold onto her anger more than anything--the resentment, the betrayal, because if she doesn't... if she lets those go and remembers her dad as the awkward, goofy, indulgent father he'd always been--and if she remembers the bottles and bottles of pills with his name, if she remembers seeing the way he'd smiled and kissed that red dickhead imp in a way he never, ever had with Mum, then--

Her phone buzzes. It startles her into movement. She doesn't have that many friends, and her mother has been strict in monitoring her general access to social media since Dad's trial. There should be no one who would text her about the news--she doesn't even know the name of her fiancé yet, never mind his phone number. So who...?

She gropes around in her sheets until she finds her phone, scrubbing at her eyes again before she peeks at the display. To her surprise, it's an unlisted number.

For a moment, she hesitates. Right back when Dad's banishment had been handed down, she had gotten a whole slew of spam texts and calls--she'd gotten pretty good about screening them. For all she knows, this could be another attempt to phish her.

But on a whim--or perhaps a hunch, the sort of strange internal nudge that Dad had always taught her to listen to, whether she obeyed it or not--she opens the message.

Hey. This is Loona. U ok?

Loona?

To her surprise, her stomach plummets. It takes her a moment to identify it as disappointment. Who had she expected? Her dad? How stupid--

Her phone buzzes with another message. Sorry if this is weird. Ur icepop uncle sent ur dad an uninvite and he's spiraling rn. I had to take my dad's phone so ur dad wouldn't steal it to message u

Something in her jolts. Via swallows and tries to press down that sudden, childish surge of--hope? Happiness? Whatever, it's not something she can afford to indulge right now. Instead, she rolls onto her back and slowly types back: I'm fine. I was expecting this.

Three dots appear at the bottom of the screen, vanish, then reappear. She waits, holding her breath.

Bullshit. Ur dad says u told him u didn't wanna get married ever.

Her breath hitches. Her throat aches. Her fingers shakes as she tries to type a response, but Loona is too fast for her.

Pretty sure he's ready 2 storm the palace 4 u. Don't play dumb princess. Ur gonna be an adult so think like one b4 our dads do something stupid

Our dads. Via thinks about her dad doing anything as bold as storming his old palace, which is utterly ridiculous... if not for the fact that he'd done it before. And if he does, his dickhead boyfriend is going to come with him. And neither of them are strong enough to stand up to Uncle Andrealphus on their own, let alone any of the other goetia that might be invited--and given Uncle Andrealphus's ambitions, her future husband is surely going to be the son of a Prince's bloodline at the very least. If there's actual members of the Ars Goetia at her party, then her dad will be as good as dead if he shows up.

She swallows. The temptation to just leave the message on read is powerful. She could just throw her phone across the room, shatter it, and let fate take its course. She could let her dad suffer the consequences of whatever mad plan he concocts, and take that asshole imp down with him. She could...

It's ok if ur not sure yet, Loona sends. But I think u already know. Don't u?

Via grinds her beak, then catches herself and stops. That's another bad habit that her dad frequented, and one that Mum has tried desperately to train out of her. How embarrassing.

But after a few minutes, she takes a breath and types back, slowly and carefully, I don't think I have a choice.

Bullshit, is the immediate response. Ur dad would probs take it straight to Lucifer himself 4 u and u know it

Does she? Does she know it, though? Via frowns at her phone screen. Her dad no longer has any obligation to her--he'd helped to take care of her until she was nearly eighteen, and then he'd been all too happy to throw himself down for an imp. And then to be living with him, even months after the trial--an imp he'd been carrying on an affair with for nearly an entire year, while still letting Via believe that there'd once been some semblance of a normal, happy family in her life--an imp who...

An imp who is Loona's dad.

Loona, who had been impossibly cool and collected that night in that stupid human city, who had smiled so gently when they'd talked about dads and their fuckups.

For the first time since the trial, she thinks: if her dad hadn't done anything at the time, then Loona's dad would be dead.

And it wouldn't be like how it is with Via and her dad now, where he's gone and she isn't going to see him again, but he's not... gone-gone. He's still out there in Hell, and even if Via has cut him out of her life, she at least knows he's there. There's always the chance that maybe through sheer circumstance and bad luck, they might run into each other in a crowded street or something.

If her dad hadn't stepped in, that imp would just be gone. And Loona would have been alone, without the dad she clearly loved, even if she had a weird way of showing it.

She doesn't like those thoughts. They feel heavy, awkward, uncomfortable with the weight of their implication--but they're here, and she can't just turn them off or away.

Mum doesn't care much for philosophy, so that had been one of the classes that she'd been more than happy to let Via play hooky for. But Dad had always enjoyed discussing her lessons with her, always pushing her to think about her opinions, to articulate her thoughts and not to simply parrot what her tutors had given her. ("You're an owl, my darling starfire; it does you no good to imitate other avians.") He'd always encouraged her to keep her mind open and flexible, because sometimes, circumstances changed, or there might be information she didn't know to begin with, so...

What if that had happened to Via? What if her dad had died instead, the way that had seemed so likely before Satan had dismissed the idea? What if her dad were just... gone?

Her vision blurs again, and she furiously dashes her hand across her eyes to wipe away the tears.

I don't want to get married, she texts Loona.

And again, almost immediately, there's a reply: Good 2 know. U want out?

She actually sits up a little, propped on her elbows, her eyes wide as she stares at her screen. What?

No details yet, Loona sends. U still like stylish occult?

It feels like such a non sequitor sort of question, but Via feels like she knows where it's going. After a few seconds to breathe, she responds, Yeah, but Mum doesn't like me going there when she knows I'm going out.

She doesn't have 2 know

I have bodyguards. They'll tell her.

Be creative, Loona says. It feels utterly merciless. Stylish occult, 2morrow. Noon

She wants to argue. She wants to point out how foolish it is--how utterly ridiculous. The bodyguards that Mom and Uncle Andrealphus have assigned to her are all stern and unyielding, hellhounds that have been specifically bred for their loyalty and their devotion. How on earth is she supposed to get past them? And on such short notice?

Via rolls over and buries her face in her still-damp star stuffie and yells, as loudly as she can. She's careful to keep it in the realm of her normal voice, no avian shrieking, but it's a near thing. She yells, and she yells, and she yells until her throat aches and the desire to cry has subsided somewhat, and then turns back to her phone.

I'll try.

All she gets is a thumbs up reaction. She stares at it, willing for more to come through--deep down, she knows what she wants is some other update about her dad. Is he really that upset? "Spiraling"? Why would he be doing that, when he'd already chosen to give her up? Does he really care, is he really worried? Is he taking care of himself? Is that shitty boyfriend (who is Loona's dad, she reminds herself, Loona's dad that she does love) taking care of him? Are they--

But she's pretty sure that she won't get a response if she asks. She'll have to content herself on that tiny crumb of information. It's okay. This is perfectly okay. She's okay.

There's a sudden sharp knocking at her door, and Via squawks in surprise, dropping her phone on her face. "Ow--what?"

"Octaviaaaaa," Mum says on the other side of the door, her voice drawled out in an annoyed whine. "Have you decided upon your dresses yet?"

Via's gaze flicks to the rack of dresses, and she just barely suppresses a shudder. "N--not yet, Mum. Sorry."

"Well hurry up," Mum says. It's easy to picture her, frowning, with her arms crossed. "We'll be picking the colors for the parties based on your dresses, so get on with it."

I don't like any of them, Mum. They look like dumb little pastries. I'll look worse than a cake if I wear any of them. They'd look fine on you, but like you said, I look more like Dad.

Dad would've let me pick my own dresses, instead of just having the tailor present me with ten that were made to someone else's expectations.

The thought is resentful, annoyed, and with it comes the spark of an idea. Via's eyes widen, and she sits up. Careful to keep her voice steady, she says, "Well... it's a big deal, Mum, like you said. I know that too. So I want to make the right choices."

There's a pause. Mum sounds at least a little mollified when she says, "That's right. I'm glad to hear you were at least paying a bit of attention. Not like that useless father of yours, always with his head in those stupid stars. He never gave me an ounce of help with any of my parties. I'm amazed we're not more social pariahs because of him."

Via curls her hands into fists, resting on her knees. She stares at them, watching them tremble, and she says, "I'll choose by tomorrow evening, Mum. I just want to give it a lot of good thought. Okay?"

"Tomorrow evening?" Mum sounds appalled again, but then there's a low murmur--it sounds like Uncle Andrealphus, and Via feels a cold chill at how close he always keeps--before Mum sighs, loud and annoyed. "Fine. Tomorrow evening. But you'd better have made your choice by then, or else I'm picking for you."

"Don't worry, Mum," Via says, looking at the star stuffie and the phone in her lap. The screen has gone dark, and when she presses her thumb to the power button, it pops up with her screen saver: a photo of the starry night sky, taken the first time her dad had taken her to the human world to observe the stars without the clouds of Hell obscuring everything. Neither of them are in the picture, but she can remember the proud smile on his face, the softness in his eyes as he'd looked up at those stars. "I promise I'll decide by then."

The Mall of Pride is, in a way, a hell within Hell.

For one thing, it's genuinely large--the size of a small town in and of itself, and that's not including the other smaller buildings that have grown up and been tacked on around it, like feeder parasites attaching themselves to a much larger predator. It sells pretty much anything you can think of: food, booze, clothes, weapons, jewelry, drugs, home furnishings, and more. Every major chain has an outlet in the Mall of Pride, though it's a crapshoot as to whether they'll be in the same spot as last week. Competition is incredibly fierce for the best locations.

There's three food courts: the fancy one, which is mostly for goetic customers and any celebrities, the mid-tier one that most of the patrons try to muscle their way into, and then the shitty one, which doubles as a place where a decent number of homeless Hellborn and Sinners both sleep. Theoretically there's mall security that sweeps them out every night, but honestly, as long as none of them try to wander into the fancy food court, no one gives a shit.

When Via arrives at the mall, she gets another text from Loona's number that directs her to that lowest food court--"they moved the fucking store again, so just meet us here."

She'd written the number down in a journal so she could remember it, but hadn't saved it, just in case. Neither Mum nor Uncle Andrealphus really try to snatch her phone now that Dad no longer tries to contact her, but she doesn't know how long that will last. Honestly, she's a little shocked she even managed to make it here in the first place; she did her best to dress as incognito as possible: a dark blue blazer and a black sweater over that, her crowned beanie turned inside-out so that the insignia wasn't as visible. She walks with her head down and her shoulders hunched, but then, so do a lot of the other demons that look around her age. With any luck, the fetch she'd left in her place to try on dresses will fool the guards who check in on her.

Still, her heart is pounding in her breast. It feels like she's walking around with a giant sign over her head: PRINCESS HERE, GAWK AT WILL. She keeps her phone clutched in one hand, and part of her expects it to start ringing any moment, with Mum shrieking on the other line for her to come home immediately.

But she makes it to the shitty food court without incident, and then she pauses to scan the area. Half of the tables are full, and the only place that has anything like a line is the WackDonalds. No one looks up as she steps in, but it still feels like there are dozens of eyes on her, unkind and judging, and any moment someone is going to recognize her and haul her home in front of her Mum and--

"Hey." There's a low familiar voice behind her; a moment later, a hand settles carefully on her shoulder. Even with the warning, Via lets out a high-pitched little squeak and jumps, spinning to face Loona. There's a little bit of a smile on Loona's face, the tiniest uptick at the corner of her mouth, and Via feels her face go hot in embarrassment. "Little jumpy, huh? Don't blame you."

"It's stupid," she mumbles, looking down at the phone in her hand. A part of her actually hopes it'll ring now, just so she has an excuse to not look Loona in the eye for longer. "Being here at all is stupid, I don't know why I--"

"Yeah, none of that shit." Loona's hand drops to her back, giving her a gentle push. She nearly trips over her own feet with that, but picks up the pace after a few seconds. A Sinner shouts something at them as they pass that she doesn't quite make out, his words all slurred together. Without skipping a beat, Loona flips him off, and quickly steers Via towards a cluster of tables close to the wall. A few are occupied, but everyone seated seems to be doing their very best to ignore everyone around them.

Via's not sure if she's relieved or disappointed that she doesn't see her dad or Loona's in the crowd. She sits at the empty table she was directed to, watching from under her feathers as Loona pulls out her own phone and texts something. Even though Via doesn't say anything, Loona glances at her and shrugs. "I'm letting Dad and Stolas know you're here."

The comment makes something in her belly twist. "Why would you--"

"Hey." Loona taps a claw against the sticky, stained tabletop. Her tone is firm and no-nonsense, and it has none of the sharp shrieky qualities of Mum's voice, but it still makes Via go quiet at once, looking at her with wide eyes. "Listen, I know there's a whole fucking lot of shit you and your dad need to work out. I'm not gonna say you should forgive him or anything like that. But," and she holds up a finger, which makes Via's beak click shut again, "I am gonna tell you that that fucking owl does love the shit out of you. He's been worried sick about you. We had to fucking tie him up just to keep him from sneaking out last night."

Via blanches at the idea. "I don't want to know--"

"Too bad," Loona says. Her tone is hard, but it still feels more... gentle, somehow, than any time her mum or uncle have refused her. "You don't have to forgive him, Octavia. I'm telling you this right now. But I'm also telling you that he does love you, and he wants to make sure this doesn't happen to you unless you want it. Do you?"

She opens her beak, hesitates, then closes it again. Her shoulders hunch up as she ducks her head, as she automatically tries to tuck herself up as small as possible. She can only meet Loona's gaze for a few seconds before she has to drop her eyes to the tabletop, staring at the unidentifiable stains like they might tell her something, the same way her dad's stars are supposed to.

Supposed to. She's tried--fuck, she's tried so hard, in the months since Dad's banishment--and she still can barely even read what the stars are saying on the surface level. Interpreting them feels close to impossible... but she's seen the prophecies that her dad had written out and translated, and he'd made it all seem so effortless. It's only natural that as merely a regular goetia, and not one of the Ars Goetia, she wouldn't have the same affinity for the stars as he does--did--but even so...

Ah, she's getting distracted. Via shakes her head to try and clear it, and takes a deep breath.

"...No," she says at last, her voice small. "I've never wanted to. Since I was thirteen, and Mum tried to--that's not important. I just. I've never been interested in--I don't want to get married. At all. Ever."

Loona makes an agreeable noise, and again, Via is struck by the difference between Loona's agreement and what she gets from her mum and uncle. Mum rarely approves of anything that Via suggests or asks for, but Uncle Andrealphus has a way of making you feel small and stupid for saying anything, even as he's agreeing. From Loona, it feels less like she's being humored as a spoiled child, and more just... heard.

The feeling is an odd one, but it gives Via the courage to keep talking. "When I turned thirteen, Dad gave me these... books. About puberty. And he was all, 'tell me if you have any other questions, I'll answer them,' things like that."

"Oh shit," Loona says, but she sounds amused. "I can't imagine him trying to give you the Talk."

A little twittering giggle bursts out of Via, which surprises her. "He didn't. I think he was ready to, if he had to, but... yeah. I just read the books he gave me."

"Fair enough," Loona says. "Better books than the way I learned. Anyway, keep going."

Via wants to ask, but she can't let herself lose her current momentum, either. She laces her fingers together, her phone clutched tightly between them. "The books were... helpful, I guess. But all of them were written like, you will be all hormonal and horny, you will start wanting... to... to fuck. You will feel this way, and if you don't, there's something wrong with you." From the corner of one eye, she sees Loona start to frown, and she hunches up smaller. "S-so, I... like a year later, I went to Dad, and I said--I told him that I thought maybe I was... sick. Or something. Because I'd been waiting and waiting to start feeling that way, and I just hadn't."

Loona doesn't say anything, but she tilts her head a little, silent invitation to continue. Via swallows.

"He said--he said there wasn't anything wrong with me," she whispers. It feels weirdly like a betrayal, to admit that there had been good things her dad had done. In the light of all the ways he'd lied to her, it feels somehow wrong to talk about a time where he was truthful. She starts to grind her beak, catches herself, and takes a deep breath. "And he said... he said as long as there were no prophecies to force the issue, I'd never have to, if I didn't want to. And then he did a whole star reading just to make sure."

"Damn," Loona says, and she does sound genuinely impressed. "I have no idea what that shit does or means, but it sounds cool."

"It can be." In spite of herself, she feels a tiny smile curling on her beak. "Dad took me with him to look, and we spent the whole day just... searching. And we didn't find anything at all about me."

At the time, she'd been conflicted. She'd been young enough that adventure stories still held a powerful appeal, and there'd been something genuinely disappointing about knowing she'd never be a hero, never called to some grander destiny with a blade and a band of trusted companions. On the other hand, she'd been so deeply relieved that there'd been nothing that proclaimed she'd have to do anything, either.

Thinking back on that day, she thinks that maybe her dad had felt the same. His smile had been wide and genuine, and looking at the memory through a more adult lens, she thinks he must have been relieved. A part of her wants to argue that it's because he was only happy he wouldn't need to stick around any longer than necessary, to guide whatever children she'd produce, but--

Via shakes her head. "Anyway, Dad said--since there were no prophecies declaring it, then I just didn't have to get married. Not unless I changed my mind someday."

"I'm a little surprised your mom went along with that," Loona says. "Since it took her all of three months to get this set up after Stolas got the boot."

"Mum's family is more... traditional." Via curls up a little further, adjusting her position so she can wrap her arms around herself instead. "And since I was the precautionary heir--" and fuck those words are still so bitter in her mouth, just like they had been the night Mum had flung them in her face, and she's not going to think about unpacking that fight just yet--"it's expected for me to... do something. To continue the line of 'Stolas.'"

One of Loona's eyebrows goes up. "I can hear the fucking airquotes."

"It's the way the bloodlines work, for the Ars Goetia," Octavia says. "It's all really complicated, but it comes down to the fact that when Dad dies... there still needs to be a 'Stolas' in the Ars Goetia. And if it's not someone who's directly descended from him, then that power could just... pop up somewhere. Anywhere. Which means that--"

"You're losing me," Loona says, waving a hand. "Okay, let's not worry about why. The important thing is, your mom's taking advantage of the fact that your dad got kicked out to try and force you into this."

"She isn't trying," Via mumbles. "She's succeeding."

"Yeah, fuck that." Loona leans across the table, and she waits until Via glances up to meet her eyes. Her expression is firm, steady, still somehow oddly kind. "Octavia, listen to me. If you don't want to get married, then you don't have to get married. You don't have to do any of that shit. Okay?"

Her fingers tighten on her elbows. "You don't understand," she says dully. "I don't have a choice. Not anymore than Dad did. I have to--"

"You just told me that there's no star bullshit that said that," Loona says. "So no. You don't have to. You do have a choice."

Her eyes begin to sting, her vision blurring. "I don't..."

"I get it," Loona says, a fraction more gently than before. "It's fucking scary. But it's your whole life, Via. You can't let your mom decide it for you. She's not living it. You are."

Via closes her eyes and takes another shaky breath. "I don't know how," she says finally. It feels shameful, a confession of weakness when she'd been so determined to be strong, to drag herself out of the morass that her father had left her abandoned in. She wanted--she still wants--to rise above the things that had fettered him, and here she is, caught in the same trap. "I just want... I want to go back to when things were simple. When it was easy."

"Sorry," Loona says, and weirdly enough, it sounds like she means it. "That's part of being an adult. It's shitty, but that's how it is. So instead of that, tell me what else you want. Or don't want."

In spite of her best efforts, she can feel tears starting to leak from her closed eyes. "I don't want to get married," she says.

"Yeah."

"I don't want to be so angry all the time."

"Join the club."

"And I want--I want..." She takes a shaky breath, and finally uncurls one arm so she rub the heel of one hand against her eyes. "I want my dad back."

For a second, everything goes quiet around her. She wonders if maybe the entire fucking mall had gone silent with her confession, like those stupid romcoms that her dad had always liked--but then she realizes it's only because there's blood roaring in her ears and she's crying outright, so she can't really hear anything else. There's a numbing sort of pressure that's weighing down on her, like emotional pins and needles. It feels like speaking that confession aloud has cut something inside of her, and she doesn't know if she's bleeding out or been set free.

Loona, however, gets up and crosses around the table. She bends down and hugs Octavia, tight and close, and Octavia wavers for a second before she lurches up into that embrace, throwing her arms around Loona and sobbing. Twice in as many days, and this time in front of others--Mum would be horrified.

But Mum isn't here right now. Everyone else in fucking Hell might be, but Mum isn't.

As she cries, Loona says nothing, just holds her and lets her shake through the whole storm of emotion. Only when Via is finally cried out again, with barely more strength than a cooked noodle, does Loona say, "Do you want to see him?"

It feels like being prodded with electricity. Via stiffens, her talons curling against Loona's back. "I... what?"

"They're here, you know," Loona says. "I mean, not here-here, but they're in the Mall. Dad's got his phone with him. If I texted him, they'd be here in like a minute tops."

Via swallows. She thinks of her stupid wild fantasy, the idea that maybe just by sheer accident, she could run into Dad in the wild. In her dreams, though, she'd been much more prepared, with some sort of speech or cutting comment to show how well she's doing, and that's certainly not the case right now.

"I don't know," she mumbles. "I'm still so mad at him."

"That's okay too," Loona says. It's strange, how little judgment is in her voice. "You call the shots there, Octavia."

She hesitates. It's hard to gage how long, really, she turns the thought over in her mind. One text, and it would summon her dad and his shitty boyfriend--and she's missed him, in her heart of hearts she can admit she's missed him so fucking badly--but she'd still have to see him. And there are raw, torn-open parts inside of her that have only just begun to scab over. She doesn't know if she's ready for that.

"If... if I don't want to," she mumbles, "then what happens?"

"Then we get you something to eat, and we go try and find out where the fuck Stylish Occult's moved to this week," Loona says. "You and I can try and brainstorm some for what to do about this shit. And then you go home, and I go home, and me, Dad, and Stolas figure out a real plan."

Via grinds her back. This time, when she catches herself, it takes her longer to force herself to a stop. "And if I do...?"

"Then we still get you something to eat," Loona says. "And we can still try and find Stylish Occult if you want, but I suspect that the moment Stolas sees you he's going to start crying, and between you and me? Dad's shitty at dealing with your dad when he cries. He just loses his entire fucking mind trying to fix it, and he's got no idea how."

The thought gets a startled little hoot out of her. "Really? But--"

"And before you get the wrong idea," Loona says, "they're not actually together."

"What?" She jerks back to look up at Loona's face, her eyes wide, brows drawing together. "After everything--Dad literally was going to let them execute him, they're living together, what--"

"Okay, first, kinda weird that you knew he's living with us when you've cut him off," Loona says. There's a smirk on her face that's too knowing, and Via flushes and chirps sullenly. "Two, trust me, it's been a fucking pain in the ass, dealing with them. They're like, so fucking down bad for each other that it's gross, and they haven't gotten their shit together enough to actually do anything about it."

"But... why--"

"C'mon," Loona says. She's not gentle, but she's still oddly kind in her tone. "Think about it a little. Use that big brain your dad's so convinced you have. Your dad loves you, and he's been depressed as fuck since Sinsmas. My dad loves him. He's actually trying to do the right thing, which, props to him, but also fuck, I'm gonna be so glad when they fucking get over themselves."

It's strange, hearing that. Via ducks her head against the feeling. She'd been so convinced--it had been so easy to believe, with how dramatically her dad had flounced into the courtroom, how easily he'd taken responsibility for everything. And while she doesn't know all of the details of his affair--nor does she want to--she knows that what he'd said wasn't true. Bad enough that he'd lie to her; why in all of Hell would he lie to six of the Deadly Sins?

The only reason to do that would be love, right? Real love, genuine love, like he'd never had for Mum and he didn't have for--

But Loona looks at her steadily, with no hint of a lie or falsehood in her expression. As much as Via wants to distrust it--Loona is that asshole's daughter, with every reason to want to convince Via that he was a decent guy, that he deserved a chance, that he--

She clenches her beak so hard her jaw aches, then takes a deep breath. "Call them," she says.

Loona pauses and raises an eyebrow. "You... sure?"

Via lifts her chin, as defiant and regal as she can possibly manage. She thinks about how her dad had stared down her mum years ago; she thinks about how Mum sneers at anyone and everyone who irritates her--Via included. She hopes she's successfully channeling either or both right now, though she suspects she isn't.

Still. She does her best to try, and after a moment, Loona shrugs and fishes out her phone again. Her thumbs fly over the keyboard, and a beat later, she looks up. There's a sympathy in her eyes that Via isn't sure she entirely wants... but she's still grateful to see it, all the same.

"They're on their way," she says. "Ready?"

"Yeah," she lies.

There's a part of her that is tempted to fish her phone out, to watch it to see if it does take a minute--some small petty part of her that wants to find any sort of lie, even though she knows that's unfair--but she sits still and stiff, her head up and her hands folded in her lap.

She doesn't know if it was a minute or not--she'll never know exactly for sure--but it truly isn't long at all before she sees him. It's surprisingly easy to pick him out in a crowd. Even though there are some Sinners and hellhounds that are nearly as tall as he is, no one else Via has ever known has had that same odd blend of awkwardness and grace.

And also, no one else is being dragged bodily along by a tall imp, who apparently has no qualms in waving his gun to make the crowd clear away. Via would roll her eyes, but she's busy staring.

The man approaching is both as familiar to her as her own reflection and... different. Two months is barely the blink of an eye, especially to a goetia, but it's apparently enough time to be visible: his frame is more solid now, his feathers less sleek but fuller, the bags under his eyes deeper. His clothes are no longer impeccably tailored to his frame, either; the sweater he's wearing is outright baggy, slouching partly off one shoulder. Mum would have a fit over that, too, and Via nearly opens her mouth to say so before she remembers: they're divorced. They'd never loved each other. It doesn't matter if Mum would approve of his outfit or not.

His eyes are huge, staring at her without blinking--there's an expression on his face like if he looks away, even for a split second, he expects her to vanish. It's still weird to see him with pupils so similar to her own--as a child, she'd always instinctively known where he was looking, even when his eyes had been starbound, and now she realizes everyone else can know, too.

It's odd how that, of all the things different, makes her chest ache.

Dickhead Boyfriend stops about a foot away. He's holding Dad's hand, Via realizes, but Dad isn't returning the hold. There's a look in Dickhead Boyfriend's eyes that Via can't read, but his expression is actually pretty calm, and his tail is in a neutral curl behind his body.

"Soooooo," he says, and after a second, he turns to face Loona. Dad is still staring at her. "...Sup?"

Loona opens her mouth to say something, and Via clears her throat first. All eyes turn to her--everyone except Dad, who'd been staring already--and she tries not to fluff her feathers in anxious embarrassment. She isn't quite successful, but to her vague surprise, no one laughs. They only watch her, waiting.

This is stupid, she thinks. They're going to laugh. They'll reject your request. Why would they listen to you? You were the one who cut things off. You don't owe him, he doesn't owe you. He was so ready to toss you aside for that asshole, even if they're not together yet. I bet they are. Loona was probably lying to make you feel bad for him. Keep this professional, Via. A business proposition only.

Aloud, she says, "I want to hire you."

Dickhead Boyfriend's eyebrow goes up, and at the edge of her vision, she sees Loona's ears swivel forwards, suddenly alert. Dad makes a choked little warbling noise, but that seems to be the most he can manage. His beak moves, shaping her name, but his voice doesn't come out.

"Yeah?" says Dickhead Boyfriend. He puts his free hand on his hip. "Doing what?"

She swallows. She wishes she could turn to Loona for support, or to her dad--but they're all standing apart from her. No one is on her side, and that's fine. That's okay. She's okay.

"My mum--my mother and my uncle want me to get married," she says. "I don't want that. I've never..." Her voice hitches, and she swallows hard against the lump. "I've never wanted that. I want you to help me to get out of it."

Dickhead Boyfriend raises an eyebrow. His expression should be condescending; she can feel her feathers crawling with the anticipation of him snorting and laughing and dismissing her. Dad looks from her to his boyfriend, so clearly anxious that Via almost laughs. "You sure about that? You know what we actually do at I.M.P., right?"

She curls her beak. "Does it matter? You did that stupid bodyguard job for Dad when we went to Loo Loo Land."

"We got paid for that," Dickhead Boyfriend says. "And bodyguarding is only like one step away from assassination. Unless you want that cuntbag mom of yours whacked, I'm not sure how much we can do for you."

"Blitzø, please," Dad murmurs. He does, in fact, sound like he's on the verge of tears. "You can't--"

"What do you care?" Via snaps before she can stop herself. "It's not as if you ever cared about her. Don't start pretending like it matters now what happens to her. Or me. I bet you're happy that I'm stuck in this position, not you."

That's not what she wanted to say. In all the scenarios she's imagined, in every fantasy she's written and rewritten in her head, she's never thought of anything like that. The instant they're out of her mouth, there's a bitter sting in the back of her throat, like the worst sort of bile. She hadn't wanted to say that. Why had she said that?

And Dad looks at her again, his big eyes all sad and bright with tears. He looks like she just stabbed him. She feels like she just had. "Via..."

I'm sorry, she thinks wildly, but she can't make the words come out. She just meets her dad's eyes, panic thrumming in her chest. I didn't mean it, I'm sorry, I'm sorry--

"Ooooookay." Dickhead Boyfriend steps between them. "I think we're gonna call it here for the moment."

He's too short to really break their line of sight from each other, but the movement does distract them both into looking at him. Via is struck by the shift in his posture: he's gone from being casual and cautious to outright alert. Even though he looks relaxed at first glance, everything about him suddenly radiates protective warning.

At her. Because of her dad.

He's protecting her dad from her.

Via feels sick. She blinks, and her vision goes all blurry again, and Dad makes an outright distressed noise. She takes an abortive step towards him and freezes when he flinches. "I..."

"Looney, why don't you and Stols go see if there's anything worth eating in this shitty food court?" Dickhead Boyfriend says. He doesn't look away from Via as he does. "Get me something with fries. Fuck, if they've got the place with the fry sandwich, get me two."

"That place went out of business like a year ago," Loona says, but she does move--slowly, carefully--and she puts a hand on Dad's back. He jumps like she'd hit him instead, his gaze finally swinging over to her, all wide-eyed. Via watches with something like envy churning in her gut as Loona tells her dad, "C'mon, Stolas. Wanna go on a wild goose chase?"

He blinks at her, unfocused, but he doesn't resist as she pulls him away. "Goose? Isn't that terribly expensive?"

Fuck, he even sounds all wrong, like he's not even all there, and Via opens her beak before Loona just snorts. "Yeah, expensive as fuck. Let's go."

Dad doesn't argue, though he does turn his head to look back at Via as they go, still wide-eyed and bewildered and... hurt.

It's amazing, being confronted with the fact that she can hurt her father. Her stomach still churns with the thought.

Then it's just her and the Dickhead Boyfriend, who stands with his arms crossed, his expression still surprisingly neutral. It feels like a trick, though; Via's certain that if she tried to go after her dad and Loona, he'd stop her.

"Okay," he says. "Let's try this again. You wanna hire I.M.P.? You gotta be clear what you want from us, and you've gotta be ready to pay."

He sounds so reasonable, and she hates it. She wants him to be snide, to sneer at her, to give her a reason to hate him properly--but he's steady, still other than the occasional twist of his tail. Via curls both her hands into fists. She's never liked how easily her mum could lash out at the servants, but there's a part of her who wants that sort of catharsis. Maybe if she could throw a punch and have it land, she'd feel better.

Maybe, but probably not. She wraps her arms around herself, pressing her fists to her ribs. "I don't want anyone killed."

"Price goes up if that's the case," Dickhead Boyfriend says. "Sorry, but I'm not putting my team on the line kneecapped without proper compensation. Give me a little more to work with here, then we can negotiate."

Via takes a deep shaky breath. "I want you to... protect me," she says at last.

Something flashes in his eyes--something she can't read, but is still somehow oddly familiar. It reminds her of her dad for just a second. "Okay?"

"From--from this marriage," she says, forcing the rest out in a rushed tangle of words. "I don't want to, Dad promised me that there was nothing in the stars that said I'd need to, but Mum and Uncle Andrealphus aren't going to listen if I say no, and I think they timed this on purpose, but the invitations are already being sent out and I don't, I don't, I... I..."

She's crying again, and that's the worst possible thing. It's humiliating--at least with Loona, she knew that she'd be a sympathetic ear, but in front of him? This weird red dickhead that she barely knew, who her dad had been so willing to throw away his actual life for, never mind that Via still needed him--

A warm weight settles over her. She lets out a startled chirp, and realizes a beat later that Dickhead Boyfriend has moved closer; he's pulled out one of the rickety chairs, standing on it. His coat now lies draped over her shoulders.

Her first instinct is to yell at him, to rip the coat off and throw it back in his face, but all she does is clutch at it, staring at him while tears continue rolling down her cheeks. Even when she lifts a hand to swipe them away with her wrist, they keep coming.

There's an oddly gentle look on Dickhead Boyfriend's face as he meets her eyes. His mouth is quirked, not quite a smile, but suddenly more friendly.

It reminds her of the way her father used to smile at her, when she'd been a nestling.

"Okay," he says.

Via sniffles, loud and unbecoming of a princess. "Okay?"

"Okay," he says again. "Fuck if I know how we'll do it, but we'll do it. Trust me, okay?"

No, she wants to say. No, not after everything you did. It's all your fault, and you ruined everything, you changed my dad, you took him away, you can't fix it now.

But she knows better. He's the easiest target, but he isn't the right one. She takes a deep breath, wipes her eyes one last time, and holds out her hand. "Okay."

He looks at her hand for a moment, then at her face, and he takes her hand and shakes it, his grip firm and his expression still so weirdly gentle. She half-expects something to happen--an explosion, a gunfight, Mum and Uncle Andrealphus bursting out of nowhere to scream at her--but nothing does. It's just her, Dickhead Boyfriend, and a milling crowd that doesn't give a fuck about either of them.

Strangely enough, though, she feels less alone than she has in a long time.

Chapter Text

On the plus side: when Loona and Stolas come back, Stolas no longer looks quite on the verge of collapsing into dust. He's holding a small tray with some wrapped mystery burgers, and Loona's got a bigger one that is fully loaded with shit. Baby bird--Octavia, he's gotta call her by name--goes all tense at the sight of her dad, but at least she seems to have calmed down a little from her earlier hissy fit.

Not that Blitzø can completely blame her. She's a baby, shit is hard, and she's only just starting to learn that. It's kind of bizarre to be in the middle of that, because he's the fucking last guy who'd ever tell anyone that they can't hate the shit out of their dad... but in this case, the dad is Stolas.

And Stolas is...

Well, he's kind of shitty sometimes, Blitzø can't deny that. He gets all up in his head and forgets that people have their own fucking thoughts and feelings--and when he gets pulled out, he's so pathetically apologetic that it makes Blitzø's teeth itch. He's still a snob about a lot of shit he can't afford to be over, and fuck if that man can't read the fucking room sometimes. That's all shit that would drive anyone bugfuck crazy, never mind a moody spoiled teen princess.

But he's also so fucking gentle--he's hit or miss with a lot of I.M.P.'s usual clientele, but they sometimes get people who're weepy and traumatized on top of their desire for revenge, and Stolas is so fucking good with them, it's nuts--and he's learning. He doesn't make excuses for himself when he gets called out on shit, just apologizes and listens and actually adapts to that shit. Compared to the sad sack of feathers that Blitzø brought home that night months ago, he's practically an entire new fucking person.

And he's so lodged in Blitzø's chest that it feels like his heart beats in time to Stolas's breathing, but never fucking mind that.

Thing is, it's fucking weird to be in a place where he can sympathize both with the angry kid and the shitty (?) dad. But Blitzø's got big dumb gay feelings for that shitty dad, so even though it's hella embarrassing to be such a giant simp, that's not gonna stop him from hopping off his chair and scurrying over to take the tray from Stolas. It gets him a surprised chirp and even the barest ghost of a smile, which, you know what? He'll fucking take it. Stolas's smiles aren't as rare as they used to be, but especially right now, Blitzø isn't gonna be picky.

"I can carry it, Blitzø," he says all softly, but he just follows Blitzø back to the table, all hesitant, hovering like he doesn't know where to plunk his feathered ass. Loona, brilliant as always, solves the problem by sitting next to Octavia, which leaves only the other side of the table. Blitzø sits across from his daughter, so that leaves the birds facing each other.

Well, sort of. Neither Stolas nor Octavia look at each other, which: fucking awkward, but they'll deal.

"So," he says. "The princess here wants to hire I.M.P. to protect her from that shitty marriage her shitty mom is trying to set up for her. I said yes."

That makes Stolas's head come up. His feathers puff up--not in the sexy way (un-fucking-fortunately), but in the alarmed way. "Blitzø--"

"The way I see it, our easiest bet is to make it a three-pronged attack." He uses his tail to snag one of the sodas from Loona's tray. It tastes mostly like sour fizzy water, barely any syrup, but that's just what happens in this shittiest of food courts. "One, we look into the fucking legalities of it, 'cause probably those shitstains are trying to set this up while Octavia's still a minor and she's got all this fucking 'parental authority' bullshit." He crooks claws from both hands for the air quotes. Octavia is staring at him from under those fluffy feather bangs. He wonders, idly, if Stolas's feathers could ever grow that way, or if that's something the kid got from her cuntbag mom. "Since they're doing it on her eighteenth birthday, there's probably something in there we can work with. Two, we gotta distract Asshole One and Asshole Two from pulling any other shit, because three--" he transfers his cup to his hand so he can jab his tail in Octavia's direction, "--we're gonna kidnap you."

There's a few seconds of silence. That's okay, his brilliance sometimes takes a moment to sink in.

And then, fuck, everyone's talking at once:

"Are you crazy?!"

"You know that's a really shitty idea even for you, right?"

"That's entirely too dangerous, Blitzø, please be serious."

He takes a loud slurpy sip of his drink, waiting for the chatter to die down and rolls his eyes. "First, no, I'm not crazy, just crazy-smart." He flicks a bit of the straw wrapper at Octavia, whose scowl only deepens. "Second, Looney, I appreciate your love and support as always, but trust your old man, he's got this figured out. And Stols..."

Fuck, it's a little harder than expected (and not in the fun way, boo) to look into those big anxious eyes and keep his own confidence in place. He knows this is a good idea, and it's their best bet for what Stolas's little princess is asking for, but he knows that's harder to swallow when it's your kid on the line.

And he's asked Stolas to swallow a whole fucking lot over the past year-ish plus, but he knows this is probably the biggest thing of all.

"Stols, I got this," he says, more gently now. He's aware that the baby bird is staring daggers at him, but this is important. "Nothing's gonna happen to your kid, I promise."

Octavia draws in a quick breath, like she's gonna say fighting words--and again, Blitzø isn't ever gonna tell anyone they can't call out a shitty dad, though he's not thrilled about the specific shit she'd said earlier--and then there's a soft thud from Loona's side of the table, and the baby bird shuts her beak. She still looks all sullen and grumpy, more than a typical teenager, but at least she keeps quiet for now.

Stolas, on the other hand, looks at her anxiously for a second before he tears his eyes away. It's like he doesn't fucking think he even has the right to look at her, and Blitzø sees the hurt look on Octavia's face before she also turns her head away. Fuck, there is no fucking way that any pricetag he slaps on this job is gonna be enough, but...

...well, if they come out of this with Stolas and his daughter on better terms, that'd be plenty.

But they're so far from that right now it's not fucking worth worrying about. Stolas hunches his shoulders and wraps his arms around himself and says, softly, "It's an incredibly risky idea, Blitzø. Stella doesn't have much in the way of magic, herself, but Andrealphus is--well, you've seen--there's nothing I can do to help. I'm less than useless."

Sometimes, Blitzø wonders what Stolas's planned endgame was back on Sinsmas, when he'd fucking tried to storm his old palace by himself, without his magic and with no combat training. He's never had the guts to ask Stolas directly, but he's got some suspicions. And sometimes, Stolas says or does shit that makes him pretty fucking sure he's right, and he hates that.

He wonders if the baby bird will ever put it together herself how much her dad wanted (wants? Fuck, he hopes it's past-tense) to die. He's not gonna be the one who tells her, though. Instead, he reaches out and he grabs Stolas's hands, prying them off his elbows before he can start digging those sharp talons in, and he says, "Nah, Stols, you're gonna be real key to this plan."

He watches Stolas's frown go from pained to confused, which isn't much, but at least it's a step. "What do you mean?"

"You're gonna be the one doing the research, birdy," Blitzø says. "You're the one who loves words, and you can actually read that shit without your eyes melting out of your fucking skull. Moxxie'll help you, but I'll probably need to pull him for distraction duty. But you're the one who's gonna help us find any fucking legal loophole we can, so we pull this off right."

Stolas hesitates. He glances sidelong at Octavia again, and Blitzø wonders if he even remembers how obvious that is now--but then he watches Stolas make eye contact with Octavia and flinch away, so maybe he does. He drops his gaze to their hands instead, and every single fucking thing about him radiates so much tension that it makes Blitzø's neck ache in sympathy.

After a few seconds, he says, in such a fucking small defeated voice that Blitzø wants to hurl, "If... if Vi--her highness the princess is all right with my being involved, then... I will certainly do my best."

Because he's staring at their hands, Stolas misses the way the rest of the table reacts, but Blitzø sure as fuck doesn't. He feels an icy chill go down his spine, and he sees the way Loona's ears pin back, her lips curling in the beginning of a snarl. He's never fucking heard Stolas sound so small, even on Sinsmas and whispering about Octavia hating him. Even on the really bad nights, when Stolas woke him up with crying even while trying to be quiet, it'd never been this bad.

And really, the only thing that stops him from doing something he knows he will absolutely fucking regret later, is the fact that Octavia looks like someone took a knife to her guts and ripped her right the fuck open. She makes a little choked chirping sound, which makes Stolas flinch, which makes that stabbed look worse. There's the kind of silence that no one knows how to break, where even the noise of the rest of the food court around them blurs into the distance.

There are fucking layers to that comment, which Blitzø recognizes, even if he can't identify half of them. Stolas is more polite than Moxxie in the office (which is sometimes saying a lot, and sometimes saying a little, because Moxxie is a little bitch who can't stay fucking consistent), but that's on a whole fucking different level.

Then Octavia says, all pained and small, "Dad," and Stolas jolts like he's the one being stabbed now. He hunches himself up even smaller for a moment, like he's not the fucking tallest person at this table, but then he slowly turns his head to look at her. In a flash of understanding, Blitzø realizes he's trying to make himself lower than Octavia. He wonders if Stolas even realizes he's doing it.

The two birds stare at each other for a long time. Neither of them blink--Blitzø's not sure that Stolas is even breathing. He's just about to do something, probably stupid, just to try and break up the tension, when Stolas says, all small and hesitant, "Would... would it be all right if I assisted with this job?"

Octavia's face does a whole bunch of really fucking complicated things. Blitzø actually recognizes a lot of them, because they're the same sort of shit that he sees on Stolas's face kinda regularly. There's grief, and the shock of a gutpunch, and--under it all, small and confused--is hope. She straightens up, and fuck if she doesn't look so fucking much like her dad in that moment, all that fucking blueblood poise and arrogance with something fragile at the edges.

"I'd like that," she says. Neither she nor Stolas have blinked yet. It makes Blitzø's own eyes water to watch them. He's got his cup hovering next to his mouth, but he doesn't want to take a sip in case the noise breaks the weird spell the birds are under. He watches as Stolas's eyes go big and shiny with unshed tears, and sees the same look in Octavia's eyes. Fuck, if they both start crying, he's going to throw himself out the nearest window. "I'd like that a lot... Dad."

Stolas makes a little whimpering sound, and fuck it all, he blinks and then he's crying. Blitzø feels all his spines go up in alarm, but before he can say anything, Loona, the fucking best person in all of Hell, no exceptions, gets up.

"So all of this food is shit and I'm not eating it," she says, though there's a couple of empty wrappers on the tray by now. "Let's see if that secondhand VoxTek store is still where it used to be, so we can get Octavia her own burner phone."

He's on his feet in an instant, and he can't really hide the way his tail keeps moving like the fucking thing has a mind of its own, but whatever. Only Loona really knows what that means. Probably. He doesn't think Stolas has figured it out yet. "Great idea, Looney! C'mon, Princess, we should take care of that before you sneak back home."

Octavia blinks those big eyes. She'd puffed up when Loona had first stood up, and she's still looking on the hella fluffy side. "What?"

"A burner," Blitzø says. "It's not a good idea for you to be texting me or Looney with your regular phone, especially not if your mom or uncle can get their hands on it." He very nearly calls them both shitty again, because they fucking are, but he's gotten the feeling that Octavia's not really into that. That's fine. She's only just starting to figure that out. He can dial it back until it clicks in her head. "But we still have to have a way we can get in touch with you, especially for the kidnapping part."

"Yeah, about that," Octavia says slowly. "Just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Stolas makes one of his anxious bird noises, only he's still crying, so it sounds that much fucking more awful. Blitzø grits his teeth for a second against the instinctive desire to lash out, to do something about it, even if only to make it worse. He still does that sometimes, usually when Stolas is involved, though he's getting better. Slowly.

"I'm still working out the details," he says with a shrug, as casually as he can. "But like, they can't fucking marry you off to anyone if you're not there, right?"

Stolas and Octavia exchange a look. It's a testament to how fucking whipped Blitzø is, that even though they're clearly doubting his brilliant plan, he's hyped to see them do some father-daughter communication. He'll take that to his grave, though he kind of gets the feeling that Loona knows.

After a second, Stolas says, very slowly, "It isn't... necessary for her to be present, but it is considered... proper. Traditional. And knowing Stella and her family, they'll want it to have as much pomp and circumstance as possible. The higher-ranked the suitor, the more dramatic the ceremony is expected to be."

His voice is all soft and faraway, the way Blitzø hates, but it could be worse. And he sees the way Octavia gets all hunched up and nervous at the sound. Has she heard him sound like that before? He doesn't think Stolas would have let it happen on purpose, but also he doesn't think Stolas even realizes he does it.

And because the alternative is to just stand there with his thumb (metaphorically) up his little red hole, he just holds his hand out to Stolas instead. It works to distract him from wherever dark pit is pulling him in--it even gets Blitzø a startled chirp (cute) and the tiniest little smile before Stolas takes his hand.

Which, if he was still in denial of the fact that he'd dethroned Moxxie as King of the Simps, that stupid little flutter in his chest would fucking prove otherwise. Fuck, he realizes he's smiling back only after he's got Stolas on his feet, which is fucking embarrassing.

Whatever. Stolas is as close to relaxed as he's been since they'd gotten that shitty un-invite. He'll take it.

"So fuck that," he says, because he realizes it's been a little too long of them staring at each other, and Loona is giving them an exasperated look. Octavia looks confused, which, join the fucking club, kid. Blitzø also doesn't fucking know what's going on, but he's going to roll with it as hard as he can. "I'm gonna take a wild fucking guess that if you're not there, they're gonna stop the whole party just to look for you. Can't make it official if they're busy, right?"

"I... guess," Octavia says slowly. She also gets to her feet, and fuck if she doesn't look like some baby girl (but not babygirl because that's just weird) version of Stolas. She even wraps her long skinny arms around herself like she needs the comfort. And fuck if Blitzø doesn't want to offer that, because she's just a kid. She's a kid who wants to be pissed off at her dad, and deserves to be pissed at him for some things and not others, and clearly has no idea what to do with herself. "Mum and Uncle Andrealphus have been really going all-out for the preparations. They'd probably want me there for it."

"Right, see?" he says, as encouragingly as he can. "I'm a professional, I know what I'm doing."

Neither she nor Stolas look convinced, but that's fine. Most of his brilliant ideas take a little getting used to, and he is willing to give them the chance to sit and marinate with it first. For now, the important thing is getting that burner phone. He lets Loona lead the way, because she's the best at tracking shit down, even in the fucking labyrinth of the Mall, and Octavia drifts to walk closer to her than her dad, unfortunately--but she still keeps sneaking these little glances over her shoulder, like she's just making sure they're still there.

He knows Stolas realizes, because his owl puffs up a little every time, only relaxing in tiny bits at a time until he sees his kid peeking again. Blitzø doesn't say anything, because it's fucking awkward to watch, but that's still a whole helluva lot better than Sinsmas. He likes seeing that improvement, so he keeps watching it the whole way to that shitty secondhand store.

And if he also holds Stolas's hand the whole way there, and Stolas lets him... well, fuck you for judging.

To tell the honest truth, in all of Stolas's fantasies of how a potential reunion with Octavia might go, he'd never imagined being so exhausted by the end of it.

He has gotten better about being out and about, and better with interacting with people--both strangers and friends--but it drains him quite quickly. Blitzø always seems to thrive when he is in the midst of noise and crowds, and there's a special pleasure in watching him in his element--but Stolas has come to realize that this is one proclivity they don't share. A part of him is anxious at the idea, when there's already so little beyond tenuous obligation that ties them together, but another part of him is quietly pleased. He's spent so long being unsure of who he truly is, molding himself instead to his father's desires, and then Stella's... there's a sort of relief, knowing he is neither expected nor required to shape himself to Blitzø's whims.

Not that he wants you in that way, an insidious little voice whispers. You are nothing more than a broken little bird for him to dote over, to piece back together and set loose again.

No. No, no, he can't let himself think about that for too long. If he dwells, he'll only lose himself to maudlin thoughts again, and he cannot afford that distraction right now. Octavia is what is important.

Oh, Octavia. Oh his sweet, frightened girl. He's utterly furious, if also unsurprised, that Stella and Andrealphus would make such a move in his absence. She'd never made it a secret that she disapproved of his refusal to arrange a match for Octavia, and he wonders how long she'd been plotting this. Surely longer than he'd been having the affair with Blitzø, which in turn makes him suspect that--if not the affair, something would have been orchestrated, eventually, to remove him from his authority.

The rest of their excursion had gone well, objectively speaking. They'd procured a burner phone for Octavia with only minimum threats of violence from Blitzø, and they'd given her both Blitzø's number and Loona's. And when he'd admitted, embarrassed, he didn't have a phone of his own to share, that had resulted in Blitzø marching straight back into the shop to demand a second phone. It had resulted in some gunfire, but in the end, Stolas had a new phone of his own, and Octavia had not even protested at exchanging numbers. He had her usual number memorized, but even if they were not so estranged, he doubts Stella would allow them any free communication.

After all of that nonsense, Octavia had made her excuses--she'd left a fetch to try on dresses to distract her mother and uncle, and they'd certainly notice eventually that she was missing--and stepped away. She'd looked at Stolas long and hard, her jaw set; he could see so many thoughts swirling in those large expressive eyes of hers, and he could not read a single one. He wants to beg her to stay, to give him the chance to truly prove himself, but he knows this isn't the time. Octavia isn't ready... and to be honest, neither is he.

In the end, the important thing is that he has this point of contact now. And while he would have gladly given it up if it guaranteed that Octavia could live free of her mother and uncle's machinations, they do not have the luxury of choice.

But now they're back in Blitzø and Loona's apartment, and the light coming through the windows is dimming with the onset of evening. Loona has long since disappeared into her room, but Blitzø putters around in the kitchen, humming some charming off-tune melody as he rummages around. It's a little early for dinner, but Stolas hadn't been able to stomach anything with Octavia there, and Blitzø seems to consider it a personal mission to feed him as much as possible.

It's strange, how it feels both lonely and comforting, to sit here on this ragged couch with immediate, tangible evidence of others nearby. In the palace, he could walk for a solid twenty minutes and not encounter another living soul other than his plants; now, if he simply turns his head one way, he'll see Blitzø; if he turns it the other, he can more clearly hear the pounding, driving beat of Loona's music. Through the closed windows, the chaotic sounds of life in Imp City still filter through.

And he, Stolas, formerly of the Ars Goetia, is somehow a small part of that.

A mug thrusts its way into his line of vision, and he startles. It smells richly savory, strong enough that even his dulled nose can sense it. He chirps, startled, and looks up to meet Blitzø's wide eyes.

"Hey," he says, gently--he's so often gentle these days, and Stolas's poor heart is never quite sure how to take it. "It's still kinda early for food, but you gotta get something in you--uh."

There's an awkward pause as they both realize the innuendo in that comment. And while there is nothing more that Stolas wants than to seize upon it, to throw himself at Blitzø and offer himself for the taking... he knows better. The last thing he wants to do is ruin their tentatively growing friendship with his own selfish desires. He's spent so long making demands of Blitzø; he cannot allow himself to continue taking in that fashion.

After all this time, he has learned that Blitzø's generosity for his true friends is boundless. The last thing Stolas wants to do is take advantage of that.

To his relief, after a few seconds, Blitzø coughs and nudges the mug in his direction again. "Anyway. Uh. Soup. It doesn't have any bits in it, the way you like it."

There's a lovely blush on his face, and Stolas allows himself a couple of seconds to indulge in studying him--in his whole life, he's never known anyone as incredibly and effortlessly handsome as Blitzø. He smiles a little, letting the mug hide some of his foolishly lovesick expression as he murmurs a thank-you.

To his surprise, though, Blitzø doesn't immediately retreat. Instead, he stays just as close, his tail slowly swaying from side to side. He looks nervous, but not fully tense, which is a small relief--but he's also studying Stolas closely, which makes his heart skip a beat before stuttering into anxious overdrive.

"Soooo... are you, like, okay?" Blitzø asks at last. He doesn't quite look Stolas in the eye as he asks it, but he turns his head to look at him sidelong. "I know we kinda sprung it on you, but if we've only got two weeks, we've gotta hit the ground fucking running, you know? So--"

"Blitzø," he says softly. "It's all right. I understand--I agree. We cannot afford to waste any time."

Blitzø's mouth twists, like he's chewing on his next words. His spines half-lift, and he takes a breath, pauses, and looks Stolas straight in the eye. His voice is soft but intense as he says, "We'll keep her safe, Stols. I promise."

Oh, this ridiculous, wonderful man. Stolas loves him with an intensity that aches.

"I believe you," he says, because he cannot say the rest of what he wants to, and so he offers one truth in place of the other. "I'm just glad that she responded at all. I confess, when Loona said that she'd contacted her, I worried that she might ignore it--not that it is your fault, or hers, but--... I'm just relieved. I know you'll help her. There's no one I trust more than you and the rest of I.M.P. to take care of her."

Blitzø lets out an explosive sigh, looking away. He's wringing his hands a little, a nervous habit that Stolas has observed several times. "Yeah, well, no pressure, huh? Anyway, we're probably gonna need your help in planning out our actual movements, because I dunno about you, but I sure as fuck did not memorize shit about the way that fucking icebox of a castle is laid out--"

As he rambles, all nervous eager energy, Stolas watches him and feels his heart beat slow and aching in his throat. He shifts the mug to one hand only, so he can reach out to take Blitzø's hand--or at least, he starts to, on that instinctive desire to make contact, then catches himself. He'd promised himself, after that last full moon, that he would never force contact on Blitzø again.

But as he starts to pull back, Blitzø's hand snaps out, grabbing his, and Stolas squawks in surprise, but doesn't pull back. He does hesitate for a second before he curls his fingers loosely around Blitzø's, looking at him in bewildered surprise.

"Stolas," Blitzø says. He looks so pained, and Stolas feels sick over his part in it. "You know, I... fuck, I just wanna say that I... look, I know shit's been real fucking hard since the trial and shit, but you need to know--"

"It's fine," he blurts, because whatever Blitzø is going to say, he's not sure he's ready to hear. If it's something like after this, I think we have to call it quits, you'll need to get out, he's not sure he could survive that at this moment. Which is certainly dramatic, but he is quite tired, and it has been a terribly long day. "Blitzø, you don't have to say--"

"No, just, fuck, would you listen for a second?" Blitzø snarls, and Stolas immediately clicks his beak shut. They stare at each other for a few awkward moments before Blitzø clears his throat and goes on: "I should have said this shit before, but, you know, everything was all fucked up for a while, and I just..." He pauses again and takes a deep breath, and Stolas finds himself matching that, in a halfhearted attempt to try and calm his own anxiety. His mind is awhirl with mad speculation, trying to guess what Blitzø might say.

He does not, however, even remotely expect for Blitzø to say, "I'm just so fucking glad you're here, Stolas. You have no idea how fucking much."

There's a ringing in his ears. His vision goes blurry, and he has to take a quick gasping gulp for air. He must make some sort of noise, because Blitzø's fingers tighten around his, and all he can see are wide gold eyes staring into his own.

"Blitzø," he whispers.

"I fucking dream about it," Blitzø says, all in a rush now. He sounds somewhere between giddy and madness, and he's outright clutching at Stolas's hand now, so tightly it would hurt, if Stolas could feel pain right now. "Sometimes I'm standing outside of those fucking doors and I hear that ax come down and it just..."

He's crying, Stolas realizes distantly. Blitzø, who has always run so hot in the bedroom and so cold emotionally (unless it was the heat of anger firing him up), is crying telling him this. There is an epiphany in this realization, even though his mind shies away from the possibilities.

His beak moves in the shape of Blitzø's name, though no sound comes out.

"It fucking sucks," Blitzø says at last, his voice ragged and rough. "I just hear all those assholes laughing and they don't even let me see you, so all I can think is that this is the second time that I let someone that I--and I can't. I can't fucking let that happen, Stols. I'm not letting shit happen to you. I need you to fucking know that."

"Blitzø," he manages to whisper aloud this time. He blindly sets the mug aside--it's sheer luck that he doesn't simply knock the damn thing over--and reaches out with his free hand. This time, he doesn't hesitate, cupping that familiar beloved face. "It's okay. They're just dreams--nightmares. I'm right here, see? I'm here. With you."

Blitzø blinks at him, eyes wet, then reaches out. Before Stolas can quite parse what is happening, he finds himself dragged forward into a strong embrace. It's too tight, enough that he can feel his ribs creaking with the force of the embrace, but he cannot bring himself to resist or pull away. Instead, he curls his own arms around Blitzø's shaking form, pressing his face between those sleek horns. After that, it's the easiest thing to match his breathing to Blitzø's, slow and steady, trying to let calm seep into him.

They sit like that for a while--how long, precisely, Stolas could not say. His innate sense of time has been permanently altered by the loss of his powers; where once he could track to the second the movement of the stars and other countless celestial bodies, now he simply knows that they sit together for longer than a ten-count, a twenty-count, two quiet Hellbound bodies curled together in rest. It's perfectly chaste, completely innocent, and exponentially more intimate than anything Stolas can ever remember experiencing in his life. As much as he does miss sex, he cannot deny that this soothes something deep and lonely in him.

He thinks he could stay like that indefinitely, but finally he can feel the beginning of a leg cramp, and has to shift his weight just slightly. Blitzø makes a low noise of complaint and his tail curls loosely around Stolas's ankle, which feels like an odd sort of gift. It had not been so terribly long ago that Blitzø would actively recoil from his touch, restless in ways that Stolas had thought was embarrassment and learned was actual dislike.

The fact that Blitzø is acting like he's upset that Stolas is moving away is... something he's half-afraid to ponder too deeply. Everything about the moment seems to indicate that maybe, just maybe, his desperate desire to keep Blitzø close in his life isn't one-sided, but just the thought of pushing to find out is terrifying. He can still remember the ache as Blitzø had smiled and casually spun his confession into sex-oriented roleplay; even if intellectually he can acknowledge that he handled the moment poorly, the knowledge does nothing for his poor heart.

Just thinking about it kicks his pulse into overdrive. Of course there's always a shameful thrill any time he's close to Blitzø, even now--a starved part of him greedily reaching for every second of casual contact, but this is borderline excessive. He wants to stay here forever, and he wants to be anywhere else--to flee all the way to Sloth, perhaps, as far away from Blitzø as he can possibly get. He shifts his weight, and Blitzø's tail tightens around his ankle, a low growl rising up out of Blitzø's throat. It sounds like a warning, and he jolts in surprise--which makes Blitzø startle as well--and then they're both staring at each other, too-close and raw.

In this crossroads moment, Stolas sees himself fully reflected in Blitzø's eyes. And he is no longer a prophet in any capacity, but he can see so clearly the possibilities of what could happen.

If he keeps his beak shut, they would continue in this holding pattern forever, until eventually Blitzø finds someone he'll want in his life permanently, the true-love that he deserves and craves, for all that he teases Moxxie without mercy. All of that brilliant, boundless heart will be given away to someone else. And Stolas knows he will smile and congratulate his beloved before he quietly removes himself. He'd like to imagine he has at least redeemed himself to be a positive footnote in Blitzø's life, but that's not for him to judge.

And if he says something... if he seizes this moment and tries--oh, it could still end terribly for him. It seems just as likely that Blitzø has long since moved on from their potential, even if he hasn't found someone to truly care for. Stolas might very well be setting himself up for more heartbreak, at a time where he cannot afford to be more fractured than he already is. It would be far, far safer for him to remain silent, even as his heart withers to dust in his breast...

But no. He wants to be brave, in the way that Blitzø has always been brave, in the way Octavia was brave.

So he takes a deep breath and he says, soft as a breath, "Blitzø, I know I have been... difficult, to say the least, but I hope you know that I--I have never once stopped thinking highly of you. Throughout everything that has happened, in spite of it all, I--"

A long finger taps his beak gently, and he catches himself with a little hitch of breath. Blitzø stares at him, those lovely eyes breathtakingly intense. It's clear he's searching for something in Stolas's face, though Stolas cannot guess what.

And then he smiles, a crooked charming thing. "Small words, Stols," he says. "Like I'm fucking five or something."

He swallows a nervous little chirp. They don't have a system, precisely, but he has learned to be more careful with his word choices, and Blitzø has learned to speak up when he needs to. The problem is that speaking plainly is terrifying, when the only thing to say is--

"I love you."

In the super badass and not-at-all exaggerated movie they'll someday make of his life--hopefully with plenty of explosions and an emphasis on his best jokes--there's probably going to be a moment where it does the shitty stupid "you're probably wondering how I got here" thing, and that moment would be now.

It's like everything moves in slow motion. The words come out--they're there, they're real, there's no fucking taking them back--and he sees all four of Stolas's eyes go wide as he stops breathing. There's a ringing in Blitzø's ears that is drowns out anything either of them could say, and maybe that's for the best. He can practically feel the panic that's going through Stolas in this second, and if that stupid shitty bird tried to take it back, Blitzø thinks he'd just go fucking feral.

Because like--look, okay, he's frequently fucking shitty about his feelings. All the bullshit that hallucination Moxxie spouted, about "craving intimacy but being too much of a pussy to go for it"? Yeah, that's true. He's known that since before those asshole humans had tried drugging them.

He's known it since the night he set the fucking circus on fire, and he's been running from that shit ever since.

But just because he avoids that shit like the plague (especially the oozing boils one that came out of Envy last year, because daaaaamn) it doesn't mean he's not aware. Call him a fucking moron because he doesn't know shit about history or plants or the stars or anything, but you'd be dead wrong. You don't build a thriving assassination business in Hell by being an idiot, no matter what some of your employees might think (not naming any names, Moxxie).

He does know what he fucking wants, and he knows how fucking little he deserves it. The first and only time he'd tried for someone, he'd destroyed both of their lives for years.

That's not the sort of thing that deserves a second chance, so of course when he'd somehow still gotten one, he'd fucked that up--but he'd only ruined Stolas's life, not his own, and where was the fairness in that? That definitely didn't deserve a third chance.

Except here it is, being dumped in his lap. And he knows, he knows that if he fucks this up, this time is the last. There's no fourth chance. He'd never expected this third try, but it's here for him now, and and like fuck he's letting it go.

But whatever Stolas is seeing in Blitzø right now is clearly not the truth, because even though Blitzø hasn't said a fucking word, he looks like he's been stabbed straight through the heart. It's not really encouraging, that expression--frankly, it could make his dick shrivel and fall off with how horrified Stolas looks--but Blitzø's smarter than that. He's already had his panic attack over this shit. Twice, if you counted him losing his mind after getting thrown out of Satan's courtroom.

Stolas, on the other hand? He'd bet his entire first edition set of My Little Hellpony figurines that Stolas is having his panic attack right the fuck now.

And right on cue, Stolas clears his throat, still all wide-eyed and looking like one wrong breath might shatter him to pieces.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. He sounds so fucking defeated it makes Blitzø's spines itch. "I know it's not--I'm sure that's the last thing you'd ever want to hear from me, and I don't mean to--I hope you know I don't expect anything, I know I've been so selfish in the past, I..." And he finally looks away, bowing his head and hunching up his shoulders. His arms pull away from where they've been wrapped so nicely around Blitzø so he can hug himself instead. "...I'm sorry."

He looks so small. Stolas is a million miles of sexy legs and soft feathers, the prettiest damn demon Blitzø has ever known, and right now he looks like he wants to curl up and die. It's like the last bit of light in his life has been snuffed out, like he thinks Blitzø knowing his feelings is a fucking burden, rather than the sheer fucking relief it actually is.

And that just all leads him back to the thought of how Stolas had been willing to give his life up for an asshole he thought didn't give a single shit about him. There's something fucking sick about realizing that, and he can't let that fucking stand.

"Stolas," he says, and yeah maybe he cheats a little by putting a bit of the Daddy voice in, the one that always made Stolas sit up and listen. Who the fuck cares, if it works? And it does, because a little bit of clarity comes back to those big red eyes, and he no longer looks like he's on the edge of passing out. He's focused on Blitzø again. Good.

There's a metric fuckton of shit that Blitzø could say to him right now. Some of it is shitty, some of it is good, and all of it would be both absolutely true and a complete lie except for one thing.

Blitzø raises both hands--carefully, slowly, because who fucking knows if Stolas will break anyway--and cups that fluffy soft feathered face in his palms. He feels Stolas's breath hitch and then stop, those big eyes shining, and he hopes that's a good sign as he leans in close.

He takes a deep breath.

"You're my heart," he says, the same epiphany he'd had months ago, watching Stolas's back as he'd walked to what seemed like his certain doom. The rest takes a little more effort, but he works his jaw, and goes on: "Look, fuck, I can't... I can't just say that shit. So if that's what you're waiting for, you're gonna be waiting for a long fucking time. But I still..." He pauses for another quick breath, and hopes he's not gonna fucking work himself into a panic attack at this worst possible time. "I still fucking need you to be safe, okay? And happy. As happy as you fucking can be, but I swear, Stols, I'll do whatever I have to, no matter what, I'll do it. I'll make you happy, I'll--fuck." His fangs come down on his tongue and he tastes blood. "Stolas--"

Long elegant hands, cool to the touch, take hold of his face. They're mirroring each other now, two sad sacks from opposite ends of the system meeting in the middle on a battered old couch.

"Blitzø," Stolas says, still so fucking soft but not like before. There's life in his voice now, as quiet as it is, and that makes all the difference. "As long as you let me stay by your side, that's all I'd ever ask from you."

Blitzø makes a rough noise in his throat. It wants to be a growl, and he bites it back at the last second. "You can ask for more than that, Stols," he says. They're so close he can feel the rapid little bursts of Stolas's breath against his face, which is kind of weird but also kind of nice. "Just--it's okay, you know? Ask me for shit. I don't want you to fucking break your back trying to bend for me."

He doesn't really know where that comes from--it feels like the regular bullshit that his mouth spews when his brain disconnects--but it seems to hit a nerve, somehow. Stolas jolts like the times they fucked around with electricity, looking on the verge of tears again.

"I don't want to be too much," he says after a few long seconds. "I know I can be--I know I have been. What if I ask for too much?"

"Ask anyway," Blitzø says. "The worst I'll say is no, Stols, but you gotta. You gotta ask so I know."

Stolas makes a cute little chittering noise, like some kind of fucking dewy-eyed songbird. He looks down for a second, then takes a breath.

"I'm afraid I don't know how to do that just yet," he says. "So... if you would--please be patient with me. Let me have the chance to learn."

In the grand scheme of things, that's such a little request. It's so fucking small, compared to the shit that Blitzø is ready and willing to give him. If Stolas pointed at that shitty ex-wife and said take the bitch out, he'd be on that in a heartbeat. If he asked Blitzø to find some rare plant that maybe never actually existed, he'd go on the whole fucking long-ass quest to find it.

But maybe it's the fact that it's so small is also what makes it so big. What Stolas is asking for isn't his ex-wife's head on a plate (unfortunately), or some rare plant that grows on the fucking moon or something. He's asking for time and for patience--neither of which were things that Blitzø had ever believed he could give. But he's been learning he has more than he'd ever realized. It's not hard to read between the lines on why Stolas is asking, though if he goes too deep down that rabbit hole, the only way out is with some kind of fucking berserker rage.

Once upon a time, Stolas had commanded legions. He'd been powerful enough that he didn't even need his stupid book to rip portals between literal dimensions. He'd been a fucking Prince, untouchable and immortal and with the kind of money and power that Blitzø could only dream of... and he flinches any time someone slams a door. He cringes when M&M get too rowdy with their roughhousing. The one time Loona had dropped a plate when handing it off to him to dry, they'd both thought that Stolas was gonna keel over with a heart attack on the spot. It all says a whole fucking lot without all those words Stolas loves so fucking much.

Which makes it easy, somehow, to smile and tug gently at the fluffy white feathers of Stolas's face, and say, "Yeah. I can do that, Stols. Promise me you'll try, and I'll promise to give you whatever fucking chances you need."

That gets him a smile, all small and soft and fucking sweet. It'd give him cavities, but he'd eat it all up and beg for more.

"Thank you," Stolas says, like he's promised something actually difficult.  "I'll do my best."

Blitzø makes a noise of agreement, because he doesn't know what else to do, and then they're just staring at each other. It's so fucking sappy--definitely the scene in his biopic that would lead to some romantic fucking--and there is definitely a part of him that remembers it's been like a whole year since he's gotten his dick wet, but Blitzø is somehow happy to just sit there with no ulterior motives, and do the whole "gaze into those big red eyes with nowhere else to be" thing. He'd never fucking admit it, but there's something satisfying about just basking in his big gay feelings for the moment.

Except after a minute or so, Stolas's eyes drop down, and there's a cute blush starting to warm his feathers. He fidgets just like he used to on a full moon night, when he was all needy and hopeful, and as much as Blitzø would like to just swoop in and take what's clearly on offer, he forces himself to hold still. After the communication baby steps they've just done, it feels important to hold off.

And like a good boy, Stolas clears his throat and says, all small and shy, like he hasn't said the most fucking wildest shit before, "I don't suppose--if it's all right with you, could I please... have a kiss?"

Part of him wants to be mean about it. It'd be real fucking easy to tease Stolas, to drag the moment out into something fucky as a palate cleanser for all the feelings.

Instead, he adjusts his grip on Stolas's face, tilting it gently down. He watches Stolas's eyes go wide, then waits for them to flutter shut before he leans in to press his mouth to that pretty beak. It's their first kiss since Sinsmas, and maybe it's just the simp in him talking--but in some ways, it feels like a first kiss, period.

Once, during the stretch of lonely gray months after Verosika's party, he'd tried to pick up a romance novel that had bird demons on the cover, and frankly he had given up after half a chapter. He's watched more shitty romcoms than he'd like to admit, and the less said about the kind of shit his Voxify algorithm thought he wanted to listen to, the better. Anything, really, to try and figure out what the missing piece in himself was, the thing that Stolas had wanted enough to openly sob over not having.

As it turned out, they'd almost already been on the same page. They'd just needed a little more adjusting, and fuck if he wasn't ready to enjoy the fuck out of this.

He keeps the kiss light, as gentle as he knows how to be. Stolas trembles a little in his claws, but that's fine because he's shaking too. There's no point in trying to deny it. And as fucking stupid and sappy and whatever else it is, this is all Blitzø wants.

When he breaks the kiss and pulls back, he doesn't go far. It's a fucking thrill to watch the way Stolas's eyes slowly flutter open, heavy-lidded and soft as his feathers. There's a dreamy satisfaction that Blitzø has seen on him before--during the heyday of their arrangement, whenever he'd let himself be comfortable for a little. It had vanished after Ozzie's--not that they'd done any fucking after that.

He's missed that look. Fuck. He hadn't even realized how much he'd clocked it, but he's man enough to admit, seeing it now, he'd missed seeing Stolas so softly happy.

"I got you, Stols," he says. "Whatever the fuck we're doing next, I got you."

Somehow, Stolas's expression goes even softer, which should be fucking illegal. Who gave this asshole bird permission to look at Blitzø so--so--fuck, so lovingly? Of all the people at Verosika's party, only two had any real right to judge Blitzø for the shitty way he could treat someone stupid enough to want him, and Stolas is one of them.

And yet, here he is, smiling at Blitzø like he's fucking happy, and isn't that just a trip and a half?

"I have you, too, darling," he murmurs, and fuck, that's nice. Darling. He'd also missed being called that. "It may take me some time to catch up to where you are, but I will. As long as you want me, I'll follow you anywhere. You're my light, Blitzø, and I would sooner perish than live in the dark again."

He lets out a nervous little laugh. He should've guessed that Stolas's mouth would run as wild when it came to romantic shit as when it came to dirty talk. But one, it's kind of cute, and two--he'd kind of started it, hadn't he? With calling Stolas his heart. --Which is true, but also fucking embarrassing to think about, in retrospect, how easily he'd said it.

"Yeah, well," he says, "I'm not going anywhere. So you'd better be ready for that."

"More ready than I have been for anything in my life," Stolas says. He shifts his weight again, and Blitzø is ready to complain, but all Stolas actually does is adjust so that he's sitting across the couch, his back braced against one side and his talons on the other. His legs bend up in a way that makes a fucking snug little cradle that is just the right size for Blitzø to curl into.

So of course he does. He's a simp, not an idiot.

It gives him a good angle for him to put his head on that poof of chest feathers, and he can wrap his tail around one soft thigh. If he nuzzles in, he can get close enough to that (still too skinny) chest that he can hear the thrum of Stolas's heartbeat. It's fast but steady, more comforting than he would have imagined. It's like a fucking drug or something, like the best sleep aid shit that comes out of Sloth, only a billion times better.

"I got you, Stols," he says, and Stolas shakes under him in silent laughter.

"So you've said."

"Your kid too."

A thin hand settles on his back, just between the shoulderblades, a cool soothing presence. "Thank you."

"We'll get a bigger place." He's starting to mumble, his eyes drooping. He's gotta get dinner started soon, because Loona gets cranky as fuck when she's hungry and Stolas would just as soon live on air and sadness than actual food, so it's up to Blitzø to make sure everyone gets fed.

"I'd like that," Stolas murmurs. Birds can't purr, but the rumble of his voice is almost as good.

"With a bedroom for us."

"That sounds nice."

"That has soundproof walls."

Stolas giggles. "Oh?"

"Mmhmm." He stretches and gets another loop of his tail around Stolas's thigh. Hm. Bad. He needs to feed his bird more. "'Cause now that we've gotten this figured out, you bet your sweet ass I'm gonna fuck it again someday."

Stolas's breath hitches, so familiar that Blitzø can feel his dick perk up in interest. "...Oh?"

"Yeah." He tips his head back so he can look at Stolas again, grinning lazily. "If you don't want it, you'd better speak up."

"Oh, no," Stolas says, then puffs up, his face going pink. "That is, oh yes--I mean--I do recognize this isn't the most ideal circumstance at the moment, but--I would like that. Sometime. Hopefully soon."

"Sooner than later," Blitzø tells him, and tucks his head back into the same comfortable spot as before. He'll get up in a minute to get food started, and after they eat, they can do some brainstorming on the actual plan to keep Octavia safe from her shitty mom and uncle. Now that Stolas has his own phone and kind of, sort of, is talking to his daughter again, that'll be good for him--and if I.M.P. continues riding the wave of its current success like the sexy, sexy cowgirl it is, then maybe they can get that new apartment sooner than later...

Yeah. All of that sounds pretty fucking great, and Blitzø is going to make all of that happen. Who the fuck is gonna stop him? No one, that's who.

But first... first, he can just bask a little. It's been so long since he's been given such full and free access to all of Stolas's feathers, so no one can judge him for enjoying the moment.

Loona puts her ear to the door first, listening. When she hears nothing, she risks opening the door and peeking out.

The living room is dim, with only the light of the setting sun coming in. It only takes a second to find her dad and Stolas, because they're both snoring faintly, and it's the only real noise in the apartment.

Stolas has contorted himself in a way that looks like it can't be that comfortable, one long leg kicked up and thrown over the arm of the couch and the other hanging off the edge with his foot dangling in the air. And Blitzø is sprawled out on top of him, face buried in those, like, boob-feathers or whatever, and his tail wrapped multiple times around Stolas's hanging leg. It looks like that's the only thing that's keeping it aloft. What little of his expression that's visible looks fucking blissed out.

Loona considers her options. If she woke them now, her dad would be all groggy and nap-stupid, which means they stand a decent chance of a stove fire. Blitzø is a decent cook, but when he's distracted--which is really fucking often, let's be clear--he falls into traps like "more heat for a shorter time = food cooked faster than less heat for a longer time." That shit might not bother Stolas, because a bird's sense of smell is fucking nothing compared to a hellhound's, but Loona still has to live with that.

And besides, they are kind of, sort of, just a little bit--cute. Like that.

She knows for a fact that Stolas hasn't been sleeping pretty much at all since they got that icy shitbag's anti-invitation. That means Blitzø has also been stupidly restless too. The two of them are so fucking in sync these days that it's simultaneously gross and (though she'll never admit this under the pain of dealing with Vicki) inspiring. Even a guy like her dad, who's an asshole on purpose half the time and then one on accident like another 25% of the time, can find someone who'll stick through the shitty times with him.

It'd be nice if they could actually get their shit fully together so she's not stuck audiencing Hell's most awkward wannabe-romcom, but at least it looks like they've made some kind of progress tonight.

She doesn't pretend to understand shit about whatever the fuck is going on between them. As far as she'd been able to tell, the bird had lost interest in Blitzø, which had caused a pretty fucking awful spiral--the less said about the taxidermy owls the better--but at the end of it, Stolas had still come through when and where it mattered.

Whatever shitty things he'd done, he'd still saved her dad's life.

And even when that had cut him off from his fancy rich bird lifestyle and his kid, he hadn't taken his bullshit mastermind story back. He'd tried, he'd fucked up, and he'd failed with Octavia--but he'd been so fucking ready to just storm his old castle again just to save her this week. He's been clearly half out of his mind worrying about her, and it had made Loona's fangs ache watching him so awkward and unsure and still wanting to reach out to that sad, equally lonely kid of his.

His heart's in the right place, even if he fucks up along the way, and Loona has learned to appreciate that. And if tonight's the first night either of them has gotten any kind of sleep since that shitty uninvite, she's gonna let them rest.

So, BeeEats it is.

But she does snap a quick photo of the two of them, just for the record. She'd like to say it's for blackmail, but even when she turns the potential excuse over in her head, it falls flat. It's fucking embarrassing to admit, but it's just kind of... nice, seeing her dad at peace. It's been a long time, if she ever even has seen that at all. Loona's witnessed Blitzø a whole variety of ways, including a lot that she'd rather forget--so seeing that sappy soft look on his face right now feels like relief.

When those two idiots finally get their fucking acts together, she's pretty sure that Blitzø will like a copy, even if it's only to save somewhere on his phone. He's exactly the sort of nerd who'd curate his galleries. Given the current state of their walls and also his everything else, she wouldn't argue too much if it ends up on display somewhere. If nothing else, he probably won't scribble himself out of this one. She hopes.

For now, she closes her door again and texts her dad: I used ur card to order dinner. Ur welcome and opens the app.

Chapter Text

Something is going on with the girl.

It's been rather obvious, in the week since she'd learned about her upcoming engagement. At first she'd protested quite vigorously, and then she'd fell into a mopey silence, just like that ridiculous father of hers.

Now, though, there has been a shift in her attitude. As much as he'd like to imagine that it's because she's accepted her duty, he regretfully knows better.

Ultimately, there is very little of his sister in the girl, for all that Andrealphus has tried to be a good influence on her. Things had been easier when she'd been a nestling, and then in her earlier fledgling years, when she'd viewed him as a respite from both of her parents. He could nudge her, now and then, in a more appropriate and advantageous direction.

Unfortunately, as she'd reached her teen years, she'd also come into a rather unbecoming rebellious streak. Really, he has no idea where that came from! Stella has always been graceful at navigating how to get what she wants, whether by cajoling, money, or simple brute force--but she also always obeyed the expectations placed on her. And Stolas...

Well. He'd been a limp sort of fellow from the first moment they'd met, pathetic and entirely too soft. He'd flinched upon laying eyes on Stella for the first time, and at that moment, Andrealphus had known he was doomed. That was blood in the water, Stella seizing upon the power he'd unwittingly given her--it's no wonder, really, she'd resisted the divorce for so long. While she frequently tests his patience with her willful childishness and her deliberate ignorance, he's also rather proud of his sister for maintaining authority in her husband's house until such time it could become her house alone. For all that Stolas was the higher-ranked among them, an actual titled member of the Ars Goetia, he too had been beholden to Stella's will. And he'd obeyed as was expected of him.

On the other hand, he had also snapped quite spectacularly, hadn't he? Andrealphus had anticipated some sort of interference at that little imp's trial--it had only been a matter of when, not if Stolas found out and set up a fuss--but he hadn't expected just how wholeheartedly Stolas would throw himself into the fire for that dirty little secret of his. Claiming full responsibility, as if a mere Prince had ambitions against the Deadly Sins themselves? Boldfacedly lying to the whole court, all for the sake of a bit of gutter trash? No, Andrealphus hadn't anticipated that, but he's still quite pleased at the outcome. It helps to make Stella seem more sympathetic in the eyes of their peers as well: the poor thing! How long had she suffered in her house, trapped with a madman with delusions of grandeur? A Prince might sit above a Marquis, but nowhere near the level of the Sins. How shameful for him to think he could challenge Satan's laws! How brave and noble the Lady Stella was, to have lived all the years of her marriage with someone like that!

It truly was a shame that little Via was starting to show the same signs of rebellion. Stella hasn't noticed--that chit is far too preoccupied with tearing apart all the proposed decorations and screaming at florists to pay attention to how Via has gone from dead-eyed acceptance to guarded restlessness. If Andrealphus didn't know better, he'd theorize that Via had reached out to that worthless father of hers--even banished, even disgraced, Stolas's sentence is still a temporary one... and no one has actually amended the custody agreement. As much as he hates to admit it, there is nothing legally that would prevent Via from going to spend time with her father, if she so chose.

However, that relies on Via making that choice. He'd been furious and humiliated after Stolas and those filthy little imps he was now associating with had witnessed the family quarrel between Andrealphus and Via, but he'd also heard her decisively cut Stolas out of her life. He'd felt his ice respond to her power, closing off the front doors as she'd stormed inside, and he'd heard Stolas's weeping echoing off the walls.

And the one thing he knows she inherited from Stella--the key thing that tells him that she is his sister's daughter, for all that she has her father's feathers and tendency towards sullen silences--is her ability to hold a grudge.

So it can't be that she's decided to bend and reach out to her father... which means that the silly little thing is simply trying to plan her own rebellion. How adorable. In most other circumstances, Andrealphus would be content to let her dash herself to exhaustion against the walls of her cage and let her learn in a more gentle way how futile her attempts are.

But her future fiancé is the grandson of Duke Dantalion, and as such, the situation is far too delicate to let her go ruining things. It's a chance for their family to propel their standing even higher, so that when Stolas returns from his banishment, they'll have powerful allies against any potential retaliation. Andrealphus is willing to let her run amok for a little while longer--there's still over a week until the big day, after all--but soon, he'll need to bring her to heel.

It's just a matter of how.

Truly, it's actually a bit of a pity that Via has disowned her father. It would be rather satisfying to bring Stolas into the mix, to truly drive home how powerless he would be to "save" his little daughter from her place in society. He thinks he'd rather enjoy seeing the despair on Stolas's face up close; perhaps he'd be angry at first, the way he had been the day of his ill-advised attempt to storm the castle... but it would be delicious to watch that defiance crumble into defeat.

Really, the biggest shame of Stolas's marriage to Stella was that it meant Andrealphus couldn't play with him as much as he would've liked. Stolas had been so easy to toy with in their youth, all wide-eyed and desperately seeking solace wherever he could; it'd been such fun to offer a sympathetic ear to that lonely little prince, and then turn it around to taunt him in front of their peers later. Too bad that Stolas had eventually wised up to that--but alas, a man's games must, by necessity, be different from a boy's.

Still... knowing that foolish man, there's a high chance that Stolas will attempt something between now and the day of Via's birthday and engagement. The guards have doubled their shifts, and Via's wing of the palace is under specific close surveillance. Wards have been set into place so that even if Stolas finds someone sympathetic with enough magic to help him sneak in, he'll either be blocked or it will alert Andrealphus immediately.

Perhaps what he'll do is allow Stolas to reach Via before he steps in. He'll allow his pathetic former brother-in-law grovel and plead at his daughter's feet, as if his words mean anything to that girl anymore. It's likely that Via might even be swayed a little, judging from her obvious discontent over her upcoming engagement--in fact, it's likely that she'll actually consider it, for a moment.

And that is where Andrealphus will enter. He'll remind her of the many, many ways Stolas has failed her. He'll remind her that he's spent months living in degeneracy with imps, rather than fight for her. And he'll remind her that her marriage will give her authority that not even her father can supersede, once he returns to power; she'll never have to listen to his lies again.

Knowing Via, this will be where she leaves again, hurt and furious at herself for nearly falling for her father's soft words, and Andrealphus will have a moment with Stolas for himself. It'll be highly likely those pathetic little imps will be lurking nearby, but Andrealphus knows that Stolas would insist on trying to speak to Via alone--which means that if Andrealphus simply walls off the room with ice after Via leaves, there will be no way for them to break in.

He imagines the way Stolas's thin neck will feel under his boot. He thinks about how he could use his ice to pin that willowy little body down so that Stolas can only struggle in place. This time, he won't let himself be provoked to undignified rage; now that he knows Stolas is ready and willing to engage in base fisticuffs, he'll be ready. It will be easier to maintain his control when there is no escaping his superior capabilities.

Andrealphus pictures the way Stolas could and would break under his own powerlessness, and that sends a pleased warmth through him.

There are other scenarios to plan for, certainly; it would be foolish to think that there's only one way things could go. But he knows Stolas, for all that Stolas would surely insist otherwise. Some things will be inevitable, simply because of the kind of man that Stolas is: he'll try to come for Via, and he'll find some way to get her alone to try and talk to her, and it will destroy him anew when she rejects him again. The rest is merely details.

Although... an old memory resurfaces, from the early days of Stella's marriage: a tidbit that had been buried amongst the constant stream of complaints she'd had for her new husband. Something about one of the inane, idiotic things Stolas had said about the child he was meant to sire, as if there were any alternatives--ah.

Now there's a thought.

It would certainly be enough to let Stolas hang himself in Octavia's eyes, and he would surely do a spectacular job of that... but what if? What if. Imagine how much worse it would be, for Octavia to confront her gravid father, and how utterly hypocritical he would seem, begging for her understanding with the evidence of a child he had (apparently) chosen in his belly.

Oh, wouldn't that be delicious? To fully and properly humiliate Stolas for the disgrace he'd brought upon their family, and for his arrogance in daring to raise his hand against Andrealphus? That little plaything of his is an imp, after all; it shouldn't be difficult to nudge it into acting the way he wants.

He chuckles to himself as he holds out his glass, letting the butler refill his wine. Oh, it's going to be so much fun to ruin that pathetic owl! He simply cannot wait.

There's a definite shift the next day between Blitzø and Stolas. Millie sees it clear as anything, the second they open the van doors so she'n Moxxie can climb in.

Loona's on her phone, leaning against the far side wall. As usual, she doesn't acknowledge either of 'em beyond a flick of her ear, but Stolas, sitting shotgun, twists to smile at the both of them, all wide and bright. It's a little like his mope of the previous couple of weeks never existed at all. Or--maybe not that good, but at least there's a lighter look to him, and she's glad to see it even if she doesn't know why yet.

"Good morning, Millie, Moxxie," he says, all cheerful-like. "I hope that your weekend was restful."

"It was fine, thank you," Moxxie says, his stiff politeness turned up to the max, because curse his little heart, he's still sometimes more prickly than not when it comes to Stolas. As much as she wants them to get along, it's a slow sort of progress. Millie elbows his ribs, and he gives her a wounded look before he adds, a little less stiff, "We just had a quiet weekend in. Nothing big."

They had gone to the doctor, on account of her getting closer to her deadline, but given that Blitzø doesn't even twitch, she's pretty sure Stolas has kept his word and hasn't breathed a word of it to him. She's grateful.

"Wonderful," Stolas says, warmly, before his expression falls a little. "I'm afraid this week is going to be a bit busy--something has come up, you see, and--"

"We've got a job, gang, and it's a big one," Blitzø announces. He's driving, so he can only do the swagger with his words, but he also manages to avoid a head-on collision with a truck going the other way, so Millie'll call that good. "Probably gonna have to work it on credit, which means we're gonna have to bust our little red asses extra hard for our paychecks."

"Credit?" Moxxie sounds downright poleaxed. "We do that? Also: what the actual fuck, sir?"

"Opposite of that, Moxx!" Blitzø says, as he swings them into a narrow gap in traffic. Imp City's always a nightmare and a half during rush hour, but Blitzø's pretty good about his acrobatics with the van. It handles smoother'n their old one, at least. "We're making sure someone doesn't get fucked!"

Stolas covers his face with one hand for a moment. "Blitzø, please. Must you?"

"Oh, I must," Blitzø says, in that tone where he's mimicking Stolas's accent, which is the first real big sign of something shifted. He'd used that tone all of once after I.M.P. had gotten its new office manager, and Stolas had looked like he'd been knifed in the gut, hearing it. Millie doesn't even remember what Blitzø had said, only that he'd seen Stolas's face and gone all pale, and he'd never used that voice again.

Except he's using it now, and Stolas isn't upset or nothing about it. He just sighs, all aggravated-like, but also real fond.

"I'm afraid the circumstances are a bit unideal," he tells them. "My daughter--you see, her birthday is in two weeks' time." His gaze flicks to Millie for a moment, and she gives him the littlest of nods. He didn't spill her secret, and she didn't give away his neither. He answers her with an equally little smile, and goes on, "As it turns out, her mother and uncle intend on announcing her engagement on the same day. It appears they've been planning this for quite some time."

"An arranged marriage?" Moxxie asks. His face goes scrunchy in thought. "I thought those weren't really a thing anymore."

"Oh, no, no," Stolas says. It's a fake kinda cheer, the way you smile at the lady down the street who stole your fucking broccoli casserole recipe ten years ago and still acts like it was hers in the first place. Millie wraps her tail around Moxxie's ankle and gives it a little squeeze so he doesn't say too much. "You're right in some ways. Even among the goetia, it's rather fallen out of fashion... but there are always exceptions."

Exceptions, he says. It don't take a genius to figure out how he knows that. It explains how the gayest man Millie's ever known wound up with a wife and a kid, especially given how fast he'n Blitzø had gotten themselves so tangled up with each other.

"Okay," she says, a bit too loud, which makes both Moxxie and Stolas jump. She sees Blitzø glance at her in the rearview window, and she knows him well enough to read his gratitude in that look. "I'm guessin', by the way you're sayin' it, that your baby girl ain't gonna be thrilled about this."

"Not at all," Stolas says. He also sounds grateful, but also kinda pissed off. It ain't hard to guess why. "In fact, when she was thirteen, I swore to her that I would never allow her to be bartered like her only worth is in whatever marriage connection she might make. I find it rather disgusting that Stella and Andrealphus would use this time to pounce on that."

He doesn't have any of his powers right now, none of that scary strong shit that had turned him into a nightmare creature of red and black, but for a moment the atmosphere in the van feels downright suffocating, like his anger could let him tap back into all that magic that got stolen from him.

"She's hired us," Loona says, though her eyes are still glued to her phone. "To 'protect' her from the marriage. Trust me, she definitely doesn't want to go through with it. Dad's already agreed."

Moxxie looks like maybe he wants to say something to argue, but Millie squeezes his ankle again and he does the smart thing and shuts up.

"I'm in if B's in," she says. "But... what's that even gonna mean, protecting her from a marriage? It ain't like we can just go in guns blazin' or anything. We can't protect anyone from anything if we get ourselves killed."

"We're not gonna," Blitzø says, with that boundless confidence of his. Millie's half-convinced the man could simply will whatever shit he wants to become real in the world, and even though her head's still worrying a lil, her heart relaxes at hearing him say it. If Blitzø thinks they can do it, then somehow, by Satan, they'll pull it off. "I've been thinking about this shit all weekend, and I've got plans."

"Oh, crumbs," Moxxie mutters. "We're going to die."

"You won't," Stolas says. He doesn't got quite the same weight to his words that Blitzø does, but he's at least less anxious than Moxxie, which is a twist. Even though he almost never speaks up about it, Millie knows that the bird's got a whole list of things that set him off that's even longer than Moxxie's--it's a bit of a surprise, hearing him talk like that now, especially with his baby on the line. "I will not allow any harm to come to any of you."

"We're actually gonna try and do some of it legally," Loona says. She glances up for just a moment, then goes back to her phone. "The timing is shit, but we're not gonna just charge in like dumbasses."

That's good enough for Millie, though Moxxie still looks a little close to blocked up. "Legally? We've already seen just what the courts think about an imp's word versus a goetia, and His Highness's family is part of the Ars Goetia, we can't just--"

Blitzø growls. It's such an unexpected noise that the whole van goes quiet. Moxxie looks downright shocked, and even Millie's thrown. Blitzø gets angry easy as breathing sometimes, and Moxxie is usually his favorite target--but it's never aggressive. It can be biting and sometimes downright mean, but it's never been an outright threat like that. "Moxx, I'll give you five seconds to shut the fuck up, or I swear I'll--"

Stolas clears his throat. He looks kinda worn again, which is a shame, but he doesn't back down. And as Millie watches, he reaches over and he puts one of his long thin hands on Blitzø's knee, squeezing. It doesn't make Blitzø relax, but the low growling cuts off.

"There's some gray areas that we will need to research," Stolas says quietly. "The fact that they're announcing her engagement on the day of her birthday is certainly being done for dramatic effect, but it means that Octavia will be a legal adult at the time. She will be capable of refusing, but there will still a tremendous amount of pressure on her. It's entirely possible that Stella and Andrealphus have signed contracts already that will bind her to this course of action, if she tries. We need to look into it, and if possible, find a way to break those contracts if they exist."

There's an uncomfortable silence, before Moxxie finds his courage again. "Do you think they'll have gone that far...?"

Stolas snorts, his feathers ruffling just a tiny bit. "If it were just Stella? Not at all. She would have just whined and wheedled until she got her way. But with Andrealphus involved, it becomes a possibility."

"How big of a possibility we talkin' about, here?" Millie asks. "'Cause I ain't sayin' no, hon, but Moxxie is right. There's not a lot we can do if they're doing fancy court bullshit."

He gives her a thin little smile. "I'd say the chances are fifty-fifty. Andrealphus is certainly far more clever than Stella, but he is also quite arrogant. He likes to cover his bases, but he also tends to overestimate himself while underestimating others." On Blitzø's knee, his hand flexes, which is interesting. It don't look like he's trying to be suggestive or nothing--more like he's remembering something.

"If they have signed contracts, though..." Moxxie glances at Blitzø, cringing in his seat a little. "We're fucked in that case."

"Not entirely," Stolas says. "I have a few ideas I would like to look into. I'll need your help for that, Moxxie."

"Me?" He perks up a little. Millie puts a hand on his back, because sometimes when he looks like that he's fixing to throw up and sometimes he's about to get real excited real fast. "What good am I going to be?"

"It'll be research," Stolas says. He hesitates a moment, and then, more delicately, says, "I am looking for things that might exist at the edges of the law as a last resort. Loopholes, we might say, and how I may exploit them."

Moxxie goes pale, but he meets Stolas's eyes and he doesn't back down. Millie wonders if Blitzø spilled the beans somewhere about Moxxie's daddy and the piece of shit he'd been, or if Stolas had just known. It's not like an imp's criminal empire would normally have anything to do with a goetia, but it ain't unheard of for them to have... patrons. Shit, she doesn't know nothing about what Stolas's duties were when he'd been a real-deal prince; other than the Harvest Moon Festival, it's all a big blank.

It might start a fight, she knows. If not with Stolas and Moxxie, then Blitzø and Moxxie, because Blitzø still ain't growling, but he also still looks fit to stop the van and start a brawl. Fuck, they've been sitting at the same red light for the whole conversation so far; they'd probably still be stuck by the time she'n Loona pried the boys off each other.

But then Moxxie takes a breath and he nods once. "I don't know a lot about that, honestly," he says. "But I'm a little familiar. I can help."

Stolas smiles at him, looking all relieved and grateful. "Thank you."

Blitzø grumbles something. He's clearly still spoiling for a fight, so Millie keeps a close eye on him as he shifts in the driver's seat. To her surprise, his tail comes up and wraps itself a few times around Stolas's wrist. They've always been touchy since Blitzø first brought Stolas to the office, but it's mostly just been contact: a hand on Stolas's back, a nudge with a hip, never letting anyone other than Stolas sit shotgun anymore. Holding onto Stolas with his tail is a whole new thing.

"I'm still worried about that," Stolas says to him, because whatever it was Blitzø's mumbling, he clearly picked it up, even if Millie couldn't. "I don't like the idea of you skulking around the palace. Knowing Andrealphus, he's likely brought in his guard staff from his own estate."

"Guards, psh," Blitzø says, a little more clearly now. "Millie and I could run circles around any chump that ice bitch hired."

"They'll be armed."

"Yeah? My gun's're bigger."

"Blitzø," Stolas says, but even with the exasperation he's smiling the littlest bit. It feels more like bantering than a real argument, and Millie watches them with a raised eyebrow. She kinda wants to smile herself, but she knows Moxxie'll want to ask why, and she isn't sure yet if Blitzø knows how fucking obvious they are.

Good for you, birdy, she thinks at Stolas. Look at you, actually listening to my advice, and it paid off.

"Stolas," Blitzø says, with that mocking accent again, and then drops that as he goes on, "Anyway, we're gonna be doing this in teams. Mils, you, me, and Looney are gonna be keeping an eye on Stolas's kid to make sure her bitch mom and bitch uncle don't pull shit in the leadup to the big day. Moxxie is with Stols for the shitty boring part. We're gonna be pulling some overtime shit for a while, gang."

"Got it, sir," Moxxie says, like the good boy he is, and then, "We are getting paid for this, right?"

"Moxxie, we're fucking saving a kid, how fucking dare you ask us to put a price on--"

"She's already Voxmo'd me the first payment," Loona says. "She said she can't pay us the full amount until after she's eighteen and has access to the big bucks, but she sent some over." And now she looks up, fixing Stolas with a flat-eyed expression. "You fucking birds are real rich, huh?"

"Oh. Well." Stolas ruffles up some, all embarrassed-like. He tries to pull his hand away from Blitzø's knee and can't, on account of the tail around his wrist, so he just hunches up a little. "I... yes. We were. A great deal of it would be generational wealth--I certainly was never paid directly for performing my duties. It was simply expected I would, and the money was always just--already there."

He sounds all awkward and apologetic, and Millie kinda feels bad for him and kinda wants to toss him out the window. Fuck, it's wild how often rich folk didn't seem to get how fucking lucky they were to have that sorta cash.

Not that Stolas has any of that now.

"It's whatever," Loona says, rolling her eyes. "I'm not making it a commentary point or whatever, I'm just saying we could afford to close the office for like a fucking week with what she sent us, and she says it was just 'some of her allowance she saved up.'"

"Ah. Yes." Stolas hunches up further. "I did... spoil her quite a bit, with what I would give her when she asked. Her mother is--well, I suppose it didn't exactly matter, but--I did want Octavia to have some understanding of financial literacy, and so I always encouraged her to--"

"Do I look like I care?" Loona says. She's gruff about it, but maybe just a little soft, too. Then she turns to Moxxie and sneers, all teeth. "I'm just saying. We'll be fine, asshole, don't get your panties in a twist."

Moxxie scowls at her, starting a squabble that's so familiar that Millie half-expects to turn and see her brothers fighting. She leaves them to it, instead trying to catch Stolas's attention. He's making doe eyes at Blitzø, as soft as anything she's ever seen before, and it makes her smile again. When Stolas does glance her way, she smirks at him, giving him a thumbs up. He goes all pink, which is fucking adorable, but gives her a little nod in return.

The rest of the commute to the office passes quiet enough. Moxxie and Loona don't come to blows, but then Moxxie and Blitzø start arguing details. Same old same old. Millie deserves a fucking medal for keeping her cool the whole time, and through the first two hits of the day--little old routine things, knocking off some soccer mom rival, and then some wannabe painter. When they come back to the office for a touch-base and a restock, it turns out there's two hits scheduled for the same time, which is the perfect fucking opportunity. Millie calls dibs for working with Blitzø, which gets some raised eyebrows from everyone, but whatever Moxxie sees in her eyes seems to convince him to suck it up and go along with Loona for the other hit.

For her and Blitzø, their third target of the day is some cranky grandma, and there's no way that old lady's going anywhere fast. It's plenty of time for them to have a little chat.

She waits till the portal closes behind them, and then she hipchecks Blitzø with all her weight. He sputters like a hellcat that's just been doused with water, giving her a narrow-eyed look. Probably to some folks it'd be real intimidating; Millie just grins back at him with all her teeth until he grumbles and looks away.

"Soooooo," she says, grinning from ear to ear. "The bird's got you bad, huh?"

He shoots her a look that's trying real hard to be unimpressed, and then he snorts a little laugh. "Probably? Fuck, Mils. I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

"Seems to me like you figured out the hard part," Millie says.

"Yeah, well, nothing got hard last night, if you get my drift," he says, and he makes an exaggerated thrusting motion with his hips. Millie rolls her eyes and punches his shoulder.

"You know what I mean, mister. You gonna spill, or am I gonna have to grill your bird separate?"

"Hey! No one's grilling that bird's ass except me!"

Millie hums her agreement, then leans in real close, peering up at Blitzø. He gives her a long-suffering sorta look, the way her daddy sometimes looks at Moxxie. She doesn't mind. There hasn't been a day yet where Blitzø could outlast her.

And just as expected, he gives up like ten seconds later, sighing. "I... think it's good? Fuck. We talked, okay? About stuff. Us."

"Aaaaaand?"

"And that shit's fucking awful," he says. "How the fuck do you and Moxxie keep up with that shit? I didn't even get my dick wet after we did it."

"It fuckin' sucks," she says agreeably. "But I love that man, and I wanna keep him for the rest of our lives. The good parts make up for it."

For a moment he looks thoughtful. "The good parts, huh?"

"More than just the sex," she says. "But I think you know that."

"Tell that to my dick's five-star ratings," he says, easy as anything, then lets out an explosive breath. "...Fuck, I have no idea what I'm doing, Mils. Half the time, I think shit's going great, and we're getting somewhere, and then something happens and it's like we've taken fucking fifty steps back or something." He aims a kick at a rock that goes skittering an impressive distance. "I don't wanna fuck this up, Millie."

She doesn't coo over it, because he's a grown-ass man and he'd fight her for that shit, even if he is being fucking adorable. It's a huge change from the sad sack he'd been right after Halloween, and for the better. She's a little glad she didn't go through with the desire to hunt the prince down and put him through the wringer.

Instead, she bumps her shoulder against Blitzø's, a little more gently now. "You won't. Not permanently."

He gives her a narrow-eyed look, like he's fixing to be cross, but hasn't quite got himself to that level. "Wooooow. Thanks for the vote of confidence there, Millie."

"Oh, you know what I mean." She does laugh at the scowl he gives her for that, all bristle and bluster and no real anger behind it. "Thing is, Blitzø, you're gonna fuck it up, and that's okay. He is too. The whole thing 'bout a relationship ain't that you never do nothing wrong, ever... it's how you handle it when you do."

He doesn't say anything for a while as they trudge their way to the target's house. She apparently lives in some little cabin in the middle of nowhere--no idea why. Moxxie and Stolas are the ones who care about a client's sob story.

But as the dinky lil house comes into sight and they slow down to consider their best plan of attack, Blitzø gives her another sidelong look. "Hey, Mils?"

"Yeah, B?"

"You really think I can do this? Because I meant it when I said I really don't know what the fuck I'm doing, here."

She smiles at him, her heart just full of affection for this stupid man--and a little guilt too, gnawing down at the base of things. She's gotta tell him soon about the baby, because whether or not she keeps it, he should know--but not yet.

"I know you can do it, Blitzø," she says. "Now c'mon. Let's whack that old lady and go see what our men are up to, mmkay?"

Truthfully speaking, as much as Stolas does genuinely enjoy the mundane and often tedious intricacies of legal paperwork, it is significantly more difficult to work through when his daughter's freedom is on the line. He finds himself suddenly far more sympathetic to Lord Asmodeus's plight, the time his lover had been so unceremoniously kidnapped. At least Octavia's deadline isn't mere hours away--but he cannot say it gives him much comfort.

And the fact of the matter is that a great deal of more esoteric goetic law simply isn't digitized, nor is it readily available in the sorts of general libraries that Stolas now has access to. Instead, after hours of fruitless searching, he takes a breath and texts Octavia.

He might not be able to walk among the books he'd once so carefully curated, but he still remembers the layout of his library quite well. While he doubts that Andrealphus reads that much more than Stella, he does trust that that man at least recognizes there is value, both monetarily and magically, in Stolas's collection. It should still be intact.

The text is as polite and as careful as he can make it. His language is formal and humble, a supplicant asking for assistance. He names five books directly, and tells her that anything else relevant will be on the same shelf.

At the end, he hesitates, and with shaky fingers he adds, I hope that you are as well as you can be, under the circumstances. I am so very, very proud of you. I hope that if you trust nothing else, trust that you are far greater than what they make of you. You will be okay.

He sends the message before he can talk himself out of it, and then in order to distract from creeping anxiety, he throws himself utterly into the rest of the day's work. He is careful not to overload I.M.P. for the coming weeks, given their current other job, but he schedules a number of consultations, takes notes on every upcoming hit for the next month, and finally puts his phone under a stack of papers to keep himself from obsessively checking it.

When it's time to leave the office for the day, he very quietly asks Blitzø if he can help with dinner. He cannot bring himself to articulate the why, but he shows Blitzø his phone, the message chain, and that is thankfully enough. Blitzø skims the thread, sees how there is no reply, and simply talks loudly about meal ideas that Stolas is certain he's improvising. The gratitude he feels is enough to carry him the entire way back to the apartment, and the cooking lesson that follows helps to occupy him for longer.

Blitzø, clever and quick-thinking as always, immediately proposes a marathon of some cooking competition after the meal. He tells Stolas it's so he can learn what not to do, but once he has the show queued up, he crawls into Stolas's lap and settles there as a warm, grounding weight. He keeps up a whole quiet stream of commentary all the while, seemingly content to just chatter with no expectation of answer or engagement from Stolas in turn.

It's such a small thing, and yet it is more deeply comforting than he would have ever imagined. Stolas lets himself rest his cheek against the curve of Blitzø's horns, listening to that low steady voice comfortingly close. He has an opinion on every aspect of the show, from the contestants to the challenges to the food; Stolas, who has never watched something like this in his life, is more fascinated by Blitzø's reactions than anything happening onscreen.

To his vague surprise, he finds himself drifting by the sixth episode, when he'd expected to be restless for the whole night. It feels like one moment he's listening to Blitzø arguing with the judge on TV, and the next, he's blinking awake to the sound of Blitzø's alarm. Like the previous night, Blitzø lies curled up on his chest, snoring faintly. It's astonishing, truly, how much his heart aches at that small sign of trust. Truly, he has no idea what he did to deserve it, but he cannot be anything but deeply, earnestly grateful.

As he lifts a hand to search for Blitzø's phone--with or without it, Blitzø is surprisingly good at adhering to his morning schedule--his fingers brush something that is distinctly booklike. When he lifts his head, he sees two small, tidy stacks of books on the table. He doesn't need to see their titles to recognize them: the books he had requested from Octavia, along with several others from his old library. On top of one of the stacks is a small folded piece of paper, which he reaches to open with trembling fingers.

I tried to give you as many as I could without it being obvious. Uncle Andrealphus doesn't spend a lot of time in the library but he likes to do weekly inventories. Text me when you're done with them. Mum has been really getting on my case for etiquette lessons, so I can only do this at night when she thinks I'm sleeping.

I know I'll be okay. The next words are scratched out, so heavily that Stolas cannot begin to pick out what they might say, but the note ends with: You'd better take care of yourself too.

When Blitzø finally blinks awake about ten minutes later, bleary-eyed, the first thing he says is, "Stols? The fuck? You okay?"

And Stolas, teary-eyed, manages a smile that feels more steady than he has felt in months.

"Oh yes, darling," he says. "Everything's okay." At the narrow-eyed look Blitzø gives him, he holds out Octavia's note and waits for Blitzø to take it.

It takes more patience than he'd like to admit to wait until Blitzø finishes squinting through the lines--Octavia's handwriting tends towards delicate, far more crowded than Stolas's own--but eventually, Blitzø lowers the note and looks at him. There's a little smile on his face.

"Not bad, Stols," he says. "I bet you'll fucking knock it out of the park today."

He fluffs up a little, in spite of himself. His face feels hot, but in a good way--in a way that feels almost like pride. Like perhaps, somehow, he might have actually earned the right to have Blitzø look at him in such a way.

"I'll do my best," he says, with all the eager sincerity of a man with a purpose. There is something both thrilling and calming, to have both a goal and the appropriate concrete means to pursue it. With all the effort he'd put into I.M.P.'s scheduling the previous day, he's rather looking forward to a quiet day to dedicate to his research.

How was he supposed to know how wildly differently things would go?

The work day starts off simply enough. The commute is as calm as can be hoped for, in Imp City, with only one minor case of road rage that hadn't resulted in any injuries, let alone fatalities. At the office, he'd handed out the files for each of the day's hits, sorted in order of urgency (read: the amount of money the client was willing to pay), and then he'd waved them off for the morning before settling in for his research. And if it's so comfortably familiar that he gets a little teary-eyed, running a finger along the pages, at least no one is there to witness it.

For the first few hours, it's the closest to a familiar peace than Stolas has known for months. Goetic lore is simultaneously straightforward and convoluted, using fifty words when only five would do just as well, but he has made a years-long study of it. It doesn't hold his passion in quite the same way as the stars or plantlife, but it does hold a soft place in his heart.

Most of what he finds is as he expected: that it is less the day of Octavia's birthday that will matter in deciding her majority, and the more the specific time. And unfortunately, her hatching had been an involved affair; she'd fully broken out of her shell only half an hour before the turning of the day. In the eyes of the majority of Hellborn, that would be of little consequence, and Stolas had always been certain to celebrate the whole day--but in terms of the law, she would still be under parental authority until that precise minute.

And while he doesn't give much credence to Stella's general intelligence, he has no doubt that she is planning on using that little loophole to her advantage.

With that in mind, he can at least better determine potential courses of action. There is a brief twinge of regret when he realizes that it would be better to perform the kidnapping before even her birthday party--the moment she steps into that, he knows there will be no chance to whisk her away. Neither Stella nor Andrealphus will let her out of their sight--they surely know just as well as he does how crucial the timing will be.

If they were truly clever, he thinks, frowning down at the paper, they'd do the engagement first, and then the birthday party. There's a certain overconfident arrogance to the timing that speaks of Andrealphus's hand, and with luck, they can use that to their advantage.

He's in the process of laying out a rough sketch of the palace's layout when there's a knock at the door. That in and of itself is unusual, but not unprecedented; most of I.M.P.'s clients like to barge in without so much as a by-your-leave, but a few do have some manners. And there's always the possibility of Wackford making delivery rounds.

As he rises from his desk, though, an odd chill runs down his spine. He was never one for premonitions, even in full possession of his magic--he'd been an oracle, a prophet, but always under controlled conditions. He'd been trained to read signs and portents outside of himself and never through any direct connection he might have had with the greater universe.

And yet, right now, it feels almost as if there is a hand grasping the back of his shirt, pulling him back. He takes one step and pauses, tilting his head. Learning how to center and ground himself is a thing that his therapist (and curse that woman's soul for her patience, and for her willingness to cut him a discount so long as he pays her in cash directly) has been encouraging him to try doing. Mostly, it's been stressed to him as a technique to deal with his own anxieties, but right now--

Right now, everything in him is screaming warning. He wraps his arms around himself against a chill that seems to be welling up from the inner core of him, and wishes that anyone else were in the office with him right now. Blitzø usually goes on every hit, but Loona--or Millie, or even Moxxie...

The knocking comes again, no more insistent than the last time, but it sends another sharp curl of dread down his spine. What if it's a client? What if he's only being foolish, and thus loses I.M.P. business? The company is doing well enough, but it's been a rather humbling thing, to be in charge of its finances. He sees, now, the expenses that they go through, for supplies, for the rent of this place, and for the payment of the employees--including Stolas himself. And they cannot ride the wave of Blitzø's popularity forever; the nature of any business means there will be ebbs and flows, and if they lose money because of Stolas's own ridiculous fear...

He creeps to the door as quietly as he can. He sidesteps the one creaky floorboard and keeps his head lowered as much as possible, so that his silhouette wouldn't be visible through the frosted glass of the door. The closer he gets, the deeper that feeling of impending dread grows. Stolas presses himself to the wall and holds his breath, waiting and listening. A solid five minutes pass before he finally dares to lay a hand on the doorknob, turning it and peering out into the hallway.

Nothing.

The rush of relief that goes through him is embarrassing--but it still doesn't fully wipe away that sense of anticipatory dread, because a second later, he takes a breath and tastes the residual sting of magic in the air. Alarmed, he yanks away from the door, and only then sees the small box that is sitting just outside.

It's a small thing, utterly nondescript: made of pale gray cardboard, the upper flaps tucked into each other to hold it shut, with neither card nor obvious ornamentation. And yet, he can feel the magic in it, like an ache in his bones or the spark of static in his feathers. Like with Andrealphus's card, he can feel a subtle tugging now: a spell that is keyed for him and him alone, with the promise of injury or worse to anyone else who might touch it.

His mind races over the possibilities. Of course, the first people he thinks of are Stella and Andrealphus. Before all of the madness of his trial and banishment, he would have fully believed that neither of them would have cared enough to find out where Blitzø's office was; to them, an imp--no matter how successful--was simply below their notice.

That was before Andrealphus's petty little anti-invitation. If he could find out where Blitzø lived, then finding I.M.P. would be far easier by comparison.

Stolas wraps his arms around himself again, tighter, staring at the box. He doesn't want to touch it. He doesn't want anything to do with it--but if he just leaves it there, then someone else in the building will probably swoop in to steal it. Though Stolas hardly knows most of the others who also work here, he doesn't want to be responsible for a curse spreading. And there's the equally likely possibility that someone from I.M.P. will pick it up instead, and he especially doesn't want any trouble to come to any of them.

He takes a deep breath and wishes, again, that anyone else were with him right now.

But finally, at last, he uncurls his arms and crouches, reaching to pick the box up. It's surprisingly heavy for its small size, warm--no, hot--to the touch. The temptation to simply throw it out the window is nearly overwhelming. Truthfully, the only thing that stops him is that residual magic has no direct trace of Andrealphus's signature--the envelope of that blasted anti-invitation had burned his fingertips with the chill; this one certainly has traces of goetic magic, but nothing he can immediately identify.

Who else, then, if not Andrealphus? Stella herself has very little magic--in other circumstances, she would have struggled to find a match; even as the sister of one of the Ars Goetia, her lack of ability would have made her a poor candidate for marriage if the stars had not matched her to Stolas. Plus, there's no chance she would move independent of her brother in this matter. She's always preferred to offload her work onto others whenever possible.

After them... the list of actual enemies Stolas had (has, still? He isn't certain) among the ranks of the goetia is actually relatively low, if only because he'd been in a unique position: powerful enough to have true influence independent of his father's name, and passive enough to be considered forgettable by his peers. He'd performed his duties quietly and without fuss, rarely speaking to anyone--and certainly there were several, like Andrealphus, who considered him a waste of power, but most of the rest of the currently-living Ars Goetia simply ignored him.

Stolas takes another deep breath, his fingers flexing anxiously on the box. The simplest explanation is often the most likely, he reminds himself. It's almost certainly yet another jab from Andrealphus--though what it means, precisely, he can't be certain.

Unfortunately, the time he spends dithering means that he's caught entirely by surprise when he hears and feels the hum of a portal opening; a beat later, there's Blitzø and Millie, hooting gleefully over some particularly gruesome move during the assignment. Stolas turns to watch them spill into the office, with Blitzø holding Millie in a friendly headlock and Moxxie circling them. Loona follows a beat later, the portal closing the moment her tail has cleared it. There's a faint smile on her face, and even Moxxie seems less annoyed that Blitzø is roughhousing with his wife--and what a learning curve that had been for Stolas, to realize that this was just a form of play and nothing worse--and more like he wants to swoop in.

Everyone seems to be in a good mood, and while he yearns to be involved in their camaraderie, he also feels frozen in place with the incriminating box in his hands. Before he can say anything, though, Blitzø catches sight of him and just--

Oh. Oh, he lights up, and Stolas feels his own heart give a desperate little flutter at the sight. It's truly astonishing, what he sees now that he and Blitzø have taken that first tentative step forward together. How different it is, to be a man with hope for his romantic future, versus a man pining for what he knew he did not deserve.

"Heyyyy, Stols!" Blitzø says. "We're thinking about calling an early lunch and--whaaat have you got there, huh?"

Stolas blinks, then looks down at the box. He considers, again, the possibility of simply throwing it out the window and playing foolish, but Blitzø is already prowling up, eyes fixed on the box, and Stolas automatically lifts it up, out of easy reach.

"I--don't know," he admits. "It was delivered shortly before you all returned. To be honest, I'm a bit concerned."

"Concerned?" The look in Blitzø's eyes sharpens, and he frowns, his lip just starting to curl into a snarl. "Fuck, is it Elsa again? The fuck is he so obsessed with you for?"

"I don't know," he says again, helplessly. "When I was married, he only ever seemed to notice me to criticize me. I certainly never warranted much of his attention in the past. And it might not be him--"

Loona tips her head, sniffing at the air for a moment, then pins her ears back. "Yeah, no. It's definitely from that dick."

"Oh." Stolas pauses, blinking down at the box. "I wasn't certain--he went through a great deal of trouble to disguise his magical signature..."

"Yeah, well, he probably didn't think about changing whatever shitty perfume he uses." She taps the side of her nose. "Full offense intended, but that guy smells like a wholeass Shankee Candle shop."

A surprised titter bursts from him, and he covers his mouth a moment later. "Oh--well, he's considered rather fashionable, you know. He'd be appalled to hear it."

"Tell him to sit on it and spin," she says, and Stolas lets out another scandalized titter. "What're you gonna do about it?"

He pauses, looking down at the box in his hands. "...I don't know," he says at last. "I considered simply throwing it away, but if it is from Andrealphus, then it's entirely possible that he'd anticipate that, and thus set a trap if I do that... I wouldn't put it past him. And I'm not certain it's from him, only... mostly certain."

"Mostly's good enough for me," Millie says. She's also eyeing the box with some suspicion. "So, you're stuck with openin' it and gettin' hit with whatever bullshit he wants to put on you, or throwin' it away and maybe havin' it come back to bite you in the ass?"

"In essence, yes." He stares down at the box in his hands again, hunching his shoulders. "Of course, I deeply apologize for the trouble it will certainly cause, and I take full responsibility for--Blitzø?!"

As he'd been stammering through his embarrassed apologies, Blitzø had simply snatched the box from his hands.

Or--he'd tried to, at least.

The instant his fingers brush the box, it flares with a sudden intense pulse of magic, so brightly that Stolas flinches away, all four eyes snapping shut. He feels the box grow white-hot in his hands--and then he feels its weight dissolve completely. It leaves no trace behind--no tingle, no residue, not even the tactile memory of powerful heat. He risks peeking, terrified of what he might see: a scorched office, perhaps, with the shadowy imprints where his friends had once stood--

Everything looks normal. Blitzø stands in front of him still, both hands lifted and also empty, a look of confused surprise on his face. Millie crouches protectively over Moxxie, and Loona is plastered against the far wall, all of them looking equally bewildered.

"Uh," Blitzø says after a few seconds. His tail lashes back and forth in open agitation. "The fuck was that all about?"

"Is everyone all right?!" Stolas blurts on top of that, panic finally loosening his tongue. "Oh lords, I'm so sorry, I had no idea it would do that, I--"

Broad hands seize his own, squeezing hard, and Stolas cuts himself off with a strangled squawk. It still takes him a moment to focus on Blitzø, and finds those sharp yellow eyes boring into him.

"We're fine, Stols," he says, slow and clear and exaggerated, and if he weren't so relieved he might have chittered his annoyance. As it is, he's only relieved. "Looney? Mils?"

"We're fine, B," Millie says, helping Moxxie to his feet. She's echoed by an affirmative grunt from Loona. "What the fuck was that?"

"I've no idea, to be honest," Stolas says. "If--if it was a trap, perhaps it was incorrectly triggered by Blitzø touching it--which, by the way!" He focuses back on Blitzø, a stern frown pulling at his beak. "That was incredibly reckless of you. What if you'd been hurt? What if it had cursed you? Knowing Andrealphus, it would have been something both painful and humiliating, and I would have been helpless to do anything! That was ridiculous, reckless, and utterly foolish--"

"Hey," Blitzø says, and then louder, "Hey. Stols. It's fine."

"It might not have been!"

"But it is." Blitzø squeezes his hand again, hard enough that it hurts, and Stolas has to take a few shaky breaths. "Look at me. I'm okay. You're okay. We're all fine, and even if shit had happened, we'd figure it out. That's what we fucking do."

Stolas closes his eyes again. He is very, very close to blurting something truly embarrassing in front of everyone, and even if he and Blitzø have taken an important step forward, he cannot simply say whatever first comes to mind. So he can only keep breathing, as slow and deeply as possible until the impulse passes, and then he opens his eyes again. He glances around the office, at Millie and Moxxie, still clinging to one another, and at Loona, who is creeping closer to them now.

"Still," he says softly. "In the future, please leave such things to me. I would not ask you to defer to me in a physical fight... so please, when it comes to the matters of magic, let me take the lead."

He sees the scowl that crosses Blitzø's face at that, and he steels himself for the argument--but then it's Blitzø's turn to take a breath, to let it out, and then nod once, stiffly.

"Fine," he says. "I guess you've got a point. But it's fucking on sight if that asshole tries showing his shitty face, you got it?"

Stolas manages a small, watery chuckle. "Of course," he says. "I daresay he's earned a solid thrashing from all of you."

"We'll take turns," Millie offers, apparently back on her equilibrium. "But B gets first crack."

"Damn fucking right I do!" Blitzø says, and he turns to face the others, though he doesn't let go of Stolas's hand. That small thing makes something uncurl further in his chest, just a little. Truly, everything is such a mess, and he is certain that there's more to whatever "present" Andrealphus had left than a vanishing box prank--and knowing his former brother-in-law, it will be deeply unpleasant--but it's easier not to worry when Blitzø is holding onto him.

Even if shit had happened, we'd figure it out.

What a novelty, to have someone say those words for him. What a marvel, and a privilege, to believe it.

"Aaaaaany-fuckin'-way!" Blitzø says, and pumps his free hand. He doesn't even seem to have noticed that he's still holding Stolas's hand, but Millie certainly does, if the way she grins at him is any indication. Even Moxxie looks less sour than usual. "Let's get some fucking lunch, gang! Gotta fuel up before we go back to killing shitbags for the rest of the day! Tacos are on me!"

He marches for the door, dragging Stolas with him, with the others falling into step behind them. Stolas just barely ducks the doorframe in time, but as they step out into the bustle and chaos of Imp City, he finds himself smiling. There's a spring in his step, which is a little embarrassing to notice, but he cannot bring himself to drop to a more sedate walk even when he notices.

He'll worry about whatever Andrealphus has done later. For now: lunch.

Chapter Text

The real bitch of the situation is that, under a billion other conditions, it would've been a pretty fucking sweet way to break back into--well, fucking.

Like look, okay, Blitzø hasn't actually watched a ton of porn. Shocking, right? But he'd been too busy doing actual fucking to do a lot of watching, okay? For real, and not just the way that some assholes like bragging about. Just because he no longer remembers the names of half the people he's fucked, and he's pretty sure that like at least a third of the assholes at Verosika's party were just +1s and hangers-on and fucking Dennises. He's only turned to porn when he was between fuckbuddy-style arrangements and too tired to go hunting down a one-night stand or three.

But just because he hasn't watched tons and tons, though, doesn't mean he hasn't watched any. Fuck, he dated a succubus for like a whole year, and they'd been fooling around for like six months before they made it "official." They used to watch smut for shits and giggles, which is kind of how they started fucking in the first place. He's seen plenty. He knows the popular tropes.

But turns out, knowing them doesn't mean jackshit when you're right in the middle of living through one.

Okay, okay, back up a little--the day had started normal enough. Blitzø had woken up with his face buried in Stolas's titfeathers, which he's happy to report are the best fucking pillow he's had in his whole damn life, feeling actually fucking refreshed. He'd felt good enough to just keep lying there for a while, breathing in the slightly-floral, slightly-dusty scent of Stolas's feathers and just kind of fucking... basking.

The Blitzø of last year would have left fucking cartoon dust trails running the instant he caught himself. The Blitzø of right now, though? He's doing a fucking helluva lot better than that other guy, could couldn't be him (anymore).

The rest of the previous work day had gone off without a hitch. All the remaining targets had been downright boring, they died so easily, and even though he'd worried--he fucking hated leaving Stolas on his own after Bargain Basement Elsa had tried pulling shit again--everything had been fine in the office when they returned to finish and lock up for the day. Fuck, then they'd gone home and he'd made dinner and Loona had stuck around to watch a couple of episodes of that Worst Cooks In Hell marathon while they ate. It was all so fucking cute and domestic that he actually pinched himself a couple of times, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. He'd gone to sleep happy, what the fuck.

And honestly speaking? He probably should have known better. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, any time something goes well for him, it means something extra shitty is going to happen real soon.

But even the work day starts decently enough. Technically, their first job of the day is a three-for-one, because it turned out like three PTA Karens had been taken out by the same bitch's poisoned brownies or whatever, and they'd each independently come to I.M.P. to put a hit on her. And Stolas, the magnificent bastard that he is, had listened dutifully to their sob stories, and then charged all three full price without telling any of them that someone else had gotten there first. He'd done that before all the shit with his kid popped off, so Blitzø had only been able to laugh and praise him for the con.

Next time, though? Next time, he's gonna kiss that bird fucking stupid as a thanks.

The whiny bitch dies without much fuss, just some ear-bleeding screeching. He lets Millie land the hit, since something about the lady had made her eye twitch. After that, they kill a little time raiding the target's closet. It's mostly real granny shit, but there's some decent jewelry they can hawk.

There's also a little crescent moon on a delicate chain, which he swipes for obvious reasons.

The trouble starts on the second hit. It's a little trickier than the first just because the target is some businessman bozo who works in a fancy high-rise building, which means more security and more potential for discovery. There's a whole fucking yakety-sax moment where they end up having to split into teams: Millie and Loona luring the guards away, and Blitzø and Moxxie...

Somehow, they end up crushed together into a shitty little utility closet, with the door cracked open just enough for them to watch the hallway where the target's office was. The asshole is late, so there's nothing to do but wait for him.

The problem starts after about fifteen minutes into the stakeout.

It begins as an itch at the base of Blitzø's tail, a restlessness that slowly creeps up his spine until it feels like there's fucking ants crawling under his skin. Everything feels too close, too hot, too cramped. It feels like wanting to fight and fuck both at the same time, but not like this. Not with this person.

In the past, to compensate, he would've made some kind of dirty joke just to piss Moxxie off, and also maybe to gage how good his odds of a threesome were on that given day. He might've even copped a feel just for funsies.

Now, though? Now, Blitzø's brain is on some kind of endless loop, circling around Stolas, Stolas, Stolas like water in the shower drain. Every time Moxxie so much as fucking breathes it makes his skin itch with how fucking wrong it is, to be smashed up against someone else. He needs to be keeping an eye out for the target, but he keeps going back to how much he misses Stolas, how good those soft cool feathers would feel on his skin, under his claws, against his dick--fuck, what he wouldn't give to be grinding up against his bird right now, nice and rough--

"Sir," Moxxie hisses, like the fucking prissy prude he only pretends to be, "are you fucking serious? Now is not the time--"

It's like a splash of cold water right to the face--except not really, because he's aware enough to realize he's still sporting a half-chub. Because of their position, he's pressed right up against Moxxie's hip, and again: not that long ago, he would have taken advantage of the moment. Now it just feels wrong that it's not Stolas here with him. The anger that rises up in him is sudden and sharp, and it surprises him with its intensity. "Suck my fucking dick, Moxx, I'm trying to keep this professional--"

"Professional? Professional?! Sir, that's the last fucking thing I want to hear from you right now!"

"Yeah? I know what you really wanna hear, you little pervert--"

They're like two inches away from some kind of actual fight when the door to the closet swings open. Loona, with only a little smudge of blood on her cheek, looks at them critically.

"What the fuck were you two doing?" she asks. "The target almost made it into his fucking office before Grandma and I took care of it."

On cue, Millie pops up behind her back, but the cheery smile on her face fades into a more concerned look.

"B?" she says, giving him a once-over. He wants to preen under that look, puff out his chest and show off, and he also just wants to snarl at her and claw her eyes out, which--Moxxie has definitely pissed him off to that degree before, but not Millie. Never Millie. "You... okay?"

"I'm fine," he says, but it comes out as a snarl instead. He's clenching his jaw, he realizes dimly, so hard that his head's starting to ache. Something about all of this feels familiar in a weird way, but he can't put his finger on what. "Just, fuck, let's just... let's just deal with that fuckface and go home."

"He's already handled," Millie says, and fuck if her expression doesn't go more concerned. "You sure you're okay? You're looking mighty..."

"He's being gross," Moxxie says, like some prissy little tattletail. He squirms out from under Blitzø--when the fuck had he gotten under him?--and scurries over to his domme's side. It's fucking unreasonable, how fucking bad that feels, even when Blitzø knows that's not who he wants. What the fuck? "Even for Blitzø, it's a bit much."

Millie puts a steadying hand on Moxxie's shoulder, her concerned frown getting deeper. She gives him another once-over, and this time he does bare his teeth at her. It feels wrong, making that kind of gesture at Millie, of all people, but the uneasy, unhappy feeling bubbling in him is growing with every passing second. Thank fuck she (mostly) rolls with it, though the worry in her eyes would make him itch even without this weird... whatever-the-fuck this is.

"I dunno what's gotten into you, B," she says, "but you've gotta calm the fuck down right now."

"Me?!" he protests, his tail lashing. "Why the fuck is it my fault--"

"Dad," Loona says. Something in her tone somehow cuts through the fog seeping into his brain, dragging him out of the red-hot anger building in him. "Something's wrong."

"Wrong?" He turns to her, and then he nearly falls on his fucking face, because that somehow makes the whole room spin. "Fuck--"

A strong arm catches him around his waist before he could actually pitch forward. Millie says something, crisp and no-nonsense, barking orders. He wants to tell her, Damn, that's hot, and make it a joke but the words just won't fucking come out.

Someone grabs his hand with the Asmodean Crystal, and the next thing he knows, he's being dragged through a portal and back into the familiar space of the I.M.P. office. A moment later, long thin arms wrap around him, and thank fuck, he can turn his head and bury his face in those soft, soft feathers.

The moment he does, it feels like all his shitty tension just bleeds away. The headache that had been threatening for fucking hours dissolves like sugar in water. The deeper he sinks into those feathers, the better everything feels. Stolas smells familiar in the best ways--like dust and tea and the tiniest bit of something tingly and electric--and, under that, the way he smelled on those full moon nights, like he's just fucking waiting for an excuse to rip his clothes off and ride Blitzø's dick. Blitzø would bet his first edition Pony Soprano figurine that he'd find that sweet birdpuss already soaked. It's only the fact that he knows Loona is somewhere nearby that keeps him from just shoving Stolas down and diving in; his baby girl doesn't need to witness her dad's sex life.

He hears more voices around him, but all that matters is that when Stolas talks, it makes his chest vibrate in this really sexy way. He'd pay more attention, but he's too busy rubbing his face into that tit window in Stolas's sweater. Whoever came up with that design deserves a fucking raise. Five raises. A fucking billion of 'em.

As he nuzzles into that softness, the realization finally fully clicks in the back of his mind. Fuck. He knows what this is, and he knows that Stolas is going to be less than thrilled about it. Frankly, he's not jumping for joy, either. This is bullshit, and if this fucking sets them back again, he will lose his entire fucking mind.

Like look, he's one thousand percent fucking ready to jump his bird's bones again, but he'd kind of expected it to be some sort of sappy romantic thing. You know, candles, flower petals, all of that--not a fucking lust spell, of all things. If he doesn't play this right, Stolas is going to go live on the fucking moon with or without his powers, and Blitzø is just gonna have to sit on it and fucking spin.

He knows all this, but at the same time, all he can really think of is how good it feels to be buried in Stolas's feathers again. This is shitloads better than thinking about how he'll have to apologize to Moxxie, how he'll have to explain to everyone, and how fucked it is that Stolas's shitty ex-brother in law thought that a fucking lust curse was the best way to go. Chalk that up as another thing they're probably gonna have to talk about at some point.

Probably not immediately after they fuck, but maybe soon after.

Eventually, all the other voices go away, and then a slim delicate hand settles on his back, stroking down with just the right amount of pressure, even taking the time to trace over his spines. No one's ever done shit like that for him, except for--

He finally forces himself to lift his head, blinking. They're in his office specifically, and there's big worried red eyes looking down at him. He can't help the fucking goofy smile that crosses his face when he sees them.

"Hey there, sexy legs," he says, and his voice sounds all... fucking rough and gravely. Fuck, he needs to figure out how to do that on purpose, because that's gonna level his Daddy game up something awesome. "Miss me?"

To his dismay, Stolas doesn't laugh. Normally that kind of flirting would at least get a little smile, but Stolas just looks... fucking worried. Blitzø's not against a little bit of doctor-and-patient roleplay, but if they're in his office, a boss-and-secretary scene has to be a better fit. Blitzø wriggles until he can grab one of those pretty hands, pressing it to his cheek. And then he has to nuzzle it, because it feels so fucking nice and cool on his face.

"You're burning up," Stolas says. He sounds worried, which is a bad sound for him. Fuck. He should sound happy--no, no, he should sound fucked out, drunk on the fifty orgasms Blitzø gives him as a warm up for fifty more, all soft and slutty and eager. Not upset. Blitzø's had fucking enough of hearing Stolas sad and upset to last the rest of their lives.

A second later, he realizes he's said that aloud. At least it brings a tiny smile to Stolas's face, though the worry doesn't leave those big red eyes.

"That's sweet of you to say, Blitzø," Stolas says, "and I do appreciate it, but this is serious. This has to be because of that package from Andrealphus yesterday--I told you to be careful about it--"

"Hey." Blitzø squints at him, pressing that pretty hand harder against his face. "The only package you should be thinking about is mine." He points down between his legs with his free hand.

Thankfully, that gets him another little smile, and Stolas's eyes do dip down to stare for a few seconds before snapping back up to Blitzø's face. That's better, though still not the kind of response he wants. "This isn't a laughing matter, Blitzø. Whatever Andrealphus did, it likely won't be pleasant, and I can't... there's nothing that I can do to--"

"There is," Blitzø says, because it's pretty fucking obvious to him--emphasis on the fucking, even. He turns his head enough so that he can set his teeth into the meat of Stolas's palm without breaking eye contact--not too hard, just enough that if Stolas pulls away, it'll leave marks. Because he's watching, he sees the way Stolas's pupils blow wide, and fuck if that's not a rush. It's one thing to have Stolas tell him in annoying detail the shit he wanted Blitzø to do to him and have him talk nonstop about his thirst for Blitzø's dick, but it's another thing entirely to see the effect he's having.

Fuck, he could get off on that look alone.

"Blitzø," Stolas says, his voice all breathy, the way it gets when he's really turned on. Fucking score. "This is serious. Now is hardly the time to be indulging in any sort of, of dalliances. The longer we let it sit, the more dangerous it could be."

"Nah," Blitzø says. Words are getting harder, but not as hard as his dick. "S'just fucking aphro shit. You fucking bluebloods are so fucking repressed, aren't you?"

"An aph-- an aphrodisiac?" Stolas says, his voice going all high-pitched and snooty. It's the tone that he uses before he gets all lecture-y, which is cute and all, but not the response Blitzø wants out of him. "How on earth can you tell?"

Blitzø shrugs. He bites harder at Stolas's palm, and when that gets a pretty little gasp, he lets go so he can drag his tongue against the indents he's left. A visible shiver goes through Stolas's whole body, which is a lot more like it. "Me'n Ver were together for like a fucking year before it went to shit. You think I didn't get all kinds of weird shit from people? This is pretty fucking weak, as far as this kinda thing goes."

"You what?" Stolas squawks, and fuck, next time, Blitzø's keeping his big mouth shut. Yeah, Stolas is all worked up now, but not in the sexy way, so now he's gotta talk the bird down. "Who would--why did--does Lord Asmodeous know?!"

"Why would that that guy give a single fuck about what was happening to a fucking imp?" Blitzø asks, which is possibly the wrong thing to say, because Stolas just poofs up further in his alarm. "And anyway, Fizz and I hated each other's guts at the time, remember? Look, it's not a fucking big deal, Stols, so can you just--"

"Not a big deal?!" Stolas's voice hits a fucking impressive high note--cool, but again, not what Blitzø wants to hear out of him. "This is an outrage, a travesty, how dare anyone use something like that on you? That sort of thing has been outlawed among the goetia for centuries, how could--mmmh?!"

Blitzø makes the kiss as filthy as possible, using his thumbs to hook Stolas's beak open so he can fuck his tongue in nice and deep. And it's not exactly how he'd wanted and imagined their first sexy kiss going, when he'd first figured out that yeah, actually, he did want to suck face with Stolas properly--but it's still good. The sheer fucking relief he feels tells him that yeah, he was right: it was just some stupid fucking baby level lust curse, and once he gets it out of his system, it'll be fine.

He holds the kiss until he feels Stolas start to relax, going all soft against him, and then he slowly pulls back. A line of spit connects them and Stolas's eyes are all hazy and unfocused, which Blitzø knows means the kiss was as fucking good as he wanted it to be. Maybe this isn't the ideal, but he's with it enough to show Stolas the good time he deserves.

That's the thing, okay? Blitzø isn't such a dickhead that he doesn't realize how badly this could go. Stolas is a romantic who puts a whole lot of fucking importance on--well, fucking. The how of it and the why of it is actually real important to him, which is a thing Blitzø only realized after their full moons had ended. And maybe Blitzø can't give Stolas that sweet sappy gay feelings second first time the way he deserves, but he can at least do as much damage control as possible.

"Look, Stolas," he says, running his thumbs over the soft little feathers of Stolas's faceplate, "I know this isn't how you wanted this. Fuck it, it's not how I wanted it, either. But if you think I'm doing this because--if you still think I don't wanna fuck you blind, I don't know what else I can tell you. I'm not gonna make you, baby, but I need you to know I'm not doing this with you 'cause I have to. Got it?"

Stolas blinks a couple of times, because it takes that long for him to actually focus on Blitzø again. His eyebrows draw together, those upper eyes sloping in the way they do when he's sad and torn up about something. It's not hard to guess what. "Blitzø... I do appreciate your reassurance, but you don't know--"

"I do," he snaps, tightening his grip on Stolas's face. The temper flare also feels good. It makes him want to push back against all the stupid uncertainties that have been built up in the both of them over the years by shitty dads, shitty exes, the whole shitty world. He wants to push Stolas down and leave marks all over that long lean body so that everyone, but especially Stolas, knows exactly who he belongs to. "Fuck, Stols, it's not like this is  new. I've been wanting to fuck you since the last time I fucked you."

Which is probably too fucking honest, but it seems to get through that dumb pretty head. Stolas's feathers poof up, and he says, all small and unsure, "That was nearly a year ago at this point, Blitzø."

"Yeah? What's your fucking point?" He leans to press their foreheads together. It's not what he actually wants to do at this moment, but it's the thing he wants in the bigger picture, and he is trying to be better about that. "Still true."

"...Oh." Stolas blinks. Up close, he looks less pretty and more weird, and Blitzø thinks he'll tell him that when things are a little less tense, a little more jokey-fucky instead of panic-fucky. "You--really?"

He pulls back enough so that Stolas can see his full grin, with all his teeth bared, and he's rewarded with Stolas poofing up even further. That's what he wants to see.

"Stolas," he says, and puts as much of a growl into his voice as possible, "even when I was fucking pissed off at you, I wanted to fuck you till you couldn't walk." He can't let go of that pretty face, just in case Stolas does something stupid like think that means he doesn't want it, but he uses his tail to snake up under the hem of Stolas's shirt, up along those fucking soft belly feathers. It gets him another little startled hoot, and then Stolas leaning in. Jackpot.

"In fact," he says, because he feels like he's on a roll now, and he wants to ride that wave for as long as possible until it lands him in that sweet cloaca again, "if you can see straight after this, I did something wrong."

"Oh," Stolas says. He's practically warbling, which is a bird word that Blitzø only knows because of him. "Oh, that's, if you're su--ah."

Blitzø grins wider, giving another deliberate hard forward grind of his knee up between Stolas's legs. It's good to know that some of his more basic tricks still work. "I'm sure, I'm fucking sure, so unless you don't want--"

 Next thing he knows, he's flat on his back, and now Stolas is the one kissing him so hard he feels his eyes crossing. Which hey, is fucking fine by him. He wraps his arms around Stolas, and also his tail for good measure, and lets himself fucking go.

In retrospect, everything else about their relationship had been so circuitous and untraditional, so it isn't a huge surprise that their coming together again would be like this.

There is still a part of Stolas that mourns the loss of a properly romantic reconnection to sex. Everything about this reconciliation is still so fragile and fresh--has it really only been a single day since their talk? He'd been so happy just to sleep quietly and chastely with Blitzø in his arms, fully prepared to do the proper work and be as patient and slow as necessary to convince Blitzø that he was sincere in his desire.

His time in exile, brief as it's been so far, has taught him that there are only two things he truly needs for his happiness: his daughter, and the man he loves. He's lost both, and he's been given the unexpected, undeserved chance to regain both. The last thing he wants is to ruin those chances, and a part of him worries--inescapably, insidiously--that Blitzø's insistence is a byproduct of Andrealphus's curse. It feels entirely too possible that once the cloud of induced lust has faded, Blitzø will be horrified and disgusted, and therefore furious.

As melodramatic as it may be, a part of Stolas is utterly convinced that he will perish for real if Blitzø rejects him again.

But also--and he knows that this may just be his own delusions trying to convince him--Blitzø needs this. From what Millie and Moxxie had said, when they'd dragged him through the portal, he'd been aggressive rather than aroused when the curse had first begun to take effect. Loona had confirmed that Blitzø looked more ready to rip Moxxie's throat out than do anything sexually untoward--and yet, the moment that Millie had shoved him into Stolas's arms, he'd curled up so sweetly, purring and cuddling with an intensity that left him blushing. That had to mean something, right?

It has to. He has to hold onto that belief, or else he's no better than the monster he has so desperately tried to avoid being.

And if he is wrong... that can be a crisis for later. For now, he has to focus on the issue at hand. As it were.

He presses as much of his body into Blitzø's as he can, as firmly insistent as he dares being in this moment. It gets him a growl of approval that sends a familiar thrill down his spine. Even at his most furious and heartbroken, he'd craved the way Blitzø's touch made him feel. That desire had faded somewhat during the months of struggling to adjust to his new life, but never faded completely--and as he'd settled, it had resurfaced.

Now, as Stolas makes himself as pliant and soft as possible, even as he tries to keep Blitzø pinned in place, it feels like an inferno set ablaze inside him. He's hungry--he's starving, and he is being presented with a feast undeserved. The intensity of the craving makes his head spin; if they weren't already lying down, he's certain he would have collapsed entirely. A part of him marvels that Blitzø seems as relatively collected as he is, even as the victim of the lust curse. As much as he'd like to believe that at least some of Blitzø's passion had been genuine during their arrangement, he can't help but feel that it was all one-sided, because surely if Blitzø felt the same sort of desperation, there would have been some sort of sign--

Ah, no. No, he cannot think like that. He has to trust--he can't let himself get bogged down in what-ifs and maybes, not when Blitzø's well-being is at stake.

Instead, he pours as much feeling as he can into the kiss, using every half-remembered trick and technique to make it as appealing as possible. He twines his tongue against Blitzø's and relaxes his jaw; he arches his back into those raking claws even as they tear gouges into the thin material of his shirt. He slides his fingers up under the hem of Blitzø's shirt, using his own talons to trace once-familiar lines and curves. A part of him wishes he'd thought to remove any of their clothes first, but he cannot bring himself to pull away now.

And once they've started, it's so easy to lose himself in the moment and the movement. He has missed this. Whatever might happen next, he knows this to be true: that his body has always, and will always miss the feeling of Blitzø against him. He thinks about saying so, and starts to pull away from the kiss to do that--but the moment he does, Blitzø surges up and forward, sinking those magnificent fangs right into the line of his throat. Stolas jerks, a shaky cry tearing from his throat before he can stop it. When it breaks from him, he feels Blitzø's mouth curl into a smirk, which sends a beautifully familiar thrill through him.

"Blitzø," he says, his voice a shaky little rasp, then cuts himself off with another helpless trill when Blitzø just bites him again, harder, that sinuous tail wrapping its way up his leg until the spaded tip is pressed firmly against his clothed cloaca. It's all he can do to curl into Blitzø's embrace, rocking his hips desperately into that maddening tease. "Oh, fuck--"

"That's right, baby," Blitzø croons, right up against Stolas's matted neck feathers. His voice is a low dark croon, the sort that has always promised pain and pleasure in all the best ways. "Let Daddy hear how much you like it."

"Is this the time?" he stammers, with less conviction than he'd like. Every pass of Blitzø's tail sends another wave of heat through him; he's not certain he can hold onto any sort of coherency for much longer. "Blitzø, you, ah, you're the one who--oh lords--who's... who has to deal with, with being cursed--"

"Yeah?" Blitzø's voice stays a low sexy rumble, and dimly Stolas realizes that his shirt is being peeled up, out of the way, exposing his feathers to the slightly cooler air of the office. "You really think it's just me, Stols?"

He chirps, because the words don't come to him immediately. Even when they do, they're breathless, airy and fast. "You were the one cursed, Blitzø--"

"Ah-ah," Blitzø says. The end of his tail slaps sharply against Stolas's thigh, which drives a startled gasp out of his lungs. "That shit happened to both of us. And lemme tell you..." He tips his head back enough for them to make eye contact. His tongue darts out, a quick but deliberate motion, before he grins at Stolas with all of his teeth. "You smell real excited."

"Because it's you," he says, though the protest dissolves into a breathy whimper. That damnably clever tail hasn't stopped its encouraging rhythm, and it's tremendously distracting. "A-as long as it's you, then I always..."

Blitzø kisses him, fast and rough and somehow--dare he allow himself to believe it--sweet. One broad hand settles at the base of his neck, offering a steady, grounding pressure. His throat bobs with the slight effort of his breathing. His heart feels like a war drum in his breast. Blitzø smiles at him, those lovely eyes bright and clear despite their haze of lust, and he feels more powerful than he ever did with the full extent of his magic.

"Trust me," he says, and Stolas makes a small helpless noise of assent, because he does, of course he does, he trusts Blitzø more than he trusts himself, "I know the difference."

And oh, what a thought that is: that Blitzø would be familiar enough with his responses to know something like that. A flustered series of chirps bursts from his throat before he can swallow them down. "I--"

"Don't you worry your pretty head," Blitzø croons. The hand at Stolas's throat squeezes with gentle threat, and on instinct he tries to draw in a deeper breath, his feathers fluffing out when he cannot. Blitzø's other hand drops to tug at the fly of Stolas's trousers, and a second later they're loose enough for those long thick fingers to dip in as a quick tease. "I'll take care of you. I'll fuck you just like you've been missing."

Stolas chitters weakly. The anxiety is still there, churning in the back of his mind, the knowledge that one of them should be responsible at a time like this--and even if he is also affected by Andrealphus's juvenile curse, he must be less so. Right?

But it has been so long, and he's missed Blitzø's touch so very much. He wants, with a fervor that he has never felt, even on full moon night during the heyday of their arrangement. It feels like some miniature black hole has been opened inside of him, desperately trying to pull Blitzø inside of him--oh, he might need to remember to write that one down later...

Then Blitzø finds the edge of his cloacal slit with just the tips of two claws, teasing aside the delicate feathers and parting the thin folds of flesh to find the hidden hole. For a second, Stolas's entire world narrows to that contact, electric and bright. He gasps, high-pitched and honestly surprised at the strength of his own reaction. He grabs blindly for whatever part of Blitzø can reach and closes his greedy talons over those broad lovely shoulders to cling as one long finger breaches him in a single swift motion.

He cries out again, a keening raptor's call, bucking his hips into that pressure even as he clenches around it. On the one hand, it's been so long since he's had anything inside of him that it burns--even toys had held little appeal when everything else had been falling apart around him--but it's not enough. Just that little taste has him craving more with a fervor that shocks him.

Blitzø chuckles low and rough, deliciously mean as he pumps that single finger into Stolas at a maddeningly slow and steady pace. Though at some point Stolas had closed his primary eyes, his vision in his secondary eyes is enough to clearly see that handsome face hovering so close over him, and the smug smirk that curls Blitzø's lips.

"Look at you," Blitzø purrs, and even though his tone is taunting, there's something unfamiliar in it--a warmth that he knows he's only imagined before. That, more than anything, sends a thrill through him that leaves his body shaking, tightening further around Blitzø's finger. "You're already so fucking wet. You missed this, didn't you, you feathery slut? Missed getting your hole plowed nice and rough?"

"Yes," he gasps, which is perhaps one of the only words he can manage right now. He wants to be more eloquent, to wax poetic as he used to--and there is also a part of him that wants to ask Blitzø: do you think that's all I wanted? Do you think that's all I care about? After what we spoke about yesterday, you must know there's more to my affections than that.

But perhaps he doesn't need to say anything. Stella had liked to accuse him of being impossible to read, and how could she be expected to know when she overstepped any boundaries when he never showed anything on his face? And yet--Blitzø looks him in the eye and his expression softens further, like he hears the anxious questions that Stolas cannot voice. His finger doesn't stop its delightful motion, but he leans in to kiss Stolas, so gently it feels like a whisper.

"I got you," he murmurs, right up against Stolas's beak, and the tenderness makes his heart stutter in his chest. "Don't you worry, Stols, I got you."

A sob breaks from Stolas at that, as overwhelmed as he's ever been during sex. He throws his arms around Blitzø fully, clinging with desperate strength, and is rewarded by Blitzø's free arm slinging around his waist, tucking him closer. For a second they lie like that, two halves finally fitting together, breathing in tandem.

Then Blitzø kisses him again, slow and deep and filthy, pressing a second finger into him, and it's like Stolas's whole body catches fire.

He surges up into the kiss with a fervor he has spent so long repressing. He feels his claws snagging in the material of Blitzø's shirt--he'd removed his jacket at some point, at least--and it takes only a little effort to shred it entirely. At any other time, he would apologize for ruining it. Right now, he resents its presence as something blocking him from all that lovely warm scaled skin. A low croon escapes his throat as he threads his fingers through those rips so he can get his palms flat against Blitzø's back.

"Fuck," Blitzø groans, like a blessing and a curse both. His fingers curl deep inside of Stolas, who hisses in pleased response. The burn is exquisite, and all the better when paired with the way Blitzø ruts against his hip. "I fucking missed those cute little noises, lemme hear them, that's right."

In answer, he chitters again, louder, shifting his weight enough that he can brace his feet against the floor and better meet the thrust of Blitzø's fingers. He can feel tears starting to gather at the corners of his eyes in helpless, overwhelmed response--he can feel his climax building, the tension ratcheting higher and higher in his belly. On instinct, his knees try to close, to trap Blitzø's body against his, but that's stymied when a long tail wraps around his knee, yanking it open wide.

"None of that." Blitzø's eyes are practically glowing, so bright that Stolas feels simultaneously blinded and unable to look away. "You're gonna take it, and you're gonna keep your legs spread nice and wide for Daddy. Got it?"

He whines piteously, and is rewarded by a particularly mean twist of Blitzø's fingers. The sting makes him shudder harder, his hips squirming in a desperate attempt to get more. His own hands scrabble against Blitzø's back, further ripping his shirt. The light in Blitzø's eyes flares brighter and hotter, which in turn makes the heat in Stolas's belly intensify. "Please--"

Blitzø grins, all teeth and beautifully cruel, then leans in close, so that all Stolas can see are his eyes. In a low growl, he says, "Come for me, Stols."

And what else can he do, but obey?

It hits with a force that is nearly painful. Stolas tosses his head back with a shriek he barely hears over the roar of blood in his ears. He can feel his body seizing up around Blitzø's fingers, which continue slamming into him even through the wave of his orgasm. Dimly, he can hear the sound of Blitzø's voice through it all, crooning low affectionate filth; he cannot make out the individual words, but the full picture is one of encouragement, and it's all he's ever wanted from sex. Even in comparison to their earliest days, in the deepest throes of his delusions, this outstrips those sessions by far.

As the high begins to fade, and he's gasping for breath in the comedown, Blitzø makes a low guttural noise and yanks his fingers out. The sudden loss makes Stolas jerk and whine in protest--and then large hands grasp his thighs, shoving them widely apart a second before--

"Oh," he yelps, as Blitzø sinks into him all at once. The stretch is intense--as broad and long as Blitzø's fingers are, they have nothing on his cock--and the drag of those fleshy spines and ridges hit places inside of him that haven't been touched in months. Stolas's eyes roll back as he pants, open-mouthed, his body trembling with the intensity of the moment. It hurts in the best sort of way, in a way that he's missed and craved since that very first night, fraught as it is in hindsight.

"Fuuuuck," Blitzø says. It sounds like an agreement. Stolas tries to blink any sort of focus back to his vision, tipping his head to try and see Blitzø's face. That almost feels like a mistake; Blitzø is looking at him, too, and his expression is something that Stolas has fantasized about for so long, even after he'd given up on the possibility of it being real.

Blitzø looks at him like he's something precious and beautiful--like he's something worth being kept close and cherished--like he is cherished, in spite of all his faults. Stolas whines, already overwhelmed, reaching up blindly. Blitzø catches his wrist and tugs it forward, pressing a kiss to his palm that starts gentle and ends with a sharp nip of those glorious fangs. He squawks and feels Blitzø's lips curl into a smile that makes his heart flutter all over again.

And then, before he can draw another breath, before he can do anything else, Blitzø lets go to grasp his hips instead, and begins to move.

They've had rough sex before--oh, lords, they've played so roughly before, back when Stolas's magic had made him nigh-invulnerable, able to shrug off the worst and most intense of Blitzø's casual brutality within minutes, if not seconds--and this hardly counts as such. There's no toys, no outside tools, not even harsh words to add an emotional bite on top of the physical. It's just Blitzø, thrusting into him with a fervor that pushes him up against the carpet with each thrust, clutching at his hips so tightly he knows he'll find bruises later.

But it's enough that Stolas is wailing by the second thrust. One hand stays clutching at the shreds of Blitzø's shirt; the other he throws over his head, using that along with his braced feet as leverage to meet those thrusts with every ounce of strength he can muster. Each time Blitzø pulls back feels like abandonment; every thrust back in feels so deep that Stolas thinks he could hold him there forever. Hazy as he is, he also feels acutely aware of the shape of Blitzø inside of him: hot, pulsing, alive, so utterly unique. No dildo or vibrator could ever compare.

He doesn't know what he says, if he says anything at all. It might just be avian vocalizations only, chirps and twitters and desperate, keening cries. Blitzø, on the other hand, appears stuck on just chanting Stolas's name with increasing levels of frantic desire. That also soothes something in Stolas that he hadn't even realized could be gentled. Whatever fears he'd had, when Blitzø had been pushed into his arms earlier and been so pliant and willing, they've faded to almost nothing.

Then Blitzø shudders, his whole body going utterly rigid as he wrenches Stolas down by the hips until they're locked as closely as physically possible. His tail snaps out, and his eyes are wide, staring sightlessly. Stolas can feel the way his cock jerks deep inside, and that sensation is enough to trigger his second orgasm in turn. He can't manage any cry this time, but his breath comes out in a high, pleading whine. It feels like it goes on forever--far longer than any other climax he's ever experienced--and once again, before he can fully come down, Blitzø is moving again.

"Fuck," Blitzø gasps, his voice low and wrecked. He's not even pulling out anymore, not really, just rocking like he could sink even deeper into Stolas's body if he pushes hard enough. "Fuck, Stols, I can't, I gotta, I need--"

"Yes," he answers, his own voice breathy, equally ruined. "Yes, darling, yes, whatever you need, take it, take it, I'm yours, fuck--"

 Blitzø snarls, shifting his weight only enough to fold Stolas's body enough for them to kiss. Unlike before, this one is more teeth and biting than anything gentle; it is fury without anger, desperation fueled by desire, like Blitzø wants to devour him whole. And Stolas returns that intensity with an equal hunger. He's been starving for this for what feels like his entire life; if they tear each other apart, then they'll just have to put each other back together again, later.

"Mine," Blitzø tells him. It's a growl more than anything, syllables that barely resemble language, and it sparks a helpless primal response in Stolas, who hisses in response. He wraps both of his arms around Blitzø now, crushing their bodies even more closely together.

"Yes," he says again. "Yes, I'm yours, you're mine, mine, mine."

He feels the way Blitzø's whole body shakes with that declaration. In many other circumstances, he'd apologize for being so presumptuous--no matter what progress they've made, surely it's too much to claim any sort of ownership over Blitzø, not with the history they have--but right now, he only feels a surge of triumph. Blitzø is his. As much as he belongs to Blitzø, he can claim as much of his beloved in turn.

They're only really rocking together at this point, their bodies pressed together as much as possible. Neither of them want to pull back even the small distance needed for any sort of thrusting. With the declarations over, they've gone back to kissing, Blitzø's teeth and the sharp edges of Stolas's beak and bloodied tongues, and this time, when Stolas comes, he presses his knees together, holding Blitzø's hips harder against his as he grinds upward.

The final orgasm seems to take something out of Blitzø. Even as his hips continue to jerk and shudder, the rest of his body collapses onto Stolas's, his face slipping away from immediate kissing range to flop into the crook of his neck. Which is certainly a sensitive spot, but the first thing Stolas feels, through the fog of his own exhaustion, is a rush of exquisite delicate tenderness. He turns his head enough to rest his cheek against one of Blitzø's horns. Their bodies are still locked together, and they're both clinging, and for this moment, he feels completely at peace. 

It's difficult to tell how long they lie there. Slowly, signs of the rest of the world begin to seep back into Stolas's awareness: the (uncomfortable) hardness of the floor beneath him, the (comfortable) hardness of Blitzø's weight pressing him down, the sounds of life in the city filtering in through the window. The feathers of his back are in mildly uncomfortable disarray, and there's a stinging on his outer hips that speaks of blood drawn along with the bruising. When he shifts a little, there's an unfamiliar bloat to his belly that feels oddly satisfying.

Stolas rolls his head just a little, squinting at the lighting. Judging from that, it might already be late evening,

"Darling," he says, without really thinking, and all of Blitzø's limbs around him tighten. Deep inside him, that magnificent cock gives a single feeble twitch, like it wants one more round and cannot manage just yet. "How are you feeling?"

Blitzø makes a low garbled noise. He rubs his face into Stolas's feathers, then sighs. "Like I've been trampled by a whole fucking herd of horses."

Stolas squints for a moment, thinking. "And that's... good?"

"S'the fucking sexiest thing that could happen to me, after being buried in your sexy little birdpuss," Blitzø mumbles. He wriggles even closer, and Stolas hoots an exhausted chuckle.

"Oh, good," he says. "I wanted--well, that is, I--do forgive me, I just... worried. A little."

There's a pause, and then Blitzø curls up even closer to him, all without his cock slipping free. It's a closeness that Stolas has dreamed of for so long, and he nearly weeps with joy for actually having it. He manages to keep that at bay, though, waiting as patiently as he can until Blitzø finds his words.

"Look," he says. "I know I was... real fucking shitty before, about a lot of stuff. And yeah, so were you, I'm not giving you that pass, no matter how pretty your face is. But. I'm not--I won't... I didn't say all that shit just because I wanted to fuck you, Stols."

He's quiet for a moment, soaking up that feeling--the sensation of true care, after so long. In spite of his best efforts, his voice does waver a little when he speaks. "You could have had me with so much less, darling."

"I know," Blitzø says. His own voice is heavy. "And fuck it, Stols, that's not--that's who I was. That's not who I wanna be."

Stolas runs a hand carefully down Blitzø's back, feeling out the shredded fabric as well as the warm lines where he'd clawed in his passion. Blitzø hisses in brief involuntary response, but his tail winds its way around Stolas's thigh, squeezing affectionately. "...And I don't wish to be someone who simply assumes blindly, in the face of all evidence," he says softly. "I know I have been. I know I continue to be. And for what it is worth, Blitzø... I am trying. I do want to learn."

Blitzø nods once, a jerky motion, before he rolls them onto their sides. He still keeps his face hidden against Stolas's shoulder, so close to the old scar. One hand starts to smooth  down Stolas's back in turn, carding clawtips lightly through his mussed feathers. "Me too."

"Then let us learn together," Stolas murmurs, and if he does blink a few tears free at that, Blitzø does him the grace of not commenting. "But you are feeling better?"

A pause, and then Blitzø grunts. "Yeah. Fuck. Fucking weakass lust spell, I gotta say."

"I'm more concerned about what you said earlier, about this not being the first time--"

"Ehhh, don't worry about it," Blitzø says. His tone is too breezy and light, and Stolas can feel his feathers ruffle in alarm. Before he can say anything, Blitzø's tail squeezes his leg again, harder, and he forces himself to shut his beak. As he frets, though, Blitzø pulls back just enough to peer up at him. "Some of it was on purpose too, so you know. Shit happens, Stols, and you just gotta get through them. It's okay."

It's on the tip of his tongue to keep arguing. There's a mad impulse, welling up in him, to tell Blitzø about the ordeal of Octavia's conception--the struggle, the increasingly desperate fixes and suggestions they'd turned to--but he bites it back. Now is not the time. Things are entirely too fragile to push, and not just for Blitzø.

"Regardless," he says at last, "I am sorry that it happened to you again... but I'm glad to have this with you once more. As grateful as I am to--to have 'done words' with you, I have missed the 'doing sex' part."

Blitzø snorts, but the sound is fond, and his tail loops a few more times around Stolas's leg. If he even wanted to get away--which he most assuredly does not--there's no way he could escape Blitzø's grip. "Yeah. Me too. But fuck, I am too fucking old to be rolling around on the floor like this. C'mon, let's open some windows and go home so we can shower."

"Together?" he asks before he can stop himself, entirely too hopeful. He nearly apologizes, but Blitzø rolls them over so that he's pinned beneath that firm weight again. Broad hands pin his, palm to palm, against the floor, as Blitzø sits back on his hips and grins down at him. Through the slats of the blinds, the full moon illuminates him in a glow that almost seems holy--which feels fitting.

There's no way Blitzø would ever be an angel, and that's Heaven's loss more than anything, but he's still certainly marked Stolas permanently.

"Baby," he says, and Stolas fluffs up like a fledgling with his first crush, "you bet your sweet ass we're gonna share. The landlord's been on my ass about saving water, so we gotta do our part. Right?"

He blinks, and then he chuckles, curling his fingers more securely through Blitzø's, returning that grip with gentle pressure. For the first time in months, he feels light, warm, basking in the glow of something he thought he'd lost forever. When Blitzø pulls back and offers his hand, he takes it without hesitation. His body is still pleasantly sore, and he can't deny his excitement at the idea of a shared bath. That, too, is one of those romantic milestones he's always wanted to try. "Right."

When Blitzø opens the portal to the apartment--fucking handy, honestly, now that he's gotten used to the Crystal--Loona is waiting for them.

She's sitting on the couch, and when the portal opens, she jumps to her feet. Her ears go up, then pin back, her tail wagging in low uncertain sweeps as she watches Blitzø help Stolas step across. Her phone is clutched in one hand, and Blitzø hopes she wasn't telling the baby bird about this shit--he needs Octavia to think he's a professional (which he fucking is), and not just that he wants to diddle her dad (which he does, but that's not her business beyond the most absolute basic level).

"Hey, sweetie," he says, trying to play it casual. Stolas had done a real fucking number on his shirt, but mostly only in the back, so his coat hides the worst of those sins. For now. "You didn't have to wait up for us."

"Uh, yeah I did," she says. Her gaze sweeps from him to Stolas and back again, her ears telegraphing her relief even though she's trying to play it casual. Her lips pull back from her teeth a little, in a way that Blitzø has learned is playful, not aggressive. "Someone has to report that you dumbasses got home safely, so it's gotta be me."

Stolas clears his throat a little. He's blushing through his feathers, which was stupidly cute before Blitzø admitted catching feelings, and now is just fucking fatally adorable. "Your concern is greatly appreciated, Loona, and--as you can see, we're fine."

She raises an eyebrow, which actually makes him squirm a little. For a second she meets Blitzø's eyes, and they have a moment of perfect beautiful father-daughter communication: this guy is a fucking chump, and it's the fucking best thing.

"Fine, huh?" Loona tucks her phone into her pocket and crosses her arms. "Looks to me more like one or both of you got mauled by a pack of hellhogs or something."

"Oh. Well. Um." Stolas fidgets again, but there's this spark in his eyes, a gleam that Blitzø recognizes--but before he can cut it off, Stolas says, all fucking innocently, "It was more like a... herd of horses, let's say."

Loona's eyes go wide, and she barks a single loud laugh before she claps a hand over her mouth and rolls her eyes in performative disgust. "Oh, gross, never mind! I don't wanna know! Good fucking night!"

"Looney," he whines, but she flips him off with her free hand, turning on her heel and marching into her bedroom. Her ears are up and playful, though, and her tail is wagging, so that's still a fucking helluva lot better than how a conversation like that used to go. Blitzø waits until her door closes, then turns to Stolas, one eyebrow raised. "Really? In front of my daughter?"

Stolas just smiles at him, still so unfairly fucking cute. "I'm only repeating what you said to me, Blitzø. If Loona reads something more into it, doesn't that say more about you than me?"

Blitzø stares at him for a moment. He feels his grin stretching his face before he really registers it. "Oh, you bitch," he says, with fond admiration, and lets go of Stolas's hand so he can slap that feathery ass instead. "Get your degenerate butt in the shower. Daddy's gonna do an inspection on your cleanliness."

There's another micropause, the kind that Blitzø recognizes means Stolas is overthinking what he wants to say. To his relief, Stolas just bats his lashes, and says in a fucking simpering voice, "I thought you liked me dirty, Daddy."

And fuck, if that voice doesn't actually do something for him. Blitzø's not picky, but usually cutesy-wutsey little voices like that usually are at least a bonerwilt, if not a bonerkill--except, apparently, when it's Stolas. It's fucking crazy how much he wants to fuck this pompous asshole bird, and especially if they can hold hands it happens. He can feel the spines on his back lifting, and he can see the way Stolas's eyes dart to that movement, even before those soft feathers poof up.

"Yeah, well," Blitzø says, and Stolas's gaze snaps back to meet his, all wide-eyed and still so fucking cute, "I run a strict household. No filthy feathers on my clean couch, got it? I'm gonna make sure you get all niiiiice and clean."

He crooks a finger, and Stolas leans down towards him. He looks kinda dazed, and fuck if Blitzø's dick doesn't give an excited little twitch, even though the damn thing had been all fucked out a few minutes ago. It only gets worse when Stolas's movement draws his eyes to those long sexy legs--and he can see a dark wet stain that tracks its way down Stolas's inner thigh.

That's because of you, his brain supplies, because it's so fucking helpful. You came so fucking much inside of him that his little birdpuss couldn't hold it in. It's all gonna leak out if you don't do something about it.

"Blitzø," Stolas says, softer now, less playful and more breathless. Blitzø starts and realizes he'd been leaning in towards that soft hidden patch of feathers under his pants, like he's the hellhound in this household, zeroing in on that sweet, sweet smell. "W-we should really move into the bathroom."

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, distracted, settling his hands on Stolas's hips. Stolas jumps, and there's the tiniest whiff of blood, and oh yeah, he'd done that, he'd gotten his claws good and deep into his bird (his, his, his, hishishishishis) and--

Stolas gasps, a small, sweet noise as Blitzø nuzzles between his legs, breathing deep. Fuck, Stolas always smelled good before, when he'd had all his fancy soaps and oils and what-fucking-ever, but like this? Like this, he smells like every sexy thing Blitzø's ever wanted, all neatly wrapped up in one tight cloaca, just for him--

"JUST GET IN THE FUCKING SHOWER ALREADY," Loona bellows through her closed door, and fuck, that's like getting dunked straight into ice water. They jerk apart to stare at each other, all wide-eyed. Stolas's face is deep pink, all his feathers ruffled, and he has a hand over his beak, which Blitzø knows has never been enough to keep him quiet. Even with a ballgag, he's such a noisy bitch, and Blitzø fucking loves to hear--

Blitzø coughs and makes himself step back. Every fucking cell in his body screams in protest, because all he wants to do is climb into Stolas's body and just fucking live there--but Loona's right fucking there. He can't do that shit with her around, where her delicate innocent baby ears have to hear the sounds of her dad fucking. It doesn't help that Stolas makes a little sad chirpy bird noise when he does, leaning after him, but he's proud when Stolas straightens up and gets himself together before he holds out a hand.

"Together?" he asks, all small and soft and shy, like he thinks Blitzø would say no now. Somehow, some way, Blitzø's going to convince this bird that he does want all the gross romantic shit as much as he wants the nasty fucky shit.

And somehow, some way, he's pretty sure Stolas is going to convince him that he's worth being looked at like he's some positive light in Stolas's life. Fucking wild.

"Together," he says, and leads Stolas into the bathroom before Loona can yell at them again.

Chapter Text

The next morning is... interesting, to say the least.

It had taken a couple of hours to soothe Moxxie's ruffled feathers--as it were, and she's probably gonna have to change up that line on account of now having a coworker that does have real feathers. She'd gotten him bundled up with his favorite blanket and his favorite hatewatch musical--don't ask her what the fuck it is, 'cause that shit just goes straight through her brain and out again--and ordered them dinner from BeeEats. By the end of the evening, when they'd gotten the text from Loona, he'd been relaxed enough to admit all that wasn't all Blitzø's fault.

Just, y'know, most of it. Millie personally thinks it's that ice queen goetia that was Stolas's ex-brother in law's fault more'n anything, but letting Moxxie rant and complain about Blitzø is the best way to make sure he's calm enough to deal with the man directly.

When the I.M.P. van pulls up in front of their building and they climb in, Stolas turns around with an embarrassed smile on his face, holding up a Greedbucks tray. There's multiple drinks, and wonder of wonders, it's actually got Moxxie's name spelled right. That on its own butters her man up plenty, so that he even smiles back when he thanks Stolas for the drink.

"Soooooo," Millie drawls, as they pull into Imp City's shitty traffic, "you two have a good time yesterday?"

Stolas chirps, his face going all red, and Blitzø meets her eyes in the rearview mirror and waggles his eyebrows. As he does, his tail snakes over to wrap around Stolas's thigh, and the spade of it's awful close to the space between those long twiggy legs.

"I'm not gonna say anything, on account that my pure and innocent baby girl is also in the van with us--"

"I'm twenty-two, Dad, not twelve, I have definitely fuc--"

"--BUT YES THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONCERN," Blitzø finishes, his voice raised. It's not a shout, but he's got a slightly wild-eyed look for a second that reminds her an awful lot of her own daddy's face, the day her brother got married and someone made a joke about the wedding night--and then again, when she told her parents she was proposing to Moxxie. Seems like parents get real weird about the idea of their babies growing up and fucking.

The thought sobers her for a second. Her hand drifts to her own belly. There's still no outward sign of it, not even a lil tummy bulge to show where the sprout is supposed to be. It still feels so fucking unreal, to sit and think that she's got the potential for a whole new life inside her. Her timer's near running out, and she's gotta say something soon--

"Millie?" That's Stolas, all soft and gently concerned. He's got his hand on Blitzø's tail where it's on his leg, and he's petting the spade with his thumb. There's no way he knows what that can do to an imp, not when he's looking at her and not his boyfriend, squirming in the driver's seat. "Are you all right?"

"Uh." She fumbles with her drink for a moment. As she does, she feels Moxxie's tail wrap around her ankle, a reassuring bit of pressure. "Yeah, I--yeah. I'm just fine, hon, I'm just relieved y'all are okay."

"Oh." He fluffs up a little, which is just fucking adorable. He ain't Millie's type in the slightest, but she knows cute when she sees it. "Y-yes, we're--I would say we're perhaps even... more than okay."

"They're fucking gross," Loona groans, slumping against the side of the van. She lolls her head on her neck, but her ears are all up and happy, so Millie can't take her bitching too seriously. "You assholes better have opened a window in the office or something, because I swear to fuck that if we walk in there and it smells like yesterday, I'm quitting on the spot."

"I'd never do that to you, Looney," Blitzø protests, and as they argue back and forth, and Stolas's attention is focused on watching the two of them with the sappiest lil smile on his face, Millie catches Moxxie's eyes. He's watching her with a gentle concern, and his gaze drops for a moment to her hand on her belly before he meets her gaze again. It's a question he doesn't need to ask.

Millie takes a deep breath and nudges her hoof against his. She gives him a weak smile, which he doesn't return, but he does nod once, reaching to take her free hand with his.

When he does, she takes a breath and clears her throat. "Um, Blitzø?"

"And I swear we'll take it out of Moxxie's--yeah? What's up, Millie?" He looks up to meet her eyes in the mirror again. Millie near takes it back. It's a good thing that she's sitting in the middle right now, or she might have just tried to fucking punch her way out of this fucking van, to avoid this conversation.

But she can't run away from this forever. She's gotta say this shit, and it's not fucking fair to keep this from her best friend. Not when she knows--maybe not better, but for longer than anyone else in this van--that he'd support her wholeheartedly, no matter what she decides.

So she takes another breath, and she says, in a voice that doesn't wobble, thank fuck for that, "I'm pregnant."

For a few seconds, the entire van is dead quiet. Even Loona has stopped slumping in her seat, like she wants to just melt out and vanish. All the sounds of Imp City outside are distant and vague.

And then Blitzø slams on the brakes, ignoring the shrieking horns and squealing tires around them, and turns in his seat to stare at her. "What the FUCK, Millie?!"

She winces, but she doesn't back down. Instead, she meets his stare without blinking, lifting her chin a little. "I said what I said. I'm pregnant."

"You're--" His eyes dart from her face to Moxxie's, and she sees him processing in real-time that Moxxie ain't nearly as surprised as he is. She can see him wanting to make that a fight, like it's anything he's got a leg to stand on--and then, she sees him take a big old breath and let it out. "Fucking hell, Mils. How long have you known?"

She grimaces, apologetic, and says, "Sinsmas."

"Fucking SINSMAS?!" he howls. "And I'm only hearing about this NOW?"

"I wasn't sure," she starts, but he's already going on, in his Blitzø way.

"Christ on a fucking stick, Mils, I was inviting you for drinks and shit! I know you're a tough bitch, but fuck, I would've put more money back into your pension--not yours, Moxxie, fuck you--if I'd known! Shit, fuck, it's been what, four months? Fucking hell--Stols, babe, how good are you with numbers? We gotta figure out how much we can dump into Millie's account--"

Millie blinks slowly through the rant. She shares a look with Moxxie and sees he looks just about as poleaxed as she feels. "You're... not mad?"

"Oh, I'm fucking furious," Blitzø says, but he's grinning, his eyes wide and wild. "Bitch, you and I are gonna have some TALKS later about keeping me updated. But I'm fucking happy for you, Millie. ...And yeah, I guess congrats to you too, Moxx, for actually getting it up enough to get it in. Didn't know you had it in you."

In spite of her own anxiety, Millie smiles a little as Moxxie scoffs. Then she sees Stolas looking at her with veiled concern and wilts. Moxxie's tail squeezes harder in silent encouragement, and she makes herself meet Blitzø's eyes head on. He's practically vibrating, like a little kid on Sinsmas morning. Fuck.

"Thing is, B," she says, and fuck she hates the way her voice cracks, "I... dunno if I'm gonna keep it or not."

His expression doesn't change at first, but she sees confusion creeping in. "Say what?"

She chews the inside of her cheek, and says, "I dunno if I wanna be a mom yet, Blitzø. I dunno if I ever wanna be one. I've been thinkin' real hard about it... and I dunno."

Blitzø's smile fades, but he doesn't yell. He just leans back a little, lifting a hand to flip off some car honking their horn at them, and his expression's all thoughtful.

And after a moment, he says, "Moxxie, take a hike. Stols, Looney, you mind taking a cab to work?"

"Why do I have to leave when you're talking to my wife?" Moxxie asks, a big old frown on his face.

Loona, on the other hand, just shrugs. "If you're paying, sure. Stolas?"

"I don't mind, exactly," Stolas says, "but do we really even have the funds for that?"

Blitzø sighs, loud and deeply exaggerated. He holds up a hand, ticking down a finger with each point. "One, yes, of course you can use my card for it, Looney. Two, Stols, that's for me to worry about, okay? We're doing a fuckton better than when you first started out, don't you worry your sexy little head. Three, Moxxie, I'm gonna be asking some real important questions about your dick size, so I was just trying to be nice and let you get out before we go there."

"Cool," Loona says, and opens the van door. "C'mon, big bird, let's go."

Stolas hesitates. Millie can't blame him, really. She's got a pretty good idea why, 'specially since he's still petting Blitzø's tail in that absentminded way. And she's braced for him arguing and having to let him stay, but he leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Blitzø's cheek. When he pulls back, they're both blushing, which is just fucking darling.

"All right," he says. "I'll see you at the office."

Blitzø stares at him with an outright dopey expression on his face, his mouth hanging open, before he catches himself and nods. He's still blushing as he waves Stolas off. "Yeah, I'll see you. Remember to stick with Looney, okay? If anyone gives you shit, hit the panic button on your phone and I'll be there immediately. In fact, why don't I just--"

"It'll be fine, Dad," Loona hollers from outside the van, and Stolas chuckles at the look on Blitzø's face. He opens his own door and slips out, and Millie watches the two of them walk away before she looks at Blitzø again.

"I'd rather Moxxie stay, B," she says. "It's his baby too. As much as it is a baby right now."

He gives her a long steady look, then sighs, all loud and performative. "Fiiiiine. I guess he can stay."

"You should be so glad she told you in the first place," Moxxie grumbles, but he scoots closer to Millie, and she kisses his cheek in thanks. It's not just 'cause she saw Stolas doing it to Blitzø, but it's not not 'cause of that either.

"Yeah, yeah," Blitzø says, flapping a hand, then goes all serious again. "So. Not sure you're gonna keep it?"

She exchanges another look with Moxxie, then nods. "Yeah. It's a whole fuckin' lot to think about, Blitzø. I didn't even tell Moxxie till I was a whole month'n a half in."

Moxxie grips her hand tighter for a moment. She knows he's remembering, just as well as she does, the unease and anxiety that had gone back and forth between them, that month, culminating in the worst fight they'd ever had. She leans her head against his, then startles with Blitzø scoffs.

"That's why you two were so shitty for a month back there? I thought it was just 'cause of all the other bullshit going on," he says. Then he fixes Millie with a hard look. "And before we get more into it, let me say one thing first, okay?" He waits for both of them to nod, then says, "If there's anything about work that's making you second guess shit, Millie, then don't. Long as your doctor says you're cleared to work, you can stay in the field as long as you and Moxxie want. If you need help with childcare shit, I got you. Whatever you fucking need, you just tell me, and I'll make it happen. Okay?"

Mille lets out a slow breath. There's a weight in her chest that's loosening that she didn't even know was there. Trust Blitzø to say the fucking right thing when he actually needs to. "Okay."

"That said. If you don't wanna--that's cool too." He leans forward a little, and it's as fucking earnest as she's ever seen him. From the way Moxxie holds on tighter, she knows he's also seeing it. "Millie, I don't give a single flying fuck if you keep this baby or not, as long as you're the one who's making the decision. And I don't care how good Moxxie's bussy is, if he tries to make you change your mind when you don't wanna you just say the word and I'll toss him out the office window."

"While I deeply object to the existence of the word 'bussy,' you don't need to worry about that, Blitzø," Moxxie says. He sounds annoyed, but he also sounds fond, which is how you know he likes what he's hearin'. "I'm ready and willing to do what Millie wants."

Blitzø gives him a long hard look, then nods like he's satisfied. "Millie?"

She laughs, all teary, which is real fuckin' embarrassing. "Yeah," she says. "I dunno, B. I really never thought 'bout kids till this was happening to me. An' I got this deadline and all before it gets too dangerous for me, but I'm torn. It's not like I can take it back, whatever choice I make."

He's quiet for a moment, and he's still quiet when he says, "No. You can't. Whatever you decide, Millie, I'll support you one thousand fucking percent. But you gotta be the one who decides."

Millie puts her mostly-forgotten drink down between her knees and leans forward, holding out her now free hand. Blitzø looks at it like she'd made it a fist and punched him with it instead.

But then he reaches out, and he takes her hand. Moxxie's arm slings around her waist, and Millie hasn't felt this unconditionally safe since she was a lil baby nipper in her mama's arms. She gives them both a smile, her two favorite boys in this whole fuckin' world.

"I will," she promises. "And... thanks, Blitzø. I know this was kinda outta nowhere, but--it means a lot."

He snorts, but there's a pleased gleam in his eyes. "Yeah, well, next time, don't just sit on the news and spin, okay? I know I'm brilliant and talented and my dick's the size of a skyscraper, but I can't do shit if I don't know what's going on."

"I would have been happy living my whole life without knowing what you think about your penis, sir," Moxxie says. Millie giggles, tilting her head to lean it against Moxxie's and fixing Blitzø with a knowing smirk.

"Yeah, B. Ain't that kinda knowledge meant for your fancy bird?"

And now, see, Millie's known Blitzø for years. Sure, they'd clicked hard and fast from the beginning, but she's learned lots more about him over time. She's seen him at his worst, and she's seen him at his most confident. She can still remember the way he used to get all fussy and flustered talking about Stolas, and she can compare it to the lightness in his eyes now.

But hand to heart, she ain't ever seen him blush like that before.

"Bliiiiiitzø?" she asks, in a sing-song. "That good, huh?"

He makes a choking sputtering noise, sounding just like Moxxie at his cutest. She tightens her grip on his hand when he acts like he's gonna jerk it back, her grin going wider. Even when he recovers, he doesn't look either of 'em in the eye as he mutters, "Oh, yeah, fucking great, it was--look, we're not talking about my sex life here--"

"For fucking once," Moxxie says, out the corner of his mouth, and Blitzø scowls at him.

"Aaaaanyway! We should get going, 'cause otherwise Looney and Stols are gonna be stuck waiting around for our slow asses, and we've got a packed day of killing ahead of us! Gotta get this shit taken care of before it's go time with Operation: Break The Fucking Glass Slipper."

"Is that what you're calling it?" Moxxie asks, incredulous, as Millie finally lets go of Blitzø's hand so he can straighten in the driver's seat, getting the van moving again. "That's incredibly cumbersome. It doesn't roll off the tongue at all. Sir, if you're going to come up with stupid nicknames for our jobs, couldn't you at least make it a little less bulky?"

"I don't see you coming up with anything better, Moxx!"

"That's because I didn't even know about it! How the fuck am I supposed to share my opinion if you don't even tell me?!"

As they bicker back and forth, Millie leans against Moxxie's side and smiles out the window. It takes her a moment to realize she's got her free hand on her belly again, and for the first time in months, it doesn't feel like a thing she's gotta be guilty about, or try and hide. The specter of Blitzø's overreaction is gone, on account of him actually handling it like a mature fucking adult. Amazing.

She can just... think about it. And just knowing that feels a little like being able to breathe again.

"Sooooooo, you're not gonna be mad that I told Stolas before I told you, right?"

"You fucking WHAT?!"

Turns out, fucking no one was prepared for the full force of Blitzø's simping unleashed. Not even Stolas, though to give the birdbrain some credit, he does a fucking lot better than Loona would have expected. Even when Blitzø skitters into the office with the lovebirds like an hour after he sent them off and does his weird sideways crabwalk thing up to the desk, Stolas just laughs and fucking coos at him like he's done something amazing.

Fucking gross. They deserve each other. Good for them.

Still, happy for them or not, there's only so much Loona can take. It's kind of a weird feeling to actually witness Blitzø In A Relationship--she's always known he fucked, even though he'd pretended he didn't for like, the whole first year after he'd adopted her. At the time, she'd been annoyed at him treating her like she was some kind of stupid puppy who hadn't seen all kinds of shit at the shelter.

In hindsight, though, she's glad. It'd taken a fucking long time before she'd stopped locking her bedroom door every night--she knows herself well enough to know she probably still would be, if he'd brought anyone home that first year. But even after, he'd always been fucking careful to never make her witness it--even yesterday, when he'd been obviously close to going feral and crawling all over Stolas, he'd held off for her, and that definitely makes her feel a certain way.

Still, there's a difference between fucking and a relationship. Even without the living examples of Blitzø and the lovebirds, she's known that.

But it's still a fucking lot, seeing Blitzø like this. She's honestly a bit surprised he doesn't just crawl into Stolas's lap, but maybe that's just because she's still in the room. Not that it stops Blitzø from grabbing one of Stolas's hands and like, doing the finger equivalent of footsie, or how he definitely slips Stolas visible tongue when kissing him goodbye--which he's never done before. Not even the day after they'd had their whole "we're fucking adults who can have a fucking adult conversation" thing. Throughout the rest of the day, he's antsy and jumpy on their hits, checking his phone again and again. It's obnoxious as all fuck, and she can't even be that mad about it.

Because Loona will go to her fucking grave before she betrays Blitzø's secrets like that, but it had fucking sucked, seeing him so messed up after his not-a-breakup with Stolas. Even if he is in his pain-in-the-ass-wife-guy era now, she'd rather have that than the borderline feral self-destructive spiral he'd been on at the time.

Also, she can take strength from the fact that Moxxie is equally annoyed about Simp Blitzø, and a lot worse at hiding it. Seeing his eye twitch every time Blitzø pauses to text Stolas or gets that glazed horny look kinda makes having to deal with that herself a little more bearable.

It's still annoying, though. And maybe a little worrying--she knows they definitely fucked again in the bathroom after they'd gotten home (stupid fucking thin walls), and that was after they'd been gone for hours after they'd been left at the office. She's a little worried about the state of Blitzø's dick, as much as she doesn't want to think about it.

And that's the other thing--every other time Blitzø's gotten horny for real, both before he started hooking up with Stolas, he'd go out and handle it. He'd be gone for a night and come back all refreshed and in an annoyingly good mood--or at least less grouchy than he'd left. Loona doesn't know their names or their species or their identities; she wouldn't be able to pick out a single one in a lineup. None of them mattered.

Stolas, though? Any idiot who spent ten seconds around him and Blitzø would be able to tell he definitely mattered. They're still living out a stupid romcom, but the kind that gets produced in Lust.

The problem is, Loona doesn't have anything--anyone--else to measure it by. Is Blitzø the sort of guy who gets extra horny (gag) in a relationship, the same way he gets all extra sappy? Because there's a huge difference in how Blitzø treats her friends from when she first started hanging out with them to now, and it wouldn't surprise her at all if his relationship with Stolas went through a similar transformation. It's just they have that extra layer where sex is involved.

Loona personally barely remembers her first boyfriend or her first girlfriend--both other hounds stuck in the same system as her, both more just people she'd liked and been attracted to rather than the kind of Romance, capital-R, that Blitzø and Stolas are going through. And while she's plenty used to the stupid lovebirds being ready to suck face at the drop of a hat, neither of them are her dad. He might have the impulse control of a toddler on sugared crack, but he's never once forgotten to act like a dad to her... which means not exposing her to his sex life beyond the fact that he has one.

But today? Today, as soon as they get back from their first couple hits of the day, he's immediately back to sitting on the receptionist's desk, leaning into Stolas's personal space like it's his own. Loona shoves her headphones into her ears the moment she sees him scuttling over, but from the way Stolas is blushing like crazy, she'd bet money that it's gross.

Not that he seems to be in any rush to stop it, though. He's definitely leaning in, even playing with Blitzø's tail where it's looped around his wrist. They're in their own fucking world, which she doesn't really give a fuck about, except for how they're in the office.

So when it looks like Blitzø is going to go for a kiss, she clears her throat loudly. He jumps, but he doesn't actually pull back immediately, which feels like a red flag. The fact that he looks real unfocused is an even bigger one. "Looney?"

"I'm hungry," she says, as casually as she can. "Wackford's selling burrito bowls this week, you want one?"

"Huh? Wha--uh, sure. Stols?" Blitzø turns to Stolas again with the fucking dopiest look on his face. The fact that the fucking owl looks equally out of it makes her fur stand on end. "You want anything, babe?"

Stolas opens his beak like he's gonna say something that Loona will be obligated to break his scrawny neck for, then catches himself. He shakes his head like he's trying to clear it, a tiny frown appearing on his face. It doesn't really make her feel any better. "I--I don't believe I'm familiar with this, ah, 'burrito bowl' thing. I'll trust your judgment, Loona."

"Get him something with extra meat," Blitzø says, which would've been fine if not for the way he waggles his eyebrows at Stolas after he says it. Then he seems to catch himself, shooting her a guilty look. "Extra cheese and hot sauce on mine. Don't let Wackford talk you into adding any weird shit."

"According to you, most things are weird shit," she says dryly. "I'll be back."

"Thanks, sweetie," he says, but he's already distracted again. Loona watches for a second, feeling her hackles go up slightly. Seriously, what the fuck? She's not an angsty kid with abandonment issues or anything--she's an adult with them, thanks fucking much--but this is fucking weird. As shitty as Blitzø can often be, he's practically made it a part of his personality to be a doting dad, and Loona knows better than to think that getting his dick wet would be enough to change that.

So she lingers a minute longer than she would have normally, sniffing carefully at the air. Aside from the usual mess of familiar scents that make up I.M.P., there's the stink of horny in the air from both Blitzø and Stolas--which, ew, she would've been happy never having to analyze that--but also a zing that she just barely remembers. It's the same way that Stolas's palace smelled on Sinsmas, a scent that had only intensified when that bitchy ice diva-wannabe had gotten worked up.

It smells like the package that arrived the day before, the one that she knows came from that shitty asshole peacock.

Loona narrows her eyes. Across the office, Blitzø is like two seconds away from just sliding into Stolas's lap. They're smiling at each other, which would be cute if not for the smell--now that she's noticed it, it's like the only thing she can smell. Both of them had been real insistent that things were fine that morning. No harm, no foul, no lingering side effects from whatever bullshit had been delivered to the office.

No lingering side effects her furry ass.

She snaps a quick photo, then slips out of the office.

Good news. We've found some legal loopholes that should aid us in making sure that neither your mother nor your uncle will be able to force the situation, once your birthday officially comes, no matter what agreements are already in place. They will certainly try to time it so that any contracts that require your signature are confirmed before you are officially eighteen, but so long as you avoid those traps, you will be okay.

Via stares at the text, then flops back on her bed with a groan. On the one hand, she's glad that Dad's texts have gotten shorter--no more walls and walls of words that take like ten minutes to wade through in their entirety--but right now, it all feels so frustratingly vague. She's nearly an adult! It's less than two weeks until her birthday, when she can claim the birthright of Stolas and hold that position for him, until such time that he returns from exile or...

...or...

She rolls onto her side and curls herself into a ball. As much as the thought is there, pulsing, like a sting that hasn't yet faded, she forces herself to acknowledge it: she will hold the role of Stolas, until her dad either returns to power or he dies.

It's no secret that the goetia are considered immortal among the other Hellborn, but that's not true. Mum would say it is, and so would Uncle Andrealphus, but she remembers being ten years old and going to a funeral--one of her uncles on Dad's side, a man she'd never met. Looking back on it and her vague memories of those days, she wonders if Dad had ever met him, either.

But she remembers him trying to explain the concept of death to her, as serious and solemn as he'd ever been in her life. It wasn't like the idea was completely foreign to her; she'd lost nannies and maids over the years--sometimes to accidents, sometimes to age, and sometimes to Mum's temper. What had been new was the idea that Via herself would someday die--and not just her, but Mum too. Uncle Andrealphus.

Dad.

"We are extraordinarily lucky compared to others," he'd said to her, as he'd smoothed down her flyaway feathers, his expression so sad. "Our magic means we can live longer, and if we choose, we can age slower. However, Starfire, don't forget: only the human soul is considered truly immortal, and we do not have those. Lords willing, it will be a very, very long time before you have to worry about this. But death will come for us all someday, my darling, and you must remember that, no matter what your mother or uncle try to say."

Now that he no longer has his magic, what will happen? Via scrolls through their message history, as short as it is--snippets from Dad to update her on his research, all one-sided. She hadn't replied to a single one. Instead, she'd sent him notes with the books she'd been ferrying between his old library and his new home. She wants to say it's because just in case Mum or Uncle Andrealphus discovers this second phone, she can pretend that Dad's just been a creepy stalker, broken and crazed after finding out she was going to be engaged--anything that would keep her out of trouble. She knows that if she said that, and Dad was confronted, he'd fall in line. He'd take the fall for her.

And knowing that, she also knows that she's just being a fucking coward.

Why is it so hard to just reply to him? Even just a one-word "thanks" would be something. That's at least polite.

But every time she starts to type, her fingers start shaking, and she just feels so, so cold. And it's not something she can blame on the ice that now lines the palace.

Which is just so stupid. It is! It's fucking stupid, because Via might not have a hundred years to figure out what to say to him. Dad's gotten himself all tangled up with that red dickhead--Blitzø, fine, he's got a name, she knows it--and imps are notoriously short-lived. They've got so little inherent magic that anything and everything hits them harder. A car accident, a stray bullet, some garden-variety plague, and then he'd just be... gone. Why would her dad throw so much away for someone so fragile?

Dad's also that fragile now, the thought bubbles up, unwelcome, unwanted. All the things that could kill that asshole could kill him, too. Maybe even easier, because her dad's the kind of airhead that would just walk into traffic without noticing a bus barreling down on him. Via could have a dad one moment, and then... not, the next.

She growls, low and annoyed, rolling over to punch at a pillow. She doesn't want to think about that! She's got more important things to consider! Like this stupid fucking engagement that's looming over her head--Mum hasn't even told her the guy's name yet! She has to live her own life and get through this, and not worry about anything that could happen to her dad while he's powerless and out there with just an imp to protect him--

--an imp that had stepped in to protect her dad without thinking from her, a goetic princess, when he knew she still had her own magic in spades--

Via groans. Fuck. Why is all of this so complicated?

Eventually, when there's no further updates forthcoming, she sticks the phone under her pillow, close enough to be heard, but not so close at hand that she would feel compelled to keep checking, and she goes to grab her guitar. She hasn't played in months, not since the day she'd gone to give Dad his pills, but...

Music has always been a way for her to feel closer to him, even when she wanted nothing to do with him. She can still remember the lullabies he'd sung to her when she'd been a nestling, though those had tapered off over the years.

Does he still sing? Has that boyfriend of his ever heard him for real--not just something like that stupid performance at the trial, but really and truly? Is that something that's still just for Via alone?

To her surprise, as she plucks idly at the strings, picking her way through a half-remembered melody of her nestling years, she hopes not. If nothing else, she hopes that her dad can sing for that stupid boyfriend of his, and that his stupid boyfriend appreciates it.

She's so lost in playing that she nearly misses the phone buzzing with a text notification--nearly. It takes more control than she'd like to admit to not fling the instrument aside as she dives for the phone, grabbing it and opening it up, her heart racing. It does every time she hears the stupid thing go off, because ever since she'd gotten the stupid thing, Dad's been the only one who's texted her, and--it's stupid, and it's cringe, and she's embarrassed to admit it--there is still a part of Via that wants to hear from him.

To her surprise, though, it's from Loona. With a frown, she taps it open.

Ur uncle's a creeper

Her brow furrows, and after a moment of hesitation, she replies: That's one way of putting it.

Nah hes 1000000% creeper. Did u know about him trying to poison our dads?

Via sits bolt upright. Her heart is beating faster again, so hard and loud she half-expects Mum to come pounding on her door, screeching at her to be quiet. Her hands shake as she stares down at her phone. Poison? Poison? When Dad has none of his usual protections, and doesn't even have the money to go to a doctor if something happened--she'd seen that shitty apartment, and she's pretty sure her room is bigger than the whole thing--

She forces herself to take a deep breath and let it out, then another, then another, and somehow finds the calm to write. What do you mean?

He sent shit again, Loona replies almost immediately. Some fucking box thingy. Ur dad's pretty sure it was for him but it got my dad too. They were gross for a bit but they're at least acting better but I dunno. Somethings still sus

Via frowns. Gross?

GROSS girl u don't wanna know

She stares for a few seconds, then blanches when she guesses what Loona means. Oh, lords. First she had to get used to the idea that Dad had been living with his--his boyfriend, who wasn't even really his boyfriend yet, and now she has to know that they... that they... and because of Uncle Andrealphus?!

But they're okay now??

Yah I think so. Mostly. Dad's being kinda extra touchy and ur dad is rly acting into it. They're not acting sick-sick tho. I just wanted 2 check w u to make sure

Via grinds her beak, staring at those words. Why would Loona be checking with her about whether or not their dads were--okay? Loona's the one who's living with them! She's the one who gets to be with them and be close to her dad and talk to him whenever she wants, while Via is--not jealous, not at all, but it's still not fair!

She groans again, putting the phone down so she can rub at her face with both hands. This is stupid. She's being stupid. She knows it, but she still can't push down that sick feeling of hurt that churns inside her. For a moment, she imagines if she were also in that cramped little apartment--probably she'd be sharing Loona's room. She'd have to see her dad and his boyfriend working their way towards being something, something that would actually make her dad happy, in a way that Mum and Via never did--

"Stop that, you idiot," she says aloud to herself, and flinches at how much she sounds like Mum in that moment. She presses her hands to her eyes, takes a breath, and picks up the phone again.

Why are you asking me? I can't see them from here.

Bc ur uncle is deffo the one who sent a weird box to imp yesterday, Loona replies. Ur dad's pretty sure it was him and it smells like him. U know ur uncle better than me. Would he send shit to kill my dad?

Oh. Via sucks in a quick breath. She thinks about Uncle Andrealphus, and how dismissive he is of the servants--imps that have served her dad for years and years. The head butler has been reduced to an errand boy. Her dad's personal manservant is pretty much just a toy for both Mum and Uncle Andrealphus to toss around whenever they feel like it. She thinks about how Uncle Andrealphus is always close by whenever Mum comes to talk to her. He doesn't always make his presence immediately known, but Via has seen him lurking around corners more than once.

She thinks about how furious he was, those months ago, after Dad had tried to storm the castle, saved only by her intervention. He hadn't said anything to Mum about it, but something had changed in his eyes that day, especially when he looked at her.

A shiver goes through her that has nothing to do with the ambient chill. Her fingers shake again as she types, I don't know. I don't think so.

In response, she gets a photo--a little blurry, the angle awkward--of her dad in that dingy little office. He's sitting at the desk she vaguely remembers seeing Loona at, the first time she'd snuck in. He's got a whole stack of papers next to him, but he's not even looking at them. Instead, he's looking at his boyfriend, who's sitting on the edge of the desk, lounging like he owns the place (and okay, fair, he technically does). Blitzø's in the middle of saying something, and her dad is smiling at him, and his expression is so soft.

They're mostly ok, Loona has texted, under that photo. I just wanna make sure they stay ok. U tell me

Via grinds her beak, catches herself, and lets out a shaky breath. After a few minutes to think, she replies, Uncle Andrealphus doesn't like to act directly. If he sent something to your place trying to get my dad or yours, he probably just wanted to make it embarrassing for them. If they weren't "together" yet, he probably knew. So if he was sending something to make them do THAT he probably wanted to make it something that'd embarrass Dad and make things worse between them.

As she types that out, she feels a growing confidence in that conclusion. Dad might have declared himself the mastermind, rather than just aiding and abetting his lover in illegal access to the living world, but when you get down to it, he's not really a man for plots. He's a liar, and he's bad at saying things openly and honestly, but she's never felt like it was because he had some grand scheme he was cooking up.

If nothing else, she holds onto the memory of that birthday, when he'd stepped in to cut off Mum's scheming. Dad lies, but he's never gone behind her back.

Uncle Andrealphus, on the other hand? Oh, he's absolutely the type. She hesitates, then adds, If they're happy now, then that's probably the biggest fuck you to his plans they could give.

She wonders if Loona will see the question buried in that comment. Sometimes, as much as she hates to admit it, she is her father's daughter. She can't bring herself to ask it directly, but she wants to know--is he happy? He looks like it. He looks better in this photo than he did when they'd met at the mall, and a part of her wonders if that was just a performance, another lie, something--

The phone buzzes with Loona's reply: He misses the shit out of you but he's doing ok. U know that princess don't be dumb

She bristles a little, automatically, then forces herself to calm. I just wanted to know. Since I can't see him.

Y not?

Her frown deepens. Because I can't.

Bullshit

I don't have any more excuses to leave the palace. Last time I had a reason to be stuck in my room all day and I don't have that anymore. Mum keeps checking on me like every hour. I can't.

The phone blurs for a moment. When she blinks, there's water on the screen. Via tips her head back with a sigh, rubbing at her eyes.

After a pause, Loona sends back, Then what if we come 2 u?

She stares. That'd be SO dangerous. If anyone caught you you'd be killed. They wouldn't even need a trial. Uncle Andrealphus could just say that Dad was trespassing. They won't care.

Fuck that, Loona replies. U wanna see ur dad or not? Ur choice

Via swallows hard. She looks around her room, then gets to her feet and crosses to the window, twitching the curtain aside. From her location, she can see most of the back of the estate: what had once been her father's lovely, expansive garden, now completely frozen over. Ruined. Even if--when, it will be when--she takes over, and Uncle Andrealphus leaves, she's not certain life can be coaxed from that soil ever again.

Yes, she replies, and tosses the phone over her shoulder. It makes a soft thump when it hits the bed, and she presses her forehead to the glass. She should make more concrete plans with Loona--she should actually text Dad to let him know she wanted to see him--she should storm out of this room and demand Mum and Uncle Andrealphus stop this whole fucking stupid charade about her getting married--she should...

She should do something. Anything.

But she doesn't do any of that. She just stands and stares out at her dad's dead garden, and lets herself think about nothing at all.

"Sir--sir! Could you please focus for just ten fucking seconds?!"

Blitzø doesn't even look up from sticking his tongue down Stolas's throat, just lifts a hand to flip Moxxie off. Moxxie bites down the urge to snarl or to throw something at Blitzø's head. Knowing their combined luck, Blitzø would just catch it and throw it right back. And Moxxie's head hurts enough as it is already.

"We have three more jobs lined up for this afternoon," he says. Not yells, because he just knows that Blitzø will turn that on him later, but he does raise his voice louder. It had taken all of one minute after Loona had left for Blitzø to just tip right into Stolas's lap, and they'd just started making out like they were in private. If nothing else, he feels like this forfeits any complaints Blitzø has about him and Millie in the future.

...Not that he thinks it'll stop the jackass, but at least Moxxie has righteousness on his side.

Righteousness, and also a schedule to keep. He taps a hoof impatiently, then clears his throat to try again when Millie squeezes his shoulder. When he looks at her, she gives him a wink that, in spite of his irritation, makes his heart flutter in his chest.

"Let me handle this, baby," she says. She marches over to and around the desk, then simply scruffs Blitzø like he's some kind of oversized kitten. All it takes is a heave of one arm and she has him yanked off Stolas and dangling in her grasp, all his limbs curled up and his eyes wide. Moxxie watches with admiration how she manages that so effortlessly.

Blitzø, for his part, hisses and sputters, but also just hangs there, pouting like a toddler whose favorite toy was taken away. "What the fuck, Millie?! I was busy."

"Gettin' frisky on company time ain't busy," she says, with all that perfect cheery calm that Moxxie admires so much. "In fact, it's keepin' us from doin' what we're s'posed to. No offense, Stolas."

"Oh." Stolas blinks, both eyes out of sync for a moment, then pushes himself up a little straighter in his chair. He smooths a hand down his shirt and his feathers. Moxxie doesn't know how he can blush pink like that, but maybe it's a goetic thing. "N-none taken. I do apologize, that was quite rude of us."

"Aw shucks, hon, no one's blamin' you for gettin' a lil spicy after so long," Millie says cheerfully, ignoring the way Blitzø whines dry spell? at the same time. "Just, y'know... we do still got jobs t'do. And even if your baby girl's payin' us, that money ain't gonna last us forever. Reputation is everything in this business."

"Yes, of course," Stolas says, so earnestly that Moxxie can't even be as annoyed as he wants. At least one of them has some shame about the flagrant disregard of propriety. Trust a (former) goetic prince to at least have manners. "I promise it shan't happen again."

"Yeah, well, I don't," Blitzø says, crossing his arms. "How the fuck do you expect me to work under these conditions?"

"Which conditions?" Millie asks, raising an eyebrow.

He jabs his tail in Stolas's direction, which makes Stolas blush deeper, fiddling with his sleeves. Fucking Satan, it was like being around teenagers. Moxxie's glad he and Millie were never so bad. "The conditions where there's a tight little birdpuss right there and I'm expected to do anything but fuck it!"

There's a silence that follows his outburst, and then Millie shakes him once, hard enough that his teeth rattle.

"I'm real happy you two are enjoying your honeymoon period," she says, "but now really ain't the time."

Blitzø scowls at her, his teeth showing and his spines lifting--but there's something a little more focused in his eyes now. He shares a look with Stolas that Moxxie doesn't even want to try and decipher, and his frown slowly deepens.

"You're right," he says slowly. "It's usually not this fucking hard to keep my dick in my pants."

Stolas makes a little chirping bird noise at that Moxxie cannot even begin to decipher, but it clearly means something to Blitzø: he perks up, his spines lifting, and for a second they just stare at each other before they both simultaneously turn their heads away. It's not entirely weird to see Blitzø so in sync with someone, but this is admittedly a degree that Moxxie's never seen before.

"While I'm not entirely familiar with what it's like to have a... a honeymoon period," Stolas says, and there's more in that admission than Moxxie thinks any of them are willing to dissect right now, "I will agree that this all feels rather... intense, to be honest. I admit, I thought I had it under better control. I do apologize."

Satan, but it's difficult sometimes to stay annoyed at him, which is annoying in and of itself. Moxxie clears his throat in an attempt to buy himself a moment to gather his thoughts, then says, "Do you think it has anything to do with the package from yesterday?"

Stolas blinks, and then his beak pulls into a frown. He puts a hand to his chest, and Moxxie does his best to ignore the way Blitzø is tracking every movement like he's ready to throw himself over the desk at any second.

"Perhaps," he says slowly. "Given the circumstances and the effects, I don't believe it was meant to cause any sort of permanent physical damage. I doubt Andrealphus would be so foolish as to make such a move. Even if I am disgraced, he wouldn't send anything so easy to track back to him."

"Would it be, though?" Millie asks. "It ain't like anyone in Imp City would know how to investigate, even if they wanted to."

"It's a bit more complicated than that." He looks down, tapping his talons restlessly against the desktop. "Right now, it's in Andrealphus and Stella's best interests to leave me alone until after Octavia reaches her majority. They want to maintain the image of her being the 'wholesome' parent, and quite frankly speaking, while I had very few allies among the rest of the goetia, I had very few direct enemies, either. And with my exile, no one stands to benefit from my death other than them."

"I don't get it," Moxxie says, which is honestly embarrassing to admit. "Wouldn't it be the smarter thing to do to--to get rid of you now, before your daughter's birthday? That way, everything goes to her while she's still legally a child, and they still have control of her."

Stolas smiles. It's a grim expression. "It's a bit more complicated than that, I'm afraid."

"So explain it like we're five," Blitzø says. He starts squirming in Millie's grasp until she lets him go with a stern look, at which point he scurries around the desk and crawls into Stolas's lap. Moxxie gives him an exasperated look, but for the moment, he seems content to just sit there, wrapping his tail around Stolas's waist. "Storytime before we have to get out of here."

There's a pause, and then Stolas looks down at him with such a tender expression that Moxxie is kind of embarrassed just seeing it. Millie seems to think it's cute, though, from the way she beams, tangling her tail with his.

"Then, think of my magic being in two categories," Stolas says at last. "There is what I was born with, as a goetia, and there is what I inherited, as a member of the Ars Goetia. Both sets were stripped from me with my exile, but so long as I am alive, the second set cannot be handed off until Octavia, my heir, is an adult. But if Octavia is given to another family, she forfeits her right to that inheritance--so, instead, it would go to Stella. So they drag out the timing until the last second in order to put a greater buffer of time in place, but they still sell Octavia off to another family while she is still legally a minor and beholden to her mother's decisions. Then theoretically, I have an 'unfortunate accident,' and that second set of magic goes to Stella, and Octavia cannot lay claim to it, because marriage removes her from her parents' house and to her spouse's."

There's a long pause.

"Babe, that made no fucking sense," Blitzø says. "I said like I was five, not IQ five hundred."

Stolas chirps and pecks at one of his horns. He recoils a second later, looking embarrassed, but there is no way for Moxxie to unsee that, or the way Blitzø definitely makes the Horny Face in response. "All right, to simplify it further: both my ex-wife and her brother are utterly intolerable selfish monsters, and they're attempting to set things up so that Octavia cannot claim her magical inheritance before she can legally kick them out, and only then will they try to take me out. Better?"

"Better," Blitzø says, and he nuzzles into Stolas's long neck, looking like he's going to do something Moxxie would definitely rather not see--though he stops when Millie clears her throat. She looks sympathetic, though, one hand on her stomach. Moxxie wonders if she even realizes.

"So, if he ain't lookin' to kill you yet, what was the point of the, you know." She makes a crude gesture with both hands that makes Blitzø snort, Stolas giggle, and Moxxie sigh. "That?"

The smile fades slowly from Stolas's face. He looks down at his hands, lacing his fingers tightly together.

"To ruin things for me, most likely," he says at last. "All things considered, if I'd been hit with the full brunt of his curse, I'm sure I would have been quite--overwhelming to be around. Embarrassing, at the very least. I'm sure in his ideal scenario, I would have acted in such a way that none of you would have been able to bear my presence any longer, and I would have been driven out onto the streets. He might not want me dead just yet, but total isolation is hardly the same thing as death." He looks up to study each of them in turn, and for whatever reason, he lands on Moxxie last. "If he could drive me into... ending things permanently, that would solve quite a number of problems for him. He'd probably send flowers as a thank you to the office."

There's a long heavy silence. For the first time in months, Moxxie finds himself thinking of his father. His stomach twists with a feeling oddly similar to gratitude. Because on the one hand, fuck that man and everything he'd ever done to make Moxxie's life terrible, even long after he'd left home--but at least he'd always been brutally direct in his messaging.

Finally, though, Millie says, "Yanno, I respect that you get first crack at that asshole, on account of him specifically targeting you'n all, but the next time I see that fucker, it's gonna be on fucking sight."

"I'd help," Moxxie says before he can stop and second-guess himself, and to his surprise, he means it.

He doesn't dislike the former prince, exactly, it's just... complicated. He's emotionally mature enough and objectively smart enough to recognize that jealousy plays some role in things: there are frequent times where Moxxie wants to strangle the man, and half the time he can't stand him, but Blitzø is still his friend. Loona, for how furiously frustrated she makes him, is the closest thing he has to a sister. It's weird, watching Blitzø be so--so doting to someone who isn't Loona, someone who'd broken his heart not a few months ago. And while Millie's been just fine letting that go and accepting Stolas into I.M.P., Moxxie's had a harder time forgetting Blitzø's spiral--and honestly, his own stress at the time.

It's much more difficult to hold onto that grudge as time goes on, though, and he is adult enough (unlike some of us, Blitzø) to recognize he needs to let it go.

He knows it's the right decision when Stolas gives him a surprised look and a little smile, and Millie grabs his hand, giving it a tight squeeze. Blitzø, on the other hand, is making low unhappy noises, and somewhere during Stolas's story, he'd wrapped himself even more around the bird than before. There's a wild look in his eyes, like maybe he'd bite the hand off anyone who got too close. Moxxie isn't really interested in testing that.

"Blitzø?" Stolas asks softly.

And it's like his voice is electric or something, because Blitzø jolts like he's been shocked, a full-on growl tearing from his throat. He sits up, straddling Stolas's lap, but there's nothing sexual about it (for the moment)--just his claws grabbing Stolas's face, his tail snapping back and forth.

"I'm gonna fucking kill that fucker," he says. His voice is eerily calm, almost flat, the opposite of the threat that screams from his physical posture. Moxxie wonders if Stolas even realizes how truly close Blitzø is to snapping. "I'm gonna fucking just, rip his guts out with my bare hands and string him up with them. I'm going to pull out every single feather one by one and shove them down his skinny little twink throat. I'm gonna break every bone he has--"

"Blitzø," Stolas says, and his tone reminds Moxxie oddly of Millie: that same sort of gentleness wrapped around a steel core. It doesn't surprise him, precisely--he remembers a similar tone, that day those human agents had captured him and Blitzø--but it does startle him. And Blitzø jerks again, then just sags, the energy going out of him. He's still clutching Stolas's face, but his head is bowed now, and Stolas lifts his arms in slow, careful movements until he can wrap them loosely around Blitzø's body.

"I do appreciate your concern, and your outrage," he says. He looks over at Millie, then at Moxxie, one hand moving in slow careful passes down Blitzø's back. "Truly, when I say I had very few allies among my peers before, I meant it. But Andrealphus is... his arrogance often makes him overconfident, but you've seen firsthand how dangerous he can be when provoked. As much as I am grateful for your worry, I am... call it selfishness, if you must. I must stress I want all of you to be careful. I would hate to lose any of my friends to him."

His voice goes softer as he says the word friends, like he isn't sure about it. He does glance at Moxxie in particular, which he doesn't love, but also... fair. He hasn't exactly tried to make his unease around the former prince a secret.

So it feels important for him to clear his throat, clinging a little harder to Millie's hand for strength, and say, "We'll be careful... but we're still going to shoot him in the face the first chance we get."

"Wooow, Moxx," Blitzø drawls, and he turns his head just enough to peek at Moxxie with one eye, "listen to you, talking like a big boy. You know if Millie leaves her dick in you, it doesn't actually count as an enhancement for yours, right?"

Millie shifts her weight, like she might say something, but Moxxie squeezes her hand and says, "Yeah, well, just for that, you can get in line for having a crack at him."

"--What?!" Blitzø's head snaps around fully now, a scowl on his face. "Bitch, I have first dibs, Stolas is my bird--"

"Millie said it first," Moxxie says, as innocently as he can manage. "And as I'm her backup, that means I get grandfathered in."

Blitzø squints. "I don't care whose grandpa you're diddling, Moxx, that doesn't mean you get to fucking cut in line."

"Maybe you should speak up faster next time," Moxxie snips back.

"Oh you little bitch--"

The door to the office bangs open, and Loona sticks her head in. She looks more bored than anything, as she normally does, but her ears are swiveled forward, relieved rather than alarmed. "So, are we actually doing the rest of our jobs today? 'Cause if not, I'm gonna go catch a movie with Gigi and Russ."

Blitzø's complaining dies into a sulky whine, and Stolas ducks his head enough to murmur something low in his ear. For a long moment, Moxxie worries that they're going to get started again, Loona's presence or not, but then Stolas pulls back with a soft little smile, giving Blitzø a gentle push to nudge him off his lap. Blitzø stumbles, turns it into a swagger, and says very loudly in obvious compensation, "Okay, fuck, fine, let's go pop these shitty humans so we can get on with the rest of our day. Sorry, Looney, your movie's gonna have to wait."

"Only because I'm going along with it," she says, but her tail wags gently as she steps back into the office, crossing over to where Blitzø is opening the portal. Millie also starts to head over, pulling Moxxie with her, but he turns to glance over his shoulder, just briefly.

Stolas meets his eyes with a small, gentle smile, and mouths thank you. Moxxie blinks, then finds himself smiling back, nodding in friendly acknowledgment before he turns back, following the rest of the field team through the portal and onto the next job.

Chapter Text

If he is truly, absolutely honest with himself, there is a large part of Stolas that dreads the meeting with Octavia that Loona has proposed.

It's not that he doesn't want to see his daughter--he does, with a desperate, aching desire that is frankly humiliating to examine too closely. Even with their tentative steps towards... acknowledgment, if not full-on reconciliation, he misses her with an ache that leaves him hollow and heartbroken. As much as Blitzø is the true romantic love of his life, there is no denying that Octavia is his first real experience with love.

But the fever from Andrealphus's curse still clings to his feathers. Every hour weakens it further, but there are still the occasional intense flares of want that rise up in him, so overwhelming that he can't even breathe. Blitzø isn't even there for most of the day--they'd taken on a rather punishing battery of assignments for the day, which Stolas knows because he'd set the schedule--but he doesn't need to be. Stolas only needs to shift in his seat to feel the ache between his legs, and the residual sting on his hips. Despite his relatively weak sense of smell, he finds himself turning his head and catching a whiff of gunpowder and cheap cigarette smoke.

Fuck, even being in the I.M.P. office is a reminder of him: this is his business, after all. This is something that he built from the ground up, all in bold defiance of what society has always dictated that imps must be; it is proof positive of Blitzø's competence, his skill, his dedication, his bravery, his--

Anyway. The craving is certainly still there, but thankfully it does fade after a minute or so of deep, careful breathing. In Stolas's opinion, he deserves some sort of compensation prize for keeping things professional, even when the field team returns to the office. There's a moment where he meets Blitzø's eyes across the room, and though telepathy was never a skill of his, he can read Blitzø's thoughts as clearly as words on a page: fuck, I want to fuck him so badly.

They somehow make it through closing the office and the commute home without incident. Stolas feels as if they both deserve a prize for that--but alas, there is so little privacy in Blitzø's apartment, and before he can make any sort of vague questions about Loona's plans for the night, she looks straight at him and says, "Octavia wants to take a look at you guys to check on that curse shit."

Which is how they've come to this: Blitzø and Loona making plans based on Blitzø's sketches of the palace's layout, modified with Stolas's input, and a plan to head over once the hour was closer to midnight. All of his protests remain heavy and bitter on his tongue, unspoken. He doesn't mind the danger to himself, but the mere idea of the threat posed to Blitzø and Loona--not to mention what might happen to Octavia, when he has spent her whole life trying to keep her safe...

But he cannot say his concerns. For one thing, he doesn't wish to insult either Blitzø or Loona when they're both far more familiar with combat than he is. And for the other...

Perhaps it is his selfishness once again, but he cannot allow himself to voice any sort of doubt over seeing Octavia. He wants her to believe in his sincere desire to keep her in his life, and to say anything now would surely only enforce her belief that he'd willingly abandoned her. So even though he can still feel the low, steady pulse of artificially-enhanced carnal desire in his belly, he cannot pass up on this opportunity.

Stolas holds his tongue, but he knows that Blitzø realizes his anxiety, if not the exact details. On the van ride to the palace, as he sits with his fingers tightly laced together, that long sinuous tail creeps to wrap around his wrist. When he glances over, Blitzø is keeping his eyes on the road, but that tail gives a gentle squeeze that he is certain is meant to be reassurance.

It does not really calm him, but it at least helps.

Blitzø parks the van in a little clearing at the very edges of the palace grounds--one that Stolas honestly hadn't even realized existed. It gives him some comfort, though; if he hadn't known about this spot, then Stella certainly doesn't... and if she doesn't, then neither does Andrealphus. The thought warms him the tiniest bit as he steps out into the chill of the night air.

"She'll meet us in the gardens," Loona says. She's got her eyes on her phone, tapping away. Stolas desperately wants to lean over and peek at her screen, but he knows that's bad manners. "I guess Tweedledumbass and Tweedlecuntbag have already gone to bed, but she says she doesn't want the chance that someone will overhear us."

"Good idea," Blitzø says. He wraps his arms around himself, chafing at his arms, but his tail winds around Stolas's wrist again. From the look on his face, he doesn't even realize--it's just an instinctive gesture, and that does warm something in Stolas's chest. And further down, which he resolutely pushes away. "Fuuuck me, isn't it supposed to be fucking summer soon?"

"That's probably Andrealphus's influence," Stolas says quietly as they walk towards the palace. He follows the cues from Blitzø and Loona to step lightly and stick to the deepest shadows. A few plants weakly turn their heads in his direction, and he lets his fingers graze a few, longingly. "He only enchanted the palace and its immediate gardens, but it seems like the residuals from his power have started to seep out across the whole property."

"I didn't understand like half of that," Blitzø says with easy grace. "But it's another thing to blame the peacuck for, got it."

"Pea--" He titters, scandalized, covering his mouth with his other hand. He doesn't want to pull away from Blitzø's grip, even for something as simple as this. "--Yes. Yes, it's his fault."

"Cool. Add it to his list of sins, Looney."

"Keep your own fucking list," she says. "I've got my own grudges to keep track of."

There's enough light from the waning moon that Stolas can see the way Blitzø's eyebrows lift. "Issat so? Aww, Looney, lookit you, stepping up to have your own problems with the shitty way adults treat people--"

"Shhhhh," she hisses, and shrinks back against a tree. Without missing a beat, Blitzø does the same, pulling Stolas with him. They wait for a few seconds as Loona stares ahead, her ears alert, her tail stiff and vibrating faintly. Stolas had employed very few hellhounds in his time--his role as a member of the Ars Goetia had meant he needed very little true protection. Most of the palace's security had been on Stella's payroll, only trotted out during her many ostentatious parties. He's had very little experience with observing them directly, but even he can see how wary her body language is. He strains as best he can--his hearing is significantly better than his sense of smell, and his eyesight even better--but he cannot catch anything that would make Loona worry.

"Okay," she whispers, a beat later. "There's one hound that's been around here, but not for a couple of weeks. The colder it gets, the harder it'll be for him to notice anyone else was here. I think we're fine."

"Does the cold make that much of a difference?" Stolas whispers back, as they start creeping forward again. "I don't mean to question you, it's only--"

"Yeah, you birds can only smell shit when it's right in your face," Loona says. Her tone is gruff, but there's something lighter, almost like amusement in her voice. "Cold just numbs the nose, that's all. If that asshole peacuck is employing hellhounds as security, he's basically kneecapping them with the way he's freezing all the shit around here."

He just barely avoids giggling again at the word. Peacuck. Amazing, how changing a single letter turns Andrealphus into an insult to himself. Perhaps it's bad manners to be pleased by it, but if both Blitzø and Loona are using it now, he thinks he's at least a little bit allowed.

Loona makes them pause again when they reach the gardens. They're on the edge of what would be considered the palace's direct property, the outskirts of the lands Stolas had tended to himself. This time, she pulls out her phone--likely to text Octavia--and Stolas takes the time to look around. He'd barely paid attention the last time he'd been on these grounds, too focused on seeking Octavia out, whatever hell might bar his way, but now...

Oh, now... he can't help the little distressed warble that bubbles up in his throat. He sees one of Loona's ears swivel in his direction, but Blitzø turns to him at once, grabbing at his hands with his own now. The concern in Blitzø's eyes is blade and balm both. "Stols? What's wrong?"

"I knew..." he starts, then has to pause and clear his throat, unable to look at either of them for long. "I knew that Andrealphus had frozen the grounds, and I knew that it would--I had some plants that were bred to survive the cold, but that was more like... a Pride winter. Not..." He lifts a hand and gestures weakly. "Not all of this."

Blitzø is still for a moment, then looks around himself. Stolas wonders if Blitzø had ever paid much attention to the gardens, during the months of their arrangement. They'd dallied outside several times, and he knows that a few of his larger carnivorous plants had a specific fondness for snapping at Blitzø's heels, but--for as nurturing and kind as Blitzø can be, when inspired, Stolas doesn't think that plants have ever truly been on his radar as things to deserve his care. If he thinks back, he can pull up a host of memories of Blitzø looking bored and distant as he'd rambled about this plant or that flower, and that brings up enough residual hurt that he has to push the thought away.

Finally, Blitzø says, very softly, "If you want, we can go to a plant store this weekend."

It feels almost like a non sequitor, but Stolas understands the offer for what it is: that no, Blitzø doesn't have the same emotional attachment to the gardens as Stolas--and why would he? He hadn't been the one to nurture these grounds, tending to things that he'd planted himself, and to things that had been planted by his lost mother's hands--but he recognizes the grief it brings Stolas. His apartment hardly has the space of a palace, but it does have its tiny balcony space, and that could be... something.

There is space to build new lives. He hears that message in that simple offer, and he takes a shaky breath, squeezing Blitzø's hand as hard as he can, meeting those wide eyes.

"I would like that," he says, equally softly.

Blitzø blinks, grins like he's proud of himself, then softens out of that expression into something more genuinely tender. He takes a breath, but before he can say anything, Loona says, "She's almost here. Better make yourselves presentable."

"We're not doing anything, Looney," Blitzø says, though he doesn't look away from holding Stolas's gaze. "We wouldn't do that kinda shit in front of either of our babies."

Loona groans, and Stolas can't help but twitter a little. The uneasy anticipatory tension of seeing Octavia again is in his chest again, and he can feel himself trembling in response--and more to the point, he knows Blitzø feels it, too. A moment later, Blitzø shifts closer to him, and Stolas gives him a weak smile of gratitude, then looks up as Octavia tiptoes into view.

It's strange. She looks no different from the last time he'd seen her, not really--she'd forgone her usual starry shirt and cardigan for that meeting at the Mall of Pride, but her face had still been the same--and yet, she seems changed on some indescribable level.

There is no looking at Octavia and denying that she is his daughter. She's inherited Stella's longer crest, and the way her tail fans is more similar to Andrealphus than Stolas, but in the color of her feathers, in the shape of her face and her long, thin build, she is his mirror. When Stolas looks at her, he can also see so many other images overlaid, from her hatching-day through this last tumultuous year. His precious daughter, his little hatchling that has now grown to a fledgling on the edges of adulthood--his girl that he had sworn in his heart to protect, and had failed so terribly.

"Octavia," he says softly. In the quiet--in this frozen garden, where even the insects have been silenced by the cold--it feels as loud as a gunshot. Is that too much? Is it too improper? He is only a commoner right now; in terms of proper etiquette, he should keep his eyes focused on her chin rather than meet her eyes, and he should bow upon sight.

But she'd looked so wounded when he'd tried to follow those rules. And she had still called him Dad, the last time they'd met, but he doesn't wish to disrespect the way she'd severed their ties either.

Octavia hesitates, looking at him, then Blitzø, then Loona. Then she takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, her stride almost a march as she approaches him. Stolas's heart aches, watching her rally herself to move. His brave, beautiful, brilliant girl--how much he wishes he could have protected her from all of this.

"Hi Dad," she says, when she's standing in front of him. There are things swimming in her eyes that Stolas does not dare wonder about. It would be too easy for him to delude himself into thinking she has missed him, that her concern is that of a daughter for her father, and not for a client checking on the contractors she has hired. He cannot put the burden of his hopes onto her; he has to let her make that choice.

"Octavia," he says again. "I--hope that you're well."

Her beak grinds for a second, a childish scrunch, and then she catches herself. "I'm fine," she says shortly. "I'll be more fine when this is all done with, but--Loona said that you guys had been cursed."

"Yeah, it was probably that cuuuuuhhhh--crapbag of an uncle of yours," Blitzø says. At some point, he has gently inserted himself partway between Stolas and Octavia, and Stolas blinks at the way the two of them stare at each other. It feels rather like they're squaring off over something, but he cannot tell what. "I.M.P. gets plenty of unmarked packages, but nothing that fucking fancy. He probably thought he was being--" and here his voice pitches up, in the tone and affected accent that he had used in the past to mock Stolas, "--soooo clever, getting one over the dumbass little wimpy-impies. The fuck does that guy know about cheap shit?"

Octavia blinks once, slowly. "What do you mean?"

"I believe whoever sent the package--whether it was your uncle or not," Stolas begins.

"It was definitely him," Loona chimes in. "It stinks the same way he does. No offense, birdbrain."

"--er, none taken?" He flounders for a moment, then goes on: "Whoever sent it is... not terribly familiar with the sort of quality that one expects in Imp City. Which isn't to say that everything is terrible! Only that--"

"If you're gonna send a package, don't use a box that isn't even dented," Loona cuts in dryly. "Or doesn't look like it's been through the fucking wringer. Everyone reuses shit as much as possible, so most boxes have already been through the system like, four or five times. We get some new things, sometimes, but on top of the smell?" She taps the side of her nose. "Nah. Your uncle's a dumbass."

Again, Octavia blinks, then shrinks a little in on herself, hugging her elbows. Stolas wants nothing more than to sweep her up into an embrace, to coo to her the way he would when she'd been a nestling. He has to clench his fists to keep himself from reaching out.

"Uncle Andrealphus is supposed to be very clever," she mumbles. Her gaze darts one way, then the other. "He's always going on about how well he did with his tutors and stuff. Everyone else says the same about him. Whenever they find out he's my uncle, they're always telling me how brilliant he is. And he always--"

"Yeah, gonna have to stop you there, kiddo," Blitzø says. "There's a huge difference between being book-smart and being smart-smart. And let me tell you, all you royals don't have any fucking idea what it's like outside of your fancy castles and shit."

Octavia frowns. Her gaze cuts to Stolas for a moment, then she looks away. "Dad went to Wrath every year for the Harvest Moon Festival, he's seen--"

"Octavia," Stolas says, as gently as he can. "Even when I went, I did not stay there. I could simply portal in for the day's work and return home the same evening. I never interacted with anyone beyond the organizers of the festival. That is deeply different from actually living amongst people."

You know that, he thinks, watching her fidget and shift her weight. I have taught you better than that, my darling. I know you're more clever than your mother or your uncle, but you need to remember that yourself.

Finally, she sighs, her posture sagging as she does.

"Yeah," she says at last, softly. "You're right."

Stolas nearly throws himself at her, to sweep her up and hold her again. He channels that anxious energy into clutching at Blitzø's hand instead. "Octavia..."

"Anyway," she says, a little louder, over his murmur. "Let me take a look at the both of you. I haven't ever--it's been a while since I've had to do any studying on curse-breaking, but I still remember some of it. I want to make sure things are okay. So. Um. First, I need--Blitzø, you come over h-- would you please come here?"

Oh, his heart nearly bursts at the way she catches and corrects herself. His daughter has always been a thoughtful girl, and he's proud of her adapting in real time. It had taken Stolas entirely too long to learn how to catch his words, to change himself from saying things as a command, and asking them as a request instead. He makes himself let go of Blitzø's hand, though it does slightly pain him, and Blitzø glances his way for a second before he swaggers forward.

"Okay," he says, and he gestures at himself with both hands. "Now what?"

"I need your hand for this," Octavia tells him, and holds out her own. Blitzø doesn't hesitate for a second, simply grasps her hand, unprotesting as she shifts the grip and turns so that his palm and wrist face upwards. Stolas watches her as she presses two fingers to his pulse and closes her eyes. A faint glow starts at that point of contact, and Blitzø watches that with clear fascination, his fingers flexing loosely and fearlessly in Octavia's grasp.

Curses--and their breaking--have always been a specialty of Stella's family rather than his, and it has been some time since he'd needed to do anything like this either. And without his magic, he cannot observe the internal circuits through which mana flows. Imps have little to no natural magic, but they are still Hellborn creatures: the mechanics still exist within them, even if they cannot be utilized to their fullest. There are some amongst the goetia who claim that the existence of these mana pathways within imps, despite their weak affinity for magic, is just further proof of their destiny of subservience. Magic slavery has been outlawed in Hell for centuries, but Stolas knows for grim fact that there are plenty of those among the ranks of the goetia who still magically coerce their imp servants into working beyond the limits of their bodies, long after they should have physically collapsed. It isn't easy, exactly, for one to pour magic into someone else's magical circuits, but nor is it very difficult.

And knowing that, it's all too easy to imagine the sort of sinister repercussions that might exist. He wouldn't put it past Andrealphus to leave some sort of compulsion buried inside of Blitzø's mind, ready to trigger at the best--or worst--possible moment.

After a few minutes, Octavia takes a deep breath and opens her eyes again.

"You're fine," she tells Blitzø. "I mean, it's still there, a little? But I can tell it's fading. You should be completely fine by tomorrow."

He brightens, and Stolas lets out a little sigh of relief. Then Blitzø steps back, leaving Stolas facing his daughter.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, and then Octavia wordlessly holds out her hand. Stolas swallows and steps forward, extending his own hand and allowing her to take it. He watches her focus, touching her fingers to his pulsepoint so that her magic can track through him.

And it--hurts.

Or perhaps to say it aches is a better term. It feels like fingers pressing onto a deep bruise, except that it covers his entire body. Nearly all of his nightmares of the trial are of arriving too late--to seeing the ax fall, or discovering an already-headless body waiting for him--but there are nights, now and then, where he remembers the way it felt when Satan had casually ripped the magic from his body. Sometimes, he's surprised he survived that.

So feeling Octavia's magic in him now, foreign and familiar both, touches wounds he'd learned to ignore. Stolas clenches his beak, closes his eyes, and forces himself to breathe slowly and deeply, to try and center himself past the pain and focus simply on centering himself--

And then Octavia gasps, loud and startled, ripping her hand away from his. Stolas's eyes snap open, equally startled. "Octavia?!"

She clutches both hands to her chest, staring at him with wide, stunned eyes. There are tears swimming in her eyes, and Stolas's instincts as a father override his good intentions in that moment, as he steps forward and grasps her shoulders, studying her face in anxious intensity. He's vaguely aware of Blitzø and Loona closing in, but he cannot spare them any attention at this moment, not when his daughter looks like she might faint at any second. "Via, darling, what's wrong? Are you okay? What happened?"

"Dad," she whispers, her voice wobbly, shaking like a leaf in the wind, "Dad, you're gravid."

The truth is, Blitzø has looked up some shit about birds in the past.

He'd done some of it before things had gone fully to shit, but he'd looked up even more once he'd brought Stolas home and realized how fucking delicate that little birdy tummy actually was. Some of that shit was being a spoiled prince, sure, but he's also pretty sure that some of it is that he had no fucking idea what to feed a bird. Any time they'd eaten together before, it'd mostly been Blitzø ordering a fuckton of whatever shit he felt like, and Stolas maybe nibbling on a little bit now and then.

That had been the focus of his research, but he'd picked up some other shit, too--mostly about feathers, which have been a roller coaster of a learning curve on their own. He knows the names of different parts of a feather now, which is the most fucking useless trivia he can't get out of his brain... but while he vaguely remembers seeing the word gravid, he can't actually remember what it means.

But judging from the way Stolas staggers back from his kid at the declaration, and they're both staring at each other like she'd just announced he was fucking dying or something, he's gonna guess it's not great.

"Uhhh," he says, only a little annoyed when neither bird acknowledges his noise. "Maybe a little louder for us in the back? What the FUCK does that mean?"

Neither of them answer for a long moment, and Blitzø is about to ask again, with more volume, when Stolas makes a little keening distressed noise, his hands dropping to his stomach.

"Are you certain?" he asks, his voice a whisper. "There's no way that it--Via, I swear to you that I could not--"

"I know," she whispers back, sounding equally gutted. "I-I know, Dad, I--is this what Uncle Andrealphus wanted...?"

Stolas makes another pained noise, and that's it. Blitzø isn't a patient guy at the best of times, but like fuck is he going to just stand there while his fucking bird is hurting. He stomps forward, deliberately inserting himself between them, his tail lashing.

"Hey," he says again, louder, through gritted teeth. "What the fuck are you two even talking about? What the fuck is this gravy thing?"

"Gravid," both Stolas and Octavia say at the same time.

"Fine, whatever, just tell me what the fuck that means."

There's another long look between the two birds, and then Stolas bows his head. He takes a breath like he's trying to fortify himself, and Blitzø doesn't like what that implies about the news he's about to drop.

"I am, in less avian terms... pregnant," he says. "If I had to guess--there are certain circumstances under which a male goetia may conceive, but the conditions required for that all involve a great deal of magic, and--"

Blitzø holds up a hand. Stolas immediately shuts his beak, which doesn't help the static buzzing in his ears. It feels a shitton like a panic attack trying to claw its way through his shock, and the desire is there, burning in his veins like the same fire that destroyed the circus all those years ago--the same fury that has driven him to shit the bed, over and over again. He can feel his lips pulling back from his fangs in a snarl, and his fingers curl into claws. He wants to scream at someone--anyone--and he wants to turn and rip the nearest person to fucking shreds. He wants to set himself and the whole world on fire, just so he can get the fuck away.

But also--... also, he doesn't.

That's the Blitzø he used to be. The one he doesn't fucking want to be anymore, the one that he'd left behind to bleed out with all those effigies at Verosika's shitty party. And maybe he doesn't know how the fuck to actually be a good person yet--maybe he'll never really fucking figure it out--but he knows how to be a better one.

So he takes a few deep breaths and forces his body to relax out of its attack stance. He makes himself take another breath before he reaches out, holding his hands palms up and meeting Stolas's eyes. His bird looks on the verge of passing out or being sick, and Blitzø has to wonder if morning sickness is even a thing for birds. Given the fucking wild unlikelihood that anyone could be confirmed pregnant the day after a fuckfest, who the fuck even knows if Stolas's eggnancy is gonna follow the normal lines.

--Also, fuck, the kid's gonna be half-imp, right? Shit, that's probably also going to be a shitpile in and of itself.

But that's not important right now. What's important is him standing there, waiting, and the fact that Stolas finally pulls his hands away from his stomach to put them in Blitzø's. They're fucking freezing to the touch, and Blitzø would bet his entire fucking business that it's not because of the cuntsicle's ice powers.

"Look," he says, and then has to stop because he wants to say the right thing, and he just fucking doesn't know what even is the right thing in a fucked up situation like this. He just knows he wants Stolas to stop looking like that. "Stols, I--I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, or how we're gonna handle this, but I--I fucking promise you, we're gonna be okay."

Stolas's eyes go even wider, and when he blinks--yup, there are the fucking tears that were lurking. Blitzø thinks he hears a little noise from Octavia, but he can't fuck this moment up. He's got to make sure he can fucking stick this landing with Stolas.

"Blitzø," Stolas says softly. "I know that this was unexpected for you, and even if--no matter what, I want to--I'll--I swear, no matter what, I don't, I would never trap you--"

"Hey, hey." Blitzø squeezes those delicate hands as hard as he can, enough that he can feel the thin little bones grinding together. It probably hurts, but he knows Stolas. He knows this is the best way to get him to focus: a little sting, and then something more gentle to follow up. "I know. I know, Stols. We'll figure it out somehow."

Stolas takes a shaky little breath, and it's probably a fucking miracle he isn't crying his eyes out right now. "We...?"

"We," he agrees, like it's the fucking easiest thing. And shit, maybe it is. Maybe it really is just that fucking easy. Who knew? "Look, Stols, even if we weren't--whatever the fuck we are, I'm not a fucking deadbeat, okay? You and this kid are stuck with me. Got it?"

There's a pause that feels like the whole fucking world is holding its breath. Stolas doesn't blink the whole time, staring at him, and even without his magic--even without those weird freaky powers he used to have--it feels like he's looking straight into whatever withered husk passes for Blitzø's soul. He's heard Sinners talk about things like judgment and shit, and he's no stranger to that shit, but this is on a whole fucking different level.

And then Stolas lets out a shaky breath that's kind of a laugh, kind of a sob, and now the tears come. He pulls one hand away, in spite of Blitzø's instinctive noise of protest, to first wipe at his eyes and then cover his beak.

"You are... truly the most wonderfully ridiculous man I have ever met," he says. His voice is all choked up, but when he moves his hand, he's smiling. "How are you even real?"

Blitzø squints at him. "I'm gonna assume that's not some weird bullshit," he decides, because he's just that fucking generous of a guy. "That's a good thing?"

"A very good thing," Stolas murmurs. "We will have to discuss, I know, but... I know we'll figure it out."

"Of course we will," Blitzø says, with a swagger he half-believes, and now he finally lets himself look around Stolas, to their daughters. Loona has moved to stand closer to Octavia--not touching, which is probably a good call on her part, because the baby bird looks like she's going to keel over at any second. "Sooooo... what do you two think?"

Octavia blinks, her eyes out of sync, and then frowns, pointing at herself. "Me?"

"Both of you," Blitzø says. "I'm sure all those fancy shitty tutors you had tried to tell you imps don't know how to count, but surprise! I can."

She blinks again, then hunches a little, curling in on herself. Fuck, it's so similar to what Stolas does, and Blitzø wants to just pull that poor kid into a hug. Has anyone fucking given her one since Sinsmas? With what little he knows about her shitbag mom and uncle, he doubts it.

"Does it matter what I think?" she asks quietly. She probably could have made it pissy as all fuck, and he would have called it justified--who the fuck expects this kind of shit, huh? It's probably a good sign she didn't just go running back into that shitty castle. "I'm not... this isn't--it's not my--"

"Octavia," Stolas says, and Blitzø clocks that he's back to her full name, no more of that cute nickname. His face is just so full of fucking longing that Blitzø aches looking at him. "It does matter. It matters deeply, just like it matters what Loona thinks. I cannot say I will accommodate your wishes, but knowing them will help me make my own decisions."

She hunches up even further, looking away. "It... it's not like it affects my life at all. O-once this is all over, and I'm eighteen, you'll just go back with him, won't you?"

"Of course I will," Stolas says, in that fucking gentle way of his--but he doesn't hesitate, and Blitzø swallows around a lump in his throat he hadn't even fucking known was there. It hadn't even occurred to him that there might be an option--that if Stolas and Octavia reconciled over the course of this job, then once she was eighteen and had full control over shit again, she could just invite her dad back.

And Stolas would go, right? Because why wouldn't he? He's been a fucking shell since Sinsmas, and Blitzø knows that it's mostly for missing his baby.

But here he is, flat-out saying he wouldn't. That he'd stay with Blitzø, and Loona, in their shitty little apartment in that borderline-janky area of Imp City, and maybe with--

"Living with him doesn't mean I would never see you again, if you wanted," Stolas says, which is another kind of record scratch moment in Blitzø's brain. "But, Octavia... a true relationship isn't a one-way sort of thing. Nothing would make me happier than to have you in my life again. But if you are not willing, I will not--I have learned that forcing affection only hurts everyone. And I have harmed you more than enough."

She grinds her beak and fidgets. Every now and then, her gaze darts to him and then away again. Christ on a stick, she really is Stolas's kid.

"For what it's worth," Loona says, in that drawl that she uses when she's pretending not to give a shit, but wants to be heard, "I think it'd be kind of cool. Just don't expect me to give up my room for the brat."

And now it's Blitzø's turn to blubber a little, because unholy shit, that's huge? That's so fucking huge?! His Looney-Tooney, being able and willing to open that secret soft heart of hers to a potential little sibling--like okay, fuck, in his heart of hearts, Blitzø has always liked the idea of having lots of kids. But Loona had been so fragile and so fucking afraid of being abandoned that he hadn't dared even think about that shit for too long. He pinches himself, and huh, it hurts. Fuck, he's not dreaming.

Octavia, in the meantime, turns to look at Loona. She looks almost betrayed, but mostly she looks young. She's not really that much younger than Loona, but right now, she looks like a fucking baby.

...Fuuuuck, he might have an Actual Baby of his own soon, depending on how all this shit shakes out. Once he's able to, he's just going to fucking collapse.

"I am sorry to put such pressure on you, Octavia," Stolas says. "But if Andrealphus's spell is escalating the timeline, we have to decide sooner than later."

She takes a deep breath and lets it out, staring down at her feet. And then she peeks up through those feathers that are kinda like bangs, up at her dad.

"It's your life, Dad," she says, small and stumbling and hesitant. It's the same way Stolas sounds when he's trying to talk himself through something, and Blitzø grabs for his hand before he can do something stupid like interrupt the kid when she's trying to work herself up. "I don't... I never wanted to be--this is the kid you want, isn't it?"

She tries to make it sound harder at the end, but honestly, it just sounds like she's about to cry. Fuck. The poor kid. Blitzø squeezes Stolas's hand again, which feels like it's as much to keep him from running over to give her a hug.

There's a pause, and when Blitzø glances sideways, he sees Stolas clearly working himself up to something, so he bites his own tongue to keep quiet. The thing is, his bird loves words, and sometimes they're just flowery bullshit, but he also knows Stolas has been chewing on (metaphorically, okay, he knows birds don't have teeth) what to say to his kid for months. He might not think he knows what the fuck he's doing, but Blitzø has faith in him.

"Octavia," Stolas says at last, so, so fucking soft. "My darling, brave girl. It's true, yes, that the circumstances with which you were conceived were not ideal. It's not what I would have chosen, if I'd had that freedom."

"Stols," Blitzø says, anxious, as Octavia starts curling further in on herself.

"But," he says, so firmly that it makes her look up again, and fuck, yeah, she is crying now, "just because I did not choose it doesn't mean I would not choose you, any time. Every time. You must realize that this potential child has also been conceived under less than ideal circumstances, and not by choice. But regardless of what happens--I have learned, Octavia, that love and care are not finite resources. My feelings for you have not changed. They never will."

Her face crumbles even further. "Dad..."

"I love you, Octavia," he says. "I will always, always love you, whether you choose to keep me in your life or not. There is nothing of duty, or obligation, in that: I have loved you your whole life, and I will continue to love you for the rest of mine. I have not been the father you deserved, and that is the only regret I will ever have about you."

There's a long pause, and then Octavia moves forward. Blitzø actually holds his fucking breath, wrapping his tail around his leg to keep it from doing any sort of stupid distracting movements as the baby bird takes another step, and another, and then she's suddenly collapsing into her dad's arms, as Stolas wraps around her, crooning all low and soft in his throat as she cries and cries, and he's crying too, and fuck, it's a mess.

Blitzø takes a little step back, as quietly as he can, and looks up at Loona, who's moved silently to stand next to him.

"They're gonna be okay, Looney," he says, as quietly as he can over both birds crying. If he's also still a little teary-eyed, well, fuck it. It's been a fucking lot lately. "So are we."

She glances at him, and then looks at the birds again, then smiles a little. Fuck, his Loona's got the best smile in all of Hell.

"Yeah," she says. "We are."

Honestly, it's embarrassing how quickly and how hard she crumbles.

When she'd slipped out of the palace to meet Loona and the others, Octavia had told herself she would stay cold--that she'd remain aloof and professional, and treat the whole thing as part of a business transaction.

It wasn't incorrect, she'd assured herself, as she'd crept through the gardens. She'd hired Blitzø and his company properly. She'd wired over the down payment. Just because that company happened to have her dad on staff didn't matter. If her dad had been collateral damage in a curse, it was only right that she do her part to ensure that the people she hired were capable of giving their best to her job.

And then she'd seen her father, standing there and looking so--so... so normal, and also so different. If not for his clothes and his eyes, with their big new pupils, he'd looked the same as he always had: elegantly poised, still so damn noble-looking in spite of his disgrace. For a moment, the impulse had been there, terrible and intense, to run into his arms.

Ultimately, though, the shock of discovering the true nature of Uncle Andrealphus's curse, and her own stupid, stupid childish desires, had been her undoing. Mum would be appalled at her conduct.

But for a few blissful seconds, it doesn't matter. For a moment, she's not a goetic princess, she's not staring down the barrel of a potential marriage or grappling with the implied betrayal of her mother and her uncle--she's just a fledgling reunited with her father after months. As terrible as things have been, there's a few seconds for her to believe things will be okay.

It can't last forever, though. Eventually, Via pulls back so she can rub at her face, only to be surprised when her father offers her a handkerchief. It almost, but not quite, smells like the cologne he used to wear--a little too heavy on the lavender, not enough of the citrus--but so close that she tears up even further.

"I don't understand," she mumbles, leaning her head against his chest after she's scrubbed her face. "Why would Uncle Andrealphus do something like this?"

Part of her wants to be angrier. Isn't this just a confirmation of all her fears? There's a spark of life growing inside of him, one whose other parent is the imp he's fucking in love with, not a wife he'd only tolerated for the sake of fucking duty--

But her own rational mind is louder than her emotional one, for what feels like once. She knows better. The facts of the matter are that one, there's no way for her father, as a male goetia, to get accidentally pregnant, and two--there's no way for him to get deliberately pregnant without magic, which he very much doesn't have at the moment. She'd felt it herself, the absence where mana had once been, and the raw, blocked places where his body is being prevented from generating more.

There had, however, been traces of Uncle Andrealphus's magic lingering in his veins. As much as Via would like to deny it, she cannot--this wouldn't be happening at all, if not for him. This couldn't happen without outside magical interference.

Meanwhile, Dad is quiet in the way that means he's not sure how to answer. It's the way he pauses when he's trying to think up a soothing lie, and Via thinks if he tries that now, she'll start screaming and never stop. She'll lose her mind. Uncle Andrealphus and Mum won't get the marriage alliance they want out of her, because she'll have exploded in her fury.

Eventually, he says, "I can only guess, but my guess would be to--to isolate me even further in my disgrace, both from Blitzø... and from you."

"Me?" Via asks, leaning back in his embrace enough to look up at his face. Is he lying now? Is he saying this just to make her sympathetic to him? "Why me?"

But he meets her gaze steadily, his expression quiet and just... sad. "Because he has already tried to deliberately bait me into coming back to the palace for you once. He knows I would have done anything in my power to help you avoid this travesty of a marriage, even if it meant confronting him again. And if you had not known--tell me truthfully, Octavia: if the circumstances hadn't played out as they have, would you have believed that this happened to me by outside influence, and not by my choice?"

She bristles, automatically defensive--of course she would have! She's not an idiot nor a child, no matter how much Mum and Uncle Andrealphus condescend to her, no matter how much Dad lies to her, she--of course she would--

Dad just looks at her, all quiet and patient. Even with the visible pupils, it's the same way he'd looked at her whenever she was stuck on some sort of problem in her assignments--anything where he believed she knew the answer and just needed to--but also, it's so clear what he expects the answer to be, and he's just wrong!

Of course I'd believe you, if you were telling the truth! she wants to say, but every time she opens her beak, nothing comes out. It's so fucking frustrating that even now, less than two weeks to her eighteenth birthday, he's treating her like a kid who can't understand the truth. There's no way for him to become gravid on purpose or by accident, even with that dickhead boyfriend of his, so it would have had to have been outside forces, right? She knows that!

Something like rage starts to boil inside of her. How could he think so lowly of her? She knows there's all sorts of things out there to help couples who want to conceive, whether it was immediately biologically possible or not, but that doesn't mean she thinks he would. Her firsts clench with the desire to lash out, to slap that expression off his face, because she knows he's doubting her, he still doesn't trust her, when he should--

He should...

...

Via slumps, letting her forehead thunk against her dad's shoulder. "I guess not," she whispers. "I would've been so bloody mad."

He coos at her, and some of that earlier anger flares again. He doesn't need to treat her like a hatchling--but he hugs her again, tighter than before, and that... makes it sort of okay. It at least helps her to feel better.

"I am sorry, Octavia," he murmurs. "I know you were fond of your uncle when you were younger, and with everything that's happened, I... I did not want to deprive you of another adult figure that you trusted. I hope you can trust that much of me, if nothing else."

It's too exhausting to get mad about it again. Via closes her eyes and breathes in slow and deep. Dad doesn't really smell like Dad anymore, not in the most familiar and superficial way--but with her face pressed so close to his feathers, there it is: the smell that always makes her think home, even though home hasn't felt like home in so long, and he's no longer even there, and--

"Okay," Blitzø says, and he's an unwelcome intrusion that makes her jump, though Dad's arms stay secure around her. Fuck, she'd forgotten he was here. "Real happy for you both, and I mean that, but the longer we're here, the more likely we're gonna get caught. We should figure out the details for the next time we do this, then get out for the night. Old fuckers like me'n Stolas need our beauty sleep. Not that he's not already pretty, but now's not the time to be letting ourselves go."

Dad gives a startled little jump in Via's arms. "Pretty...?"

"Uh, yeah?" Blitzø sounds confused by Dad's confusion, like it's the most natural thing to say about him. Maybe he doesn't know that Dad's considered plain by avian standards, with his monochrome colors and his refusal to ever use magic to enhance any parts of himself. Via likes that, but Via isn't avian goetic society. "I'm not gonna go into detail, on account that our babies are right here--"

"Thank fuck," Loona says loudly.

"--but fuck yes, you're pretty, and we'll fucking discuss that later. In private. In detail."

"If you say anything more, I'm going to strangle you with your own tail," Loona says, and Via, in spite of herself, giggles.

"Yes, well," Dad says, all breathless and a little too fast, "it is rather late, isn't it? Blitzø's right, we should make our plans and say our farewells. We've still a full day's work tomorrow, and Via--Octavia, you need your rest--"

"It's okay," she says softly, cutting off Dad's ramblings. She knows how long he can go, if he's allowed. "You can... 'Via' is fine. Dad."

He gasps, a little wounded noise, and it doesn't make Via feel great... but it doesn't feel as bad as she'd expected. When she looks up at him, he's staring at her like he's been given something truly rare and precious, which--if she's honest, is how he's always looked at her. Even now, after she's repudiated him, called him out to his face for his lies, he looks at her like that.

So maybe, a voice in the back of her mind whispers, he wasn't really lying at all.

"Via," he says softly, reverently, and she resists the urge to squirm and take it back--not out of anger this time, but out of sheer embarrassment. "Yes, of course. We must be careful, so that neither your mother nor your uncle grow suspicious, but... I'd very much like to see you again, and soon. We! We could. That is, I--"

"Not tomorrow," Loona says firmly, no-nonsense. She's so cool in a way Via both admires and envies. "I've got plans. Plus, there's probably shit that these two chucklefucks need to work through."

"Looney," Blitzø whines, pouting like a kid. "Is that any way to talk about your dad?"

"I could say a whole lot fucking worse, and you know it," she shoots back, but she's smiling, her tail wagging just a little. "Anyway. We've got what, a week and a half at this point? Shit, I don't remember. We should meet up on Friday."

"Friday?" Dad cocks his head. "Why Friday?"

"How much of the security here are hellhounds?" she asks Via, who blinks.

"...All of them," she says after a moment of thought. "Uncle Andrealphus brought them from his estate."

"Cool." Loona shrugs, typing something into her phone. "All the best hellhound parties start on Friday night, and trust me, it doesn't matter how well your uncle's paying them. They're not gonna turn down an invite to Queen Bee's."

"Queen--" Via's eyes widen. "As in, Queen Beezlebub?!"

"Mmhmm." She holds up a finger, waiting, then smirks in obvious satisfaction. "There we go. Consider this place guardless on Friday night."

Via looks at her dad, and the only real consolation is that he looks equally surprised. It does make her feel a little better as she squeaks, "How the fuck do you know Lady Beezlebub?!"

"Language," Dad says weakly, an automatic thing, and Loona shrugs.

"I'll tell you the story when we've got more time. But," and here she flicks a finger at Via's beak, which makes her squawk in an undignified sort of way, "that better not be some bullshit about how hellhounds can't be friends with Sins. Things are a lot more complicated than what you learn in your pretty little castles."

"It's a palace," she mumbles. Her face is hot with humiliation, because that had been on the tip of her tongue to question it. Via herself has never met any of the Sins in person, let alone hung out or--or partied with them. She knows her parents have attended functions where some of the Sins have been in attendance, and that her dad has been in Satan's court before as part of the jury and audience, not as--what he'd done at that stupid trial.

"Same difference," Loona says dismissively. Via wishes she could have that sort of confidence. "Anyway, Friday, same time. Maybe a little earlier? We could bring like, food or shit like that."

"Food?" Via asks, cringing a little at the way her voice wavers. She sounds so stupid saying that. How the fuck is she going to get anyone to take her seriously when she sounds like some dumb little kid?

"Oh, Blitzø is a very talented cook," Dad tells her, with an actual little smile. It's not that weird gross flirting, like he had that stupid day at Loo Loo Land--it's something real, and from the way Blitzø coughs and clears his throat, he knows too. "He's actually gotten me to properly expand my palate. I know the chefs used to despair of that. That might be a good idea, Loona--if nothing else, some snacks to help break the... ah, the tension."

Blitzø makes a noise that was probably a muddled rude word, and he holds out his hand. "C'mon, Stols. No more stalling."

Dad blinks, and then he droops a little. Via only knows because he's still holding her, so she can feel the way his body sags. She can feel how slow he is with letting her go, and that makes something in her throat close up. Something like panic wells up in her as he steps away, reaching to take Blitzø's offered hand.

In a moment of impulse, she grabs his sleeve. When he turns his head to look at her, she flounders for a moment, then says, "Be careful, Dad. For yourself... and for the egg."

He blinks again, and she watches his eyes well up, which makes her vision blur too. Even through that, though, she sees him smile, with a warmth she only remembers from her earliest nestling days.

"I will, Via," he says softly. He covers her hand with a gentle squeeze, and when he lets go, Via does as well. She watches him take Blitzø's hand instead, and while something in her does hiss unhappily at the way he smiles at her dad, she can at least consider that feeling and dismiss it. Loona gives her a small wave before she turns to follow, and Via only lifts her hand to wave back a few seconds too late.

She watches them walk away, fading back into the forest, and she wraps her arms around herself. Even though she's alone again, it somehow--in a way she can't really articulate, but feels as real as her feathers and bones--doesn't feel like she's as alone as she was.

She waits for a little longer, until she thinks she hears the sound of some kind of engine puttering off in the distance, and then she turns and she slowly makes her way back inside.

When they arrive back at the apartment, Loona showers first, saying something about wanting to hit the bathroom before they defile it. Stolas wants to protest that they wouldn't do that--he'd never turn a shared space into something uncomfortable--but he sees her tail wag a little as she does, so he bites back the automatic defense. And from the way Blitzø leans into it, declaring too-loudly that they would be enjoying themselves thoroughly in the bathroom when she was done... that does seem like the wiser choice.

The fever still lingers, a churning hungry thing in his belly, but it feels even more muted than before. Surely the actual reason is that the spell, having done its duty, is dissipating naturally, but a part of Stolas wonders if it's not because of what he knows, now. He sneaks a peek down his own body while Blitzø is messing with the keys--Loona having relocked the door behind herself, probably to send a message--and he looks the same as he had earlier, and yesterday, and pretty much every day since his life had changed. He's still long and scrawny, his body caving inwards once his ribcage ends. While he's filled out to some degree, thanks to Blitzø's dedication in making sure he's well-fed, he's still quite thin. "A useless twig of a man," as Stella sometimes liked to say--

"Hey," Blitzø's voice says, and it cuts through his thoughts almost immediately. He looks up, and realizes that the door is open now, and Blitzø is standing on the threshold watching him. There's a gentleness in his eyes that says more than words ever could. Truly, it's astonishing how good Blitzø is at timing his interventions to interrupt whenever Stolas's thoughts turn to Stella.

Somewhere inside of him, Stolas dredges up a smile. It's weak and small, but it holds better than he would have expected. "Hello," he whispers back. "I'm sorry. I'm a little bit... stunned, still, I think."

"Yeah, big shock there." Blitzø's tone is still gentle, and he nods towards the interior of the apartment. "We should probably talk too, huh?"

"Oh, absolutely," he says, and he takes a hesitant step forward, and another, and then Blitzø is taking his hand, pulling him the rest of the way in, leading him to the couch.

"Gross," Blitzø says, but he's smiling as he pulls Stolas down, then crawls into his lap. He's warm and solid, and Stolas only hesitates for a second this time before he puts his arms around Blitzø. "Okay, let's see, how the fuck do we get this over with as fast as possible? I said the same things to Millie, but it's your body, Stols, I'm happy to go with whatever you choose to do."

Stolas is quiet for a moment, running a hand gently down the curve of Blitzø's back, tracing over each individual spine. "It's not just my decision, though."

"It is," Blitzø says, so firmly that it almost--almost--surprises him. "Fuck anyone who says it's not your choice, Stols."

He hesitates for a moment, not quite grinding his beak, then says, "Do you want this egg, Blitzø? And the child that will hatch from it? That's quite a larger commitment than... well, just about anything else we've ever had. You've done a splendid job with Loona, I'd never, ever disparage that, but--"

"It's different when you start with a baby, versus an adult that's almost done cooking," Blitzø says agreeably. He nudges up under Stolas's chin, not quite nuzzling, but close. "And... fuck. I dunno, Stols, I'm just--it's fucking terrifying. You know? Sometimes I really think the only reason Looney's as perfect as she is is because I only got her when she was a teenager. What the fuck do I know about babies? But..."

"But?" Stolas pulls back reluctantly, so he can look down at his--lover? Partner? Boyfriend? His something. His heart is suddenly beating so fast in his chest, it's ridiculous.

Blitzø won't meet his eyes directly--he glances up for a few seconds, then away again, and there's a deep ashen blush on his face. "But... you know... I guess--look, fuck, don't let what I want change your mind or anything, Stols, because fuck, that would make me the shittiest kind of guy, and I'm trying to get better--"

"I know," he says, breathless, something almost giddy lurching to life inside of him. "I know, darling, but--your feelings on the matter do count. I want--I want you to know--that is, I--I've always wanted more..."

As he stammers and stumbles his way through what he's trying to say, he sees Blitzø's eyes go softer, the way he starts to smile, and somewhere along the way, Stolas's words run out, and he finds himself staring back, his eyes wide, holding his breath.

"Yeah," Blitzø says, into his silence. "Fuck it, I don't know how we're going to handle it, but we'll figure it out. I promise, we're gonna be okay."

That gets a watery little cooing laugh out of him. "I think that's my line, darling."

"Nah." Blitzø shifts closer to him again, that long nimble tail wrapping its way around Stolas's thigh several times. "I put that egg in you, I'll take fucking responsibility. Fuck, do birds get weird pregnancy cravings? Am I gonna have to start shelling out more money for weird shit for you to eat? I'll do it, but you gotta give me some advance warning--"

"Blitzø," Stolas says, "shut up and cuddle me so that we can get some sleep before tomorrow morning."

It's bolder than he usually would be, but it feels like a gamble that has paid off, because Blitzø laughs, more vibration than sound, and curls close.

Chapter Text

The next week frankly passes in a fucking blur. Blitzø's never been so fucking busy in his entire fucking life--it's wake up in the morning, make breakfast for the three (four! Fucking four!!) of them, ferry them over so they can grab M&M, then battle through traffic so that they can get to work on their fucking packed roster.

It used to be that I.M.P. would have four, maybe five jobs in a week if they were really lucky. Things had gotten really fucking dicey for a bit--as much as he'd rather throw down in a cat fight with Verosika than admit she helped, that whole stupid shitty spring break competition had been the first real big break for the company. But even after that, they'd average maybe ten in a week.

After the trial, though? Fuck, it was more like five jobs in a single day, and that's every single fucking day. Things have calmed down some in the months since Sinsmas, but they're still up to their eyeballs in jobs. Hell, they're popular enough now that they've got some wannabe copycats, but no one has climbed the ranks nearly enough to be a real threat to I.M.P.

Yet. He's got his eye on a couple, but unless they cross a certain line, he's not gonna give them that much thought.

--Anyway, the point is, with them having to crunch shit in to make sure they can be ready to drop everything in an instant to go help Stolas's kid, they're fucking swamped.

The truth is, though? He kinda fucking loves it.

Yeah, it kind of sucks sometimes to be exhausted when they finally drag themselves home. They've ordered take-out more times than Blitzø would like to admit, because he doesn't have the strength to put together a simple dry cheese sandwich for himself--and like fuck is he going to make his family eat shit like that. Loona's cooking is mostly relegated to microwave popcorn and instant ramen, and Stolas...

Well, let's just say that 1) it's a good thing he's so fucking cute and 2) he's much better at cleaning, so it's better to leave that to him.

And it sucks that what he really wants is to take the time to dote on both his bird and his best friend. He doesn't know yet what Millie's decided for herself, but until she tells him otherwise, he's going to assume she's carrying her +1, and he wants to blow every fucking dollar they have on supplies for the both of them. Probably Moxxie won't get his panties in a knot if it's stuff for his baby too, right?

...Yeah, okay, fair: probably not.

Plus, that's still just assuming they'll keep it. He doesn't wanna ask, because in this, like very little else, he wants to fucking respect the boundaries. It's not going to be his baby, because he's already got a baby coming--again: holy fucking SHIT--but he hopes. He really, really, really fucking hopes.

Not because of some shitty mandated parenthood thing, either. It's just...

...

Fuck it. It's just that if Barb ever has a kid, there's a real fucking huge chance that Blitzø won't ever know. And he's not sure if Fizz's big cockdaddy has the same kind of weird magic possibilities that Stolas did--probably? But also, Fizz has a bajillion little squeaky toy dogs, and that seems to be the closest to parenthood that he wants to get. Which, you know, fair.

But Blitzø, whose first love had been his childhood best friend, and who had run fucking scared from the first person who'd confessed her love for him and kept running till the last person who confessed love for him had been willing to fucking throw himself under the bus--who has always, always been shitty with relationships even before the fire... he'd wanted a big family, okay? Fucking sue him. He'd wanted a family with kids who would listen to his jokes and laugh because he could teach them to appreciate good humor early in life. He'd wanted people he could be there for, in the exact opposite way his shitbag dad had never been there for anyone.

(Momma would have been happy for this, he thinks. Momma would have given him a whole big talk about treating Stolas right and being a responsible dad, and it would have been a lecture, sure, but it would've been gentle and loving, and he thinks--he really, really fucking thinks she would have loved Stolas. Fuck.)

So yeah. He's not asking, because he's going to trust that Millie will tell him what she decides, when she does, but he's still got his fingers fucking crossed.

He doesn't know when Stolas tells M&M about his whole eggnancy thingy, but Blitzø doesn't really question it. Honestly, it's entirely fucking possible that he said it in front of Blitzø, and Blitzø has been too immersed in work and daydreams to even notice.

What he does notice is Moxxie cornering him by the printer, in full view of Stolas and everyone, to give him the prissiest attempt at a shovel talk that Blitzø has ever had in his fucking life--also, when the fuck did Moxxie like Stolas enough to do that? Like, fuck, Blitzø's been distracted recently, but he pays real fucking close attention to how people act around Stolas, and Moxxie's had a stick up his ass for literal months--before ending with a congratulations.

And Blitzø, who is suave and cool and all sorts of fucking hot shit, says, "Thanks, but if you guys keep your kid, they still don't get to date my baby without filling out an application form and passing five background checks."

Moxxie's expression goes flat. "Why the fuck are you thinking that far ahead, sir?"

"Listen, Moxx, this baby is going to be fucking hot stuff when they grow up, okay? Between my looks and Stolas's, every single fucking succubitch is gonna just have to give up and become, I dunno, fucking nuns or something."

"I don't know why I bother," Moxxie says, and goes back to making copies or what-the-fuck-ever, which is the end of that.

Millie, on the other hand, is nice enough to grab Blitzø and drag him with her for a coffee run. Usually she takes Stolas, but Blitzø had been expecting it, so he doesn't argue--he just pauses long enough to give his bird a few nice big good-bye kisses (Loona still only lets him kiss her when he catches her off-guard) before he's dragged through the door.

"So, you guys doin' this?" Millie asks him, while they're walking to the new Greedbucks that's opened up--Mammon's been slow at expanding his knockoff chain in Pride, but Blitzø's all for the chance to find a new coffee shop that hasn't gotten sick of Moxxie's stupid order yet. "For real-real, keepin' it?"

And Blitzø rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. It's easy to be a jackass to Moxxie, because it's fucking funny how easily he gets riled up--it's harder with Millie, and there's a real fucking good joke in there about Millie being the top of that relationship, but he's not gonna dig for that just now. Instead, he says, "Yeah. Like. Fuck it, Mils, I'm scared out of my fucking mind, but I wanna. I think--fuck. I've always wanted it."

"Aw, Blitzø," she says. For a second, her tone reminds him so much of his momma his throat aches. Maybe it's the gentle way she says it. He doesn't fucking know. "You're gonna be a great fucking dad. I know you are."

"Of course I am," he says, but then he sniffles. It's kind of, sort of, really fucking embarrassing how blubbery he's getting. "Look at Loona. She's fucking perfect--and you know, Stolas is also a pretty fucking great dad, so... so yeah. We'll be fucking awesome."

She nudges his shoulder with hers, and she says, "You know you're still allowed to fuck up, right, B?"

"I absolutely am not," he says, and she punches him in the ribs for that. Which, ow? But probably he deserved that.

"You are," she says. "Yeah, it'll suck for you, and for the kiddo, too. But you gotta just keep trying. Just like with the romance stuff. Ain't you the one always tellin' Stolas to keep trying, too?"

Blitzø rubs his side and flips her off with her free hand. She returns it easily. "If I say that it's fucking different, are you gonna punch me again?"

"Nah," she says breezily. "I'll suplex you."

"Fuck you and your sexy, sexy promises," he says, and they're both still laughing as they head into the Greedbucks.

So, you know--there's been highlights that somehow manage to stick in the swiss cheese that's his memory. They get a couple of pretty fucking sick kills too. He snaps a selfie of himself with the asshole who somehow manages to run into Millie's knife ten times (which, for some reason, had thrown Moxxie into absolute fucking fits of glee), as well as the screechy old bitch who literally choked to death on her own spit, screaming at them.

He sends these selfies to Stolas, who responds with laughing and heart emojis, so you know, all's fucking good there. They squeeze in a couple of nights where they go out as a company for drinks--and yes, okay, he makes fucking sure that both Stolas and Millie only get the non-alcoholic shit--and Fizz even makes an appearance one night. He and Moxxie get into a whole passive aggressive catty thing that only ends when Millie swings an axe out of fucking nowhere (fuck, he made such a good choice, hiring that woman), leaving it buried in the table while she sips at her froofy fruity safe-for-babies juice.

They go to see Octavia twice in that time. The first time, they bring a bunch of snacks based on what Stolas tells him the baby bird likes. She's kind of weird about it, but she does eat a little bit of everything that he brings, and Blitzø adds that to his mental notes. The second time, she and Stolas do a book exchange, and they nerd out over shit that goes fucking over his head. There's a couple of times where they both get real fucking awkward too, but Stolas always manages to recover, and Blitzø's so fucking proud of him. He actually pretends to go take a piss at one point so he can blubber for a few seconds in private.

They're a long fucking way from his Sinsmas fantasy, but you know what? There's not a single fucking thing in his life that has gone the way he fantasized it, and when it hasn't gone completely to shit (see: trying to confess to Fizz, trying to reconnect with Barb, the original situationship with Stolas), it's gone pretty fucking fantastic (see: Loona, I.M.P., reconnecting with Fizz, and this new delicate thing growing with Stolas). He'll fucking take it and see where things go.

Fuck, honestly, if you take out the whole impending shitshow that is probably about to happen, Blitzø would be pretty fucking happy for things to continue like this. It'd be nice to see Octavia for more than like an hour at a time in the middle of the fucking night, and without the potential of her shitbag mom or cuntsicle uncle finding out, and it'd be nice to have the time, energy, and space to properly fuck around with Stolas again, but...

But, fuck it, he's fucking happy.

Even as the second week starts, and they start having to throw down actual concrete plans (at Moxxie's insistence and Stolas's agreement) for what they're gonna do about the baby bird's birthday--she's still a baby to him, even if there's another baby growing in Stolas. Fuck, don't get him started on that, because he's pretty sure the second he stops going at top speed, he's gonna have some sort of fucking spectacular meltdown about the whole thing. He's so fucking happy and excited he wants to throw up, and he's so fucking panicked that he ALSO wants to throw up, and they just don't have the time for that shit right now.

And in spite of Stolas's warnings that the whole eggnancy thing might move on a different timeline because of Pussface's magic, the changes are pretty subtle right now. Stolas's feathers are fluffier now (ask him how he knows. No really, ask him. C'mon, ask him! Well, if you insist, it's because he gets to wake up every fucking morning now with his face buried in that titty-puff, and he is a fucking expert on them right now. Ask him how he--) and there's some thickening going on at his waist. It's all shit that Blitzø probably wouldn't have even fucking noticed as signs of anything other than Stolas eating better.

Which he is for sure, but unfortunately, he hasn't eaten Blitzø's dick in like a week, and--

Wait, where was he? Right. Plans for Mission: Baby Bird's Birthday Bash.

If it were just him, he would have winged it (heh. Winged it. Get it? Because of the fucking birds--), swinging in to grab the kid and swinging out again. That had more or less been his plan with the book, all that time ago, and that had eventually worked out pretty great, but... yeah, okay, Moxxie does have a point. (Which Blitzø will never admit aloud, but the fact that he's agreeing to and helping make actual plans probably says enough.) It's not just Blitzø this time.

Holy fucking shitballs. It's not just Blitzø this time.

Plus, it's not just some stupid magic book being grabbed, either. It's a whole living breathing girl, and more importantly than that, it's Stolas's girl. If they'd been trying to save Loona from a shitty situation like this, Blitzø would have had backup plans for his backup plans. It helps that Octavia can at least handle herself with magic even against Uncle Shitbag, but the thing is, she shouldn't have to.

That's what it boils down to, in the end. Yeah, fuck, Octavia is Stolas's kid--which means she's stronger and smarter and tougher than she probably gives herself credit for. She's strong enough that she could probably just kick the asses of everyone who came at her on her own.

But also, she's a fucking kid.

Turning eighteen doesn't magically make her any more ready to take shit on by herself--just that she's ready to go from adults making the choices for her to guiding her. Blitzø's been there, in the same way he's been in that place where he's lost every-fucking-thing, and the only people left hated his fucking guts. And maybe he can't make up for the shit he's done over the years by taking care of Stolas--maybe he can't make up for it doing this for Octavia now--but that doesn't mean he can just abandon these birds, either. That's not the kind of guy he is.

Octavia's a kid, plain and simple. As an adult, it's Blitzø's fucking job to help her till she figures out where to put her feet.

...Anyway. Fuck. The plan. The main one, at least.

It's pretty simple, in his opinion. Octavia's confirmed that there's a fuckton of servants being hired on temporarily for the double feature, and that most of 'em are imps. Fucking figures, but whatever--it makes their job a fuckton easier. According to both Stolas and Octavia, staff has a dress code, but also, it's pretty highly fucking unlikely that anyone's going to pay enough attention to give a shit if they don't perfectly match up with everyone else.

("They're supposed to receive an allowance on top of their salary to purchase their own clothes," is what Stolas had actually said. "I assume some of them simply went with the cheapest presentable option and saved the rest. Stella only cared if she was already upset about something, and if she was upset, she would find fault even in the finest tailoring. So long as you match the correct color scheme, I doubt she'll notice you in a crowd.")

So cheap suits and ties for all of them--new ones, even, since their old ones had been kinda ruined during the whole Loo Loo Land shitshow. Blitzø even gets to buy a couple hot new wigs at the same time, which is pretty fucking sweet. They can sneak in with the crowd because they're all fucking temps and shit, and when the time comes to help "Princess Octavia" get ready for the engagement party, she makes a magic fake that goes one way, and they lead the real thing the other way, through a fucking secret passage to get her out.

(Fucking shitballs, how had he been going to that castle for like a whole year and didn't know there were secret passages in there?! Fuuuck, if they pull this off--when they pull this off--once it's established that yeah, Stolas is in cool with his daughter again, Blitzø's gonna take a fucking week to just explore all those hidden hallways and doors. His kid self would fucking die of jealousy.)

Unfortunately, the guards are actually being vetted, and most of them are coming over from Pussface's own, like, private selection or whatever. It means Loona's stuck waiting with Stolas in that aforementioned fucking secret passage until they can hand Octavia off to them. Blitzø's a little happy his baby won't be in the immediate line of fire if things go shitty, but he and Stolas are both definitely having the Dad Anxiety shakes over that part of the plan.

For the record, he doesn't actually feel any better that Stolas is going to be with them. Maybe if Stolas was still his powerful princely self, but there is a very real, and very particular terror that one wrong move could wipe out fucking every scrap of joy in his heart. If it all goes to shit--...

But it's not like he can tell Stolas not to do anything, not when it's his baby. And as much as it still makes him fucking queasy to have Loona out on the field, he knows she's a fucking competent killer. Octavia's the one who needs their help in the first place.

That's not even thinking too deeply about the Egg. Because if he tries to do that, he's going to do something stupid like lock both Stolas and Loona in a saferoom somewhere and just fucking storm the palace in some fucking blaze of glory. As long as he takes out the cuntbag duo with him, he'd be satisfied.

Well. Ish. Satisfied-ish.

Because when you get right down to it, what Blitzø wants is to live. He always fucking has. He's a fucking survivor, and always has been. If the whole fucking world wants to tear him down and grind him under its heel, he's going to claw his way back to the top, just to flip everyone off from the peak.

He wants the good times happening right now to keep going--he wants to wake up every fucking morning with his face in soft feathers, with his babe warm in his bed and his babies safe in theirs. He wants to go to his kickass job with the best fucking team and have a fucking great time before he comes home and has a different sort of fucking great time with the hottest piece of feathered ass that Hell's ever seen.

Fuck, if they're gonna be talking about things he wants? Blitzø wants things to get even fucking better from here. He wants to move his family to a better apartment--one that's got more than one bedroom and a kitchen that doesn't threaten to catch on fire every other day. Fuck, why not throw in an in-unit washer/dryer while they're at it? He wants space for himself and Stolas, and for Loona to have her own room, and maybe--it's not like he really thinks a princess would wanna spend that much time slumming it around--but you know, maybe, just in case--a space for Octavia, too.

He wants to be able to pay M&M what they're actually worth, instead of leaving them on hopes and prayers month to month. He wants them so set up that even if they don't keep this current potential kid, if they change their minds in the future, they won't have to fucking worry about basic shit like food and clothes, the way his momma had. He wants to be able to take Fizz out for drinks sometimes without either having Fizz pay or them going halvsies.

He wants, maybe, someday, to have space for Barb if she decides she ever wants to see him again.

Blitzø doesn't want the fucking whole entirety of Hell to bow to him. That shit sounds fucking exhausting. With all the little bits and pieces he's learned from Stolas over the past few months, being a filthy rich blueblood just sounds like a pain in the ass. He just wants him and his people taken care of, and the rest of Hell can figure out how to fuck itself.

So yeah, honestly, if he stops and thinks about their plan for too long, he could honestly shit himself out of sheer panic. If any one thing goes wrong--they've got backups, but none of them avoid putting his entire family in danger. If a hellhound guard notices that any of them aren't part of the approved staff--if someone sniffs out where Loona and Stolas are hiding--if Pussface pulls some shit so that Octavia can't use her magic--if it turns out that either of those shitbrained birds are smart enough to actually expect them... fuck.

The desire is always there, scratching at the back of his brain, that reptilian desire to just tear off his tail and maybe his leg and leave those as distractions while he scurries for cover. Even over the course of this past week alone, there have been a couple of times where he's caught himself almost saying the worst possible shitty thing he could think of. It's probably character growth or something, that he catches himself and doesn't.

And maybe it's just his imagination, but he thinks maybe Stolas knows. Stolas is obviously his own fucking bundle of nerves and feathers as they get ever closer to B-day. If anything, he probably has more reason to be worried than Blitzø, because I.M.P. at least chose to get involved in this shit. In theory, they could pull out if they wanted to. Octavia, on the other hand, is fucking stuck because the rest of her shitty family decided to ignore her wishes before she's got the legal authority to say no.

Not to mention, again, the egg. There's a little bitty spark inside of Stolas that's only there because his shitbag ex-brother-in-law wanted to pull shit to make him look even worse in front of his other baby. There's the very real possibility that shit could happen so that even if Stolas and Octavia make it out okay, that little gonna-be egg might not.

Which... fuck. Fuck, he doesn't wanna think about that. Maybe the idea of a real living baby kind of freaks him out a little (okay, fine, a whole fucking lot), but the idea of losing it because of some asshole getting in a lucky shot or whatever is fucking unbearable.

Ugh. Fuck. His head is all over the fucking place. It's another reason why he's glad shit has been so jam-packed the past week--the busier he is, the harder he's pushing himself, the easier it is for him to ignore the noise in his head. He just has to focus on what's in front of him: the next job and target, the next meal and cleanup, getting home and going to work. He doesn't have to think about--what's the word, fuck, what's--existential shit.

"B?" Millie pokes her head in the door, which is already half-ajar. "Youuuuu okay in here?"

Blitzø looks up from his desk. Huh. At some point, he'd started grinding his forehead against the desktop. That's probably better than banging it, which he has done in the past, and the wood has the dents to prove it. "Huh? Yeah, peachy. You need something, Mils?"

She hesitates, and then she steps into his office and closes the door behind her. Her shoulders are hunched and her tail is wrapped around one ankle. Which is definitely an Oh Shit kind of move, so Blitzø makes himself sit up. It's not the most professional pose, but also, it's Millie. He's pretty sure she'd roll her eyes and put him in a headlock if he tried to be "professional" with her.

"You're making me a little nervous there, Millie," he says, which isn't the best way to lighten the mood, but when in doubt: turn to shitty humor. "Sorry to break it to you, but me'n Stols are pretty exclusive at this point, guess you were right about there being something to this monogamy shit after all--"

"I'm keeping it," she blurts.

"--so I'm just... huh?" He blinks, wrinkling his forehead as he tries to parse her comment. "It? What--oh. Ohhhh."

"It's just, I dunno," she says. Her gaze darts one way, then the other, and then she looks him straight on, because fuck if Millie isn't one of the bravest people he knows. "I didn't want a kid, Blitzø. Sometimes I think I still don't. But I've been draggin' and draggin' my feet this whole time, and it's like... my folks don't even know yet, B, so if I wanted to get it done and over with, I could've handled it months ago. And I never did."

He gets up, slow and careful, approaching her the way you might a wild animal. She looks about as ready to snap as one, her eyes a little wild at the edges. The closer he gets, the more obvious it is that her tail's wrapped around her ankle just so that she's not whipping it around like a weapon. When he holds out his hands to her, she outright bares her fangs at him, then catches herself and slumps, reaching back.

"Okay, so, tell me what you need here," he says. "Millie, I am bullshit at this kind of thing, and you know that better than anyone. Do you need me to tell you to trust your instincts? Should I be arguing with you? Fuck, do you need to make a getaway out my window so you can do something stupid? I got you, Mils, but you gotta tell me how I got you."

She actually laughs at that, a watery little noise. "I been thinkin'," she says, "that if I've been draggin' my heels this long, it's probably 'cause on some level I really want this. Even if I think I don't. Am I going nuts?"

"Hate to break it to you, Millie, but going nuts is part of being a parent." He squeezes her hands. "You should talk to Stolas about that part. He's probably got more stories about 'I didn't wanna be a parent but I'm gonna be a parent and now I have this whole-ass kid and turns out I love them to pieces, enough to risk my whole fucking everything for them.'"

"I've already talked to him," she says, and she lets go of one hand to wipe her eyes. "More'n once, actually."

"Wait, seriously? How come I didn't know--"

"You can't stalk your bird everywhere, Blitzø," she says, and that's more of the Millie he knows best, a little exasperated but mostly fond. "Anyway. No, I talked to him. It was talkin' to him that made me think this, but I just... I didn't know... you swear everything you said before was true?"

"I say a lot of shit, Millie," he says, and then, "But if it was about making sure you're gonna be taken care of? And your kid? Fuck yeah, I meant that. Every word."

She takes a shaky breath, then lets it out as a laugh. He smiles encouragingly at her, which doesn't really feel right on his face--fuck, none of this really feels right, because should he be doing this? He's a jackass who failed as a clown and so switched to assassination, whose own shitty old man and sister want nothing to do with him--who very nearly torpedoed his love life so spectacularly that the bird he is pretty fucking sure is the actual, caps included, Love Of His Life nearly died--and that's just a few of the highlights! What the fuck does he know about encouraging people?

"Thanks, B," she says. She sounds like she means it, and fuck, it's Millie. She's not a liar. Not the same way he is, or Stolas is--or fuck, even Moxxie. Millie's a fucking straight shooter, the whole way. "Yeah. I think--nah. I know I wanna do this. Just sometimes, it gets all scrambled up in here." She taps her temple. "And then I get myself all fucking tied up in knots."

"Yeah, well, unknot yourself," he says, which makes her laugh again. "Though hey, shouldn't it be Moxxie helping you with this? Oh, fuck, you have told him, right? Like, I'm not scared of your husband, Millie, but I cannot afford him putting a hit on my head when I've also got a kid on the way."

"He knows, Blitzø," she says. "No, I've talked to him too. He's the first one I told."

Blitzø squints at her. "Not really liking this whole trend of 'Blitzø being the last to know,'" he says. "Next time, I get dibs on finding out first. Whatever shit the news is, tell ME first."

"Next time," she says agreeably, and then she lets go of both of his hands and holds her arms open. "Give me a hug, Blitzø, 'cause otherwise I'm gonna have a fuckin' breakdown and we still have five more jobs on the docket today."

"Only five? Shit, are we slacking, or are we actually caught up?" he asks, as he pulls her into the requested hug. It feels a little awkward and stilted, but look, Blitzø's still learning how to hug people. After the circus fire, he can count on his two hands how many times he's actually hugged someone and have fingers left over.

"We're catchin' up," she says. "Stolas says he's been schedulin' things out a lil further, startin' from yesterday. So once we're clear through tomorrow, we're good to start with our other job."

"Cool," he says. They stand in that hug for a few seconds, and then he says, "Millie?"

"Yeah?"

"Wanna book a couple of hours at that rage room place after all the shit with Stolas's kid is over, so we can just break things and scream a lot? 'Cause I'm deeeefinitely feeling it."

"Hell fuckin' yeah."

"Wait," Moxxie says. He's frowning at one of the books from Stolas's old library, a new set that Octavia had snuck to them earlier that week. It's a collection of decrees and proclamations made by the heads of his family line, stretching back to his great-grandfather's time. Goetic law is a fickle thing, based more on grandstanding and written declaration more than anything set in stone--that is more the domain of the Sins. "Wait, Your High--I mean, Stolas. Look at this."

He turns the book around to show Stolas, tapping one finger against the page. When Stolas looks, he's surprised to recognize his own handwriting. Without thinking, he reaches to take the book, tugging it closer to himself as he reads, feeling his eyebrows raise.

"Oh," he says. "Oh lords--I was such a fool. The answer was here all along, wasn't it?"

"Looks like it," Moxxie says. "It's probably too late to change plans, knowing Blitzø, but..."

"No, no, this is perfect." Stolas reads, and then rereads, the words he'd written years ago, in a fit of offended fury after Octavia's thirteenth birthday, and the travesty of the public celebration. "So long as we have this in our back pocket, there's very little that Stella or Andrealphus can do to argue."

They share a smile, sharp and unkind. Stolas snaps the book shut with a decisive gesture.

"Thank you, Moxxie," he says. "You've been a tremendous help."

Moxxie bows, and though it's mocking, it feels like a shared joke, the two of them playing on the same team, the same page. "Any time, Stolas."

The eighteenth hatching-day of Princess Octavia of the Goetia, daughter of the bloodlines of Stolas and Andrealphus of the original Ars Goetia, dawns gloomy and unseasonally cold. The acid rains come early in the day, and they come in a downpour that clears the streets within minutes--whether by citizens fleeing for shelter, or simply being unfortunate enough to be eaten through.

That doesn't stop the veritable parade of imps that come through the doors of the palace. Andrealphus occasionally snaps on a scrying portal to watch, then dismisses it again with a bored wave of his hand. The important thing is that there is enough staff to handle all of the details that are beneath him to worry about. So long as the imps do their job, that's all that matters.

He has more important things to worry about.

Unfortunately, ever since his little present to Stolas and that little pet he pretends is a lover, they've taken steps to block him from checking in, both at that laughable excuse of a business office and in that squalid little den that masquerades as a place to live. Stolas might be without his magic, but there are times, now and then, when he is somewhat clever, and there is still potency in his blood. The right configuration of crystals and sage and goetic blood, and suddenly Andrealphus can no longer peek in to watch his former brother-in-law suffer.

Not that he wants to see Stolas, please understand. It's simply that until the moment comes when Stolas is fully crushed under Via's delicate heel, Andrealphus has to keep tabs on him. It's not out of any desire to see him, perish the thought!

That sad sack of feathers was barely worth observing when he'd been a full-fledged prince, with all of the proper grooming and tailoring that his status provided. There'd been an utterly appalling air of melancholy that followed him at all times--so dreadfully unpleasant. No matter how hard one attempted to engage him in spirited conversation, he simply stared at you with those empty eyes, so dull that it was astonishing to be reminded Stolas was, in fact, a living being and not simply an elaborate automaton.

The last time Andrealphus had been able to see him, going about work (work! work! Imagine, a prince working for an imp! Lords, he'd laughed himself sick over that), he'd been wearing a sweater that was surely made out of mixed materials, and with such a vulgar cut! Who on earth was he trying to fool, having his chest plumage out on display like that? And without even trying to style it like a cravat or similar? No, it was simply out there, like he was some sort of hussy! Truly, it's a good thing that Via has been rescued from that man's terrible influence.

Honestly, who was that moron trying to fool? Where on earth did he have the gall to go out in public dressed like that? With his body so closely outline by his clothes, and without a cloak to help soften and shield the effect? Bad enough that he'd switched to that ridiculous little--body suit sort of thing, in the last year or so of his time as a prince, and while technically his new peasant clothes do at least have the decency to cover his long legs--he's still so very much more exposed now.

Perhaps, once he's been utterly crushed by his daughter's final rejection, Andrealphus will make a project of him. At this point, the imp is utterly out of the bag; there'll be no remaking his marriage with Stella--not that there will be any need to do so, once Via is properly married off. Once the girl is shunted off to the Dantalion clan, and Andrealphus has consolidated Stolas's power with his own... why not bring the current Stolas back into the fold?

After all, the problem with Stolas is that he's so utterly dull, in so many ways: in attitude, in personality, in his plumage. Stella, despite her skill at partying and at navigating the social waters of the goetic court, is simply not equipped for whipping Stolas into shape. It's no fault of hers--it's simply that Stolas's preferences cannot be swung her way, and so her feminine charms are lost on him.

Andrealphus, on the other hand, has the sort of steadying hand and masculine authority that should be able to help Stolas truly settle back into society properly. He can easily imagine the waves he'll make, when the rest of the goetia see how he has brought the recalcitrant prince back into the fold. He knows that he'll be able to properly mold Stolas in a way that is truly befitting of a Prince of the Ars Goetia. The anticipation is a delicious curl of heat in his belly.

For one, he'll ban the color red and its related hues from Stolas's wardrobe. Better to put him in cool tones--in blues and whites, in icy colors that better suit the tone of his feathers, so that they look properly matching, rather than the unfortunate clash. He'll dress Stolas in sweeping capes with a train that flares out behind him, so that wherever he walks, there's a flare of movement; it will help to distract from the slender delicacy of his body. He'll commission a hood for Stolas to wear when he's out and about in public, so that no one need see those large, overly-expressive eyes wandering--something deep blue, embroidered with silver stars, and perhaps with a few jewels just to offset the stitching.

And of course, with that in place, he will need to rely on Andrealphus to be guided around. He'll teach Stolas to listen to his commands. Surely, with time and patience, he will be able to show that foolish owl how much easier and better it will be, if he simply listens to Andrealphus.

The true crowning glory will be the day he can show all of Hell--including that upstart little imp, the one that dared think he could lay his hands on a prince of Hell with no consequences--how truly beautiful Stolas can actually be, kneeling at his feet.

Oh, he's looking forward to that so very much. There's so much he's anticipating about this day, but the fact that he knows--he is no seer, but he knows this with a bone-deep certainty--that he will be seeing Stolas in person today. If his calculations are correct, then by now, Stolas's gravid state will be impossible to hide from anyone--it will be a shame that the egg is there to mar the clean lines of his body, and an even greater shame that it was put there by an imp and not a goetia--and therein lies that foolish man's downfall.

Even though it seems like the imp hasn't driven Stolas out--a slight miscalculation, but nothing too serious--it's unlikely that they've rekindled their lost intimacy. Certainly Stolas, of all people, knows how easily even the potential for affection withers when there is a child of obligation between the partners. Via will still see her father and be repulsed.

There will be no one left for him, and Andrealphus will be ready to sweep in and take over.

As he's contemplating this, scripting and rescripting in his mind the sorts of things he might say to Stolas, when he finally has him on the floor, the door to the office bangs open and Stella sweeps in. She's utterly majestic today: she's swapped her normal white for a deep blood-red, all the many ruffles hemmed in gold. Delicate netting stitched with tiny diamonds covers the silk layers. Her crest feathers have been decked with more diamonds, and her new tiara is polished to a sunny gleam.

She is an utter vision, a goddess rising from the depths, and her expression is thunderous.

"Andrealphus," she snarls, "what the fuck are your guards doing, putting up those ghastly statues in Via's hallway?"

He blinks for a moment, bemused, then tips his head as he remembers. "Those are only for tonight, my dear. It's only to prevent Via from doing anything foolish--"

"They're unsightly!" Stella slams one dainty hand onto the table, leaning on it to glare at him. "They clash with everything else I've done with the decorations. If you had to put something like that in place, couldn't you have told me before today?!"

"I did," he starts to say, but she continues on, right over him.

"The shapes are all wrong, the colors are hideous, and don't get me started on how they're blocking the displays that I had commissioned especially for this day! Do you want Duke Dantalion's family to think that we're nothing but nouveau riche?! What if they see this and decide they have better prospects?!"

"There's no way," Andrealphus says. "You know as well as I do that the Dantalion line has been suffering with its fortunes lately. We're the best offer that family has. They won't back out for this even if they thought our decor is tacky, which it is no--"

"Tacky? Tacky?! Are you utterly blind?!" she cries. "Andrealphus, didn't you hear me before? They're hideous!"

"They're important, Stella, please--"

"This engagement is important!" She slams her other fist down, staring at him. Her whole body moves with the heaving of her breath. Her eyes are practically burning, they're so bright. Truly, she is such a magnificent specimen, and so utterly wasted on a delicate man like Stolas. Stella deserves a match who is as fiery and powerful as she is, and Andrealphus--who himself is a more light hand and careful touch--should have spoken for Stolas when he had the chance.

Ah, well. He's working on rectifying that mistake now, isn't he?

"I know that it is, Stella," he says, as soothingly as possible. "But I promise you, nothing that we have in the palace here and now is going to turn them off. As I said, the Dantalion line needs this marriage--more than we do, in fact. There's no way that they'll reject the dowry that our dear little Via will bring."

"Of course they won't," she snarls, her beak clenched, her hands shaking on the table where they take her weight, "because I have already informed the servants to take those eyesores down."

Andrealphus blinks. He rises from his seat. "You what?"

"I ordered them removed and off the grounds," she says, and she tosses her head. Her feathers ruffle in a majestic sort of way, and then she tilts her head to give him a look that is both coquettish and smug. "You'll simply have to do without your silly little touches."

Ah, truly, Andrealphus adores his sister, but sometimes, he wants to just put his hands around her neck and shake her. He knows she was born with sense and intelligence, but sometimes she hides it so very well. "Stella, those were important. They were vital."

"If they were so bloody important, then consult with me, next time," she says, all honeyed venom. Her eyes narrow, and though she is no bird of prey, in that moment, she looks beautifully predatory. In moments like this, Andrealphus can see how she broke Stolas--it truly is a shame that she had been born a woman, because as a man, she could have actually enthralled her husband forever. "Anyway, stop lounging around in this office like you're not part of all of this. It's giving Stolas." She rolls her eyes as she says it, the disdain dripping from her tone. "I know you're better than that."

"Of course I am," he says. "Darling, I am insulted that you'd even think I was anything like him."

She narrows her eyes. "Then don't act like him," she says, enunciating each word with deliberate exaggeration. "Honestly, Andrealphus, it's as if you forget whose home this is. You're here to support me. Don't forget that."

He smiles at her. What a silly little chit his sister is, sometimes. She's never quite matched his levels of ambition--especially now that Stolas has been ousted, it's as if she's forgotten that she can still aim for higher. There are members of the goetic court who would be quite sympathetic to a divorcée of her standing--and of her coffers. Perhaps once things are settled with Via, he'll look into that for her.

"Of course not, Stella," he says sweetly. He reaches out and pats her cheek gently. Sometimes he looks at her and still sees the furious little nestling she once was. How truly adorable. She gives him a deeply suspicious look, then leans into his hand, her cheeks puffing out slightly. "I'm sorry, dearest. I'll be sure to consult you next time."

She huffs, but looks mollified, at least. "See that you do," she says. "And hurry up and get dressed, already. The guests will be arriving in an hour, and we must be ready for them."

"An hour?" He raises an eyebrow. "I thought that the celebrations don't start until noon."

"That's for the rest of the guests," she says breezily. "The Duke and his family will be arriving early, so that Octavia and their boy--what was his name again?"

"Julius."

"--Julius, yes--so that they can get to know each other a bit, first." She gives him a smug little smile. "It's important for them to be acquainted first, don't you think? And I did promise her she'd meet him."

"Oh, you little minx," he says fondly, pinching her cheek. "All right. Go on, then, I know that you'll want to check your feathers again before they arrive."

"Only if the help hasn't botched everything up," she sighs, but she pulls away and smooths her dress. "Honestly, Andrealphus, you would think that a species that was bred to be helpers would be a little more competent. It's simply dreadful, how badly they handle themselves sometimes! I'm docking their pay for this."

"Of course, Stella," he soothes. She gives him another long, narrow-eyed look, then lifts her chin and flounces from the room. He waits until the door closes, and the sound of her footsteps retreat, then sighs loudly, casting his gaze upward. He resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his beak, because he knows that will crease his feathers, and if he only has an hour to get ready to receive guests, that's not nearly enough time to fix that mess.

The removal of the blockers is a setback, but not an insurmountable one. It was only ever meant to be a precaution, but perhaps an overly paranoid one.

After all, Stolas is utterly powerless now, and Via--for all that she has inherited some of her mother's temper--isn't so rash that she would lash out at her father completely blindly. Given Stolas's current situation--including his shameful gravidity--there is no one in the whole of the goetic court that would be his ally right now. It's fine.

And if, by accident, Via's emotions overwhelm her and she manages to somehow injure her father... well, Andrealphus is confident that nothing the girl could do would be irreversible. It might even be a good opportunity to further reinforce to Stolas how much better things will be for him, if he simply accepts his place under Andrealphus's heel.

Oh, yes. He smiles to himself as he sweeps out of the office, down the hall to his own chambers. That's the true power of a clever man: he is willing and capable of turning even unexpected setbacks into advantages.

He is very much so looking forward to tonight.

"You sure you're gonna be okay like this?" Loona asks with some concern, as Stolas braces himself against the wall with one hand, the other curved protectively over his stomach. It's pretty fucking wild, how fast that thing swelled up; two days ago, he just looked like he was putting on a paunch if you squinted, and then yesterday, boom! Big belly. The guy looks pregnant now, and there's no hiding it. "If you need to sit this out, you can."

He takes a few deep breaths, then gives her a shaky smile. "I'm afraid that I very much cannot," he says. His voice is shaky, but Loona knows that tone. It kind of surprises her a little, given how shitty a lot of her childhood was, but she still knows it: the voice of a man who's ready to meet Hell in the pit for his kid. She doesn't really know the details of what happened with him and Octavia, and honestly she doesn't even want to know--it's not her business, not really--but at least he's trying, in that tried and true Fuckup Dad way.

Still, with that belly of his, and how fast he's getting winded, she doesn't like the odds. And if she doesn't, Blitzø's probably flat out losing his mind. She's honestly a little surprised they were able to pry him off Stolas at all. When she'd thought he could be obnoxious and overbearing before, she hadn't been fucking prepared for Blitzø in full-on Baby Daddy mode. He spent like an hour texting for updates while in the same room as Stolas. It's like everything else in his brain has been replaced with just egg, egg, egg.

She'd be kind of pissed off, if she couldn't see and smell how fucking sick this whole thing is making Stolas. As it is, it's hard to hold onto her sulk when she watches him throw himself into the bathroom to be sick, or when he pours himself into the receptionist's chair looking like death warmed over. It all happened so fucking fast that they haven't even had the time to get him to a doctor. She'd warned Octavia that he was looking rough, but watching him now, it feels like an understatement.

So yeah, maybe Blitzø isn't wrong to be freaking out.

"Are you sure?" she asks after a few seconds too long. Fuck. On the one hand, she hates this--she's not thrilled about being stuck on what's essentially glorified babysitting duty, but the hounds on guard duty are definitely a pack. She'd watched them from a distance for long enough to get that sense--and she doesn't know if they're actually that loyal to Bitch Elsa or not, but they'd definitely notice an intruder in their midst. She'd stand out like a sore thumb.

On the other hand... somewhere deep down, it feels kind of... good? In a weird way? She's being trusted to take care of Stolas and the egg that's making a home in his guts. Even though Blitzø had been near-feral over him, he hadn't even so much as growled when she'd approached.

Loona's spent fucking years trying to get her dad to let her take on more hardcore jobs, and yeah, this is just fucking babysitting... but she's keeping an eye on her dad's boyfriend--her friend--and also her baby sibling whatever-the-fuck it's gonna be. He's trusting her to keep all of them safe, and herself.

That's pretty fucking solid, right there.

Even if she's still worried. When Stolas pushes away from the wall, she steps closer, and after a moment, she grabs his arm and slings it over her shoulders. He makes a stupid little bird noise of surprise, but doesn't pull back. "Loona--?"

"I got you," she tells him. "You're not that heavy, birdbrain. If we have to run, you let me handle it, okay?"

"I'd much rather you get Via out first," he says.

"Yeahhh, thing is, I'm gonna get you both out if things go to shit," she says. "If anything happens to any of us, Dad's going to flip his lid, and if I have to deal with him freaking out, then so do you."

He blinks, and then he laughs, a little twittery sound, covering his mouth with his other hand. "I heard Millie threatening to, ah, 'hogtie him and throw him in a padlocked room' if he kept fussing when they left. I'm sure it hasn't gotten any better since."

"Of course not," she says with a snort. "We should probably be fucking impressed the whole place isn't on fire right now. Bet you bathroom cleaning duty that if he could, he'd be swinging through a window with Octavia right now and we'd be making a break for it."

They both laugh, and Stolas tips his beak up and says, in a fucking impressive snooty voice, "I do apologize, but I would never take a bet with such terrible odds. You'll have to fleece someone else."

"Like Moxxie?"

"Like Moxxie."

They share a conspiratorial grin, and then because Stolas is kind of a pussy even though he's an owl, he adds, "Oh, that was rude, wasn't it? I'm trying to be better about getting along with him, I--"

"Don't worry about it," she says. "The guy's friends with my dad. You know, Blitzø? Four feet tall, and enough bad attitude for someone three times his height? I feel like you've met him."

Stolas twitters again, then sighs. "Still. We are coworkers now, and--I would like to get along with him. I am not... for the longest time, Loona, your father was the only friend I had."

"Yikes."

"It--well. It was bad in a great many ways, but not because of him." He smiles, but it's a distant kind of thing. Loona's reminded of him post-Sinsmas, and not in a good way: he looks all far away and distracted, like if she bumps him too hard, he's gonna shatter into a thousand pieces. "You have every right to laugh, but it was... I was quite lonely for a great deal of my life. I was not well-liked amongst my peers for a variety of reasons, and if I have the option to get along with them now, I would like to."

She chews the inside of her cheek for a moment, then says, "Your funeral, man. I don't know anyone else who can make shooting someone in the face as boring as that guy can."

He blinks, but he also laughs, so she counts that a win. "He must have some good qualities. If he didn't, Millie wouldn't be so happily married to him."

"Grandma's also pretty boring," Loona says, and Stolas clucks his tongue.

"She's a perfectly lovely lady," he says. "I think she's delightful."

"Oh fuck," she sighs, deeply exaggerated. "Yeah, you and Milquetoast are gonna get along great once you figure out how to connect. You're both the kind of people who use 'delightful' and mean it."

"What's wrong with that word?" He doesn't pout, but there's that kind of lilt in his tone. "I think it's perfectly--"

"Do not," she tells him, and hipchecks him very, very carefully. For one thing, even when he's at his sturdiest, he's like a fucking twig, and for another, she's got no idea how off-balance he is, hauling that egg around. "That's a nerd word. I can't believe my dad's type is a nerd."

"My understanding is that his type is rather broad."

She slows her steps as her phone's flashlight illuminates the agreed-on meeting spot. There hadn't been time, in the crunch leading up to Octavia's birthday, to actually explore it in person, but she'd listened as the birds had debated which secret passage to use (and fuck, the castle has multiple secret passages? That's actually kind of fucking awesome? What the fuck?). Stolas had been sure this was the right one, and she sees the little taxidermy owl wearing a small starry beanie waiting for them. It's a lot fucking better-looking than the ones Blitzø had made her burn--which she's pretty sure Stolas knows nothing about. This one looks kind of cool, even, with its wings raised like it might take flight at any second.

"Technically, yeah," she says finally, letting go of him so he can toddle to the wall and lean against it. He doesn't look any better for the walk, but at least he doesn't look worse. "But also like, again: have you met my dad? That man hyperfixates harder than anyone I've ever known."

"He's passionate about what he likes," Stolas says, just a little ruffled. "I think it's charming."

She resists the urge to roll her eyes, flipping her phone around so she can check her messages. There's a few from Blitzø, of course, anxious requests to check in, so she sends him a couple of middle finger emojis first.

"What I'm saying, birdbrain," she says, without looking up from her phone, watching him sidelong, "is that yeah, Dad's into all kinds of freaky shit, and that's not an invitation to tell me more, but--you're fucking it for him. So it doesn't really matter what the fuck else he likes, his type now is nerds. And by nerds, I mean you. So you'd better not forget it, or else."

Stolas is quiet for a while, long enough that Loona can feel her ears pinning back. And then he says, "Is this... a 'shovel talk'?"

Loona chokes, fumbling her phone for a second. "It's--fuck. It's not not one, I guess."

There's another pause, and then he laughs. "I understand. Thank you, Loona."

"Thank you?" she echoes. "What the fuck?"

"For loving Blitzø that much," he says softly. "I know I have... quite a great deal to atone for, in how things fell apart between us. I'm glad to know that he's had someone like you by his side."

Her ears pin further. "I dunno. I've been a bitch to him plenty of times."

"We aren't always as kind as we should be, to the ones we love." He turns his head to look down the passage--in the direction that Octavia will theoretically come from, in like an hour. "But you have been there for him when and where I could not. I hope you always will be. I will strive to do my best to be worthy of staying by his side, as well."

"Yeah, well, I'll kick his ass for you, too," she says gruffly--it's an impulse more than anything else, blurted before she can think about it too hard. "Because yeah, I saw him post-breakup--"

"We weren't in a relationship at the time, so it could not really be termed a 'breakup.'"

"--and holy fuck, you two really are just fucking made for each other, you even fucking talk the same sometimes--anyway." She huffs, hunching her shoulders. "I want my dad to be happy, and he deserves it, but I know how much of a jackass he can be, too. So. I'll just fucking end both of you if you mess this shit up, okay?"

"Okay," he says, and fuck if his voice isn't all soft and warm and fond. He's so fucking gentle, it's unreal, and it'd be creepy if she wasn't used to him being like this by now. It's the same way he talks to Octavia, and Loona feels her tail start to wag in spite of herself. At least she manages to keep the motion close, though she has the feeling he can still see it, with those freaky owl-eyes of his. Fuck, why had she even bothered with a flashlight in the first place? It probably was just an exercise in draining her battery.

But apparently he's not done, because like a whole fucking minute later--that had to have been on purpose, because even Stolas isn't that awkward--he says, in that same warm fond fatherly tone, "Thank you, Loona."

Her fucking traitorous tail wags harder, and she tries her fucking hardest--and fails--not to smile. "Yeah, whatever. Shut up."

Chapter Text

To her vague surprise, the boy that Via is introduced to actually has some good points.

He's some sort of cat--not one that she can immediately identify, and it feels rude to ask. His fur is a light sandy brown in color, and while his tail is long and narrow and tufted at the end, he doesn't have the mane that would match with a lion. He slouches into the room until his dad elbows him in the side, at which point he straightens up and introduces himself to her.

Firstly, Julius is soft-spoken and keeps a polite distance between them even when his dad unsubtly shoves him towards Via. It's nothing like the ram all those years ago, which is a solid point in his favor. He has a gentle handshake, which reminds her of her dad, and when his mum hisses at him to be more gentlemanly, Via actually catches him rolling his eyes before he bows over her hand, pretending--but only pretending--to kiss it.

Secondly, he doesn't actually ask about her dad. Even if she suspects he also didn't know her name until they introduced themselves to each other, she's pretty sure he knew who her dad is. There's almost no way he could have avoided knowing about him--but he very pointedly never once brings up her dad's name, even when his own dad starts talking loudly with Uncle Andrealphus about the opportunity this marriage represents, to rehabilitate the name of the Stolas line. Via sees the way that Julius's lips go all thin before he turns to her and asks her, instead, about movies. It's an awkward and stilted conversation, but it's so much better than the alternative.

Thirdly--and most importantly of all--it takes her all of five minutes to realize that he doesn't want this marriage any more than she does. As his parents talk with Mum and Uncle Andrealphus about the upcoming plans, she watches him slowly hunch in on himself  and stare at the wall like he'd rather be anywhere else.

It had been easier to dislike him when he'd just been an idea--a threat hung over her head for Mum and Uncle Andrealphus to gloat over. Meeting him as a person now, she... doesn't like him, because she doesn't even really know him, but at least he's fine. He's just a person, and one that is being forced into this situation, the same as her.

And it's stupid--it is so, so stupid, and she knows that Loona at least will read her for filth later, but...

But when they get pushed out the doors to take a walk in the garden, never mind how fucking cold it is with all of Uncle Andrealphus's ice, Via opens her big fat beak and says, "I'm running away from the engagement party. If you tell anyone, I'll kill you."

It's not the most creative of threats, and her first thought, to her surprise, is that Blitzø would be disappointed in her.

Julius, to his credit, only blinks a couple of times before he says, "For real?"

"F-for real," she says, and tries not to cringe at the way her voice trembles. Ugh. She has to hold firm on this, because if he tries to stop her, or he tells anyone--

"Cool," he says.

The comment stops her short. "...What?"

He shrugs. "If we were meeting at my family's estate, I'd do the same," he says. "I just don't know where all the places to hide are."

Her feathers ruffle. She wants to correct him--I'm running away, not hiding, get it right--but manages to hold her tongue. "If I can stay away until midnight, we won't have to do any of this."

"We won't?" He visibly perks up, his ears swiveling forward. It's almost, but not quite, the same as when Loona takes interest. "For real?"

"For real," she says, with as much confidence as she can muster. "Because at eleven-forty four, I turn eighteen. When I do that, Mum and Uncle Andrealphus can't make me do anything. I know they wanted to make it all--dramatic. They haven't signed the contract yet. Have they?"

For a few seconds, a cold fear seizes her, deeper than anything that Uncle Andrealphus could summon. What if they've already signed the contract? Wasn't that how it happened with Mum and Dad? That contract had been finalized years and years before they were married, but--

"No," Julius says. "You're right. Father said it was supposed to be a spectacle. Something about..." He pauses, then gives her an apologetic look, his ears flattening. "Look, my parents are doing it for the money. I know that. I've heard them talking about how much they can get out of this, and if they can get more since... you know, your mother and uncle are really kind of..."

"Desperate?" she finishes, and she doesn't bother to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

He winces. "...Yes."

She nods once, a tight sharp gesture. "Yeah. I figured. Mum only gives a shit about money and getting to throw her stupid parties. Can't do that if everyone treats you like a fucking pariah 'cause your husband divorced you and then got himself banished. "

Julius winces again, his ears flattening further. "Yeah... I mean, yes, that's--I know that sounds awful, but--"

"It's fine," she says, which is a lie. It's not fine, it's never been fine, she's always hated Mum's parties and she wants to tear out her feathers and scream at being sold off as social collateral. "But that's what she wants. And Uncle Andrealphus. Not me."

He hesitates. Then, in a much smaller voice, he says, "For what it's worth... I don't, either."

"I know," Via says, and holds out her hand. "So help me. In like an hour, I'm going to sneak off. I'll leave a fetch in my place, so you can just look the other way, and if they find out, you can pretend I tricked you or something."

Julius stares at her, then very slowly reaches out, taking her hand for another gentle handshake. "This is mad, you know. If they find you, they might actually kill you."

"I have a plan," she says. She wishes she could reach for her burner phone, tucked in a hidden pocket of her skirts, but she doesn't trust him that much. "Don't worry."

"That is the worst thing anyone has said to anyone, ever," he says, but he tries to smile, sickly and anxious. "Good luck, Octavia."

She smiles back, and to her pleased surprise, she feels steadier than she has in weeks--months, maybe. "Thanks."

In the nearly seven years they've known each other, Blitzø has inspired a great many emotions in Moxxie: confusion, exasperation, anger into fury, admiration, annoyance, fear, and even--on rare occasion, which he'd usually like to write off as temporary insanity on his part, affection. He would say they're friends, but only reluctantly, urged by the threat of Millie's disappointment.

Today, though, he finds himself sympathetic with Blitzø for perhaps the first time.

It's a weird feeling. Blitzø has always been larger than life, and even at his juvenile worst, there's been a sort of intensity to him that has always seemed untouchable. His problems are the sorts of things in a bad soap opera, overblown and melodramatic--it's not just starting his own business, but literally stealing from one of the Ars Goetia as part of the business plan, and it's not struggling to make ends meet, but nearly bankrupting said entire business. He doesn't have small relationship problems like learning how to live with someone who grew up very differently from you, or arguing about daily chores--he has to have a whole intense spiral that ended first with him nearly dying, and then believing for a solid ten minutes that the person had died for him.

Right now, though? There's still an air of the unreal to it--Blitzø's partner is speedrunning things at an unnaturally-fast pace, thanks to the circumstances--but they're both just two men worrying about their pregnant partners being in dangerous situations.

He knows for a fact that Blitzø has texted Loona and Stolas at least ten times in the past twenty minutes, and he knows it would have been significantly more without Moxxie distracting him. It's only fair, though, because that also keeps Moxxie from doing the same to Millie.

Perhaps they should have expected to be segregated once they'd infiltrated the palace. While Stolas himself acts entirely indifferent to the potential of gender disparities--and honestly, he's become just as admiring of Millie as he is of Blitzø--it seems like his ex-wife and her brother have no problems perpetuating them. Almost immediately upon entering the palace, Moxxie and Blitzø had been shunted off to help with setting up the decorations, and Millie had been pointed to the kitchen. It doesn't matter that Moxxie is the better cook in their household--the harried imp directing everyone had just barely glanced at them before pointing them in different directions.

Millie has sent him about five texts over the past hour, mostly asking him for cooking advice. Blitzø's phone hasn't left his hand pretty much since they were assigned to hanging up garlands for the festivities; it's pretty obvious what sections he's been putting up: they're lopsided, off-balance, and Moxxie keeps having to step in to tidy them up.

"Sir, please," he says, after the fourth time he has to scuttle up the ladder, going to the very tips of his hooves to reach where Blitzø had just needed to stretch. "If you keep fucking this up, someone's going to notice, and we're going to get kicked out before the party even starts."

"They're not even gonna notice, Moxx," Blitzø says, his tone distracted. He's frowning at his phone screen; from his vantage point on the ladder, Moxxie can see it's a string of texts with no reply. "This hallway leads to Stolas's observatory thingy, and no way in fuck is anyone going to be coming this way. They're just doing this shit to make fucking busy work for us."

"You don't know that," Moxxie says. "It's possible that Marquis Andrealphus will want to show off--I've heard that the observatory here is better than any other in Hell, except the one that's in Lucifer's estate. If he wants to take over Stolas's domain, it wouldn't be that strange for him to do that."

"Christ on a fucking stick, do you ever listen to yourself?" Blitzø snipes. He's bristling with nervous energy, scowling down at his phone. "Talking all big and fancy like you've got any fucking idea what you're talking about. Well let me tell you, asshole, these fucking birds don't give a single solitary fuck about whatever shit you know. Stolas is like the only one who has any sort of fucking idea, and don't get me started on how hard and long I had to fucking train him--"

As Blitzø rants on, Moxxie, still halfway up the ladder, sees a familiar silhouette cast shadows across the floor. He hears the sound of measured clicking footsteps, and he scuttles down the ladder enough to aim a kick at Blitzø's shoulder.

"--and, ow, fuck, what the fuck was that for?!" Blitzø snarls, spinning to turn to him, and Moxxie puts a finger to his lips. It's probably a testament to how high-strung Blitzø currently is that he spins around to look. Moxxie has to yank him back around by the shoulder, keeping their heads bowed together as Marquis Andrealphus comes around the corner.

When he isn't in battle, he walks with a pronounced strut, dressed like something out of an illustrated fairytale: a high-necked white shirt with ruffles at the throat, sparkling from an assortment of crystals stitched into the fabric, with an icy blue tailcoat that had been embroidered with darker blue stitching. His pants were the palest shade of sandy beige, along with a pair of knee-high white boots, which--

Blitzø growls, low and just barely audible. It's subtle enough that Andrealphus didn't notice, but it's obvious enough that Moxxie has to pull his attention from admiring the man's fashion to adjust his grip on his boss, using his tail to wrap around Blitzø's neck to keep him (mostly) locked in place. The last thing they need right now is Blitzø losing his patience and getting into a fight with Andrealphus--now or ever.

Andrealphus, for his part, only gives them a single cursory glance before he sweeps by. The lighting in the hallway isn't the best--it's an ideal level to catch and spark off the jewels in his clothes, but not much more than that. There isn't a single spark of recognition in his eyes, which Moxxie will admit is slightly insulting, but also a relief. Blitzø, in particular, has a distinct look, and he'd been the one to confront Andrealphus directly at Sinsmas, not to mention the trial...

Moxxie keeps both their heads down, watching as Andrealphus turns another corner and the sounds of his footsteps fade away. He still waits a few seconds longer before he lets go of Blitzø's head and neck.

Blitzø immediately turns on him, snarling. "The fuck was that for, Moxx? I had the guy right there, I could've--"

"We're on a job right now, sir," Moxxie snaps in response. "Ignoring the fact that he's one of the Ars Goetia, and fully powered, this palace is going to be crawling with more goetia any minute now. We cannot afford to get into any fights right now, no matter what your ego thinks."

"It's not about ego, Moxxie," Blitzø growls, and his tail snaps a few times, a telegraph of anxiety and rage. "That fuckface has it coming, with all the shit he's pulled."

He looks like he might just go running off after Andrealphus at any second. Moxxie grits his teeth, then takes a breath. He hates using an ace like this, but this plan is already dangerous enough as it is. There are so many ways it could go wrong even if they stick to it to the letter; they don't need Blitzø fucking things up because of his temper.

"Then you can tell Stolas why we were distracted from rescuing his daughter, sir," he says, a little too loudly. If it turns out that Andrealphus had recognized them, and was hiding around the corner, then Moxxie's the one who's just given everything away.

But he watches Blitzø freeze, then snarl soundlessly, all teeth bared--and then slump, scrubbing at his face with both hands.

"I really, really fucking hate that asshole," he says, his voice muffled into his palms. "Him and that shitty sister of his."

"I know, sir," Moxxie says, softer this time. There's a whole lot buried in that admission, including things that he's sure Blitzø hasn't even told Stolas. "But you can't just run off on your own to do these things. You've got people waiting for you."

Blitzø grumbles something that sounds rude under his breath, then looks down at the phone in his hand. His lock screen is a photo of Loona and Stolas, the two of them sitting side by side and ignoring each other and the world--Loona with her phone, Stolas with a book. It must have been taken recently, because the angle of Stolas's posture shows the beginning of a swell to his belly, before the sudden and dramatic progress from yesterday.

It's an objectively bad photo: off-center, a bit unfocused, taken in low lighting. But Blitzø stares at it like it's got all the answers in the universe--and the thing is, Moxxie understands. Millie isn't really showing yet, but she's both his lock screen and his phone background as a reminder. And someday eventually--sooner than later--there'll be someone else waiting for him, too.

He touches Blitzø's shoulder and doesn't flinch when Blitzø bares his teeth and snaps at his hand. It's not like he comes anywhere near Moxxie's fingers; it's just a display, not an actual threat.

"It's almost time, anyway," he says, when Blitzø finally pulls back, shoulders slumping. "Let's go get the princess so we can get out of here."

"Fine," Blitzø mumbles. "But next time, it's gonna be on fucking sight. I'm gonna fucking yank out every fucking feather that asshole has. I'm gonna skewer him. Can you eat peacock? Bet it's not as much fun as eating actual cock. Asshole's gonna get what's coming to him sooner rather than later."

Moxxie rolls his eyes and gives him a firm shove to get him walking. "Whatever you say, sir."

Blitzø is still itching for a fight after coming that close to that fucking shitty peacock, and he doesn't feel any better for the fact that the fucker hadn't even recognized him, either. After the trial and Sinsmas, after all the shitty passive-aggressive borderline stalker shit the guy's sent to Blitzø's apartment and office, you'd think he'd at least fucking pay better attention. Fuck, bluebloods really are sheltered, aren't they? No fucking wonder Stolas had all that shit to unlearn.

Anyway, he and Moxxie get to Octavia's room without any incident. There's not even any guards around, which feels fucking weird. Doesn't anyone in this fuckass family other than Stolas care about the kid?

He shoves Moxxie out of the way before he can knock, because Moxxie's better at the fancy bullshit talk, but she doesn't know his voice. As soon as they get her out of her room, it's go time.

So he raps on the door, ignoring Moxxie hissing at him to have some more decor, sir, we are in a PALACE, and says, as politely as he can, "Room service!"

There's a pause. Moxxie gives him a dead-eyed stare. "Room service, sir? Really?"

Blitzø shrugs. "Sometimes these royal fucks have their servants bring them food in bed. If that's not room service, what is?"

"There are... so many layers to that that I don't want to even try to unpack."

"Cool. Don't." He knocks again. "Hey, Octav-- uh, I mean, Yyyour Highness? You in there?"

Moxxie facepalms. "Satan, how are you so bad at this?"

"Hey, you watch your mouth," Blitzø says. "It's fucking offensive to say that name."

"What name? Satan? Blitzø, we're talking about someone who--"

"I don't give a shit, Moxx, I'm fucking offended you'd say that around me, and as I'm the fucking HR department, I have to say--"

"Since when did we have an HR department?!"

"Since Stolas was worrying about it, fucking keep up, Moxxie--"

The door opens, and Octavia stands there, looking at the both of them. She's dressed reasonably, thank fuck, all black and close-fitting and nothing like that fucking fancy getup her peaprick uncle had been wearing.

"You're both so loud," she says. "It's a good thing Mum and Uncle Andrealphus are busy with the party."

"And since they are, there's nothing to worry about," Blitzø says. "You ready to go, sweetie?"

She gives him a weird look, then nods. She hefts a star-shaped backpack, which is... really fucking cute, and he'd bet his literal fucking tail that Stolas bought that for her. "Yeah. I'm--I didn't know what all to pack, but I did my best."

"Whatever, it's fine," he says. "You're only going to be crashing with us for one night, if that, and then you'll be able to come home safe and sound. Promise."

She pauses, and there's another weird sort of look in her eye, but finally she nods. She steps out of her bedroom, closing the door behind herself.

"All right," Blitzø says cheerfully. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

"Not for real, though," Moxxie says, the fucking spoilsport. "We didn't pack nearly enough explosives to do any real damage."

"The fuck, Moxxie, what am I even fucking paying you for?"

"I'm a sniper, sir! That sort of demolition is Millie's job!"

As they snap back and forth, Blitzø keeps an eye on Octavia. She seems kind of moody and withdrawn, which he kinda expects from her. He's only just starting to get to know her, but she's definitely Stolas's kid, through and through. And hell, it's a fucking big day, because even without the bullshit her mom and uncle are pulling, there's a whole metric fuckton of shit that's going to happen. Anyone'd be moody with that--

Octavia comes to an abrupt stop, all her feathers puffing up in the way Blitzø knows means alarm. He and Moxxie also skitter to a halt, confused.

"Oh fuck," she whispers. "Oh no."

"What?" Blitzø turns to her. If they were more comfortable with each other, he'd try taking her hands or offering a hug, like he does to Stolas, but all he can do right now is hover as best he can. "What's wrong? Hello? Hell to Octavia, what's up?"

"What's up," says a familiar snooty voice--one that Blitzø has heard in his fucking nightmares, and also in some very satisfyingly bloody dreams, "is that you are all in very, very big trouble."

Slowly, Blitzø turns to look. At the end of the hallway, blocking their way with his stupid tailfeathers all lifted and fanned out, is Stolas's shitty ex brother-in-law, the fuckass bird responsible for at least half of the shit that Stolas has gone through over the years--the one who fucking forced their hand about their coming kid. He's smirking like he's just won some fucking lottery or bullshit like that, even though he's a fucking goetia and he doesn't need the extra money, he's just satisfied to keep that out of the hands of the poors or whatever.

"Oh, crumbs," Moxxie says. Pussface doesn't even give him a second look, advancing one slow step at a time.

"Via," he croons, all sweet and fucking fake. It makes Blitzø's skin crawl. Fuck, he takes back a little of his accusations at Stolas, because there's being condescending on accident and then there's doing it on purpose, and Stolas never sounded this slimy. "My dear sweet little girl, where do you think you're going?"

Octavia cringes away. She wraps her arms around herself as she does, and fuck, that's so much like what Stolas does, and Blitzø can't fucking stand it. He starts to take a step forward, to put himself between her and her shitty uncle--but because she's Stolas's kid, she finds her bravery at the most unexpected moment.

She straightens up and she lifts her chin, and she says, "I'm not getting engaged, Uncle Andrealphus."

"Oh?" He tilts his head, his smirk never changing. If anything, it gets bigger, even more smug. "And what makes you think you have a choice?"

"I never agreed to any of this shit," she says. Her voice wobbles on the last word, but hey, points to her for sticking to it. "You know Dad would never have agreed to this."

"Ah, but your father isn't here, darling," he says. "More's the pity. I really thought that he'd make an appearance. I was so looking forward to it." He looks briefly at Blitzø and Moxxie, and his beak curls in a sneer. "Instead, he's sending his little imps to do the work for him. Honestly, Via, how on earth can you still put any faith in what that man says?"

"Actually," Moxxie says, his voice a squeak, before he clears his throat. It doesn't help a lot, but at least he's steadier when he goes on. "We did some research. It turns out that Prince Stolas made an official declaration when Princess Octavia was thirteen years old, that the family wouldn't accept any engagement announcements for her, unless she herself negotiated for them, and as her father, his authority still--"

"And where is he now?" Pussface says. He flaps a hand, like he's trying to wave stink away. If Blitzø could fart on command, he'd do it just to give that snooty face something real bad to deal with. "Banished, dismissed, disgraced. Stella and I are only doing what is best for the girl. If he really cared, he would be here himself to make that argument. Don't you agree, Via?"

Octavia wobbles, but she doesn't falter. Good girl. "If Dad made it a declaration, that counts."

"As if the word of a disgraced prince has any standing against a marquis in good standing," says Pussface. "Pity, though. If he'd cared enough to come for you, darling, I would have been willing to negotiate with him."

"Negotiate?" She narrows her eyes. "You mean you'd want him to beg."

Pussface laughs, a high-pitched snooty sound, covering his beak with the back of one hand. "Via, darling, how surprising to hear that from you! I'm hardly such a hard man. Though I'm certain he begs very prettily--" and here he looks straight at Blitzø, who can feel his blood pressure rising, a growl starting in his throat--"I want to have proper negotiations with him." He hums, his feathers fluffing up in what Blitzø unfortunately recognizes as the I'm turned on way. "I'm sure if he doesn't hear from his little imp minions soon, though, he'll come himself. I do intend to enjoy that conversation, when he does."

There's a long pause. Everything about what Pussface has just said feels so fucking slimy that Blitzø wants to claw his own fucking skin off. For something that had no explicit words in it, it feels so fucking blatant what he actually wants from Stolas, and Blitzø can feel the rage building in him, ready for that last spark to just fucking explode.

It's not about any sort of fucking possessive jealousy--like sure, fuck, there's maybe a little of that involved, because this thing he has with Stolas is so brand-new and fragile. They're in the closest they'll get to a fucking honeymoon period right now, and maybe they haven't had a chance to fuck again since the night they made Eggo (name pending)--but they've done shit like hold hands, and cuddle, and sleep all curled up together, and the idea of anyone else taking that away from Blitzø makes him fucking furious.

So yeah, okay, fine, there's some of that in there, but it's also so much fucking more. There's how fucking casual Pussface is about it, like he's fully imagined and even fucking fantasized about having Stolas on his knees, like he has some sort of fucking right to have any access to that pretty body after all the bullshit he's pulled over the years. Compared to how Stolas always looks so fucking haunted and uncomfortable whenever he talks about this shitbag, Blitzø wonders if on some level, Stolas knew. His bird's not good at reading social cues at the best of times, but he does have good instincts sometimes. After so many years, he had to know, even if he didn't know.

And also--and this is just as fucking bad--the fact that the asshole is saying shit like that in front of Stolas's daughter. Like okay, sometimes Blitzø's mouth also runs the fuck away from him, and he'll say smutty shit to or about Stolas when Loona's around--but not on purpose. Not with his whole fucking chest, like he's proud of it.

(He is proud of how good he can fuck Stolas, but like, that's NOT something he needs his daughter or anyone else other than Stolas to know about.)

From the look on Octavia's face, yeah, she's got it fucking figured out. She knows exactly what her uncle is thinking about what it comes to her dad.

"So, what," she asks, her voice getting all high and screechy, "were you just, fuck, was I just some kind of bargaining piece so you could make Dad come back here?! Because you knew what Dad promised me when I was a kid, and you just--do you even care about me at all?!"

"Of course I do, Via," Pussface says, but Octavia only recoils further. "I'm thinking about your future, darling. Julius is a nice boy, isn't he? You needn't worry. I'll handle everything with your father. You needn't even see him at all, if you'd rather avoid it." He laughs, all snooty, covering his beak with his hand again. "Honestly, it might be better if you don't. It'd be rather... unbecoming for your delicate eyes."

Oh, that's fucking it. Blitzø is moving before he even realizes it himself. He puts himself directly between Octavia and her shitty uncle. Moxxie yells his name, but it's too fucking late. It probably was the second that asshole showed up at all.

"Hey, asshole!" he bellows. "Think fast!"

Marquis Pussface the Worst turns to look, just in time for Blitzø to shoot him point blank in the fucking face.

"Something's wrong," Stolas says.

He can tell, even though he could not say how he knows. Call it that sense of clairvoyance again--that skill he'd never cultivated, that had always been outside of his training--but it flares strongly in him, cutting through even the constant low-level discomfort and nausea that accompanies the weight of the egg inside of him.

Loona, distracted by her phone, looks up a second later. "What? What do you mean? I don't hear anything."

"No, it's not that," he says. He pushes himself off the wall he'd been leaning against, taking a stumbling step down the passageway, then another. "Something's wrong. Something's happened to Via and Blitzø."

"Seriously?" she asks. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he says. He doesn't know why Loona doesn't protest further--she would have every right to, because she's correct: it's quiet down here. The last text they'd gotten from Blitzø had been less than fifteen minutes ago, an update that they were on their way to fetch Via. Given the size of the palace, and the circuitous route they'd need to take to reach the underground passages, the pause isn't surprising.

And yet, Stolas knows, with a bone-deep certainty, that something is wrong. He has no access to his magic, and the protection spells he'd put on Blitzø a year ago have long since fizzled out. But somewhere deep inside of him, he knows something is wrong.

Before he can think about it too hard, he's stumbling into an actual run. He hears Loona yell and swear something behind him, and it doesn't take her long to catch up at him, just moving at a jog. Her concern is palpable as she grabs his arm, and he only barely refrains from hissing at her. The unease prickling at his feathers feels like a tangible thing, white-hot needles under his skin.

"Hey, wait a sec," she says. "We can't just go running in there. Have you forgotten that you're like, one step off from being wanted? If you go running in there, the hounds are gonna jump you."

Stolas yanks at his hand, but unfortunately, Loona is stronger than him. "You don't understand," he says. "There is something wrong, Loona, Via and Blitzø are in danger."

"I'm not saying I don't believe you," she says, "but fuck, you can't just go charging in like that! If even one of those assholes has a gun, you're fucked."

"My life isn't worth--"

"It's not just your life, birdbrain," she snarls, and Stolas finds himself cut short by that. "You've got that baby to worry about, too."

He recoils as much as he can, still in her grasp. His free arm curls over the wide curve of his belly. For a moment he feels utterly paralyzed. The panic is still there, growing with every second; every instinct he has is screaming. Something is wrong, something is wrong, something is wrong.

"I can't," he gasps. It feels like an iron fist is at his throat, clutching hard enough to crush his windpipe. Dark spots move at the edges of his vision. "Loona, I can't--I cannot just--please--"

I have only just gotten my daughter back. I have only just found a true connection with your father. If I lose either of them right now, I will go utterly mad.

He wants to say that. Surely, if he could just get those words out, it would impress the gravity of this moment on Loona. If he says it, she'll understand, and she'll let him go. If he can just--

Loona stares at him, and he knows she is not telepathic. No one truly is, not even the Sins. There are ways of using magical compulsion to make one think someone else's planted suggestions are their own thoughts, but--there is no way for her to read his mind, nor he hers.

But somehow, she seems to understand.

She nods, and she lets go of his wrist, but before he can go stumbling off again, she says, "All right, bird brain. But we're doing it my way, got it?"

So, of all the things Millie expected of today? Getting a text from Moxxie while she was tryin' to stack some delicate lil creampuffs into a whole fuckin' tower wasn't one of 'em.

Especially since it wasn't the usual text, but the emergency one--the notif that goes off with the sound of a hellcat screaming at the top of its lungs. The poor other girl she was working with shrieks too, on account of her startle, and she falls over backwards, but Millie doesn't have time to check on her. Her man's in trouble, and like fuck is she waiting around for an update.

She rips off the stupid apron she'd been given, and she goes tearing down the hallway. She only stops long enough to grab a spear from one of the suits of armor just standing around. Why bluebloods think they gotta have displays like this, she's got no fucking idea--the spear ain't even that good, but it's better'n nothing.

A hellhound guard yells something at her as she runs by. Probably something stupid like stop right there! like that's gonna work. Guards are always so fuckin' stupid.

Another one tries to make a grab for her, so she just spins and slams the side of the spear's shaft into his head. He makes a gurgling noise and falls over, and Millie loots his body for his gun--just a dinky lil fuckin' .22, but again, better than nothing. She and Moxxie have been practicing with her aim--she's not looking to stop field work till she absolutely has to, but she's not against learning how to use firepower to stay just a little longer.

Once she's got it, though, she takes off again. She's got the layout of the castle half-memorized--just enough to know where she was supposed to meet Moxxie'n Blitzø.

Before she even turns and reaches the meeting spot, though, she notices she can see her breath, and she sees ice creepin' along the walls. It sends a sinking feeling in her gut. But she can't let herself linger--she just runs fucking faster.

When she turns the corner, she sees that a whole chunk of a wall has been all-out collapsed, with a door lyin' on its side. Moxxie is crouched behind it. There's no sign of Blitzø or the princess.

"Millie!" Moxxie breathes, as she slides into place next to him. "Oh crumbs, what are you doing here? I wanted you to get out."

"No can do, baby," she says, handing him the gun. He takes it and his lip curls, an automatic expression of annoyed disgust crossing his face. He's so fussy about his firearms, and it's fuckin' cute most of the time. "Where you go, I go."

His expression softens. He bumps against her for a second, then says, "Blitzø and I got split up. Princess Octavia's the one who broke the wall to give us cover, but she refused to stay down. They're..." He bites his lip, peering up over the coverage they're getting from the wall. Millie peeks with him.

The other side of the hallway looks... fuckin' rough, to put it gently. There's multiple places where giant spikes of jagged ice stick out of the floor and the walls, and the ceiling. The lighting ain't the best, but after a few seconds, Millie sees them: the fuckin' ice goetia, all his fine and fancy clothing torn up, bleedin' from multiple spots, holdin' Blitzø up by the throat. The princess is hanging off his arm, trying her best to wrench him off with no real visible luck.

"Fuck," Millie hisses, and ducks back down again.

"I know," Moxxie says. "I can't get a good shot with both of them there."

Millie nods. Blitzø would bitch and bellyache like nothin' else if Moxxie wings him on the shot, but if by some stroke of bad luck, he hits the princess...

She's not sure who'd be more angry at him: Stolas, Blitzø, or Moxxie himself.

But they also can't just leave Blitzø like that. She doesn't think that those delicate lil bird hands would be able to actually properly strangle him, but also, that Andrealphus fellow still has all of his magic. If he wanted to, he could just snap--

No. No, it ain't gonna happen. Blitzø's a stubborn cuss, and so is she. Long as he can hold on, they'll figure out something.

As she peeks over the edge of the rubble again to check on the situation--it ain't looking good, 'cause Blitzø's still kicking, but he's slowin' down, and the princess's shrieking is getting louder and more frantic.

There's a second where Andrealphus pauses and turns, flinging the princess off his arm like he's knocking a fly aside. She hits the wall with a thump and a squawk, and somehow Blitzø gets the breath to yell about that, thrashing harder even though he's clearly flagging. Millie is ready to just throw herself into the fray, and fuck the consequences, when--

There's a scream, the sort that Millie's only ever heard about and imagined from her granddaddy's stories, from his granddaddy's time, during the last big shakeup between the Sins, when it hadn't been little petty wars between goetia, but one between Rings.

It's the kinda thing that goes past the ears, past blood and guts and bone, to whatever equivalent Hellborn have for a soul. It pulls at some instinct that Millie didn't even know she had, something that makes her want to scream too, an answer to something she's never been taught, but knows in all the things that make her herself. It's thousands of voices all at once, all of 'em familiar even though she ain't ever spoken to any of 'em before.

To war, to war! Rise, and attack! they say, and her whole body itches to follow. Before she can move, though, before she or Moxxie can do a thing, something launches itself over their heads. It smashes straight into Andrealphus, who drops Blitzø with a shriek of his own. They go down in a tangle of feathers and flickering starbursts of what can only be magic, that shitty prissy ice bird and his attacker.

Thing is, she's seen that thing before, in a way: ink-black, sky-black, the same kind of darkness between the stars on a clear Wrathian night, all lined and edged in the same deep red of the true Harvest Moon. She's seen those wings, the way they flow into shadows and flames both, too large for the space he's filling and still perfectly contained. She's seen that thing come swoopin' in like a prince out of a story, just to save their sorry asses twice over: once in some shitty lil human wannabe-secret base, and the other in Satan's court. She knows that shape.

It's just that there shouldn't be any fuckin' way for Stolas to do that.

Millie doesn't know the details of how Stolas's magic got stripped outta him, but she knows that it's a part of every goetia--that their magic is as much a part of 'em as her own tail and fangs. She doesn't know the hows or the whys of it, but she's seen that bird make gestures in the office like he expected to have something float his way, and then slink over to pick up a cup, or a pen, or whatever, all embarrassed-like. She's seen him wave his hand over Blitzø when they come back banged up from a job, and how his face gets all pinched when nothing happens.

And if he can't even do little spells, the kinda daily things he used to do easy as breathing, then how the fuck is he doing this now?

Loona skitters to a stop next to them, still halfway between her own transformation. She's panting like she's been running a mile, and when Moxxie grabs her shoulders to steady her, she doesn't even growl at him.

"Fuck," she manages after a few seconds. "Wasn't expecting that."

"What happened?" Moxxie asks, but Millie ain't waiting around for the answer. She vaults herself over the makeshift barricade, running straight for Blitzø, who is pushing himself upright and coughing. Millie drops to her knees next to him so she can grab him, hefting him up to drag him back to relative safety.

"Wait," he rasps. His voice sounds awful, like he's swallowed sand and broken glass. "Millie, wait, I can't--Stolas, what the fuck--"

"You ain't in any shape to help him right now, mister," she snaps. And he ain't: there's already bruises visible on his throat, and his suit is ripped to shreds in multiple spots. The white shirt is practically the same as the black jacket, with how much he's bleeding. It's nothing immediately life-threatening, thank fuck, but it's the kinda shit he could make worse real easily. "You're benched."

He snarls at her, his tail whipping. "Fuck you, I'm not--"

"You wanna leave that baby without a daddy?" she snarls right back. And that hits him hard, 'cause his eyes go all big for a second, and he doesn't stop fighting her, but a lot of the strength goes out of him. "If you get yourself in there right now, Blitzø, you're just gonna get yourself hurt worse, and Stolas ain't gonna be happy about that."

"He's the one who's gonna get hurt!" Blitzø yowls. It's like that revives him, because he starts struggling harder, and even though he's gushing blood like a fucking fountain, it takes everything Millie's got to keep dragging him back. "Stolas! Stolas, you moron! What the FUCK are you doing?!"

"Dad?!" Loona shouts from behind them, and that distracts Blitzø again, just long enough for Millie to drag him to the barricade. A moment later, Loona's reaching over it to heft her daddy up and over, and then she has to scruff him because the motherfucker doesn't wanna stay down. First thing he does, once he's settled, is immediately try and crawl back over it.

"Dad," Loona says again, louder this time. "Fuck, stay--you're bleeding, come on--"

"It's just a flesh wound, Looney, we can worry about it later, I'm fucking busy right now--"

"Stay down," she snarls at him, and while they're arguing, Millie takes quick stock of the situation.

Moxxie's got the princess with him. He's torn up some of his jacket to wrap around her arm--there ain't no visible blood, but the poor kid's clearly favoring it. Probably dislocated, if she had to guess, but potentially broken. She knows that bird bones are all hollow, but she's got no idea how that translates to a bird goetia. Loona's pinning Blitzø with her whole body at the moment while he shouts incoherently for his bird, who--

Millie peeks over the edge of the barricade, and she can't tell what the fuck is going on over there. Andrealphus is still in his familiar form, a tall skinny pale shape in the darkness, but he looks like he's holding his own against the owl-shaped thing made out of shadow and flame that's tryin' to rip his head off. Half the hallway is covered in ice, and most of the walls are shattered. She's a little surprised that the ceiling hasn't caved in, but she ain't gonna speak that worry into existence.

Instead, she drops back down and looks at Moxxie. "You think you can get the shot in, baby?"

He looks at her, then wordlessly leans up to peer at the fight. His tail twitches slowly back and forth as he locks in, and then he lets out a hiss.

"If I had a better gun, then yeah," he says. "I've got a .38 on me, but that's not much better than the .22, and those are better for being in the middle of a fight. It might not even work as a distraction, the way they're fighting."

"Fuck."

"If we could get them to drop the magic for just a second, I could probably knock the Marquis out," Moxxie says. "Blitzø's shot him once, so he's already injured, but that's just because he caught him by surprise."

As Millie peeks over the barricade again, a small voice says, "I'm sorry."

She turns--they all do--to look at the princess. She's leaning against the broken door, her knees hugged to her chest, her eyes huge and teary. She ain't actually crying, but looking at her, she's definitely only seconds away from that. Her breath is all hitchy and broken already. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't--I knew it was stupid, but I didn't--I'm sorry--"

"Aw, honey, it ain't your fault," she says before she can even think about the words. They just kinda slip out, to her surprise. "Your daddy made you a promise, and he made it all official too, right? It ain't on you if your mama and your uncle decided to go back on that."

"But..." She blinks, and then she is crying, and she rubs at her face with one hand, shoulders shaking like a leaf in a storm. "But if I hadn't--I could have just--I didn't mean to--if, if something happens to Dad, or th--the egg, I..."

"Hey." Blitzø's voice still sounds somethin' awful, but it's steady, and it makes the princess look at him with those big teary eyes. "Nothing's gonna happen to your dad, Octavia. Or the egg. I fucking promise."

She snorts, because she's cryin' and all, but she's still a teenager. "How can you say that? You're hurt."

"Yeah, well, I'm fucking tough, and I bounce," Blitzø says. "Listen, I know you fucking hate my guts and all, but also I'm fucking right. Your dad's gonna be okay. Even if he gets banged around a bit, he's gonna be okay."

"But," the princess says, and then she's cut off when Stolas shrieks again. This time, it's not a rally to war or something that makes her blood boil in ways unexpected--it's a cry of pain, and it's fading from thousands of voice to just the one.

When Millie looks, she sees that there's just Stolas--Stolas as she's come to know him, his lanky birdy self, currently saddled with that big ol' belly, curled on his side with his arms around his middle. He's staring up at Andrealphus with continued fury, and Andrealphus just stares back at him with a feral kinda grin on his face.

"Oh crumbs," Moxxie whispers.

"I have to say, I'm impressed," Andrealphus says. It takes concentrated effort to keep his voice even and steady; he's actually winded, though he refuses to let that be seen. But he has the advantage now; no matter how much Stolas might try to defy him, it's clear he's exhausted himself. It's a bit of a surprise he could tap into that power at all--the blocks that were placed on him should have kept him from even that other part of himself--but without his full range of magic to maintain it, it's hardly surprising that he's already run out of energy.

"Where was this fire before, hm?" he goes on, using the toe of one boot to tip Stolas's chin up. It's the same move he'd used on that imp months ago, but there is something far more thrilling about this right now: an imp was made to be trampled underfoot, but another goetia? And a prince? One of the Named members of the Ars Goetia, who in his prime outranked Andrealphus? Oh, this is truly exquisite. "If only you'd had some more of this energy beforehand! If you'd only showed a little bit of this fight to my dearest sister, you two could have been a truly formidable power couple."

Stolas hisses at him. He's clearly too overcome for words at the moment, though the fire in his eyes is truly lovely. Andrealphus leans down to bring their faces closer together. He's aware that the imps are plotting something, and he erects a shield a second before a pitiful little bullet ricochets off that protection. He hears swearing, and it makes his smile all the wider.

"Poor, poor little Stolas," he croons. "You know, I'd really been looking forward to seeing you today? Even in your... current condition." His gaze dips down to the obscene swell of Stolas's belly, watching the way he curls around it, like he could somehow block it from Andrealphus's view. "Look at you. How far you've fallen, that a mighty prince is reduced to being the broodmare of an imp."

"He's worth a thousand of you," Stolas says. There's barely any breath to it, the poor thing. Andrealphus will have to make sure he rests and recovers before they begin his retraining--it wouldn't do for Stolas to collapse when he is learning his lessons. "A million. You aren't worthy of being anywhere near him."

"Oh," Andrealphus says, chuckling, "I think you've got that quite backwards, dear brother." He pushes down, so that his boot presses against Stolas's throat. He has to be careful, since it would be a shame to permanently ruin that lovely voice. "After all, we all know what an imp's place is, don't we?"

Stolas hisses again, his feathers ruffling up. For a moment, black energy sparks along those feathers, but it peters out immediately again. Andrealphus clucks his tongue in concern.

"You mustn't push yourself so hard, my dear little stargazer," he says. "Think of the child! Not that we can allow this thing to be brought to full term, but we'll allow you the chance to lay it first. I'd so hate to think of you rendered infertile just because of a mistake."

"That was your doing," Stolas snarls. Oh, he's so passionate like this! Andrealphus looks forward to breaking that spirit when he has the chance. "You were the one who--you sent that curse. You wanted me to humiliate myself."

"And if I did?" He tilts his head, still smiling. More bullets are pinging off of his shield as they speak. It's almost cute, how persistent those stupid imps are. "I think I rather succeeded, didn't I? Imagine what the courts will say, when they see how far you've fallen. You'll be a cautionary tale for the ages, little stargazer."

That gets him to struggle a little--he keeps one arm curled around the bulge of his belly, like that would offer any protection, but the other he brings up to try and shove at Andrealphus's leg. "Stop calling me that!"

"Stop CALLING him that, you fucking asswipe!" a new voice roars, in tandem with Stolas's protest. It's closer than it should be. Andrealphus turns, just in time to see a female imp swinging an ornamental ax at his shield. It connects with a ringing noise, a second before the delicate energy construct shatters. A second later, another gunshot rings out, this one striking him in the shoulder. It's nowhere near as powerful as the shot from Stolas's idiot toy--which is already mostly healed--but it still makes him stumble, his foot lifting off Stolas's throat.

A moment later, that imp is there, grabbing for Stolas and dragging him back. Oh, it makes Andrealphus's own feathers ache to see him pulled across the ground like that, but there's something else that brews in him, too, seeing how Stolas turns into that imp's embrace. He throws his long thin arms around the imp and tucks his legs up, so that he makes himself as small as possible, like that imp could actually protect him.

And the imp also acts like he has the right and the ability to do that, one arm going around Stolas's thin body and the other lifting that gun of his again.

"Keep your fucking filthy hands off of MY bird," he says. His voice is terrible, rough broken pieces. How in Hell could Stolas lower himself to this sort of contact?

"Your bird?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "You think that you, of all things, have a right to the body of an Ars Goetia? I'll grant you, you've got him quite bewitched somehow, but we all know that this won't last. I realize that your kind aren't very bright, but come, now. Don't be an idiot. You'll see that--"

"You finish that sentence, and I'm shooting you in your mouth again," the imp tells him. He bares his teeth, and Stolas only curls closer to him. The two other imps with them step forward, and the hellhound as well, forming a protective little circle--like that would do any good. It's almost laughable, how pathetic their attempts are. As if any of them could do him any lasting harm, when he--

"Uncle Andrealphus."

Ah. He looks past the little ragtag group immediately in front of him, to his niece, standing behind the group. Her arm is wrapped, and he almost frowns, stopping himself at the last second. Had he thrown her that hard? Honestly, was she that fragile? She must have gotten that from her father; he and Stella had done far worse to each other, as fledglings. "Via, please, the adults are speaking."

She takes a deep breath, and he thinks that she's going to be a good girl, to nod and step back so he can finish his business with these imps and sweep Stolas off.

And then she says, "No. You listen to me."

"Via!" He blinks in shock. "Where are your manners, girl?"

She grits her beak, and she straightens up, as tall as she can. She doesn't have her father's height, which means she has to look up at him, but she doesn't have any of the proper deference in her gaze as she stares at him.

Slowly, she holds up a phone--a cheap little thing, one he doesn't recognize--and pushes the button to turn the screen on. As he watches, the clock on the screen ticks over--11:43 over to 11:44.

And then she smiles grimly. "I'm an adult now, Uncle. And this estate is rightfully mine."

When she'd imagined confrontations with her family in the past, Via had always pictured things like--like in the drama TV shows that her dad liked to watch, and that she'd never easily admit were kind of fun. She'd pictured her voice ringing out, righteous and true, laying out her accusations while the other party cowered and nodded and begged for her forgiveness. She has so many daydreams of yelling at her mother to stop paying attention to society and start paying attention to her; she's imagined throwing even more of her dad's lies in his face; she's thought of the ways she could tear her uncle down for all of his petty behaviors, the way he likes to pick apart everything she does.

The reality is so different from that. Instead of a room with mood lighting and perhaps an audience of their peers, it's a ruined hallway, with just her dad, his boyfriend, and that boyfriend's employees. Via doesn't have the power of righteous scripting behind her. It's just her, shaking and terrified and finally properly eighteen years old, even in the eyes of goetic law.

The authority is hers, and she doesn't want it--but she can already feel it, a power seeping into her veins that is both unfamiliar and one she's known all her life. It feels like her dad's hands on her shoulders, steady and grounding. Dad's right there, looking up at her with his big shining eyes, but he's also behind her, giving her a gentle push forward.

"I want you out," she says. It's surprisingly easy to say. "Get out of my palace."

"Via, darling," Uncle Andrealphus says. His brow draws together, and he's frowning, like he can't quite understand what she's saying. Which is stupid, because she's picking small words on purpose. "Honestly, think about what you're saying. You need someone to guide you, especially now--you can't just--"

"Didn't you hear me?" She crosses her arms, ignoring the stabbing flare of pain from her injured arm. "I want you out. And take Mum with you."

Uncle Andrealphus's eyes go even wider. She hears Dad gasp, though he says nothing. "Via! Are you even listening to yourself?! How dare you--"

"How dare you?!" she shoots back. She wants to keep her cool, she wants to stay steady, but it's all there boiling up inside of her. She's been on the edge of exploding for weeks--for months--and a part of her wonders how Dad had kept his cool for so long. He'd lived like this for years. She can't even imagine. "Ever since Dad's banishment, you've just been acting like you own this place! You've acted like this belongs to you, and it doesn't! It's not yours!"

Oh, she's crying now. She's crying, and that's humiliating--she'd wanted to be cool about this, as calm and collected as Dad had been on her thirteenth birthday, but here she is. This is how this is happening.

"Via, please," Uncle Andrealphus says. There's a bit of exasperation bleeding into his tone, and that only makes her more furious. "I understand that the past few months have been... trying for you. It's quite understandable, especially given the ludicrous way your father has conducted himself, but--"

"It's not just him!" she shouts--screams, really, her voice cracking at the end. It makes Uncle Andrealphus recoil, and Dad, still lying curled in his boyfriend's arms, makes a small pained noise. "It was Dad, yeah, but it was Mum, too! It was her, and him, and you, too!!"

Silence follows her declaration for a few precious seconds. Via swipes a hand across her eyes, then makes herself look her uncle in the face. Once upon a time, he'd been a safe haven for her--someone she could turn to when her parents were being unbearable, someone whose door would open when she needed somewhere else to go, just for a little while.

Once upon a time, she'd believed her family was normal and happy.

"I used to think it was just me," she says, hiccuping. "I thought that maybe I was the weird one. If I were better, or if I'd tried harder, things would go back to normal. Mum and Dad would make up, and you'd stop being so weird about both of them. I thought if I worked really hard, I could fix it... but that's not true, is it?"

"Via," Dad says, so softly. It's probably barely more than a whisper, but he sounds so sad. He's always been sad every time he's talked to her since the trial, and she hates it. She hates everything about all of this, everything that's led them to this point.

Uncle Andrealphus, on the other hand, looks angry. "Now you listen here, young lady," he says, playing the stern parent again, like he has any right to it, "both your mother and I have worked hard to make sure that you have had the very best in education, training, and social opportunities. Given the way your father slacked on that, you should consider yourself lucky that we were able to arrange the engagement we did, and you--"

"And you're still not listening!" Via just barely resists stomping a foot. Her frustration is boiling higher, higher, and it's so close, if he doesn't just shut his beak and listen--

"--you should be ashamed," he goes on, like she hadn't said anything at all. "If you agree to come with me to the main ballroom now, we can still salvage this situation and--"

Something in her snaps. Via takes a breath and reaches, inside of herself--the way Dad taught her to do, the way that had always made sense compared to the methods her tutors (all hired on Uncle Andrealphus's recommendation) had drilled into her--and she finds a wellspring waiting.

She isn't Stolas--she was not born and Named as such. She will never be one of the Seventy-Two, who sit at the highest echelons of goetic society. Her role is ultimately to be a bridge, between the Stolas of now, and the Stolas who will be in the future.

But she is the daughter of the current Stolas, and disgraced or not, his bloodline is hers as well, and it is one that outranks her uncle's standing. She has the right to that power. Even if other heirs have been content to simply let it sit dormant, she is not.

Especially not now.

She takes a breath, and when she exhales, darkness rolls over her vision as she lets the transformation take place.

For a moment it's like being trapped in a complete void--and then she sees the bright ice-blue flare that is her uncle, and the dimmed red spark that is her dad, and the paler outline of the gathered imps and Loona. It isn't vision the way her physical eyes comprehend it--the way Dad had explained it, it's simply that this other form has different senses, and their brains simply translate it into what is the most familiar.

In this form, her head nearly brushes the ceiling--she's less bestial than Dad's alternate form, still roughly upright, two-legged and wingless. She isn't as grand or powerful as Dad--she doesn't have the access to the same depth of the power of Stolas, but it still recognizes her as its own, and it allows her in all the same.

"I will not repeat myself," she says, and her voice echoes and rolls. It's not multitudes upon multitudes, but there is a weight that wouldn't be in her normal voice alone. "Get out of my palace, before I make you."

She wishes she could see Uncle Andrealphus's face properly. She can "see" the way he quails away from her, the sickly yellow flashes of fear that go through him.

Before he can say anything, though, there is the sound of heels coming down the hallway. A moment later, there's Mum's voice, loud and piercing: "ANDREALPHUS, where the fuck are you?! Everyone is waiting for--oh."

Via turns her head. Mum is a paler shade of blue than Uncle Andrealphus; like Via herself, she doesn't have the full access to the power of an Ars Goetia, though she has more than most regular goetia, due to being part of a direct lineage. She stands a short distance away, unmoving, silent for long seconds.

And then, eventually, she says, "I see."

"Stella," Dad says softly. "I thought you agreed with me about Via. Why?"

"Why?" She scoffs, and Via wishes she could see her expression too. She can picture it, though, the way her beak might twist, the hard tilt of her brows coming together. "Because unlike you, I wanted to ensure that our daughter's future was secure. After you went off and ruined everything, who the fuck would give her a second look? No one will care if she's clever or pretty or anything like that! They'll only see her as your daughter, you disgrace!"

"Watch it," Dad's boyfriend--Blitzø--growls. "I still got three bullets in this thing, and I ain't afraid to use 'em."

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Mum says. "Like I give a single shit about what your bullets will do to m--"

There's a gunshot, a screech, and then Blitzø says, "You wanna try again, cuntface?"

Mum growls, the sound rising up into a screech, and Uncle Andrealphus says, "Stella."

"Oh, don't you 'Stella' me, Andrealphus!" she snaps. "I told you we should have signed those contracts weeks ago! You were the one who wanted to make a show of it, and now look at us!"

"You wanted to sign them?" Dad asks, sounding shocked.

"Unlike you men, I know how these social contracts work," Mum says. She sounds utterly disgusted. "Ugh, never mind. I'm going back to the party to deal with the mess you've all left me with. Octavia, you'll find that the manor houses in Pride and Sloth are both in my name. I fully expect you to continue paying the allowance that I was granted in the divorce settlement."

"Stella?!" Uncle Andrealphus also sounds shocked. "Are you seriously--"

"YES," Mum screeches, suddenly at fully volume. Via sees the way that everyone cringes back from her voice. "I AM SERIOUSLY DOING THIS, BECAUSE UNLIKE YOU, ADREALPHUS, I AM QUITE SICK AND TIRED OF DEALING WITH ALL OF THIS BULLSHIT. I'LL BE LUCKY IF DUKE DANTALION AND HIS FAMILY WILL STILL BE SPEAKING WITH ME AFTER THIS, AND I HAVE A REPUTATION TO MAINTAIN. GOOD NIGHT."

And then she turns and she starts to walk off, her heels clicking loudly. Via watches her, then lets herself fade into her normal form.

"Mum!" she calls.

Mum pauses, but she doesn't turn. "Octavia?"

Via hesitates. She swallows. There are so many things she wants to say, but all of the words are tangled up inside of her, and she doesn't even know where to even start. "I... Mum, you--I just--"

"Octavia." Mum's voice is calm, cold, so unfamiliar. "Despite my best efforts, you're your fucking father's daughter. You do your best with that. Don't come crawling to me when things crash and burn for you."

Then she walks away. Via stands there, shaking, jostled when Uncle Andrealphus rushes past her to catch up, and she feels hollow and sick.

After all of that--after everything--that was it? Just... not even a good-bye, not really, just Mum turning her back without any hesitation? How could she just--

"Via."

Arms come around her, thin and strong, and she takes a breath that smells like cheap lavender and gunsmoke. There's a round hard lump poking against her ribs, but when she turns in the circle of her dad's arms, she still somehow fits as easily as she ever has. When she presses her face into his chest, she can feel his heartbeat, fast but steady, the same as it has ever been.

He croons something to her without words, his fingers working gently through her crest. For a few seconds it's just that, him helping to lay her feathers straight like he used to, when she'd been a nestling.

And then he says, "Happy birthday, my little starfire. I know it's not enough--lords know I have so many things I wish I could have done better for you, and I have nothing to give you now, but... my darling, brave, beautiful girl: I am so very, very proud of you."

Via blinks. There are tears in her eyes again, and she lifts her arms slowly, wrapping them around her dad's thin chest in turn, clutching at his shirt. She thinks for a moment, then she pulls back so she can look up at his face.

"No, Dad," she says. "It's enough. If you mean that, that's enough."

It is, and it isn't. She doesn't think that the empty ache inside of her will heal anytime soon, but--at least she has this. She has her dad back, and maybe...

She peeks over Dad's shoulder, at Blitzø and the others. Blitzø looks like shit, frankly, bleeding and swaying on his feet, but he's also crying, leaning on Loona's support.

And Loona meets her gaze and gives her a tiny smile and a thumbs up.

Via doesn't lift her head enough to smile back, but she turns her hand in an answering thumbs up. It feels good to do, especially when Loona's tail wags a couple of times in response. Both of the other two imps are also smiling, like they're proud. They're Dad's friends, right? They probably are happy for him.

What a thought--Dad having people other than her, to be happy for him, to stand by his side, and who are happy to see her, even though they barely know each other.

This isn't her family yet, she thinks, as she buries her face in her dad's shoulder again. It's not, but maybe--in time--it will be.

Chapter Text

Someday in the future, someone's gonna write Blitzø's biography, on account of him being so successful and badass and hot shit, and he wishes them good fucking luck trying to keep up with the shitshow (positive? somehow?!) of his life in the immediate aftermath of the baby bird's eighteenth birthday. Fuck it, Blitzø is having a fucking hard time keeping up, and he's the one living this shit as it plays out.

Blitzø had expected for them to stagger out of that fucking wrecked hallway to like, every single fucking reporter in Hell swarming them, but it had been pretty fucking anticlimactic instead. A couple of imp servants that he actually fucking recognized came and herded them to the kitchens. One brought Millie a first-aid kit to patch him up, all while Stolas alternated hovering between him and Octavia. Someone brought them cake, along with some of the froufrou stupid finger foods that were being served to the party, so all in all, not too bad.

They're given guest rooms to sleep in the castle, which felt fucking bizarre to him in a lot of ways... though probably not as weird as it probably felt for Stolas. And while Blitzø had been making all sorts of fun fucky plans for whenever he could get his bird into a real bed, they'd just collapsed together and slept for like fifteen hours straight. The next morning they get fed a real fucking fancy breakfast, and Octavia tells her dad that he can come back soon, and then she looks Blitzø in the eye and she says he and Loona should come too.

Stolas cries the whole fucking way home, but they're happy tears, so Blitzø is willing to let that go.

Then like a day later--which I.M.P. is taking off, because fuck doing anything else at the moment--they get the rest of their payment from Octavia, and then Blitzø's the one crying.

Like holy fuck? Holy fucking shit?! The amount that hits his bank account is more than he's ever seen in his entire fucking life, times like five hundred. It's enough that he has to pull Stolas aside to ask if there was a mistake, like, if there had been an extra zero by accident or something.

He feels a little better when Stolas takes a look at the number, blinks a lot, and says in a rather strangled voice, "My goodness."

It takes some back and forth texting and a phone call before it becomes clear that no, actually, that was the amount she meant to send them. Octavia doesn't say it outright, but it becomes pretty obvious that it's half payment for their work and half like... a "take care of my dad and my new baby sibling" fund.

Part of Blitzø wants to throw it back in her face, because like fuck does he need help taking care of HIS bird and HIS baby, but then Stolas points out that his divorce settlement was based on percentages, not solid numbers. So the more that Octavia gives them, the less she has to give her shitty mom, and you know what? Blitzø can get behind that.

However, if she tries to send them more money in the future he's putting it in some other account that he never touches ever again, or giving it to M&M.

Then after a day to digest actually having money for once in his life, another thing occurs to Blitzø: there's actually a pretty fucking good chance that the baby, however it comes out, is probably gonna have magic of some kind.

What kind? Who fucking knows! Octavia's got the whole goetia thing down, but there's something about like, how magic gets passed down from parent to kid, and even if Stolas doesn't have access to his right now, that doesn't mean the baby is gonna be kneecapped in the same way. Stolas and Moxxie get into a whole fucking debate about the possibilities, but it goes over Blitzø's head except for the key thing:

The baby's almost definitely gonna have magic, and the apartment isn't even normal baby-proof. There's no way it's MAGIC baby-proof.

But hey! Good thing that they've got this fat wad of cash in their account now, so they can do shit like look at bigger, better apartments that are better set up for incoming magic babies!

Baby. Singular. Fuck.

Blitzø's family is already bigger than he ever would've imagined he could have, as a (literally) burned-out, chewed-up asshole twenty-year-old clawing his way up from rock bottom. The fact that it's gonna get bigger very soon is already a fucking gift he's working his ass off to deserve. More than that? Fuck. He has no idea if Stolas even wants more kids, and for all he knows, maybe having to deal with one baby is gonna turn him off from ever having to deal with them again, christ on a FUCKING spiked stick--

Anyway, they've got a new apartment now.

It's still in Imp City, because he doesn't wanna move too far away from M&M, not when they're probably gonna need to trade babysitting nights in the not-too-distant future. They somehow manage to find a penthouse condo on the nicer side of the community--a fucking penthouse, who the FUCK even is he?!--and they buy new furniture for everyone. It's got enough bedrooms for everyone, including Eggo, to have their own, and Blitzø is fucking ready to slam down for the fucking nicest bed they can find.

However, because timing is a bitch and every good thing comes with a metric fuckton of chaos too, they are in the middle of moving when Egg Happens.

Literally, even, because Stolas is carrying a box to the elevator when he stops and says, "Oh fuck," and next thing Blitzø knows, Stolas is lying on the floor of the lobby and Loona's calling Octavia while Blitzø coaxes his bird to remember to breathe. That whole fucking day passes in a blur--at some point, Fizz shows up with his sugar daddy, and as it turns out, having a Deadly Sin on top of a goetic princess around is a great way to ensure that you and your birdy get the good shit fast.

Listen, Blitzø fucking hates the system that means imps get treated like shit even in their own neighborhoods, but he's not not gonna be grateful about Stolas getting the care he needs. He makes a mental note that when it's Millie's turn, he's gonna make sure Fizz's sugar daddy throws his weight around again. Call it compensation for the shitshow at Ozzie's or whatever.

They don't let him into the room when the laying shit happens, though--something about him being disruptive to the staff and distracting to Stolas, which is a giant crock of bullshit.

Before he can make a convincing argument with his gun, though, Fizz grabs him by the scruff and drags him out. He's not sure why Fizz thinks that things like "eating" and "drinking" are gonna help him feel better when his birdfriend is LITERALLY LAYING THEIR EGG, but because it's Fizz, he humors him.

He still makes it a point to key the doctor's car on their way back in, though.

According to the nurse, though, the actual delivery went pretty smoothly. When they finally let him in to see Stolas and the egg, Stolas is loopy on the good drugs, and the egg is--...

Well. It's an egg.

At first glance, it doesn't look like anything that special: it's like maybe the size of his head (minus horns), and a soft pale creamy color. It's rounder than the eggs he buys at the grocery store, but there's still a gentle taper to one end. The staff has a little railing thingy set up around three sides of Stolas's bed so he can have the egg tucked up in his feathers.

Blitzø takes one look at the scene and bursts into fucking tears.

He may or may not have told Stolas some really fucking important shit during his crying jag, but no one has any evidence, so he still has the chance to say it in the like, proper romantic way when Stolas is actually gonna remember it. Stolas just smiles at him, all dopey and high, and beckons him in closer. When Blitzø gets close enough, he grabs for his hand and drags it in so he can put his palm against the shell. It's blood-warm, the texture very slightly grainy under his palm.

"Look," he whispers, and he covers Blitzø's hand with his. "We made this."

Which is a real fucking rude thing to say, in Blitzø's opinion, but he very manfully does not start crying again. Instead, he climbs up onto the bed, on the one side where there's no railing, and he lies down so he's curled around the egg. He wraps his tail around Stolas's ankle for good measure, and they nap like that until a nurse comes and kicks him out.

When he brings Stolas home a couple of days later, the apartment is actually fully unpacked and set up, which: what the actual fuck. Who the fuck gave him permission to have friends who do that kind of shit for him?

And then, a couple of days after they come home, Octavia comes to visit.

She slouches in anxiously, her beanie pulled down low over her eyes. Everything about her screams that she's uncomfortable, and yeah, Blitzø can't entirely blame her. It has to be fucking weird for her--never mind the bullshit she's still dealing with in terms of her shitbag relatives and her shouldering the responsibilities that used to be Stolas's, it's just gotta be weird to be a full-ass eighteen year old and suddenly no longer be an only child.

But when she sees the egg, the change that goes through her is fucking clear as day. Her already-big eyes go even wider, and she starts to reach out before she stops herself. Before she can really curl up and go all stiff, though, Stolas gently presses Eggo into her arms. And then he says something that Blitzø is gonna have to think about later, or maybe never:

"It's quite late, darling, but here's the little brother you asked for."

Octavia refuses to give Eggo back until she leaves, hours later. Stolas cries again after she's gone, but he also smiles as he does, so Blitzø swallows down the panic and just holds him until the storm passes.

After that, she starts texting daily for updates--mostly Stolas, which Blitzø doesn't begrudge at all, but then she starts texting him, too, and he has to lock himself in the bathroom to cry so that Stolas doesn't see him and panic. They've been trading off who gets to be the bigger hot mess on like a daily basis, and it's not his turn, so he nuts up and deals with it on his own.

(Except when he comes out of the bathroom later, Stolas takes one look at him and just pulls him down onto the couch, wraps him in their softest blanket, and puts on a My Little Hellpony marathon. They sit with Eggo between them, and Stolas doesn't ask, but he does groom Blitzø's horns a little with his beak, which feels weirdly like understanding. Shit, if this keeps up, he really is going to have to submit to the fucking mortifying ordeal of being loved.)

Most nights, they sleep with the egg between them, with Blitzø making sure he's nice and coal-toasty before he crawls into bed. It doesn't matter that the weather is warming up--he's literally cold-blooded, he needs to do his part to help out.

Occasionally, though, they make use of the incubator that was a present from Fizz and his sugar daddy. It's a pretty fancy piece of equipment, with frankly more buttons and dials than Blitzø thinks something like that needs--but Stolas coos over it and tells him it's the same brand he'd used for Octavia's egg, so he'll let it slide.

They don't use it that often, because they're both slightly paranoid bastards. While they haven't seen any sign of Pussface since he turned tail and ran at the castle, neither of them really wanna take any risks. One of the first things Stolas had done, when they'd come home from the hospital, was some weird shit that Blitzø didn't really understand--he knows it involved Stolas drawing symbols on the wall in his own fucking blood, which hadn't been Blitzø's favorite thing to see, but Stolas insisted it was necessary so that no goetia could spy on them in their new home.

"I did something similar at the old apartment," he'd admitted, as he let Blitzø bandage his arm afterwards. "As soon as I realized that Andrealphus was going to keep pushing, I cut him off. I don't need my magic specifically for that, thank the stars."

Blitzø had paused and given him a narrow-eyed look. For some reason, the stupid bird had thought it meant he needed to add, "I also did a little bit for the office! Not too much, so that the Crystal still functions properly, but just--"

Anyway, turns out that Stolas likes having his wrists bitten. And his neck (which Blitzø already knew about), and his thighs, and it also turns out Loona doesn't really like walking in the front door to find them making out, which--that's fair. He can't be mad about that.

The point is, the incubator is for absolute necessities or else special occasions. Unless Stolas is in the shower (or the bath, but even in their fancy new apartment baths are like special treats), he's got the egg on him like 24/7. Sometimes he lets Blitzø take Eggo from him, and once Loona carried it around for a couple of hours of her own fucking offering. Fucking wild.

Sometimes at night, Stolas lies curled on his side around half the egg, and as Blitzø lies on the other side, he sings quietly to the egg. They're not lullabies that Blitzø has ever heard before, and he has the suspicion that they're not ones that goetia sing to their babies--because one, that assumes other blueblood fucks care about their kids, and two, he knows exactly how much Stolas loves singing. Either way, he gets to benefit too, and he sleeps real fucking well on those nights.

And that's mostly fine. Blitzø spends a week after they come home from the hospital anxious that the egg's gonna crack at any second. Word of mouth is still going strong for I.M.P., so they're pretty fucking busy as soon as they drag their sorry asses back into the office.

It's pretty awesome, but it's also pretty nerve-wracking. What if Eggo hatches while he's on a job? What if some shitty wannabe-client comes in and tries to give Stolas shit while he's alone with Eggo in the office? What if Pussface crawls out of whatever shitty place he's been laying low and tries something before Stolas can hit the panic button? What if--

But after the first week home passes with no sign of movement from inside Eggo, Stolas decides that it's likely that the egg is going to hatch on a more normal timeline. He speculates that the crunch between the actual babymaking and the egg-laying was probably just because of Pussface wanting to make things as dramatic as possible for Octavia's birthday; now that Eggo's been laid, they're just a normal egg going at a normal pace.

Which is pretty cool--not the Pussface bit, but the more relaxed timing--but also it means that the egg is gonna hatch around the same time Millie's due date rolls around. Blitzø can't think too hard about his upcoming baby having a birthday twin too much, or he starts feeling like he's gonna pass out.

Here's the other thing, though, and he's gonna shoot anyone who judges him: Blitzø's heard a lot about pregnancy hormones and shit like that (he mmmmight have done some research, okay, after they'd found out Eggo was on the way), and you know what? You know fucking what? He was robbed.

Like yeah, it's bullshit that he and Stolas didn't decide together they were gonna try for a kid, and that they hadn't taken the steps themselves to get things set up so they could do this. It's fucking gross that Pussface was clearly kinda getting off on seeing Stolas with that big belly, like Blitzø was just a proxy dick and he was the real daddy. It sucks that it was all just to try and ruin things between Stolas and Octavia. Now that Eggo is here, he's fucking hype to meet whoever comes out of that shell--and he's fucking relieved that Stolas's relationship with his first baby is improving.

But on a down and dirty level? Blitzø resents that he was fucking cheated out of getting to enjoy that shit.

Sue him, but he hadn't gotten his dick wet in months on account of being too fucking sad about the not-a-breakup, and then he'd gotten one magic-induced fuckfest, and then nothing! No chance to actually take a breath and appreciate the changes to Stolas's body, or to see if birds also got sensitive-horny when they were gravied up or whatever the word was--just bam-bam-bam, and suddenly: Eggo was out in the world, even if they weren't done cooking just yet.

And he's a proud man, okay, he has standards that he refuses to compromise, but he is fucking dying over here. It's desperate times, so he has to resort to desperate measures.

"Thanks for this," Loona says, as she steps inside. She does her best to sound casual as possible, even though frankly, everything about this is awkward as fuck. Honestly, she's torn between being impressed and contemplating all the ways she's going to make Blitzø pay for this when she gets home.

Because on the one hand, props to him for actually thinking and planning ahead like this, including getting her and Eggo (she's never gonna tell him that she's picked up that stupid nickname, but it is at least better than calling it "the egg") out of the apartment. Even though they've got sound dampening shit put up, and called in a favor from Asmodeus, of all people, Loona doesn't actually want to be around for tonight.

Plus, she knows that shit's been crazy for Octavia, too. The legalese goes over Loona's head, but she knows it has to do with succession shit--the stuff that Octavia is meant to do until Stolas's banishment is over, plus all the bull that's going on with her mom and uncle. Octavia's not pressing any charges in exchange for them leaving her the fuck alone, but apparently "leaving each other the fuck alone" is more complicated than it sounds when you're fucking royalty. The poor kid could use a break and a night with someone who doesn't want something from her.

On the other hand, see again how this is fucking awkward. She likes Octavia just fine--they've been texting pretty regularly since all the shit that went down for her birthday, and it's been... nice. It's not like the text chains she has with Gigi, or Russ, or her other friends, but--look. Hellhounds are generally born in litters of three or more, but Loona's never known any of her littermates. At this point, she probably wouldn't recognize one of them if she passed them on the street. She doesn't know the first fucking thing about being a sister.

She knows Octavia doesn't either, which only makes things weirder, because they kind of are, now? At this point, she can't really think of anything that's going to break their dads up, and now there's Eggo, and whoever they're gonna be when they hatch.

Octavia smiles at her, stilted and clumsy, her gaze darting from Loona's face to the egg strapped to her chest. There's a longing in her expression that Loona does understand, as much as she'd deny it if called out. "It's fine," she says. "It's kind of... this is gonna sound so lame, but--I've never had a sleepover with friends before."

"No shit?" Loona raises an eyebrow. "Even with a place like this?"

Octavia shrugs. "I don't have that many friends," she mumbles, not meeting Loona's eyes. "Also, Mum didn't really like the noise."

There's an awkward pause. Loona looks down at the egg, then back at Octavia.

"Fuck it," she says. "If this is your first sleepover, we're gonna make it worth it."

That gets Octavia to perk up just a little. She peers up under the edge of her beanie and those feathers that pass as bangs. "Worth it?"

Loona grins and holds out a hand. It feels weird to do this--what the fuck does she really know about having friends, huh? She's only really started meeting people because of Tex's invitations--but fuck it. She's the oldest sibling in this weird little family that Blitzø's been building. She can act the part.

"Yeah," she says. "First things first, you and me are gonna build a pillow fort."

"A what?" Octavia takes her hand without hesitating, but giggles, covering her beak with her other hand.

"A pillow fort," Loona says with a confidence she only half-feels. Fuck, she doesn't know the first thing about being gentle, but she knows she wants to try. "We're gonna get all comfy and shit with this little guy here, and then we're gonna watch shitty movies. We're supposed to talk about boys we like, but we can skip that part. You can tell me about, I dunno, star shit instead."

Octavia giggles again, freer this time. "Don't you get enough of that from my dad?"

"Yeah, but he makes it a lecture thing," she says. "I wanna know the fun stuff."

"Dad's lectures can be fun sometimes," Octavia says, but she starts to walk, pulling Loona with her. "But okay. I'll tell you about the stars... if you show me how you do your eyeliner. Deal?"

Loona blinks. Her tail wags before she can stop it, and even when she notices, she decides: no. She's not going to try. Fuck if she knows what she's doing, but Octavia doesn't either--and they've got some time, at least, to figure shit out before Eggo makes their debut into the world.

"Deal," she says.

One of the most charming things about Blitzø is that he doesn't care to be subtle about most things.

Certainly a great number of Stolas's old peers would argue this; subtlety is an art, they would argue, and a beautiful one. To be able to communicate in little gestures and small flourishes, rather than put things into crude and concrete terms, requires a delicate cleverness, and that was what was charming.

But that brash outspoken nature is part of what Stolas loves about his darling. It's honestly refreshing to deal with someone who (often) says exactly what he thinks about something.

Which isn't to say he doesn't obsfucate, or outright lie many times as well--but even his lying is more honest than anything Stolas has ever dealt with in his previous existence. A goetia would be far more likely to smile sweetly to your face and plot your death behind your back; Blitzø, on the other hand, grumbles and rolls his eyes even as he agrees. If he doesn't mean his flatteries, there is always some easily-identifiable tell--he's over-exaggerated, or he's blatantly faking it.

Honestly, Stolas is embarrassed how long it took him to realize this before. He likes to think that he has gotten better, with time and with practice. And if nothing else, Blitzø is at least far more inclined to be patient with him, even at his worst.

Which means that when Blitzø takes the egg from him and hands them off to Loona--who takes them willingly, without protest--and then opens a portal for her that quite clearly leads to the steps of his old palace, it doesn't take any sort of deep thought or special reasoning to realize what he's planning.

Of course, there is a part of him that worries, even with the evidence blatantly laid out as it is. The ghost of his own failings still looms ominously, a warning against both complacency and assumptions. In the back of his mind, there is a voice that sounds unnervingly like Stella, reciting a neverending litany of his shortcomings.

But Loona steps through the portal, and once it closes behind her Blitzø turns to him, all bright-eyed nervous energy, and says, "Fuck it. Let's go on a date."

And when faced with something like that, what else can he do but agree? It's only by some infernal grace that he doesn't squeal like some starry-eyed teen fledgling, but he can't quite keep the giddiness out of his voice as he says, "I'd happily go anywhere you want, Blitzø."

Truthfully, he always assumed that a part of him would carry the ache of that night at Ozzie's forever: his first and only experience with a date, and it had, instead, been a brutal but necessary wakeup call. Surely, he'd told himself in the aftermath, that was simply the sort of unlovable he was: convenient for someone's greater plans, but ultimately just a placeholder. All of his silly romantic fantasies should remain just that: fantasies in his own mind, never to be inflicted on anyone else ever again.

That feeling had lingered in the months after the trial; the more he'd learned about how gentle Blitzø could be with those he cared for, the more foolish he'd felt for any of his previous delusions. He'd been resolved--and resigned--to being grateful for what Blitzø did share with him, rather than force affections he hadn't earned.

And even with their awkward confessions--had it only been two weeks? It feels like eons, honestly--there simply hadn't been the time to really mull over what that might entail. He might not have been in the field, but between the research into what was needed to help Octavia and handling the administrative side of things for I.M.P., there'd been very little time to mull over the possibilities.

Now, though, Blitzø gives him a fondly exasperated look, and it soothes that old, quiet ache. "You can ask for shit too, Stols. You remember that, right?"

"I could," he says, knowing he will not. "But I'm just happy to be with you, darling, wherever we go."

Blitzø eyes him, tail lashing slowly back and forth, then appears to decide to table it for now. He holds out a hand, and Stolas happily takes it. "Yeah, don't think I'm forgetting this, bitch. But lucky for you, I've got it figured out for tonight. So you just relax and let Daddy take care of everything, okay?"

"Of course," he says, and only hopes that his sincerity is obvious. Given his propensity for the melodramatic, he knows it is a fine line. It is the truth, though, and his heart aches with how full it feels. "I trust you entirely, Blitzø."

Blitzø makes another face, but doesn't protest. Instead, he pulls Stolas closer, enough to sling his tail around his waist, then rubs the Crystal to activate it. He peers through the portal as it opens, then lets out a little chirp of surprise. "Are we going to Lust?"

"Not quite," Blitzø says, and gives him a gentle push, though that tail remains firmly wrapped around his waist. "Go on, I think you're gonna like it."

"I know I will," Stolas says, as he steps through, then stops short with a small, startled chirp.

He'd been fooled by the color of the skies--most of Lust exists in a perpetual twilight, cycling between that and the deeper darkness of midnight at the edges of the ring. Other than the couple of ill-fated visits, Stolas's knowledge of the ring is entirely academic; it had been part of his lessons to know about the structure and styling of each ring, and how it corresponded to the whims and preferences of its ruling Sin.

The instant he steps over the portal's threshold, he recognizes that they are somewhere on Earth instead--somewhere far from the light pollution of human cities.

He is more practically familiar with the sight before him now: a dark sky scattered with hundreds unto thousands of stars in their full glory, their cloudlike clusters stretching as far as the eye could see. There's a rich deep blue tint to the darkness, but there are shards of deep purple and green fractals, plus small flares of rose and peach amidst the darkness. Stolas cannot hear their songs as he once did, but there's still a sense of homecoming that wells inside of him as he looks up.

"Soooo," Blitzø says, all anxious energy, his tail tight and twitching around Stolas's waist, "good idea? Bad idea? I can have Fizz kick someone off their reservation at one of the swanky clubs, just say the word."

Oh, this idiot. This lovely, beloved idiot. Stolas turns in his hold and then sinks to his knees, reaching to take Blitzø's hands in his own. He squeezes when Blitzø gives him an uncertain look. It's not hard to read the fear there in those lovely eyes; he wonders, though he won't yet ask, how often Blitzø has tried to set up such a romantic plan in the past, only for things to end poorly.

"I love it," he says, because he cannot yet say I love you again without the both of them panicking. So much has happened since his blurted, awkward confession on the couch, and the words feel even heavier now than they did then. "My dearest, I don't think I have the words to express how much."

"What, seriously?" Blitzø smiles--a soft one, not his usual sharp grin--and shakes his head. "Fuck off. You've always got way too many words for everything."

"Not always," he says, and leans down. An excited little flutter goes through him at the way Blitzø immediately tips his head up, expecting a kiss, but Stolas simply presses their foreheads together. "I know that you're not as interested in the stars as I am, Blitzø. I wouldn't expect you to be... but they have been a part of my life for so long, and now..."

He closes his eyes for a moment. He breathes. And then he leans back, letting go of Blitzø's hands so he can sling one arm around those broad shoulders and gesture upwards with the other.

"...Now I can see them again."

"It's not the same, though," Blitzø says. His voice is so soft--not gentle, but heavy, weighed down with everything that's come between them. "You used to be all... I dunno, stardust and shit. Now you just have to look at them like this."

"It's not the same, no," Stolas says, and he does make his voice gentle. He can do this too, he thinks; he can tap into that tenderness inside of himself, and rather than hoard it anxiously, he can speak it into being. Unlike Stella, who only ever belittled it, or even Octavia, who hadn't understood--Blitzø knows. "But different isn't worse. Nothing of my life is the way it was a year ago, and yet I am infinitely happier than I was."

Blitzø is quiet for a long moment--long enough that Stolas feels the itch in his throat, the desire to fill the silence with meaningless chatter. It takes considerable effort to swallow it down and allow Blitzø the time to process and settle. To distract himself, he looks back up at the starry sky, breathing slowly and deeply and letting that familiar sight--however distant--calm him.

Finally, though, he feels an arm sling around his waist, though that tail also remains firmly in place.

"You're so fucking weird," Blitzø says quietly. "Who the fuck picks a shitty apartment over a castle? Or an imp over the stars?"

"I would do it again for you," he says without hesitation. "My life is infinitely better with you in it, Blitzø. No, no, please listen for a moment. My money and status certainly afforded me great privilege, such that I never needed to worry about physical or material things... but it was such an empty life, darling. For years, Octavia was the only reason I would rise from my bed in the morning... and that's a tremendous burden to place upon anyone, especially a child. And now--I have friends, plural. I lost my daughter, but I've regained her. I have an occupation where my work is tangible and noticeable, but that I can leave behind. I have you, who gave me all of these things." He dips his head again, letting his cheek rest against the curve of Blitzø's horns. "What are the stars compared to that?"

"Stols--"

"And I even have those again, now." He points towards the sky, then looks down. Blitzø's eyes are huge, shining in the starlight, and Stolas smiles, flooded with tenderness. "So thank you, Blitzø. For giving me my life, and for letting me be part of yours."

Blitzø stares at him. Stolas can see a whole multitude of thoughts and emotions going through those eyes, but he contents himself with studying that beloved face, waiting for the response.

Which ends up being those large hands grabbing his face, yanking him down for a kiss: hot, slow, and utterly filthy, with Blitzø's long clever tongue demanding entrance. Stolas yields without complaint, letting himself go soft and pliant against Blitzø's body as the kiss goes on. There's a definite curl of excitement in the pit of his belly, but it's pleasantly slow, a simmering build without the edge of desperation he remembers from their arrangement.

When it breaks, it's slow and soft, and Blitzø doesn't go far, pressing their foreheads together again.

"Fuck you for being so good at this shit," he mumbles. "I wanna say it, and I can't, so just..."

He makes an inquiring noise, breathless and hopeful. Blitzø seems to like it, from the way his pupils dilate, the way his claws dig deeper into Stolas's feathers. A few seconds later, Blitzø shakes his head, a dazed man waking up.

"Let me show you," he says, his voice rough in ways that are both familiar and thrillingly new. Stolas recognizes that edge of arousal--but there is emotion, too, things he has longed and dreamed for endlessly. "I fucking swear I'll do it someday, Stols, but I just... please."

And Stolas, dizzy and giddy and so very in love, nods.

"Whatever you want," he says, and kisses Blitzø again.

When Millie comes out of the bedroom, she's red-eyed and sniffling, but she's smiling, so Moxxie relaxes even as he jumps up from the couch, rushing over to her. She lets him wrap her up into a close embrace, putting her head on his shoulder. For a few seconds they just stand there, holding each other, and then Millie lets out a watery little laugh.

"D'you know, they thought that Sallie May was the one hiding a baby?"

"They what?" Moxxie pulls back enough to blink at her. "Sallie May?"

"Girl can hide a body like a professional, but she can't lie t'save her life," Millie says. She giggles, wiping at her eyes. "So all the time she was sneakin' around, talkin' to me about this, Mama and Daddy thought she had some mysterious sweetheart who'd gotten knocked up. I dunno if they were relieved it was me, or disappointed they're not gettin' two grandkids outta this."

"That's certainly... a conclusion," he says slowly. Then, "But they are okay with it?"

"Course they are, baby." Millie reaches up to cup his cheek with one hand. "Why wouldn't they be? You know how much parents love spoilin' my brother's babies. They're thrilled to have another on the way."

"Yeah, but..." He leans into her touch, his tail coiling tightly against his ankles. "All things considered, I'm still not exactly their ideal. I know we've made progress, but it's still--I know this matters to you, and I don't want it to... I'm worried."

"Moxxie." Her tone goes a little stern. He enjoys that voice more than he'll ever admit, but that's not the point right now. "I know my parents are a lil old-fashioned, but that don't matter. They'll love this baby no matter what. And if they don't treat you right as the father of this baby, it's a long way from Wrath to here. If they wanna see their grandbaby, they'll learn."

His eyes go wide at the implication. "Millie..."

"Mama and Daddy can't take much time off from the farm, on account of it bein' whelpin' season for the hogs soon," she says. "So it'd be easiest if we went to see them. Buuuut, I ain't dragging my ass and my baby all that way by myself. 'Sides--" and here she smiles, that beautiful bright smile that never fails to get his heart going doubletime--"you have made progress with 'em. Trust me, okay? Even if you can't trust them yet."

He covers her hand with his. "I trust you with everything I have in me," he says. "I just don't want to cause problems for you--I like that you're close with your parents, honey. I'm not--you've met my father. Like fuck am I telling him about this, but... that's why I don't--"

"I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, hon," she says, and Moxxie's growing not-quite panic attack trips over itself, fizzling out. She's so good at that. When he looks at her expectantly, she leans in close, and in a stage whisper, she says, "Daddy's just lookin' for an excuse to be nicer to you. I know him. And Mama asked me about your favorite foods, so you'd better be ready for her to feed you, next time we go down to the ranch."

Moxxie blinks. It's embarrassing, but he can feel a stinging in his eyes. "That's..."

She pulls back again, giving him a soft smile. "It's kinda silly, that it's takin' a baby to make 'em really step up, and I know it," she says. "But you did really impress 'em both at the Harvest Moon Festival last year, standin' up for me like that. This is just... a next step. We're all takin' 'em right now, right? You, me, Blitzø and his bird, all of us. My parents are takin' them, too."

"A next step," he echoes, then smiles helplessly at her. It feels almost like falling in love all over again, every time she talks like this. "Yeah. That sounds good."

So, true story: Blitzø did consider, for all of like fifteen minutes, about just fucking Stolas under the stars he likes so much.

It probably would've been just fine if he had. Even he has to admit that it was pretty fucking beautiful out there, and beautiful isn't a word he uses very often. Who knew that the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere would have a view like that?

And there's something to be said about Stolas under starlight. You'd think it'd be moonlight, given their history--and don't get him wrong, Stolas is pretty fucking spectacular like that, but...

That's the sort of thing that Stolas could explain better. Or maybe Moxxie, with his fucking twenty-dollar words.

Blitzø, though? Fuck if he's gonna try. He knows what he likes, and more importantly, he knows what Stolas likes.

But the thing about that is that he knows his bird likes comfort, too. And honestly, it's a shame that they've had that huge new bed for almost a month now, and all they've done in it is just sleep. Fuck, he even splurged for the nice pillows, the ones that made Stolas light up and smile before he'd put them back. Blitzø had swooped in to scoop up four of them, and Stolas had fussed at the checkout line, but also--also, he'd smiled again when setting up their new bed, and he'd made a whole little nest of the pillows for Eggo with the two extra pillows, so Blitzø considers it money well fucking spent.

However, they don't have to worry about Eggo for the night--he trusts Loona to protect them, and if something somehow happens to her, Octavia will have her back. He's seen the way those girls treat that egg. And even Stolas is relaxed instead of constantly checking on the little guy, therefore--

Well, okay, they make out for a little more under the stars, and Blitzø needs to be drunker than this to admit how much he enjoys that, even to Stolas. Eventually, though, he pulls back in spite of Stolas's protests, and fuck, he might regret this later--maybe much sooner than later, given the timing--but he makes direct eye contact with those big red eyes, and he holds up the hand with the Asmodean Crystal. While Stolas stares at him, he presses his mouth to the hard edge of the crystal, and then drags his tongue across it.

And like, look. Look. Blitzø's gotten some mixed reviews about his head game over the years; Verosika had gone from calling him a great time to accusing him of never reciprocating, which--okay, fair. He likes getting blown more than he likes returning the favor. In his opinion, he more than makes up for that shit in other ways.

Except things are different now. He watches Stolas's eyes get even bigger as he licks a circle across the top of the Crystal, and he grins as the portal opens and his bird's breath hitches real loudly.

Then, lightning-fast, he grabs for Stolas's hand instead, kissing the back of it. He's seen that sort of shit in the romcoms he totally didn't binge during their "off" time, and it's not a surprise when Stolas's breath hitches again, and he whines.

Not a surprise, but still pretty fucking great. He grins against Stolas's hand, and then he pulls back, though he doesn't let go. With his free hand, he gestures to the open portal, which leads straight to their bedroom. No pussyfooting around. He's a man on a mission, and it's one that he's pretty sure Stolas is gonna be more than happy to help with.

Stolas glances through the portal and titters, all breathless and high and cute, and when he gets to his feet, he's nice and wobbly. It means that once he totters through the portal, into the familiar dark quiet of their bedroom, it's easy as shit for Blitzø to tackle him straight down onto the bed. Stolas yelps, then laughs, reaching up to put his arms around Blitzø as they roll around a little to get comfy. His eyes are big and shining, his pupils heart-shaped, just the way Blitzø likes to see 'em.

"Hello," Stolas says, which is like, the stupidest thing, and also so cute that Blitzø can feel the aggression boil in him.

He grins back, all of his teeth bared. With how closely they're pressed together, he can feel the way Stolas shivers in response. "Hey there," he purrs. "I know we haven't eaten yet, but I'm thinking dessert first. Sound good?"

"Dessert?" Stolas cocks his head at that impossible bird angle. "I don't know what you m-- oh!"

Blitzø hums, yanking his pants down lower. Stolas might be fine with the titty-window sweaters and shirts that Blitzø has been supplying him with, but he wears his pants belted and buttoned up. It's kind of a shame, really, but Blitzø hasn't given up on the chance of convincing him to dress even more casually in the future.

But it's easy enough to undo his fly when he's distracted, and his hips are so skinny that Blitzø's pretty sure he could just yank his pants down while they're still done up.

That's not the point right now, though. He pulls the pants until they're about to Stolas's knees--or whatever the fuck passes for knees with those bird legs of his--which means it's easy to push his thighs open, but he's still hobbled. Stolas's eyes go even wider as he realizes what's happening, his beak falling open and his throat bobbing as he watches Blitzø settle between his opened legs.

"A-are you sure?" he whispers, and his thighs shake and twitch against Blitzø's shoulders. He's so fucking soft down here; as nice as his titty feathers feel, they've got nothing on the little downy things that line his inner thighs. Blitzø hums and turns his face to nuzzle against first one leg, then the other. When he peeks up at Stolas again, that shocked look is still there on Stolas's face, like he's already halfway to fucked out.

"Yeah," he says, and lets it rumble deep in his chest as it comes out. That look on Stolas's face gives him some confidence, and when he inches forward, closer, the fucking smell of him goes straight to Blitzø's brain. All those party drugs of his college years had nothing like this: musky and salty, something a tiny bit sweet, and all of that edged with sharp ozone and soft dust. It makes his mouth water--he's actually fucking drooling in anticipation, which would be embarrassing if he weren't so turned on.

He uses his thumbs to part the teeny downy feathers that hide Stolas's slit, and they open for him with a slick little noise. Everything's so wet that his fingers just slide smoothly against feathers and skin, and when he presses his open mouth to the stretch of Stolas's cloaca, Stolas jolts like he's been shocked.

"Oh," he gasps, all high and breathless, and Blitzø takes that as encouragement to dive in. He fits his mouth around the small mound and drags his tongue along the slit, letting the forked tip flutter over the rim of that tight little hole. On automatic instinct, he grips Stolas's thin hips with both hands, leaning his weight down to pin his shaking bird to the bed.

In a lot of ways, a cloaca is the easiest mode for giving head--even a small dick can choke you no matter how much you've practiced, and pussies have a steep learning curve to actually get the owner off, but a cloaca? He just has to breathe on the thing and it has Stolas practically shaking out of his feathers. It's almost like a dick flattened out, spread instead of standing, but with shallow lips and a tiny nub at the top of the slit, and it is so fucking sensitive to Blitzø's touch that he's kind of shocked that Stolas isn't leaking constantly.

Okay, maybe it's just because it's Stolas--Stolas, who for some fucking reason has decided that Blitzø is it for him, Stolas who has weathered some of the worst bullshit Blitzø had in his arsenal and still stayed. Stolas, who hasn't said The Big L Word again, because he knows that would send Blitzø on another fucking spiral, but who telegraphs it so hard he might as well be screaming it 24/7.

It's Stolas, the one person Blitzø might be able to say The Big L Word back to in a romantic sense.

Put that way, it's incentive for him to put his fucking all into this. He'd thought he'd been doing that with their old arrangement--anything to keep Stolas thirsting for his dick so that his business could be secure--but this is different. This isn't because some shithead used magic roofies on them, or because I.M.P.'s existence hangs on keeping a spoiled prince satisfied.

Blitzø's just got big gay romantic feelings, and when you get right down to it, he's a man of action. When he feels a certain way, he wants to act on it.

So he leans in harder, stiffening his tongue as best he can so he can press it past that tight ring of muscle, into the wet heat inside. He slings one arm around Stolas's thigh so he can use the weight of that to both keep Stolas pinned and use his fingers to keep those feathers spread. He glances up the long length of Stolas's body, and it's pretty fucking gratifying, the way those big red eyes are rolled up in Stolas's skull, his beak still hanging open. One hand is fisted in his crest; the other is gripping tightly at the sheets.

After a moment of consideration, Blitzø pulls back. Not far, just enough that he can reach his other hand out to grab Stolas's, tugging at it until Stolas lets go of the sheets. As that feathered head lolls on the pillows to look at him, dazed, Blitzø tugs that trembling hand up to one of his horns, using his own fingers to curl Stolas's around it. He sees the way understanding dawns in Stolas's eyes, stunned shock, and he smiles--really smiles--before he ducks his head again.

This time, he focuses his attention at the top of the slit, where the tiny nub is--the thing that isn't a clit, and isn't any more sensitive than the rest of Stolas's cloaca, but it's a good place to put his tongue as he works a finger into that velvety heat. It's fucking wild, how tight Stolas is every single fucking time--there'd been some kind of explanation about it once, about how most birds aren't built for dicks, but the important thing is that Stolas loves it, and if it's what he wants? Blitzø is gonna fucking give it to him.

"Ah!" Stolas hisses, his hips squirming harder against Blitzø's pinning arm. There are tears in his big eyes, but before Blitzø's brain can catch up to worry about it, Stolas's hips try to press up, seeking more. "Please, please, Blitzø, I want--I need--"

He hums in response. Normally--before, he could have pulled back to take over the dirty talk. It was easier to grab those reins and take control, rather than let Stolas run too wild. Over the course of their year (ish) of full moons and occasional bonuses, Stolas's dirty talk had improved a little, but even when it wasn't overdone tropey porno shit, it was all about feelings. Stolas had always been overblown with the ways he praised Blitzø, but it was always in bed where his mouth ran the wildest, taking them to places that had seemed like fucking impossibilities.

Now, though, he just lets Stolas's babble wash over him, and takes the praise as his due. He listens mostly for the hitches and changes in Stolas's breathing, taking careful note of what movements of his tongue earned him the best responses and then narrowing in his focus accordingly. He only gets his second finger halfway in before Stolas's body seizes up and he shrieks something incoherent and garbled as he squirts around Blitzø's fingers.

He presses another little kiss to that cute little not-a-clit, but he doesn't let up on working his fingers in nice and deep. Stolas whines, weak and thready, but even though his hand flexes where it's gripping Blitzø's horn, he doesn't try to push him back. When he glances up for another quick check, Stolas's head is flopped to the side, all four eyes closed as his chest heaves for breath. His whole faceplate is pink, which Blitzø takes as a personal victory.

But he's not done yet. He crooks his fingers gently, seeking, slow and methodical. Contrary to popular belief (looking at you, Moxxie), he does know how to be careful in how he proceeds with shit. Just because most of his professional jobs don't require that much finesse doesn't mean he's incapable of it--and fuck it, he can't think of a better use of his patience than looking for juuuust the right spot, where--

"Oh, fuck!" Stolas cries, and his body tries to jackknife up. Good thing Blitzø had anticipated that, just pressing down harder as Stolas writhes. He's still too fucking worn out from his last orgasm to have a lot of strength to it--not that he's really got that much without his magic--but he's still all fucking wiggly. Blitzø laughs, low and rough, grinding his fingertips against that little magic spot.

"You like that, baby?" he purrs, under the noise of Stolas crying and chirping and moaning. Overstim had been one of Stolas's favorite things in the before times, and it looks like losing his powers and shit hadn't changed that. Good. There's a particular sort of rush that Blitzø gets, pushing someone to the edge like this--it's a power thing, sure, but it might be a whole fucking validation thing, too, knowing that someone powerful and beautiful and fucking stupidly gentle would let him do this, would put their entire self and pleasure into Blitzø's dirty scarred hands and--fuck, he's getting distracted. He'd done shit like this with Verosika a couple of times, but never to this degree.

Now isn't the time for any kind of major epiphanies, but there's that knowledge, sitting there in the back of his mind for later: there is actually a whole fucking lot of shit in his wildly varied sex life that he'd done with other partners, but that he liked best with Stolas.

The thought makes him twist his fingers a little, pressing more with the clawtips than the pads of his fingers, and Stolas shrieks again, convulsing around him. It pulls another shaky laugh out of Blitzø, who doesn't stop moving his fingers. His dick is begging for any kind of relief, but he can't make himself stop. Not yet. Not when Stolas is crying from all four eyes, but in a good way, in a way that could wash away that shitty full moon from months ago, because when he makes eye contact with Blitzø this time, his pupils are heart-shaped and his fingers are shaking with how tightly he's holding onto Blitzø's horn.

"Good boy," Blitzø says, and Stolas keens, a protest and asking for more at the same time. Blitzø finally slides in a third finger, adding the occasional scissoring motion just to get Stolas a little more stretched out. "Look at you, you pretty little slut. You're so good, taking my fingers, aren't you? One more, baby, just give me one more, and I'll give you the dick you're gagging for."

Stolas makes a puffing gasping sound, which was probably supposed to be please, but he doesn't manage it. It becomes a sob instead, his hips struggling harder against Blitzø's arm for a moment before he tosses his head back. This time, he doesn't make as much noise--just a long, drawn-out whining gasp as his body clutches tightly around Blitzø's fingers. When it passes, he collapses back onto the bed, even though Blitzø keeps pumping his fingers in a deliberate rhythm, only occasionally twitching when Blitzø's fingers press that tender spot inside of him.

That's his cue. Blitzø grinds against that spot a couple more times, just to make Stolas whine, then slowly pulls his fingers out. He licks them clean, pleased when Stolas's dazed eyes flick in his direction, and his bird's whole body shudders when he sees what Blitzø's doing.

Once he's licked the last of that sweet-sour flavor from his fingers, Blitzø sits up and back, reaching to pull Stolas's pants off fully. It takes only a few seconds, and a little longer to get his own off, but once he does, Stolas's legs flop open wider, loose and inviting. Blitzø grabs those fluffy feather thighs, pulling them wider apart as he settles between them, letting his dick slide along those sopping wet little feathers for a few passes. They both shudder each time the head of his cock and the ridged spines catch the rim of Stolas's hole, but Stolas doesn't try to force it, just watches him with a dazed, sweet little smile and visible pleasure each time Blitzø grinds against him.

"You're fucking beautiful," Blitzø tells him, because that's the closest honest thing he can say right now. The next step up is The Big L Word, and fuck it--it would be easier to say it during sex, just like it had been easy to say when he'd been overcome with emotion at seeing Stolas with Eggo for the first time, but he doesn't want to. He wants to say it when Stolas is fully with it, and can hear what he's saying and fully understand that shit.

But the beautiful comment is a pretty good step, especially with the way Stolas's eyes go big again, and he croons something that's wordless, but definitely pleased. His hand slips from Blitzø's horn to his cheek, cupping gently. Blitzø has to turn and nuzzle into it for a second, because if he looks into those eyes any longer, he's going to lose it and say shit neither of them are ready for.

Then he bites down, getting his fangs hooked into the meat of Stolas's palm, and reaches down to grab his cock, steadying it so he can push in, slow and steady and fucking deliberate. Even with all the stretching, Stolas is so fucking tight that Blitzø has to bite down harder on that thin hand in helpless response. It takes every fucking ounce of willpower he has not to blow his load immediately; by the time he bottoms out, they're both shaking. There's the taste of Stolas's blood in his mouth, and Stolas's moans are shaky and echoing in his ears, and--

"Fuck me," Stolas breathes, so sweet and breathy. Blitzø opens one eye--he has no fucking idea when he closed them--and watches as Stolas's other hand settles first on the titty-puff of feathers on his chest, then slides all the way down, down--to the slight bulge at his lower abdomen, which is... fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He feels the pressure of those fingers, and it makes every single fucking nerve in his body light up.

Blitzø growls, low and rough, gripping harder on those feathery thighs, and he uses that as leverage to pull back, and then slam in as hard as he can. It jolts a high-pitched cry out of Stolas, though the hand on his stomach doesn't move. Blitzø slams in again, and again, and then fucking again, because there's white noise roaring in his ears, blending in with the noises he's driving out of Stolas each time. And he knows he's saying shit, he's just babbling himself now, all kinds of fucking nonsense about you're beautiful, you're fucking perfect, I'm gonna fuck another egg into you, I'm gonna fucking keep you round with my kids, fuck, you're so fucking beautiful, I fucking love--

He comes before he finishes that line. That's probably for the best, because it kinda feels like his soul leaves his body through his dick, and if Stolas was with it enough to hear him, and tries to question him in the aftermath, he's just gonna fuck it up all over again. He knows the noise he makes is fucking embarrassing, and he's barely aware of Stolas thrashing under him, making even more of those high keening bird noises, and fuck he's so glad that they've got this fancy new place and Loona is out with Eggo and Octavia and he's just--...

Fuck it, he's happy.

Blitzø pitches forward as he comes down from the high, straight into one of his favorite places in the word: Stolas's tittyfluff. As he pants for breath, he gets a few feathers in his nose and on his tongue, but whatever. That's just part of the experience.

And a few seconds later, Stolas's thin arms come around him, holding him gently close. He's still partly buried in that sweet tight birdpuss, and he kind of thinks that he just might come again if he moves his hips at all. Fuck.

He gives himself a few more seconds to just breathe, then slowly starts rubbing his face all through that puff of feathers. He doesn't have the right scent glands or what-fucking-ever to really mark his territory like this, not the way that 'cubi do, but apparently he's got some of those instincts buried in him anyway. And from the way Stolas coos at him in response, he probably understands on some level.

Finally, Blitzø turns his head so his face is completely buried in feathers and says, "How's that for round one?"

"Round one?" Stolas laughs, airy and sweetly fond. His long talons trace soothing little circles around the spines along the back of his head. It tickles, but in a good way. "My darling, you've worn me out."

"Yeah, I know you better than that." After a few seconds to determine that unfortunately, no, he could not breathe feathers, Blitzø lifts his head so his chin is resting on Stolas's chest instead. His tail swishes, lazy and pleased, until he feels Stolas's ankle nudge against it. He wraps his tail around it in answer. "Give it an hour, you'll be begging for more."

"Your faith in me is astounding, my dear."

Blitzø wrinkles his nose, then ruts his hips forward once more. It's just supposed to be like, a punctuation or something, but he might've played himself a little, because they both gasp. Stolas's cloaca flutters around him and it kinda hurts, but in the best kind of way.

"One hour," he says. "That's enough time to eat. You're having a whole plate, because I'm gonna need you to keep your strength up, and shit. Got it?"

"Yes, dear," Stolas says, in a deliberately bratty whining tone, then bursts into giggles when Blitzø bites his armpit. "Blitzø!"

"None of that," Blitzø tells him. "I mean it. You're gonna eat, and you're gonna take care of yourself, because like fuck are you getting away from me now."

Stolas hums, soft and fond. He scritches under the largest of Blitzø's head spikes, and he says, "As long as you want me, Blitzø, I'll always be here."

"Good."

"Me, and every egg that you put in me."

"Glad to h--Stolas," he sputters, and it's fucking weird to be the one who's embarrassed and flustered, while Stolas giggles, covering his beak with a hand. "Fuck it, don't listen to the shit I say during sex, that doesn't count!"

"Doesn't it?" Stolas's eyes are brighter than any of the fucking stars from earlier, and even with his hand over his face, his smile is visible. "I don't know, I think that it might be nice if we had a few mo--oh." He blinks and shifts his hips, and his smile goes fucking wicked. "I think you might like the sound of that."

Blitzø growls, pushing himself up partway on his arms. His traitorous dick, hard again, slips deeper back into Stolas with the movement.

"Change of plans," he says. "Second round first, then dinner."

Stolas laughs until a shift of their hips has him moaning instead, and Blitzø considers that a good start to the rest of their night.

Hours later, fed and bathed and thoroughly fucked, Stolas strokes his hand slowly down Blitzø's back, counting the spines, timing his breath with the rise and fall of Blitzø's body against his own.

"I hope you know," he whispers to his sleeping beloved, "that I love you. You, and our family, however large we grow it."

Blitzø's breathing doesn't change--he doesn't snuffle, doesn't shift, doesn't change his tempo--but his arm tightens around Stolas's waist, squeezing in a tight, possessive gesture. He doesn't say anything, but he curls closer, and Stolas knows, even without the words, that his sentiments are returned. Here is the start of a real family, of the sort of life he'd longed for since he was a nestling. Here is someone who has fought for him, but also for his beloved daughter, and for the child--possibly children--who are yet to come.

Here, without question, is a love that will keep them both alive.

He presses a kiss to the top of Blitzø's head, and closes his eyes with a smile.