ONE HUNDRED & EIGHTY-THREE

Blitzø woke, alone in his bed. Alone…but remembering.

He recalled Stolas, cloaking him with reassurance; lifting him from his lowest into an ethereally coloured cosmos of compassion and a hint of hope.

I hope you take it as a sign

The day may have reset, but Blitzø could still feel the prince's lingering imprint both around him and within him. Someone would listen. Someone cared, even when he was at his most broken.

(Stolas loved him back)

Knowing that, he could do another day.

...

So Blitzø got up.

Responded to the client's text with something close to his usual flippancy. Slipped on his pants, his shirt, his jacket, his back-again choker.

Out for breakfast – he scrambled together some eggs-&-mystery-meat mix in a pan. Put on coffee; poured a hair-of-the-dog shot of whiskey into Loona's mug. Grabbed a shoebox of craft shit from a cupboard and hastily got to work before breakfast burnt.

Through the window, the sky turned brighter. There were several lumberjacks in the living world with prices on their hairy heads. There were two employees who deserved nice matching trinkets for their anniversary. There was an owl prince who needed a date; who needed telling… things.

Loona trudged out, yawning. She chugged her coffee. Blitzø saw her eyes soften, recognising the hint of alcohol as it hit her tongue. He watched her tail wag ever-so-slightly.

Father and daughter ate together in more-than-companionable silence; save for snippets of the casual small talk they rarely partook in.

And, as they left for the I.M.P office, there was a softly uttered 'thanks, Dad.'

Moxxie burst through golden leaves, brandishing his chainsaw exuberantly. Blitzø cartwheeled through the portal and whooped, just as he had the first time because he was back in the groove, bitches. Millie scuttled in last of all like a goddamn crab, the funky little blood-crazed monogama'am.

Blitzø let Moxxie finish his cringe-worthy flirting (kachow, really? Had Moxxie even seen Cars?); let Millie burst everyone's eardrums squealing about going to Ozzie's. Let the two tangle tongues a tiny bit longer, before sparing himself & Loona the sight.

Once he'd have interrupted them with a little bit of jealousy, but now? Now Blitzø interjected with genuine good humour – and a pair of hastily-wrapped handmade bracelets.

Ruby beads; little figurines of the couple; inconspicuously tiny metallic blades all threaded onto pipe-cleaner wire. The bracelets were tacky, personalised, yet functional – perfectly on-brand for Blitzø.

Millie accepted hers with a squee and a squeezed hug around Blitzø's waist. Moxxie smiled – sincerely – and said it meant a lot, thank you Blitz.

That bit of generosity done (and to hide the lump in his throat), Blitzø made his departure. He wished M&M the best for their night, and casually announced as he strutted through the door that he had to go get ready for his own date.

He couldn't resist a glance back. Moxxie seemed a bit stunned, but Millie was beaming; throwing a supportive double-thumbs up. Cheesy, but like a decent fresh nacho it warmed his insides.

Loona was doing her makeup at the door when Blitzø emerged from his room, once more in his spiked punk ensemble. She looked him up and down, motioned him closer, brushed a gentle pawpad dusted with residue over his face. Muttered good-naturedly about him forgetting makeup for a night out.

His new reflection showed a subtle dash of dark eyeliner, just enough to make his eyes stand out a bit more than usual. It was the finishing touch he didn't know his look needed tonight.

Blitzø couldn't resist hugging Loonie in thanks, and beamed when she didn't pull away. He wished her a good safe party tonight, and she responded not-so-apathetically as she left.

The door closed. Blitzø let the mask come off. Sagged, collected himself.

And called Stolas.

"H-helloo? Hello, Blitzy?"

"Hey, Stolas, you… you busy tonight?"

"Umm…Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering if you… wanna go out with me tonight? See a few sights, do some shit in a couple of the Rings?"

"Are you asking me on a DATE, Blitzy?"

"Y-yes. Yes, I am."

"Oh, Blitzy-!"

"Hey, hey, keep your feathers on! Meet you at yours in thirty? I'd offer to take the van, but, y'know, you're freakishly tall… You fine portalling us where we need to go?"

"Yes, yes, absolutely! I can be ready in thirty!"

"Great! Don't dress up too fancy – something leather, if you've got any that isn't for bondage? Thought I'd show you the working imp's side of town first thing."

"That sounds most educational, Blitz! I do think I have a suitable outfit – why, I haven't worn it in decades! A guise would ensure my anonymity as well, perhaps?"

"Whatever floats your boat, as long as I can see – recognise you!"

"Oh, don't you worry about that at all!"

"Fantastic. See you soon, Stolas."

"I'll see youuuu, Blitzy…"

Blitzø's brain short-circuited as Stolas sashayed down the mansion steps.

Velvet-lined leather jacket. Black singlet. Tight leather pants. Feathers slicked back (up in the case of his chest down). Cigarette crooked out one side of his beak. Straight out of the 70s, but Stolas made it work so damn well.

He was gorgeous.

Even moreso when his smile turned from sultry to flustered and self-conscious. Blitzø felt the corners of his slack-jawed mouth crook upwards too.

Down to Gluttony, to the imp quarter of Beelzehaven; where the factory workers who churned out excesses for the rest of Hell to consume coveted what they could get their claws on.

Narrow alleyways filled with the mingled scents of cooking; the sound of rough voices singing and talking through their mouthfuls of food. Blitzø and Stolas weaved through the local crowds, leaving footprints in the slurry, and no one gave them a second glance. Silently the imp thanked the prince for thinking of a visage that made them seem inconspicuously ordinary wherever they went.

(an ordinary couple on their first date)

From a vendor the owl & the imp nabbed some mutant hot-dog kebabs, which looked like spew but tasted like anything but. For drinks they discovered a sweet liquor distilled from thickshake residue, fortified with a hint of Beelzejuice. Blitzø bought himself deep-fried grubs, and teased the owl who would swallow raw mice whole for turning his beak up at something that was actually cooked.

Under stung-up lightbulbs at the edge of the crowd they stood, ate their fill, divided their attention between themselves and the festivities. Stolas listened, enraptured, as Blitzø told of jobs he'd carried out in Gluttony once; explained the ritualistic smashing of knockoff watches and Hellphones taking place before them and how the broken bits would be collected and recycled.

A rhythm evolved out of the cacophony, and hovering buskers struck up an infectious tune. Stolas tapped his talons. Blitzø took the initiative; tugged Stolas into the throng and leaped up onto a table so that they could dance at equal heights. They let their feet and the music take them through a jig, a salsa, a foxtrot, an instinctive and free dance.

There was something inherently special about being the first to set foot somewhere, and the Sloth Ring was chronically unexplored, except by energetic imp children on holiday a long, long time ago. With Stolas it may have been the first time all over again.

Above where the river Lethe meandered into sleepy foothills, a field of pink gemstones sprouted from the ground, augmenting the fluffy dandelions and scruffy ragweed. Rose quartz, according to a delighted Stolas.

Blitzø listened as the owl rambled geekily about the odds of precious stones forming here at the surface. The gleam from the gems backlit Stolas in a gentle corona. His feathered outline seemed almost luminescent. It was an addictive sight.

Where the plants made a soft bed amongst the quartz, they lay together and lazily talked.

Back on familiar ground in the Pride Ring. Under a burgundy sky, the sprawl of Pentagram City glittered. Slow ballads and the smell of sweet wine trailed behind them, out the doors of Mimzy's club.

Blitzø perched on some rando's car, letting the smog sober him back from the edge of tipsiness to something nearly serene.

From his right, Stolas asked the question that he was perhaps ready to answer.

"I've thoroughly enjoyed our evening, Blitz… I must ask, why did you decide to ask me out after all this time?"

Okay, maybe not ready ready, but the next best thing. Fucking here goes. Deep breath.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking. It's… a long answer…"

...

"Go on."

...

"…fuck, okay. I've never really had the best of luck with the whole relationship deal. Romantic, platonic, or otherwise… All the other times I tried dating or being friends or being in a family had shitty endings. And it all was on me. Don't – don't try to tell me I'm a model gentledemon, because I know I can be a right shitwit. Ya haven't seen the half of it.

"I expect to get hurt, cause that's what always happens. So I end up causing the hurt first, like it's somehow fucking better if it's me making myself feel like shit. But it's not what I want – I want closeness. I want Loonie to call me Dad more often. I want what Mills & Moxx' have. I'm afraid of being alone.

"And… y'know when we started this whole deal I thought it was all about the book, all about me fucking you. But it is more than that, isn't it? We have conversations about random shit. You do pretty okay drawings of horses. You invited us – me – to Loo-Loo Land, to the harvest festival. You came to the rescue in your full fucking badass demon form when I got caught in the living world…

"I figured if you just wanted my dick in your holes you wouldn't do all that."

...

"Do you… reciprocate my feelings for you, Blitz?"

To hear it said (whispered) out loud, explicitly…

"… I do. And I'm scared that I don't deserve you, that I'll fuck it up."

"You never could. Blitz… I will admit that romance is a foreign concept for me. I was raised on fairytales, thrown into a prearranged union that was the complete opposite. I had thought love would be fun, so in search of it I gravitated towards my own lust and pleasure and still found it lacking.

"Nearly all my stories had been told until I met you. Yet I was afraid that I'd start our chapter with the wrong words. How does one express that love is something I want to share, that seeing you happy f-fills me with joy, because you've more than earned your right to happiness?"

"…that was pretty d-damn poetic if you ask me, Stolas."

They were done with choked-up words.

They kissed, slow and long, and pressed into one another for their own little eternity.

When they returned to the mansion, hands entwined, there was an audible kerfuffle from within.

In the entrance they found Striker, disarmed and bleeding but still grappling with the servants, hissing obscenities at the 'class traitors'. He was off-balance, and hadn't noticed their arrival.

Blitzø caught Stolas's eye with a smirk. Stolas returned it. And together they moved in flowing unison.

Blitzø produced his flintlock and pulled the trigger, as Stolas's power flared and shone.

The shot tore through Striker's head just as he turned to stone. The resulting statue froze the lead ball as it exited the imp's forehead.

Fuck yes, that was satisfying.

The servants regained their composure as if they weren't brawling with an intruder just a second ago, but Stolas was quick to dismiss their brownnosing. He scooped Blitzø up and bore him to the master suite; red and yellow eyes locked together the whole time.

Moxxie never called it fucking, or shagging, or banging, or any of the usual obscene synonyms. He called it 'making love'.

And now, Blitzø knew why.

In the now-still night, together with Stolas, he fell asleep with a smile.

A/N:

Balm for your souls I hope!

(Also last day? 👀)

Stolas's getup for this night is basically Sandy's famous leather outfit from Grease. kikasscorner on Twitter was the one who first made art of it, and I don't blame Blitzø for his star-struck reaction! /KikassCorner/status/1456431636388761600

Chose to do a bit of light-side-of-death worldbuilding, particularly for the imps of the Gluttony Ring. There's a nice bit of irony in how the local imps make sure nothing goes to waste, since the sin of Gluttony explicitly involves food and luxuries being wasted on the privileged while others are left lacking. So in my headcanon the Gluttony imps would have a very strong culture and sense of community – something like the New Yorker stereotype.

Stolas and Blitzø's brief dance was inspired by the third class party scene from Titanic, and this animatic by Dark Crowl: watch?v=utI4EuhAcms

I had to look up some flower/stone symbolism here. Dandelions are for overcoming hardship. Ambriosa/ragweed is for love reciprocated. Rose quartz is for gentle love and healing emotional wounds.

Also - I just found out that this story has gotten on the TV Tropes Fanfic Recs page for Helluva Boss! ( /FanficRecs/HelluvaBoss) Huge thanks to Gordhanx for the recommendation; it means an awful lot to be up there!