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“Can you not do one fucking thing right, you dumbfuck?” Blitz snarls, picking up the shards of the now completely broken flowerpot, all of his hard fucking work lying in a pile of broken pieces at his feet. He hisses as he cuts his fingers on the sharp edges, shaking his hand and flinging the glass into a corner, cracking it further. "For fuck's sake."
The silence from above stretches unnaturally long as Blitz irritably pulls out the huge pink-and-yellow plant from the soil, barely remembering to pick out the roots carefully. The quiet drags on for so long that Blitz half-expects that Stolas to have fucking magically disappeared or something when he finally registers it, even as dread suddenly pools in his stomach the way it does when he fucks up and forgets something important.
His wife.
Blitz inhales sharply and jerks his head up as his stupid ass finally remembers who he's talking to, his heart skipping a painful beat as their gazes connect.
Stolas looks devastated, his hands over his mouth and tears in his eyes. His talons are trembling against his face, plants wilting brown behind him, magick tightly leashed inside himself instead playfully skittering around Blitz's heels like it always does.
Blitz’s heart sinks.
Stolas has never- in the ten years Blitz has known him- said a single word against his bitch of an ex-wife; even when Striker laughed in his face about who had employed him. Even when she came at him with a knife herself.
But Blitz knows better than anyone the damage she left behind- how Stolas apologizes constantly to him over the smallest of things even when Blitz can admit that it was his fault; how Stolas still keeps only the half-dead plants and the ugliest pots inside the house for a phantom presence to break; how five days out of ten Blitz will turn around and find Stolas bending over backwards to please him, at the cost of himself.
How Blitz had found Stolas hyperventilating in the bathroom after Millie had asked them if they planned on getting married.
(Blitz hadn't even realised how bad it had been until that day. Stolas had cried for an hour, clinging to Blitz as tight as he could, and begged that they never get married, never get bound.
Blitz had promised and sworn and made love to the other until he calmed down. It hurt- of course it fucking hurt- but if anyone knew about what it was like to be terrified of commitment, it was him, and he'd chucked the ring he'd had in his sock drawer into a river without a second glance.)
"Sorry," Stolas whispers, voice thin and wavering. He's still trembling, looking at Blitz with fear, like he isn't a hundred times more powerful. "I'm so sorry Blitz, I really didn't mean to, it was an accident."
Blitz. He exhales sharply, dusting his hands off and getting to his feet. "Stolas-"
"I'll get it fixed," he continues desperately, breathing fast. "I'll- I'm sure there's something I can do to salvage it-"
"Stolas, calm down-"
The air drips with magic, atmosphere saturated and pressing down on him as Blitz steps closer, pressure dropping. Stolas takes a step back.
"I can- I can glue it back together! The plant should still be alright-"
"Stolas!" Blitz half-shouts, as something explodes behind him. He sees things starting to float around them, room seemingly tilting under his feet as Stolas’ magick hooks into it, steeper the closer he gets, and he doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know what to do.
"I'm sorry," Stolas whispers, eyes glazing over. Static rings in the air, a high screech of a violin somewhere, birds chirping in distress down the hallway where there should be none. He hugs himself, still backing away, talons digging into his arms mercilessly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"
Blitz rushes forward at the first drops of blood on the floor, uncaring of the possible loss of limbs and life that might occur, and grabs at him in relief when he reaches his boyfriend without murder. "Stolas, listen-"
Stolas screeches in alarm and rips his hands out of Blitz's grasp, losing his balance on his mad scramble backwards, falling hard and cowering down in the corner.
Blitz stares at him, something in his chest yawning wide open. For a second another memory flashes over everything, one he doesn't dwell on often. For a second, he feels like his father.
Stolas flinches as their gazes meet, eyes wide and scared and humiliated, knowing all of his cards are laid out on the table for Blitz to see.
"Sorry," he whispers again and gets up and flees out the door.
Blitz stands there for a moment more, trying to process. Then he pushes everything down for later and sprints after his boyfriend.
(A party with a "still not divorced" banner on the entrance. Cackling and jeering and laughing at every turn of the hall. Stolas, stone-faced and drinking straight from a bottle of absinthe without the slightest hesitation.)
He's already gone by the time Blitz reaches the doorway, the impossibly long hallway empty and shadowed. Blitz runs down, losing seconds every time he has to stop to check a room leading out the side, not so much as a feather on the ground to help him search.
“Stolas!” He shouts down the hallway, echoing. “Stolas, come back, just listen-”
There’s no reply. Cursing, he pulls out his phone and turns on his flashlight, running down the dark hallway, trying to think of where Stolas might have fled to.
The observatory, maybe? Their bedroom and the kitchens lay in the opposite direction- but the observatory might have a back staircase from somewhere around here if he's gotten his bearings right.
Blitz puts on speed. "Stolas!" He calls down the hall. "It's alright, come on, just-"
He skids to a halt, slipping on the smooth tiles, catching himself with a pained grunt on the wall that suddenly looms up in front of him, knocking the breath out of him.
He steps back and flashes light around it-
A dead end.
Blitz frowns, tail curling. Maybe he missed a door on the way here? Or there was a turn or staircase inside one of the rooms that he didn't catch when running.
It's not like Stolas could just disappear.
He walks back slower, uneasiness rising in his chest, every creak louder under his feet as he pushes open doors that can't have been opened this decade, to rooms as spotless as they would be if a dozen people went at cleaning it.
Blitz moves faster, heels clicking against the ground, calling out for Stolas every few moments, knowing he would have felt a portal if Stolas had used one. He's too winded to run, but he still hurries, flicking out his lighter to light the wicks of every candle he sees, green and blue flamelight licking at the dark wallpaper, barely making a dent in the dim chill.
He pauses as he catches something in the back of a weapons room, an iron-bolted oak-thick trapdoor in the ground, painted completely indistinguishable to the eye- if you weren't an assassin for hire.
Blitz jogs over to it and pulls with everything he’s got. It opens reluctantly to his touch, creaking and he grimaces at the rickety, rotting ladder leading down. But- but it has talon marks on it, slashed straight through some of the rungs, so down into the cesspit it is.
It’s a storage room.
“Hello?” He calls out, spines raising when he gets no reply except his own voice reflected back to him. The storage area is deserted and silent, dust hanging unmoving in the chilled air, free of cobwebs and floor clean enough to make out with but still musky like it hasn’t been opened for years. “Stolas? You here?”
“HELP!” Someone screams and Blitz jumps a mile in the air and nearly shits himself. “HELP, PLEASE, ANYBODY, CAN YOU HEAR ME?”
“What the fuck,” he whispers to himself, pulling out his gun, heart thundering in his chest.
“PLEASE,” The voice sobs, high-pitched and childlike. “PLEASE, SOMEONE LET ME OUT! I’M STUCK, I NEED HELP, PLEASE!”
“HEY!” Blitz shouts down into the darkness, earning a terrified screech in response. “Relax, relax, kiddo, I’m here to help. How did you get down here?”
“I slipped,” The child wails. “And then the lights went out and I got lost!”
“Alright, alright, calm down,” Blitz says reassuringly, flashing his light around the endless tall shelves, stacked in neat rows as far as he can see, cardboard boxes full of jars of organs, bloodied weapons. Fuck, that kid’s going to be traumatized for life. “Can you see my light?”
“No,” The child whimpers, voice wavering like they’re going to start crying again. “Maybe you’re not even real. How do I know you’re not a halluc- halluciniati-”
“Listen, hey, listen!” He calls out as the voice gets more hysterical. “I’ll get you out, ‘kay? Just follow my voice, I’m right next to the door.”
The child sniffs. “Al- alright. I’m coming.”
Blitz shifts his feet, frowning when he can’t feel the vibrations of the footsteps he can hear coming towards him. “How long have you been down here?”
“I don’t know,” The child replies, voice distorted by the loud echoing stone. “I’ve been calling for hours now.”
Fuck. Blitz screws his face up. Must be one of the staff’s kids, gotten caught in here during the evening cleanup and left behind. “Yeah, well, I’m here now, ‘kay? Keep walking towards me!”
“I see the door!” The child says excitedly, footsteps coming faster. “Thank you so-”
“...Kid?” Blitz says after a few moments of silence. Something better not have fucking happened in the last five seconds. He steps to the side, flashing his torchlight down the long aisle where the kid’s voice was coming from.
Empty.
Then there’s rustling and scrambling behind him, the unmistakable sound of someone climbing the ladder. Brat must have slipped past him somehow. Blitz exhales and follows, not bothering to question how, glad to put the too-cold, too-dark, too-big room behind him.
The room he pulls himself up into is empty as well, scurrying noises in the hallway outside as the kid flees. Blitz huffs. He doesn’t blame the little shit, but was a bit of gratitude too much to ask?
The hall’s empty again when he steps out. Kid must have fled to the staff quarters to find their parents and then get the hell out of-
He smacks himself. Of fucking course . The staff’s room, he’s a fucking idiot.
He runs down the hallway, picking up urgency again, aware that with every moment he doesn’t find Stolas, anything might happen, pill bottles unopened on their nightstand this whole past week.
“Listen up, cocksuckers,” He says, bursting into the room. “I need your help, I can’t find-”
This room is empty too.
Blitz frowns, uneasy. The staff must have gone home for the day, he supposes.
Their stuff is still littered about, though, magazines and chargers and food. Blitz fucking helps himself to all of it, grimacing at how close he was to getting stuck in the darkness as he plugs his phone in. It’s warmer in here- cause the imps would need it much warmer, sure; but also it feels untouched by whatever’s happening outside, evening light slightly more welcoming through these windows than all the others.
“Like a safe point in a video game where you stop to fuck and eat,” Blitz says to himself out loud, needing to hear his own voice to make sure he’s not gone insane. “Two stars out of five though, could use more bars.”
He only feels more alone once his voice fades out, though. He taps his foot uneasily against the ground as he waits for his phone to charge, munching down on everything he can get his hands on, ravenous. He knows Stolas is still is in the house with him somewhere, but-
But.
He calls Loona's number while he waits, refusing to admit the eeriness hasn't gotten him scared shitless, even to himself.
She picks up. “Yeah?”
“Hey, Loonie, could you-” He racks his brains for a reason to call. “Could you just grab that ledger on my desk before you leave? I need to check something.”
“Which one?” She says flatly, bored. Blitz nearly cries. It’s such a fucking relief to hear her voice, hear the rustling of the desk, hear the honking of cars beyond, proof that the world’s still normal outside this creepy as fuck mansion.
“Blitz!” Loona growls.
“Red one,” He replies, shaking his head. “Number 28, thanks sweetie. I’ll be back-”
Stolas screams.
He twirls around, eyes wide, dropping the packet of biscuits in his hand, crumbs scattering across the floor.
“What the fuck was that?” Loona snaps, sounding terrified, which means he wasn’t fucking hearing things. He can hear Octavia in the background, shouting something frantically. “Was that your boyfriend? What the fuck is happening-”
“Nah, something dramatic must have happened on his stupid tellenovela,” He lies, emptying the all the drawers in sight frantically, brandishing a knife in the air victoriously when he finds it. “You two be safe, alright? Order in something nice for dinner.”
“Blitz-” Loona says, hesitant.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetie!” He says, and cuts the call. The connection drops to zero bars the second he steps out of the staff’s room into the hallway, and he grimaces at it before shoving it into his pocket and tearing down the hall.
“STOLAS!” He yells at the top of his lungs. “WHERE ARE YOU?”
He nearly has a heart attack as Stolas screams again, that same terrible barn owl screeching, anguished and agonized, somewhere to his left. Blitz changes directions, weaving through joint rooms frantically, trying to yell loud enough to be heard over Stolas’ screams.
He stumbles into the hallway, heart skipping a beat as he turns his head to see Stolas sitting on the floor, purple robe splayed around him, head in his hands and chanting deep and dark in a dead language.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Blitz nearly whimpers. He falls to his knees in front of his boyfriend, throwing the knife to the side, smiling up in shaky relief, reaching one hand up to his face, one to his wrist.
“Hey, babe,” He says softly, heart breaking at the sobbing between words. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said, alright? I didn’t mean-”
Blitz’s claws pass through Stolas’ face.
He stares at it, the translucent shape of them visible under skin, heart picking up speed again. What. What the fuck?
Stolas wraps his arms around himself and screams again, leaning forward and going straight through Blitz like he isn’t there at all. The noise is even more terrible up close, a wail of grief and pain that can’t be understood, chanting frantic and getting louder and louder, screams of trapped souls swirling in the air around them, getting higher and shriller until it hurts to stay.
“Stolas,” Blitz tries helplessly again anyway, trying to fit his claws solid against the other, even as his brain struggles to comprehend what the fuck is going on- why the fuck Stolas can’t hear or feel him, what kind of fuckery - “Calm down, it’s okay, it’s okay, sugar, I’m here.”
“Stolas?”
Blitz jumps in place, the spectre of Stolas in front of him stuttering to a halt as they both recognize the voice. Some instinct deep in his bones digs its nails in and forces him to get to his feet and hide, even as the rest of him remains frozen in shock, because-
He ducks behind a tapestry and watches mutely as the other Blitz walks down the halls towards where Stolas has collapsed in front of a blank wall, staring at nothing.
It’s- it’s a memory. He remembers this.
Blitz stares as the version of him in night clothes sighs, pain flickering on his face as he drops down in front of Stolas like he had moments ago, reaching out as gently and slowly as he can.
“Hey,” he says, stroking the other’s cheeks with both thumbs. “What you doing out of bed so late, birdie? You need your beauty sleep, you know.”
Stolas doesn’t respond to the teasing, face blank, eyes unseeing and off-colour. Blitz of the past bites back another sigh and pushes himself up on his knees to kiss him, chaste and one-sided. He didn’t think it could hurt any more than it had that night itself, but looking at it from the outside, at his own tenderness, it feels so much worse.
“Come on,” Other Blitz says softly, smiling. “Back to bed, honey. It’s not important, right?”
Stolas shakes his head from side to side, slowly and desolately, like a wraith. Blitz picks up the talons lying in his lap and slides his claws up Stolas’ arms to help him up, coaxing his lover to his feet. Stolas stays awkwardly crouched over, knees bent so he can lean forward into Blitz, the only sign of any life within him.
Past Blitz shivers at how cold Stolas had been, in the hall alone for who knows how long. He arranges his robe tighter onto him and scoops him up, looking down at him with so much love that Blitz has to close his eyes against it for a moment.
“I’ve got you, Stols,” The past version of him murmurs, and Stolas carefully, slowly drops his face into the crook of Blitz’s neck, sighing deep as Blitz starts purring at him in reassurance.
Between one blink and the next, the two of them disappear, leaving the hallway empty again, but also leaving the warmth of the moment behind.
Blitz exhales shakily as he pushes aside the tapestry, feeling oddly alone. “What the fuck,” He whispers to himself out loud, cause he kinda needs to. Hell has it’s own share of indescribable horrors, but this takes the fucking cake.
He better not have gotten stuck in the past or some shit.
“Stolas?” He calls out again, emboldened by the memory, walking towards the room they’d been in before. “Please, can you come back out, honey? I just want to- I’m sorry. I’m sorry for yelling at you, okay?”
He spies a sweater thrown on a chest nearby and grabs for it, the air way too cold for comfort. He smiles a bit as it fits perfectly, before switching his phone to his other hand and walking on.
He turns a corner and huffs as the beginning of the marble staircase leading to the door comes into view. Retraces his steps and takes a different direction this time, still talking in the hopes that Stolas can hear him somehow.
“It’s just that I’ve been trying to find that tacky pot for you for ages,” He confesses. “Spent the whole week bargaining with the idiot who bought it, then went over and realized their house was so damn full of eye-burning shit they wouldn’t even notice it was gone.”
He pauses. “They did, for the record. Drove all the way after me and stole about twice of what it was worth, easily.”
He misses Stolas’ giggles as he gets to the punchline, muffled behind a palm but still very much laughing at him. Blitz smiles at the thought of it, small.
“And I didn’t mean to snap, I just-”
There’s a desk in this room, a half-unfinished letter on it, and Blitz traces the curving signature with his claw, trying to find the words. “I didn’t mean to.”
He sighs and walks on, opening each drawer he passes to search for the special Brimi’d wood matches that are the only things that seem to work on half the candles in this place. Blitz is… not sure how he never managed to see that particular waving red flag before.
Something clatters to the ground as he pushes a stack of papers to the side. Blitz scoops up the matchbox and lights the matchstick, pressing green flame to blackberry wax.
“I mean, not going to deny it, I was pissed as fuck,” He continues, pocketing his phone as the candles light up the rooms bright enough to see, rusted silver twistings and artifacts lining the walls of these rooms, gemstones of every cut and color thrown carelessly into dusty cardboard boxes. “But not angry angry, you know?”
Silence. "Besides, it wasn't even that important, we didn't have to get all that emotional about-"
He’s making excuses.
“I’m sorry,” He says, stopping. “I’m sorry for snapping like that. And calling you a dumbfuck, when it was an accident. Probably shouldn’t have snuck up on you real quiet like that anyway.”
It feels like the house is listening to him somehow, the atmosphere getting lighter, air getting warmer.
“And I know,” He takes a breath, keeps walking. Starts climbing down a set of stairs he hasn’t ever seen before, snagging the old decorative bottle of wine on the landing table and taking a swig, sighing as it burns all the way down his throat, warm and fruity, letting it bolster him. “I know I’m an asshole-”
Blitz jumps a mile in the fucking air as a steel rod clatters down to the tile noisily from satan knows where.
“We need to get a construction crew in here to fix shit up,” Blitz mutters, glaring up suspiciously at the ceiling it dropped from. “But where was I? Right! I’m a piece of shit-”
He hops over a fallen vase, grabs a door just as the wind tries to shut it on him. “-who’s absolutely terrible with words, emotions and possibly admitting when I’m wrong. Also spelling, budgeting, impulse control-"
He dodges the heavy-set curtains billowing outwards, big enough to send him sprawling into the wall, feeling the familiar weight of self-deprecation take over his tongue the longer he talks, no one to stop him. “-listening to other ideas, being nice about shit I’m not interested in, reading a room, remembering the important stuff, showing- showing just how much I’m fucking obsessed with you-”
He pulls his tail in just as an enormous sundial crashes at his feet, stepping around the damage.
“-and to be honest, I don’t really know why you’re with me!” He ends cheerfully, going on too fast to stop, smiling to cover up the expression that wants to crawl onto his face when he remembers Stolas looking up at him from the ground, terrified and betrayed and shaking. Braced and waiting.
Blitz stumbles and catches himself on the stone wall as he trips over a stack of books that looms up out of nowhere in front of him, hissing as the gravel pulls at his glass-cut fingers.
He looks around, pulling out the first aid kit peeking out from under a sofa and taking a seat, legs aching. He silently pries the old thing open and sets to wrapping the last bundle of bandages left inside around his bloody claws.
“But I’d never hit you,” Blitz whispers once he’s done, looking down at his hands. “I might scream, yell, get mad, storm off dramatically for the night- but I promise, I’d never hit you.”
He takes a deep breath, gathering all his energy before pushing himself back to his feet.
"Okay?" He says, kicking the kit aside. "I wouldn't. I love you, Stols."
His breath catches as he feels familiar magick curling around his heels.
“Stolas?” He swivels around, catches a flash of platinum. He runs after it, determined and desperate. “Stolas, wait!”
He trips over the way too expensive patterned carpet, nearly losing his balance, and when he looks back up-
“Oh, come on," He snarls, looking right back at the front door. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He is not this bad at directions, damnit.
“Stolas, for fuck’s sake,” He says. “I know you can hear me! What is going on?”
Blitz freezes as he hears the scrape of a chair, twisting around frantically-
There's no one there.
He frowns and shakes his head. Must have imagined it.
He jogs down the corridor again, wracking his brain to remember what the room he was in had looked like-
He stops again as he hears a thud behind him. His heart skips a beat as he turns, tail curling all the way up.
There’s a chair in the centre of the hallway.
Blitz grimaces at it, then feints straightening back forward- only for it to scrape forward when he takes a step, no sheen of magick on it at all.
Yeah. Yeah, he’s not fucking insane, that chair just moved on it’s own.
Blitz blows it to pieces immediately, because he's not an idiot, and then crouches down with a jerk as the house rumbles and shakes around him, eyes going wide.
This whole time, everything had been just plain creepy, shit you could brush off, an overactive imagination.
(“I don’t know,” Octavia shrugs, rubbing at one arm. “I just don’t go out at night. Feels weird.”)
But this is something he can’t look away from, and it’s coming at him fast.
With an ear-splitting crack, the floor behind splits in half, jagged cracks reaching out towards him, endless darkness underneath. Blitz turns tails and books it- he’s like ninety-nine percent sure it’s a fucking black hole or something there and he does not want to get caught into it. He’s pretty damn sure he’ll never make it back out.
He sprints down the maze-like hallways, the spittling and cracking of heavy wood chasing him, the sound of his own heavy panting and heart pounding in his ears. Movement out of the corner of his eyes draws his gaze, and he groans deep in his throat as he sees the walls fucking pulsating like boiling sludge, handprints embedding themselves from the other side of the wallpaper like they’re trapped inside, scrabbling for him on either side of hall as he runs.
And runs and runs and runs. The hall cannot possibly be this long, Blitz realizes with new dawning terror, which he did not think was fucking possible when he was currently the protagonist of the world’s most horrific indie video game. The mansion is not big enough to have a hallway this long, not when it takes him half this time to walk from one end of the garden outside to the other.
And- what floor is he on? He’s climbed so many stairs, way too many for a three-storey house, to not have seen any of the terraces yet.
“This is fucking bullshit,” He whispers angrily as he ducks into a room, crouching down and pulling his gun out again.
Blitz holds his breath, waiting for whatever’s chasing him to come inside, gun ready. Sweat drops down his skin, hands forcefully steady as he waits for that split second where-
The world goes black.
“FUCK!” Blitz shouts as he tries to push off the layers of fabric that are slowly twisting around his limbs, the sheets tied under him when he kicks his feet out, netting him in. He yelps as something big and hard slams into his side, knocking the wind out of him and sending him tumbling towards the door.
He shouts curses as he gets picked into the air and tossed, pushed out of his hiding place back into the hall. He snarls, panicked, at the thought of the pitch blackness of the split floor outside, who knows how close nearby, using claws and teeth and horns to rip at the sheets, breath coming faster as they wind around him tighter, smothering as the house rolls him to fuck knows where.
Blitz gets lucky, horns snagging onto loose thread- and fucking tears with all he’s got, shooting at the heavy thing pushing at him as soon as he gets a hand free.
The sheets fall lifelessly to the ground as soon as he’s halfway through, the house quiet and normal as Blitz stumbles out of the knot of them.
There’s no one there. Of course.
“Where the fuck-” he mutters to himself, turning around in a circle, trying to reorient. He exhales in relief as he catches sight of the bullet markings in the elegant marble statue in the centre of the landing, an enormous ancient shotgun made of unknown metal and darkwood lying at its feet- they’d practiced on this one last week. Left, then.
He doesn’t manage to take five steps in the right direction before a stepstool comes flying at him out of nowhere, splintering into pieces as Blitz lifts the shotgun and fires. The chairs get the same treatment, as do the folders crawling towards him and the statues that jerk to life and swipe at Blitz when he passes.
The spines on the back of his neck prickle as more furniture comes flying out to form a blockade that he manages to barely squeeze through, sending the whole stack of them collapsing noisily to the ground as he strategically takes out a table leg.
He’s being watched. He shifts subtly to look over his shoulder, keeping the gun trained on the wayward wooden bitches- but nope, still no tall owl boyfriend to help him get out of this mess.
Objects start flying at him faster and harder as Blitz gets closer to where he last saw Stolas, pages flapping in his face, candles going out, furniture skidding into his way to try and trip him again. Blitz growls and adjusts the shotgun as a wall suddenly shows up where he knows there should be none, firing until the drywood and plaster gives way.
A glass smashes near his feet as soon as he walks through, the wall dissolving into nothing and used bullets clattering to the ground- and Blitz’s vision goes red, irritated beyond his limit. With a loud cry, he turns onto all the creepy fucking objects floating behind him and gets to work, firing until stars flash behind his eyelids from the brightness.
He pants into the silent air as the last gunshot fades out, furniture strewn around him, house going quiet again. None of them actually seemed to want to kill him, only hellbent for some reason on blocking him from where his boyfriend ran off towards and getting him out of the house- but Blitz is not going to risk dying by fucking frustrated teak wood wardrobe, no sir.
“The house is fucking haunted!” He yells deeper into the house where Stolas presumably is. He shoots an armchair nearby as it gives a weak twitch. “Like, really haunted babe, do we have a spell for that?”
Haunted by fucking what though, is the question. Yeah, it’s a Goetia mansion, Blitz doesn’t doubt that blood’s been spilled on every square inch of this place even before it was built- but to this extent? If there were these many ghosts still walking the halls, someone would have caught something before. In fact, the only real ghost here is Stolas, wandering the halls on his bleaker days, with that desolate look on his face, with nothing but a candle, whispering under his breath as his talons click against the wooden floor. It creeped him out the first few times, creeps the staff out too- the way he sometimes sleepwalks while awake, until Blitz brings him back; as pale as death and eyes a million miles away in the stars, unseeing. Screaming, sometimes, like he had been earlier.
Blitz freezes in place, eyes widening. The only ghost here is Stolas.
He breathes in, shaky. Glances down at the bandages, the sweater- way too conveniently strewn about right when he’d fucking needed them. At the furniture, still desperately crawling to block his way in, the walls and floor trying to scare him off, keep him out. Blitz drops the gun, turns, hesitates- and presses a hand to the stone wall, too warm, too familiar.
“Stolas?” He asks, voice cracking, and feels his boyfriend jerk in surprise under his fingertips.
You signed on for this, he tells himself fiercely, trying to push down the fucking terror that rises up immediately, spines flaring as his mind tries to come to terms with the fact that Stolas is in the fucking walls.
He feels Stolas’ responding horror and humiliation under his claws, and realizes too fucking late that if he can feel Stolas, then yeah, Stolas can probably feel him too.
“Wait, Stolas-” He says, flattening himself to the wall in desperation, claws digging in as if he can break it down with his bare hands to hold on, but Stolas is already retreating, fleeing again, leaving the stone freezing cold and lifeless.
“STOLAS!” He yells, following the magick, then backpedals with a gasp as a sculpture falls in front of him, shattering to pieces. He growls and jumps over the mess, dodging and jumping as objects start flying out of the rooms to trip him up, faster and faster.
He doesn’t stop though, spurred on by the warmth in his claws, that Stolas is still somewhere in here. He breaks through a cupboard walking into the hallway, shoots open a path between the stack of old chests, kicks down the vanity and sprints beyond.
He feels Stolas’ magick under his heels as he goes faster and faster, towards the end of the mansion, up the stairs and towards the centre.
“Sto-” he tries calling out one more time- before a drawer crashes into him from the darkness, sending him ass over teakettle down the stairs.
What, he thinks numbly as he picks himself up on his elbows, ears ringing. Stolas would never-
A bookshelf falls to the ground inches from his feet, and he scrambles backwards as something growls in the shadow beyond. It can’t be Stolas, though, because he felt him run, can feel him hesitating and taking a few steps back to Blitz before fleeing away beyond reach again, so then who the fuck-
Oh. He gulps. It’s the house.
“He-ey,” He shoots his best grin upwards, shakily finger-gunning at nothing. “See, so-”
A painting crashes down in front of him, talon marks over the throat of the figure in the portrait, bleeding black.
“Please,” he begs. “I swear, I promise you, I won’t hurt him. I just want to talk-”
Something behind him bangs and Blitz jumps and turns around, guns out and nerves steeled for any of the horrors the house can come up with, hovering over his shoulder.
He blinks. It shouldn’t be here- he’s not anywhere close to it, he’s run at least a mile inwards by now and even the architecture around it is all wrong- but it’s the door. The actual main door, open and waiting, the top of Blitz’s van even visible beyond the staircase down.
He wants to go this time, for a second. Wants to run, out of this crazy fucking house, out of this relationship that weighs at them both so much, back to normal people who demand normal things from him, interactions he’s learned how to perfect, impersonal and easy. Not fucking Ars Goetias with all the baggage and horror and power and backstabbing and politics, who dislocate themselves from reality to live in the walls when they’re upset, whose essence doesn’t leave your skin crawling and instincts begging you to run- the deep driven fear of the unknown at night.
He reels back onto the house, nearly sick to tears and livid as he suddenly realizes why he keeps ending up at the front door . “Go fuck yourself,” He growls, fingers trembling on the trigger. “I am not leaving.”
The floor jumps under his heel as he stomps down in emphasis, surprised. Blitz stares down into the darkness, challenging, before nearly having a heart attack as the suit of armour in the corner screeches into movement, helmet turning towards him.
“You wouldn’t happen to be friendly, would you?” He asks. The armour grabs the axe nearby. “Nope, alright, running now!”
Here they mcfucking go again.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” He chants as he sprints down the hallway as fast as he can, the armour clanging noisily behind him as it gains ground. “STOLAS! YOUR HOUSE IS TRYING TO FUCKING KILL ME.”
Still no reply. Great. Thanks a lot, Stolas.
The house is fucking screaming now, sounds all around- rushing tap water, flapping curtains, objects crashing loudly to the floor, and oh, yes- the suit of armour chasing him with an axe.
Blitz narrows his eyes, trusting his feet and instincts to dodge while he thinks. Bullets won't work, the house will just unravel any trap he tries to concoct, he doesn't like his odds in a wrestling match with metal. He curses again as he realizes he’s being herded back to the main door, away from Stolas- and he’s pretty sure the house isn’t going to let him back in once he’s been pushed out.
Abruptly, he thinks of the staff's room, and how the house didn't seem to touch it. It's too far away now for his luck to stretch- but if the staff doesn't know about this, if the house and Stolas try to keep it hidden-
Blitz skids into their bedroom and nearly cries with relief as the armour collapses into a pile of scrap metal, helmet rolling harmlessly across the floor.
He sticks his head out. "Get fucked, you rusty, cobwebbed, derelict excuse of a living space!" he yells, throwing up a middle finger, and pulls his head back in with a yelp as the house screeches with rage and a chair comes flying at him out of nowhere.
"Fucking rotted bunch of wood planks," Blitz mutters under his breath, shutting the door.
He needs to change tactics.
Blitz walks out the balcony and scrambles up the wall to the top of the house, taking the roof to the other end of the estate. It's perfectly normal from the outside, all cool blue stone and purple plants, absolutely nothing out of place to suggest that something is wrong inside. The red of the skyscrapers in the distance helps soothe the panic a little, grounding him back to reality, fear lessening.
Blitz comes to a stop over a glass skylight, only about fifty feet away from the end of the house. He hesitates for a moment, calculating whether he should go to the end of the house and make his way backwards or not- then decides he doesn't particularly want to walk into darkness where a lot of things are trying to attack him and kicks the glass in.
Blitz shakes his head as he lands, dizzy, then turns around in a circle, tail lashing uneasily at the unfamiliar passageway- he's never been here before.
He looks up at the weird crackling noise and winces as he sees the house covering over the broken glass, blocking out the moonlight; and then drops his head into his hands as he looks down the endless hallway- much, much longer than fifty feet.
“Stolas,” Blitz groans. “Please come out.”
He’s too wrung out to even laugh his own unintentional joke. He just wants Stolas to come out of the fucking darkness already, even if he wants to stay in the walls for the rest of the night. But Blitz is not a fucking quitter, so he keeps walking, even though it feels like he’s been walking for hours.
At least the house is no longer trying to stick a table leg in his eye.
He shoves open another too-cold room, with no boyfriend, and stumbles again, on a bend in the rug as he’s trying to get out. He glares at the floor, wondering if Stolas would be too mad if he burnt the ugly thing- then stiffens up as he hears footsteps right outside the door.
Blitz’s heart skips a beat as Stolas- no, not exactly. It’s a teenage version of Stolas, another memory, all funeral-grey clothes and feathers as dark as Octavia’s are. He’s cupping a candle in his palms as he strides past just where Blitz was about to step into, staring down at it and murmuring under his breath.
Blitz follows him curiously, taking the chance to look- Stolas hadn’t kept any photos of the years before his transition. His eyes are sharper, feathers painstakingly polished into place, makeup delicate and jewellery tinkling- clearly meant to be somewhere important. He’s murmuring in the common language this time, and Blitz strains to hear.
“Down three, where the serpent flies and the crow’s bones lie is where you’ll find the lost gem,” Stolas whispers, cradling the flame. “Shoot the boy, in his blood lies the key.”
Never mind, this stuff is horrific, Blitz preferred it when he didn’t understand.
“-!” Someone calls loudly down the corridor, making them both jump. “Where are you, you little freak?”
The past version of Stolas huffs disdainfully, rolling his eyes. Blitz chuckles, smiling at the attitude that has not changed an inch, smiling even as they pick up the pace, heavy footfalls following them down the halls.
“Hey!” Another person calls, aggressive and mocking. “We can hear you muttering again, you know. Come here, let us show you how that abnormal shit shouldn’t be fucking allowed.”
Blitz exhales in worry, looking over at the teenager again, fingers on his pistol even though he knows he won’t be able to do fuckall if they catch up. Stolas looks unconcerned though, face a perfect blank mask as he walks faster, still staring intently at the flickering blue flame of the candle.
The footsteps break into a run, close by, even as Stolas turns the corner to a dead end. Blitz balks, halting at the bend, even as the jeering pack of demons comes into view, faded at the edges- over ten feet tall, all of them, and much, much bigger.
Blitz twists back, as Stolas comes to a stop in front of the wall, shadowed and thick-stoned. His heart skips a beat as the teenager looks over his shoulder, sanguine eyes so piercingly knowing that Blitz thinks Stolas can actually see him for a moment, before turning and-
Walking straight into the wall.
Blitz stares at where he’d disappeared, even as the pack of bullies turn the corner and walk through him, shouting and caught off-guard, leering as they sling insults and taunts at Stolas in his own house, faces distorted.
He sighs, turning around. And then nearly steps right out of the door.
“Okay, what the fuck,” Blitz snaps, irritated. “Can you fucking stop with the teleporting bullshit? It’s giving me a goddamn headache. You’re not getting me to go out, so stop trying.”
He yelps as the carpet underneath him tosses him into the damn air like a toy, with the very clear air of someone throwing a tantrum.
“You’re Stolas’ house, alright,” he mutters, and gets smacked in the face by a rogue painting for it. “Oh, real mature. You done?”
The house creaks around him, vividly similar to how Stolas crossed his arms and slumped down when he was sulking, both of them just as frustrated as the other.
Blitz takes a deep breath as he climbs the main staircase again, closing his eyes as he tries to pull himself together. It’s surprisingly more easy to do, when he has his own memories scattered around the house as well- the window against which they fucked when there were guests ringing the doorbell outside; the stupid race they had sliding down the banisters of the staircase; them stumbling through this room, laughing like idiots, after a night of drinking out.
“Alright,” He sighs to himself. “Observatory. Let’s do this.”
The floor jerks under his feet, surprised, and Blitz barely hops onto the landing in time before it turns into a smooth slope, trying to trip him up again.
He looks back, then straightens up with a half-grin. Stolas is in the observatory.
Blitz makes a break for it as the house surges up again, pipes screaming as he passes them, doors slamming shut by themselves. He nearly pisses himself when something fucking roars behind him, heavy thumps shaking the floor, but doesn't dare to look back as he goes faster.
But he thinks he’s gotten the rules now- the freaky shit is only for the shadowed places where no one goes; any points in the mansion where other folk show up is safe ground.
“Guest room, guest room,” he mutters. “Come on, where is the- shit!”
He manages to dive into the room by the skin of his teeth, something very, very big and wrong snapping its teeth at his ankles as he makes it in and shuts the door behind him.
Blitz pants quietly, pulling out another granola bar and stuffing it in his mouth. He reloads his gun, sizing up the small window in the corner to see if he would fit. The observatory should be accessible from the outside, so-
He tenses up as he suddenly hears whispers outside the door, hushed and indistinguishable- and Blitz strains his ears to hear if the voice is Stolas’, even as a too-big shadow falls across the threshold.
“Where are you?” Stella screams, slamming open the door and Blitz slaps his hands over his own mouth to not make a sound from where an old flowerpot is hiding him from view. “Stolas! Oh, where the fuck has that idiot disappeared to now?”
He blinks, once, twice, then tightens his hold on the gun, enraged. This fucking bitch- he should have known she was behind it all, he’s going to fucking-
He bolts out from under the table with a shout, going for her neck, claws first.
Blitz grunts as he falls into a stack of boxes, rolling into the fall and shooting at her wildly, room colored red with fury.
The bullets embed themselves in the wall behind her. She doesn’t even flinch or look his way.
“STOLAS!” She screams again, and Blitz growls, confused and off-guard.
“I’m here,” Stolas says quietly, stepping out of a side room, in an outfit Blitz has never seen before, a book in his hand. “What do you want, Stella?”
Oh. It’s still a memory.
Blitz feels his shoulders untense, even as everything happening sinks in twice as hard after the temporary hope that had sprung up for those few disgustingly relieved moments where he could pin this whole shitshow on a real person.
Blitz gets to his feet and carefully walks towards them, neither of them turning to look at him as he comes into view.
“My new wine glasses are all cracked because of whatever the fuck you were doing yesterday! Do you know how long it took for those to arrive?”
Blitz flinches.
“I had a divination scheduled, that you were aware of,” He says evenly. “I even told you to put your valuables away.”
“Oh, so now it’s my fault you can’t control your magick any better than a fucking toddler?” She snaps, fists clenched as she approaches him. She’s high, or drunk or something, eyes bloodshot. “What are we going to serve the new wine in tonight, you idiot?”
Stolas clearly wavers as she gets closer, that same braced fear in his eyes as there had been with Blitz as he takes a step back.
“Listen-”
“And for what, some fancy prophecy bullshit that hardly ever comes true? Do you realize they’re going to think we’re liars now because we won’t have the glasses I told them we did? You only ever think of your damn fucking self!”
Blitz sucks in a deep breath, heart hurting, protective instincts screaming with nowhere to go. It’s not going to be a good memory. Obviously, it was never going to be, not with creampie-face screeching her lungs out to begin with, but-
It’s a pattern, Blitz realizes. It has to be a memory terrible enough that it has sunk into the walls and floors even when it is long gone.
“Stella, I’m sorry-”
He turns on his heel as quickly as he can, flinching as talons audibly meet flesh, unable to make himself look behind even as Stolas cries out in pain.
“Stella, please, I’ll fix them-”
“YOU CAN’T FUCKING FIX IT, DUMBFUCK!” Stella screams back, and Blitz breaks into a run, claws digging into his palms.
He runs as fast as he can- not fast enough to block out the quiet noises of pain, the thuds, the ripping pages and shattering pottery- panting wildly, tears in his eyes.
Fuck. Fuck.
He collapses onto the ground as soon as he’s far enough that the memory goes quiet, head in his hands, ears ringing. Fuck this whole fucking night, fuck that crazy psycho bitch and especially fuck this stupid fucking house.
The wood to his side ripples. Blitz tenses and turns to look, trying not to cry as he watches the shadows melt into the stupid fucking front door again.
He looks down the hall instinctively, but no wayward furniture comes flying at his head to toss him out. Instead, the house waits, silent and expecting.
Blitz exhales, closes his eyes. Feels the irritation grate at him, letting it give him the motivation to move his feet, the sound of Stolas’ pleading still loud in his ears as he walks towards the front door.
The curtain tassels make an aborted movement towards him as he grasps the gilded handle, before reining themselves back in. Blitz glances at them once, then looks outside, where the dried leaves of the garden are swaying in the cool night breeze, where his broken, clunky, out-of-place van is parked and ready to go, where the ground between the estate and the city outside are demarcated by a clear boundary of blue against red.
He tightens his grasp on the door handle, feeling the magick reaching for him longingly as he leans out- and then slams it shut as hard as he can.
He reels back against the house and furniture and carpets and curtains all straighten themselves back to normal, stumbling over themselves as they retreat.
“I thought I told you,” Blitz growls. “That I am not. Fucking. Leaving.”
Blitz stalks down the hallway again, trying to hold onto the anger to cover up the tears that want to escape. He shucks off his sweater as the house warms up the further he walks, lights turning on as he walks.
Tosses it onto a cupboard nearby, as carelessly as he can, ignoring the surprised shift under his hooves. It’s his house too, damnit. He was asked to move in here, even if he said no, and he strips off little pieces of himself as he walks and tosses them untidily onto the floor and furniture, to say I don’t need to be careful of anything, because it’s my place as well, I trust them not to get stolen from this ground, I will be coming back for them later.
The stone gets warmer. He thinks that’s a good sign.
This isn’t normal, Blitz thinks to himself as he climbs a bunch of swirling stairs that never seem to end, far higher than the mansion should actually allow. He’s been to other Goetia houses before, had his few shares of misadventures in them; none of them suggested that they were alive like this one, and deep down he knows none of them will be.
Because subconsciously, he knew about this, ever since that one window refused to open for him that very first day, ever since his ass touched the tile. He knew there was something wrong with the floorboards, the walls, the ceiling every night he came over, pulsing underneath him- he was just too scared to ever look further, mind reeling away from horrors it didn’t want to comprehend. Trying to reassure himself that he could run at any time he wanted- repeating that this whole thing was a weird farce that they could discard at any moment, the promise of going back to normal whenever he wanted leaving him with one foot already out the door whenever he walked in.
His next step goes right through the floor with a loud squick noise, stuck inside like quicksand when Blitz tries to pull it out.
He beats down the panic, taking a deep breath before looking up and barking out, “What?”
A window nearby wavers slightly before swinging creakily open, the lights and smog of the city a hundred miles further than they should be. Blitz glares.
“How many fucking times,” he growls through gritted teeth. “Do I-”
Anger flares up under his grip on the bannister, and Blitz realizes again that the house must have been listening to his thoughts right before the ground drops out from under him, shouting as he goes into freefall, torches going out around him and leaving him in the dark.
WE WILL ALWAYS BE LIKE THIS, the house thunders, wails, whispers. Blitz looks down and sees the whole estate, magick rooted into the ground, feeding off the plants growing on every available inch and feeding them back, both going down so deep he doesn’t know if they ever end. Undeniably different from the land all around it, bathed in starlight instead of smog, untouchable. Isolated. WE CANNOT BE UNDONE, CANNOT BE FIXED.
THIS IS WHO WE ARE.
IF YOU CANNOT ACCEPT THAT THEN-
"-Leave?" Blitz asks.
("Leave," Stolas whispers, tears sticking to his lashes, melancholia pulling down his bones, chained to the whims of the stars so far away. "If you- if you want to. Ever. I will understand, I promise."
Blitz sits there, their fingers intertwined, still holding the candle he'd gently taken from Stolas' talons as he'd guided him back to bed. Solemness sits on his tongue, weighed down by what Stolas has just told him.
He looks up at fathomless eyes and pulls up a grin. "Ah, come on. Don't be stupid, sugar. I’m not going nowhere."
"Blitzy," Stolas pleads, crystal tears falling to the bedsheets. He curves his faceplate into Blitz's hand as he drops the candle and reaches up to wipe the tears away. "You can't deflect from this one. I need you to walk into this with your eyes open. Being an oracle is not… gentle."
"Yeah, I know," Blitz whispers, tears springing to his own eyes. "I know.")
The blackness gives way to the mansion staircase again, gravity pulling him back down the floorboards. There is silence for a moment as Blitz taps his feet against the wood, trying to get his bearings, wobbling like a foal as he takes a step forward.
“Stolas,” He whispers, pressing a hand to the wall again. “It’s still you, isn’t it?”
The house falters back in the same way Stolas does when he’s about to cry and Blitz flattens his fist against it, stone freezing-boiling under his palm.
Not exactly, the house replies, as beautiful as birdsong now that Blitz knows how to listen. The magick is the same, but we have grown apart to be our own.
“Like the plants,” Blitz murmurs and the curtains nearby swish in agreement. He exhales. “Please. Can I see him?”
A door creaks open slowly in answer, candles lighting themselves down the corridor. Blitz thinks he’s passed some kind of test and the relief of it brings a grin to his lips as he grabs a candelabra and jogs down the pathway, the house opening up for him as he goes.
Music floats out from somewhere, peaceful violin and trembling flute, shaky like the audio of an old record player.
He can’t place why it sounds familiar for a moment, before realising- It’s a memory too.
Blitz sighs and remembers Stolas playing it, sharp talons careful against delicate strings, melody enchanting and melancholic, just like him.
("But," He says, shifting closer. "I still have ya the rest of the year, don't I? Work shift for prophecy-telling only pulls you what, every two months? I've worked with worse."
"Blitzy," Stolas laughs, wet, smile wide.
"I'm serious!" he grins, wrapping their tails together, placing his hands on Stolas’. "The stars can have you when they need you- but you're still mine the rest of the time, alright?"
"I'm still yours when they have me too," Stolas murmurs, and Blitz kisses him so hard for that that they don't need words for the rest of the night.)
He feels peace settle in his chest, the icy terror melting away, shoulders slumping. The wallpaper recolors from the dull grey Blitz now remembers from his first night here to the interweaving sapphire and rose and gold that now lines their bedroom, furniture standing taller, candles lighting warm mauve on their own.
Blitz comes to a halt outside the observatory door, closed and locked, and knocks.
“Stolas?” He whispers, knowing the other can hear him. “Can I come in?”
There’s clattering on the other side, loud and real this time.
“Blitz?" Stolas says. “What- how did you even- why would it let you- how did you get here?”
Blitz huffs, smiling. “Trust me. It was not fucking ea-asy, woah, fuck-”
He stumbles forward and leans on the doorframe as something tugs deep in his gut, hard and panicked.
“What?” Stolas whispers to himself behind the door, just as Blitz suddenly realizes he can feel him, feel the house around them, all its creaking wood and swaying windows. “How did it- How did you-”
“Stolas,” Blitz says, claws curling around the doorknob.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Stolas continues faster, “I didn’t want you to- What did you see?”
“Stolas, honey-” Blitz pleads, as his voice turns hysterical. “It’s alright, I’m not-”
“You aren’t supposed to be here,” Stolas sobs, muffled. “You weren’t supposed to see all of- all of this. You were supposed to leave.”
Blitz clenches his fists, sliding to his knees. “Stolas,” he snaps, firmer this time. “I chose to come back, alright? I walked in with my eyes fucking open.”
He loses the anger almost immediately, silence on the other side.
“It has been,” he laughs after a few moments, throwing his head back, “Scary as fuck in here today. You will seriously not believe the layers of fucked-up I have had to witness. I’m talking multiple nearly pissing myself situations.”
He looks out the window at the end of the hall, the one tiny observatory floor so high up all he can see is the stars. “And I nearly did give up after the suit of armour thing, going to be damn honest with you.”
It’s best not to mention the memories, he decides, listening to the shaky breathing on the other side. That’s a confession for another day. “But I- very praise-worthily, I might add- still didn’t book my ass out of the front door every time it was violently offered to me. Which means you aren't going to be able to scare me off now.”
He grimaces at himself, recognizing that this isn’t what he wants to say, what Stolas needs to hear.
“Anyway, forget all that, what I really wanted to tell you is,” Blitz takes a deep breath, rubbing the bandages on his fingers. “I’m sorry. Can you- Can you let me in?”
A moment of silence. Three, four, five.
The door clicks open.
Blitz stares at the doorknob for a moment, then clambers to his feet, reaching out for it.
No more running, the house snarls. Pleads. If you walk inside, you cannot- cannot treat us like something waiting to end.
Blitz looks down at the vines wrapped around his limbs, then to the other side, where the large open balcony lies. The air outside shimmers into the shape of a ten year old imp, leaning over the railings, about to leave- before turning back and running into the house with a laugh; with the phantom of a grimoire in his hands as he turns back again twenty five years later, and the vines slowly slip away.
I won’t, Blitz replies, and pushes the door in.
He pauses in the threshold as Stolas lifts his head from his knees to look at him, dried tears on his face. Tragic and otherworldly and beautiful.
“Stolas,” he starts, then wavers and cracks, running forward to throw himself into open arms, shaking like a fucking leaf. “Stolas, fuck, you’re okay-”
“Shh, I’ve got you,” Stolas whispers as Blitz wheezes out a sob. “I’m sorry, I promise the house would never have hurt you-”
Blitz kisses him silent, swaying them backwards, eyes closed. Stolas is soft and warm and real underneath him and Blitz burrows closer into him until every part of them is in contact.
“I don’t know about that, we pissed each other off quite a bit,” Blitz laughs, wet, drawing a smile from Stolas as well. “And I’m sorry-”
“I heard you earlier,” Stolas murmurs. “Apology accepted.” He tenses as Blitz stiffens at the reminder that Stolas had been in the goddamned walls, and quickly continues, “I won’t- I won’t do it again, if you’re uncomfortable. It’s not exactly… normal.”
Let’s talk about it in the morning, Blitz bites back at the last moment, because he doesn’t think they’ll be able to in the light of day.
“I don’t care,” he says instead. He leans forward, desperate, tears pooling in Stolas’ eyes as Blitz tries to make him understand. “I don’t care."
Stolas trembles, holding his gaze like he wants to protest, before dipping his head down and nodding. “Alright.”
“Alright?” Blitz confirms, with a relieved grin. He wraps himself back around the other, burying his face in the other’s chest. He hesitates before saying it, but. If there’s anyone out there for him to say it for- “I’m not going anywhere. You’re not- you’re not alone anymore, Stols.”
Stolas trembles harder, holding him twice as tight. They stay like that, silent, just holding on.
“I know you’d never.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“I heard, Blitzy. I know. It’s just... habit.”
“I- Fine, I get that, just don’t-” He twists to meet Stolas’ eyes. “Just don’t run off next time? Go- go into the walls if you want, fine, just don’t- please don’t ever disappear like that again.”
Something in his eyes flickers with understanding. “Alright,” he whispers, “Alright,” and pulls Blitz up into a kiss.
“I love you,” Blitz whispers into it. Thinks about how much of Stolas he’s seen today, how much courage the other has to have to let him in. “I love you so much.”
Talons dig into his skin and Stolas kisses him harder.
They make out there in the observatory, on the floor, pressed together full-bodied. Blitz lets the last of the shaking adrenaline leave him with a sigh, Stolas holding him close and stroking his horns as the exhaustion takes over.
“Thrice in the garden the scorpion sheds its tears,” Stolas murmurs suddenly, making Blitz jump. His eyes are glazed when they part, as something else catches his attention. “Ţ̶̤̘̱̌̍̃̅h̵̭͓́e̸̪͕͛͝ ̷̨̫͎͊͐̔͝͝d̸̪̾̈́̄͝i̶̧̤͍̬̎r̴͕̪̅͘ê̸̡͖̮̝͝͠c̴̨̠͈̄ẗ̶͎́̔̐i̵͇͎͎̲̮̽̈̕ǫ̴͙̤̗͙̎̃̾̓n̶̪͙͔̒̎͜ ̶̮̝̑̍͛̈́͘ỉ̶͖̙͈t̸̢̧̛͍̙̀̽̒ ̵̙̼̥̇̕͜f̸̥̀̽͛a̸̹̲̽̏̈́̈́ċ̵̣̪̭̘̦̓͑̕ě̷͍̘̿̉̂͜s̷̭͍̠͊̓̊̑̈́ ̵̧̼̭̜̭̌̃̉͝w̷̨̯̆̏̓̽ī̵̫͌͜͜l̴̜̪͚̘̙̀̈l̷͔̪͙̓̿̕͝ͅ ̵̳̃̃̚t̶̝̼̝̏͒̍̚e̸͈̪̙̥͇͂l̶̼͇̽͊̿̚l̷͚̮̇́͗̉͗ ̸͍̪̺̏̋̉͊͘i̴̢͚̳͚̎̀̚f̶̺̱̉̎̋̂͠ ̸̹̗͙̱̦̔ẗ̴͍͈́̎h̸̡̟̦͊́̎̚ȩ̵̻̲̈́̈́ͅ ̸̗̼̫̖͐̽̌̈́͂ç̵̢͇̪̈́̅͘̕h̸̨͛i̴̟̫̼͑ľ̷̯͔͔̯͋͐́d̸̞̭̫̿ ̸̱̥̾̈́̽͘w̶̳̝̥͕̺̒̈̇͠ȋ̴̫̃̇̈́̉l̵̨͉͔̤̋̌͋̓͠ḽ̷̢̛̳̃͘͜͜ ş̶̱͚̘̋̊̊̐u̷͇͎̹̯̍̀͘͘ç̶̪̫͛͘c̶͍̙͇̽͂̔e̷̡̤͕̱͂͐̈́̒̓e̸̘͐̈́͑̄̈ď̶̮̜͉̪͆̐.̸̢̖̰̔
Blitz huffs fondly. “Alright, that’s enough for today.” He kisses Stolas again, pulls him up to his feet. “No more reading. To bed with you, babe.”
Stolas laughs sheepishly, shaking his head free of the fates. Blitz smiles up at him and intertwines their fingers as they walk out the door, house shifting happily around them, birds whistling somewhere in the distance.
“Be quiet,” Stolas hisses at the walls, and Blitz guffaws loudly.
“Nah, let it be,” He grins. “It already threw a chair at my head, I think you can safely assume we’re on informal terms now.”
“It did what?” Stolas squawks, scandalized, and Blitz and the mansion both laugh.
“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Blitz promises, and leads him back into the light, back into their bedroom, back into himself.
A heavy sigh echoes through the house as they step past the threshold, the house shivering back into stillness. Blitz guides Stolas to the bed, pulling off their clothes, going red when he looks up to see white pupils staring down at him in adoration. “What?”
“You fought the house for me,” Stolas says thickly, voice cracking. “Came all the way into the back, even though-”
“And you gave me bandages, you big softie.” Blitz replies, clambering up and wiping away Stolas’ tears. “Bandages, a sweater, your jewels, your grimoire, your cunt-”
“Blitzy!” Stolas exclaims, smiling wide.
Blitz grins back mischievously, slinging his arms around Stolas’ neck. “And a home,” he finishes, tugging gently at the magick in the floorboards. Their magick. “You gave me a home, sugar. Of course I'd come after you."
Stolas sucks in a sharp breath and pulls them both down into the blankets, tongue in Blitz’s mouth.
“I’d feed every star in the sky to a black hole for you,” Stolas says feverently. Blitz shudders. "I'd watch them all collapse for another day with you."
"Okay," Blitz says lamely, voice breaking, and Stolas laughs and pulls him in tight. "Yeah, me too."
"You love me," Stolas murmurs, tilting his head with something like wonder. "Despite it all."
"Sure do, honey." Blitz knocks their heads together. "Sure do."
They both start at the sudden sound of tinkling glass, staring at each other in surprise before separating to look over to the balcony where it came from.
The white flowers sway in the moonlight, glass flowerpot shining like a promise.