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When Blitz was a kid, he always dreamt of having the tallest, most amazingly perfect Sinsmas tree. He, Fizz, and Barbie would tug at Mama’s sleeves, begging and prodding the whole season leading up to the holiday. Blitz especially. He would bounce around her, climbing up her and burying himself in her hair as he asked over and over and over again.
“Next year, Blitzo. I promise.”
That promise was never followed through with, but Blitz couldn’t possibly hold it against her. She had more on her plate, different priorities—besides, the memories he has from those days made up for it.
When he was really little, Sinsmas was always his favorite time of the year. He loved the gifts, loved getting to act out and do things Papa would usually yell at him for all day. He loved Mama’s homemade meals and the yearly show they all put on in the circus.
He wants Stolas to experience some of that joy. He still can’t wrap his head around the fact that the other man had never even heard of the holiday before last year.
Distantly, he vaguely recalls an image of a small, fluffy, feathered owl boy with bright, big red eyes and a squeaky voice, bouncing with excitement to have a friend and someone to share his time with.
It doesn’t seem right to think of how that little boy never got to experience the buildup of Sinsmas Eve, the old stories, the traditions. He never got to wake up at the crack of dawn to open gifts.
That was all gonna change this year.
It’s been over a year since Stolas first got banished. A year of living together. A year of adapting to a new life together and overcoming the misunderstandings of their past.
A year of slowly–and sometimes painfully—learning to be happy again.
It’s almost Sinmas, and Blitz is determined to make it a thousand times better than last year.
Although now that he considers it, the bar is pretty damn low.
Last year sucked, and as Sinsmas keeps getting closer, Blitz feels like he’s watching Stolas slowly sink into a pit of despair as the anniversary of his estrangement with his daughter nears.
Blitz is going to make this the best Sinsmas ever, and nothing will stand in his way.
…except maybe this tree.
“Why...is this necessary, Blitz?”
Stolas can practically feel the imp roll his eyes, despite Blitz’s head being turned away from him.
It has to be the 100th time since they left the apartment that the owl has asked that question, but it’s cold and wet, and he wants to go home and lie on the couch and forget everything, but nooooooooooo. Blitz insisted they needed to go “tree searching”.
And to make it even better, Blitz decided this was a task that would only be possible if they went to Earth. The imp found some old farmland with trees that would ‘do the job’.
What they’re actually searching for, Stolas has no idea. All these trees look relatively the same. Not the healthiest looking bunch he’s ever seen, but in the past year, he’s grown to never expect the best.
However, this is getting a bit ridiculous.
“'Cause it ain’t Sinsmas without the perfect tree!”
“This…tree is taller than me. What could ever convince you it’ll fit in the apartment?”
Blitz frog blinks at him, looking back up at the tree. “We can make it work.”
Stolas huffs out an amused breath of air, watching the small cloud of water vapor swirl out of his beak and into the evening air. He tucks his scarf further around himself, readjusting his coat as a chill breeze hits him across the back.
Earth truly has no right to be this frigid, not even Andrelpheus’ ice beams make him this cold for such a prolonged period of time.
Stop it, Stolas. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about last Sinsmas. Don’t think about the cold. Don’t think about her.
The cold striking him again, the winds only getting harsher, is making it harder and harder to shove away the memories he’d rather not dwell on.
In Hell, Stolas often finds himself constantly feeling far too warm. It was bad enough at the palace, but now, living with Blitz—an incredibly cold-blooded imp—it’s like he’s constantly living in a sona.
Blitz gets cold at the drop of a needle, so despite the rising cost each time he turns the heat on unnessirially—Stolas keeps trying to tell him they could save a lot more money if Blitz would turn it off, in which the imp had stuck his tongue out at him and walked away—the heat is always on full blast in the apartment.
Right now, Stolas finds himself longing for that warmth.
Or an extra coat.
Or for Blitz to stop looking so pathetic, shivering in the cold as he looks up at the trees with wide, dilated pupils.
Stolas has no idea what could possibly be so important about these trees, but it clearly matters to Blitz, so Stolas supposes it matters to him, too.
What a fool this man has turned him into.
Stolas walks up behind him, draping his arms over the other man's shoulders and perching his chin comfortably between his horns, nuzzling softly. “How much longer is this going to take, Blitz?”
He feels Blitz instantly lean into him, a soft, almost inaudible purr slipping from the imp's throat. “Until we find the right one.”
“And how will we know…?”
“We just will!” Blitz tilts his head back to look up at Stolas, his horns now pressing into the owl’s chest. “Christ on a stick, can’t you be patient?”
“It’s been hours.”
“It hasn’t!”
Stolas, despite the mild annoyance and irritation from the cold, can’t stop himself from laughing at this ridiculous, stubborn dunce.
Blitz continues to look around aimlessly, holding Stolas’ hand as he all but drags Stolas through the array of trees. The former prince stumbles after him, sighing to himself. The sun is starting to set in the distance, painting the sky a beautiful pink and red.
Stolas pauses, managing to harp free from Blitz’s grasp as he stands on the edge of the ledge they’re on, looking out upon the green land below them. He stands there admiring the sky for a long time, allowing all four of his eyes to scan every inch, an odd, peaceful feeling washing over him. The wind seems to calm, the icy chill finally seeming to stop its needle-sharp attack as he puffs his feathers out. For a moment, everything seems okay.
“Ooo, that's pretty…AH, FUCK”
Oh, wonderful.
Stolas looks beside him just soon enough to watch Blitz’s attempt to stand beside him, which quickly fails when the imp comes in with too much speed and slips onto his ass. Stolas watches in slow motion as Blitz goes right over the edge of the cliff.
He’s fine, of course. Blitz is always fine. The imp has his claws digging into the dirt, his heels pressed to the front as he struggles to climb up, but for a moment, the sight is enough to make Stolas’ heart pound wildly against his ribcage.
“Blitz…?” Stolas calls up tentatively, stepping closer. “What are you…doing?”
He gets a deadpan glare in response. “Oh y’know, just hangin’ out.”
“Do you…need assistance?"
“dO yOu nEeD aSsiStaNcE?” Blitz mocks, a poor imitation of Stolas’ accent. “Yes, bird brain!”
Stolas bites back a smirk, kneeling down on the dirt and taking Blitz’s hand in his, carefully dragging him up to safety. Blitz lands in his lap, a small blush painting his cheeks.
“You should be more careful, dear. It’s awfully slippery here.”
He expects a sarcastic jab, but instead, the imp just shakes his head fondly, voice only a bit deadpan. “Thank you for the warning, pretty bird.”
Stolas’ heart does an odd little flip at the fond glint in Blitz’s eyes. “I worry, that’s all.”
“I know, Stols.” The other man softens, reaching up a clawed hand and cradling Stolas’ cheek. “I’m fine. Now c’mon, I see more trees that way!”
Climbing trees has always been one of Blitz’s personal favorite activities in the entire world. As a kid, he loved to climb everything at the circus, but there were always rules and limits.
Trees didn’t have those. His father couldn’t shout at him to get down because it ‘wasn’t right for the act’.
The trees were wild; they swayed unpredictably and gave him the biggest rush of adrenaline.
It’s something he’s never quite grown out of, that sense of freedom that comes with climbing something with no rules.
Stolas, however, did not seem to have as much faith in him as Blitz had in himself.
“Blitz, you’re going to fall…again!” Stolas shouts up at him, his voice tinged with anxiety, but he’s laughing fondly, eyes glistening with amusement.
Bingo. New mission: keep that look on Stolas’ face for the rest of eternity.
“I’m not gonna fall!” Blitz calls down, jumping up to the next branch, tail swishing behind him to help him keep his balance. “Was raised in the circus, remember?”
“Yes, well, last time I checked the circus didn’t have cold, slippery trees and harsh winds blowing from every angle, now did they?”
Sassy Stolas is easily Blitz’s favorite version of Stolas.
Not that he’ll ever admit that.
Well, maybe if Stolas asked him to…
Stop it, brain! Off topic! We have a point to prove! Be a simp later!
Blitz climbs as high up as he can go, digging his heels into the branch the best he can as he rises to a standing position, looking down at Stolas below him, who is standing in front of the tree, looking up at him all cutely with those adorable red eyes that stare into his soul so weirdly.
Fuck, Blitz wants to take him home and fuck him so hard until he can’t walk straight.
NOPE, bad brain!
He jumps up to the next branch, climbing up until he’s at the very top of the tree, perched at the top, the setting sun bouncing off his horns in golden light. He looks down again, seeing the owl watching him, and Blitz can’t help himself.
“I LOVE STOLAS GOETIA!” Blitz shouts, hearing his voice echo amongst the trees, the rustle of the wind brushing over him as though the universe itself is acknowledging his confession.
Until the breeze becomes a little too strong, and suddenly the branch isn’t below Blitz anymore. Actually, there isn’t anything below Blitz anymore…
Christ on a stick.
He yelps as the branch snaps, flailing his arms around uselessly as he plummets to sure death. He closes his eyes, mentally estimating how many bones are going to be broken and how angry Stolas is going to be.
Instead of coming face to face with the icy dirt below, his face is enveloped in familiar, warm feathers.
Way better than the ground. Take that, bitch.
The whiplash makes him dizzy, but at least all his bones are intact, so a win is a win. Plus, now he can bury himself in the most comfortable feathers in the world.
He lifts his head, giving Stolas a sheepish grin. The owl lets out a tiny hoot laugh, shaking his head.
“I love you too. Can we go home now? Please?”
Blitz sighs, shoulders slumping a bit. Maybe he went a bit overkill with this whole thing. “Yeah. Yeah, one second. I found the perfect tree.”
The tree isn’t perfect.
Objectively, it might be the ugliest tree Stolas has ever seen in his life.
Apparently, Blitz had caught a glimpse of it while he was being a monkey-adjacent fool. It’s a tiny thing, leaning sideways, hunched over like it’s given up, unable to absorb enough sun because the others are blocking its way.
It’s not the perfect tree, but it’s perfect for them.
After another 20 long minutes of struggling to remove it from the ground correctly, Blitz opens a portal, and they bring it through, carefully setting it up by the balcony. Stolas spends a long—perhaps unnecessarily so—amount of time assuring the little thing will have enough sun. Meanwhile, Blitz is digging through old boxes to find every ornament he has.
There aren’t many. Lots of horses—some that look old enough to be from the circus. There are a few that are clearly Loona’s; Blitz sets those aside so his daughter can put them on herself when she gets home. There are a few more basic colors, one that’s shaped like a mug and has ‘Hell’s Greatest Boss’ written on it.
Blitz turns on the Sinsmas Special of his favorite show, My Little Hellpony, as they decorate. The cheerful voices on the screen, along with the sweet pine painting the air, make Stolas feel a warmth growing in his chest. He pauses decorating the tree, looking at Blitz beside him. The imp is completely focused on the task, his fork-shaped tongue dangling out the side of his closed mouth, tail flicking every few seconds.
Stolas feels his heart melt at the sight. Blitz has been so soft with him this past year, but Sinsmas brings a whole new layer of that softness. A domesticality only Stolas gets to see.
I want to spend the rest of my Sinsmas’ just like this, with you, if you’ll allow me.
He doesn’t say it out loud; it would be a foolish statement. He knows that it isn’t something that’s up for debate, that Blitz will make Stolas spend every Sinsmas just like this, even if Stolas somehow gets his powers—his old life—all back.
The more time passes since that day, the more Stolas is sure he doesn’t want that old life back. The loneliness, the days of endless silence when his daughter was staying at her mother’s.
All Stolas needs is Octavia to join them, in this small apartment, with their crooked little tree, and he will never wish for anything more in his entire existence.
One day, Blitz always tells him, one day Via will come around.
Stolas is starting to believe him.
When they finish the tree, it looks…a bit sad. Like it’s missing something, there’s too much empty space.
Just as he starts to think about it, Blitz takes his hand and brings him to the couch, sitting him down with a nervous mumble. Instantly, all of Stolas’ attention is zeroed on the imp.
Blitz reaches under the couch and pulls out a tiny box, seeming to hesitate, fighting some internal battle before he holds it out sideways to Stolas, keeping his gaze forward as his arm offers out the present.
Stolas takes it with tender fingers. Blitz had mentioned that getting presents for people you care about was apparently normal for Sinsmas, but he had assumed the gifts were given on Sinsmas.
“It’s an early surprise,” Blitz mumbles, seeming to sense what Stolas is thinking. “I know it’s not Sinsmas yet, but it…it makes sense to give you this now, just…open it.”
Stolas looks down at the poorly wrapped present, his heart warming in his chest at the clear effort the imp put into doing this for him.
He slowly undoes the wrapping paper, letting it fall to the floor. He opens the flaps of the brown cardboard box inside, moving the tissue paper aside to reveal the gift.
It’s a series of small rectangular prints of photographs taken over the past year, each decorated in a paper frame with a frizzy string attached. The makeshift frames were multicolored, some had little designs–horses, of course–doodled on them. A few of the photos had added writing scribbled on the top or hearts.
Every photo was of Blitz and Stolas. Memories, moments of this new life they’ve built. Some are selfies the two took together, some are photos Blitz must have taken of the owl in secret, and some are group photos with Millie, Moxxie, and Loona joining them.
In nearly every photo, Blitz is looking up at Stolas instead of at the camera as if the owl hung every star in the night sky.
The last photo is from just a few weeks ago. It was a normal night, Stolas and Blitz had been sitting out on the balcony, drinking and talking about nothing and everything all at once.
It was a Full Moon that night. Stolas hadn’t even noticed.
The photo is simple. Stolas has his head thrown back, beak open, and eyes squeezed shut with a wide smile on his face, clearly mid-laugh. His feathers are messy, and he can practically see the spit flying out of his open mouth. His wine glass is just slightly too slanted, with a few drips spilling out the side. The full moon shines brightly in the background, casting a warm glow over the photo.
On it, in the neatest handwriting Stolas has ever seen Blitz do, it says: Mery Sinsmas 2 the pretyst burd evr. Hop 4 many mor. Luv u <3
Stolas spends a long while just staring down at the photos in his lap, all ready to be hung on the tree. He suddenly understands why Blitz seemed to have consciously left a giant open spot in the middle of the tree.
The imp, who has been anxiously fidgeting and staring at him this whole time, jumps up to his feet, walking back over to the tree, his back to Stolas. “I was thinkin’ we could put ‘em up. Or…or whichever ones you wanna put up, it’s your gift. Or if you think it’s stupid, we don’t gotta put any of ‘em up at all! HA! Up to you!”
The anxious rambles Blitz does sometimes both melt and break Stolas’ heart.
He can’t stop himself; he rises to his feet and quickly closes the few spaces of distance and wraps his arms around the imp from behind, pressing his beak in between those majestic horns, lifting Blitz off the ground with his long arms.
Without any hesitation, Blitz maneuvers in his embrace so he’s facing Stolas, all five limbs coming to wrap around the bird—arms hooked over his shoulders, legs tight around his middle, tail snaking around his waist.
Stolas exhales, one of his hands rising to cup the back of Blitz’s head, softly rubbing his talons over the bits of scarred skin poking around.
“This is the second-best gift I’ve ever received,” Stolas whispers against Blitz’s shoulder, holding him tighter.
“Oh yeah? What was the first?”
“This,” The owl breathes out, kissing the imp's cheek. “You.”
Not the ornaments. This past year. This life. This second chance to be with Blitz, to be happy.
Everything around them fades: the holiday cheer from outside, the voices on the TV, the music blasted from their neighbor. In this moment, it’s just them.
“Thank you.” He whispers, keeping his voice low so he doesn’t burst into tears. He pulls away enough to properly see the imp's face, leaning in to press a gentle kiss against his heart-shaped tattoo. “Merry almost Sinsmas, Blitz.”
The other smiles gently, an adorable blush painting his cheeks, his pupils dilated and gentle. “Yeah. Merry almost Sinsmas, Stols.”
When Sinsmas day arrived, Stolas looked toward the tree in the corner. It had straightened out and grown the tiniest bit, becoming a healthier shade of green as it carried years upon years of love.
Stolas can’t wait for next year.