#helluva paimon

"Can't help," you said, the words coming out much clearer than a week ago. The lisp was almost gone now, though you still had to be careful. "Mouth hurts."

"Your mouth has been hurting for WEEKS! At some point you gotta push through the pain and contribute to society!"

"You told me yesterday not to help because I 'fuck everything up.'"

"Yeah, well, that was yesterday! Today's a new day with new opportunities for you to be FUCKING useful!" He cracked another egg, this time successfully. "See? I'm getting better already! I'm a natural!"

"You've cooked eggs before."

"Not the FUCKING POINT, tits!"

You smiled, watching him work. This had become your routine over the past week—Blitz pretending to be annoyed while actually taking care of you, you pretending not to notice how much he worried, both of you dancing around the fact that something had shifted between you.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment.

Blitz froze, egg in hand. "If that's a fucking door-to-door salesman, I'm committing a murder."

"Maybe it's Moxxie?" you suggested.

"Mox doesn't knock. He just appears like a tiny, anxious dickhead." Blitz set down the egg and headed for the door, muttering. "Probably someone trying to convert me to some bullshit religion. Joke's on them, we're already in Hell—"

He opened the door and stopped. "Oh. It's you."

"Good morning, Blitzy!" Stolas's voice was warm and far too cheerful for this early. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"You are. Fuck off."

"I brought pastries!" Stolas held up a box. "From that lovely bakery in Gluttony. I thought our little star might enjoy something sweet."

Blitz started to close the door. "She's fine. We're fine. Everything's fine. Goodbye—"

"Blitz," you called from the kitchen. "Let him in."

Blitz turned to glare at you. "We don't need his fancy pastries! We got EGGS!"

"You got eggs with shell in them," you pointed out gently. "Let him in. Please?"

Blitz's tail lashed in agitation, but after a long moment, he stepped aside. "Fine. But you're staying in the living room. Away from my kitchen. And you're not allowed to touch anything."

"How delightfully hospitable," Stolas said, sweeping in with his usual grace. All four of his eyes immediately found you, and his expression softened. "Little star! How are you feeling?"

"Better," you said, still on the counter. "Still a bit sore, but better."

"May I?" Stolas approached slowly, setting the pastry box on the counter. "Just to ensure everything is healing properly."

You nodded, and Stolas gently cupped your face in his hands. His touch was warm, careful, almost reverent as his thumbs stroked along your cheekbones. All four of his eyes focused on you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Open for me, darling," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, soothing register that seemed to rumble through his chest while making you feel slightly floaty.

You did, feeling self-conscious as he leaned in close, tilting your head back slightly to catch the light. The teeth were still strange to you, still too big and sharp and wrong.

"Oh," Stolas breathed, and there was something almost hungry in his tone. "Oh, little star. Look at you."

His thumb traced along your jaw as he examined the fangs, careful not to actually touch them but clearly fascinated. "Such perfect points. So sharp. So beautifully dangerous."

He made a small cooing sound—unconscious, birdlike—as he tilted your head slightly to the side. "The gums have healed so nicely. No infection, no excessive inflammation." Another soft hoot escaped him, his feathers ruffling slightly. "You've been taking such excellent care of them."

His fingers were gentle as they traced the line of your jaw, tilting your face this way and that to examine from every angle. "The color is splendid. Still a touch pink, but that's to be expected. And the swelling—" he made another pleased hooting sound, "—almost entirely gone."

From the kitchen, Blitz made an exaggerated gagging motion, sticking his finger down his throat and rolling his eyes so hard you were surprised they didn't fall out of his head.

You tried not to laugh with your mouth still open, your shoulders shaking slightly.

"Stay still, darling," Stolas murmured, one hand moving to cup the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. "Almost done. You're being so patient."

He examined the fangs themselves more closely now, all four eyes fixed on your mouth with an intensity that made you feel warm. "Such lovely teeth," he practically purred. "Strong. Sharp. Perfect."

Another unconscious trill, his grip on you tightening just slightly. "You're adapting so wonderfully, little star. So brave. So very resilient."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and the look in them was soft and warm and something more. "Brave little star." he cooed, his voice thick with admiration and something that sounded almost like desire. "You've been through so much, and here you are. Beautiful. Strong."

One hand slid from your face to your throat—not threatening, just resting there, his thumb stroking along your pulse point. "Perfect little star," he murmured again, leaning in closer.

The kiss, when it came, was gentle at first—soft and careful, mindful of your healing mouth. His beak was surprisingly pliant against your lips, warm and tender. But then it deepened slightly, becoming more insistent, more wanting. His hand tightened in your hair, not painful but possessive, and the soft sound he made was definitely not unconscious.

He tasted like expensive tea and something distinctly Stolas—rich and complex and utterly intoxicating. The kiss was thorough, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. When his tongue brushed against your lower lip, careful of all the fangs, you made a small sound that made him trill again.

"OKAY!" Blitz's voice cut through the moment like a knife, sharp and loud. "That's ENOUGH! Her mouth is SORE! You can't just go around kissing people with sore mouths! That's like... medical malpractice or some shit!"

Stolas pulled back slowly, reluctantly, his eyes half-lidded and his breathing slightly uneven. His thumb traced your lower lip one last time before he released you entirely.

"I was being quite gentle, Blitzy," he said, his voice still low and rough around the edges.

"I don't CARE how gentle you were being! She's got healing gums! You could've—I don't know—damaged something! Made it worse! Caused a setback in her recovery!" Blitz was stalking over now, his tail lashing violently. "Just because you're a fancy-ass prince doesn't mean you can just KISS whoever you FUCKING want whenever you want!"

"She didn't seem to mind," Stolas pointed out reasonably, and there was a knowing smile playing at his beak. "In fact, I'd say she quite enjoyed—"

"That's not the POINT!" Blitz cut him off, his face flushing darker. "The point is consent and medical responsibility and—and—not taking advantage of people who are vulnerable!"

"I would never take advantage—"

"You just stuck your tongue in her mouth!"

"She reciprocated," Stolas said calmly, but his eyes were dancing with amusement.

"That's—you can't just—THAT'S NOT HOW THIS WORKS!"

You looked at Blitz—really looked at him. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched into fists, and there was something in his eyes that looked wounded. Not angry. Hurt.

Without really thinking about it, you leaned down and kissed his cheek—soft, gentle and grateful.

Blitz went completely still. His eyes were wide, staring at you like you'd just performed a miracle instead of a simple gesture of affection.

"What was that for?" he asked, his voice coming out almost strangled.

"For taking care of me," you said simply. "Even when I was being difficult."

Before he could deflect or make a joke or run away like you could see him preparing to do, you looped your arms around his neck—shy, hesitant, but determined. You pulled him into a proper hug, tucking your face against his shoulder.

For a moment, he stayed frozen. Then, slowly, his arms came around you, careful and uncertain, like he wasn't sure he was allowed to hold you this close.

"You're ALWAYS difficult," he muttered against your hair, but there was no heat in it. "It's your FUCKING natural state."

You pulled back just enough to look at him, and then—because you'd been wanting to, because he'd been there every time you needed him, because the hurt in his eyes made your heart ache—you kissed him.

Not his cheek this time. Actually kissed him, soft and sweet and meaningful.

Blitz made a sound low in his throat, and then he was kissing you back. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepened, fractionally but in a way that made your toes curl. He was gentle but hungry, careful of your fangs but insistent, and he tasted like coffee and cigarettes and something distinctly Blitz.

You felt his tail before you registered what it was—the familiar heart-shaped tip curling around your ankle, possessive and unconscious.

When you pulled back just enough to breathe, you stayed close, arms still looped lazily around his neck. Blitz stared at you for a long moment, eyes wide and glassy with disbelief, his usual sharp edges softening as he leaned just a fraction closer.

Then the moment cracked. He let out a sudden, loud bark of laughter that was too forced to be real, pulling back just enough to flash a crooked grin while his tail stayed stubbornly wrapped around your ankle.

"What, you trying to thank me for shitty eggs or are you just horny since the bird played dentist?," he said, voice loud and crude, the familiar defensive swagger slamming back into place. 'Cause I gotta warn ya— those fangs of yours will probably make blowjobs a whole new extreme sport."

His hands stayed at your waist though, thumbs brushing absently like he couldn't quite let go, even as he deflected with every ounce of his chaotic energy, Blitz looked down and saw his tail wrapped around your ankle. His eyes went wide.

"Oh, fuck, that's—" He jerked back slightly, but his tail didn't release you immediately. ""I—that's—you didn't have to—" He was brighter red now. "I was just—it's not—FUCK!"

"I don't mind," you said softly.

"Yeah, well, I DO! It's being a clingy asshole!"

"Your tail is clingy?" you asked, fighting a smile.

"Apparently! And it's BULLSHIT!" He was backing toward the kitchen now, his face darker red than you'd ever seen it. "Now if you'll EXCUSE me, I have eggs to finish! Which are definitely cold now! Thanks for that! Both of you!"

But you caught the pleased curve of his tail, the way it swayed in that slow, content rhythm, and the small smile he was trying very hard to hide.

"It seems our little star has learned to show appreciation quite effectively for both of us Blitzy. How lovely." Stolas said, his voice warm with genuine affection and perhaps a hint of smugness.

"Shut up, bird brain!" Blitz yelled from the kitchen, but there was no real venom in it. "Both of you shut up! I'm cooking! No more interrupting! The eggs can't handle this much emotional drama!"

Stolas made a pleased hooting sound.

"SHUT UP, BIRD BRAIN!"

"I'm not saying a thing darling!"

"You HOOTED! That's bird for FUCKING something!"

"I can't help my vocalizations! They're involuntary!"

"Well how about you VOLUNTARILY shut the FUCK up!"

Stolas left shortly after, claiming he had "important business to attend to" but promising to check in again soon. Blitz had grumbled about it being "his apartment" and "not a fucking hospital" but hadn't actually kicked him out.

What he didn't mention was that the "important business" was going to see his father.

Paimon's palace made Stolas's look modest. It was enormous, ostentatious, and decorated in a style that screamed "I have more money than taste and I'm proud of it." Gold everywhere.

Crystals. Tapestries depicting various achievements that were absolutely not as impressive as the tapestries suggested.

Stolas stood in the waiting room—because yes, one had to WAIT to see one's own father—and tried to organize his thoughts.

He'd been deliberately vague in his request for an audience. "Family matter of potential importance" had been enough to get him scheduled, but now he had to actually explain the situation without explaining too much.

"His Majesty will see you now," an imp servant announced, Stolas took a breath and walked into his father's receiving room.

Paimon was lounging on an elaborate throne, looking simultaneously bored and judgmental—his default state. His eyes focused on Stolas with very little interest.

"Stolas! What brings you to my palace? Finally here for a new wife? About time, the family's been talking—"

""No, Father. It's not about that." Stolas straightened his shoulders. "I've encountered a rather unique situation that I thought you should be aware of."

"Oh? Do tell!" Paimon leaned forward, suddenly more interested.

"I've been... researching, in my spare time. Since the divorce." That was technically true. "And I came across a rather fascinating case of dormant Goetic blood in a mortal, and I need to know how to trace who her parent might be."

Paimon's eyes widened. "A mortal? With Goetic blood?"

"Yes. The bloodline was dormant—the individual had no knowledge of their heritage until they accidentally entered Hell through rather unconventional means." Stolas pulled out a carefully edited version of his research notes. "The realm recognized the blood and... initiated certain changes."

"Changes? What kind of changes?"

"Physical transformations. Fangs, primarily. I suspect there might be more to come, but it's difficult to say without more complete research." Stolas kept his voice deliberately academic, detached. "I thought it was fascinating from a magical theory standpoint, but the real question is how one would identify the specific parent responsible for the bloodline."

"And what prompted this research?" Paimon asked, his tone suggesting he suspected more than Stolas was saying.

"Boredom, initially," Stolas said, which was absolutely a lie. "After Stella and I separated, I found myself with considerable free time. When I encountered this individual, I was... intrigued by the theoretical implications."

"Intrigued," Paimon repeated. "Just intrigued?"

"Yes?"

"Not... attached?"

"I wouldn't say—" Stolas stopped, realizing he was walking into a trap.

Paimon's smile was sharp. "So you do have feelings for this mortal?"

"I—that's not—it's purely academic—"

Stolas's mind betrayed him for a heartbeat. He saw it so clearly their little star, radiant in moonlight and silk, standing between him and Blitzy beneath a sky full of constellations. Vows whispered under the stars, your new fangs flashing within a shy smile, the three of them finally, properly bound—safe, wanted, his to cherish for an enternity. His heart fluttered with hopeless, aching warmth.

He snapped back to reality almost instantly, face heating. "I—um—that is—I simply think the situation is worth noting," Stolas stammered, feathers ruffling. "A Goetic bloodline surfacing like this is rare—"

"How rare are we talking?" Paimon interrupted. "When was the last confirmed case?"

"I... don't have exact records, but—well that is to say—there are no documents to speak of."

"Centuries? Millennia?" Paimon was pacing now, eyes gleaming. "The Goetic pool is relatively small. We're selective about breeding. Too selective, some might say. Fresh blood..." He paused, grin widening. "Fresh blood might not be a bad thing. Especially if this mortal is a she. An eligible young Goetic woman? The families will be very interested."

"Father, I don't think—that's not what I—"

"We should present her! Properly! A debut!" Paimon was getting excited now. "Let the other families meet her, assess her potential! We'll throw a party! A proper Goetic social event! Music, dancing, all the families!"

"That's really not necessary—"

"Of course it's necessary! A lost Goetia returning? That's significant! That's NEWS!" Paimon clapped his hands together. "We'll invite all the major families. The Ars Goetias, obviously. This will be wonderful—excellent matchmaking opportunities."

"Father, I really don't think she's ready for—"

"She?" Paimon's grin widened. "It is a SHE? Oh, even BETTER! Eligible Goetic woman? The families will be VERY interested!"

"She's not—she doesn't even know the full extent of her heritage yet! I haven't told her about the Goetia connection!" Stolas was trying to interject, but Paimon was on a roll.

"Well, you'll tell her before the party, obviously! Can't have her going in blind! She'll need proper clothes, proper introduction, probably some etiquette lessons—"

"Father, PLEASE—"

"This is EXCITING! A mystery Goetia! It's like something out of a novel!" Paimon was already moving toward his desk, pulling out paper. "We'll need invitations, catering, a venue—my palace, obviously. What's her name? We'll need it for the invitations."

Stolas opened his mouth, then closed it. He'd deliberately avoided mentioning your name, and now he was trapped.

"I... haven't gotten permission to share that information," he said carefully.

Paimon laughed. "Oh, you really ARE attached! Look at you, being all protective! Fine, fine. Get permission, then send me the details. But we're doing this. A lost Goetia ? This is too important to pass up!"

"But—"

"No buts! This is happening! Party! In a week! Tell her she's about to be the talk of Hell's elite!"

Stolas left the palace feeling like he'd been hit by a truck. This was not how he'd wanted this conversation to go. He'd just wanted practical advice on tracing the parentage.

Instead, his father was throwing a party to debut you to demon high society.

Blitzy was going to lose his mind.

You were probably going to lose your mind.

Stolas pulled out his phone and stared at it, trying to figure out how to explain this disaster.

Finally, he just texted, Blitzy, I need to speak with you about something rather urgent. Are you available?

The response was immediate, Busy. Call later.

Stolas sighed. He'd have to call. This wasn't a text message conversation.

Back at the apartment, you were curled up on the couch next to Blitz, watching what could only be described as the worst movie ever made.

"Okay, so, explain to me again," you said, gesturing at the screen where a horse in a wedding dress was crying, "why is the horse wearing a wedding dress?"

"Because she's getting MARRIED! Obviously!" Blitz said, like this made perfect sense. "To the other horse! The one with the bowtie!"

"But they're horses."

"MAGICAL horses! In LOVE! It's a classic romance!"

On screen, the horse in the wedding dress was now galloping through a field in slow motion while dramatic music played.

"I don't understand horse romance," you admitted.

"That's because you're not CULTURED! This is ART!" Blitz was completely serious, which somehow made it funnier.

"It's horses in clothes."

"It's ROMANCE! PASSION! DRAMA!" He gestured wildly at the screen. "Look at that! Pure emotion!"

The horse was now crying into another horse's mane. You were pretty sure horses couldn't cry, but apparently, magical horses could.

"Why is she crying now?"

"Because he forgot their ANNIVERSARY! It's TRAGIC!"

"He's a horse. How does he even know what an anniversary is?"

"Because he LOVES her! Love transcends species! And calendars, apparently!" Blitz was getting really into this, his tail swishing with enthusiasm.

You tried to follow the plot, but it mostly seemed to consist of horses having feelings at each other while wearing increasingly elaborate outfits.

"Oh, here we go, this is the best part!" Blitz pointed at the screen. "He's gonna declare his love! Watch!"

The bowtie horse approached the wedding dress horse. There was soft music. Lots of slow motion.

"My darling," the bowtie horse said in a voice that was trying way too hard to be sexy, "I love you more than grass. More than running. More than whatever horses love."

"That's terrible dialogue," you said.

"It's ROMANTIC!"

"It's lazy writing."

"You're just jealous because no one's ever compared you to grass!"

You laughed, and the sound was clear—no lisp, no painful catching on your teeth. "That is NOT the compliment you think it is."

"In horse culture, it's the HIGHEST compliment!"

"There's no such thing as horse culture!"

"There is now! I just invented it!" He grinned at you. "In horse culture, comparing someone to grass means they're essential to your survival!"

"That's actually kind of sweet when you put it that way."

"Right?! See! Horse romance is DEEP!"

On screen, the horses were now kissing, which was somehow more uncomfortable to watch than it should have been.

"Okay, that's just fucking weird," you admitted.

"It's PASSIONATE!"

"It's two horses kissing."

"It's LOVE!" Blitz threw a piece of popcorn at the screen. "You're such a critic! Can't just horse romance!"

You grabbed some popcorn and threw it at him. He gasped dramatically.

"RUDE! That's assault! Horse-assault! The worst kind!"

"You started it!"

"I was expressing ART APPRECIATION! You were being MEAN!"

You threw another piece. He caught it in his mouth, grinning.

"Ha! See? Skills! I'm FUCKING talented!" He threw one at you.

You tried to catch it and it bounced off your nose, which made him laugh.

"Okay, you're TERRIBLE at this!"

"I'm out of practice! I've been busy growing fangs!"

"That's your excuse for everything now! 'Sorry I suck at things, I was busy growing fangs!'"

"It's a good excuse!"

"It's getting OLD!" But he was smiling, and the apartment felt warm and comfortable in a way that made your chest tight.

You settled back against the couch, and Blitz shifted closer, your shoulders touching. On screen, the horses were having some kind of dramatic confrontation involving a sunset and more slow motion.

"I still don't understand this movie," you said.

"You don't have to understand it." He put a hand over his heart dramatically. "Just feel the horse passion!"

"I'm feeling confused."

"Ehhh, close enough!"

You laughed again, turning to look at him, and found him already looking at you. His glowing eyes matched in the dim light from the TV, his expression less guarded than usual.

"What?" you asked softly.

"You're not lisping anymore," he said. "At all. Your speech is back to normal."

"Yeah. Thanks to you."

"I mean, I AM pretty amazing at teaching people not to stab themselves with their own teeth." He was trying for cocky, but it came out fond.

"You really are."

The moment hung between you, charged with something you couldn't quite name. The terrible horse movie continued in the background, but you weren't paying attention anymore.

"You know," you said slowly, "you gave Stolas alot of shit for kissing me earlier."

Blitz snorted. "Because your still recovering, dumbass! Your mouth is all fucked up from—"

"It's not that sore anymore," you cut in, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

Before he could finish protesting, you leaned in and kissed him properly—not a quick peck, but deliberate, lips pressing to his with clear intent.

He made a startled grunt, then melted fast, one hand coming up to grip the back of your neck. His mouth was hot, tasting like buttery popcorn and that sharp, spicy warmth that was juat Blitz. When you pulled back just enough to breathe, he was already scowling in that flustered way.

"The fuck? I thought your mouth was still sore, you FUCKING shit—"

You kissed him again, deeper this time. Blitz groaned low in his throat and yanked you closer, tongue sliding against yours with zero hesitation now.

"Still think I'm too sore?" you teased against his lips, voice quieter than you meant it to be.

"Shut the fuck up," he muttered, but there was no real bite. His tail lashed once before wrapping tight around your waist, pulling you into his lap.

You gasped sharply and pulled back, heart suddenly racing for a different reason. The pressure of his tail felt too familiar in the wrong way—tight, constricting, reminding you of Striker’s cruel grip.

Blitz froze immediately, eyes widening. The tip of his tail loosened just enough to wave at you gently from between you, like a little hand trying to say hello.

"Hey, hey—easy, tits. It’s me, okay? Just me. Not that scary FUCKSTAIN, My tail’s never gonna hurt you."

You hesitated, breathing a little fast, then reached out and fiddled with the tip of his tail between your fingers, stroking the smooth, warmth of it with your whole palm. It felt warm, non-threatening, Blitz’s usual restless energy humming through it, just blitz, you knew instinctively nothing would hurt you while Blitz was around.

Blitz watched you carefully, his usual cocky grin softening into something more serious. After a moment he tilted your chin gently with two fingers so you’d look at him. "Still with me?"

You nodded, the shy flush on your cheeks deepening, but the panic erased. "Yeah… yeah I'm here ... I'm with you."

"Good." He leaned in and pulled you back into the kiss, slower at first, giving you time to settle. Then the heat built again—his tongue sliding against yours, one clawed hand tangling carefully in your hair while the other stayed on your hip. His tail stayed wrapped around your waist but looser now, more like an anchor than a restraint.

"Fuck, yeah," he growled against your mouth when you started kissing him back. "That’s more like it. Keep doing that and I won’t give a shit about your fancy new teeth."

"You’re terrible," you breathed, even as you shyly swatted him.

"I’m fucking fantastic," he shot back, nipping at your jaw, then lower, sucking a careful mark onto your neck that made your breath hitch. "And you love it. That pompous bird doesn’t kiss you like this, all hot and fucky—"

"Blitz—"

"Shut up and let me enjoy this before bird-brain calls with his dramatic bullshit."

You giggled softly, which only made him more enthusiastic. His hands roamed, while his tail kept you close. The horse movie droned on in the background, completely forgotten.

"This is hotter than horse romance," he muttered, voice rough as he kissed down your throat.

"That’s not a high bar—"

"Will you just Shut up and FUCKING kiss me, tits."

You did, laughing breathlessly as he pulled you tighter, the two of you making out like horny teenagers on the couch—clumsy, enthusiastic, and warm.

His phone started ringing.

"Ignore it," Blitz growled, soothing the mark at your collarbone with his tounge.

It kept ringing. "Blitz—"

"IGNORE IT!" He sucked another mark onto your skin, making you shiver hard.

The ringing stopped… then started again immediately.

"Oh for FUCK’S sake!" He pulled back with a snarl, glaring at the phone on the coffee table like it had personally offended him. "This better be a fucking emergency or I’m throwing it off the balcony!"

He snatched the phone, saw the caller ID, and his whole body language shifted—annoyed to wary in a heartbeat.

"It’s Stols."

"You should probably answer it," you said, lips still tingling, voice a little hoarse.

"I reallyyyyy fucking don’t want to," he grumbled, echoing your thoughts exactly.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"He’s not gonna stop," you pointed out, trying to catch your breath.

"FINE!" Blitz stood up, adjusting himself with a muttered "Son of a bitch," and headed for the balcony. "But I’m telling him his fucking timing is dogshit!"

Blitz stepped outside, sliding the glass door closed behind him with more force than necessary. He fished a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with a sharp flick of his lighter, and took a long drag before answering on the fourth ring.

Through the glass you could see Blitz’s posture change — from frustrated to tense, then to something sharper that looked a lot like panic setting in.

“What the fuck do you want, Stolas? Your timing is dogshit. I was in the middle of something important.”

“Blitzy!” Stolas’s voice came through bright and theatrical, though there was an undercurrent of nerves. “I do apologize for the interruption. I wouldn’t call if it weren’t rather urgent. How are you, darling? You sound a touch… breathless.”

Blitz exhaled a plume of smoke, tail lashing. “Yeah, well, I was busy. On the couch like an actual adult, instead of whatever fancy bird bullshit you’re about to dump on me. So spit it so I can get back to that.”

There was a soft, dreamy little hum from Stolas’s end. “Ah… our little star. I can picture it now—that shy little smile she gets when she’s feeling bold. She’s adapting so beautifully, isn’t she? A radiant little star, shining even in this wretched place…”

“Stolas. Focus. What the FUCK do you want?”

“Right. Yes. I went to see Paimon about… our situation. How one might trace the specific Goetic parent responsible for our darling little star's blood. I was hoping for historical records, perhaps a simple ritual—something discreet.”

Blitz took another angry drag, smoke curling around his horns. “And? Don’t tell me the old DICKBAG threw a FUCKING parade or some shit.”

“Well…Blitzy...he was quite interested. Especially once he learned she was a she. Fresh blood, he called it. An eligible Goetia woman. He started going on about presenting her properly—a debut, invitations to all the major families, matchmaking opportunities… He’s planning a full social event at his palace in a weeks time.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Blitz’s grip tightened on the phone, ash flicking off the cigarette as his hand shook with irritation. “We haven’t even told her the full thing yet! She woke up with fangs and freaked out enough as it is. She didn’t want to hear it then, and dumping her into some fancy-ass Goetia circle-jerk is gonna send her spiraling!”

“I know, Blitzy, I tried to dissuade him, but once my Father gets an idea in his head. Still… I did manage to steer the conversation toward practical matters. He confirmed that a small sample of blood—nothing dramatic, just a drop—could help narrow down the lineage through certain old rites. I could perform it myself, quietly. For our little star’s sake.”

Blitz exhaled sharply, smoke streaming from his nostrils. “Blood. Great. Because that won’t freak her out at all. ‘Hey tits, mind if we poke you for DNA?’”

Stolas’s tone softened, turning almost wistful. “She’s handling everything with such grace already. Our darling little star… I only want to protect her. To give her answers without overwhelming her. Perhaps once she knows the truth, she’ll feel less alone in all this.”

“Yeah, yeah, save the poetry for the bedroom, feathers.” Blitz paced the short length of the balcony, cigarette burning down fast between his claws. “So what’s the plan? We just sit on this until the big fancy party?”

“Actually… I was thinking you might attend as well. Under the guise of being well—our—bodyguard, perhaps? It would allow you to stay close without raising too many questions.”

Blitz stopped dead, cigarette halfway to his mouth.

“Bodyguard?” His voice shot up, raw and pissed. “Are you FUCKING serious right now? What, I’m not good enough to stand next to you—Gotta play the hired little imp while you rich fucks eye-fuck her and talk like she’s breeding stock? Like I’m too low-class to be seen with you feathered assholes in public? Fuck you, Stolas."

“Oh, Blitzy…Maybe later, darling. When our little star is safely tucked between us and we can all unwind properly.”

“Stolas—” Blitz sputtered, face heating despite the cool air and the smoke. He took a savage drag, nearly burning his fingers. “This isn’t funny! I’m not crashing your rich-bird circle-jerk as the fucking help! I’m not your servant, SATAN FUCKING DAMNIT!”

“I’m only teasing, darling.” Stolas’s voice gentled again, though the romantic lilt remained. “I simply want all three of us there. You, me, and our little star. But I understand if it stings. You’re far more than a bodyguard to us both.”

Blitz grumbled something incoherent, tail lashing as he flicked ash over the railing. “Just… figure out the blood thing WITHOUT turning it into a FUCKING spectacle, okay? And don’t spring the party bullshit.”

“I promise I’ll be careful. For her sake.” Stolas sighed softly, the sound fond and a little weary. “Give our darling a kiss from me when you go back inside, won’t you? Tell her I’m thinking of her.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just… call at a better time next time, Bird-brain.”

“I’ll endeavor to do so. Goodnight, Blitzy.”

Blitz hung up without another word, staring out over the glittering, chaotic lights of Hell while he finished the cigarette in two harsh pulls.

“Fuckin’ Feathery Fucking TYPICAL BULLSHIT…”