I Regret So Much Of What I Have Put You Through, Blitz. But I Will Never Regret Loving You.

❝ I regret so much of what I have put you through, Blitz. But I will never regret loving you. ❞

Blitz couldn't think. He could hardly breathe. He had been standing there with Stolas, oblivious to the garden around them, but now it was all he heard. The gurgling of a fountain, the whispering-and-sliding sounds of a carnivorous plant creeping towards them to investigate. Normally, he might be worried about the plant, but with Stolas here, he knew he was safe. With Stolas here, he...

Was he supposed to be able to breathe? To think?

His vision actually started to gray around the edges. Blitz bent over, resting his hands on his thighs, and closed his eyes. Breathing deeply and quickly, the spines between his shoulders shivered. He swallowed hard, trying to hold back a wave of nausea. This--this wasn't what he had expected. Not at all, and it wasn't--he wasn't--he couldn't--

He was having a fucking panic attack, he realized. A panic attack because someone was being kind, because Stolas loved him, because he didn't regret it.

Get a fucking hold on yourself, Blitz thought harshly, without a shred of compassion for the broken mess of an imp who was on the verge of passing out. He held a breath, let it out slowly, and pushed himself upright again, meeting Stolas's eyes.

He couldn't explain why that hurt so bad. Why it hit so hard. But he wanted to, he realized. For once in his fucking life, Blitz wanted to be honest. To be honest all the way. To tell someone everything. To be vulnerable. To open every door and knock down every wall so that Stolas could decide what he wanted to look through and what he didn't want to lower himself by dealing with.

"I don't regret it, Stols. None of it. I been through way worse shit in my life. Yeah, it hurt sometimes. You and me. But..." His hand was actually cold, for once. Blitz usually ran a body temperature around 110 Fahrenheit, which climbed up to around 120 when he was fighting (or fucking), but for once, he was cold to the touch. All the same, he took Stolas's hand, holding it like exactly what it was: the most precious shit in the world.

"But I don't. Regret any of it. Especially not loving you, too. Stolas, you deserve... so much. So much better than me. But you got me. If you want me. You got me. For better or worse. Til I crumble to ashes and you start to forget my face. You got me."

Reblog if you are willing to do toxic ships

Not every love is sweet and kind Sometimes, love is dangerous Poisonous, addictive, obsessive Leaving emotional, mental and physical scars Don’t want to walk away, refuse to let go To need, no matter how much it hurts To know the same pain is returned Because some don’t want just the sweet They crave the bitter too

7. What's a small object you own that brings you happiness?

My fountain pen! It's a little cheap one from Amazon, but I've been using it for a few years now and it just makes me so damn happy. My hand rarely hurts even after the longest writing sessions with it, and it takes me about a year to use up an entire bottle of ink... whereas before I started using it, I could probably go through thirty disposable pens in a year. With disposables, I had to use gel pens if I didn't want my hand to cramp and ache after long writing sessions, and those just really never lasted as long?

Trying to reduce waste even on a personal level means a lot to me, so having this pen that cuts down on trash, doesn't hurt my hand, and makes me all glowy happy to look at just because it's so pretty? That really makes me happy.

What about you?

"No one for me, either." Blitz shook his head, wishing he could lie, wishing he could joke. Wishing he could say or do anything to make all of this easier somehow, on both of them--but it wasn't easy, and maybe it wasn't supposed to be. Arms folded tightly against his chest now, as if that would keep the ache in, Blitz stared at the ground as they walked.

"I didn't... I guess I didn't... ever admit. I mean, obviously. That what we had was--something. That it mattered. Yeah, the transactional thing, it was bad--for both of us. But I could've spoken up to you at any point and... I guess I sometimes... or, all the time, thought you wouldn't want to know more about me, you know? Or deal with any of my shit. Even just by hearing it. You're a prince. You're immortal. I'm a misprinted dot in the whole fucking book that'll be your life. But before Ozzie's, I could've spoken up. Said something. Or, when you were in the hospital. I could've--I should've....

"I let you down. All the time. And not just you." He hugged his chest tighter. For a heart this empty, it sure felt fucking heavy. "I let myself down, too. And I'm sorry, Stolas.

"Listen. Someone buying my time? You're the first person to do that. Your fucking weirdo dad wasn't, either. My father sold me--all the fucking time. For all kinds of reasons. To--" His throat tightened. He scowled and pushed through. "To all kinds of fucking assholes. I've never been... fucking. I've tried the therapy route, you know? And it works, to an extent. It helps, to an extent. But mostly, it's expensive shit that doesn't--work, if I'm not working back with it. Which I wasn't. I never reached back. Not in therapy. Not with you. Not with anyone who has ever actually given a shit.

"And I'm sorry." Finally, he looked up again. "I'm sorry, Stolas. For hurting you. Cause it doesn't matter why. I'm a grown-ass man. And I should be doing better. And I didn't realize--it took me a long time to figure out that we weren't on the same page. I was panicking and trying to fill in the blanks with shit I knew from experience, with roleplay and jokes and--

"I'm sorry. Seeing you at the party, hearing how... how fucking broken your heart is. And the way you--

"You grabbed the tablecloth and pulled it down over my face, because you still were looking out for my dumb ass--

"Fuck." He shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked at a half-crushed can. It clattered away loudly down the street. "I'm sorry."

The compliment sings through him like a chime blessed by a soft breeze. It marveled him even now how there could be such wonders even in a place like Hell. Stolas didn't dare dwell on such thoughts, lest they pull him into one of his great reveries, pulling him away and out of reach from the outside world. He would much rather live in the present anyhow. 

There's a soft ruffle of feathers, Stolas drawing his shoulders up briefly, and an almost imperceptible tilt of feathered tail. Even now, Blitz regarded him so highly? His beak parts to argue, but he closes it and swallows the words. He could accept it, he would let it settle between them like a soft sheet. Slowly, the space between them was lessening. The tenderness with which Blitz reaches for him, the graze of fingertips and brief press of cheek into his palm. It sets his heart into a furious, desperate rhythm. It breaks him into a million pieces. Did he have any idea of the devotion, desire, and the love Stolas held for him? He regards the imp from his peripheral, a gentle smile on his features. 

Being here with him felt like the mending of something torn. It felt like piecing together a broken vase and being able to get the glue to hold. He wasn't certain he knew where all of the pieces were yet, or if they'd still fit. . . . but it was a start. It was all he was willing or daring to ask for. 

They were fragile. He was fragile. 

A featherlight brush against his leg draws his attention, and again, Stolas finds himself overwhelmed with a flood of affection. He wanted to coo and fold himself against Blitz; nuzzle into the imp and shut out the world. He blinks swiftly at the query, however, and hastily looks away.  

❝ Seeing someone? Oh, Stars, no! ❞ He chuckles awkwardly and smooths a hand over the feathers on his head. ❝N-no I, I decided to just. . . take a break. Focus myself on other matters.  ❞ Does he dare pose the query back? Does he want to know? A part of him is curious, but other, the more selfish side of him fears the worst. That Blitz might have found better in their time apart. 

❝ What. . . about you? ❞

10. What's your favorite time of day to write?

Never o'clock. Writing is hard, it sucks, and I hate it.

That being said... Usually from about 1100 - 1500 are my peak writing hours, and then again in the middle of the night. Oh, am all cozy in bed, this is so nice, time to sleep...

OR. IS. IT?

No. No. It's time to get the fuck up and grab a notebook and scribble notes until I fall asleep knowing tomorrow morning is going to make me swear never again.

And then do it again.

And again.

And again.

So you are smut free or what? You want everyone to be?

Not in the slightest. I love writing smut--once the thread gets us to a point where it makes sense. Then, however in depth you want to go, or however funny, goofy, absurdly kinky, etc, I'm here for it. I just like us to have that character dynamic first, because smut scenes feel really out of place to me without that. If they're anchored in a dynamic, cushioned by plot, then hell yeah, I gotchu, let's do this. But when they're out of the blue, or it feels like someone just keeps pushing me OOC to do it while pretending to be respectful? That's my hard No. Maybe I'm too aroace tbh, but it is what it is.

I don't even mind when blogs feel like a thirst trap. What matters to me is how interacting with the mun leaves me feeling. If they leave me feeling like their "respect" is backhanded bs, like they're always sniping, always pressuring, if I end up feeling drained whenever the topic of smut comes up because there's just some weird vibe there OOC? I'm never going to feel safe writing it with them. Ever. It's kind of funny I guess, because the best way to make sure I never write smut with you is to constantly make it an issue that we're not writing it yet, while pretending to be fine with it. If you want to write smut with me, just let scenes unfold naturally, and I'll happily be a little filth-potato with you. I don't write smut unless I feel comfortable with you. If you make me feel uncomfortable over it? You will never, never be writing that with me.

I can absolutely still care about people without being mutuals with them, and will. They're not bad people or anything, it's just sometimes a bad fit for me. And I absolutely don't want anyone to avoid putting their sin and thirsts on the dash! Do it! It's beautiful! I just need to feel safe when it comes to smut between our babies... and not that vaguely predatory pseudo-safe vibe that some people give, where they'll say it's fine, but then constantly needle and pressure about it, is all.

Sorry for taking so long to reply btw, I had to get some sleep. And I'll be honest, I deleted the rest of the Asks that came in with this one, and seriously thought about deleting this, too. But it seemed fair to answer at least one. Just please, leave it there, yeah?