It Was Always A Little Daunting, In A Dangerously Thrilling Way, To Encounter The Power Of The Sins--especially

It was always a little daunting, in a dangerously thrilling way, to encounter the power of the Sins--especially Asmodeus. The way his magic seemed to somehow even make it into the ringtone, the warm charm to his voice as he spoke, never letting Blitz get a worse in edgewise--not that Blitz necessarily wanted to. Just listening to him was something that felt special. And that was Asmodeus's gift, wasn't it? It wasn't just that he could make anyone lustful, save those few who were so averse to it that it would never come naturally. Asmodeus had a way of touching the heart, of making colors feel brighter, of making everything seem to mean just a little bit more. Blitz generally made a habit out of not letting himself be impressed by the incredibly powerful, but all the same, he felt it.

Fuck, he felt it.

He stood very still in the rain, feeling the Sin's gaze on him, maybe a little humbled by the fact that Ozzie was taking the time to notice. It was hard not to feel like an inferior goddamn class at moments like this, when you could feel how awe-inspiring another being actually was... But Asmodeus didn't make that feel shitty. Not tonight.

When the call ended, Blitz hung up the phone. He stayed where he was for a moment, letting the rain run down his forehead and into his eyes, considering. He was tired. Going home would be nice. But if he went home now, if he just turned his back on someone who had gone out of his way to be kind to him, someone Blitz actually liked for that matter, wouldn't that just be proving Verosika and all of her party-goers right about what a shitstain he was?

I can do better. I can try.

I owe it to all of them to try.

Well, maybe not all of them, he amended to himself. Fuck Dennis's predatory ass. Seeing him at the party still left Blitz's skin feeling unclean. Fuck that. Fuck all of that. Ozzie took the time to reach out after all Blitz wanted to do was give him a compliment, and Blitz wasn't going to shit on that. So, bizarre bingo card in hand, he headed into the club and did as he was told for once, hanging up his jacket, behaving. He ordered a drink and found a spot at a table that looked like it had other singles at it--singles. Fuck. Hard to think of himself that way, hard to--

No. Fuck it.

It ain't that deep, Ozzie had said, probably just meaning about the interaction, but goddamn if those words weren't good ones to keep in mind about other things, too. They were a way to get through the night, at least. And that? That mattered? So, rather than fill out the bingo card, Blitz just doodled hearts all over it, sappy hearts, hearts with dicks, hearts on horses, hearts. He sipped quietly at a drink, and he just listened to the people around him, observing them.

It wasn't until later in the evening, when he saw Asmodeus not looking too busy for once, that Blitz got up. He walked over, hesitating just for a moment, before he reached up to tap on his arm.

"Hey, uh, big chicken man," he greeted, torn between friendliness and awkwardness, but smiling all the same. "It's been a nice night. Look, you didn't have to do what you did, reaching out like that, but it really turned my night around. Do you uh--would it make you uncomfortable if I ask to hug you?"

Asking. Being polite. Being well-behaved. Blitz could try to do these things, damn it. Fuck. He would try.

@doublejango asked: deer ozmodyeass, i herd u r duing a relashunship bingo. I am the oposit of your type but just want 2 say that i think your stil grate. you make people happy and thats werth a lot in Hell. — keep duing what you du. we need you. you make things briter and better. — Sinseerly, Blitzo p.s. sry 4 bad spelling / unprompted? ; always accepting.

Awww ... what the Hell is this sappy shit (knowing damn well he'll keep it in his desk for rainy days, don't worry about it)? Nah, that ain't gonna fly around here, baby. Whipping out his cellphone, he's texting a message:

❥ sms — Blitzø, I KNOW you aren't serious with that letter of yours. Answer the phone for me real quick.

Within two minutes, Blitzø will find his phone ringing with an intensity. Better answer it or else, assassin man.

❝ Where are you? ❞ Sin is already stepping out to stand in front of the club to find a sad-looking silhouette from a near distance, in Lust's rain. Man, the dramatic flare of this guy! ❝ Turn around. Since when did you know what my type is? Usually, people gotta ask me to dinner first before they get that kind of response from me. Hahaha! ❞ He's talking over the phone yet his eyes are locked on assassin.

❝ It ain't that deep, babe. I promise. Get your ass over here, join the party. ❞ Should Blitzø try to bypass Ozzie's personal invitation, Ozzie's summoning a bingo card and teleporting it to Blitzø's hands. Watching the imp's surprise from here is enough to get Asmodeus grinning wider.

❝ Let's get you some drinks, my man. And leave your coat at the door. See you inside. ❞ Click. No Jesse to answer to this time. Get over here, it's gaming night. Unless you want Deadly Sin to bring you to the club, personally? Because ... heh! It can be arranged!

Blitz looked up and met Moxxie's eyes, expecting to see anything but what was there. Actual compassion, worry--caring. Moxxie wasn't putting on a front, didn't even seem to be judging him right now. Seeing that, looking in his eyes, Blitz grew very, very still. He didn't know what to do with a showing of friendship like that. Being any more vulnerable than he already had been didn't necessarily feel safe, and he didn't want to demand too much of him. Whatever this was, Blitz didn't want to bruise or break it.

"I left the van back at Stolas's place and walked here," he admitted, and looked down at his bloodied knuckles, then at the handkerchief, dampened with both blood and tears. Blitz sighed and pressed it to his forehead, then shook his head. "Don't worry Loona. She's got a lot going on these days, she's been coming out of her shell and going out with friends. My place isn't too far from here. I'll walk, then go get the car in the morning." He looked down at the crystal on the back of his glove, then turned it so Moxxie could see it, since they hadn't actually discussed it yet. "But we'll be alright. We've got this now, so... So..."

His voice quavered. Threatened to break.

Fuck. Fuck this. Blitz didn't want to cry anymore. He got to his feet and went over to their tiny office bathroom, leaving the door open so they could still talk. Washing his knuckles with soap and water stung, but in an almost reassuring way.

"Mox? I'm sorry." Blitz sounded calm now, sounded focused, despite his back being to Moxxie. "For all the times, all the ways, I've hurt and upset you. I kept crossing the line between employer and friend. I was... stupid. And didn't understand where that line was, or where it needed to be." He looked at his own eyes in the mirror for a moment, but they were too haunted; Blitz looked past himself in the reflection, looking at Moxxie.

"It won't happen again. You deserve better than to have to deal with... well, with an asshole." He dried his hands and turned to look at him, then held up the handkerchief. "I'll wash this, and if the blood doesn't come out, I'll get you a new one..." Blitz looked down at it and sighed. This was fucking hard. He still didn't know where he and Moxxie stood, he never did, but at least he knew that he needed to pull back. Stop demanding so much of the shorter imp.

"Go home, Mox. I'm gonna take a few days off, I think. Get my head on right. Just--see you in a few days, alright?"

Moxxie had no such thoughts about taking a swipe at Blitzo while he was so down like this. He sat listening and it only got worse, the more Blitzo went on. Moxxie had indeed heard Stolas call Blitzo his impish plaything. How could Blitzo be blamed for such a misunderstanding. Moxxie bit his lip as he listened and only when Blitzo was finished speaking did he exhale a breath he had not realized he was holding while the lovers’ entanglement was reiterated to him.

“...fuck.”

He didn’t often swear casually. But this was a ‘fuckton’.

“...It’s a lot. Blitz…I’m so sorry.”

But Stolas had given Blitzo the crystal. He had made sure Blitzo’s business would not flop. Which was the part that proved to Moxxie that the two had caught feelings for each other. Royals did not ensure imps were secure without there being a solid reason. 

It was impossible to accept Blitzo's attempt at normal conversation from there. "My night was uh, normal--Are you going to be okay tonight, Blitz? I’ve never seen you like this. I could call Loona to come pick you up so you wouldn’t have to drive home alone. I’m worried about you.”

He had trained himself to not wear his heart on his sleeve around Blitzo. It only ended up with him wounded. But now he was honest. Because right now Blitzo needed that. His friend needed that. They were not boss and employee while his friend was in need.

Fuck it was good to hug Fizz. The moment his friend's arms were around him, Blitz's pathetic goddamn tears tried to come back. It didn't even matter that these weren't the arms he remembered from their childhood together; it was still a Fizzie hug, and that meant it was everything. He hugged back, maybe a little too hard, and when Fizz grabbed his wrist, Blitz followed. He sure as fuck wasn't going to stay out there alone crying with a queef--those things were dangerous.

Despite the fact that Fizz's place was damn near luxury itself, Blitz started to relax almost as soon as he was there with him. Fizz was still Fizz, the star his life had revolved around for years, and just being near him felt like getting adjusted back onto the proper frequency or something, after too long frayed by static. Blitz was glad now that he had showered before coming over, that he'd put on clean clothes and at least made some attempt at making himself presentable; Fizz deserved the fucking best.

He always had.

"Hey, man. Thanks for this. I'm fuckin' sorry, Fizz. I should've texted you back, or called, or something. Anything. I just--I went to Verosika's party. After getting Stolas to dump me. After--it kind of feels like my life fucking imploded. And I know it's my fault. But also, you--you weren't there. At the party. And, awkward as this is, because like, what about this isn't fucking," he rubbed at the back of his head, "awkward, you know? It meant a lot. That you weren't there, when you probably could have been. So uh, you know. Thanks. And.. can I get another one of those hugs?"

This was a terribly rambling, weird way to start things off, but Blitz felt like he had lost all of his social skills in the past week. This was as good a place to start as any.

Fizzarolli would have expected to hear something of Blitzo afterward, however, he at first just shrugged it off. But as time passed, he started to wonder. Not concerned yet, just, wondering. It turned to concern once he sent a message and it was not even being read. Luckily, Asmodeus keeps the jester from panicking, as it wasn't even a week yet.

The 15 years of distances really make themself notable now, in the past Fizz had always had an idea what was going on with Blitz but now? Now he could only guess.

Ironic, it wasn't Fizzarolli who BLitzo would run into, no. But one small black queef, it looked at the tall imp before using its tiny wings the fly up to his face sniffing the visitor.

" Pebbels ?" a voice called from the distance, the queef started to make noises to later her owner of her location, but stuck to Blitzo, sniffing on him some more. " There you are buddy come it's time for - BLITZ ! " The jester immediately rushed to his best friend, hugging him " Thank fuck, I already thought something happy...end" As Fizzarolli spoke, he leaned back to look at his friend. He loosened one arm around BLitzo to stroke his friend's cheek.

The question of what happened was on the tip of his tongue. But the jester know better than to rest right then and there. Not the time. " Come on " he gripped Blitzo wrist " lets get somewhere comfier" he dragged the imp inside. Pebels follow right behind them.

The secret was the same now as it had always been: when Blitz asked Fizz to look at him and count, it wasn't because he thought it would fix anything, but because he was terrified, too. Always terrified of losing his friend, of not being enough of one day not being able to hold on hard enough when Fizz's hands needed to let go. Blitz had always been afraid of his best friend's anxiety attacks, because he knew, he knew inadequate he was, how unable to help. But as long as Fizz could take that pause, then it couldn't be a crisis beyond repair, right?

The fear had shown in Blitz's eyes before, and it did so now, although he tried to hide it. And when Fizz spoke, he nodded and let out a shaky breath. Life wasn't going to mean shit if Fizz wasn't there in it, even if they were enemies; Blitz would willingly go hand-in-hand off a cliff with this man, if that was what it took.

"Keep your--" His voice shook. Blitz cleared his throat and exhaled shakily, gripping the wheel of the stolen car tightly. "Keep your head down. If you can get down there, curl up down on the floorboard in front of your seat. Don't stick any part of you up til we're outta this. Fuck this shit, and this shitty ring, and this shitty fucking day." Blitz abruptly tore his jacket off and tossed it over Fizz to give him something to help hide under, the dark colors way less likely to stand out than Fizzarolli's colorful clothing--or scar tissue.

This was all a nightmare. It had all happened so quickly, and the painful goodness of actually being able to talk to each other about the shit that had been choking them both for fifteen years, but none of this shit felt real. None of it. People trying to kill his best friend, his first love, trying to take Fizzie out of the world--

No. Never.

Never, never, never.

Blitz punched the radio as the tires squealed and they tore out of there. The sound quality was terrible, classic rock blaring in and out, in and out, but that went along just fine with the car's engine. It roared and revved and seemed likely to shake apart any time Blitz slowed down.

As soon as he could, he got into traffic, into populated areas, and Blitz did what he could to treat this like a hit, to think of Fizz as a client, not as the only goddamn thing he'd cared about for so long that... Nope. Nope. He got into the traffic pattern and drove with the flow, constantly checking for a tail, for any sign that this whole shitty thing was a bigger setup...

But it didn't seem to be. And slowly, slowly, Blitz relaxed. He eased up his grip on the wheel, breathing a little more deeply, and pulled up in front of a group of punkass looking teens, rolling the window down.

"Hey, losers. You wanna buy a car?"

"Uh... how much?" The young shark who'd spoken looked surprised but very, very interested.

"Twenty bucks." It would cover the Hellevator toll to get back to the Lust ring, at least; Blitz had been too focused on weapons and fighting during their escape to get any of his cash back.

The kids conferred, the cash was gathered, and Blitz shut the car down.

"We're not too far from the Hellevator," he said, looking around one more time before he actually got out of the car, gun in hand. No one seemed to be watching them--certainly no sign of that fucker, Striker. It looked clear. "You good to go, Fizz? We'll go on foot from here to the ferry, get the fuck out of this shithole."

The attempt at a distraction did nothing to calm his nerves. Inside, they squirmed like furious wasps, their stings sharp and relentless, threatening to make him sick. It wouldn't be the first time FizzaRolli succumbed to anxiety-induced nausea in front of Blitzo, but after fifteen years, he was hoping not to appear as vulnerable and pitiful as he had in his youth.

Despite the years that had passed, Blitzo evidently remembered one of the tactics he had come up with to soothe him. His feelings about this were mixed, but he'd overthink that later, once he was calm and secure again. He gazed intently into the other's eyes, trying to concentrate solely on that. The red irises stood out against the glowing yellow. In his mind, he began counting to ten, taking his time.

It was somewhat effective; it staved off the crippling anxiety attack that would have certainly left him inert. But he was simply trading now for later. His prosthetic was damaged, and a confrontation with Mammon loomed in the future. But presently, their priority was to get out of the scrapyard. They were possibly lingering on mafia-controlled land, and the chance of more gang members arriving to inspect the havoc was imminent—he was useless, and he questioned how much more fight the other had in him. "Blitzo?" he called out, mentally noting the 'o' was meant to be silent now. "Please, take me home. I just want to go home."

Fizz broke their gaze first, blinking away the moment before settling back into the car. This time, noticeably absent of his chipper quip about royal jesters. Blitzo had always been much kinder to him than he was anyone else. Opening doors and offering chairs; he even once carried him piggyback up a flight of stairs to avoid the mess of spilled popcorn and sticky carnival cotton candy. But Fizz wasn't in the mood to reminisce over the good times; it felt too soon, too muddled with confusion.

Tears were welling up in the performer's eyes.

"Please, I just want to go home," Fizz pleaded again, his voice breaking with a raw desperation that made it even froggier than usual. As an ever-sensitive Imp, he had always worn his heart on his sleeve, contrasting with Blitzo's tougher, more assertive demeanor. Fizz always admired Blitzo's courage, his ability to confront anyone regardless of who they were. Despite years of wishing for that same boldness, Fizz found himself very much unchanged after more than a decade. "I have a penthouse in Lust. Can you take me there? Please?"

All he desired was to burrow into his bed and stay there indefinitely; to never step on stage again, to never answer to Mammon again. The tears he'd been holding back finally flowed down his cheeks, hastily erased with the frilled edge of his jester's garb—that was another thing. He never wanted to wear this costume ever again. The world seemed perpetually overwhelming, incessantly loud, and always frightening.

Blitz really can't stand knowing he hurt someone he cares about. I'm not just talking about the fire, either.

We all know that he immediately tried to apologize once he realized he'd genuinely hurt Stolas at the end of Full Moon, though he was portaled out before he could finish the words.

But even in Truth Seekers, when the truth serum caused him to tell Moxxie he had shitty taste in music, he IMMEDIATELY apologized, like as soon as the words were out of his mouth, and even started CRYING while lamenting about having hurt Moxxie and lied to him a lot.

Idk I just think it's important to point out that underneath all the trauma, Blitz is a big ole softy who can't stand knowing he's hurt the feelings of people he cares about.

Blitzøs entire life spent being unwanted. So he adapted, and learned how to be something needed, something to be used.

Which is why I think he firmly believes he is being used by Stolas. He simply cannot fathom a different reality, one in which he is wanted for once in his life.