Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Blitzø’s day had been actual shit. Like, straight from hell type of shit.

He had gotten to work at Perito’s Pizza, a waiter, and Moxxie was already on his ass about “Stealing from the costumers”, which is so not like Blitzø! Well, it is, but he wouldn’t get caught. 

So he had to deal with that bullshit, convincing a dude he’d known since childhood of his innocence. 

The rest of the work day was the regular amount of shitty— broken plates that he had to clean up for some reason, people screaming at him for calling their children ugly, his boss screaming at him for calling children ugly (which at a certain level, he was into), nothing out of the usual.

“Oh my fucking god Moxxie, shut your trap.” He groans in the break room, leaning back in the uncomfortable metal chair.

Moxxie has been rambling about some kind of show, Blitzø hadn’t been paying enough attention to remember what one though.

”No, Blitz, you don’t understand. It’s so much deeper than it seemed. The plot twist in Season One is so insane-“

”Mox, hun, can you shush. Now. Shut up.” Millie complains from the other side of the room. The southern woman shrugged her uniform back onto her shoulder. They’d given her one that was far too small, yet they were too shitty to replace it.

Moxxie grumbles, but shuts up

After a few more minutes of waiting for their break to be over, the manager pops her head through the break room door. Her blonde is in a braid, though her dark brown roots were showing.

”Heeeyy, sorry for short notice, but the store is shutting down for the day. Health Exception is coming tomorrow, so Tom wants-“

”Thanks Ver.” Blitzø cuts off the woman, still scowling.

Veroskia rolls her eyes, slamming the door shut. Blitzø’s black hair sways from the air, and he brings both his hand up to flip off the ghost of her.

“You never listen! We told you not to date your coworker, very less your MANAGER, but you didn’t listen!! Now it’s so—“ 

Moxxie’s rambling is cut short by Millie throwing a stray meatball at him. The meat slides off his face, down onto his white aprons. Millie’s face contorts into a suppressed smile, the dark skin around her eyes crinkling up.

“Millliiieee.” Moxxie wails, lifting the apron strap over from his head. He placed the cheap material in the trash can.

“Moxxxiiieee.” She responds in the same tone, putting the back of her hand on her forehead dramatically.

Blitzø scoffs, standing up from his metal chair with a creak. 

“Where ya goin’ B?” Millie calls after him as he walks over to the little pegs in the wall, one of them holding his dark jacket.

“Gonna go pick up Loonie. Mills, can I use your car today? Left mine at the apartment.”

Millie quirks an dark brown eyebrow.

“How’d ya get here?”

“Snuck in your trunk. Is that a yes or no?” He responds as he shrugs on the leather.

Blitzø’s face turns smug Millie decides not to question this, it’d only confuse her more. It’s the best option, most of the time Blitzø is just spouting bullshit like a faucet.

“Sure. Bring it back to our house after, m’kay?” She says as she fishes her car keys from her pocket. She throws the hot pink colored keys at Blitzø. He catches them midair.

“I gotcha.” Blitzø replies as he puts a scarred hand on the cold metal doorknob. It opens with a creak, and he steps out into the main part of the restaurant.

He puts a scarred arm above his eyes, shielding himself from the bright orange lights— a disturbing contrast to the white ones he had become so comfortable in a moment ago.

Blitzø makes his way to the big double doors, freshly cleaned by a guy named… Waldo? Walter? Blitzø could never remember the guys name, just that he had a ridiculously thin and long mustache.

He grumbles as he opens Millie’s car door. He pulls the key out from the slot with a struggle. The leather feels fucking nice, nicer than his car. He then turns the key in the ignition.

—

“I’m here for Loona.” Blitzø voice rings out across the small front office room. He stares blankly at the old woman infront of him, hair ivory white.

“Whuzzat?” The woman — Matilda, the name tag told— stared at him, wrinkled mouth gaping open.

It takes all in Blitzø to not groan.

“Loona.” He says, louder this time.

“And what’s her last name, doll?” The lady says in a distracted tone, even though she was doing nothing but staring into his soul with those big ass blue eyes.

“Buckzo!” He almost yells, completely fed up. What the fuck is this lady’s problem?! He breathes, “It’s Loona Buckzo.” through seething teeth.

She turns back to her computer without another fucking word. After a few moments, Blitzø starts to think the Matilda has forgotten about his existence.

“Hey, lady, I-“

“ANGIEE!! Be a dear and call Mrs. Givens, wouldn’t you?” Matilda yells to a pale white man with striking blonde hair. Odd, he looks slightly familiar. Blitzø can’t place where he’d seen the man before, though. The man rolls his eyes and picks up the black telephone beside him. He presses a few buttons and—

“Hey, Jas, Loona in your class,” He examines his nails, painted a light pink. “Yeah, send her down. Gettin’ picked up. Thank ya’.” 

Blitzø stands there for a few moments later, leaning on the hard oak desk. The man turns his body to Blitzø looking him up and down. Blitzø gets a clear view of his name tag.

‘Angel’

Blitzo stares for a few seconds more before getting the fucking hint. He tries to mask his usual leveled appearance from turning bright pink, but of course, he fails. He trots over to the small leather seating area, and plops into a chair.

He avoids looking at Angel until his daughter walks through the glass and metal office door.

“Loooooonie!!” He exclaims, a sly smile on his face. He springs up from his chair, arms outstretched.

Loona hides her face in her dark grey hair, avoiding looking at her father.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever..” The teenager grumbles as she walks towards Blitzø.

“How was your day, Loonie Toony?” Blitzø questions as he holds the door open for the girl, a cool breeze hitting the side of his face he could still, you know, feel cold breezes on.

She doesn’t say another syllable to him until they reach the car. She slides into the passenger seat, looking around.

“How was your day?” He repeats as he ignites the engine.

It starts with a quiet purr, the car jutting forward. 

“It was whatever.” She responds plainly, opening her phone to Instagram.

Blitzø shrugs. In her world, ‘whatever’ sometimes meant jumping for fucking joy.

The two drive back to the apartment in mostly comfortable silence, only disturbed by the occasional huffs of laughter from the girl.

Blitzø pulls into the parking lot, parking just enough to be considered legal and not have his ass plowed into by a truck, and just enough to be annoying.

Perfect!

He opened the drivers door at the same time as his daughter, the duo walking along the concrete path to the metal doors to the apartment building. They open with a creak, to a lively lobby.

“Blitz! Welcome back hun!” Talia, the front desk lady, exclaims. Her hands are typing on a computer, but her full attention is turned to Loona and Blitzø. 

“Heeey Tally! How are-“

“Shush your pie hole Blitz, Loooona! My wife has some extra that ain’t fit her no more, I don’t suppose you’d like some?”

“Uuhhhm.. I’ll pass. Thanks?” The fourteen year old doesn’t even look up, just making a bee line to the elevator. 

Blitzø casts a sheepish smile in Talia’s direction, picking up the pace to catch up to his adopted daughter.

“Sorry, Tal. She spoken! Have a good one!” He hurries out as the elevator closes in his face. Blitzø just so catches a glimpse of the woman rolling her eyes, and his grin turns bigger.

Click

Click

Ding!

The elevator doors open to a dimly lit hallway, and they walk down to room 304.

Loona instantly slams the door to her room, and Blitzø gets started on dinner. He gathers up the things: noodles, red sauce, smashed up beef. Spaghetti night!

He places the ingredients on the dark gray counter, suddenly remembering Millie’s car. He snatches up his phone, opening it with Loona’s birthday as the passcode.

‘sry mils, tots frgot ur caer, gona give it tmrw.’

When he hits send, the ‘Read 5:37’ little tag pops up almost instantly. As the three little dots appear, he gets another notification, this time an email.

He clicks at the top of his screen, opening it.

Blitzo Buckzo

        You’ve been invited to the funeral of Cash Buckzo. 10/29, 2pm.

     Best hopes, Saint Andrew’s Funeral Home

He blinks at his phone as the bright lights of the apartment illuminate his skin.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

The itchy suit scratched against his already scarred skin as he stood above the dark oak casket, staring down at his father’s lifeless face. His therapist’s voice, back before he quit, echoed in his mind: “Make the best of bad situations.”

So he tried.

"Pa was a drunk anyway. The world’s better off without him," Blitzø told himself, though the words felt hollow as he looked at the face of the man he so closely resembled.

Jet-black hair. Dark brown—almost black—eyes. The same nose, with that faint bump on the bridge. The same tan skin.

Still, his gaze hardened.

"Bye, Dad," he muttered to the corpse. Half of him wished it would respond—an apology, maybe? Some semblance of closure? Hell, even a simple, "I love you."

But, of course, the body said nothing. It stayed still. Eyes permanently shut.

Blitzø scoffed, turning his back on the godforsaken casket.

It was a good thing.

That he was dead.

Blitzø made his way over to a white fold-out table. Funnily enough, it was stocked with alcohol—the very thing that killed Cash Buckzo.

He poured a dark brown liquor into a cheap plastic cup, the liquid flowing in a steady stream. Blitzø tilted his head back and downed it in one go. As he lowered the cup, his gaze caught something—or rather, someone.

Her.

Barbie.

He nearly choked on his drink, barely managing to swallow it. Every fiber of his being screamed to run up to her. Fuck,he hadn’t seen her since the accident.

He tossed the plastic cup into the trash and spun on his heel toward his sister.

His dress shoes clicked against the light-brown church floor as he quickened his pace.

Barbie stood beside another woman, who draped an arm around her shoulder. Instead of pulling away, Barbie leaned into the touch, resting her head on the red-haired woman’s shoulder.

Blitzø finally reached her side, unsure of what to say. He settled for standing silently, pretending to look at their father’s casket.

Barbie stiffened at his presence.

“Blitzø. Didn’t think you’d show,” she spat, her tone sharper than those cheap church plastic cups.

“Yeah? Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Blitzø shot back, biting his tongue too late.

“Unluckily for everyone else. But when have you ever been lucky to be around, hm?” She cast him a sidelong glance, her voice dripping with venom.

Blitzø’s gaze softened. He reached out to her, but she leaned further into the woman beside her, evading his touch.

She turned to him for the first time in seven years, her eyes meeting his. They weren’t filled with happiness or sadness. Not even recognition.

Just raw, unbridled anger.

Barbie reached into the pocket of her red-striped dress, pulling out a key. Once gold, it had tarnished into a dull silver, likely spray-painted at some point.

With tattooed hands, she shoved the key into Blitzø’s scarred palm.

“Pa’s house,” she muttered before intertwining her fingers with the red-haired woman’s and walking toward the large oak doors.

Blitzø stared at the key, its surface gleaming under the church’s bright lights. By the time he looked up, Barbie was already pushing through the crowd, heading for the exit.

Leaving.

He stuffed the key into his breast pocket and pushed his way through the crowd after her. By the time he reached the doors and burst outside, she was halfway to the parking lot.

“Barbie!” he called out, his voice cracking. She froze momentarily, then turned slightly, as if considering her options.

After whispering something to the red-haired woman and kissing her cheek, Barbie turned to face her brother.

Blitzø stumbled to a stop in front of her, bent over as he caught his breath.

“Barb,” he panted, reaching out to grab her hand. She pulled away but didn’t move to leave.

“Barbie, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was an accident—I swear to God it was! Barbie—"

“You ruined my life!” she screamed, cutting him off. Her words sliced through the air like a knife.

Blitzø’s eyes widened. “Barbie, I didn’t mean to! Please, just let me explain—"

“I’m done with your bullshit! Done! Just—just fuck off and die!” Barbie’s voice echoed through the parking lot, drawing the attention of onlookers.

She reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone. Shoving it into Blitzø’s face, she displayed an address:

303 South Grove St.

“Dad’s house. Thought you’d want it,” she hissed, before retreating to the car.

Blitzø watched, helpless, as the red-haired woman climbed into the driver’s seat, resting a hand on Barbie’s thigh. The engine roared to life, and the car sped away, taking his sister with it.

Leaving him behind.

-

The door creaked open too easily, like it was inviting him in for one last shitshow.

It was in the middle of a rough neighborhood, smashed between two larger houses. Windows were either boarded up or broken, plants were all wilted, and not a hint of green was in the grass.

Must’ve been home sweet home to that goddamn bastard! 

Dark eyes scan the walls: half assed decorations hanging loosely, some reading “Live Laugh Love”, some just picture of.. low budget dolphins? 

He wonders if he had just gotten into the wrong house, but when he peers into the kitchen, he gets his answer.

Bottles upon bottles of cheap alcohol lines every surface, most empty and some full.

Oh, yeah, this was definitely Cash’s house.

There was only bedroom in this house— probably Cash’s. When he popped his head into the room, he’s hit with the stench of old cheese and stale alcohol. It only had a single bed, a photo of a SHIEN dolphin hanging above the pillow. 

Blitzø peered upwards to see a small closed attic door, lined with dust.

He scoffed, wondering if he’d even find anything up there. 

Shit, worth a shot.

Blitzø dragged a chair from the kitchen into the small bedroom, it making a particularly unpleasant scraping noise behind him. At closer inspection, it had left scratches in the cheap wood.

He placed the chair underneath the door, before hauling himself ontop of the metal seat. Blitzø raised a hand, pushing the white wood of the attic door with an open hand.

Surprisingly, the old wood opened without struggle. Good thing Cash was too fucking cheap to buy lock. 

He gripped the ceiling, hauling himself into the attic. Instantly, as he got his body into the short room, he had the strong urge to cough.

‘Holy shit, this attic is dust as FUCK.’

He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his phone. He swiped up, clicking on the flashlight icon. A bright white light fills the dark room.

His nose wrinkles up as he sees spiders crawling about the floor. He wasn’t scared of the little fuckers, more so disgusted. Nothing should have more than two of any body part.

He spun his phone around, trying to see if there was dick in this dirty ass excuse of an attic. The only thing he sees is a lonesome cardboard box in the far corner of the attic.

Crawling, he makes his way over to the closed cardboard box. After dusting off the old spiderwebs and dust, he picks it up. It’s surprisingly light, like there’s not much in it.

As he’s moving his arms, he feels them hit something. He puts his arm down on the floor to try and find the object.

And he does.

It’s.. leather? No, more smooth. But definitely leather. He picks up the object, shining his light on it.

It’s some sort of book, dark blue cover. It’s got gold accents on the sides. Some kind of drawing on the front in gold too.

He scoffs in recognition of the book. It was given to him when he was around eleven, by his mother before she— before everything went to hell. He was going through some kind of magic obsession. Little guy tried to read it, he really did, but he couldn’t read. Like, at all.

So he forgot about it.

And now here it was, fifteen years later, in all its nerdy glory.

He turns his attention back to the box, peering in. Bright light shines into the box, and all that’s in the damned thing is a bunch of papers— that Blitzø did not have to care to look into— and a photo.

Blitzø’s scarred hand reached into the box, grasping the photo. He brought it up to his face, studying the polaroid.

It’s of his family before the circus went under searing flames. His mother is housing a young Blitzo in her lap, her black hair carefully tucked into a woven braid. Barbie’s hair was done up in a tight bun, her eyes sparkling with joy. And Blitzo’s hair was just messy and long as ever, streaks of stark white dashing through the strands.

Smiling, he stuffs the photo into his wallet for safe keeping. He starts crawling towards the attic door, but a glimpse of gold from the old book caught his attention.

For memory, he tucks the book under his arm, crawling back to the attic door.

And maybe just the tinsiest bit of curiosity motivated the action.

He slides out, hitting the floor with a clunk. 

He doesn’t bother dragging the chair back to the kitchen, not that anyone was going to care where the chair ended up.

The light blue front door reopens with a small creak, and Blitzø steps out. 

He glances back at the wrecked house, scoffing.

“Gooodddbyee, weird house.” He says as he walks backwards. He slides into the drivers seat of his car, not giving the house another thought. 

Not giving Cash another thought.

It’s better that way, really. 

The car starts with a soft rumble, and he takes off down the road, out of the run down neighborhood. A light brown dog barks at him as he picks up speed, and usually, this would annoy him.

Not today though.

Today was happy.

Today was better.

Atleast, that’s what he told himself.

He punches in the address of the apartment, letting the robot woman tell him what to do.

-

Blitzø dropped onto the apartment couch with a muted thud, the springs groaning under his weight. Loona was already asleep—he’d peeked into her room earlier to confirm—so there was no need to attend to her. Not that he could retreat to his own bed anyway; Millie and Moxxie had taken it over after babysitting duty, leaving him stuck with the scratchy, second-rate couch.

The fabric was unforgiving, rasping obnoxiously with every move he made—hell, even breathing seemed to irritate it. He shifted again, scowling at the thought of enduring another sleepless night. He’d tried all the usual tricks: counting sheep, closing his eyes and hoping for unconsciousness, even pacing the cramped apartment in a vain search for exhaustion.

But his mind wouldn’t let go of that book.

After half an hour of muttered complaints and restless fidgeting, the clock hit 3:05 a.m. Accepting defeat, he snatched the book from the coffee table. The damn thing practically fell open to page 147, as if mocking him.

Summoning

"Most occasions, a demon can possess a human’s body and summon herself/himself. On rare occasions, if the human’s mind is fortified by holy protections, the human may summon the demon instead. This, naturally, is quite an inconvenience for the demon."

The text was written in elegant, jet-black ink. Below the paragraph, a sigil-like drawing took up the bottom half of the page. Blitzø squinted, barely making out the name scrawled in an elaborate font: Stolas.

He skimmed the instructions.
Candle. Sacrifice (not necessarily alive). Botanical.

"Simple enough," he muttered. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well relive some childhood nostalgia.

Blitzø rummaged through the apartment, eventually uncovering a lumpy, horse-shaped candle coated in dust. Where it had come from, he had no idea, but it would do. He placed it on the coffee table.

Next was the sacrifice. After some deliberation, he grabbed a battery from the TV remote, setting it beside the candle. It rolled off almost immediately, and after a few frustrated attempts to keep it in place, he stood it upright.

‘Brilliant,’ he thinks dryly.

Botanicals? He vaguely recalled his mom ranting about science lessons, but it wasn’t much to go on. Plants, right? Plants counted. His eyes landed on the desiccated cactus by the kitchen sink. Perfect. He scooped it up, nearly giddy as he added it to the arrangement.

He squinted back at the book, deciphering the next step:
Sketch the sigil of the desired demon.

With an exaggerated eye roll, Blitzø grabbed a sharpie from the bookshelf, brushing past yet another horse-themed knickknack. He sloppily drew the trombone-elephant monstrosity on the table, laughing to himself.

"This is so fuckin’ stupid. What the hell am I doing, trying to summon a demon?"

Satisfied with his half-assed handiwork, he leaned back on the couch, arms crossed. Nothing happened.

Minutes passed, and his exhaustion caught up with him, pulling at his eyelids.

.

.

.

Through the haze of near-sleep, a sudden prickling sensation made his hair stand on end. Blitzø's eyes snapped open to a burst of blinding purple light. Tiny stars spun in the air, mist curling around the coffee table like smoke.

“What the fuck…” he whispered, sitting up just in time to feel an invisible force slam into him.

He flew backward, crashing into the wall with a grunt, rubbing the back of his head. His vision blurred, but through the haze, he made out a towering figure. And not just tall—unreasonably tall. Eight feet, at least.

“Mother fuck!” A British voice echoed through the room, cutting through the charged air like a knife.

Chapter Text

Blitzo’s eyes widen and his face contorts into one of pure shock as his ears are assaulted with curses and swears that he wasn’t even sure existed.

But from the way two glowing red eyes peer over the tilted over couch to look at him, he wasn’t about to comment on it.

Said eyes widen for a moment, before small slivers of white circles enter them, staring deep into Blitzo’s soul.

Blitzo’s arms feel as if they’re going numb, so he looks down at his hands which are firmly planted on the floor.

Too firmly.

A gray crawls up his tan skin as his eyes widen in horror.

Up to his elbows, by a round skull tattoo that is covered in scars.

Up to his forearm.

God, he’s gonna die here.

He wonders if he’s going to see-

Warmth re-enters his arm, and he gains mobility in the limb again.

”Fucking Lucifer..” A british voice groans from a few feet away.

Blitzo turns his head to see a feathered blue head dimly lit from the candles previously set up, an obsidian talon clutching the— forehead? He wasn’t sure, the fucker hasn’t turned around, so how was he supposed to know if it was even a face.

Maybe was swirling darkness where his face should be.

Maybe it was his deepest darkest fears.

The feathered head turns around and—

…

Woah.

Pretty bird.

Blitzo blinks, and the bird looking person glares at him.

He opens his lips to say something, until he hears a door creak open. 

He has two choices— tackle the probably very dangerous being in his living room into a closet to avoid being seen, or letting someone see said probably very dangerous being in his living room.

The lanky thing goes down with a hoot, and a protest forms on his lips as he’s shoved into the dark oak closet, but Blitzo puts a hand on that black beak.

Said beak is razor sharp, and he instantly recoils, shutting the closet door as a small spot of blood appears on his finger tip.

A bright light is flipped on, enveloping the room in a warm orange light. A figure stands a few feet away, in the hallway near the door. When Blitzo squints, he makes out Millie’s face.

“Milllllsss! What, your dork ass husband not keep you satisfied enough? You comin’ for me for he-.”

“What in the Lord’s name is this racket all ‘bout?” The southern woman groans, leaning against the wall.

”I- I uh…” He scans the room. Couch just about flipped over, candles scattered about, and a single blue feather in the middle of the room. “Fell over.”

”You fell over.” Millard deadpans, unimpressed.

Blitzo felt like he was being scolded— oh, this would not stand!

”Yeah I did.” He answers weakly, subconsciously fiddling with his thumbs.

Millie rolls her eyes. “Could ya be a little more quiet when you ‘fall over’ next time, Blitzø?” She doesn’t wait for a answer as sinks back into the bedroom.

Well, technically, it was not still standing.

Just as he’s silently celebrating his victory, he feels a cold creep up his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck rise as he whips around to the closet behind him. Caustically, he creaks open the oak.

. . .

Nothing?

Fuck, he had just put that tall bastard in there under five minutes ago! Where in the world—

“Boo.”

Blitzo just about fucking faints, that threat of unconsciousness saving him from squealing like a pig.

”God,” He says as he whips around, his voice a hissing whisper. “Did you need to?!”

The demon covers his beak with an obsidian talon, a hooting giggle coming from the person— was it even a person? Blitzo isn’t sure.— who has surely been terrorizing people down in hell, this thing was probably made of his worst memories and nightmares.

It was embarrassing how drawn to that laugh he was.

The two stare in silence for a few moments before the entity before Blitzo sighs. Maybe it rolled its eyes, he couldn’t tell. Freaky fucking pupilless eyes. It extends a long skinny hand, a white light outlining its talons.

”Stolas of the Ars Goetia, how may I be of service?”

Blitzo looks down at its— no, Stolas’s hand and instantly scoffs.

”What on gods green earth are you?” He hopes his voice is commanding and asserting, because by god, he’s fucking terrified.

“I’d assume you’d know, seeing as you summoned me,” Stolas says, examining his talons. When Blitzo stares at him, the dots connect.

For some reason.

”Holy fucking shit.”