FULL SUMMARY: Blitz wants to protect his foster daughter. In that attempt, he sends her to a kindergarten in the human world. It's expensive as all heaven, but he only wants the best for his baby girl. Loona even gains a friend at this kindergarten — a friend by the name of Via.
One day, he picks up his daughter from kindergarten and meets Via and her father. And goddamn, is his father gorgeous. But fuck, he's also irritating with his rich pompous ass, his Geotia status, his accent, his sweet demeanor, his adorable laugh, his sexy hips— Wait shit. He's falling in love! But damnit, he needs to find a steady source of income to support his kid!
Focus, Blitz, focus!
A/N: Hey guys! It's been forever and a day since I've written a fanfiction (almost ten years now) but somehow Helluva Boss has sparked my interest in it again. So here it is! Story is set in the 2010s at first; will progress to the 2020s near the end.
Some notes for the beginning on everyone's ages in this fic. I'll post the ages on each chapter as a reminder!
stolas: 25
blitz: 22
octavia: 4
loona: 5
Enjoy!
— 01 —
Application and Denial
"Blitzo Buckzo."
Blitz looked up from his phone the moment he heard his name, a tinge of annoyance flashing across his face. He smiled dryly. "The 'O' is silent," he said as he stowed his phone away in his jacket pocket and stood from his chair.
He was ignored; the woman instead turned and retreated to the room she had just stepped out of with nothing more than a, "Right this way, please."
Already, Blitz could tell how this meeting would go — or at least, he had a feeling. Grumbling to himself, he followed her through and closed the door behind him. He sat across the desk from her, having to jump a little just to do so. His feet dangled, still, hooves barely scraping the ground. He pretended to not even notice while a part of him hoped that she didn't notice in the first place.
The woman on the other side shuffled through some papers with a bored expression on her face. "We went over your daughter's paperwork, Mr. Buckzo, and we found her acceptable for our institution. However," she paused as she splayed out a few papers on her desk. "We have a few questions about her home life."
That was fantastic... Not. "Well, get on with it," Blitz answered.
The woman glanced at him and he immediately felt sweat beading on the back of his neck. She rested her elbows on the table and laced her fingers together. "Right to it, then." She gestured to the papers between them. "It implies here that you are not her birth father. Is this correct?"
"No shit." Blitz scoffed and threw himself back in his chair. "Imps can't have hellhounds."
The woman — Linda Barthew, her desk's name plate read — frowned.
Blitz found himself flustered. "I mean, you know. Imps can only mate with imps, and hellhounds with hellhounds, and rich pompous assholes with—"
Mrs. Barthew raised her hand to silence him. "Not my concern, Mr. Buckzo. I needed the confirmation on record." She tapped one of the papers with a long claw, her eyes glancing over it through her reading glasses. "It says here that you are currently her foster parent for an indeterminate amount of time."
"Until her family decides, yes," Blitz confirmed. He could feel the knots in his stomach and his fingers curled to fists at his knees. "B-but, I'm still legally allowed to enroll her in any school I choose! My contract states—"
"And there is no other parent?" Mrs. Barthew's eyes met his.
Oh. That's what this was about. Blitz frowned. "No." He bit his tongue to abstain from cursing out the woman who left him.
"Hm." Mrs. Barthew looked at the paper once more. "A shame."
"Yeah, yeah, a real shame." Impatience was beginning to well up in him. "Can we get to the point already?"
Mrs. Barthew opened a drawer behind her desk and pulled out a slip of paper, placing it between them. "We will need another legal adult on file for emergency purposes," she said. She slid the paper over.
Blitz picked up the paper and looked at the printed words and blank lines. Great... His tail twitched in a mixture of anxiety and agitation. "And I need to do that now?" he asked. His answer was a pen set before him. He looked from the pen, to the paper, and the pen again. A heavy sigh and he placed the paper down and snatched up the pen.
"Any adult?"
"Any adult."
Trying to figure out how to even hold the damn pen was an annoyance in itself, nevermind writing with it. Blitz could feel the woman's gaze on him, boring holes into his very soul, as he tried to write as neatly as he could. He mouthed each letter as he wrote.
M - A - R... K...? A - S. ... Maybe another S? Mark...ass... Yeah, that seemed right. Wait, shit, what way did an S go again? Fuck it, both ways. That way, only one would be wrong! Perfect.
Blitz glanced up. "Last name, too?"
A nod.
Damnit.
Blitz frowned in frustration as he tried again to write. G - U - N, definitely knew how to spell that, no problem. He paused, glanced at the other two S's he had written, then carefully drew another S. T... I? N. Gunstin. Markass Gunstin, the paper now read. It wasn't the prettiest thing anyone could do, but it was... legible? Kind of? He all but threw the pen down and pushed the offending piece of paper back to the woman.
Mrs. Barthew retrieved the paper and looked it over. Blitz couldn't make out her expression, but she put it back down and pointed to the next blank line. "Home phone number." Then the next. "Work phone number." Then the next. "Address." And then the next. "Relation."
Blitz retreated into himself and felt his blood run cold. That was... way too much for him to try to write. His mind frantically tried to find a way out of it. But did he have any other choice? Of course he didn't.
Heaving a sigh, Blitz went to work.
It must've taken him at least thirty minutes, with expletives slipping from his lips, to finish the damn paper put before him. By the time he had finished, Mrs. Barthew had time to take a lunch break — right in front of him, even. He was sure she asked at one point, but he had hurriedly answered and didn't realize what she had asked until she was already pulling out a sandwich and munching away. He was far too focused on trying to make the damn paper legible, let alone correct.
But as soon as he finished, he threw the pen to the desk and slapped the paper in front of her. He gestured with an open hand. "There's your damn emergency contact or whatever."
The woman looked it over as she sipped away at a coffee that seemed to magically materialize on her desk. "Mhmm. Mhmm..." she hummed to herself. She set down the mug and stacked the paper with the others. "Perfect. And now, I will need an interview with you," she said, looking at Blitz with the same dull expression.
Blitz could feel his eye twitch. "An interview? Isn't this already a damn interview?" he asked.
"We could make it one."
"Then let's fucking do it."
"Cursing at me won't make this go faster," Mrs. Barthew reminded him.
Blitz huffed and sat back in his all-too-tall chair. "Fine. Whatever. Interview me."
"It says here," Mrs. Barthew tapped one of the papers, "That you live in the wrath ring."
"No," Blitz corrected. "I work in the wrath ring. I live in the pride ring."
She looked it over again and nodded. "Thank you for the clarification, Mr. Buckzo." She laced her fingers on the desk and looked at Blitz. "What makes you want to send your daughter here? You are aware that the human world is not accepting of any hellborn, correct?"
Blitz's stomach twisted again. He was worried this would come up, but he had remained hopeful it would be looked over. After all, the kindergarten was owned and run by hellborn. Every hellborn who dared to drop out their parent's uterus knew that demons and humans did not typically mix. So why would it even be a question?
And furthermore, on a more personal note, why dig up old wounds, making them fresh again? Their reasoning was their own, wasn't it?
He wrung his hands together and forced a smile. "W-well you see— Hell isn't— The human world is— The rings—" Her blank stare caused him to stumble into a mix of sounds that refused to make any words. He frowned. "Look, Linda — can I call you Linda? — I just need to send Loony here. She deserves the best, you know?"
Mrs. Barthew studied him carefully, looking at him over her glasses. He got the impression she wasn't convinced.
Blitz sighed, dropping his hands to his lap. "Wrath and pride... They aren't for kids like her. Wrath is... well, wrath. And pride is full of the worst of humankind." He swallowed as his words drifted off, and he looked down at his hands. He followed the scars on his skin, scars that would typically be covered by gloves.
"I just want her to be safe," he admitted.
There was a brief silence as his words hung thick in the air. He didn't dare to look up, fearing just what kind of look he was given.
"I only have a few more questions for you." Mrs. Barthew's voice was softer than Blitz expected. "Is she in any danger of being followed or attacked?"
Blitz looked up again. Finally, the first emotion he could see on her face: concern. Whether it was for him or for his daughter, he was unsure. "Uh. No. I mean. I don't think so?" he answered. "Probably not."
"And how do you plan on paying for her way through school? This is a private K-12 school district. Public schools in Hell are more affordable for hellborn like us."
It didn't even occur to him that the woman before him was a hellborn. She looked human enough, with curly grey hair, round cheeks, and dark eyes. But he could see it now; the gaze of a woman who has seen far too much. And with that, he noticed what he had missed before. The gaze she had been giving him wasn't one of dismissal or boredom. It was one of careful contemplation. She was studying him.
"I have a job." It seemed like the simplest of answers, really. "And a little money stashed away for her."
"Will that be enough for her school fees, school supplies, transportation, and lunches?"
Right. This was a school that was usually for rich pompous assholes who could afford to send their children across dimensions daily. Blitz, meanwhile... He wasn't, well, one of the rich pompous assholes. He was an asshole, sure, but he was far from rich and pompous. He was born into the circus, grew up in the circus, and juggled jobs since those days just as he used to poorly juggle pins in his childhood.
"Only one way to find out," he answered honestly.
Mrs. Barthew seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding. She pulled all the papers together, stapled them, then stamped a large red [ APPROVED ] on the empty box. Picking up the pen, she signed right beside the stamp. "Hand these to the front desk." She handed the papers over to Blitz. "We look forward to seeing Loona in class."
Blitz could feel his heart fluttering, the excitement welling up in him. A wide grin pulled across his entire face as he looked over the word APPROVED again and again. "Oh fuck yes!" he yelled as he jumped out of the seat and pumped a fist. "Suck it, bitch! Thought I couldn't do it? Well fuck you!" Then, of course, he suddenly remembered there was another person watching him. He looked at her. Then cleared his throat. "Thanks, Linda." Even with his smug attitude, the gratitude was genuine.
Mrs. Barthew nodded and Blitz turned on his heel. Just as he was walking toward the door, she stopped him by calling, "Oh, and one last thing."
He turned.
"We encourage children to develop their own half-human disguises for use in the human world to introduce them to the use of the spell without taking away their identity. We also encourage their parents to do the same while on school grounds to reinforce the behaviour."
Blitz stared at her. "A human disguise?"
"Yes."
"How the fuck—"
Mrs. Barthew smiled and leaned forward. "Good luck, Blitz Buckzo."
[ ~ ~ ~ ]
The giddiness had kept him going the entire week. Even at work, he was chipper and ready to start the day after a single cup of coffee rather than three.
Parting with Loona each day was always an ordeal — at least on Blitz's end. The child couldn't care less; she was aloof since the day he signed the foster paperwork. But for Blitz, he couldn't help worrying and fretting over her.
As he had exited the apartment on this particular day, he had a long one-sided conversation with the new babysitter about how to care for her, including repeating his own phone number no less than seven times. Did he always get it right? He wasn't sure, but hey, at least one of those times was said correctly. That counted, right?
Meanwhile, the babysitter just kept giving him the same "okay" answer over and over again, increasingly more agitated and annoyed.
Blitz stood outside the door of his apartment with his fists on his hips. His lips were pulled into a tight smile. "Yeup. She's in good hands." Was he trying to convince himself or the scattered eyes decorating the hallway? Yes.
He slung his apron over his shoulder and quickly stepped away before he could double back. He was already late enough as it was.
Down the five flights of stairs, into the busted sedan, through traffic that left him cursing and honking at every asshole who dared to exist, and into the parking lot of a small diner (former creamery) with a sign that should have read "Assassin's Creamery." The letters, however, had long been stolen and were simply left with, "Ass Cream." Just his kind of place, really — not that he could afford travelling far and wide for a better job. Gas mileage in his tiny sedan was atrocious.
It took a few slams of his car's door to get it to close properly. He didn't even bother with trying to lock it; it would only drain the battery at this point and leave him stranded in the wrath ring. Again.
Valuables weren't something in Blitz's possession, so trying to steal them from a car with an already broken driver's window wasn't very appealing. He was pretty sure, too, that anyone trying to force the door open in an attempt to steal it would give up the moment they realized it wasn't as easy as just pulling a handle.
Just to get in, one would have to lift the handle, twist said handle slightly counter clockwise until it wouldn't move anymore, kick the bottom of the door to realign it well enough for the top of the door hinge to not jam, and then give three solid yanks to pry the damn thing open. Even trying to open it from the inside through the window wasn't worth the trouble, given that only a portion of the handle existed anymore.
The effort would drive anyone insane.
As Blitz walked toward the shoddy diner, he pulled the cream coffee-stained apron over his head and began tying it behind his back. His fingers worked nimbly and quickly to do up the strings. By the time he was done, he was already pushing open the door with an elbow. "Hello, hello, Donna!" He greeted the woman behind the counter with a toothy smile.
The woman frowned at him, giving him an unamused glare. "Three minutes and forty seconds, Blitz."
"I'm here, aren't I?" Blitz slipped behind the counter and grabbed a coffee mug, pouring in the freshly brewed dark liquid of life.
"Lucky me," Donna deadpanned. "What's the excuse this time?"
Blitz took a large swig of coffee and spun on his heel, leaning against the counter with an elbow resting on its surface. "Teenagers." He took another swig. "All the damn babysitters in pride are either sinners wanting to steal your shit or teenagers who don't know how to look up from their damn phones."
"Says the one who texts on the job."
He ignored her comment. "You hire a teenager to watch your kid and they think you're just inviting them over to watch TV and eat your food." He downed the rest of the coffee in only a few gulps then tossed the ceramic mug into the sink. His antics were already known at this place, thus said sink had (thankfully) been lined with a silicone mat to protect their precious dishware from more damage.
"And you hire a shit for brains and he thinks all the coffee and sausages are for him."
"Yeah, well, customers don't seem to appreciate the good things in life."
Donna scoffed and grabbed a plate of steaming breakfast from the window behind her. She placed it before a man sitting at the bar. "That reminds me. I overheard Marcus talking. You keep that shit up and you're getting the axe," she warned.
"Pfft." Blitz once again waved her off. "He's all talk. That dick can't afford to find a new waiter for this dump. He can't even afford to replace his own sign."
Donna looked at him with a blank stare. "Each time he does, some asshole keeps removing letters."
Blitz opened the faucet and started humming a tune to himself as he began washing his hands.
"Someone in this very room."
He flicked off the water from his hands, grabbed a paper towel, and shut off the valve.
"Someone named Blitz."
Blitz looked at her. " 'Sup?"
She snorted and tried to suppress a smile. "Did you clock in?" she asked instead.
"Shit!"
[ ~ ~ ~ ]
Most of the day was uneventful for the wrath ring. The diner was far enough out of the way that the main thoroughfare never really hit it. Most types that came in were tired old men or farm workers waiting for the day to end. Though brawls were common in the wrath ring, they weren't often found at Assassin's Creamery. The most violence that really happened at the joint was an argument or a fight that would be taken outside almost immediately.
Donna seemed to like it that way, at least. She loved watching the drama unfold each time, but would subtly guide customers out before a full fight would break out.
Blitz, on the other hand, desired a full fight. He loved standing on the sidelines, cheering on whoever seemed to be winning at the time. Then once it was over, he would declare that he "always knew they would win."
Blitz twirled a pen in his hand as he held an open notebook in his other. His hooves were killing him by this time, having been on his feet for nearly 6 hours now. "No, we don't have any more waffles. That's a morning thing," he stated for what seemed like the fourth time in the last hour.
The man at the booth scoffed and threw his menu onto the table. "Well, then make some!" he demanded.
Blitz could feel the annoyance growing within him. "We're a diner. Not a goddamn waffle house," he snapped back. "You want waffles, go to a waffle house."
The man leaned forward and glowered up at Blitz. "I ain't in no goddamn waffle house, now am I?"
"No. You're not." Blitz stopped twirling his pen. "So we don't have waffles at fuckin' 5 o'clock in the goddamn afternoon."
"You still have the batter, don'tcha?"
Blitz slammed the notepad on the table and leaned forward. "We sure do. You want waffles? How 'bout you go into the kitchen and make yourself some?"
The customer stood from the booth. He towered over Blitz. His shoulders were broader, his muscles larger. Blitz could see now that the guy was a farmer, not some old fart hunched over a booth. "I'm not the one wearing an apron," he growled. He stepped forward, forcing Blitz away from the table.
Blitz didn't back down. Instead, he stood taller. "You've got two hands and a working brain." He smirked. "Well. Working brain might be a bit of a stretch for you, huh?"
The man snarled and leapt for the lankier imp.
Not expecting a fight to break out so soon, Blitz was caught off guard and found himself on his back with the larger man straddling him. He kicked at the air behind him and struggled to protect his face from flying fists.
As soon as he saw an opening, he threw his head forward and slammed his horns into his forehead.
The man let out a yell and threw himself back, hand reaching up to hold his head.
Blitz took this as an opportunity to slip out from under him, twisting in a full circle to deliver a kick to the man's shoulder. He didn't move. "Oh shit."
The man grabbed the leg that had struck him and stood quickly, taking Blitz with him.
"Oh mother fuck—" Blitz said as he was thrown over the booth and crashed through the window. He scrambled to his feet just as the man leapt on top of the booth.
There almost seemed to be smoke blowing out the man's nostrils as he snorted. He crouched through the broken window and jumped to the ground. The earth seemed to tremble under his weight.
This time, Blitz expected the fist flying at him. He ducked under the swing and delivered a punch to the man's stomach, grabbed him by the horns as he doubled, and yanked him down while bringing up his knee. His knee slammed into the man's nose and sent him stumbling backwards as Blitz released his grip.
It didn't seem to phase the man too much, aside from the blood now trickling down his face. He caught himself from falling and then charged Blitz with a yell.
Blitz tried to dance out of the way, but was caught in the sweeping of the man's arm. He yelped as he was grabbed and whipped around, his back slamming into the wall. The man held him there by his forearm, hand twisted into the fabric of his shirt.
He kicked and clawed at the man's forearm as his back was dragged up the brick wall. His tail wrapped around the man's leg and tried to yank it to no avail..
The man leaned closer, eyes red hot daggers and lips curled into a sneer. "You're gonna regret ever bein' born," he growled.
"Yeah? Well you're gonna-" Blitz choked out against the man's forearm, "You're gonna regret—"
He was cut off by a blow to his stomach. He was left breathless for more than a moment, then coughed violently as air rushed back into his lungs.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Blitz found his opening when the man stepped back to ready another punch, leaving a larger space between the two.
In one swift movement, Blitz curled his thighs to his chest, pressed his ankles together, and kicked as hard as he could.
His hooves dug into the man's chest, straight at his lower sternum.
It was enough force to loosen the man's pressure on his collarbone. Blitz braced himself against the wall. At the same time as he twisted his body to put one hoof on the man's chest and the other on his stomach, his tail wrapped around his stumbling feet and yanked as hard as it could.
And down the man went, with Blitz riding him like a surfboard. He held onto the man's arm and yanked, pulling himself closer and bending his knees as the man fell. The moment his back hit the ground, Blitz pushed off of him with one final kick.
He landed a few feet away in the arms of safety, chest heaving. Blitz's tail whipped as he stared down at the larger man now sprawled out on the ground. He opened his smirking lips for a taunt, but a booming voice cut him off before he could.
"BLITZO BUCKZO."
"The 'o' is silent, asshole!" Blitz snapped as he looked over his shoulder. Immediately, he regretted his words.
A man stood in the doorway of the diner, his tail lashing violently. Red hot eyes bore into Blitz's. His cheeks were darkened with anger.
Marcus Gunstein.
Blitz's employer stormed forward, and he grabbed a fistful of his employee's shirt. He yanked him down to his height with his face only inches away. "What in the absolute FUCK do you think you're doing?" he roared. He shoved Blitz away with enough force to trip up the taller imp. "Fuck it. I don't want to know. Get the heaven out of here — and don't come back."
"What are you-"
"I mean you're fired, asshole. Get out of here."
Blitz scrambled to his feet. He felt a mixture of shame and anger. His lips twisted into a deep frown, then a toothy snarl. "What, you won't even let me finish my damn shift?" he snapped back.
Marcus forcefully pointed toward the near-broken sedan. "Now , Blitz," he demanded.
Blitz's blood ran cold. He stared in disbelief, then sneered. "Fine." He untied his apron and ripped it from his head, tossing it to the ground. "I wouldn't want to work in a shit hole like this anyway. Fucking Ass Cream." He turned on his heel and stormed toward his car.
In his anger, he couldn't follow the very complicated instructions on how to open his own door. Curses, insults, and threats spilled from his lips as his tail lashed in frustration. The moment he got it open, he plopped himself inside, grabbed the open window, and slammed it shut with enough force to only need one swing.
He fumbled with the keys before shoving them inside the ignition and turning. The engine sputtered. He cursed and turned the key once more. The engine sputtered again, and then he heard a loud CLUNK . Smoke seeped out of the hood and drifted into the air.
Blitz threw his head forward and slammed into the horn.
Fuck this place.
Fuck it in its entire asshole.
[ ~ ~ ~ ]
Getting home was so much more trouble than it was worth. If it weren't for Loona waiting for him, he would have said "fuck it" and slept in the backseat. The tow truck took a full hour just to arrive in the wrath ring, then an extra hour just trying to find the damn diner. Nevermind actually towing the car back to the apartment building. Blitz couldn't even ride in the passenger seat like he tried to convince the driver to let him do; he had to take public transport.
In the meantime, Blitz was stuck standing against his car, staring at the sky. He had tried his hardest to ignore everything going on in the diner or the dirty glares he got from his boss through the broken window.
He at least had half a mind to call the babysitter to warn he would be away for longer than anticipated.
The car had been towed into the parking lot of the apartment building, where it now rested in a peaceful slumber. The engine hadn't blown, thankfully, but would need some serious maintenance before it could be started again. When he could afford that now he was out of a job, Blitz had no idea. Public transportation was less than lacking in Hell.
His keys jingled in his hands as he tried to separate the apartment key from all the random keys he had found on the ground over the past few years. He shoved one into the keyhole, realized it was the wrong one, and tried again with another. The lock turned with a click, and he opened the door.
His eyes immediately searched for his daughter. He was instead met with the babysitter standing up from the table and walking over to him.
She held out her hand with a bored expression. "60 dollars," she demanded flat out.
Blitz looked at her in mild shock. "What? Really?" he asked.
"Minimum wage is 6 dollars an hour. You left me alone for 10 hours. You're lucky I'm not charging you overtime, old man." The babysitter wiggled her fingers. "Cough it up."
Blitz sighed heavily and reached into his pocket to grab his wallet. He thumbed through the bills, took out five 20s, and slapped them down on the girl's hand. "Take it." Imps deserved so much more than 6 goddamn bucks an hour — even teenagers. Imps were the "unskilled labour" of the rings, even considered free labour due to many choosing to not pay their employees for their labour. Hellhounds were even worse off, often being bought or sold. A well-paid hellhound was a diamond in a coal mine.
The girl looked down at her hand in surprise, counted the bills no less than three times, then looked at Blitz with wide eyes. She opened her mouth, stuttered, then blurted out, "Thank you." With that, she rushed past him and out the door, slamming it as she went through.
Blitz waved it off. He was too tired to care, too frustrated to ask about the day from her. He just wanted to talk to his daughter and decompress from this shitty day in this shitty world.
He walked over to the couch and looked over it to see Loona lounging on the cushions. The 5-year-old held a Sintendo TS in her hands. On the screen, he could see one of the only games he could purchase for her at the time: Sintendogs: Hellhound Friends.
"Hey, Loonie, whatcha doing?" he asked as he placed a hand on the back of the couch.
Loona didn't answer. She stood from the couch, and without even glancing at Blitz, started to walk toward the only bedroom of the house.
"How was the—" The door slammed before he could finish his question. "Babysitter..."
Blitz heaved out a sigh and rounded the couch. He threw himself down on it and stared at the ceiling. His mind was both quiet and loud at the same time. The thoughts swirled around in his head in a cacophony of noise, but each thought drowned itself out and left him with only white noise. He groaned and pressed the butts of his palms into his eyes in an attempt to quiet the roar.
No use.
He dragged his hands down his face and reached for his phone. It was beat up and cracked, but usable. He turned on the screen and stared at the time.
8:16.
... 8:17.
Damnit...
It was past dinnertime.
His annoyance flickered to life at a new notification of a text message from Donna. 'Told you,' it read. He groaned and tossed the phone to the end table. It bounced from the wood and onto the floor, rattling to a stop.
He laid there, staring at the ceiling in exhaustion, for what felt like an eternity. In reality, he knew it was probably only a few minutes. A few minutes that could have been spent making dinner for Loona, he reminded himself.
Another sigh and he got up off the couch. He paused, however, as his eyes settled on the TS resting on the couch's arm. Gingerly, he picked it up. He stared at it in silent debate. He opened the screen and was met with the sight of a dog with its paws on the screen, as if looking directly at him. In its mouth, it held a box wrapped in a bow.
It took him longer than he would have liked to read the text on the other screen. As he read it, he mouthed the words to cement them in his mind. His name was the first thing he recognized.
'Blitz must have found something. He's bringing it to you!'
Curious, he opened the gift (a yellow flying disc). What was that all about? And even more, what in heaven was this dog...? It didn't look anything like the hellhounds found in the rings. He tapped the screen, growing more and more confused with the different prompts that came up. He jumped at the whistle and glanced around frantically to make sure Loona hadn't overheard. Then, finally, he tapped on his name.
"German... shepherd..." Blitz retrieved his phone from the floor and, still crouching down, he typed the text exactly as he saw it. It took a few tries, but eventually, he opened a blinding white page with walls of text. Overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information, he backed out of the screen and searched instead for 'german shepherd sintendogs.'
There, that was better.
He mouthed the words he found in the description of the breed.
'This herder hails from Germany. Its high intelligence makes it a good rescue dog, among other things.'
As he read the word 'rescue dog', he found tears welling in his eyes. He sat back onto his rump, tail curling around him, as a trembling hand pressed against his lips. He read the words over and over again.
A good rescue dog. A good rescue dog...
He sucked in a shaky breath and looked toward the closed bedroom door.
A good rescue.
A/N 2: Electric Boogaloo
Hope you liked this chapter! I'll try to get the next one out... uh... someday!