Its like an alternate reality where Blitzø and Stolas stayed in touch and fell in love and blitzø adopted loona way earlier because he was more responsible and stolas and stella got a divorce right after producing an heir.
I’m back with my Hellaverse crossover!! Starting of with angel Jim and Toby.
So carrying on from the law established by the first post, this is before the events of Jim being sent to hell and loosing his memory’s. I kept thinking hard about what the inciting incident would be for these two to separate, and much like in the original show, it’s not really a choice.
The previous holder of “The sigil” kanjigar, was slain during a mission on earth. Following his demise the sigil was lost. In truth however, in its weekend state it finds its way to a worthy soul and tethers itself there. Until the day it returns to heaven with a new champion, and its mission restored.
Jim in this universe, dies saving people from a fire that had come ablaze in a movie theatre one evening out with Toby. When the fire became apparent, naturally Jim risked his life managing to get everyone out, including Toby … but loosing his own life in the process.
That act of bravery earns him his flaming blue wings, a symbol of his corrage and sacrifice. When Jim reaches heaven he mornes the loss his death must impact on his family, especially his mother. When he promised he would never leave her.
But Emily helps him to get settled and overtime come to peice with his afterlife. Finding a new roll in heavens society helping others. Quietly awaiting the day he can see his family again.
It’s only a few years later that Toby arives to join him, the fire having had lasting consequences. Toby takes on the form of an orange cat due to his playful nature and overall love for the felines. There reunion is so wholesome.
But months later a threat is made on heaven from an unknown force. A force that had crawled its way from earth and attempted diging its roots into other realms.
With the sigils strenth restored, it reveals itself, and an instinct unknown to Jim kicks in, taking down the evil that had wondered passed the pearly gates with a brilliant silver sword.
The Arc angel Merlin only then presents himself amoungst a green flame to his new champion. Proving to the council of angels that doubted him that his weapon still remained true even after all these years.
But the roots were only the start, to truly uproot this threat it must be tracked down to the source. kanjigar failed to find it on earth and so a new champion must depart this realm to search for it in another… hell.
Merlin informs the boy of this duty, but the sacrifice it will cost on his afterlife, and even the life before. For to hold the sigils true potential, one must be reborn.
Jim thinks of his mother and the afterlife he wants to give her. And what this evil would do for Toby, or rather any soul seeking peice, and reluctantly accepts.
You know the rest from there.
Unfortunately Toby is unable to Join Jim in this adventure, but they made a promise to each other this would not be the last time they see one another. Because some friendships find there way to transcend even time and space. They will meet again. Toby was sure of it.
But after his friend was gone, Toby still held a regret, of one thing he never got to tell Jim.
So Toby waits, but not alone, he’s got Nanna, oh and more cats!
hey! heads up guys if you ever interacted with this dude, he is a serial groomer, stay away from him. he’s victimized 5 separate people in a period of 2 years. as well as having a history with zoophilic behavior, he has supported several creators with pasts of racism and grooming, has a hypocritical stance on AI and acts in parasocial creepy ways towards those who has hurt. he lies about the extent of his actions and when confronted creates new aliases. he is a dangerous individual who needs to be condemned for his actions
please read the doc to get the full story and stay safe and away from this dude
TW for grooming, suicide, zoophilia, sexual misconduct with minors, and predation This document was made to detail the actions of an active
Warnings ⚠️: it's hell ? ... so hellish stuff lecherous dudes, Canon typical violence, swearing, eventual smut, some canon typical religious overtones, alcohol consumption, self-deprecation, angst, blood, horror elements, body horror.
Part 2 | Part 4
🔪 You'd Run Too 🦉 P.3
Or: What's with all the Horses ?
"Alright, shitheads, I'm out!" Blitz announced, grabbing his keys from his desk. The office had finally emptied out—Moxxie and Millie had left an hour ago, heading home to do whatever disgustingly domestic things they did. "Come on, let's go."
You looked up from the couch where you'd been sitting for the past... god, you'd lost track of time. "Go where?"
"My place. Unless you wanna sleep in the office again, but I'm pretty sure that couch has bedbugs. Or... Hell bugs. Whatever." He jangled his keys impatiently. "I don't have all night tits."
"Your... your apartment?" You stood slowly, wrapping your arms around yourself. The idea of going to Blitz's home felt like crossing some kind of line.
"No, I'm taking you to fucking Loo Loo Land. YES, my apartment!" He was already heading for the door. "Look, it's not great, but it's got a couch that probably won't give you diseases and a door that locks. That's more than most places in Hell can offer."
You followed him out, watching as he locked up I.M.P. with three different locks, a chain, and what looked like a explosive device that glowed faintly.
"Is all that really necessary?" you asked.
"You'd be surprised how many people want to break into a murder business," he said casually, pocketing the keys. "Plus, Moxxie's paranoid about someone stealing his fucking... I dunno, his little bow tie collection or whatever."
The streets of Hell at night were somehow worse than during the day. The red sky had deepened to a dark crimson, and the streetlights which looked like they were flickering like they were striaght out of a horror film, cast everything in an eerie glow. Demons stumbled past, some clearly drunk, others just... existing in ways that made your brain hurt.
You stayed close to Blitz, who seemed entirely unbothered by the chaos around him.
"So, uh..." you started, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence. "Do you live far?"
"Couple blocks. Try not to make eye contact with anyone. Or if you do, look mean. Scared is like... demon catnip or some shit." He glanced at you. "Actually, maybe just stay close and let me do the intimidating."
"I can be intimidating," you protested weakly.
He snorted. "Sure you can, tough guy."
The apartment building was about as run-down as you'd expected—crumbling brick, graffiti in languages you couldn't read, and a front door that hung slightly crooked on its hinges. Blitz led you up three flights of stairs that creaked ominously under your feet, down a hallway that smelled like sulfur and something burnt, and finally stopped at a door.
"Home sweet shithole," he announced, unlocking what looked like four different locks. "Welcome to Casa de Blitz."
He pushed the door open, and you stepped inside.
The apartment was... well, calling it "lived-in" was generous. It was small—a living room/kitchen combo, a door beyond the kitchen that presumably led to a bathroom, and a very well adorned door with various signs about staying out with what looked like crime scene tape across it. The furniture looked like it had been collected from various dumpsters over the years. But what really caught your attention was the décor.
Horse posters, and horses. Everywhere.
Horses on the walls. Horse figurines on shelves. A horse-shaped pillow on the couch. A fucking framed picture of a horse in a top hat.
"Um," you said eloquently. "That's... a lot of horses."
"You got a problem with horses?" Blitz asked defensively, kicking the door shut behind you.
"No! No, I just... didn't expect..." You gestured vaguely at the equine explosion surrounding you.
"Horses are majestic as FUCK, okay? They're beautiful and powerful and they don't judge you for your life choices!" He paused. "Unlike SOME people."
You wisely decided not to comment further on the horse situation.
The apartment was cluttered but not dirty, exactly. Just... chaotic. Empty takeout containers stacked on the coffee table, papers scattered across every surface, weapons casually lying around like they were decorative pieces. A throw blanket with—you guessed it—horses on it was draped over the back of the couch.
"Bathroom's there if you need it," Blitz said, throwing his keys onto a side table. "There's one bedroom but that's Loona's room and she'll actually murder you if you go in there, so the couch is your bed. Sorry, not sorry."
"Loona?" you asked.
"My daughter. Hellhound. She's at a... friend's place tonight." The way he said 'friend' suggested he had Opinions about this. "Which is good because she'd probably eat you or something. She's not the greatest with new people."
"She'd... eat me?" Your voice came out very small.
"I mean, probably not. Like, seventy-thirty odds." He shrugged. "Anyway, you hungry? I was gonna make dinner."
Your stomach growled in response, betraying you. You hadn't eaten since the questionable breakfast burrito yesterday morning.
"I'll take that as a yes." Blitz headed into the kitchen area, rummaging through cabinets.
You settled onto the couch, which was surprisingly comfortable despite looking like it had survived a war. The horse pillow dug into your back, so you moved it aside, trying not to think too hard about your current situation.
You were in Hell. In a demon's apartment. Surrounded by horse memorabilia.
Blitz was clattering around in the kitchen, pulling out a frying pan that had definitely seen better days. You watched as he opened what looked like a bag of charcoal—actual charcoal, the kind you'd use for a barbecue.
"Um," you said. "What are you making?"
"Dinner," he replied, like that explained anything.
He dumped a generous amount of coal into the pan and turned on the stove. The coals started to glow, heating up, going from black to red to a bright, angry orange.
You sat up straighter. "Blitz, I don't think you're supposed to—"
He grabbed the pan handle and, with the casual confidence of someone who'd done this a thousand times, tilted it toward his face. The red-hot coals tumbled out of the pan and directly into his open mouth.
You screamed.
"BLITZ!" You launched yourself off the couch, sprinting toward him. "OH MY GOD, SPIT THEM OUT!"
He looked at you with genuine confusion, cheeks bulging with literal burning coals, and tried to say something that came out muffled.
You didn't think. You just reacted, slapping him hard on the back—harder than you'd ever hit anything in your life. Once, twice, three times.
He coughed, and the coals came flying out, directly into your outstretched hands.
For one brief, stupid moment, you held them.
Then the pain hit.
"FUCKKK!" You dropped them into the sink immediately, but the damage was done. Your palms were screaming, the skin already blistering angry red. "Oh god, oh fuck, that HURTS—"
You cranked on the water, shoving your hands under the stream. The cold water helped but the pain was still intense, bringing tears to your eyes.
"What the FUCK was that?!" Blitz shouted, staring at you like you'd lost your mind.
"What was THAT?! You just ATE BURNING COALS!" you shouted back, voice cracking. "You were CHOKING—"
"I was EATING!" He gestured wildly at the sink where the coals were now hissing in the water. "That's my fucking DINNER!"
"PEOPLE DON'T EAT COALS!"
"I DO, cheese and hot sauce!"
You stared at each other, both breathing hard. Your hands were throbbing, the pain radiating up your arms.
"Oh," you said faintly. "Oh, I... well you could have fucking told me."
"Why the fuck would you—" He looked at your hands, still under the water, and his expression shifted from angry to alarmed. "Shit. SHIT. Okay, fuck, stop—turn off the water."
"But it hurts—"
"I KNOW it hurts, but you're gonna make it worse!" He grabbed your wrists, pulling your hands out from under the stream. The skin was already blistering badly, angry red welts forming across both palms. "Satan's fucking balls, you really grabbed red-hot coals. What the fuck were you thinking?!"
"I was thinking you were gonna die!" Tears were streaming down your face now, from pain and stress and the sheer insanity of the situation.
"I'm already in hell, I can—fuck, that's not the point!" He was pulling you toward the couch, sitting you down with a gentleness that belied his shitty attitude. "Stay here. Don't move. And stop fucking crying, it's making me uncomfortable!"
He disappeared and you could hear him rummaging through what sounded like a bathroom cabinet, swearing steadily in a stream of creative profanity.
"Fucking stupid fucking humans fucking grabbing fucking hot shit FUCK—where the FUCK is the—AH-HA!"
He returned with a first aid kit that looked like it had been through its own personal hell, half the contents spilling out as he dropped it on the coffee table.
"Okay, let me see." He grabbed your hands again, examining them with a critical eye. "Well, you definitely fucked them up good. Like, really fucking good. Gold star for commitment."
"It hurts," you whimpered.
"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you grab BURNING COALS!" He was pulling out bandages, some kind of ointment, his movements quick and surprisingly practiced. "Hold still."
The ointment stung when he applied it, and you hissed through your teeth.
"I know, I know, it fucking sucks," he muttered, his touch careful despite his harsh words. "But this'll help. Probably. It's medicine for hellborns so who the fuck knows what it'll do to a human, but it's better than nothing."
"That's not comforting!"
"I'm not TRYING to be comforting, I'm trying to fix your stupid fucking hands!" He started wrapping them with bandages, his fingers surprisingly deft. "Satan's fucking taint, this is such a clusterfuck..."
"I'm sorry," you said quietly. "I thought you were hurt. Where I'm from, eating fire is... not normal."
He paused in his wrapping, looking up at you. His expression was hard to read—frustration, definitely, but something else too.
"Yeah, well," he said finally. "You're not from here. Gonna have to remember that."
He finished bandaging your hands, tying off the last of the gauze with more care than you'd expected. Your hands looked like white clubs now, but the pain had dulled to a manageable throb.
"There. Try not to use them for a few days. Or, like, at all if you can help it." He sat back, looking at his handiwork. "And maybe ask before you decide to play hero next time."
"Noted," you said weakly.
"You want something to eat? Something that won't fucking burn you?" He asked, standing up.
"Please."
He disappeared back into the kitchen, and you heard him rummaging through the fridge. "I got... uh... some leftover pizza that's probably only half-sentient. And what might be Chinese food but could also be a cry for help. Take your pick."
"Pizza's fine," you called back, leaning your head against the couch. Your hands were still throbbing, and you felt exhausted down to your bones.
The pizza had been... edible. Barely. You'd managed to eat a slice using just your fingertips, which was an adventure. Blitz had eaten the rest straight from the box while watching what appeared to be Hell's version of reality TV—which was somehow more violent and more dramatic than Earth's version.
Now you were curled up on the couch under the horse blanket, your bandaged hands resting carefully on your stomach. The exhaustion from the day—from the past few days, really—was finally catching up to you. Your eyelids felt heavy, the low murmur of the TV becoming white noise.
"You falling asleep?" Blitz's voice came from somewhere to your left.
"Mm," you managed, already half-gone.
"Yeah, figured. You look like shit." There was a rustling sound, and then the horse blanket was being tucked more securely around you. "Try not to roll off the couch or whatever."
You might have mumbled something in response, but sleep was already pulling you under. The last thing you registered was the TV volume being turned down, and then... nothing.
Blitz watched as your breathing evened out, your face finally relaxing from the perpetual tension it had been carrying since you'd fallen into his fucked-up life. Your bandaged hands were resting on top of the blanket, and he felt a twinge of something uncomfortable in his chest.
Guilt, maybe. Responsibility. Some other bullshit emotion.
He needed a cigarette.
Quietly—which wasn't really his style, but whatever—he grabbed his pack from the kitchen counter and his phone, and made his way to the door that led to the fire escape. The metal groaned slightly as he stepped out, but you didn't stir.
The night air of Hell was warm and smelled like sulfur and smog, but it was better than being cooped up inside. He lit up, taking a long drag and letting the familiar burn settle his nerves.
His phone rang before he could even properly enjoy his cigarette.
STOLZ
"For fuck's sake," he muttered, but answered anyway. "Yeah?"
"Blitzy!" Stolas's voice came through warm and pleased. "I hope I'm not calling too late. I know you have such peculiar sleeping habits."
"I'm having a fucking cigarette, what do you want?" Blitz kept his voice low, glancing back through the window to make sure you were still asleep.
"So testy! I do love when you're irritable, it's absolutely delicious." Stolas's tone was playful, that familiar flirtatious lilt that usually made Blitz want to throw his phone off a building. "I wanted to discuss our little human problem."
"She's asleep, make it quick."
"Oh good, this conversation is better had privately anyway." The playfulness didn't entirely leave Stolas's voice, but something more serious crept in underneath. "I've been going through my collection—the older texts, some rather obscure volumes gathering dust in the east wing. Fascinating reading, really, if you're into that sort of—"
"Stolas. The point. Get to it."
"Right, yes." A pause, and Blitz could almost see him adjusting his reading glasses or whatever pretentious thing he did when he was thinking. "I found something. A passage in a text about dimensional barriers and more baiser blood magic. Very old, written in a dialect that's nearly dead—took me ages to translate properly."
Blitz took another drag of his cigarette, his tail curling tensely around his leg. "And?"
"It speaks of mortals who carry certain... lineages. Bloodlines that have been touched by Hell in generations past." Stolas's voice had gone more clinical, the way it did when he was discussing magic theory. "Deals made by ancestors and inherited by offspring, demonic contracts that bind entire family lines. That sort of thing."
"Okay? What's that got to do with—" Blitz stopped. "Wait. You think she's one of these FUCKING dum..."
"If—and I must emphasize IF—a living mortal with such a lineage enters Hell, the realm itself can recognize them. Claim them, in a sense." Stolas paused. "The barrier you experienced when trying to send her back... it could be Hell itself refusing to release her. Not because she's trapped, but because it sees her as... belonging here."
"That's fucking insane." Blitz's cigarette had burned down to the filter without him noticing. He dropped it, crushing it under his boot. "She's human. She's never been here before. She doesn't have any—"
"This magic doesn't care about the present, Blitzy. It cares about ancestry. Someone in her family line, even centuries back, could have made a deal with a demon, signed a soul contract, or some other such connection. This passes down through generations, dormant and invisible at least to the mortal eye. Until something awakens it."
"Like falling into this FUCKING shitstorm."
"Precisely." Stolas sighed, and it sounded genuinely troubled. "The realm recognizes the bloodline marker and... awakens it, for lack of a better term. Suddenly she's not seen as a foreign entity and cannot be expelled."
Blitz lit another cigarette. "So what, she's just stuck here? Forever? Because of some bullshit her great-great-whatever did?"
"I don't know yet. Blood magic is complicated, and this passage raises far more questions than it answers, its not excatly complete, there are several pages missing darling. " There was the sound of pages turning. "It—this is all theoretical at this point im afaird."
"How theoretical?"
"Very. This is barely half a passage in one book, and the translation is imperfect at best. I could be completely wrong about all of this." Stolas paused. "Which is why, Blitzy, I need you to promise me something."
"What?"
"Don't tell her. Not yet."
Blitz's grip tightened on his phone. "You want me to LIE to her?"
"I want you to spare her the terror of a possibility that may not even be accurate," Stolas corrected gently. "She's already frightened, already overwhelmed. Telling her that she might be bound to some kind of hellion deal, when I'm not even certain it's true... that would be cruel. And you, my dear Blitzy, are many things, but you're not cruel."
"Fuck you and your psychoanalysis bullshit," Blitz growled, but there was no real heat in it.
"I'm going to continue researching. I'll examine every text I have, anything that might give us answers." Stolas's voice was firm with determination. "But until I have something concrete—proof that this is actually what's happening—there's no point in terrifying her with speculation."
Blitz looked through the window at your sleeping form, curled up small on his couch, your bandaged hands looking painfully fragile in the dim light.
"How long until you know for sure?"
"I can't say. Days, if I'm lucky. Weeks or perhaps months, more likely. This isn't exactly a popular field of study anymore." The sound of Stolas standing, books being closed. "I'll work as quickly as I can, I promise you that."
"And if it IS this bullshit? If she really is stuck here?"
"Then we find a way to unstick her," Stolas said firmly. "There's always a loophole, always a way around these things. Magic is just another set of rules, and rules can be bent. Or broken entirely, if one is sufficiently motivated."
"Yeah, well, you better be real fucking motivated, feathers."
"For that precious little star? I'm extraordinarily motivated." There was something in Stolas's tone that Blitz couldn't quite parse—something warm and genuine and not at all like their usual transactional conversations. "She doesn't deserve this. Neither of you do."
"Since when do you give a shit about what people deserve?"
"Since always, darling. You just rarely pay attention." Stolas's voice softened further. "Take care of her, Blitzy. And take care of yourself. I know you'll blame yourself for this, but it truly isn't your fault."
"Yeah, well, feels pretty fucking fault-y from where I'm standing."
"Nevertheless." A pause. "I'll call you with an update. Try to get some rest."
"Sure, because rest is definitely happening tonight," Blitz said sarcastically.
"Blitzy?"
"What?"
"You're doing well with her." Stolas's voice was warm, almost proud. "She's lucky to have someone looking out for her."
"Fuck off with that sentimental shit."
Stolas's laugh was soft and fond. "Goodnight, darling."
The line went dead.
Blitz stood on the fire escape for a long moment, staring at his phone. Then at you through the window. Then at the red sky of Hell above him, eternal and unchanging and thoroughly fucked up.
"Christ on a fucking stick" he whispered to the night.
He stepped back through the door, moving quietly across the apartment. You were still deeply asleep, your breathing slow and even. He stood there for a moment, watching you, this stupid, fragile human who'd accidentally fallen into Hell and landed directly into his disaster of a life.
Your bandaged hands twitched slightly in your sleep, and your face scrunched up like you were having a bad dream.
Without really thinking about it, Blitz reached down and adjusted the horse blanket, making sure you were fully covered. You settled almost immediately, your expression smoothing out.
"Don't fucking die on me," he muttered quietly. "I got enough bullshit without adding 'let the human die' to the list."
He retreated to the beanbag in the opposite corner of the room, but he knew he wouldn't sleep.
