Chapter Text
Rate My Professor
Dr. Buckzo:
Ty S.
Dude is built like a fuckin munchkin from the wizard of Oz and swears like a sailor on meth but ig i did learn something. 7.5/10
Alaria P.
On the first day he told us he used to be in the circus and that he’s killed five people. Didnt know whether to laugh or report him to the authorities. Hes the kind of guy who would have mafia ties tho so i just smiled and nodded.
4/10
Dennis
Hottest prof at Wrath U, didnt learn shit about history but learned a lot about the human body if u know what i mean 9/10
Hanna T
I wanted to give him a 0/10 because he’s a complete piece of shit but damn, this guy knows a lot about world war 2 and he gave me an A on my paper about how annoying Christian Savior narratives are in media depictions of that time so he’s good by me 5/10
Alex G
I looked him up and he isnt even a doctor???? And when i literally asked him straight up about it in class he was like “what are you, a cop?” and honestly thats fair. This guy sucks tho. Dont take his class.
3/10
“Those are definitely….mixed reviews, huh?”
Stolas jumps, nearly falling out of his seat as he scrambles to block the computer screen.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I wasn’t looking at anything!” he says, punctuating the words with nervous laughter like that will make it better.
Asmodeus just continues to sip his coffee, staring Stolas down until he wilts.
“Fine. I was reading the reviews again. Are you happy?”
Asmodeus shrugs. “It’s no big deal. I’m just glad it wasn’t his OnlyFans. This is a school computer, if you wanna check that out I’m all for it, obviously, but maybe use your laptop.”
“He has an OnlyFans???” Stolas gasps, and Asmodeus sighs.
“I was making a joke, Stolas. I mean, all of us have one, so I wouldn’t be surprised, but-”
“Wait a second, what do you mean, ‘all of us’?”
Asmodeus raises an eyebrow. “Did you not know about mine and Fizzy’s accounts? I thought I sent you an exclusive invite?”
“Oh, that?” Stolas sighs and falls back into his chair, “I did see that. Aren’t you the school President, though?”
“What, you don’t think it’s moral for me to-”
“Calm down,” Stolas says, stopping Ozzie’s train of thought, “I just mean…you’re both millionaires already. What’s the point?”
Ozzie rolls his eyes. “Haven’t you ever heard of having fun, Stolas?”
Stolas crosses his arms. “I have fun!” he insists, and Ozzie sighs again.
“Stolas, when was the last time you were laid?”
“That’s none of your-”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Asmodeus interrupts, heading for the door, “I’m just saying, instead of pining after a man who wants nothing to do with you, maybe you should pine after someone who will pine back?” He pauses in the doorway, tapping a finger to his chin. “Or, like, at least get on Grindr,” he says, and Stolas almost throws a stapler at him.
“Get out, Ozzie!” he says, but Asmodeus is already gone, his laughter trailing down the hallway.
Once he’s certain Ozzie is gone, Stolas drops his head in his hands.
What sucks is that everything Ozzie said was true.
Sex aside, Stolas doesn’t ever have fun. He looks around his office, taking in the many awards and owl paintings on the wall. This place used to make him feel so proud. But right now, with his loneliness and depression taking over, it just makes him feel empty.
He glances at the computer screen.
Ozzie is right. He needs to stop this.
He’s the Dean, for fuck’s sake. He’s important. He’s important, and rich, and anyone would be lucky to have him.
Unfortunately for Stolas, there’s only one person he actually wants.
He looks around furtively, as though someone has put a camera in his office over the course of the last few seconds, and then opens the bottom drawer of his desk with shaking hands.
The photo strip is tucked in between the pages of an old encyclopedia, but he has no trouble locating it. He’s looked for it enough times before.
Once he finds it, he pulls it out and just stares. He tries not to do this too often, but today he can’t help himself.
The four pictures on the strip vary wildly in their levels of seriousness.
The top photo shows Stolas sitting on the bench provided by the photo booth. Blitzo is standing behind him, giving him bunny ears, of all things. They were twenty five years old, and Stolas distinctly remembers teasing him about it.
“Bunny ears? What are we, twelve?”
Blitzo shrugged. “Fuck you, it was the first thing I could think of. Heads up, time for the second one.”
Stolas rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. What do you want to do for this one? You barely fit in the frame with me, though.”
Stolas remembers trying to conceal his laughter when Blitzo angrily stomped his feet.
“Fine, Tall Guy, what about this then?”
Stolas had stopped laughing after that, because before he knew what was happening, Blitzo had jumped onto his lap.
The second photo shows the immediate aftermath of that, Stolas blushing furiously while Blitzo grins that impish grin of his.
“What do you think of that, asshole?”
Stolas had answered the only way he knew how.
Pictures three and four are the only proof Stolas has that he and Blitzo ever kissed.
~
Blitzo has a headache.
He’s pretty sure he’s had a headache for the past eight years, at least, but today it’s worse than usual.
He stumbles into his apartment, reaching for Tylenol before he even gets to his kitchen.
“I’m going out.”
He turns to find Loona standing in the living room, hefting a bag over her shoulders.
“Loony, you’re going out again? Are you coming back tonight, at least?”
Loona hums as she checks her eyeliner in the mirror. “Probably not. We’ll see where the night takes me.”
“Is there even a fucking point in asking where you’re going?”
“None at all,” Loona says, “You look like shit, by the way.”
Blitzo falls heavily into the kitchen chair. “Thanks so much, I really needed to hear that,” he deadpans.
“I’m just saying, like…” Loona hesitates, like she’s considering her next words, “Maybe you should go out tonight, too.”
“Excuse me?”
Loona huffs in frustration. “Blitzo, you’ve… you’ve gotten so depressing, okay? Like, you used to do things, hang out with friends, or go clubbing, or hang out at the DMV, or whatever it is old people do these days. But now you just sit in the apartment in your underwear staring at the walls.”
Blitzo tries to pretend that that doesn’t sting. “I hang out with friends all the time,” he says, but Loona stops him.
“Millie and Moxxie coming over and playing Mario Kart doesn’t count.”
“Why the fuck not???”
Loona sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just…maybe try to become a person again, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow. Probably.”
And then she’s gone.
Try to become a person again.
What the fuck does that mean? He’s a person. He’s a full person, with a full life. He’s a Professor at an established University, for fuck’s sake. He’s the Number One World War Two expert in the state, and he has a fake doctorate from Canva to prove it.
His head pounds. The Tylenol still hasn’t kicked in.
He’s not depressing. He’s fun. He’s Blitzo Buckzo, and yeah, maybe he’s in his thirties, but he’s still got it. He can still go out, he can still make out with strangers, he can still be cool.
It doesn’t matter what his daughter says. He’s fine.
Besides, M&M are coming over tonight. It’s not like he’s alone.
As if on cue, his phone buzzes.
Moxxie to Immediate Murder Professionals: Hey, I’m so sorry, we have to cancel tonight.
“Fuck.”
Blitzo considers smacking his head on the counter, but decides to text back instead.
Blitzo: Why? If you two are staying home to have boring vanilla sex, I swear to fuck Moxxie I will show up in your room and beat your twink ass
Moxxie: okay, fuck you, but no, Millie is sick.
Blitzo: so come without her???? You’re not conjoined fucking twins
Millie: Blitzo, I love you, but I’m literally heaving over the fucking toilet. Moxxie’s staying with me because he’s a sweetheart and he’s taking care of me, even if i dont need it. Fuck I have to go agaij ajkno
Blitzo doesn’t even answer. He shuts his phone off and throws it across the room.
So his only two friends are married. So he’s alone. So he has no plans for tonight anymore because they’re busy taking care of each other. So fucking what?
He rips his pants off angrily, determined to spend the night watching horse videos in his underwear, but somewhere between shedding his pants and sitting on the couch, something inside him breaks.
What is he doing? He’s Blitzo Fucking Buckzo.
He doesn’t sit down. Instead, he stomps angrily to his closet to consider his options.
His eyes catch on a pair of leather pants he hasn’t worn in years, and he almost grins. He’s done some crazy shit in these pants.
Maybe tonight he can add another story to that list.
Determined now, he gets dressed in a frenzy, stopping briefly to look in the mirror before he leaves.
Leather jacket to match the pants. Mesh black top. Sunglasses on his forehead like a fucking asshole.
He looks like a slut.
Perfect.
He actually smiles for the first time all day. Loona was right. He does need this.
He pushes his way out the door and locks it behind him.
Forget the headache. Tonight, he’s gonna get so drunk he won’t even be able to feel his head.
Blitzo is back, baby.
~
The earbuds are helping, but just barely.
Stolas hasn’t been to a club in years. It was never his scene, really, but he hasn’t been able to shake the conversation from earlier out of his head, even with the absurdly loud music all around him.
He needs to have fun, and even if nothing comes out of this night, at least on Monday he can tell Ozzie he went out and not be lying about it.
He’s standing in the corner like a loser, though. He should at least have a drink.
He won’t go crazy. He hasn’t been drunk in years, and that is not the plan tonight.
~
Four drinks and forty five minutes later, Stolas is, scientifically speaking, sloshed.
Men have been asking him to dance all night, and he’s politely declined, but somewhere around minute thirty seven dancing actually started to sound good.
And so that’s how he finds himself sandwiched between two men he’s never met before in his life, dancing with reckless abandon. He can’t really dance, but nobody seems to care. He shakes his ass and puts his arms above his head, the world feeling hazy and magical and right, for once.
The club is dark and the music is loud, and he’s lost his earbuds somewhere along the way, but he doesn’t mind anymore. The overstimulation kind of adds to the experience. He can’t even count how many guys he’s danced with tonight, and that absolutely delights him.
Ozzie was right. This is what he needed.
The man he’s found himself dancing with now is shorter than him (though most people are), and between the darkness and the fact that the man is wearing sunglasses (in the club? That’s stupid, but also somehow endearing), Stolas can’t quite make out any of his facial features.
Stolas is squinting down at the man, trying to see if he’s at least cute, but as soon as the man looks up to find Stolas looking at him, he grins, grabs the front of Stolas’s shirt, and kisses the living daylights out of him.
Something about that smile is so familiar, but Stolas isn’t really focused on that right now, considering the things this man’s tongue is doing inside of his mouth is turning his brain to mush.
He doesn’t make it a habit to hook up with strangers, but when the man gestures to the door Stolas doesn’t even think about it.
He needs this.
The rest of the night is hazy, to say the least, but he knows two things: One, he does manage to make it home somehow, and Two, he does not go home alone.
~
He wakes up the next morning to the unusual experience of being held. It’s nice, for two seconds, until he remembers that he doesn’t usually share a bed with someone.
His eyes shoot open, and he quickly detangles himself from the stranger in his home to take stock of the damage.
Before he has time to think, though, the man in his bed stirs. Stolas whips his head around and looks the man in the eye, and he swears, his entire life flashes before him in that moment.
Because the man sitting in his bed is-
“Ah, fuck,” Blitzo says, watching Stolas with the same intensity Stolas is currently projecting onto him, “So it was you, huh?”
Stolas has no words. Literally. His mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out.
Blitzo fidgets a bit, and Stolas thinks he’s going to say something to make everything make sense, but instead what comes out of his mouth is: “Uh, so….do you, like, have a cigarette or something?”
In lieu of an answer, Stolas keels forward onto the bed and passes out.
As the world fades away, all he can think is that he is going to absolutely murder Asmodeus.
And then everything goes black.