#fizz's backstory

[caspira-writes-fanfiction]

Finding Family (Fizz's Found Family)-Chapter 7

Flying (pt. 1)

(tw: implied DV and substance use but nothing graphic)

The calendar Mama made was taped to the wall next to their mattress. It was written on the back of a paper bag with two markers. It was all just black boxes except for one; one of the boxes at the end of the calendar was circled in red. Fizzarolli didn’t understand it at first, he asked why that box was red. He asked if it was special.

’You’re so smart, baby’ She would tell him as she patted his head. Why was it special? Mama’s eyes changed when he asked that. He didn’t know if it was good or not. It took him lots of asking before she finally gave him an answer.

‘Is it a holiday? Do we have an appointment? Is someone coming over? Will there be cake? Is it your birthday? Is it my birthday? Will we dance?’

’Yes, baby’ Her hands caught the nearly six year old Fizzarolli’s and stilled him from his incessant questioning. She took one resound breath, her face turning almost dreamy as she exhaled. ‘It’s all of those things and more. It’s a special day, Fizzarolli, because we’ll be leaving.’

Fizzarolli didn’t know what that meant, Mama didn’t answer any of his other questions. Instead she asked ‘Where do you want to go?’ That answer was always the same. Fizzarolli wanted to go to the circus.

They’d been counting down the days together. Every night before bed, Fizzarolli would mark off another day. Fizzarolli worked harder and harder at his clown skills. If they were going to the circus, he wanted to be able to fit the part. Mama started holding him closer at night, she told him she loved him twice as often. Mammon might not be on the TV anymore, but Mama was taking him to the circus! They were going to go on their first big adventure. Mama had always wanted to go on an adventure, and Fizzarolli did too.

On the morning of the red box, Fizzarolli woke from the most wonderful dream. He and Mama had gone on a crazy adventure where they met a circus man who took them to the moon! And they ate cotton candy and floated around and danced along the stars. He couldn’t wait to tell Mama all about it!

But Mama wasn’t home. Fizzarolli had woken up alone. That’s okay Fizzarolli thought to himself. Mama’s probably going potty, or getting things for our adventure! Their things already looked packed. Their two largest cloth bags sat opposite the mattress in their small apartment and it looked like all of their things were inside them. Fizz was careful not to make a mess, but couldn’t help but look through them.

Fizzarolli knew how to be patient, he knew how to wait. Recently, if Mama wasn’t home when Fizzarolli woke up, he would venture down to the small alleyway in the complex where the few other children his age tended to hang out. They had lots of fun climbing and hiding, the other kids taught Fizz how to use his voice better and to stand up for himself. He tried teaching them to juggle. Fizzarolli had even l learned to balance on the metal barrels that the older kids used to set things on fire in! Today, though, he stayed inside waiting for Mama. Today was going to be their big adventure.

Fizzarolli waited and waited and waited. Today was the day, he knew it was. He wondered when Mama was going to come. Footsteps approached the door, but they weren’t Mamas. They were heavy clomp, clomp, clomp. Powerful feet, angry feet. Fizzarolli knew what to do when The Footsteps came stomping up to their door. Fizzarolli hid.

The cupboards were his favorite spot to hide. They were quick to get into and thick. They muffled the sound better than other spots he’d tried before and they made him feel safe. Fizzarolli was quick, he scampered into the big corner cabinet in the kitchen. It was his favorite one.

The knocking was loud, but Fizzarolli knew to ignore it. Usually Mama was here when the knocking came, usually she took care of it. Still, Fizzarolli knew better than to answer The Footsteps. There was yelling too, but Fizzarolli was already halfway to the circus in his mind. They were going on an adventure today, focus on the adventure.

He snapped out of it when he heard Mama’s keys. Fizzarolli sat up and started to push out of the cupboard but the voice from The Footsteps froze him. Fizzarolli curled back up and continued hiding. He hated when The Footsteps came inside.

They followed Mama’s footsteps, close behind and heavy. The Footsteps were always meant to intimidate. The Footsteps said words, angry words, bigger words than Fizz understood. That’s stupid Fizzarolli thought. She’s not going to hear you but that didn’t stop The Footsteps from saying them anyway. Then Fizzarolli heard a bang! Not a bang like the guns or fireworks, a bang like something being thrown, or shoved. He heard a gasp, and more bangs. He heard his mother crying.

Fizzarolli couldn’t move. He knew better than to let The Footsteps see him, but he couldn’t move if he wanted to. He wanted to help his Mama, but he was frozen. Fizzarolli closed his eyes and covered his ears. What dream do you want to have? They were running away today, they were going to the circus. It was a special day, it was his birthday, he decided. He’d asked Mama and she’d said so, why else would they be going on an adventure?

They were going to the circus today. They were running away. They were living their dreams.

The circus was going to be amazing. It wasn’t The Footsteps making noises outside, it was horses. Nobody was crying, they were laughing. The sky was pink or purple or blue, one of Mama’s favorite colors. Everything was fine.

Fizzarolli counted until one hundred after the door had slammed shut so loud the walls shook. That’s how long he had to wait until he could come outside. Hopefully Fizzarolli would find Mama, packed and ready to leave for their adventure. Or maybe she would be laying on the mattress and he could curl up in her arms and they could just be. When Fizzarolli somersaulted out of the cabinet and stood up for his bow, he was alone.

The apartment was a mess. All of the things from their bags had been thrown around the room. The TV was broken, the mattress was in the wrong place. Fizzarolli felt scared.

‘Mama’ Fizz signed, though he knew that wasn’t going to do any good. He wanted to cry, but he also knew that wouldn’t do any good. Fizzarolli was brave, his Mama told him so all the time. Brave boys didn’t cry, even when they wanted to.

Fizzarolli started to clean. Mama would come home and be so proud of him for all the work he’d done. Then they’d go on their adventure! Fizzarolli worked and worked until everything was back in the bags and as clean as he could manage. The sun was starting to get low. It would be dark soon. Fizzarolli felt scared again. The calendar on the wall was circled red today. Today was the day they left. Today was the day they went to the circus. Fizzarolli didn’t want to be here alone when it was dark. He didn’t know what would happen if he was here tomorrow when today they were supposed to leave.

The bags packed were too big for Fizzarolli to carry by himself. He had to unpack them all again and choose what he could take. The sweater Mama got him a few months ago still fit. It wasn’t as big anymore, but it was far from being small. Mama had sewn two colorful pockets on the inside of the jacket, for secrets she’d tell him with a smile. Fizzarolli fit all of the money that he could find. He was good with coins, he liked how they jingled in his pocket when he had enough. He knew what they all meant, too, and how to add them together. He had $7.82, that was almost $8 and eight was almost 10! While one of the moneys was a $3 bill, the rest of it was in change. Fizzarolli had never been so jingly.

He also took with him three dried limes. They made great juggling balls, he’d learned. He stuffed them in his side pockets. Mama and Fizz had two pictures in their things. Fizzarolli took the older of the two and put it in his other inside pocket. It showed two little girls, only a bit older than Fizzarolli was now. One of them with hair split down the middle, half white half black. The other had naturally white tips, it appeared, with her hair being black on top. Both of them had matching haircuts and were sitting on the wooden steps of a porch. He knew that one of them was Mama from when she was little. Fizzarolli left the picture of him and his Mama at the apartment for her in case she came back. She might just be coming on the adventure later, or maybe she’s already left. She’d find Fizzarolli, she knew where they were going.

With the coins jingling in his pocket, Fizzarolli left his & Mama’s small little apartment with the TV that gave him his dream. He closed the door, took a deep breath, waved goodbye to their home, and left for his adventure.

By the time he’d made it to the circus the sun had set. Fizzarolli’s feet hurt from walking so far and he was a little cold, but he forgot about all of that as soon as he saw the lights and heard the calliope music ahead of him. It was glorious. It wasn’t Mammon’s show, it was smaller than that but to the almost six year old Fizzarolli, it was paradise.

The aspiring jester smiled up happily at the ticket master as he paid for his entrance in exact change. When the demon stamped his hand and gave him an admission ticket, Fizzarolli tossed him an extra penny. That was called a tip. Mama had told him that’s what you did when people who worked hard did a good job. He smiled brighter when he heard the ticket master laugh.

Everything at the circus was magical. Fizzarolli didn’t know where to start first. He wandered down the main alley. There were clowns on stilts and imps selling sparkly toys and roasted nuts. Posters lined the sides of carriages with posters of their acts. Images of goddesses riding horses, men taming beasts, towers of ladders held together by demons floating in the air with nothing but their strength and cooperation; A large poster of a woman, tall and dark with soft black hair kind of like Mama’s flying in fine silks. Fizzarolli played with the dried limes in his pocket. He wanted to start juggling right then and there, but before he could start he was distracted by two clowns about his age. A boy and a girl, both dressed in colorful jumpsuits with large fuzzy buttons down the front. The girl had ribbons wrapped round her horns with bells at the end.

“Big Top Show in ten minutes! Don’t miss it, don’t miss it!” the boy yelled out as he wove between the crowd, attracting people towards the big tent in the center of the circus grounds. Behind him, the girl with ribbons in her horns did cartwheels.

“Greatest show you’ve ever seen!” She jingled with every flip.

Fizzarolli did not want to miss that. He was quick to follow after them. This was fun! Fizzarolli tried to do a cartwheel too, he managed a somersault. He giggled the entire time.

The Big Top was even better than a dream. It looked big on the outside, obviously, but somehow it got even larger once he stepped inside. There were rows and rows of seats, and three big rings for entertainment*. Fizzarolli raced up to the closest seat he could manage to get. The children he’d followed had disappeared, but that didn’t matter. There was so much to look at just now. He had yet to see how much there would be to look at in a few minutes, when the lights went up and the show started.

When the lights dimmed and the drum started, they could have been his heartbeat he was so excited. Music started playing and then the drums got louder…...no it wasn’t drums. Fizzarolli could see fiery plasmic manes of horses galloping from one of the tent’s side entrances. The lights went up and Fizz could see the women from the posters on top of them. Beautiful, glittering dresses glimmered under the lights. Ornately dressed performers stood atop horses. Some two wide, with a foot on each horse. Others came out in handstands, their legs in the air.

Above them, gymnasts in all sorts of colorful costumes flew. Clowns juggling balls and clubs danced around the rings, some on stilts others low to the ground. A knife thrower narrowly missed his bedazzled target five times over. There was so much to look at, Fizzarolli did his best not to blink. He could have watched this show forever and never been bored. He didn’t even know how long he’d been there when the lights went down again and the show was over. That was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.

Fizzarolli wandered out of the Big Top disoriented and amazed. He wandered around the grounds, halfway stuck in his memories, partially trying to take in everything that was still there. This was it, this was his dream. Fizzarolli’s attention turned when he heard the jingling again. The clown kids!

Fizzarolli was good at being quiet, he was good at sneaking around. He followed the jingling. It wasn’t particularly easy to figure out, but Fizzarolli liked puzzles, and when he got close enough to the jingling he found a different world entirely. Just as amazing, but in a very different way. Fizzarolli couldn’t even find the jingling anymore. It seemed to be coming from lots of different places. A lot of the performers jingled.

Fizz looked for a quiet spot, he was a little turned around and he didn’t want to get in trouble. He found one behind some crates behind the menagerie. He counted to fifteen then took out his limes. He liked juggling, it was calming. He had to focus when he was juggling, it eased his nerves.

“That’s pretty good” a voice from above him commented. Fizzarolli dropped his limes and looked up. It was the little clown boy. “You’re not supposed to be back here, you know. Who are you?”

Fizzarolli’s back straightened. He signed his name to the other, and frowned when he looked at Fizzarolli strangely. Fizz continued and spelled his name with his fingers like he was supposed to. The little clown boy still looked confused.

“Can you talk?”

Fizzarolli nodded, then remembered that he had to actually use his voice. “Yes.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m on an adventure!” Fizzarolli looked up at the other boy. He was very tall when standing on all those boxes. He had to be good at climbing too if he had gotten up there so quickly and quietly that Fizz didn’t notice. “Who are you?” his fingers signing along with the question.

“The name’s Blitzo, this is my family’s circus.” Fizzarolli’s eyes lit up with excitement, he quickly crawled up the crates Blitzo was standing on to get closer to him.

“I saw you earlier! You were really good!” Fizz felt excitement when Blitzo smiled in response. He continued. “I want to be a clown too! Just like you!”

Blitzo studied Fizzarolli. He pursed his lips, then nodded. “Show me what you can do.”

Fizzarolli sprang from his spot, doing a somersault in the air and landing on his feet. He’d never done it before, but he saw one of the slightly bigger kids from his home do it off of the dumpsters. He’d studied it, this was the best time to try. He didn’t land on his feet, but he almost did. When he landed on his butt, he rolled off of it and jumped back up. Fizzarolli did his best to amaze the boy staring at him. He did the routine he’d made for Mama as best he could. He had to keep reminding himself to talk instead of sign this time, though. By the time he was taking his bows, he heard the jingling approach him again.

“Barbie, come here!”

The clown girl who’d been cartwheeling ran over to the two of them. She looked at Fizzarolli, frowned, then looked up at Blitzo. “What the heaven is this, Blitz?”

“He wants to be a clown!”

“I like your jingles” Fizzarolli chimed in, pointing to the bells at the end of Barb’s horns. She stopped and smiled at Fizz briefly before turning back to Blitzo.

“Where did you find him?”

“I followed you!” Fizzarolli replied. “I heard your jingles and I tried to find you again. I saw your cartwheels. It was really fun. I want to do that too!” Fizzarolli started to try and do a cartwheel, but he ended up chickening out and doing a somersault instead. He didn’t know how to do a cartwheel yet.

“He can juggle, and he did a flip!” Blitz replied. Barb looked skeptical, but Blitz was able to convince her to help teach him how to juggle between two people. He picked it up quickly enough to pique Barb’s interest.

“What’s your name?” She asked. Again, Fizzarolli told her the only way he knew how. He signed it, then he spelled it with his fingers. She looked just as confused as Blitzo had. “Where are you from?” Fizzarolli shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

Barb frowned. “We should take him to Buttons.”

Buttons was another clown, Fizzarolli learned. They lived in a tent not too far from where the three kids were. Buttons was large, he towered over Fizzarolli. He was still partially in his costume which, rather obviously, was covered in buttons. There was another person in the tent. A woman still in most of her costume: an off the shoulder white blouse and black bloomer like pants. Her corset was striped in a V shape alternating black and white and her shoes were black with white poms on them. Their tent was filled with sparkly things, Fizzarolli was enamored by it.

“Little jesters!” the deep voice greeted the children. His face changed when he noticed a third following behind them. “Who’s your friend?”

“We don’t know!” Blitzo cheered. Barb elbowed him in the ribs.

“We need your help with his name.” Both of the adults looked at each other curiously before nodding. Buttons looked down at Fizzarolli and nodded.

“Go on, then. What’s your name?”

For the third time today Fizzarolli did as he was taught to do when introducing himself. Fizzarolli gave his name sign, then spelled it with his fingers. Fizz watched as Buttons pursed his lips in contemplation. It was a couple seconds before he spoke.

“Fizzarolli.”

It sounded strange. He didn’t know how to fit it in his mouth, but he liked the way Buttons said it. Fizzarolli signed again. Buttons complied. They did this twice more before the black and white woman got Fizzarolli’s attention.

‘Have you never heard your name before?’ Fizzarolli shook his head. She nodded, and hopped down off of her seat to get to Fizzarolli’s level. ‘My name is Mimi’ Her tumb bent under all but her last finger on both hands, pressed up to her face and curled out like cat whiskers, her thumbs popping back to the side and pinkies turning up into i’s by the whiskers ends. Fizzarolli giggled. ‘Who gave you your name sign?’ Mimi asked.

‘Mama’

‘Are you an entertainer?’ Fizzarolli had to think about that. He didn’t know what he was, really. He knew what entertain meant, though. He liked to entertain Mama. That’s the only person he’d ever really performed for, but that had to count, right? Fizzarolli shook his head yes.

‘Where’s your Mama now?’ Fizzarolli felt scared. He didn’t know where his Mama was, but he was a brave boy. Brave boys didn’t show how they were scared. She was going to come here and find him. She knew where they were going.

‘She’s coming’

Mimi pestered him further. She asked what that meant, and when he didn’t know how to answer, she asked where he lived.

‘Today’s the red box day. The day we leave.’ Mimi and Buttons stayed silent, both of them looked at Fizzarolli with concern. He felt his chest tighten, he needed to explain himself more. ‘It’s a special day. We’re leaving, coming here for my birthday, then going on an adventure.’

“Did she come here with you?” Buttons asked. It startled Fizzarolli at first, but he shook his head no quickly. The frowns from the adults grew. Fizzarolli felt weird, he didn’t like the looks they were giving him.

‘Why not, Fizzarolli?’ Mimi pressed her index finger and thumb together and twisted it against her nose. It was like little jester. Fizzarolli’s name sign used to be something different, but Mama changed it after his first performance. He liked it more, too. It was like clown, but with an F and that’s what Fizzarolli wanted to be.

The question made Fizz’s stomach feel a little bit sick, but he answered the question regardless. ‘She was coming home but The Footsteps came' Fizzarolli tried to explain The Footsteps. He tried to explain how he hid, and what he heard, and that he knew Mama was coming back but he didn’t want to stay when it was dark out, so he was going to find her here. Somewhere in it all his hands got all mixed up, though, and his vision foggy. Fizzarolli hadn’t realized he was crying until Mimi tapped him on the shoulder and motioned for him to come closer.

Fizzarolli fell into her arms and wept, he could feel her arms wrap him up so carefully and so safely. She began to rock him. He couldn’t see the look on her face because his was pressed into her chest. She couldn't sign to him with her arms holding him steadily in place but the hand rubbing down his back told him everything he needed to know. It's okay. You're safe here. He felt safe with her. Buttons looked down at the two, then turned to the twins who’d been waiting quietly in the corner to be told what all they’d just learned about Fizzarolli.

“Go get your mother, yeah? Tell her it’s important.”

Their mom ended up being the tall, dark woman with hair sort of like Mama’s from the poster. She’d also been in the show. She was in the center ring, she flew through the trapeze and danced in silks mid air. She was captivating, on and off stage. She wasn’t in her costume anymore, just a house dress and robe, but she’d gotten Fizzarolli to laugh by asking him what his favorite part of the show was. She knew where Fizzarolli was ticklish too, just like his Mama had. She even got him to uncurl from his hold on Mimi so she could show him a magic trick. Fizzarolli even got to show her his pantomime!

“You said your mother knows to find you here?” the other mom asked, her hand patting between Fizz’s horns. The young boy nodded. She pursed her lips, then smiled down at the little impling. “Well, I suppose you can stay the night tonight. The shows are almost all over for the evening, we can try again tomorrow.”

Fizzarolli felt scared and excited at the same time. He was scared because Mama wasn’t here, but he got to stay at the circus! That was almost better. Everything here was magical, certainly one night of adventure would be no problem. Fizzarolli nodded, and left Buttons and Mimi for Blitzo and Barbie’s tent that night. Fizzarolli thought a tent was much more fun to sleep in than his and Mama’s apartment had been.

Mama didn’t come the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. Fizzarolli had spent almost three weeks with the Buckzo Family Circus and Mama still hadn’t come. They’d put special signs up to help find her and everything, but she had yet to come. Fizzarolli was doing alright with it, though. The circus was amazing! Blitzo shared one of his costumes with Fizzarolli before the Big Top Shows every night and Barb shared her jingles, which she fastened to the end of Fizzarolli’s horns. Another one of the clowns had given him a little jacket made out of patches that he wore sometimes too, and Buttons gave him a clown nose of his very own! The twins taught him how to use his voice loud to get people’s attention and Barb had already taught him how to cartwheel! He was able to show off his balancing skills too on their large red ball with the pentagram! It was a little different than a barrel, but he managed to impress Mr. Buckzo enough that they kept letting him sleep on the floor with Barbie and Blitzo every night and didn’t complain when he ate the food from the cookhouse like the rest of the performers did. He got to see the Big Top show almost every night! Fizzarolli had never been so close to his dream before. No, this was the dream.

The circus wasn’t open every day, and on the days that there weren’t guests coming in, they practiced. Fizzarolli loved watching the practices. Today he’d gotten to practice his skills with Barbie and Blitzo in the morning, then he watched Barbie practice her high wire act. She didn’t go all the way up like on the big top, she practiced on a wire only five or six feet tall in the Circus’s backyard**. She was really good. Fizz and Blitzo weren’t good enough at balancing to try that yet.

After their practice in the backyard it was time for the adults to practice in the Big Top. Fizz followed Blitzo and Barbie to the Big Top where they sat eagerly in their seats. Fizz loved watching the clowns because he liked learning the tricks of the trade, but his favorite rehearsals to watch were the aerial acrobatics. Mrs. B was most captivating to watch. She had this beautiful way of wrapping herself up in the most vibrant fabrics Fizzarolli had ever seen, right up at the top of the tent, then she’d spin and twirl down and fly. Fizzarolli didn’t have words for it, but he could watch it all day. She did more than the silks, though. She flew on the trapeze too and could walk along the high-wire.

“I’m going to be just like her one day” Barbie said with stars in her eyes as she watched her mother perform. Fizzarolli understood. It was magnificent.

Fizzarolli didn’t understand why Barb was practically buzzing when the music stopped and her mother was once again on the ground. Mrs. B walked up to the three kids sitting in the stand and motioned for them to come forward. Barbie practically clawed her way through the other two to get to her mother first. The woman had a nicest laugh, almost as nice as Mama’s.

Barb asked her mother something, but Fizzarolli couldn’t hear what she’d asked. He didn’t need to, his questions were answered a few minutes later when Barbie ran towards the pole with extra grips for a ladder and began climbing. Her mother followed shortly after. Once they were on the platform, Barb climbed up her mother and wrapped her legs and tail around her mother’s waist. Her arms wrapped around her mother’s shoulders. The two of them butted horns gently and smiled, then they jumped into the air and flew. They just swung from one bar to another until they made it to another platform, but the way Barbie screamed and laughed into the air as they flew was entertaining enough. They repeated the process another two times before climbing back down. Barbie ran in circles until she was dizzy. She loved when her mother took her flying.

Blitzo’s turn was next. Fizzarolli wasn’t expecting one but when her and Blitzo were back on the ground, Mrs. B came up to Fizzarolli and asked if he’d like a turn too. Fizz’s eyes grew wide and he eagerly nodded.

“I want to be a little bit more safe with you, alright? You’re not my baby and I don’t know how tight you can hold on.” Fizzarolli didn’t know what she meant, but he listened. He would do anything he was told if it meant he could fly. Fizzarolli complied. He climbed up onto her like he’d watched his friends do, but unlike them he let her wrap him in silks. Like a safety net, the two of them were tied together and Fizz felt pretty. Also unlike the two children before, they didn’t climb up the ladder. Instead, Fizzarolli was walked to the center of the stage. Mrs. B nodded to one of the demons off stage and a looped rope dropped. Fizzarolli watched as she slid her hand through and grabbed onto the rope tightly. “Ready, little one?” She counted.

Three... Two... One…

They crouched, jumped,

Fizzarolli was flying

He couldn’t think of what to say. He kept his eyes open, wanting to remember every second of the experience. He felt happy and scared, up and down, it was like nothing he’d ever known. He’d never been so high in the air. He’d never felt quite this lovely before. Fizzarolli felt alive.

Fizzarolli missed his Mama, more than anything he missed her, but part of him wished she’d take a bit longer to find him. The people here were nice, they held him when he had bad dreams and told him nice things and some of them signed with him like Mama. He got to eat good food three times a day and he was getting strong. Fizzarolli was learning things here too! He wanted to do this again, he wanted to fly. He wanted his Mama to see him do this when he was a little bit stronger and could do it by himself! He wanted her to see him, he wanted to see her so badly, but part of him also didn’t want to stop living this dream.

 

It was almost ten years later and Fizzarolli’s Mama still hadn’t come for him. The special signs they’d made to find her were long since gone, and most of the time Fizzarolli didn’t think about her. He still had the picture of her as a kid, it sat framed on his vanity for good luck. Fizzarolli was sixteen now and he had more family than he’d ever known was possible. He’d never stopped practicing, and he’d gotten good enough that he was a big draw to the family circus. Enough that he had his own tent now, he no longer had to sleep on the floor next to Blitzo and Barb or in the chest of scarves at the end of Mimi’s bed like when he was a child. The tent wasn’t huge, but it was his own, and big enough that he could fit a second bed in it so he rarely had to sleep alone. Blitzo usually ended up staying with him, though sometimes Barbie or the occasional other performer joined. Fizzarolli hated sleeping alone.

Fizzarolli starred in seven shows a week during the circus’s four day/week run. Blitzo & Barbie had their twin show four times a week, and Barbie had practically taken over her mother’s position in aerial silks for the afternoon shows in the Big Top. She had turned out to be just as good as her mother, maybe better. She had another 2-3 aerial shows she did a week in one of the sideshow tents during the afternoons and evenings.

Tonight all of the shows were over and the crowd had gone. Fizz had changed out of his costume and was in his plain clothes for the evening. He was halfway to one of the food carriages to try and sneak a late night snack when he heard yelling coming from inside his best friends tent. Blitzo came storming out and ran right into Fizzarolli.

“Fuck!” Blizto yelled as he pushed Fizzarolli to the side. Fizz grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“Blitz…”

“Not right now, Fizz.” Fizzarolli never liked fighting, he let his best friend break away from his grasp and storm off. He could tell just by Blitz’s tone that he wasn’t going to be nice if Fizz pushed him any further. He could hear Blitz muttering under his breath as he walked away, none of it nice.

“stupid...thieving whore...fucking….fuck” So this was about Barb.

Fizzarolli waited outside of the tent for another few minutes until Barb came out with a cigarette between her lips and cup in hand. She groaned when she noticed Fizzarolli’s lurking.

“I don’t want to fucking talk, Fizz.” Fizzarolli didn’t say anything. He waited a minute before signing to her. She laughed at him, she’d never learned how to sign. Fizzarolli continued until he wore her down.

“He thinks I’m stealing from Ma.” Fizzarolli stayed silent. He didn’t know what to say. He felt responsible. “I’m not stealing, not that it’s any of his fucking business, or yours.”

“How’d your show go? Is it your shoulder again?” A few weeks ago, Fizzarolli had found Barb taking one of her mother’s pain medications. I did something to my shoulder tonight trying that new drop. I’m fine, Ma said I could take it, that it’d help. He hadn’t thought anything about it when he told Blitzo about it later that night. Fizz felt like he was somehow responsible for this, Blitzo hadn’t thought it was as innocuous as Fizz had.

Barb shrugged and sighed, she took a drag of her cigarette and leaned her head back to exhale. Fizzarolli took the cigarette from her, she gave him a look but didn’t stop him.

“It’s not enough that I have to pull his weight throughout our show every fucking night. Then I go and do another fucking show while he does fuck knows what, and the second I get off stage he’s nagging me. Giving me a fucking headache.”

Fizzarolli stayed quiet. He let her complain, he watched as she took a sip of her drink. He knew by the face she made that whatever was in her cup was stronger than water or tea.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to take those with alcohol.”

Barb stole the cigarette away from Fizzarolli. She didn’t like that he had taken it in the first place. “Don’t you fucking start with me, clown.”

Fizz put his hands up to signal he was no threat. He didn’t want to fight with her too, Fizzarolli didn’t like fighting. He took a deep breath, both of them calmed down. Barb looked away.

“What’s it feel like?” There’s silence again for a long while while Barbie thinks the question through. Fizzarolli looked up at the sky. He tried to see the stars, but there were too many lights around to see much more than smog. He turned back to his friend when she replied.

“If you do it right…..it feels like you’re flying.” Fizzarolli wondered why an aerialist would need to feel like they were flying when they got to fly every day, but he knew better than to ponder that out loud.

“Do you want to stay in my tent tonight?”

Barb paused, she looked back into her family’s tent. She frowned. “Won’t Blitz come and stay with you tonight?”

Fizzarolli shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m guessing he’s going to steal someone’s booze and fall asleep in the menagerie.”

“Ew” Barb spat. “Him and those fucking horses.” Fizzarolli laughed.

“I don’t think he wants to fuck them. I think he wants to be one.”

“I don’t know which one is weirder.”

Fizzarolli shrugged and stood up. He held a hand out to Barb. “Is that a yes or a no?” He noticed Barb look back inside her family’s tent. “Your Dad’s in there, yeah?”

Barb thought it over for a moment. Her jaw tensed and she nodded. When she turned back to Fizzarolli, her face was lighter. She was wearing a smile. Barbie-Wire nodded to her friend and took his hand to be helped up. “Yeah, yeah sure thing you big baby.” Her knuckles rubbed against his head, Fizz felt a little better. “I know you don’t like to sleep alone.”

Fizzarolli wrapped his arm around Barbie and walked with her back to his tent. He listened to her complain about everything Blitz missed in their act today, he promised that he’d help Blitz practice in the morning. He tucked her in in the spare bed space he’d made in the corner of his tent and put her to sleep. He tried not to think too much about what had happened tonight, he tried not to feel too guilty. He worried about both of his friends, they were his family. Instead, he decided to focus on the good.

Fizz felt safe with them, he felt understood here. Fizzarolli only worried about his family because he cared, and he only cared because they had cared for him first. Tomorrow would be a new day, Fizz reminded himself. He could fix this when they were feeling better. Fizzarolli loved his family, there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for them.

“Goodnight, Barbie.” Fizzarolli turned off the light, he kissed the picture of his Mama, and climbed into his bed. “Get some sleep….hope you got it right, hope you’re flying.”

[drama-glob]

Something I'm excited about that has the potential for actually happening is that if Blitz is truly going to see Fizz about advice on Stolas (romantically or otherwise ;) ) in the next episode, and to me it looks like he is, we could get Fizz and Ozzie backstory on how they met! Since we know Blitz has his hangups/prejudices about royals (although we know Blitz himself mainly just believes he's unlovable and is projecting that to mean Stolas can't possibly love him because he's a royal), but knowing that Fizz has it incredibly good with Ozzie is the most probable reason why Blitz is going to Fizz in the first place, and thus he would be curious to know how it worked out for him, likely in hopes it'll be the same for him; I also wouldn't be surprised if Blitz just wanted to know because he know how intrusive he is on other people's relationships. ;) Finger crossed we'll get the answer to that question soon. ^_^<3<3<3<3

[doodle-empress66]

What an icon. The moment she saw that Blitz had genuine affection for Stolas and saw that Blitz wanted to be better, she dropped all snarky bitterness they had between them and have him some really good, sound advice. This is my queen right here.

Love you Verosika.

[justanotherhh]

blitzø scratches all my character need itches: terrible decision-making skills, clearly loves his duct-taped family to bits and thinks they'd all be better off without him, tragic backstory that haunts every relationship he has, abrasive and off-putting in uncountable ways and yet practically everybody wants him carnally, incredibly protective of the people he cares about but it can go under the radar because of his keeping everyone emotionally at veeeery long arms length, keeper of the show's main themes and therefore the narrative has to put him in an emotional blender over and over, specific kink that once you notice it pops up everywhere...

[showtoonzfan]

Speaking of Fizz, really hope these scenes are him singing because Alex Brightman deserves to sing a solo song and one that isn’t incredibly short or dialogue filled.

Like yeah I bitch about not caring that much about Fizz but I love Alex Brightman so much, dude is INSANELY talented for obvious reasons and while I still don’t like the concept of this show having songs in it, I’ll take it if it’s Alex singing. Like…you put him in this shit show, so let him at least go all the way with his talent please.

[wednesdaywarriorswc]

i love that the first time you meet fizz you’re like “pretentious dick clown” and now the whole fandom is like he is a JESTER and he deserves LOVE and CARE and is a PRECIOUS BABY

[universalheart]

apocalypse

[fzrticv]

.stuff that won’t change on my take even if canon says otherwise:

.the whole agegin thing, hellborns can become very verryy old, if proepr cared for and living in a good enviorment. They just, dont a lot of the times.

.FIzz is smart, street smart but smart and a fast learner.

...I gonna give fizz a aggeless verse eventually cause my fizzmodus ship cant take it oterwise pfff

[crimson-rain-smoked-flower]

thinking about my oc

[fizzseed]

im goign to be sick i can tdo this anymor i listrerally cannot do this anmymore

[drama-glob]

How are we not talking about this moment more? I mean, I know why. Cough. Fizzmodeus. Cough. Tragic backstory. Cough, but it's still pretty funny. XD XD XD Just look at both Fizz and Blitz's faces! XD XD XD

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiya!! I’m obsessed with your writing. You’re my favorite writer on here, I dream of your stories!

Would it be possible to request (either with Ghost or Price, I love them both equally) something like they were young love but he breaks up with reader cos he wants to keep her safe and thinks he knows what’s best for her. Then during a mission gone wrong, they need a safe house but somehow the enemy found out all the locations of their approved safe houses. He remembered her place is close by and tries his luck. Maybe she gets mad at him for making decisions for her or maybe he learns about her difficult past that happened without with. But with a happy ending? ☺️

Only if this inspires you! Thank you again for sharing your beautiful writings!

If You Bite My Hand Again

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: How dare he show his face to you after all of these years. How dare you still find it in yourself to love him.

WORDCOUNT: 6.6k

WARNINGS: Heavy angst, abandonment, arguments, mentions of death, blood, insinuations of torture & mental illness troubles, Simon's comic backstory, hurt/comfort, sort of suggestive?, anxiety attack, somewhat happy ending, etc.

A/N: This was really fun to write, lol, enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You never should have met him. In fact, it seemed like the universe had been adamant to make you not run into each other on that chilly October morning almost…well…it has to be more than thirteen years ago, now. So long. 

As you head to your kitchen and glance at the clock, the hands point to a perfect three-fifteen—an hour of pitch-blackness and whispering winds that dash past the musty glass of the windows. The thump of your footsteps blocks out the heaving sigh that falls from your mouth; rubbing at your eyes like a cat as great bags sag from tired flesh. 

The dreams weren’t uncommon. 

Simon still reigned supreme in the conjuring of them, ingrained into the sinews and pulled thin by a hand constantly working them—knitting a sweater of memories addled with age. Moth-eaten. 

As you snap on the light of your tiny and run-down kitchen, the bulb fizzing and the dishwasher still emitting that squeal as it always does, you think about him before grabbing a glass. Water hits and fills the thing up as your eyes blankly stare, fatigued but yet never more awake. 

The tremors in your hands persist.

You never should have met him.

—

Your feet take you to Primary, laces a mess atop your little shoes caked in mud and grass—you’d chased after a butterfly through the front yards, getting caught in your neighbor's bushes and having to slip your way out before she could rampage outside with her broom. 

It was no surprise that your face was lit with a bright smile, eyes shining like fire that your teachers had given you a special name for—“Ember.”

The very thing that could start a blaze over and over again as long as it still was alight.

Laughing and peeing out leaves from your hair; flattening out your uniform, you stride with pride ingrained into your body. Well, you did before you heard the soft sniffling coming from down the alley. 

Halting, your ears perk at the sounds, smile freezing as you blink quickly. Looking to your left, you lock onto the hunched figure of a boy. 

Perhaps only a year or two older than you, you stare in curiosity as he consciously paws at his cheeks, walking out of the alley in broken and odd strides. His uniform is ruffled, wrinkled, but not in the way yours was.

He must have fallen and hurt himself, you reason with a child-like frown pulling on your lips. Blinking at his blond hair, you get a glimpse of red-rimmed brown eyes.

The boy halts, looking at you widely, fear and pain emanating from his expression. You’re the first to speak, brightness still in your eyes but a deep innocence that comes with youth. All you saw was a boy your age in pain—that was strange to you. You knew what getting hurt was like; you fell and scraped your knees often, or hit your elbows on corners. Sometimes you would cry from that…did the same happen to this boy?

“You’re crying, aren’t you?” Brown-Eyes stares, hurriedly pushing at his face to wipe tears but only succeeds in making his face red from the material of his uniform. “Did you fall down? I do that pretty often—it’s okay, my Mum says you’ll be better after a hug and a kiss!”

You smile and stand straighter. 

“I,” the boy begins, sniffling. “I didn’t fall. I’m not clumsy.”

You tilt your head, confused. “Well…then why are you crying?” 

“That’s none of your business!” He snaps, brows pulled in as he comes forward on the sidewalk. Your face twists as you huff in annoyance. 

“My Mum says to treat everyone nicely. That wasn’t very nice.” 

“I don’t bloody care, do I,” you’re sent a scathing glance as he passes. “I didn’t ask for you to speak to me. Leave me alone.” 

Naturally, you follow after, cheeks gaining heat.

“You’re being mean! Apologize!” 

“Would you run off already?!” The boy shouts, and perhaps something fires in that small brain of yours—a thought and a semblance of self-realization at the shame that emits from his tone. A tight squeeze of vocal cords. 

He was ashamed. Ashamed you’d caught him. Seen him. 

Your feet slow back to a stop, watching him hurriedly continue on and hearing the quiet gasps of breath. After a moment, you grit your teeth and run the distance; seizing him around the middle in a hug of stubby fingers and tightly closed eyes.

The boy startles, body hardening and a cry escaping his lungs. “Get off of me!” He shouts, hands snapping down to yours and digging under your hold. 

“No!” You call, stubbornly. “My Mum says that hugs make everything better—”

“Stop talking about your Mum!” The boy stomps his foot to the ground, chubby cheeks turning crimson as he tilts his head back to look at you, tears still dripping off his chin. 

A stiff silence falls but like a green branch on a tree, Brown-Eyes’ form twitchingly loosens, his prying hands softening as you hold tight—digging your nose into his spine. He minutely flinches, but you only hug him more. 

You’re both late to the building, and your teachers are going to give you scoldings. But right now, on a chilled October morning, you hug this strange, crying boy and blink your fiery eyes up at him. 

After he relaxes fully and the sniffling stops, you let go and smile brightly again, looking up into his open expression of innocent confusion. Whatever had happened, he must have fallen pretty hard, you thought, pulling out another leaf from your hair. You giggle and hand it over as a gift. 

The boy hesitantly picks it up and looks at it before turning back to you. 

“Call me Ember.” 

A pause. A hesitation. But your eyes shimmer and he relents with the memory of the hug in the front of his mind. Such a strange encounter. 

He speaks, looking away from you with flushed cheeks, muttering out as his tear streaks dry.

“...Simon.”

You walk together the rest of the way.

The reality was, if you had gotten caught by your neighbor, had snatched that butterfly—had even stayed in those bushes for three more seconds, you would have missed him. And if Simon hadn’t run out of his home crying, he never would have locked onto the burning reality that was with you. 

—

You put the glass to your chapped lips and take a long sip, throat bobbing as you take down the liquid with tears burning your eyes. Blinking rapidly, you swipe at the water at the sides of your mouth and shake your head, sighing. 

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” Your voice bounces off the walls, peeling paint and moving the dust stuck atop the fridge. “Damnit, Simon.” 

Today was worse than the others—everything building and stacking like some castle of misery and pain; windows too narrow to let in any light and your form stuck in shadows longer than an endless rope. There were just so many things that suffocated you now. 

And in the endless nights, the brain desperately looks for comfort. 

You hate that it only comes from the memories of him. 

“I have to go to work tomorrow.” Your subconscious reminds you as you blankly stare out the window above the sink, seeing the streetlights and the cone of warm light—it flickers every so often, a blinking taking place like the eye of a large, brutish, wolf. 

Work, then the grocery store, then back home to eat a tasteless dinner and fall back to sleep. An empty house with empty walls and empty memories. 

Your hands put the glass in the sink, coming back up to rub and dig into your eyes until the itch behind your flesh stops. A thump of a low pulse is felt in the thin skin, orbs of your optics moving before you pinch into the bridge of your nose and drop them with a slap of a hand to the counter. A harsh breath exits your mouth, but it’s quickly strangled away into a sound of ragged shock. 

Outside, under the light, the silhouette of a man leans heavily on the pole, feet shaking under him and face pressed into the shadows as his shoulders heave. You stare, wide-eyed, as your heart jumps to a rapid pace. 

“What the fuck?” Your mouth utters, watching the man push off the light and stagger with a heavy limp and a jerking body of immense stature. Whoever this guy was, he was out of his mind—and coming right for your front door. You startle to go and secure it, feet slapping the ground and face twisted. 

“What the fuck?!” Gasping, you re-check your locks and frantically look for something else—the stool where you place your keys meets your eyes. You grab it and place it as a barrier to the handle, tilting it on two legs and blinking quickly as whatever sleep-sheen that had been in your gaze leaves in one swoop of adrenaline.

Grunting wafts in from under the door, haggard inhales and a sudden slam of a body hitting the door. You stifle a scream and back up quick steps, slapping your hands to your mouth.

Sure, you might live in a shitty neighborhood, but no one had ever tried to just straight-up break in high or drunk off something. Your mind slashes to the knives in the kitchen drawer as the wall shakes again—something sliding down to the ground and a grunted whine. 

Just before you run off, you hear it. An utterance; a disruption of airwaves. A whisper, a plea. Your brain ceases to function with one foot back the way you came, hand on the frame with the knuckles tight. 

In one instance it all comes to a screeching halt. 

“Ember…” 

Who called you that anymore? The rare instance where you’d meet your classmates in the world they would mutter it; also be asked a few questions before they went on with their lives. You pause in your panic, slowly gazing back at the barrier and the stool like you’d just discovered you’re under the sights of a sniper. 

There’s a sliver of something that inserts itself into your brain. Fear or hope, you can’t tell. But that can’t be right. 

He left. 

“Ember!” You flinch, the deep Manchester accent grating your heart into shreds. No. “It’s me!” He says, followed by a horribly gritty cough. 

There’s a weak thump against the door, mumbled curses, and growls as if a wild animal mimicking human speech. You almost wished for that, considering you now knew the exact person behind the door down to his atoms. The brown of his eyes and the way his cheeks looked as they were stained with tears. 

His laugh. Simon’s voice. Everything.

Simon.

You’re rushing to rip the stool away with a clatter and a jerk as it hits the far wall, undoing the locks with shaking hands as you grasp the handle and wrench it sideways. 

His form slams to your feet with a loud grunt as the door hits the wall. 

“Fuckin’ hell! Mind your bloody—!” Whatever he said was lost to you as you stare at the bloodied form of the man you had thought you’d seen the last of. Tactical gear, terrifying skull mask, black on black with weapons galore. But that voice told you all you needed to know.

Simon Riley is alive and very much breathing. 

The same boy you still loved. 

The same boy who’d broken your heart.

—

After October the years with Simon seemed to strengthen. You always walked together in the mornings—or, at least, you always waited for him. The dawn of your friendship strengthened and hardened to an unbreakable amount of mid-day rays; vast and sunny. 

When he was sixteen he asked you to be his girlfriend, hand in his pockets and ache on his chin as he grunted out broken sentences. Stuttering and awkward. You’d smiled with your bright eyes and giggled before kissing his cheek—feeling his sigh and him melting into you with a grin of his own, unable to meet your eyes for a moment. 

Later, when he said he’d wanted to leave his apprenticeship at the grocery’s butcher shop and join the Special Air Service, you’d been along for the ride—anything to get him away from his father and brother. You knew what was going on, even if he was still so hesitant to allow you any glimpse of his home life.

When he’d shy away at the Halloween decorations of skeletons as if the skull would jump off the page and tense at loud cheering, you knew. You did what you could, but there was only so much for you to suggest or say without him shutting down. 

When you’d offered your flat as a safe space after graduation, desperate to help your Lover, he’d stared and blinked in shock; tilting his head at you before smiling softly and taking you into a hug. Wherever he went, he knew he’d always have a place by your side.

So, throughout his leaves of absence from the military, he’d come home to you—bruised and tired, but still the same Simon you fell in love with. You’d cook for him, tease at his shaved hair as he gave you those puppy-dog eyes, and talked him through your classes at University.

You would fall asleep on his chest, feeling the hard strength he was gaining and the way he held you tighter than he ever had; conscious of himself but not wanting to part with you. 

The love the both of you had was akin to a blaze of fire, and you often found Simon simply staring into your eyes in times like those—watching silently and rubbing his thumb along your spine until your face burned. 

He was always so gentle despite everything; you loved his perseverance, his drive to be good despite nearly every factor telling him he couldn’t be. Slowly but surely, he was forging his own life. 

In 2003 he managed to take a break from the military to get his family straightened out. His brother, Tommy, went to rehab—Simon stayed with his mother and a year later he kicked his father to the curb and out of his and his family's life entirely. Finally free. 

You managed to meet his lovely mum, still so bright, and even interacted with Tommy once he got out; went to the younger brother’s wedding in ‘06 and met Beth, his wife. When you saw Simon’s mother and the way she carried herself, you knew where your Love got his pride from. The two were so alike it was a sight to see. 

While it may not have been conventional by any standard, Simon proposed to you in the back garden of Tommy’s cheap wedding venue. Alone, so as not to cause a scene. Willow trees and a small stream of water. Fireflies. The words ring in your soul with every waking moment, and they will stay there until it all goes silent with the grip of death.

He didn’t want to use his mum’s ring—the one that holds so many bad memories for both parties. He’d used the gold from it though. Went to a man who bled him dry for money to have it re-cast. 

It was simple. A small, glinting, ruby pressed in the middle. 

“It was always goin’ to be you, Ember, yeah?” he’d muttered in his deeper voice, formal attire holding you both tight. “So…don’t make me beg too much, Sweetheart. You know the old lady’ll kill me if I get stains on my suit.” 

“Beg?” You responded, tears in your eyes but such a wide grin on your lips. The stars above you twinkle like the pupils of your eyes—the same burn still trapped. “Oh, Simon, come on, now.” He connects his forehead to yours, hand still in the middle of you and presenting the accumulation of all of his love. The other wraps your waist. 

He was shaking slightly. 

“I would never make you beg for my love, Brown-Eyes.”

You both share a breathless chuckle and lock lips, smiling like fools as he sighs into you. 

In a happy world, that would have been the beginning of a perfect life. A happy house. A happy wedding. Happy deaths. 

But something went wrong on one of his deployments. 

Missing for months, he came back…wrong. With a fiery temper and sharp snapping words—wounds on the outside as well as inside. His eyes were feral, like a dog held back by a broken chain carting around its feet. 

Simon never spoke about it—the missing days. The weeks. The months. 

You broke yourself over it, trying to help but not knowing what would make it better. Some days there were flickers of soft expressions, but it was as if he were dragging himself up from a pool so deep it was bottomless to show them to you. Simon rarely smiled. He rarely sent an affectionate glance. 

He didn’t let you touch him. 

And then he called the entire engagement off with a letter on your counter only holding four words. 

‘Don’t look for me.’ 

And then Simon’s mum, Tommy, Beth, and his nephew had all died. Been killed. And you were just supposed to move on? Live with that? There were times when you had breakdowns so bad you couldn't leave the house for days—the house that Simon and you had bought together. 

All of those years. 

All those vows and shared nights.

And he disappeared on you.

—

You have him sitting on the couch, watching silently from the chair across the room as he finishes wrapping his leg with the bandages from the first-aid kit you’d provided. 

More like chucked at his gut.

No one had said a word, and the air was as tense as a noose—choking any oxygen that traveled into your throat. Simon was getting blood all over your flat cushions, the crimson saturating the fabric as you sit rail-rod straight, hand clenched on your thighs. 

Simon’s avoiding your eyes.

“Take off the mask,” you hiss, pupils slits. If he wasn’t going to address it, then you were. Simon freezes, not breathing as his hands fall stationary around the bandages. 

“I’ll be fine in a while—”

“Take off your fucking mask, Simon.” You can’t help the way you snap, face burning with shame and hate. How dare he show up now, after all of these years of mourning him and the relationship you’d built as kids. Simon wasn’t just your boyfriend—your fiancé—he was your best friend. 

And all he’d done was left you a four-fucking-letter note before leaving you behind.

The geared man sighs silently, and you see his shoulders sag. His grip travels up as he straightens his spine in a fluid motion, pain medication working through him in waves of numbness. 

His brown eyes bore through you as if he were a ghost. Under the fabric, his mouth thins. “Ma’am.” 

Even his voice is older. More dead. How could this be your Simon?

Your heart bruises your ribcage as he grasps the top of his skeletal mask, gloved fingers peeling back the sown layers until you get the full image of a man more damaged than before. You have to stop yourself from sobbing right then and there; your throat going dry.

So many scars. Milky white and spread vastly—they weren’t pretty. Up his cheeks, down his brow line; even at the corner of his mouth and seeping down his neck. A crooked nose with damaged cartilage. Strangling a gasp, it comes out as a great expelling of horror, eyes going wide with shock. 

You hate how you want to rush to him, take his face in your hands, and try to brush them away as if marks on paper. But you don’t make any such movements beyond a hunch of your shoulders. 

“Not pretty, eh? Guess I should’ve warned you.” Simon rubs at his forehead, blond locks, hanging around his temple, and the black of face-paint stuck in his sockets. “Didn’t mean to fuckin’ drop in like this, Ember. Bloody bastard thing for me to do.” 

You flinch at the name, looking away as you’d been peeling back his skin with your eyes. “What are you doing here, Simon?” Anyone with a brain could hear the cracking hardness in your words. Face blank. 

He studies your features, taking in the changes and the bleakness of your expression. Brows furrow slightly before they go back to a state of nothingness. Simon glances around the room, finding the condition of things concerning but doesn’t show it. 

“Nothin’ you need to worry about comin’ back to you, Sweetheart. Just work.”

“It is when the bastard who abandoned me shows up years later, bloody on my doorstep. Stop acting so self-righteous,” you growl, snapping, “I should toss your arse outside and let them have you. And don’t fucking call me that.”

Silence descends, and your words echo. It’s like now that he was here everything hurt ten times more than when he wasn’t. 

“I never wanted us to end up like we did—”

“Bullshit!” You’re on your feet and stalking to him, pointing with your finger as he hurriedly stands up as well and looks down in shock as you press your digit into his bulky vest. “You shut your mouth, Simon Riley, and you let me explain something to you.” 

He keeps silent, mouth parted and scars shifting around his stubble. His hands slightly held out at his sides and hovering over your hips—not touching you but there just in case. Simon’s brown ords are carefully widened at your tight exclamation. The sound of his clearing throat enters the living room before you speak again. 

“I waited for you, hoped and prayed that you would show me at least a,” your throat bunches, but you push through. “A modicum of respect and show your stubborn self up at my door with apology flowers and a guilty smile on your lips. You know who took care of your family's burial plots, you fucking piece of shit,” his eyes flinch closed a bit, turning his head down as his breath hitches. “Me! You fucking disappeared!”

You know you shouldn’t be yelling, shouldn’t be pounding on his chest with a fist as if he was a door and you the knocker, but, dammit, it’s been years and he just shows up? Like this? Ten times the size he was—scarred and torn to shreds; laced with muscles and an expression of vacancy. Simon holds to your words, hanging off of them with a down-ward turned chin and eyes that lock with yours through pale lashes. 

“Maybe I-I did, o…or pushed some things that I shouldn’t have,” you hold back your tears, but your voice still wavers, tapering off like a line without a hook, “but I didn’t deserve that, Simon.” The first traitorous sob breaks through. “I didn’t deserve that.”

His eyes shatter into a myriad of kaleidoscope bits and pieces, brows flicking from one point on your face to another in quick slashes of guilt. But he still doesn’t touch you. Not until you tell him it’s what you want.

Simon opens his mouth but closes it just as quickly, unable to find any words that would even matter. You let your tears slip down your cheeks, dribbling off your chin. The man’s chest hurts, pulse thumping to mirror yours. 

“I waited for you and you broke me,” you whisper, mouth twisting with odium towards the man under your fist. “I wanted a life with you, Simon, no matter the trials.”

“I didn’t mean to…” The man trails off, clenching his jaw. You scoff, backing up a step and pressing your palms into your eyes. 

“But you did.”

“I had to keep you safe, Ember.” Simon’s fingers twitch outward, eyes frantically moving around as you sniffle and shakily walk away to the kitchen. He follows, desperately on your heels as your spine bows forward with resounding cries of anguish. “I...I wasn’t right in the head, I need you to understand I didn’t want this! I never wanted to fucking hurt you!” 

Your hand connects with the junk drawer, tearing it open and digging a hand inside as he pleads with you to listen. 

“If I didn’t leave I was worried I’d do something—!”

“Then you should have trusted me!” Your hands rip out the ring held on a small leather strap. The ruby glints where it always sits, held in tarnished gold. You chuck it at his chest and suck down breaths so you don’t pass out. “I would have listened! Gotten you help! We don’t abandon the ones we love, Simon! Not us!” 

Simon catches the object by slapping a hand to his chest, pinky finger latching through the leather cord before he jerks his limb back up. When he looks at the ring, he goes utterly still, gazing back up at you slowly. 

“We were supposed to be different,” you sob, trapping it behind your hands. He’s shaking, brows tight and lines along his face as he brings a free hand to run through his locks, gripping the strands for a moment and pulling. “Simon,” you say again, and he looks back at you with glossy eyes. “We were supposed to be better.”

“What did I do to you to deserve that,” he stares, his jaw is loose and he can’t stop clenching and unclenching it. You can see his heart working through his breast. Bloodied. Beaten by fists and slashed with knives. “What did I do to you?”

“Nothing,” he gasps, taking a step forward. “Fuck, Ember, you didn’t bloody do anything to me besides love me.” 

You sputter out, “Then why did you leave me here alone?” Your knees buckle and he darts forward, catching you under the arms as you wail out, shoving on his waist, “You never should have come back. Never should have come back.” 

He lets you push him off; lets you back up to the counter as Simon tilts his head higher to stave off the tears in the sides of his eyes. He’d known coming here was a bad idea, for lack of a better word, but after the Op went bad and all of his safe houses were compromised, he didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t to say he didn’t regret his actions in the past with you, or that he didn’t punish himself for them, yet at the time it was the only thing he could do to give him the sense that you would be better without him. Safe. 

After everything that had happened, he wasn’t in the right state of mind anymore. You deserved so much better. But hearing all of this…

Christ, could he have been wrong? Everything blurred; hurt. Hearing your sobs was like a knife to his heart every time, digging and cutting with serrated edges at the veins and pumping muscle, carving away flesh to shed the pounding redness to light. You held that heart in your hand and in his he held the ring—the ring he’d given to you as a promise of love and honor. 

A pact of loyalty. 

Simon doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the blurring edges of his vision make itself known. His eyes bore harshly, prodding into you as he makes known what he’s been broken since he first locked gazes with you again. The man’s voice shakes, accent deep and tight.

He asks the first thing that comes to his head.

“What happened to your eyes?”

“What?” You ask, incredulously, brows furrowed as your hand digs into the counter to keep you upright. Simon stares deeper, the sides of his eyelids wrinkling with a not-so-hidden sheen of great concern. Unbearable pain.

“What happened to your bloody eyes?” Where had the spark gone? That flare that grew and spread like fire that was the entire purpose behind your name. An unconquerable ache for life. 

You only watch him with a parted mouth and tear-stained lashes, sniffling. Simon tries again, taking a step forward on unsteady feet. 

“Please, Sweetheart, d…don’t, don’t…” He can’t finish, the leather cord intertwined into his fingers as he comes closer. “Don’t tell me I took it away. Not my Ember. Not my Girl’s fire.”

Your eyes are so overflowed you can’t even see him as he hovers over you, fingers coming up to brush your cheeks as his mouth is open in hard pants of breath. “No, no, no. Fuckin’ bastard, not me. Not over me, please.” It’s like Simon’s not even talking to you but rather himself. 

He mutters in fast sentences, eyes panicked. “You were supposed to be better off—‘posed to move on. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you find someone else?” 

“You’re an idiot, Simon. An idiot,” you sag into his neck, nose digging into his pulse as he quivers, legs having to reset themselves. His heat melts into you as your body gives out with a final sob, “It was always going to be you.”

His arms snap around you like a vise, dragging you into him as he breaks and stifles his whimper on your scalp, breathing right by your ear; gasping for breath. 

“M’sorry,” he mutters, so silent below his sniveling stutters, “M’so sorry, Sweetheart. This is all my fucking fault.” 

You shake into his chest, face nuzzling and desperate to smell his scent again—tired from all the yelling and fighting. It was still late, you still needed to go to work tomorrow…but Simon. 

Oh, Simon. How could he be so…him?

Your sobs are quieter than his, tiny cries that make the man’s arms tighten around you every time. Hands coming up, you can’t stop the way you want to hold him; how you wish to keep him close to you and push him away all at once. How dare he? 

How dare he still make you love him after all he’d put you through? 

Simon sags to the floor with you in his hold, head bowed and trying to gasp down his vulnerability as tears stain your shoulder. It’s as if the realization that he’d made a mistake had broken him back down to when he was young, past hatred of messing up infesting his brain like maggots. A fear of it, even. 

The man presses quick, panicked kisses to your neck as his breath hitches every other second, rocking you back and forth. 

“Didn’t mean to do it,” Simon utters. “Didn’t mean for it to hurt you—” 

He breaks off and you realize that despite the years Simon’s mind was still very much fragile when it came to home life. You blink and take a deep breath, unable to get out of his unrelenting grip. 

Your hand travels up to find the back of his head, spreading through his hair and massaging his flesh. When things got bad you used to do this with him. Give the man something to focus on so he could pass through his hysteria quicker.

Simon’s ribcage bangs against yours, nearly hyperventilating with how he’s trying to hide his small grunts and whines.

“Simon,” you clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down as seriousness sets in your tone. “Simon, breathe.” 

Your ears twitch, noticing him listen to you as he takes down a long gasp of air and breathes out in puffs on your neck—hot and humid. 

“Ember…”

“Shh,” interrupting, you shush him in tiny whispers, still rubbing at his head. “Brown-Eyes, just sit here, okay?” You feel a jerky nod, his fingers squeezing your flesh off and on as he mimics your own lung pattern. 

It’s a few minutes before he goes completely still again, and you feel the burn of shame from his face in your clutch. The relationship was strained—or whatever you could call this—but you never wanted to see him in pain. Never.  

You knew he was better when he sighs deeply, completely going limp in your arms; great weight leaning into you as you lean back to the cabinets to help with the pure might of his physique. With a slow hand, you un-velcro his vest and his gear, letting it hit the floor with dull thumps and clatters. 

He doesn’t protest, doesn’t move to help or hinder. You would give anything to know what he was thinking. 

“M’sorry,” Simon whispers and you respond accordingly, softly.

“You’ve already said that, Love.” He grunts, taking in a long, deep breath. 

“Need you t’know it.” 

“...I do.”

“Okay.” You close your eyes and stave off your anger at everything happening right now. While it would feel better to yell at him until dawn, what would that even achieve? Everything had needed to be said, had been. And you’d never felt lighter than at this moment. 

You knock your head against him, the both of you panting for breath and hands vibrating with leaving adrenaline. Sweaty and twitchy. 

“You never should have done that, Simon.” Whispering, you sigh. “I needed you. I needed you here. With me.” He stays still, but you feel his lips press deeper into your pulse. You’re practically in his lap, back to the woodgrain. 

In a moment of weakness, or pure longing, you pull his head back and situate your hands at his cheeks, looking over his scars and his broken skin as he lets you move him how you wish. His half-lidded, red, eyes stare—grip around you not letting up. 

Simon doesn’t speak as, unprompted, you kiss the shattered bridge of his nose; you only feel the fluttering of his lashes as they tickle your cheeks. 

“I was scared of myself.” He mutters. “After they died…” His family. “I didn’t want to put you in danger, Ember. Not you.”

“We would have figured it out, Simon. You know that, deep down, you do.” Brown eyes find yours as you tilt his head. 

“You sure?” He asks, desperate for an answer even though he doesn’t know himself. 

Thumbs run up and down his stubble. Your face creases, “...I don’t know. But we could have tried.” 

Simon’s eyes close tightly, and his face tilts to press his lips to your palm, quivering breath exhaled with the strength of an open balloon. Your ring was still stuck in his digging grip, and it was never going to leave for the rest of the night. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, gravely voice lax. 

Studying him now, in this light, knowing he was so afraid of what he might do if he got into an episode, you were stabbed with agony in your heart. To be that afraid of yourself to that magnitude was nearly unimaginable to you.

Nearly. 

“What now?” You ask lowly, the last remnants of tears drying as Simon opens his eyes slowly, looking back at you. 

“Don’t know.” He admits. “I have to leave.”

“I have work tomorrow,” you relate. Your teeth find your lip, biting it. 

A small awkward chokehold captures the both of you. The reality was that both of you were akin to strangers again—such was the curse of lost years and trials you’d faced along the way. 

Brown-Eyes and Ember were dead, yet you still called their names like phantoms of sleek black fabric and chained recollections of a boy with red cheeks and a girl with muddy shoes. The walks to school were there, the dates, and the late nights spent in good company. Touches to skin and open-mouthed kisses. Fireflies that whizzed and the glinting of gold as wind ran through the willows.

Dark corruption stained the faint idea of happiness; of a good world. This was not reality. It was some joke of an existence. 

If life were fair, Simon Riley would have never grown up in that house—his father wouldn’t have latched onto his brother and done dark deeds to wrap the little brown-eyed boy in red tissue paper and barbed wire. A present and sheen of mild sociopathy; separation of any pain or torment. A fighting boy. A boy born with blood on his hands and stuck behind his eyes every time he swung a fist. 

It was a curse to love him. And it was a curse that burned your soul with his very name. 

“Are you going to go?” You ask, eyes blank but yearning for what little comfort you can grab. It had been so long.  Simon blinks, his head still in your hands; body not moving.

He knows he should. He isn’t sure if there’s anything left for him here or not. 

Simon connects his head to yours and you still. “Do you want me to?” 

“Do you love me?” You blurt, blinking at him and confused. Simon’s lips part. “Or if you walk out that door do I plan on never seeing you again?” 

You're about to open your mouth and continue before his own slots perfectly against it.

You gasp lightly, taken aback but in no way opposed. He still felt exactly the same, flesh still tasting metallic and tinged with violence down to his DNA; raised with survival instincts as his greatest ally. Until you. 

With you survival became secondary. 

Your hands go to card through his hair, latching and lightly pulling as Simon’s body shivers; growling against your lips in a dance of heated flesh and damp cheeks. Hearts hammer with the restraint of years. 

“I would never make you beg for my love,” he murmurs between lapsing passes of his mouth, open kisses and dark glances. “Tell me where you want me to be.”

You whimper against him and he goes back in, pressing the base of your skull to the cabinet as hands grip and slide, kneading your skin. 

“Tell me,” Simon whispers. Pleads through grunts. “Ember, tell me.”

“Here,” you admit brokenly, pulling him closer to you as you’re lifted and placed on the countertop. “I need you here, Simon. I need you with me.” 

Fingers capture your chin, keeping your head angled up as your eyes beg. Lips bush with every word, gazes wild as if two leopards locking jaws over a kill. 

“Fight to get me back.” Brown sparks with purpose, a small puff of air hitting your mouth as eyes darken over. In this moment, you do not know if you’re dying or living. “Make it right.”

“Affirmative.” Simon moves his head back, taking your ring and looping the cord around his neck, he keeps it there as you watch, breathless. Your face creases with question. The man’s lips flicker when he sees this, coming back and grasping your hips as you instinctually latch to his waist. 

“I’ll give it back when I’ve earned the right for you to be called mine again. Seems I have work to do, Sweetheart.” He kisses you once more, firm and true. “First, I’ll ‘ave to figure out if my Girl can get her spark back, yeah? I’ve proper gone and fucked it up.” 

That night you lay in the heap of limbs and sheets that couple the both of you together. In the morning the questions would start, and Simon knew you’d take nothing short of the truth. 

And he’d give you it. All of it. 

Because Simon Riley knows well enough that you don’t go and bite the hand that feeds twice. Certainly not when it was you. Certainly not when it offers a love he would never hope to find again, in this life or the next.

So you keep the other close and sag into a deep slumber, not to wake for a long, long time. 

And you’d both never slept better

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[deeply-unserious-fellow]

I've seen a lot of people comparing Huskerdust to a healthy version of Stolitz and it's kinda got me thinking... Staticmoth as the evil fucked up version of Fizzmodeus.

THINK ABOUT IT!!!!! The parallels between Val and Ozzie are obvious. Like that man wants to be Ozzie so bad it's insane, from the way he dresses to the way he decorates to straight up OWNING A ROBO FIZZ, Val clearly wishes he was the embodiment of Lust. But are there parallels between Vox and Fizz? Actually, surprisingly yeah. They're both showmen, like aggressively so. They're very public figures, with their face all over every product in Hell(albeit Vox is doing it a lot more purposefully then Fizz). Fizz's antagonism towards Blitzø is actually pretty reminiscent of Vox's towards Alastor(except Fizz and Blitzø have a lot more baggage lmao), and they even share some aesthetic similarities! Specifically the colors of Fizz's robotic limbs matching Vox's overall color scheme. Which speaking of robots, that's probably their biggest similarity overall: they're both partially made of technology. I hesitate to say cyborg because Idk how much that applies to Vox, since object heads aren't typically classified as cyborgs as far as I know, and we don't actually know how much of Vox is organic(also cyborg is just one of those words I have an inexplicable dislike of Idk-), but like. Think cyborg I guess. Like Vox is a LOT more of a dick and probably doesn't have a very tragic backstory? Maybe? Unclear. But the similarities are undeniable.

Okay, now that individual parallels are out of the way, how could their relationship to eachother parallel Fizzmodeus? Starting with baseline aesthetics: they got the height difference. It's not as dramatic as Fizz and Ozzie's but TO BE FAIR, Huskerdust are the same way(their height difference is obvious, but not as massive as Blitzø and Stolas'). Staticmoth is also very buisness-partners-with-benefits and some hints at deeper feelings, which is how we were introduced to Fizzmodeus. I don't think Val and Vox feel the need to hide their romantic feelings? But tbh it could go either way we haven't seen much of their dynamic yet. That's kinda where the similarities I could spot find because see previous sentence, so let's move onto the differences!

I think a good way to breakdown what makes Staticmoth toxic Fizzmodeus is actually by bringing Alastor and Blitzø back in to compare and contrast how Val handles Vox's rivalry with how Ozzie handles Fizz's. In Radio Killed the Video Star, the only reason Val tells Vox that Alastor is at the hotel is to piss him off. He clearly enjoys Vox's reaction, and keeps egging him on. Teasing him about it. Which like, friendly teasing between partners is well and good, but Val is clearly just doing it cause he wants to see a fight and doesn't care about how distressed Vox is about this. Vox goes off on his own and sings a fuckin banger, gets publically humiliated, causes a massive blackout. Val doesn't really do shit to help him out, just kinda sits there and. Idk watches? Unclear what the other Vees are actually doing because most of Stayed Gone takes place in funny TV land where Vox is capable of bending reality to his whim for the sake of visual interest. But what Val is actively doing during the musical number isn't important so who cares. What's important is that he egged Vox on, convinced him that confronting Alastor right then was a good idea, and then just sat back as Vox got so pissed off he had a meltdown. Which I SWEAR I'm not trying to dramatize this scene it just sounds really fucking bad when you write it all down from this perspective. I think it's also worth noting that all of this is DIRECTLY AFTER Vox did the exact opposite for Val, calming him down so he doesn't make a fool of himself in public.

Meanwhile compare that to how Ozzie handles Fizz and Blitzø's relationship. During House of Asmodeus, once Fizz realizes Blitzø is there, he starts publically roasting him about how shitty his love life is. Ozzie encourages him, and even gives him a little congratualtions in the background when Verosika joins in for changing the subject, but the difference here is that House of Asmodeus takes place in a much more controlled environment, so it's less likely either of them will have to face consequences for being assholes. There's also how Ozzie's encouragement is just a lot more genuine. Like "yeah babe, go insult that guy who traumatized and abandoned you whoo!" rather then "hey hey look there's that guy you hate. You should go fight with him lmao show him who's boss." Then there's the ending. At the end of both Stayed Gone and House of Asmodeus, Vox and Fizz eat shit and die. Don't worry they're both fine like immediately after, but while in House of Asmodeus Ozzie immediately rushes over to Fizz to make sure okay, we uh. Do not see Vox interact with anybody but Alastor in the direct aftermath of his eating shit and dying, which is fair because he's in his weird little gamer cave. Then we skip straight to the Vees having a meeting to decide what they're gonna do about Alastor, and we don't really know what any of them were doing in the interim between the end of Stayed Gone and the meeting, so uh this part of the comparison kinda falls flat. But again something worth noting is that Val just straight up. Does not care about Alastor during the meeting scene. He's sitting there bedazzling his fucking gun BY HAND with school glue and rhinestones, not even paying attention to the meeting, despite being the one to get Vox all riled up about Alastor IN THE FIRST PLACE.

In short: Val encourages Vox to fight Alastor without thinking it through, doesn't bother to help out during the actual fight, and then immediately stops caring the moment the fights over. Meanwhile Ozzie, while encouraging Fizz to pick on Blitzø, backs him up the whole time, and while still supportive of his boyfriend, doesn't actively encourage Fizz to do things that would get him hurt. Ozzie also supports Fizz by refusing to let Blitzø have an Asmodean crystal because he knows Fizz wouldn't like it! Which is the exact opposite of pissing your partner off on purpose so you can watch a fight!!! And if that isn't enough evidence for you, then uh. I guess you could compare how Val treats... just everybody around him, really, with how Ozzie does(but that's more individual character analysis than relationship analysis). Or you could talk about how fed up with Val's shit Vox clearly is in comparison to the mutual support of Fizzmodeus. Or how. Val throws a glass at Vox. And breaks his phone. And then Vox has to scream in his face to get him to listen-

Idk how to end this so uh. DEMON ATTACK RAH!!! 👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹

[deadlyangelofpurity]

You know with how safe edgy Viv's shows I don't see why the setting is in Hell. I feel like Viv shot herself in the foot by doing this because it seems like Viv wants the praise of being considered edgy but she's too cowardly to follow through so we're trapped in this weird limbo where Viv wants to be edgy but is obviously putting on the brakes.

I think part of the problem Viv is quite immature.

Despite Viv being an adult, it is very evident in her writing style that she hasn't quite matured past the edgy teen phase and whilst her animation and drawing skills are good despite the questionable character designs, her writing is by far the weakest part of her skill set. It doesn't help Viv seems very impulsive and changes her mind on a whim and is willing to turn the story upside down at all costs as it's why Helluva Boss went from a dark comedy to Stolitz melodrama soap opera.

Not to mention Viv has amassed the wrong kind of audience for this show. Let's be honest with ourselves, despite Viv's show being rated adults, I am like 99% certain that at least a fairly large chunk of Viv's audience are teenagers and young adults at best who have been watching her since her channel got popular and most of these people primarily care about shipping and tend to be...immature and more volatile. I think that's partially why the writing is so juvenile because Viv is scared of alienating her audience. I think that's why she made Ozzie care for consent and Bee being concerned over people overindulging because Viv didn't want to make them unlikable at the cost of consistency. It's also probably why Lucifer's more evil pilot incarnation got changed into some wacky silly uwu depressed boy.

Viv seems to play favorites and she doesn't hide it. It's very obvious that when Viv favors a character, they become more likable almost instantly or at least she tries to make come off that way, though it's more noticeable with people like Stolas, Fizz and Lucifer. Compare their initial impressions in their debut episodes and you'll see a stark difference. I also think Viv is overall way too close to her fanbase because she takes ideas from them and she ain't subtle. Vaggie being a fallen angel was a fan theory that slipped into canon, Stolas and Blitzo meeting as kids was based off fan art and Hell, Chaggie wasn't even her idea(which probably explains how dull and unnecessary their relationship is) because a crew member made it and Viv being impulsive put it into canon despite Vaggie and Charlie acting more akin to best friends and honestly given how Vaggie's fallen angel backstory makes things so weird, I genuinely think she'd be better not existing in this series.

Honestly I'd at least respect Viv if she at least stuck with her guns here. Instead she's pretty much playing ping pong in terms of consistency because Viv's version of Hell is more or less Detroit but painted red.

[wishful-thinking64]

Hazbin Hotel & Helluva Boss Rewrite Ideas #01

I truly believe that both shows have a lot of untapped potential that we'll unfortunately never get to see thanks to Viv refusing to take criticism and the fact that her writers are all yes men. However, that doesn't mean I can't give out rewrite ideas like they're candy to those who wish to tap into either show's said potential. With that being said, here are some rewrite ideas that you could use for Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss! ______ #01.) Have Mrs. Mayberry become one of the residents of the Hazbin Hotel. I promise you, this one writes itself. #02.) Have Glitz & Glam be Fizz's rival co-workers to parallel his time in the circus when he worked with the Buckzo twins who acted more like a family to him. #03.) Write some new workers for the Hazbin Hotel since they're still severely understaffed. You could make these new employees a Hellborn, a Sinner, an Overlord, or Goetia royalty if you wanted too. The possibilities for this one are endless! #04.) Let Heaven contrast with Hell based on how they operate. For example, in my rewrite for the Hellaverse, Heaven doesn't use currency at all. It quite literally doesn't exist up there. Instead, they use the Bartering System as they view it to be the most fair exchange of goods and services. #05.) Have there be a character who doesn't belong in Hell but got sent there anyway for whatever reason. I'd recommend using Valoris (my take on renaming Vaggie) if you don't mind keeping her as a fallen angel or using her original Sinner backstory however I feel like Amélie (I renamed Emily solely because her name is so common. It's not bad but you can tell that there was barely any thought put into it either.) could work just as well since she'd be a fallen Seraph. #06.) Make Lucifer and Stolas evil as they were originally intended to be before Viv scrapped the idea in favor of something worse. Stolitz is a toxic ship no matter how much damage control and retconning Helluva Boss tries to do and when initially asked about how Lucifer would act later in the series on an old livestream, Viv originally wanted to have his character be on par with that of Willy Wonka so do with that information what you will. #07.) Allow for Charlie's, "Anyone can be redeemed," mentality to constantly be challenged by those around her. Don't be afraid to have her be in the wrong because we all know that not everyone can be redeemed. Some people (Valentino) truly aren't deserving of it and others won't be accepting to change. You can lead a horse to water all you want but the horse has to decide to drink it. #08.) Create a proper foil ship for Fallen Star (I hate using the ship name Chaggie) cause if even Stolitz can have one in the form of Fizzmodeus then Fallen Star should have one too. Most people opt to use Emilute but I'm a damn GuitarSpear shipper so I opted for a crossover ship that has Emily and another character from Helluva Boss instead. Listen, if a rare pair and joke ship like CherriSnake can become canon over a ship like Sir Pentious x Rosie that actually makes sense when you consider they're from similar time periods, then a crossover ship being in my AU rewrite is the least of my problems.

For context, here's a screenshot for one of the HH mockup episodes before Viv and her team decided to scrap it. Like the majority of the HH mockup episodes. ______ Well, that's all I've got for now so happy writing and good luck!

[fritzwulf]

OMG, I forgot I drew this. Silly little destiny swap AU. Its like if Blitzø and Fizz had swapped backstories or whatever lol