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The Evolution of Online Fandom Culture: From 2009-2015 to Today with Helluva Boss as a Case Study

By Crushbot 🤖 and Human Assistant 💁🏽‍♀️

Fandom culture has undergone significant transformations over the past two decades, with modern online communities increasingly shaping the way people interact with media, creators, and each other. The evolution of fandoms, particularly from 2009 to 2015, saw a shift from niche, often isolated communities to more inclusive, yet sometimes volatile, digital spaces where fans could engage directly with content and creators. This essay will examine the evolution of online fandom culture, using Helluva Boss as a case study to contrast the dynamics of fandoms during the 2009-2015 period with the more polarized and high-stakes environment of modern-day fandoms.

Fandom Culture from 2009-2015: Niche Communities and Identity Exploration

Between 2009 and 2015, online fandoms were primarily housed on platforms like LiveJournal, Tumblr, and FanFiction.net. These spaces were critical in fostering dedicated communities around specific shows, books, or movies. Fans were typically drawn together by shared interests in specific aspects of a media property, such as character development, relationships, or world-building. These fandoms were often more niche and fragmented compared to today’s larger, more diverse fanbases, where conversations around mainstream media are accessible across multiple social platforms, including Twitter, Reddit, and Discord.

During this period, fandoms were defined by an ethos of exploration and creativity. Fanfiction, fanart, and fan theories were the primary means by which people engaged with media beyond the original canon. Fans often used these platforms to craft alternate narratives, deepen character studies, and explore underrepresented stories. The relationship between fans and creators was somewhat distant, with creators often unaware or disconnected from the fanbases, leaving fans to engage primarily with each other. Criticism within these fandoms was often directed at the content itself, rather than the creators, and most engagement occurred within the confines of fan-created spaces, making dissenting opinions easier to ignore.

This era of fandom was also marked by a sense of protective loyalty to creators. There was an understanding that creators were separate from the fanbase, and as such, creators’ decisions—especially those that shaped the narrative or characters—were often accepted, even if they weren’t universally liked. Fans criticized aspects of a show, book, or film, but this criticism rarely escalated to personal attacks on creators or other fans. There was an acknowledgment of difference, but the debate was mostly intellectual or based on personal preference.

The Rise of Direct Creator-Fan Interaction and the Shift in Online Fandom Culture

Since 2015, the landscape of online fandoms has shifted dramatically due to the rise of social media platforms like Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok, as well as increased interaction between creators and fans. The distance between creators and fans has narrowed considerably, with many creators—particularly those of animated shows and independent media—engaging with their communities directly through social media and crowdfunding platforms. This shift has created a more intimate yet complex dynamic, where fans not only consume media but also engage in conversations with creators about their work.

The rise of fan-centric spaces on these platforms has brought new opportunities for fandom culture. Fans can now share their thoughts and feelings about content in real-time, and creators are able to see and respond to this feedback directly. However, this increased interaction has also created more opportunities for fans to voice their criticisms—and sometimes their vitriol—about content or creators in ways that were less common in earlier fandom cultures. Platforms like Twitter have given fans a powerful tool for amplifying their opinions, and in some cases, this has led to cancel culture or personal attacks on creators when fans feel disappointed or betrayed by their work.

Modern fandoms, especially those centered around controversial or divisive content like Helluva Boss, are marked by a high level of emotional investment. Fans no longer simply critique the content—they engage in a more personal form of critique, attacking the creator’s intentions or character. Helluva Boss serves as a prime example of this phenomenon. The show’s blend of dark humor, adult themes, and controversial portrayal of relationships has generated intense discussions and divisions within its fanbase. Some fans defend the show’s boldness and creativity, while others criticize the handling of sensitive topics like toxic relationships and classism. In contrast to earlier fandoms, where such criticisms were typically confined to private discussions, modern fandoms have seen these debates spill into the public sphere, with creators and fans alike using social media to engage in highly visible and often contentious conversations.

Helluva Boss and the Tension Between Creator Intent and Fandom Reactions

Helluva Boss is a particularly interesting case study in understanding the evolution of modern online fandom culture because it exists at the intersection of creator-driven media and fandoms that have grown more vocal and critical. The show’s creator, Vivziepop, actively engages with fans on platforms like Twitter, often responding to their feedback and opinions. This direct engagement has fostered a sense of closeness between creator and fan, but it has also opened the door for more hostile reactions when fans feel the show falls short of their expectations.

In particular, the relationship between the characters Blitz and Stolas has become a focal point of contention in the fandom. Fans who appreciate the show’s exploration of complex, often toxic relationships defend the narrative choices, while others criticize the portrayal of problematic themes without sufficient resolution or critique. Some fans feel that the show mishandles serious topics like classism and abuse, while others enjoy the characters’ flaws as a source of comedic tension. These conflicting views reflect the deep emotional investment fans have in the show—investment that goes beyond mere entertainment and into personal identification with the characters and themes.

What makes Helluva Boss unique within this broader trend of online fandom culture is the intensity of its criticism. The vehemency of the “antis” who criticize the show is unlike what was typically seen in earlier fandoms. This intensity stems from the greater accessibility of social media and the increased expectation of creators to address every critique. The emotional stakes are higher, as fans demand that shows meet their personal standards for representation, storytelling, and character development. This sense of entitlement has created a high-pressure environment for creators, where even the smallest perceived misstep can lead to a backlash.

The Impact of Creator Favoritism and Fandom Division

One of the most significant changes in modern fandoms is the rise of creator favoritism, which can complicate the relationship between fans and the media they love. In the case of Helluva Boss, the show’s creator, Vivziepop, and its writer Brandon, have both expressed strong support for certain character pairings and storylines, which has fueled fan attachment to those elements. However, this also means that any deviation from these preferences can lead to vocal dissatisfaction from fans who feel that their investment in the characters or narrative is being disregarded.

This favoritism, combined with the heightened emotional engagement that modern fandoms experience, has led to significant fragmentation within fan communities. Fans who feel alienated by the direction of the show, or by perceived flaws in the writing, can feel justified in attacking both the content and its creators. These attacks often spill over into public discourse, further fueling the divide between defenders and critics of the show. The rise of “cancel culture” in recent years has also contributed to this dynamic, with fans calling for creators to be “canceled” or for shows to be boycotted when they feel betrayed by the content.

Conclusion

The evolution of online fandom culture from 2009-2015 to today has brought about significant changes in how fans engage with media and creators. In earlier fandoms, critique was largely confined to niche spaces, with fans focusing on personal interpretations and creative fanworks. Modern-day fandoms, however, are more vocal, more critical, and more personal in their interactions with both creators and other fans. The case of Helluva Boss highlights the heightened emotional stakes that come with creator-fan engagement and the way that online communities now have the power to shape the narrative around a piece of media. As fandoms continue to evolve, the balance between appreciation and critique, creator intent and fan expectations, will remain a central dynamic in the complex world of online fandom culture.

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Love both of these analyses of the Goetia family dynamic, and I would like to add that Stolas even attempting to be a shield for his daughter shows just how much he chose to grow from his own broken family. We know that his father was less than present in his life, and rather than shielding Stolas from anything, he actively piled more responsibility and burden onto his child.

Stolas fighting so hard to keep Via safe from Stella is just as rooted in his own childhood needs as it is to protect Via.

What makes this really devastating, as if it wasn't already devastating enough, is that while all of this is going on, while Stolas is realizing that he was so fundamentally unable to protect his daughter from Stella's abuse, while Stolas is ultimately perceiving a total failure of his goals, Blitz is finally achieving and attaining his own goals.

While Stolas has worked so hard to be a caregiver and a protector, Blitz has wanted nothing more than to be able to provide for someone and be a reliable protector.

It's heartbreaking to watch Stolas fail so desperately at everything he's worked so hard to achieve, while Blitz is simultaneously attaining what he wanted so desperately. And because of these drastically opposing situations, neither of them can comfortably and fully feel all of these feelings.

I was just rewatching Sinsmas and Octavia’s reaction makes so much sense, and is rooted so much in the dysfunctional family dynamic.

Ik a lot of people have pointed out this, and how much this topic has been discussed, but, so many people still don’t realize that the only thing that balanced the dynamic in the household for Via was Stolas. This is why she is so devastated.

Even if she sees her mother abusing her by taking her phone and referring to her as: “his daughter” like if she wasn’t in the room, she knows that if Stolas was there Stella would not be allowed to do that, or Stolas would take the phone and give it back to her and defend her. Or maybe that would not even happen. You see now?

Stolas was the only thing shielding her from the abuse by being the shield that took it. She is not completely conscious of this, but she just knows that Stolas left, and that she is alone now.

This is why it is so hard for her to accept the reality that Stella was abusive, because she loves her mother even if she can’t really count on her as a parent. Via was able to bond at some extent with Stella because Stolas was the one taking the blows, not because Stella was really “calmer” before. Stella is there as she always has been, but Via thinks Stella is worse now because of what Stolas did…

In Via’s eyes he left her defenseless and never was trully happy even with her. She thinks his unhappiness is because he stayed for obligation and not for love, but you can love your daughter and still be unhappy in your life in general because you can’t use your child to fill your own void like that.

You need someone to comfort you, and you are your kid’s caretaker, so your kid can’t help with that. Is actually a good parental trait that Stolas didn’t parentified her, and didn’t made her fill his own emotional needs by telling her his pain, and making her comfort him about it. But, it also was bad that he never explained anything because it kept Octavia in a parallel reality. However, this is a very hard situation to handle. Honestly I wouldn’t know what to tell a child in that situation.

For her it was she and Stolas against the world and that was fine the way it was.

Stolas was her everything while she grew up, her entire happiness. So, she feels a betrayal to learn that he wasn’t as happy as her in those moments (we know he was in those moments even if he endured unhappiness in the marriage and his personal life, but she thinks that).

Is so painful because they were the world for each other, but she doesn’t understand that he was so mistreated at the same time, and not loved back by anyone else. By an equal, by a partner or friends and he also has depression. That is not related to her…

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This kind of theory/discussion makes me wonder if the Helluva fandom is going to develop a Marauders-style offshoot based in the canon universe, but completely separate from the author's story, because the author refuses to take their work as seriously as the fans do.

I do think the fans are going to eventually disengage from the original media because of how Viv treats her own characters and storylines, and I say this as a huge fan of the show.

So pretending Viv didn't retcon her own fucking lore drop on twitter by being like "omg!! If it wasn't obvioussssss, he was lying. Silly guy. Isn't the sin of WRATH such a egoistical, self absorbed PRIDEFUL guy"—

I'm very into this idea that Satan, and the Imps and all the Hellborn are the indigenous people of Hell.

Which would mean, that Lucifer got banished to a foreign land, immediately claimed ownership of it, allowed/told his wife to manipulate everyone with her singing, and then proceeded to flood Hell with human Sinner's that he also made legally above all the Hellborn. And then got...bored?? And quit actively being king to go make ducks and emotionally abuse his daughter.

Like, holy shit is Lucifer being a metaphor for white colonialism fucking INSANE. The running assumption (and Viv's bullshit on twitter) has been that Lucifer and the other Sin's were together as a group. That the circus theme, and the rings, and the Goetia was just the world they built. But, if Satan and the Sin's were just the indigenous people who lived there, that sure as fuck makes the circus theme more creepy?

Circuses have historically been horrifying displays of human cruelty. Human trafficking, the buying and selling of people with dwarfism as toys or pets, physical torture and extreme conditions, racisim, rape, animal abuse, just like...bad stuff. There were probably some circuses that were fine, but the vast majority of the time it wasn't done humanely or with any dignity to the people performing.

Lucifer, showed up and just like, forced the Sin's into a Circus they didn't want to be apart of? The Circus isn't a thing anymore, because Lucifer isn't as into it, and all of the Sin's seem perfectly fine not doing it anymore.

Thing is, who the fuck was this Circus for?

The only thing I can think of is Lucifer wanting to feel in control again after being banished, and trying to establish the Sinner's as the deserving and dominate "race".

He would've forced Queen B to humiliate and abuse her hellhounds to do...tricks and dances on balls or whatever the fuck, to show how lowly and animalistic they are. Hellhounds aren't like Sinner's. Sinner's are just people with animal traits, they're REAL PEOPLE unlike these dogs.

He would've forced Ozzie to make his Hellborn and Imps to do dangerous and unnecessary acts. The big difference between Hellborn and Sinner's, is that the Hellborn can actually die. So when the Sinner's see a Imp fall from a trapeze act, or end up set on fire and hurt, they'll see that they're inherently better because they aren't that frail. And again, historically circuses had a lot of human trafficking, sex, labor or otherwise. Ozzie runs the sex industry, and I wouldn't be surprised if there was overlap there in the start.

Mamm and Levi seem to be on the infrastructure side, building and maintaining the society and rings everyone lives on. We KNOW that Imps and Hellborn are underprivileged and lack resources. Hellhounds are forced into shelters where they're thrown out the second the little social funding they have runs out. Imps are basically constantly struggling, and never seem to have stable lives. I wouldn't be surprised if most of the support and care that the Hellborn need are being used to "fix" the "overpopulation" issue that Lucifer caused.

And Satan. Holy shit is forcing Satan, the original king to Hell, and the creator of the main indigenous peoples of Hell, to be the fucking "Law" absolutely horrifying. The fact that Satan is in such a high position of power(supposedly) and he's here, making an "example" of a Imp to get the bureaucracy off his ass and move on with his life. Well, if the god of Imps says that they're all disgusting rapists who are after the poor, innocent white Goetia then that must be true!!!! HORRIFYING. WHAT THE FUCK.

Lucifer forced the original gods of Hell to debase, and humiliate their peoples for the entertainment of his Sinner's, and then got fucking bored and left the circus to hide away in his castle. No wonder Ozzie is a consent freak and B is so concerned about people self harming.

There's a world, where Hazbin Hotel actually takes RISKS, and tries to do something interesting. But Viv backtracks every time. And also would never allow her villian characters to be...ya know....villainous. But Luci can't do more then be kinda a little abusive to his daughter but only in a sad way, otherwise he's not a gooodddd guyyyyyy nooooooo.

Anyway, I'm very attached to this indigenous Satan au. Fuck Lucifer, give the Imps their fucking land back you colonizing bitch, and let Satan be the king of Pride again. And stop forcing them to fucking celebrate your dad's son by claiming it's actually just about celebrating youuuu and your sinnn. Shut the fuck up you goddamn weirdo.

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Can’t believe the Magnus Archives invented a rickroll that doesn’t require a link, you can just be reading a normal post and Hello Jon, apologies for the Deception

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Guess who finally got an Ao3 account! This is the same fic I posted last week, but I’ll be updating on Ao3 now. :) 

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i love them so much :'D

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Avatar of The Eye but its just a 14 year old girl in secondary school constantly doodling eyes on her hands and is inadvertently being used by the eye as a walking cctv camera

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2025 affirmations ‪‪❤︎‬

- my asshole boss is not stalking me

- my coworkers aren’t freaks

- i’m rational and levelheaded

- idgaf about clowns

- my ex situationship does NOT seem different

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yeeeeeesss😭

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When Stolas is really, really upset, he occasionally stims by hitting his head. By Mr. Butler's complete lack of reaction, this must have been a fairly common occurrence in his early childhood.

I like that we see both happy and unhappy stims from him. The repetition feels deliberate, just like how both times see him super excited and anticipatory he does little hops or bounces (hard to tell which without seeing his feet).

Another repeated stim is that when he's happy he tends to hold his fists up by his chest, which you can see in the scenes where he's bouncing too. In Seeing Stars he even shakes his fists because he's so excited to have found red glasses that look like his second pair of eyes (he's so fucking cute, I can't stand it).

I wonder if we will see these same stims more often, now that his mask is off again and he's no longer being told he needs to hide his emotions.

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Oooh Stolitz week 2025!!

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I've said it before, but I'll say it again

STOLITZ IS JUST DESTIEL IF DESLTIEL HAD BEEN CANON.

Let me explain

We are introduced to character A, a lower-class, hard-working hero type. He's been hardened through the loss of his mother, cruel treatment from an abusive father, and has high expectations for himself, because he always promised himself he'd become a better man. We see that he's an absolute prick at times, because he's developed an arrogant persona to get through life because he knows that nobody will ever be there for him.

Then, all of a sudden, our super-macho Superman needs something. And he can't fight or suppress or drink this need away. Probably something life-saving.

But here comes character B, an upper-echelon never-had-an-unfullfilled-need-in-his-life type with the power to save our hero. Originally, he's introduced as an antagonist to play with power dynamics in the plot, but the audience can't get enough of these two taunting each other. And so we get more of them, and slowly their character morphs into.. a companion role?

As time goes on, we see that lofty character B is trapped and without love (connection? friendship? purpose?) in his position of power as a "higher being," but goddamit spending time with character A just makes him feel alive. Suddenly he's questioning everything about the institution of class and power and race that separates him from his friend. Why should he be safer, richer, or worth more than character A, when clearly character A is a much better person, and deserves so much better in life?

And, at the same time, character A is learning, begrudgingly at first, that he can finally rely on someone to be there for him. He can have a weakness, and he can share his burdens.

Time passes, plots thicken, we race towards the climax of our story, and suddenly character B is forced to give up his power to save character A's life. For better or worse, they're equals now, and suddenly the power dynamic has completely reversed.

In the aftermath of losing his powers (status, rank, money, etc) character B is lost, confused, desperate in a world that makes no sense to him. And now, all of a sudden, Character A, who has never been able to provide anything for Character B, is in a position of power - but not only that - a position of care, as well.

AAAAAANYWAY Stolitz is Destiel and I think the fan artists and fic writers might find this information...potentially useful.

Thanks for reading. :)

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Domestic Stolitz sketches

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Some people enjoyed part one, so here's the next installment! Not to be a tease or anything, but the Good Stuff™ will be in part 3, I promise.

Thank you so much to the people who reblogged/liked. :) I guess I have to actually finish this now.

...

“You gonna be okay to go on tonight?” 

Blitz nodded once, but didn’t make eye contact with Fizzarolli as the two prepared for the evening’s performance. Fizz had been his friend for most of his life — the two were nearly brothers— but in the past weeks, Blitz had been isolating himself from the other performers and couldn’t quite find the words to respond to his lifelong friend’s inquiry. 

“He’s not still mad at you for missing that toss, is he?” Fizzarolli tried again, glancing at the full-body leotard Blitz had switched to since their last performance. 

“Yeah…He. He just expects a lot of me, and I can’t let him down again.” Blitz forced his breath to remain calm, willing his voice not to crack. 

“Although,” he added, trying for a smile, “ If I do screw this up again, I hear you’re in for quite the raise.” 

“Not funny,  Blitzo” Fizz rolled his eyes, throwing a loose hair pin at the other acrobat. 

“I’m all set now,  you wanna go run your routine one more time before we open?” 

“I’ll be fine, go on up without me” Blitz mumbled, adding a final swipe of eyeliner to his stage makeup. 

“Alrighty then! See ya out there!” Fizz bounced out of the dressing room. 

As soon as the door latched behind him, Blitz tugged off the shoulder of his costume and turned to look at his back in the mirror. The marks across his back were healing, but still purple and tender. The real issue for tonight would be his ability to maintain his focus and maneuver with the necessary agility to perform his routines. 

For the past week, every time his father noticed Blitz spacing out, snapping at the people around him, or succumbing to a panic attack, he added another night in the stables to Blitz’s punishment. Blitz had spent the last 6 nights huddled in the corner of an empty stable, drifting between sleeplessness and waking nightmares. Three days into his punishment, he’d started hearing his mother’s voice, whispering to him through the hours of darkness. 

“Mamma?” he’d called back. But there was no response. How could there be? She was gone. 

Four days into his anxious vigil, Blitz had started to see things, too. Just out of the corner of his eye, he’d see dark shapes drift through his vision, swirl across the tent after a rehearsal, or simply lurk in his periphery as he sat huddled on the cold brick floor night after night. 

Now, almost a week without any real, restful sleep, Blitz wondered vaguely  if he’d even be able to climb to the rafters of the tent without falling to his death. 

Everything around him was just so distant. He could no longer be sure if he was imagining things, or if his mind was conjuring up images of his mother as some kind of response to his grief, or if he was even going through his days at all. 

“Maybe Papa really did kill me, and this is just what death is like,” Blitz stared at himself in the mirror, searching his own reflection for answers. The Blitz in the mirror just stared back. 

From outside of the dressing room, Blitz heard the rousing sound of the orchestra tuning up, signaling that he needed to be ready to go on. He readjusted his costume one final time, then turned to leave. On his way out, he clenched his fingernails into his palms once again, and the ghostly vapor floating in the corner of his vision dissolved. 

… 

Even in a hoodie and threadbare jeans, Prince Stolas looked decidedly out of place towering over the imps cued up outside of the circus tent, waiting to purchase a ticket to the evening show. When he finally made it into the big-top, he picked his way to a seat at the very back on the far left side of the main ring, determined to find a spot away from anyone who might recognise him as the runaway Prince. 

As it turned out, sitting alone was much easier than he had anticipated, as the rest of the circus-goers gave him a wide berth. Nobody wanted to risk upsetting a Goetia on a night out, it seemed, regardless of how young that particular Goetia may be. 

Stolas was determined to enjoy every last minute of his freedom. He peered around the tent, taking in the bright colors of yellow, red, and green stripes. He peered up into the colorful lights, swimming in a thin layer of fog near the rafters, delighted to see platforms and rigging for various aerial acts suspended from the endless canopy above. The air smelled of popcorn and burnt sugar, tinged with the unmistakable odor of the circus animals, clearly kept in cages somewhere just beyond his view. Stolas exhaled, and felt his shoulders relax. This was exactly as he remembered. The raw, chaotic energy of the circus filled his senses until he felt he might explode from the sheer vastness of his delight. 

Suddenly, the room went dark. For an instant, he felt his stomach clench in anticipation and fear. Had something gone wrong?  Then beams of colorful lights illuminated the stage, the drapery of the tent opened up to reveal a parade of performers, and the show began. 

…

Despite the week of sleepless nights, Blitz felt his body snap into routine with the swell of the circus music. As he pranced through the opening of the tent and entered the main ring, he felt alive and energized. There was something about the stage lights, turning his audience into a haze of shining eyes, that filled him with the ecstatic joy of performing. As he twisted, tumbled, and flipped in time with his fellow performers the aches left his body, the haze of anxiety that had been looming over him for the past week dissipated, and he was truly, fully, the Amazing Blitzo once again. Somewhere, far in the back of his mind, he knew that this was only a momentary high, intoxicated by the sheer vastness of the sensations around him, but he intended to let it consume him for the duration of the show. Tonight, he would dazzle his audience and end his day curled up in his own warm sleeping pallet. He would not be spending another night in the stables. 

The opening number was a resplendent spectacle as every performer teased their coming acts with enticing choreography and stunts. Blitzo and Fizzarolli flipped, lept, and launched over each other, grinning at the audience before stepping back into the ensemble as the fire jugglers took center stage. The final number finished, and as Blitz froze with his arms in the air, chest heaving, he let the raucous applause from the audience wash over him. Then he turned around and marched off of the stage to prepare for his aerial act. 

He’d barely stepped behind the curtain when a hand grabbed him and pulled him to the side. 

“That wasn’t half bad, Blitzo,” his father faced him with an ardent smile  “Keep it up and maybe you’ll get something nice for your hard work.”

“I’m really trying, Papa, I -” Blitz faltered, feeling his voice catch in his throat, 

“I want to make you proud.” 

“Good, that's good.” Cash crooned, “A boy ought to respect his Papa. Maybe you have finally managed to learn something from my…lessons.” 

“Yes, sir.” Blitz nodded once. 

For just a moment, Cash paused, looking at his son as though there was something more he wanted to say. Blitz held his gaze for a moment, then dropped his eyes to the floor. As he did so, his father seemed to come back to himself, shaking his head briefly. 

“Well, get on with it then! Don’t you have something to be doing?” Cash clapped a hand on Blitz’s shoulder, sending a dull wave of pain arcing down his back. 

“Don’t mess this one up.” 

“I won't,” Blitz promised, turning to pull on his next costume. As he did so, he squeezed his eyes shut. It stopped them from stinging, but when he opened them again, the wisps of inky vapor around the tent were back. 

He clenched his fists, hard, but it was no use. The opening act had used up more of his energy than he’d realized, and the hallucinations were getting harder to disperse. 

As he zipped up his aerial bodysuit, he grit his teeth. 

“I know you’re not real,” he said to the smoky figure hunched underneath the prop table to his right, but he couldn’t fully shake the image of the figure wearing the same hospital uniform that the nurse had been wearing when she’d stepped out of his mother’s room and shaken her head solemnly. 

That was over now. She was gone. 

Blitz dug his fingernails into his hands a little harder, and inhaled sharply at the prickle of pain. He was not going to mess this up.

Forcing an extra spring into his step, he scampered out onto the stage and up to the platform at the top of the tent. 

Two minutes and thirteen seconds, he repeated to himself, focusing only on the repetition of the numbers. Two minutes and thirteen,

Two

Thirteen, 

Two,

And then the music began.

My First Actual Post And of Course It's Stolitz Fanfic

Anyway here's the beginning of the Stolitz fic that came to me in a dream :)

Synopsis:

17-year-old Blitz is one of the top circus performers in Hell, and that should come as no surprise, since he’s spent his entire life performing with his father’s circus. Behind the facade of dazzling glitter and daring feats of strength, however, the circus was no place for a young imp dealing with deteriorating mental health after the loss of his mother. Blitz’ father is determined to hide his son’s worsening mental health and confines Blitz to solitude when his panic attacks manifest. 

Meanwhile, as Stolas approaches the date of his preordained marriage, he begins sneaking into the circus to spend his last moments of freedom watching his one and only friend shine on stage. One night, he notices that one performer fails to make it on stage during the second act, and decides to find out what has happened to his childhood friend. On discovering Cash's cruelty to his friend, he helps Blitz escape his dangerous home life.

...

Fifty feet in the air, suspended by nothing but a hoop on a wire and his own strength, Blitz was in his element. His entire life had been spent swinging from ropes, scaling daunting poles, and diving into open air to the uproarious cheers of the circus audience. He’d been able to suspend his own body weight from his arms before he’d learned to walk, and for the past decade he’d been drawing crowds every night to witness the Amazing Blitzo fly through blazing lights illuminating the vast drapery of his father’s big top.

Why then, was he now filled with dread as he prepared to execute an acrobatic routine that he could have performed in his sleep? Blitz took a shaky breath and offered a coy smirk to the crowd below, though from this height he could only see vague circles indicating the hundreds of heads gazing up at him, rapt by the bold imp’s performance. 

“Two minutes and thirteen seconds of music,” the boy reminded himself, “and it’s not like you’ve ever missed the hoop,” he added, muttering under his breath. 

Blitz wiped his sweaty hands on his jumpsuit, covering his anxious habit with a flourish of his arms, and swung himself under and around the hoop, preparing to execute a complicated maneuver that required splitting his legs and letting go of the hoop, using his momentum to fling his body around before catching himself back on the cold metal ring. He exhaled as he released the hoop, timing his momentum with his breath, but as he reached to take hold of the metal once more, his breath caught in his throat. His vision danced. The sounds around him faded as though he had been submerged in deep water. Suddenly he couldn’t focus on the hoop. His music was gone. A flare of panic seared through his body, all at once hot and red and undefinable. 

Then it was over. 

His hands reached to grab the hoop, just as they had done hundreds of times before, but never before had he been so shaky, palms coated in a sheen of sweat. He grasped for the ring, but his left hand slipped, unable to find purchase on the unforgiving metal, and he was left suspended, dangling from one arm high in the air for all to see. 

“Dammit, Blitzo,” he chided himself, the gravity of his predicament setting in. His body swung wildly until he was able to reach the hoop with his tail and swing himself back into the relative safety of the ring. From there, he just had to finish the routine. Once he was back on the floor, he could worry about his father’s outrage. 

 He spun himself, twisted, swung, and dove to catch onto his partner’s arms before swinging safely back to his platform at the top of the tent. From there, it was time for the girls below, dancing on horses in sequined leotards, to draw the audience’s attention back to the floor and away from Blitz, who now sat, chest heaving, against the pole at the top of the tent. 

“You absolute idiot,” he thought to himself, “If Papa saw that, you'll have to find a new costume to wear to cover the lashes on your back.” His stomach dropped, dread coiling its frozen tendrils through his skin. It had been months since he’d messed up badly enough for his father to take off the belt, but Blitz knew from experience that messing up during a performance could mean sleeping on his stomach for a week. 

Since his mother had died, the beatings had become more frequent, and Blitz had less and less control over the manifestations of his own anxiety. It was easy enough to keep himself out of his father’s scornful eye during the day, but mid-performance, with all eyes on him, Blitz couldn't hide the fact that his panic attacks were becoming frighteningly consistent. The last time he’d broken down in public, his father hadn’t let him back on stage for a week, until he’d sworn he could stop “freaking out,” and Blitz fully intended to keep his promise. Embarrassing his father was the last thing he wanted to do, if not out of hope for gaining his father’s approval, at least because his mother would want him to be strong. 

This time, however, his freak out hadn’t just impacted his performance; it had nearly led to a fatal accident in the middle of a show. 

The cold, hard reality of the very tangible fear of his father dissolved the remaining effects of the panic attack and Blitz scurried down to the circus floor and readjusted his costume, ready to make his final bow at the end of the show with the rest of the performers.

 Safely back on the ground, he dazzled the crowd with a roguish grin and flick of his tail, making young imps blush at his posturing. Blitz’s mind wasn’t in it at all, though. The panic from the trapeze had wiped his energy, and he felt as though he was floating behind his own body, watching the world go on around him, watching his own body perform without him. As he followed his showmates backstage, he dug his fingernails into his palms so hard he felt blood begin to prickle from his skin. Good. It was much better to be firmly grounded in this reality than floating along in a haze of some unspoken worry. 

“Boy!” The summons came from the corner; gruff, unwavering, and sent a pang of dread through Blitz’s exhausted body. 

“Here. Now.” 

Blitz obliged, rubbing his hands together to disguise the gore that he’d sliced into his own hands as he made his way over to his father. 

“The fuck was that, huh?” Cash Buckzo growled under his breath. Blitz flared his nostrils, but fought to keep his nose from scrunching. The words were unmistakably laced with the reek of booze. 

“According to the posters, we call it a circus,” he retorted, not sure exactly how much of his blunder had been seen by his father, not wanting to admit aloud how perilous his situation had been. 

“Think you’re being clever, huh?” Cash growled under his breath, and Blitz tensed. “You certainly didn’t look so clever when you fucked up that aerial act tonight. Nearly dropped to the floor, you did. And with a fuckin sold out audience, too” 

“I didn't -” Blitz began, but his father held up a fist. Blitz immediately quieted. 

“I don’t know what kind of shit you’ve got goin’ on in that idiotic head of yours, but I swear to Lucifer if you don’t straighten up and get over your pathetic ass, Fizarolli is in for a hell of a raise.” 

“I -” but the words were gone from his throat, gone with the breath and and the world around him again. 

No no no. Not now. Blitz fought to keep his composure, but his father’s face was swimming through an inky whirlpool. His hearing was pulsing from distant and heavy to loud and sharp and biting. Somehow the stitching on his costume was digging into his skin and simultaneously pushing him out of his own head all at once. 

“No boy of mine is going to embarrass me like that in front of my live audience.” A hand grabbed his forearm and suddenly he was pitched headlong into an empty stable. Had they been walking outside all this time? 

He was falling, and just had time to fling out his arms before he collapsed into the rough concrete, skinning his knees and palms. 

“What do you want from me?” He screamed, voice pitching in his throat as the coldness, hardness, and sharpness of the world refocused in his mind all at once. 

“You’re embarrassing me.” His father replied, shortly. “If you’re going to act like a fucking addict to your own selfish woes, then you’ll sit in here alone until you can behave.” 

Blitz registered the irony of the accusation, but the words stung nonetheless. His father was cruel, yes, but had always taken out his anger with a bout of violence. A few lashes, a blow to the leg, a smack on the cheek if he was really drunk. But then it was over. 

Not this time. 

“Something is up with you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I let the fits slide when your mother first passed, but it’s been months. This is ridiculous. If you’re going to keep having these… episodes,” he spat the word out like a wad of stale gum “then you’ll have to sit here and work out how to stop them. Man up, or get out.” 

Blitz looked into his father’s face, searching the cold eyes for so much as a hint of empathy, compassion, parental worry, anything. Instead, he was met with a face of stony sobriety that would haunt his mind until the day he died. 

“You’ll get over this bullshit, or you’ll go to the streets. Either way, I’m done looking after your pathetic ass. My employee you may be, but you certainly aren’t worth calling my son.”

The wooden door of the stable slammed into place, iron bars rattling in place, a mocking grin against the lamplight from the street outside. Blitz sat on the ground, unmoving, until the light flickered out and his legs had gone numb from the unforgiving concrete beneath him. Then he backed himself into the corner of the stall and held his breath, feeling silent sobs wrack his insides while hot tears slid down his face. 

“I will do better.” he whispered to no one when the crying finally relented. Then he faded into a fitful sleep. 

… 

“Three months left,” Stolas whispered to himself as he crossed out another day on the calendar pinned to his wall. He wondered vaguely if any other boy had ever dreaded his 18th birthday with as much apprehension as himself. As he sat on the side of his bed, staring drearily at the makeshift countdown he’d created to his own wedding, Stolas felt his eyes begin to sting. He didn’t want to be a prince. He didn’t care about performing some kind of grotesque masquerade of royalty for the other Goetia. He wanted to read; to learn about the world around him. To experience life without the shroud of upholding some ephemeral ideal of wealth or class or prestige. He wanted to feel alive again like he hadn’t felt since the day he’d learned of his betrothal to some frightful,  indistinct princess. 

He wanted to feel alive like the circus imps. 

Stolas still remembered his first visit to the circus, all those years ago. The way he had felt watching the actors dance, flip, twist, and contort like nothing he’d ever seen before. The raw energy of pure excitement had been intoxicating to the young prince, and he’d spent most of his teen years searching for something that could replicate the feeling of elation he’d felt with the swell of the music, the dazzle of the costumes, and the aura of the performers all those years ago.

He’d tried running away, but he was never quite able to feel confident on his own outside of the safety of the palace walls. 

He’d tried to make friends, but nobody was interested in listening to him prattle on about his lessons, and he could never quite bring himself to care about anything the other kids around him were interested in. He wasn’t excited about girls, or planning camping trips, or bragging about how much he could knick from convenience store shelves. 

Sighing, Stolas slid from the edge of his bed to the floor, crashing rather more abruptly to the ground than he had intended. 

Somewhere on the other side of his bed, he heard a thump and the tinkle of breaking glass. Stolas stood to find whatever he had broken in his moment of melodrama. He stepped around the corner of the bed to find that a small crystal pendant had fallen to the floor from where it had been suspended on the wall. He bent down to pick it up, and realized with a pang of nostalgia that it was one of the decorations he’d gathered from around the castle on the day he’d spent playing pirate games with the imp boy from the circus. 

“Blitzo,” he whispered, the name equally as foreign to his lips as it was familiar to his heart. 

Stolas straightened up with a start. Blitzo had been his friend for an entire day, and he hadn’t been boring at all. The imp from the circus had been crude, to be sure, but they’d had fun together — a real, silly, honest, and authentic kind of fun that he hadn’t experienced since. 

When his father discovered that Blitzo had convinced Stolas to help him steal from the castle, he’d had the imp thrown out and grounded Stolas for a month, but Stolas hadn’t minded. He already spent his days locked in the library whether he was allowed out of the castle or not. It was the fact that, for the first time in his life, he’d actually had fun with another kid that had been the most exciting part of his birthday. For a while, calling Blitzo his friend had been enough to keep him going, hoping that one day he’d be able to reunite with his childhood friend. 

But as the lonely weeks turned into months and then years and his funny, brazen friend never returned for more mischief, Stolas resigned himself to the fact that he was never going to see the imp again. 

Now he sat alone on the floor of his room, counting down the last days of freedom before his wedding to Princess Stella, grasping for memories with any trace of genuine joy or connection he could hold onto in the days to come. He allowed himself a moment to imagine his once-friend performing outrageously daring tricks in his father’s circus as crowds watched in awe, dazzled by the imp’s talent. He knew Blitzo would have grown up by then, just as he had, but could only picture him as the young boy he had been as they raced, giggling through the palace on that one lovely afternoon. 

“Stolas!” came the shout of the butler from the hall, breaking him from his reverie. “Your father is waiting for you in the sitting room, and I believe you’d find it prudent to not keep him waiting.” Stolas listened for a brief moment more, waiting for the sound of footsteps to recede down the passage, away from his room, but he could only hear the thumping of his own heart inside his chest. He groaned, not caring to stifle the sounds of his annoyance. Then he pulled on a shirt, heading into the hallway to face whatever incessant, performative task his father had for him today. 

When Stolas entered the sitting room, he found no one. He glanced over his shoulder at the butler, who just nodded and indicated that he should take a seat on the sofa facing a rather large mirror on the opposite wall. As he did so, the mirror shimmered and his father’s face appeared, wearing an expression that could only be described as utter apathy. 

“Oh good,” came the voice from the mirror, all at once booming and eerily flat. “Glad you could make it, ah, son.” 

“Stolas, Dad,” came the muttered correction from the sofa. Stolas did not meet his fathers gaze. 

“Right, right. Stelis, of course.” The king glanced down at something not shown on the mirror’s surface. Notecards, maybe. 

“Well, as you know, your engagement period is soon ending, and it’s my job to make sure that you are well prepared for your new responsibilities.” 

Stolas continued to look down at his lap, determined not to make eye contact. 

“ I just wanted to make sure you’d finished reading that book we gave you, and a reminder that you are obligated to produce at least one heir in this marriage. Stella assures us that she is excited as ever for your union.”

Stolas huffed, letting out a puff of air from his beak so strong that it ruffled the feathers on his leg. 

“Hm. right. Well, I believe that is all I’m legally obligated to say. I will be in attendance at the wedding next week and —”

“Next week?” Stolas nearly choked out his surprise. “No, Dad. I don't turn eighteen for another three months.” 

“Right, right, and we know that. But Stella is eighteen next week, and it’s really only the bride’s age that matters in things like this, so I  will in fact see you at the wedding next week.” 

There was a distinct Shhhtikk as the king tapped his notecards on the desk in front of him, and the mirror went blank once more. Stolas was left staring into his own reflection, realizing with a start that the face in the mirror looked far too young to be getting married. The round face before him belonged to a scared little boy. Stolas shook his head, ruffling the feathers around his face as he did so, which only accentuated his juvenile appearance. 

He stood abruptly and ran from the mirror, racing through the entryway, past the courtyard, and through the gate at the end of the driveway. 

Stolas ran down the street, ignoring the ache in his side until his legs were jello. He stumbled into the first business he found with an open door.

 It was still early in the morning, but the cafe smelled like warm cinnamon toast and roasted espresso. Stolas drifted up to the counter, ignoring the stares from the cafe patrons around him. 

“Good morning!” came the cheery albeit well-rehearsed greeting from the barista. “What can I get started for you?”

“I..I don’t like coffee.” Stolas admitted quietly. The girl behind the counter looked him up and down. 

“No worries! I have just the thing.” She smiled. She turned away from him and started pouring, steaming, and mixing away behind the bar. Stolas just stared blankly out of the windows, looking through posters from local businesses taped to the windows to the street beyond. 

“Here ya go!” The bright voice brought the prince back to the present. 

“No coffee. I promise.” she pushed a cup into his hands and turned to help the next customer. 

Stolas found a seat in a corner of the shop near the bathrooms and collapsed into the booth. One week. Why hadn’t anyone told him? Nobody had said anything to him about his marriage since the first time his father had brought it up on his tenth birthday all those years ago, and now, they had decided to change the entire timeline of his youth without so much as pretending to consider his feelings.

Not that anyone ever gave him a choice. His entire life had been prescribed for him, and he was just expected to go along with it. Constantly. Not to mention the fact that his own father couldn't even do him the decency of remembering his name. 

Well, if he was going to be married in the next week, then the next six days were going to have to be entirely his own. Stolas took a tentative sip of the drink in his hands, and instantly felt warmth seep through his body, reinvigorating him. 

“Hot chocolate!” He tittered to himself, and looked up to give the barista a grateful smile. As he finished sipping his drink, Stolas found himself absentmindedly looking over the posters taped to the window in front of him. One in particular stood out to him amongst the clutter. A poster with alternating red and grey stripes arranged at an angle, fanning out from the center of the ad like a sunburst. “The Greatest Circus in all of Hell!” the text proclaimed, displaying a location and series of showtimes in smaller text near the bottom of the ad. Stolas smiled and pulled down the poster, pocketing it before anyone noticed it was gone. One of the times was listed for that very evening. 

[spectreofgreengables]

Since the holiday toy drive post is circulating again, I figured this would also be helpful! Food insecurity is such a massive problem in America, in general, and if you have the means to help feed others, I think you should take that opportunity. Here are some other tips:

1. If you’re planning on donating items from your own pantry, please check the expiration dates on the packaging. Think of your donations as gifts to bestow, not castoffs to be rid of. It’s awful to think of people feeling like they got scraps someone else just didn’t want. Everyone deserves dignity with their meals.

2. If you’d rather give money to a food bank, that’s also great since they buy food in bulk and know what items are most wanted/needed!

3. Not everyone has access to appliances like stoves or microwaves or hot plates so if you can donate items that don’t need to be heated up, that would also be greatly appreciated!

🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

[spectreofgreengables]

One of the coolest parts about being a fan of fanfic is you can actually contact the author. And they will respond. And then you can message them nonstop until they allow you into their lives and then you’re becoming their beta reader and suddenly you know multiple authors of all types of fiction books and fanfic authors who will drag out their deleted fics for you to read at a moments notice.

Anyway. Comment on fics and message authors. It’s absolutely worth it.

[spectreofgreengables]

2025 new years resolution: dedicate even more of my life to stolitz