#or a rushed 'accident'? where she just kind of does it and then realizes as she pulls away? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gmasttin · 24 days ago

Text

Really Good, Actually | Kylian Mbappé fic

| Summary: A Madrid-based creative unexpectedly finds herself leading the rebranding of Kylian Mbappé. Between cold coffees, impossible deadlines, and tense creative sessions, something more than just a campaign begins to take shape. An ironic, intimate, and emotionally sharp story about the chaos of feeling alive just when you thought you were only surviving.

| 3.8k words

| You can read Chapter 1 here

| A/n: I hope you all like it!! If you have any recommendations or thoughts, I'd be super grateful to hear and read them. Thanks 🤍

Chapter 2

The subway smells like rushed humanity and failed deodorant. It’s 8:13 a.m., and you’ve already received two notifications that changed your mood. Well, just one really, the other one was from the bank, and honestly, you weren’t expecting better. The important one, the one gnawing at you as you sway with every jerky stop of the train, is the one you saw at 7:22, just after waking up, one eye open and the other still lost in limbo: Louis liked one of your photos.

But not a recent one.

An old one. A very old one. One of those buried deep in your feed like geological layers of a past life. A photo where you’re smiling without thinking too much, wearing a T-shirt you no longer own, and a kind of innocence you can’t quite get back. You posted it years ago. Literally. Back when you still believed love was enough, that people didn’t just leave, and that you could trust what you saw.

And he saw it. Today.

You ask yourself why. Why today, why that photo. Was he reminiscing? Was it a scroll accident? Is he trying to say something without actually saying it? Or was it just algorithmic cruelty?

But you feel it. Like a pinch in your stomach. Like one of those wounds that seem healed until something brushes against them.

He was the one who broke everything. The one who broke you. And still, with one absurd gesture, a like, he can throw you off completely. As if that validation, even empty, still had power over you. As if it said, “I’m still here. You’re still in my head. And I’m in yours.”

Even though you know it shouldn’t mean anything. Even though you repeat it to yourself like a mantra. Even though you’re embarrassed, it gets to you. Because it does. Because part of you, the part you thought you’d outgrown, wonders if now’s the moment he regrets it. If now’s the moment, he looks back and realizes what he lost.

You climb the station stairs with that blend of contained rage and a kind of sadness you’d rather not admit. The city is fully awake, and all you want is to step into a café and order coffee under a name that isn’t yours, as if that alone could change your identity and your life. But no. You go to the office. Because you’re an adult. And because you have meetings.

The glass door of the agency opens with that passive-aggressive beep that always makes you feel judged. Marta, the one from HR, greets you with a smile far too awake to be human at this hour. You give her a vague nod and keep walking toward the kitchen, desperate for your dose of institutional caffeine.

By the time you finally make it to your desk, the usual one, the corner spot with the dead plant, you notice a new post-it stuck to your screen. Different color. Pink. Cramped handwriting. It’s from Lucía.

“AFTER A WEEK!!!! He’s coming today. Put on some dignity.”

You read it three times. Sigh. According to Lucía, dignity is a mix of concealer, wrinkle-free jeans, and not checking your phone every three minutes to see how much longer you have to survive in this place.

Lucía appears at your side like you just summoned her with your thoughts.

“How do you know he’s coming?” you ask, dropping your bag on the chair.

“Marta said so. Apparently, the Scandinavian room is booked again. And you know that room’s only used for million-dollar clients… or your little creative encounters.”

You stay quiet. She squints at you, eyes sharpening.

“You’re acting weird today. And don’t tell me it’s about the bank. That’s not the face of someone with an overdraft. That’s the face of unfinished business.”

“It’s nothing,” you reply, unconvincingly.

“Right. Like when you said you weren’t stalking him anymore, and I caught you scrolling through the baby shower guest list.”

“Lucía…”

“Okay, okay. I’ll shut up. But if you need my metro card to disappear for a few hours, blink twice.”

Before you can respond, Guillermo shows up, carrying a steaming mug and the kind of energy that definitely doesn’t belong on this planet.

“Ladies, there are donuts in the kitchen. But only the ugly ones. José Luis took the good ones. That man knows how to get on my nerves.”

“Good morning, Guillermo,” says Lucía, trying to keep her train of thought intact despite the interruption.

“I’m feeling especially philosophical today. I dreamed my neighbor, the one who sells stolen bikes, told me he needed a branding strategy. Should I be concerned?”

“Only if he asks for a brief and a deadline,” you reply without thinking.

“Done. The brief was: ‘Reposition shady-looking bikes as narrative-driven, sustainability-focused artifacts.’ Deadline: tomorrow, before the cops show up. Should I be worried or find him a packaging designer?”

“I’m registering that before you finish the sentence,” says Lucía with a grin.

“Oh! By the way,” Guillermo calls out as he walks off, “we should totally do a Crazy Ideas Night. Tonight. Wine and pizza. I’ll bring the Spotify playlist.”

“You just want someone to let you use the disco ball again,” Lucía yells after him.

And even though the moment dissolves into jokes and sarcasm, your eyes drift back to the pink post-it. “Put on some dignity.”

Like that’s something you can just throw on. Like it’s something you can fake. Like a single “like” hadn’t already shaken your whole balance.

And then, he walks in.

No warning. No ceremony. As if it were the most natural thing in the world to walk across the office with that calm stride, like someone who never has to ask permission to take up space.

He’s wearing a gray hoodie, the kind that looks stupid expensive despite not having a single logo, and a black cap worn just wrong enough to suggest he’s trying to go unnoticed… but not really.

He catches you off guard, right as you’re trying to remember if you actually put on mascara this morning or just dreamed you did.

Lucía spots him before you do. She nudges you and raises an eyebrow with the precision of someone who’s clearly rehearsed that move her entire life.

“Morning,” he says, like he just walked into a library, not an office where 70% of screens are currently in pretend-to-work mode.

“You don’t have a home, do you?” you reply without looking up from your keyboard, your tone hovering somewhere between light irony and unintentional self-defense.

You’re not sure if you want him to stay or disappear. But what you do know is that if you don’t keep a straight face, Lucía will run a full emotional Excel report on you by lunch.

He laughs. And sits. In the same chair as the other day. Like it already belongs to him.

From the back of the office, Guillermo pauses mid-sip, his mug frozen halfway to his lips, like his brain needs a couple of seconds to process that actual Kylian Mbappé just walked in. Then he nods, like approving his presence, and wanders off, mumbling something about adjusting the playlist to “set the right creative mood.”

Lucía stands up, grabs her folder of important things (which is probably empty), and announces: “I’ve seen enough for today. I’m going to print documents I absolutely do not need.”

She shoots you a look that basically says, “don’t mess this up,” and exits the scene like a seasoned side character who knows the main act is just getting started.

From two desks over, right next to the printer that’s been broken for over a year, Lucía turns and opens her eyes wide like she’s just watched a trailer for her favorite show. She puts a hand over her mouth, dramatically, like she’s witnessing a live spoiler. Then she looks straight at you. And even though she doesn’t say a word, you can basically hear it scream: drama.

“What’s on the agenda today?” he asks, leaning toward your screen.

His voice is softer than yesterday’s. Or maybe you’re softer today. Or just dumber.

You show him the script outline.

“I’ve got a few possible directions. We could go with the ‘hero’s journey’, that’s the angle your PR team sent over. Or something a bit more… personal. More introspective.”

“And what do you prefer?”

“I lean toward the second. It tends to bring people closer. And if that’s the main goal your team’s aiming for, I’d probably frame it that way. I’m more used to… the broken stuff.”

You realize way too late what you just said. But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease. He just nods, like it makes perfect sense.

“Can I ask you something?” he says after a quiet minute.

“I’m not an Atlético fan.”

“That’s not what I was going to—”

“Just in case.”

He grins.

There’s a pause. He taps his fingers against the desk, like he’s debating whether or not to ask. The silence is brief. Comfortable. Strange. And then:

“Did you always know you wanted to do this?”

You look at him. There’s something about his tone. Genuine curiosity. No irony at all.

“No, I wanted to be an actress. But I have issues with cameras. And with being seen. Especially the more intimate scenes, I used to cringe just watching them, so imagine having to perform them. And then have your whole family watch.”

“Funny. Now you write the words other people say.”

“Exactly. It’s like acting, just without the face and the physical effort.”

He laughs. A real one. Imperfect, kind of uneven. And something sharp twists inside you. Like a tiny crack in your emotional armor. Almost beautiful.

By 10:45, you’ve already gone through half the script and debated the best way to portray his childhood without making it look like a life insurance commercial.

He’s shared things. Small things. Like how he hated almost all food except pasta and fries. How his nanny tried to make him a diehard AC Milan fan. How he collects jerseys from clubs that don’t exist anymore.

None of it is directly useful for the documentary. But you write it all down anyway.

There’s something about the way he tells it—calm, unbothered, mentioning the seemingly irrelevant stuff with a kind of ease that makes you think that’s where the truth lives. You don’t know if those details make him more human, or if you’re just projecting. But still, you keep them. You take notes. As if you could come back to them later. Like they’re clues.

Lucía appears with printer-related excuses and lingers way longer than necessary. You glance at her. She smiles back, like a seasoned guilty party who’s not even trying to hide it.

As she's leaving, Kylian says:

“Is she always that invested in your life?”

“Only when she smells blood.”

“And do you think there’s blood?”

You look at him. You’re about to say something sarcastic. But you can’t. Because you don’t know what’s really there. All you know is that it’s getting harder to focus when he’s too close.

“I think there’s something. But it’s not mine. It belongs to the project,” you say at last, without looking at him. Though truthfully, you’re not sure if that’s a lie. Or just your attempt to protect something you don’t fully understand yet. You feel like if you do look at him, the lie will dissolve. And you’re not ready for him to see that.

“Right. The project.”

And for some reason, you both smile.

Kylian looks back at the screen in silence. Moves the mouse slightly, as if needing to confirm that all of it, the graphs, the dates, the digital post-its, is real.

“Do you think this actually works?” he asks suddenly.

“This?”

“The strategy. The storytelling. The black-and-white photos like I’m some forgotten relic from the last century. Do people actually connect with that?”

“It depends. If it’s done right, yes. If it feels forced, it ends up like a perfume ad with motivational quotes.”

He smiles.

“And mine? Does it feel forced?”

“Not yet,” you answer, more honestly than you expected. “But that’s also because we haven’t finished it. It’s still… in the containment phase.”

“Is that good?”

“It’s honest.”

You’re surprised at how these types of conversations, so supposedly technical, can feel so personal when it’s him having them with you. Like the project is just an excuse. A shared language that lets you both say things without really saying them.

He stays quiet a few seconds longer, eyes still on the screen like the production timeline might whisper some kind of life-changing truth. Then he stretches back in his chair and says:

“Do you have lunch plans?”

He says it with the ease of someone asking what day it is. But to you, it feels like he just opened a locked door inside your chest. You look up and blink.

“Are you asking because you want to invite me, or because you’re trying to avoid the corner café?”

“Both.”

You pause, for the drama of it. But you already know you’re going to say yes.

“Only if you pick the place. But no trendy food. And nothing with foam on things that aren’t supposed to have foam.”

“Deal.”

You end up at a tiny spot two blocks away. One of those nameless places that survives purely through word of mouth. It smells like real bread. And the waiters don’t fake being nice. You love it.

You sit at a table by the window, and as you take off your jacket, you feel like you’ve stepped into some kind of parallel bubble. He settles in like he’s not internationally famous. And, miraculously, no one seems to recognize him. Or if they do, they’re doing a fantastic job pretending not to.

They talk about football. About campaigns. About how the hardest part sometimes isn’t showing who you are, but actually knowing it. He listens more than you expected. And you talk more than you probably should.

At some point, he says:

“I don’t know if I really want people to know the real me. Because sometimes I don’t even know who I am outside all this, after everything I went through to get here.”

You don’t answer. You just look at him and nod. Because that, exactly that, is something you understand far too well.

“Have you always known who you are?” he asks, mid-bite.

“Have you always known how to run that fast without losing a shoe?”

“That’s not the same.”

“It kind of is,” you say. “We both learned something that helped us become who we are.”

He looks down for a second. Like he wasn’t expecting that answer. Like you just got a little too close without meaning to.

“Sometimes it feels like the last few years I’ve been living for other people. Coaches, brands, managers, the press. And I just… went along with it. Because it was easier than saying no.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m trying to figure out if anything about who I am still belongs to me.”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t want to drop some cheap self-help line, or worse, sound patronizing. So you just say:

“Maybe it’s not about reinventing yourself from scratch. Maybe it’s just about choosing which parts you actually want to keep.”

The rest of lunch flows in quiet pauses and half-finished sentences. He tells you about his first training sessions now in Madrid, how much he hated waking up early, and a coach who used Shakespeare metaphors to explain defensive tactics. You tell him how you started in advertising writing copy for yogurt brands promising “inner balance.”

When you both return to the office, there’s a moment when you stop in front of the elevator. The silence stretches slightly, like neither of you knows whether to say something more or let everything already said hang there.

Then he says:

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For talking to me like I’m not… all this.”

“How do you know I’m not faking it?”

He smiles.

“Because it shows when you’re not.”

Lucía sees you walk in together. With the look of someone who’s been observing everything from another dimension. She doesn’t say a word—but sends you a Teams message that simply reads:

“Told you. Drama.”

Followed by a few work-related messages… to keep up appearances.

The workday doesn’t stretch much further. After lunch, he stays for a couple more hours, but the vibe shifts. More people. More noise. More emails with “urgent” in the subject line that aren’t actually urgent.

You try to focus. You open an Excel tab with the conviction of someone taking a solemn productivity oath. But he’s still there. Right next to you. Reading things on his phone, occasionally jotting something down in a notebook that looks more expensive than your entire desk setup.

“I have to go,” he says suddenly, standing up like the air around him just got heavier.

You nod, even though you didn’t realize you were waiting for him to leave until he said it. Not because you want him to go. But because you honestly don’t know what you’d do if he stayed any longer.

“See you tomorrow?” he asks, slinging readjusting his watch on his wrist.

“Depends,” you reply, eyes still on the keyboard. “Are you planning on pretending you work here again?”

“I’m considering asking for a permanent desk,” he says, deadpan.

“You can have it. The plant gave up on us months ago.”

He leaves. With that half-smile you can’t quite decode, somewhere between shy and cocky. And you watch him until the door closes. Like he’s taking a little bit of light with him on the way out.

The rest of the afternoon fades into soulless emails and half-finished tasks. You don’t talk much. He’s already gone. And even though his chair is empty, his presence still lingers, maybe it’s the expensive cologne, still floating in the air around you, refusing to fade completely.

Today was a double shift kind of day. Because, lucky you, Kylian’s project isn’t the only one you're carrying this week. And a couple others need to be wrapped up before Friday.

At 6:53 p.m., Lucía messages you:

Lucía: “We’re going to this Italian place. You, me, and Guillermo. No excuses.”

You reply with a tired face emoji and an “okey mamá,”, because honestly, you don’t have the energy to pretend you had other plans.

You all leave the office when it’s just the interns and the maintenance guy left. The walk is quiet. Guillermo is telling a story about his nudist neighbor trying to grow tomatoes in the shared planters. You only catch bits of it, but you’re grateful for the absurdity.

You arrive at a small restaurant. Warm lights. Smells like oregano and something comforting. Lucía sits down like it’s her living room. Guillermo orders wine like he knows what he’s talking about, and asks if they have gluten-free options, even though he’s not gluten intolerant. You just want something hot. Simple. No tricks.

“So… are you going to fall for him or for the project first?” Lucía asks, the second her butt hits the chair.

“Neither,” you reply, giving yourself zero time to consider the answer.

“Uh-huh. That’s exactly the kind of thing someone says when they’re already in trouble.”

“Are you saying I’m already in trouble?”

“I’m saying I’ve seen that look before. You had it when we talked about Louis. Right before you two started whatever-that-was and he screwed it up.”

“Can we not mention him tonight?”

“Only if you say please and let me try your pizza.”

You sigh. But when it arrives, you hand her your plate.

Guillermo, blissfully unaware of the emotional subtext, is deep in conversation with the waiter about optimal wine temperature.

“What if we made a playlist for Kylian’s project?” he says suddenly, turning toward you. “Something he can listen to while going over the script. Mood-setting. With international flow.”

“‘Mood-setting with international flow’?” you repeat.

“It’s a technical term. I learned it on TikTok.”

Lucía laughs. You do too. And for a second, just a second, the day feels like just that: a day. Not an emotional whirlwind wrapped in post-its and half-laughed feelings.

You walk home alone. It’s cold, but you’ve forgotten how to feel it.

You walk without music, without Lucía’s voice filling the silence with romantic theories. Just the sound of the city dimming and your thoughts, reactivating like they’d been waiting for exactly this moment to be heard.

You wait at a red light, and, after that, for some reason, you try to open the door to a building that isn’t yours. Out of habit. Because you used to live there. Or maybe because your brain decided this was the perfect moment to make you look like a fugitive from your own present.

And as if that wasn’t enough, just when you think the weirdness is over, a pigeon bursts into flight half a meter from you, giving you the most humiliating scare of the day. You duck, let out a tiny shriek, and an old man in a cap says:

“Don’t worry. Happens to me with the parakeets. Louder, but less sneaky.”

You smile. Because honestly, you’re not sure if he’s trying to comfort you or if he’s one of those bird-conspiracy folks now filling the city with signs that birds aren’t real.

You walk home, going over things you didn’t say. To him. To yourself. Things you might’ve felt, but filed away in that mental drawer where you keep everything you’re not ready to process yet.

You walk with your hands in your jacket pockets and your mind as messy as your desk. You wonder if dinner was a good idea. If opening up even a little was a good idea. If letting someone see that part of you, the one you usually hide behind deadlines and well-placed words, was smart at all.

Tomorrow is another day. Another round. Another empty chair that might not be empty. And though you won’t admit it, part of you hopes it won’t be.

When you get home, you drop onto the couch without taking off your makeup. You open Instagram, your nightly routine, and see Louis has posted a story.

You don’t watch it. But you see it. That mental trap where just the sight of the pink circle sends your heart into a tiny panic.

You wonder if it’s his dog. His dinner. His daughter.

You force yourself to close the app. You glance at your laptop. You wonder if you should keep working, get ahead, jot down some ideas for the script.

But no. Not tonight.

Tonight, you just want to sleep without thinking about anything.

Not Louis. Not Kylian. Not open endings or questions disguised as creative meetings.

But you know that tomorrow, inevitably, it will all come back. The pink post-it. The possibly-occupied chair. And that tiny crack that, without you noticing, keeps getting wider.

#kylian mbappe #kylian x you #kylian mbappe x y/n #kylian x reader #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe fanfic #mbappe #mbappe x reader #mbappé #mbappe smut #k. mbappe #mbappe x you #kylian mbappe one shot #kylian mbappe smut #football x y/n #football x reader

47 notes · View notes

yzashifts · 20 days ago

Text

Ghost of you

Chapter 1

I never realized grief could be so audible.

It resonates, doesn't it? Between my breaths. In the quiet when my name has been called and i turn instinctively to talk to him about something—only to remember he's not there.

Jungwon.

Even now, to say his name in my head is like swallowing glass. A year. It's been a year since the world slid out from under your feet. A car accident. A phone call. A funeral I can hardly recall. People whispered around me, gave condolences like flowers i didn't want. What does "sorry for your loss" even mean when when the love of my life disappeared?

He wasn't even the kind of guy i could love. He was love. Sanctuary i ever knew. He'd take me in his arms like i were the most fragile thing on earth, and maybe i were—because when he was away, something in you had died too.

I avoided visiting the places where me and him used to visit. The park. The movie theater where he'd stuff handfuls of snack food into his sweatshirt. And the 5th Street café—the location where he first told me, half-smiling because he was scared and didn't want to appear to be a dweeb, that he was in love with me.

I went nowhere near that location since the day of the funeral.

And today, without cause, my feet carried me there.

Maybe it was the color of the sky—too recognizable. Maybe i were simply fed up with fleeing from his specter.

The doorbell chimes as i come in. Heat, aroma of roasted coffee beans and vanilla treats. Too close to a memory. I maintain my head down, looking at the menu though im not truly here to order.

And then—i see him.

I stand there stock still.

No. No, it can't be

But it is him. Same fluffy hair sweeping into his eyes. Same gentle mouth, shaped in a careless smile. Same Jungwon.

Alive.

Smiling.

With a girl.

She leans forward as she talks, fingers teasing the cuff of his hoodie—his favorite. The one you got him on his birthday. And he's looking at her the way he used to look at me.

As if she's the only one in the world.

My hands tremble so i whirl hastily, making a rushed beeline for a back corner booth as far removed from them as can be. My head ducked, gasping for air, heart thudding to burst out of my chest.

I tell yourself im insane. That it's not him. That it can't be.

But i can't seem to not look.

My eyes land on them once more—and this time, he looks back.

Right at me.

The moment our eyes lock, the world stops. Time, air, thought—gone. His face shifts in a flash, though. Confusion. Shock. Recognition.

And i lose it.

I jump up out of my seat, my heart racing against my chest, and i run.

Out of the café. Into the street. I have no idea where im going. I just need to escape this impossible world. From the agony eating away in my throat. From the hope that perhaps—im not insane.

Then—i sense it.

A hand. Warm. Familiar.

Wrapping around my wrist.

I turn around, gasping.

And there he is.

Jungwon.

Alive.

Staring at me like he's seen a ghost.

"Wait," he says, voice raw, eyes wide. "Don't go."

And my entire world collapses for the second time.

#fanfic #movies #enhypen #jungwon au #jungwon #jungwon imagines #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #jungwon fanfic #multo #chapter 1 #looking for mutuals #jungwon x reader #enhypen x reader #x yn #enhypen scenarios #jungwon scenarios

35 notes · View notes

gddancefloor · 3 months ago

Text

Gnaw on the flesh of the young and fresh,

NOW DESPOIL WHAT YOUR PREY HAS LEFT.

Here's Nana! Another character from the project that Hana's from.

I've been working on an original song after slowly but surely coming out of depression, and I think it's going really well so far. The song is called "DAYCARE AFTER-HOURS", and I will be talking about some of the lore to it and the symbolism to it in this post. But firstly...

The song is STILL A DRAFT. The lyrics will be below the cut.

This drawing has taken 13 hours, so I'm really hoping you enjoy it. My wrist started burning working on this drawing lmao

Also, MASSIVE TW for abuse (sexual, physical, emotional), blood, and murder. This song + story is EXTREMELY dark. Please, PLEASE heed this warning.

With that being said, below the cut is the lore/story to this.

Nana owns a daycare that's for preschool-aged children on up to the age of twelve. Older kids don't often need it, but with the existence of a place to leave your child after school while you work, it's an opportunity that shouldn't be wasted. Nana is renowned for being one of the best nannies in the village, doing things the "old fashioned" way and being very sweet and gentle with the young ones.

She's perfect to parents. From the moment the daycare opens to the moment the doors shutter, they see what Nana wants them to see.

But, when some careless parents get too trusting and decide to leave their older kids overnight — allowed by Nana and even encouraged, that's when the After Hours occur and Nana gets what she really wants.

Nana uses the blood of twelve-year-olds (often girls), soon to age out of her daycare, for the belief that the sacrifice of their blood will appease her false god. What she's looking for is pleasure, longevity, and luck. Luck to never get caught for her actions, longevity to live as long as possible to keep her worship going forever, and pleasure from a child's suffering.

And this drive only worsens when one day, parents drop off their young daughter, a rabbit named Hana. Nana could only wait for the moment she's old enough for her harvest, because nothing's luckier than a rabbit, especially a young, growing one. At this moment, Hana was only six-years-old, leaving her parents to decide that this is where she'd be going until she's aged out.

From sun up to sun down, the young Hana saw what Nana wanted her to see. She knows that young children tend to run their mouths and expose the truth of what an adult did to them, so it's easy to treat the child as if one were a true kind-hearted caretaker. It works, to say the least.

Hana's twelve now. Nana tells Hana's parents that she can stay for a month or two longer, that there's no rush, and this is when Hana soon discovers the truth. So blind and so innocent, crushed with the claws of Nana.

At night, Nana takes Hana downstairs, telling her to keep her voice down and that this is just a little game she enjoys to play with the older kids. Taking the "Nanny's Scissors" out of her dress's side pocket, Nana widens them and slowly drags them across Hana's wrist and neck, bringing her lips up to the wounds and sucking them, lapping up the blood that seeps. At first, Hana believes this is normal, because why would Nana hurt her, right? She's her caretaker.

But, after this happens over and over again, Hana being told to not tell her parents (and leading to Hana lying to them frequently about her injuries being from playground accidents), Hana realizes she can't tolerate this "game" anymore, yet still endures it because Nana made the threat that no matter what Hana does, she will always be bound to her and that she'll kill and eat her body if she tells.

I won't say much about this since it's quite triggering for some people, but Nana believes just the blood of a rabbit isn't enough to receive the epitome of her blessings, and decides to resort to... Well, S/A, consuming the blood from that too. This doesn't happen as often, but Nana did it purely from going insane for her "love" of Hana. (It isn't love in that sense, more like obsession.)

What will be shown in the MV during the final chorus is Hana snapping and grabbing the scissors from Nana, stabbing her to death in the throat and neck out of pure, unadulterated rage. That would be the only time Hana shows full anger, sick of all the pain that she's dealt with because of her abuser. And because Hana had never wanted to hurt anyone, being a sweet little girl, she falls to her knees and breaks down, even if the person she hurt was her abuser.

And that's the story for now.

===

Lyrics:

[VERSE I] Sun up to sun down, Mom and Dad see the veil Covered in bright pastels and a perfect woman ideal And since a little kit, I've been left here in her care Now old enough to be an unlucky victim of this nightmare

Too good to be true, predators never change You smile with your fangs and thirst with your eyes soon as you say my name Sacrificial prey's blood is what you really want And there's no better choice than your prized rabbit's for a blessing of luck

[PRE CHORUS] I'm taken down and ravished open Claws grip my neck leaving me choking You're lapping up the slit that's seeping And I'm not the first one you've broken

[CHORUS I] The seemingly perfect caretaker A predator of what it's collared "I'm quite lucky to have a girl like her Your daughter's just so well behaved and mannered!"

You'll act so the parents never know What happens here when those doors close

Learning what's going on behind the scenes A first-hand witness to these cruel schemes Feed from the wound from which I bleed Aren't you supposed to protect me?

Gnaw on the flesh of the young and fresh Now despoil what your prey has left

===

The first verse is after the chorus in the audio because it's just a draft. I'm not even intending on keeping Teto in this and probably going to use Solaria's whisper VB in the final project. It's just difficult to get the vocals to sound like an actual kid.

I will have a separate post for Hana's character information as soon as I make her reference sheet, since this post was more so focused on Nana. Also, keep in mind this story is VERY new (just came up with it this week) so a LOT of changes will be made. This is what I have for now, and I'm really happy with it so far.

Lastly, this song is about grooming and power dynamic abuse. That's all I'll say for now.

Thank you SO much for reading and have a lovely day.

#oc art #oc info #art #digital art #oc lore #original character #original music #artists on tumblr #tw blood #tw child abuse #tw violence #tw sa #synthesizer v

15 notes · View notes

haliotropes · 4 months ago

Text

quam amiterre ludum (losing the game) James Moriarty x OC

Chapter Fourteen: finish initium

Chapter Thirteen

The Reichenbach Fall. Dear. end of beginning.

Notes: Descriptions of wounds and blood

“I’ve done what I can to stay the bleeding…if she's not taken to a hospital she'll surely die. I don't have the equipment… there's too many shards.”

Side to side, side to side. A hard floor beneath her back. Dozens upon dozens of dull bee stings sitting just beneath her skin.

“He's not breathing…”

There was shouting. Anora would have tried to wake but she didn't quite know she was asleep.

“Come on…come on…”

A gasp, but not hers. A train whistle.

She awoke in a hospital. Her arms, neck, torso- most of her covered in bandages. The slightest movement invited stabbing pains. Still, she tried to move regardless.

“Alright, dear. It's alright.” A nurse came rushing over. “Don't try to rush it. It will be painful.”

The nurse checked her bandages and Anora checked the room.

“How did I get here?”

“You were brought. I believe one of them is still out in the hall. Would you like me to fetch him?”

Anora nodded, though without knowing who exactly the nurse was referring to, she wasn't sure if she did want to see the person in question. But in walked the doctor. Not a doctor at the hospital, but James's enemy. What was his name?

He came and sat by her bedside. He bore bruises and the tiredness of one who has been battling with a criminal mastermind. And still, he regarded her with kindness.

“I recognize you now. I wasn't sure before. You're the one we saw at the munitions warehouse in London, aren't you?”

Watson. That was his name. Anora nodded.

“Yes, that's right. You're…Watson? John Watson.”

“I am. And you, what's your name?”

“Anora Leeds.”

“My partner said that you made an attempt to help him.”

“To be truthful, I don't remember what all happened. There was an explosion…” Anora's eyes widened and she sat up, much to the doctor's concern. “My god- is he alright?”

“Yes, the detective is fine,” he said, holding out a comforting hand. Anora looked at him in horror. Horror with herself, for she hadn't been referring to the detective, and Watson realized this as well.

“Ah, well. Neither the professor nor his man were there once we dug you and Holmes from the rubble.”

Her heart sank and though it was not surprising, it was painful. The memory stabbed her in the brain.

“Yes, I saw them go.”

Watson considered her with sympathy. Or was it pity? She didn't much care. “Where are they headed next?”

“You don't know?”

Anora narrowed her eyes at him. “Spare me the curiosity, please. I don't remember.”

“Then forgive me, but I'd rather not say.”

“This is not a game, Doctor-”

“Precisely my point. You must leave this behind. You'll not get an opportunity like this again. Not while he's alive.”

Anora sat up again. “What does that mean?”

Watson averted his eyes. “Miss Leeds-”

“No, what does that mean?”

She raised her voice. Perhaps if she embarrassed him enough he would confess if only to keep her quiet.

“There is-” he matched her volume but at the turning of heads he quieted. “There is a finality to this. You must know that.”

Of course she did. But not in that way. She set her teeth.

“Where?”

Watson set his hands on his knees and stood.

“Allow yourself this time to recover, Miss Leeds, and reflect. It will not be easy, but it will be.”

He left her. Anora contained the fury that threatened to leave in an animalistic shriek. No thoughts for the people who had saved her life, she only wanted out. More, she needed to know where.

She wracked her memory. Surely in one of the nearly hundreds of letters she'd written there was a name. She thought back to the codes. There was some sort of event they were traveling towards.

I hear the Falls are lovely this time of year.

She called the nurse to return.

“Pardon me, but where are we?”

“Zurich, miss.”

Ah, so they'd passed into Switzerland. Anora cleared her throat.

“I'm sorry- the accident shook my head. I was due to meet my friends near here. Some Falls, I believe.”

“Well, if it was scenery you were looking for, the Falls in Reichenbach are quite a sight.”

Anora nodded. “Thank you! Yes, that must have been it. When will I be released? I ought to meet my friends soon.”

“You'll be released when the doctor declares you fit to do so. I expect you'll be with us for a few days more at least.”

Anora knew there was nothing to gain by pushing the subject further, so she thanked the nurse. She gave her something for the pain and then was off to help another patient. Anora made her decision.

At nightfall, Anora left her bed. She was in a long room with dozens of other patients, all in their own beds, most asleep. Some, like her, were awake, but unlike her they were not plotting an escape.

Anora knew she wouldn't get far in a dressing gown, so she walked quietly down the aisle of beds, eyeing for a man's bed. Hers were not due to the explosion, but well kept clothes were folded neatly at bedsides. She encountered a younger man, about her height, snoring in his bed. Undershirt, button down, trousers, and shoes. She took them all, slipped behind a divider by an empty bed, and changed, taking care not to disrupt her injuries too much. They had stitched what they could by the feeling. All of her skin felt tight but only portions of it were cut deep. She was grateful; the shirt was white.

Once changed, Anora carried the shoes to the end of the room and dropped her gown in a hamper. Getting an idea, she turned back to her bed and pulled her medical folder from a slot at the end. She slipped on the shoes which were far too big, opened the folder to cover her face, and entered the hallway.

She needed enough money for a train, and that was it. Once at Reichenbach, she could find out where the event would be held. It was…a ball. Yes, James had mentioned it a handful of times. What was to happen there, she didn't know now, nor had she ever.

Anora walked to the reception area. It was getting to be evening so it was sparse, but a doctor stood at a front desk, flirting with a nurse. He was getting ready to leave, judging by his street clothes, and a heavy coat sat on the counter next to him. Anora closed the folder and slapped it down between the doctor and nurse. She put on an air of panic.

“I'm here visiting- this girl, she's gone hysterical! Tearing at her sutures! Please, help her!”

Both the nurse and doctor went rushing to the exact place Anora had come from. The doctor, in his urgency, had forgotten his coat. Anora grabbed it from the counter and walked out into the biting air. She slipped it on and reached into the deep pockets, and was pleased to find a thick wallet inside.

Finding the train station was simple enough, and looking at a map, she needed to get to Meiringen. She went to the ticket window.

“Excuse me? I need a train to Meiringen. When does the next depart?”

The elderly caretaker eyed the schedule.

“Won't be for another hour, miss.”

Anora sighed.

“Alright.” She counted out the money and he passed her a ticket. She thanked him and sat on a bench. God, she was tired.

Anora rolled up her sleeve to see if any of her movement this far had caused her stitches to break; she was relieved to find no blood coming through.

A plan was what she needed. She could get there, but getting inside would be the trick. She would need to be dressed properly. There might be a way to sneak inside dressed as a server as events typically hire out, but could she pass enough as a man right now to ask for a uniform? She doubted it.

At the thought of disguise, Anora's heart stopped for a moment and she felt at her chest. She exhaled in relief when she found the locket still there, safe and sound. Yes, she'd certainly have to go as a man. Wearing a dress would expose her bandages, and what a conversation that would incite.

She thought of the last dress she wore- the purple one. Never had she felt more beautiful, and yet now she considered it more like a painting, or a paper doll.

How much of it had been real, if any? How much truth was in the detective’s words at the tower, or was he simply making a desperate attempt to get her on side? The man who told her about lessons in war, despite his own professions, was not the man she met at Queen Mary's. It simply wasn't.

The train whistle sounded. Anora trudged her way on and waited in a compartment for only a moment before taking to the hall. She stalked up and down the alley until her eyes settled on a lovely young couple in their own compartment, and the man looked to be about her size all around. Mustering the courage and charisma she could, she opened the door, stepped in, pulled down the privacy blind, locked the door, and sat opposite the couple, who stared at her in shock.

“Good evening. Might I borrow your clothes?”

It was at a wonderful manor that the ball was being held. The young man on the train had a suit in his luggage that was fanciful enough for Anora to talk her way through one of the servant entrances, and she felt secure in her decision to forgo her first idea. The servers were being directed too forcefully; she never would have gotten a chance to break away.

Coming upstairs to the main floor, the sonorous tunes of a string quartet greeted her, along with the pleasant chatter of guests. The men were, of course, in black and white uniformity, but the women wore their finest gowns and jewels.

Had James planned for her to do the same? As Anora watched a dance form on the floor, she remembered that night when he stitched her hand in front of the fireplace, then attempted to teach her to waltz. He had held her so properly, like a gentleman. He had saved her from falling and she had laughed like she'd never laughed before, an effervescent sound.

After it all, what she still wouldn't give to be in that dance with him.

But she parted through the throngs on the outskirts, her eyes peeled for James. What she would do when she found him remained a mystery. Would she attempt to draw him back, to call off whatever scheme he had planned? Or would she fall apart completely?

She passed a window, and out on a balcony she finally spotted him. His back was to the party as he looked out into the night. Anora breathed steadily, rid her mind of those wonderful memories, and pushed open the door.

At the sound he turned, taking only a moment to register her presence. He let nothing on his face show.

“Surprised?” she asked, guarded even as she began to pace. The balcony was small, thin and cluttered with decor, potted plants and a chess table. Moriarty considered the cigar between his fingers.

“Not quite. Impressed, certainly, but not surprised.” He took a puff and looked her over. “I'm curious, though, what you mean to accomplish, though. You look rather like a predator. Is it that you're angry with me?”

“Don't I have a right to be?”

“Who am I to determine what rights you have?”

“You seemed to think you had plenty of control before.”

Feeling emboldened, she drew a bit closer. He noticed this.

“And I still do, don't I? Tell me, what was most surprising: the acts themselves, or the ignorance you put against them?”

The words hurt as they were meant to, but Anora held fast and spoke the first thing that came to mind.

“Come back with me.”

He laughed and looked at her from under his brow.

“Don't be foolish, Anora.”

“I'm not. If you come back now you may still have a chance.”

“At what?”

“Survival.”

He smirked, showing his teeth. “Life in a cage. I will not do it.”

Anora thought of the doctor and the detective somewhere inside and wondered how much time she had, if any time at all, before Moran enacted his part of the plan, whatever it was, or any of them decided to come out for some air. For now she was a phantom. That very well may not last.

“You know how stubborn I am. One way or another I'm not leaving here without you.”

Moriarty looked down, then cleared his throat, then turned back to the starry night sky. Puffs of breath casted a foggy spell from his mouth.

“I lied,” his voice crackled.

“I know.”

“No.” He shook his head, turned back to her. “About my feelings for you.”

Anora physically recoiled, only a little, only enough to be noticed. “No. Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Be cruel just to drive me away.”

“On the contrary this may be one of the few times the professor is being honest.”

Anora turned swiftly on her heels only to come face to face with Sherlock Holmes as he stepped out into the night. He looked about as rough as Anora did, but he was standing all the same, just as she was. He quietly closed the door behind him. Anora met him halfway with swift steps.

“I'm not finished here,” she whispered with haste.

“You are,” he replied.

“I'm not.”

“You're young, ambitious, reactionary-” Moriarty's tenored voice rang out from behind her and Anora replied over her shoulder. Was it the cold, or was she beginning to cry?

“Stop, please-”

“No family or friends, you were vulnerable and isolated. I knew I could get you on side easily and I was right. You would've killed for me had I asked.”

“If that were true you would have asked me.”

“You're worth no more to me than Moran, and he's likely to die tonight.”

Something about that bit her particularly hard and it took the detective's hand on her arm to keep her next to him. Pain broke through but she ignored it.

“Go back inside,” he muttered.

“No,” Anora spoke still to Moriarty. “I don't believe you.”

“Foolish.”

Holmes shook her, forcing her to look at him. “Go.”

When she blinked, the tears finally fell down her face. “Don't let him get away.”

“He won't.”

“Whatever it takes.”

His eyes searched her face. He wasn't an especially tall man so she was almost able to look him in the eyes and what she found there frightened her. It was a resolve, a sort of understanding. She got the feeling that if she asked him what his plan was, he wouldn't tell her. Not because he didn't trust her, even though he still shouldn't, but because it would somehow injure her.

She shook under his grasp.

“Go.”

Anora angrily wiped her tears and gave her professor one last look before reentering the ballroom. Her face flushed from the sudden change in temperature. Her eyes scanned the room. There was still no sign of Moran. The doctor was dancing with a woman Anora didn't recognize, and he caught Anora's eye mid-turn. She wrung her hands and kept to the walls, now on a path to find Moran before any damage could be done.

She made it down the stairs with hurried steps then was yanked aside, into a small space in a corner. It was Moran's eyes who pierced her in the darkness.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“I needed to see him.”

“You can't stop what's in motion, Anora. Tonight is going to happen, as is the next day and the next, so the best thing for you to do is go home.”

He released her with a push and her back hit the wall.

“You don't seem worried that I'll stop you.”

Moran looked at her, his eyes widening in some realization, and then he laughed in her face.

“See how little you know? How much you still don't understand? It's not me you should be worried about.”

It took Anora half a second to realize only a little of what he meant but she was still back on the steps before he could stop her. Just as she breached the ballroom, just as Moran had caught up to her, Doctor Watson was tackling someone to the ground. Anora made an attempt to move further into the ballroom but Moran grabbed her and flung her back, and she tumbled back down the stone steps. Her head hit the floor with a ‘thud’ and her ears began to ring. There was a gunshot. Anora screamed through grit teeth as several of her stitches burst open.

Like a sick refrain of the tower, Anora watched Moran through tilted vision. He raised a cane. The man Watson had attacked was being hauled away by guards and she watched helplessly as Moran fired something from the end of the cane into the man's leg. People rushed past. Someone decided to help her up and Anora's vision began to settle as Moran passed her, lighting a cigarette.

“If I see you again, I'll kill you.”

She believed him. She was lucky he spared her now.

As Moran slipped through the throngs Anora wondered if she'd ever would see him again. She was barely cognizant enough through the pain to grab at Watson's jacket as he rushed past. He looked at her, caught her as she clung to him. Blood from open wounds oozed from her arms and patted onto the pretty white tile beneath their feet. Someone next to her gasped.

“The balcony,” she rasped, though he already knew and she only wanted him to take her with him. She wanted to be there to witness however it would end.

She'd come to wonder, later, what might have happened, had she paid more attention at her work. Perhaps there was some truth to what the detective had said in the tower, and what James had said on the balcony. It would have been wise of the professor to seduce her to the end she wouldn't ask questions, that she would trust him implicitly. If that's true then he would've been correct on two accounts: he was wise, and she was a fool.

She would always say this for John Watson: he was a good man who understood what people needed when they needed it, and he understood this for Anora. So, he placed a helpful hand on her waist, careful not to further disturb her wounds, and hauled her back up the steps and across the ballroom floor which had cleared out amongst the commotion. Watson threw open the balcony door, Anora clutching his side, and he locked eyes with his detective, who had Moriarty in a choking grasp. Holmes closed his eyes and used his footing on the chess table to throw both himself and the professor over the railing.

Watson and Anora stood, frozen, and not for the cold. They didn't need to rush to the railing to watch as the two men tumbled down the falls. They wouldn't have seen an impact with the water anyhow.

Anora's lower lip trembled but a slight movement from Watson and she gasped in pain. She was grateful for it. It masked the hollow pin point in her chest.

Inside, in the lobby, the woman who had danced with Watson was collapsed over her dead brother's body. Somewhere, Mary Watson sat and anxiously awaited word from her husband. And there, on the balcony, the two witnesses to the end of the lives of perhaps the greatest minds in Britain, stood in a stunned silence.

Lavender.

It's what she smells when she wakes in a large four poster bed, lush, with the softest sheets and duvets. Curtains around the bed are drawn shut, but where they meet the posts she can see dried lavender hanging.

Anora sits up and her head pounds from where Moran had hit her.

Moran.

Anora throws open the curtains of the bed and tumbles out onto a hardwood floor. She stumbles, pulls herself to stand on the lip of a window. The glass bites her fingers with cold and she sees snow gathering on the exterior ledge. Beyond that, sprawling fields covered in sheets.

A nearby fire crackles and the sound is nature to her. She realizes rather quickly with the dueling warmth of the fire and the bitter cold of the outside that she's down to her shift. A robe lays across a chaise lounge. She doesn't need to pick it up and smell it to know it's one of his, but she does anyway. Anora slips the robe on, tightens it around herself and ties it tightly. Her stockings are still on, though, so she moves about the room. Her person effects have been set with care on a chest of drawers, her clothes folded neatly. And on top is her textbook.

She grimaces at the sight, yet opens the cover and runs her fingers across the script inside. Holmes had been correct. It almost looks as though she could've written it, but not the O's. Their O’s are different.

Next to the chest of drawers is a small writing desk, and on that is a letter opener. She grabs it.

Anora dresses in a comfortable linen shirt and trousers. She doesn't want to feel vulnerable the way a dress might make her, or worse yet, one of his robes. God forbid he knows she takes comfort in him still. She leaves shoes off, though, for the purposes of stealth.

Anora quietly opens and closes the door. The hallway is hardwood and stone walls, decorated with dried flowers and recreations of famous paintings. She travels down. More rooms with their doors closed, then a staircase. She descends, carefully concealing the letter opener between her sleeve and the palm of her hand. The dull blade almost aligns with the scars on the inside of her hand. She can guess that the house is older, judging by the flooring and walls, so she's intentional in her steps down the stairs. Still, one or two manage to creak. She doesn't bother stopping. If someone is going to hear her, chances are they already have.

And they have. Collins, still as old as ever, greets her at the base of the stairs.

“Good morning, Miss Leeds. Breakfast for you in the drawing room. Eggs how you like.”

Something in his words, in their familiarity, is almost comforting to her. She brushes it aside.

“Where is he, Mister Collins?”

Collins seems to perk up a bit at the title she grants him. He gestures down the hall. She nods in thanks and goes. To her right, she catches a glimpse of the drawing room where, inside, Moran eats his own breakfast. He gives her look before she decides to ignore him for now. She comes to the kitchen, then a turn into a room with tall windows and a glass roof secured by wrought iron supports. Flower boxes sit empty by the windows. Snow falls gently outside. And standing, with his back turned to her, is her old professor.

Anora waits for a moment, silent, watching him. She can vaguely see careful fingers tying twine around lavender. The overcast light of morning glints off his signet ring. He clears his throat, then coughs.

“I adore this old house, yet the draft keeps me in a continuous cold.”

He pulls a handkerchief from a pocket and wipes at his face. Anora isn't sure how he knew of her presence behind him, but it doesn't matter much.

She can't quite decide what to do. She allows the letter opener to slip further into her hand and grips the base tightly.

“I spent most of the spring and summer studying botany,” he continues. “Outside of operating hours, of course. The business never truly sleeps. You know that. What I couldn't quite salvage I left to dry. No matter what, it serves a purpose.”

There's a snip and he lifts his arms to hang the bundle of lavender from a line with others. He wipes his hands and turns to her finally. Anora's heart hitches. He looks exactly the same, if not his hair having grown a bit longer, and he's earned a scar on his left cheek, likely from the fall. When he gives her that smile, the scar crinkles.

“Hello, my dear Anora.”

My dear.

She forgets the letter opener entirely and closes the distance between them with a harsh slap!

The cold caused the impact to sting them both but it was nothing compared to the wide eyed look of shock James offered her now.

She opened her mouth to apologize but the words were caught either in her throat or her head. He deserves it. He deserves worse, she thought. In her hesitation, James closed the put a bracing hand on the back of her neck- not painfully, but certainly enough to keep her still. He put her between himself and the flower boxes.

“...And yet, despite it all, your accusations and mischaracterizations,” he paused. The hand on her went soft, moved to her jaw, stroked her face. “No matter how much you might have grown to hate me, you are still so very dear to me.”

She can't help falling into the kiss when he gives in and the letter opener clatters to the floor. She's not proud, she's not remotely pleased. But she allows the warmth in her chest to spread.

They break away. She draws a thumb along his scar and he exhales.

“I still simply cannot help myself. Can you?”

He warms Anora's hands in his own.

“I can, I will. I promise you that much.”

He smiles and nods in an understanding, or maybe it's placation. It doesn't particularly matter either way.

Anora laughs when she realizes something.

“What?” James inquires.

“There's just another thing you're good at now.”

“Hardly. Notice how so many of the plants are dried. Couldn't keep them very well.”

“Either way.”

“Remember how I said that, once this was all over, we would do so many wonderful things together?”

Anora's stomach twists. “Yes.”

“I've decided I don't want to wait. My empire will never stop until I'm dead, and I'm not going to wait for you, either. I think it begins today.”

#rdj sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock Holmes a game of shadows #game of shadows #james moriarty #john watson #mary watson #not a self insert #bc I'm bad at math and science #james Moriarty x oc #shut up #jared harris #hal still has jared harris brainrot

4 notes · View notes

frogsandfries · 2 years ago

Text

Who knows how long Beast has been frozen in time, simultaneously forever a child naïve to the ways of a world he's never interacted with, as much as he has been looked to by the servants caught up in this mess to be the leader he was bred to be. Of course, with time continuing to pass beyond the cursed walls, stories have been spread to keep people away from this particular castle.

The little boy reaches out a hand to touch an ethereally beautiful rose that floats in the center of the garden where the fountain usually is. His hand bumps into a sharp thorn in the stem. In the dream, he doesn't feel the pain, but he feels the drop of blood splash upon the grass. Suddenly, the garden is filled with haunting, cruel laughter of many inhuman voices. They've tricked him, and now he'll be a beast so hideous as to be unlovable by any, the ultimate curse. His father's blood line will have no choice but to perish and the kingdom will belong to the fae once again, as it should.

Beast jars awake in the library, the book falling from his enormous chest to the floor. Why does he dream about that........ day, that horrible, stupid, childish accident all the time. It's done and there's nothing he can do except languish, frozen in time, trapped within the walls of the castle, unable to leave. What a cruel curse to burden a little boy with.

Of course, he has no way of knowing what legends and lore his story has evolved into, stories of a heart-consuming monster who tricks women, stories of someone whose foul and wicked soul has been made his exterior, someone who could never love and would never deserve to be loved. It's better that he doesn't know; the stories told when fires have burned low and children have gone to sleep would only hurt the sweet, naïve Beast.

Stories Belle had never heard before ambling into this little village in an isolated valley where she hopes her step-mother, and step- and half-sisters will never hear of her.

Belle wakes from what fitful little sleep she was barely able to get through nightmares of the gnarled, grizzled old drunk her step-mother tried to sell her to.

She rises quietly in the faint light of the approaching dawn. Her step-mother, step- and half-sisters sleep inside the house proper, on the far side of the house from Belle. Barefoot, Belle tiptoes out of the makeshift barely-a-room. She collects several bags from around the property, loads the farm horse, and quietly leads him off, away from the sun as the mist is being burned away by the sun.

A good distance away from the house, she rearranges the bags, mounts the horse and they set off at a better pace. Belle's mind rushes. Why haven't they come after her yet, what will they do when they catch her, where is she going to go, what are they going to do when they realize everything she took, what was she thinking?

Isolated in his cursed castle, Beast has no idea his life is about to finally gain momentum. This Belle is just as stunningly brilliant as the Belle in the original writing of the tale, as well as beautiful, but being so intelligent was no blessing for a girl who grew up socially isolated, neglected and verbally marred for more of her childhood than she hadn't.

Of course no one knows the truth of why he was cursed: The Beast was not transfigured to match his ugly interior, as rumor evolved into lore. He was merely a boy, caught in the crossfire of a battle between his father and the powerful fae his father had insulted, cursed to wear the appearance of a beast until he could find someone who could confess their love for him. After all, what is love that you can't verbalize.

A seemingly kind fae creature, feeling sad for the prince who would live his short life as a beast too hideous for any mortal woman to love, gave the boy what she thought was a gift, the chance to live, frozen and concealed in time. She comes to see him periodically, giving him new magical gifts--a magic mirror, a magic pantry, a magic book. Sometimes the fae is like a friend, sometimes like a mother--and lately, sometimes she's more familiar with the fallen prince. Idk maybe I throw that out.

Even though Belle's stomach is somehow more empty than her purse, she resolves to locate this castle--after all, the tales must have a granule of truth to them in there somewhere, and there doesn't appear to have been any nobles looking after this area for a long time. They must have lived somewhere. What's the worst that could happen? Her heart torn out and eaten by a monster? She might die of starvation or freeze to death in the rapidly approaching winter anyway, and then her heart would go to waste, scavenged by wolves or ravens. Belle had always fantasized about her prince charming whisking her off to a kingdom far, far away, where she could wear a new dress made of gems every day, if she wanted to. Even long-crumbling ruins of a castle are still a castle, right? Even if there isn't even a speck of gold dust remaining? It would be more shelter against the cold than the frigid pews of the church in the village.

#I'll keep working on this #let me know what you think #beauty and the beast #la belle et la bête #story #fractured fairytales

22 notes · View notes

lumilasi · 1 year ago

Text

Updated these two to add them to NCP. Also decided to change Silas into a girl instead, as otherwise their mom (design pending) would be stuck with FOUR gremlin boys lol

The Faylunes are probably the most well-adjusted family in this story (alongside the Knights), but even they aren't without tragedy in it.

Info below:

Age(s): 18

Heights: they're both roughly 167 cm tall

Nicknames:

Milo: Gremlin I Celine: Cece

Alternate name: Celine & Milo Danau (Danau is the Fae bloodline surname)

(coming from the latin name danaus, referring to a tribe of tiger butterflies)

Family: older brothers Claude and Hayden, Mother (name pending)

Friends: Classmate Adam Knight, sometimes they also hang out with Ichirou's group. (Ichirou, Marco, Janus & Clover)

Occupation: High school students.

Abilities:

MILO

As a SPD, he can merge with shadows and traverse through them. He can also paralyse people by, er, chomping them, or in case of small children, just by staring at them.

His kind feed off of fear their presence causes, and so he naturally gives Spooky Vibes when in demon form, which can cause paranoia, anxiety or small unease in people. (His vibes aren't as strong as Hayden's yet)

As a moth/bug type, he can also fly and shrink into a tiny size if he wants to.

Having a fae heritage means he is able to summon his wings (and extra pair of arms) in fae/human form without needing to transform fully.

He's pretty good at smacking things with staff-like weapons.

CELINE

She is highly intelligent, able to process information quickly and is curious/persistent enough to dig out things she doesn't know about, even if its hard

Excellent swordswoman, Celine's skill with her dual blades is considered highly impressive for her age.

She is incredibly stealthy, able to sneak up on even her brother Hayden, which is not an easy feat.

Fairly fast and agile at flying, though not as fast as Hayden who is Very Speedy Boi

Personality:

Milo: A friendly, kind of a chaotic gremlin with himbo energy. Means well but has a bad habit of breaking things and causing chaos accidentally. Temperamental and ready to throw hands for his friends and family anytime. Dumb enough to not realize if someone has a crush on him, unless he gets told directly (might still not connect the dots lol)

Celine: Smart, seemingly the polite and level-headed one. An absolutely mischievous gremlin in truth who likes messing with people and causing chaos just like Milo - only intentionally, and she is typically able to cover her tracks. Really loves learning about new things and is pretty competitive, often wanting to prove she's smartest in the room, for better or worse.

Weaknesses:

Milo: Due to witnessing their father's death, Milo has a phobia of tight places/being buried alive and therefore doesn't enjoy being in cramped rooms or crowds that get too big. He is mute that does sometimes cause trouble with communication, as not everyone understands sign language, and he doesn't know any telepathy spells and struggles to learn such magic.

Celine: Sometimes a bit too smug for her own good, where she overestimates her own capabilities. Her competitiveness can lead to problems where she might lash out at her friends and family if she loses, and generally act kind of mean. She always does apologize once she realizes she's gone too far, though.

ABOUT THEIR LATE FATHER:

The Faylunes had a fairly normal and happy family life living at the glow apple farm they ran.

Things changed however as their father was crushed in an accident during a storm, where the barn collapsed onto him; a lightning had struck it and he'd gone there to try and put the fire out.

Milo had rushed to try and help his dad when he'd gotten stuck under fallen debris and due to being disoriented hadn't been able to use his shrinking ability to escape,. Unfortunately, Milo didn't make it on time, and the resulting sudden flash of fire from the collapse also hit Milo, resulting in him losing his other eye and later wearing an eyepatch. (There is regenerative magic in this world, but trying to regenerate such delicate organs like eyes to another person is very risky and often not worth the effort)

Since he's the only one who directly witnessed the event, he was hit the worst out of the whole family, going mute and developing severe fear of tight places that seem to threaten to collapse onto him, like the barn collapsed onto their father. (He didn't develop a fear of fire given it ultimately wasn't the blaze that killed their dad, and had he not gotten trapped, their father could've probably managed to put the fire out.)

Fun Facts

Every sibling in this family has a clothing piece referencing their butterfly/moth wings and theme made by their mom; Celine has her long-sleeved shirt, Milo his fluffy cardigan coat, Claude his jacket, and while Hayden has no natural wings, being a Moon Mage instead of Fae, he still has agreen butterfly themed shirt made to him by their mother.

Milo's SPD form is blue as the inverse of his wing colors is bunch of blues.

Celine is a huge fan of Avane Faydream, as she's seen how incredibly good fighter and tactician she is, and she really digs tough and smart ladies.

Another person she finds cool is Adam's oldest brother Chester(Azul) who is currently "away," (he's a wanted fugitive for stealing something highly valuable and dangerous from the Overshadower Council, a branch of their world's government), but Celine doesn't know that)

Generally, she tends to dig confident and intelligent people, who are able to use their tactical skill to defeat an opponent instead of brute forcing it.

Milo is closest with their oldest sibling Claude among the bunch, but generally all 4 siblings are fairly close and have their own inside jokes that others don't get.

Celine in turn, is closer with Hayden than Claude

Milo's wings are based on Atlas moth, and Celine's the tiger butterfly like their older brother Claude's wings.

Milo tends to want to keep his cardigan on even during summer, when its honestly too warm to wear. This tends to lead to him stripping naked apart from the said cardigan, up until his mom tells him off

Milo's shirt has the logo of his favorite in-world rockband, the Showman's Lament. His sister also loves it, and owns a similar shirt, just white instead of dark grey.

While, like their older siblings, the two go to school in the capital Chrysalis city, they always travel back home to their mom for weekends and holidays, as she's currently mostly by herself otherwise.

Their dad was the Sleep Paralysis Demon, while their mum is the tiger butterfly Fae

The siblings' style tends to be kind of a mix of urban, sporty and punky fashion when in the city, but at the farm they do wear more practical clothing to help out their mother. (Hayden and Claude do the same ofc)

Milo has a ravenous appetite and will easily devour meals meant for three people.

When he's stressed, Milo might monch on canvases, including their home curtains sometimes which are full of 'mysterious' holes as a result.

#artists on tumblr #digital art #oc reference #fae #lumi's chaotic creations #lumi's art scribbles #Night city parlor #Milo Faylune #Celine Faylune #Milo Danau #Celine Danau

6 notes · View notes

helluvascribe · 4 days ago

Text

Rolando Infests Fizzarolli

Fizzarolli was there in Blitzo’s mind. On the green-tinted screen, Blitzo could see a memory of Fizzarolli desperately reaching out to Blitzo on the ground, the circus fire burning his limbs. Blitzo remembered how he couldn’t save him…how he had rushed to find his mother, but then realized he was too late. Cash Buckzo, Blitzo’s father, blocked Blitzo’s way, preventing him from seeing Fizzarolli recovering in the hospital. Cash had told Blitzo that Fizzarolli didn’t want to see him and then he told the same thing to Fizzarolli.

Fifteen years later, Blitzo and Fizzarolli had just begun to rekindle their friendship. Despite living different lives, they bonded after Blitzo saved Fizzarolli’s life twice, once from Crimson and again from another fire in the Greed Ring. Their friendship seemed to be stable for now.

But Blitzo still felt regret.

“You were too much of a coward to tell him how you felt about him,” drawled the dark voice of his captor. “Now you will always bear the burden of your mistake.”

“Shut up!” Blitzo snapped, straining against the rusted chains binding him to his seat. “He and I are best friends now!”

Rolando scoffed. “’Best friends.’ What a joke. You only saw him, what, twice in the last fifteen years? You may have saved his life, but I bet he still harbors resentment toward you.”

“Again, it was an accident!” Blitzo cried. “I couldn’t save him…”

“…or your mother,” Rolando added. “Your father still hates you for damaging his prized… ‘star of a son’ as he used to say…”

Blitzo looked downcast as he remembered Cash handing Fizzarolli a birthday card that read “wish you were my son.” Blitzo was about to give Fizzarolli a lover letter, but overcome with rejection and jealousy, he accidentally knocked into an imp who dropped a lit birthday cake, starting the fire.

“From the very start, your Papa saw more potential in Fizz and your sister than in you! Fizz had the natural gifts while you were nothing more than a joke!”

Blitzo scowled. “I’m done with the circus life! I’ve built my own company, I’ve killed people, and I have my own family now.”

Rolando chuckled. “Well let’s see how your ‘family’ does when you drive away your lowborn hick employee!”

Rolando cackled as dark smoke and water appeared, dimming the theater of Blitzo’s mind and making him succumb to his control.

“Blitz! Are you okay…?” Millie began to ask.

Millie was punched in the face and sent back crashing into a pillar. Millie winced and rubbed her head. Her eyes grew wide in terror as a shadow rose over her.

Blitzo’s body cracked as it slowly stood up. Millie knew it was not Blitzo because the being in front of her had Rolando’s blank yellow eyes, yellow tongue, and eerie grin.

“Oh, the filthy little Wrathian wants to help!” Rolando mocked.

He slammed Blitzo’s head into the pillar where Millie had been moments before. He turned his head and grinned at Millie.

“You can’t help anyone, you’re just the muscle, remember? It’s all you and your imp kind are good for. You said it yourself.”

Rolando twisted in midair as he rushed at Millie. He grinned as he landed punches toward her.

“I’m in his mind, bitch! I see everything! Every thought, every opinion, and…”

“Your words don’t mean SHIT to me!” Millie yelled.

After several more punches and Rolando crying out against the wall, Millie grunted as she lifted him up and slammed him on his back against the floor. Just as he lifted up his head, Millie landed a fatal kick to his chin, sending him backward with his head halfway into the pool. Rolando ejected from Blitzo’s mouth in black goo.

Blitzo groaned as he sat up. “Ugh. Good work, Mils.”

Millie punched him in the face.

“OW-HO! AH FUCK! IT’S ME!” Blitzo exclaimed.

Millie covered her mouth. “Oh! Shit! Sorry!”

She leaned down. “Good to have you back, boss.”

Rolando hoisted himself up, dripping wet on the floor.

“You little ass plugs are done for! You’re dead, Bethany!”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong,” Blitzo said, walking over to him, holding his device. “I ain’t Bethany Ghostfucker…”

He spoke with newfound confidence, “Tonight I’m Blitz, DEMON-DICKER!”

Blitzo yelled and slapped Rolando with his device. He fell into the pool.

Blitzo then kicked his ghostfucker device into the water.

The device sank into the water and electricity sparked and zigzagged across the surface.

Blitzo raised his fist in triumph. “AAANNND THAT’S HOW YOU GET GHOSTFUCKED!”

Millie embraced Blitzo. “Let’s go home.”

Blitzo grinned and kicked open the doors, his yellow Asmodean crystal glinting in the dim light. “Yeah, fuck hotels.”

Neither of the imps noticed a glitching menacing shadow crawling out of the water…tapping a purple Leviathan crystal of his own and following them back to Hell…

He tried conjuring illusions to scare Blitzo and Millie. But being wounded by the electricity only made his illusions glitch and fade.

‘Shit…’

Rolando hissed in pain.

He spied on Blitzo…and could still read his thoughts just as clearly as before.

Blitzo stared happily at an old picture of him, Fizzarolli and Barbie Wire from their younger days on the wall.

‘Hope you’re doing alright, Fizz,’ Blitzo thought.

A slow smile appeared on Rolando’s face.

0 0 0

Rain consistently poured down from the dark blue sky in the Lust Ring. The King himself, Asmodeus, slept soundly on his comfortable bed in his palace. His robotic partner Fizzarolli slept on his blue chest.

The coo-coo clock sprang open and Fizzarolli stretched himself awake. He gulped down a cup of coffee and searched around for his airhorn.

BURT!

“HEY!”

Fizzarolli flinched and almost fell backward as Ozzie pressed the button on the airhorn he had kept hidden next to him.

“What the…?” Fizzarolli gasped. “How did…?”

“You woke me up last time with it,” Ozzie said groggily as he put it aside. He smirked playfully. “Seemed time to return the favor.”

Fizzarolli laughed. “Touche, Oz.”

Ozzie stretched and got out of bed.

“Nothing much on the agenda today,” Ozzie said, reading a scroll hovering in front of him. “All the vibrators have been tested and should be sent out on time tomorrow across the Rings. Though I do need to supervise the succubi pole dancing rehearsal this afternoon.”

“So, you’re free this morning?”

“Pretty much,” he shrugged.

“Let’s have burgers for breakfast!” Fizzarolli said in excitement.

“Again?” Ozzie asked.

“Why not? They’re one of my favorite foods!”

Ozzie sighed. “If you promise to not burn the milk again…”

“No promises,” Fizzarolli giggled.

“Then maybe I should make it this time.”

“Could I help with the syrup?” Fizzarolli asked. “I bet it would taste yummy!”

“Syrup on burgers? Are you high?” Ozzie rolled his eyes.

Fizzarolli flipped through the air and landed gracefully. “Higher than you!”

Fizzarolli led the way to the kitchen and Ozzie was soon flipping burger patties in a frying pan. Fizzarolli read a newspaper and had a glass of orange juice by his box of Ozzie-O’s cereal.

“LUST RING NEWS: We have the horny – King Of Oz, Bromance Confirmed! Asmodeus has gone to great lengths to save his imp partner Fizzarolli. He reportedly threatened mafia boss Crimson to set Fizzarolli free. Recently after Fizzarolli’s tenth clown pageant, Asmodeus stood up against Mammon, boldly declaring that he loved the prosthetic-limbed imp. With Ozzie reflecting love instead of pure Lust, this leads to more questions as to what will happen with the reputations of the other Sins…”

Fizzarolli glanced at the newspaper nervously, hiding it from Ozzie and finishing up his burger.

“Everything alright, Fizzy-Frog?”

Fizzarolli chuckled nervously. “Oh yeah, Ozzie. Things are fine! Never been better now that I’m free from Mammon and all…”

Ozzie glanced at the newspaper and Fizzarolli gulped.

“Still worried about my reputation being ruined?” Ozzie asked.

“Um…” Fizzarolli began, unsure of what to say.

Ozzie waved a hand. “There’s no need to worry about it. People can judge me all they want, but nothing will get in the way of our love.”

“I just wanted to say…thank you, for saving me again.” Fizz chuckled. “That’s like…three times now?”

“Yeah. Once from your injuries from the fire, next from Crimson and then from Mammon.” He smiled. “That’s quite a bunch. Only shows that we’ll be able to get through anything together. Because we’ll always be together.”

Fizzarolli blushed as Ozzie picked him up and spun him around for a bit.

Fizarolli’s smile gradually faded as he was lowered. “About that…”

“Yeah?”

Fizzarolli took a deep breath. “I’d…uh…like to go out on my own again.”

“How come?” Ozzie looked puzzled.

“Just to prove to myself that I can…be more independent, ya know?”

“You’re not going to the Greed Ring again, are you? Remember what happened last time?”

“Crimson and Mammon, yeah, I get it. But they aren’t around anymore.”

“Perhaps I should get you an escort, just in case,” Ozzie mentioned.

Fizzarolli sighed. “You know I love you so much, Ozzie, and I know you want to protect me. But…I wanna be with you, but I also wanna be free! Explore on my own a bit. Even just one day of shopping would suffice!”

“You are free,” Ozzie explained. “You have me, you have this wonderful life in the most pampered perch in Lust. What more could you want?”

Fizzarolli glanced down at his long black robotic arms and legs, glowing with light blue hearts and light blue bands of light in the crevices…he could almost feel the wires making up the nerves in his body.

His improved body.

The body he had grown used to over the years…yet the ache for his old form was difficult to ignore.

“I wanna be more than…this.” Fizzarolli mentioned, moving his arms and legs.

“Remember what I said to you backstage at the pageant?” Ozzie mentioned, cupping Fizzarolli’s cheek. “I’ve seen all your physical flaws, your broken horns and limbs, I’ve watched you fall many times…but never once have I thought of you any less. You made it through the recovery process, you dazzle hundreds of fans with your performances…you’re spectacular in the bedroom…”

Ozzie winked.

“…and I’m proud of you. I don’t know of any other imp who could overcome the shit you went through.”

“Blitz…” Fizzarolli trailed off, vague memories coming to the surface.

“Have you seen him recently?”

“Not really,” Fizzarolli admitted. “Been too busy being with you and browsing for sex toys online.”

“We have plenty already,” Ozzie added. “No need to buy any more.”

Fizzarolli chuckled.

Ozzie sighed. “I’ll admit, Fizzy…I can be…overprotective with those I love. Too much at times. I apologize if things have seemed…restricting to you.”

Ozzie cleared his throat and continued. “How about this? I’ll let you go off on your own…”

“Yes!” Fizzarolli cheered.

“On the condition that you stay in the Lust Ring.”

“That’s a start!” Fizzarolli answered, unfazed.

“And call me as soon as you feel you’re in trouble! That’s an order!” Ozzie added.

“Thank you, but I’m still an adult. I can still walk and move around just fine.”

Ozzie paused. “You’re still friends with Blitz, right?”

Fizz nodded.

“Perhaps you two could catch up?” Ozzie shrugged. He felt better at the thought of Fizz not being alone.

“Oh,” Fizza said, a little shocked. “Yeah, sure. Hadn’t thought about it, but I’ll give it a try.”

“Great…” Ozzie said, scratching the back of his neck. “Going out on your own…perfectly fine. I know you’ll be okay.”

“Blitz and I are still good friends,” Fizz said. “I can go one day without being around you 24/7…yeah…”

Both of them felt slightly nervous about going out of their comfort zones.

“Let me know if he gives you any trouble,” Ozzie mentioned. “I can’t believe I’m doing this…”

“Trust me, Ozzie,” Fizz smiled at him. “This will be good for both of us. Even in close relationships, we all need our space, right?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Ozzie said. “You’re free to go. But be back before dark!”

Fizzarolli chuckled as he looked out the window. “It’s always dark!” he remarked.

“Thank you so much for letting me go explore!” Fizzarolli bounced up and down happily. He kissed Ozzie on his furry blue cheek and raced to get dressed.

Fizzarolli was soon out the door.

“AND FOR FUCK’S SAKE, DO NOT BRING HOME ANY MORE VIBRATORS!” Ozzie called.

“WHAT’S THAT? I CAN’T HEAR YA, OZ!”

Ozzie rolled his eyes. He headed over to look out the window. He felt almost like a parent watching their child go off into the world.

‘He’ll be fine. He’s just like any other imp.’

0 0 0

Fizzarolli soon was having the time of his life, strolling and shopping.

He got out his phone and texted Blitzo:

Fizz: Hey it’s me. You up for shopping?

Blitzo: Sure, Fizz. Got back from a ghost mission, I’ll be down in a sec.

Fizz: Cool!

Fizzarolli hummed happily as he browsed a variety of stores. “Pick Your Dick” glowed in bright pink with a neon pink penis to the right of the sign. It sold condoms, vibrators and dildo-shaped objects of all shapes and sizes. He settled for a dildo-shaped cookie sold from the back of the store.

He passed by a local “Lust Or Bust” nightclub. Pink succubi and incubi strippers twirled along poles as they danced to electronic music from inside, stage lights flashing blue, pink, and purple. Fizz laughed as he swung on one of the poles to the claps and cheers of the shoppers.

Fizzarolli walked around some more and froze at a worn-out sign and a sad-looking imp sitting at the counter from inside. “Cum to our store…we have cookies (and drugs!)”

“Nah,” Fizzarolli shook his head and continued on his way.

“No customers ever come here,” sighed the imp, banging his fists on the counter in frustration.

Fizzarolli glanced at another store selling dildo-shaped candles run by a ram-like shopkeeper.

He went farther and spotted another store selling BDSM equipment and outfits, run by a spider shopkeeper.

More neon signs lit up the streets: “JUST BOOBS,” “HOT BABES,” “STEP ON ME,” “XXX,” “SLUTS R US,” “TOP + BOTTOM,” and “SEXY.” There were neon signs of breasts, penises, whips, and hearts. Ozzie’s dinner club was not too far away and “COCK’S COMB RESORT 2” stood tall and elegant.

“Now this is my kind of place!” Fizz sighed with happiness. “I should bring my queefs and roller skates next time!”

It felt good to be independent and have some space to himself.

After a couple of hours, he rested on a heart-shaped bench. Blitzo still hadn’t arrived yet.

“Where are ya, buddy?” Fizz wondered out loud, staring at his phone.

“Feeling lonely, Fizz?”

Fizz gasped and looked over. An imp sat next to him, looking broken and defeated.

Just like he used to be.

“Oh, hi,” Fizz smiled, nervously. “Who are you?”

The imp turned to him and gave him a small, kind smile.

“My name’s Glim,” he said.

“How do you know my name?”

Glim chuckled. “Everyone knows about the amazing imp Fizzarolli. I’m one of your many fans. I got some of your things at your blowout sale the other day. Say, do you ever miss your stuff?”

Fizz waved a hand. “Nah. My space was getting crowded with my own merch. Didn’t need it. I found more important things than fame and money.”

Fizz peered closer at Glim and gasped. “What happened to you?”

Glim sighed. His face and body were red like a usual imp’s, but lightning-shaped scars covered his face, chest, and arms. One of his thin striped horns on his head was broken and missing. His eyes almost appeared glazed as well. His white pants were dirty, and his rainbow-colored tye-dye shirt was worn. His pointed imp tail also appeared to be missing.

“It’s a long story. Not too long ago, I had a dream that I could become a famous rockstar. I enjoy singing on stage. Unfortunately, I was assigned to manage the stage lights instead because apparently all the other performers were richer with more supporters. Anyway, there was a terrible stage accident…fire burned my skin…peeled my tail and horn off, too.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” Fizz cried. “What happened next?”

“I spent a couple of weeks recovering in the Sloth Ring hospital. Still can’t see as well as before. Walking can be difficult sometimes.”

Glim continued. “I heard about your story, too. About how you survived an accident, too?”

Fizz sighed. “Yeah, it’s hard to talk about….”

“I know we just met, but you can trust me with your secret,” said Glim.

“Yeah,” Fizz went on. “I lost all my limbs to a circus fire long ago. Recovery was long and hard. I couldn’t walk, couldn’t feed myself for the longest time. And every time I looked in the mirror…”

Fizz glanced off to the side. “…I could barely recognize myself.”

“And yet, you got new limbs. You were able to move around again, yes?”

“Yes, but it took getting used to. It feels strange to think your mind can learn to control prosthetic limbs like it would for actual limbs. But thanks to Ozzie’s great inventions…well, without him, I wouldn’t have made it.”

“Ozzie? Like the King of Lust?”

Fizz blushed. “Exactly! He’s incredible! The love of my life.”

Glim looked around. “And no one thinks it’s too strange? You know…a royal dating an imp?”

“Well…there’ve been rumors in the paper and on social media…they’re calling him a hypocrite. But he’s confident that nothing can come between us. They can mock us all they want…I think being with Ozzie has been part of my destiny…though I certainly didn’t expect it.”

Glim glanced at Fizz’s phone. “Are you meeting someone?”

“An old friend of mine,” Fizz replied. “Blitz. He just came back from a mission on Earth. Said he fucked some ghost haunting a hotel. He’s supposed to be meeting me here to catch up on things. It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.”

“You’re lucky,” Glim said with a sigh. “I’ve never had any friends before.”

“I can be your friend…if you’d like.”

“I’d like that.”

They smiled and shook hands.

“Say,” said Glim, “Is it true that you have your own collection of BDSM supplies?”

Fizz chuckled. “Oh, you’d better believe it!”

“Are you top or bottom?”

“Huh?”

“With Ozzie?”

Fizz waved his hand in a sideways motion. “Depends, I guess. But…ah…if you’re into that kind of thing, I can show you some.”

“Then lead the way!”

About halfway to Fizz’s warehouse, Fizz got a text from Blitzo.

Blitz: Running a bit late. Helping Mox with math and talking with Millie. Where’d you like to meet?

Fizz: Near Ozzie’s Club.

Blitz: See you there.

“Hey,” said Fizz to Glim. “Could we head on over to Ozzie’s Club, instead?”

“Sure. How come?”

“Blitz will be meeting us there.”

“Cool, can’t wait to meet him.” Glim looked around. “Are there any bathrooms here?”

Fizz pointed to a nearby “Boobs ‘N Lubes” shop.

“Thanks, be back in a sec!” Glim rushed into the building and Fizz waited.

It wasn’t long before Fizz saw a familiar figure hurrying down the street.

“Fizz!” Blitzo called.

“Blitz!” Fizz waved.

Blitzo was wearing his usual work uniform.

“Hiya, Fizz! Long time, no see.”

“Hey, I thought we were gonna meet at Ozzie’s?” Fizz wondered.

“I saw you over here, so I came to you instead. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” The imps shared a hug.

“How was your…secret Earth mission?” Fizz asked.

Blitzo shrugged. “Eh. Killed a ghost at some hotel, came back to my office and saw your text. You ready to shop?”

“Yeah,” said Fizz. “By the way, I’m waiting for a new friend.”

“Who’s that?” Blitzo asked.

“His name’s Glim. He’s another imp…he got hurt just like me.”

Blitzo looked puzzled. “Was he in the circus, too?”

“No. Said he was in an accident at a concert. He’s quite nice.”

They stood outside the shop and waited.

“I’m gonna go check on him,” Fizz began to say, walking toward the door.

Blitzo grabbed his shoulder. “How about we wait out here? Or go do our shopping?”

“What if he needs my help?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Blitzo pressed. “We’ve waited for thirty minutes already. Come on, let’s keep moving.”

Fizz glared as they walked. “I can’t just abandon him. I want all three of us to shop together.”

Blitzo glanced around nervously. “I’m sure he can meet up with us later…”

“What’s wrong with me hanging out with another friend for a change?” Fizz asked.

“N-nothing,” Blitzo answered, seething and flinching as if experiencing brief sharp pains. “But I’m still your best friend, right?”

Fizz sighed. “Yes, you are, but I’d like to be able to meet new people and explore on my own sometimes. I need to go back to Glim!”

He saw that they were several blocks away from the store, and they had turned some corners.

Blitzo folded his arms. “What’s so great about him, anyway?”

“He understands what I been through. He’s…disabled, kind of…like me.”

“But he wasn’t with us at the circus. No one understands you like I do, Fizz.”

Fizz looked downcast. “At one point, I thought that was true. But now…I think Ozzie understands me the best.”

Blitzo rolled his eyes. “Do you really need to spend time with Ozzie 24/7?”

Fizz whirled around. “Oh, so now you’re suddenly jealous of me? I thought you were fine with me being with Ozzie.”

“I wanted to tell you how much I loved you,” Blitzo said. “Way back then, I mean. I still do. But why do you care so much about some royal?”

“He’s NOT SOME ROYAL!” Fizz snapped. “He’s my cherished partner, my lover, and my rescuer! Plus, your romantic feelings are fifteen years or so too late. I may have had feelings for you back then, but you should’ve told me! Now I’ve moved on.” He sighed. “I suggest you move on, too.”

“Move on from our friendship?” Blitzo scowled.

“What?! No! We can still be friends. But Ozzie saved my life…while YOU FUCKING LEFT ME TO DIE ALL THOSE YEARS AGO!”

“I already told you it was an accident!” Blitzo argued.

“Like I haven’t heard that excuse before,” Fizz spat sarcastically. He sighed. “If you really wanna be friends, let’s just drop the past. You let me be with Ozzie and help me find Glim. There’s no reason why I can’t be with all of you at different times.”

Blitzo roared. “IF YOU’RE GONNA PRIORITIZE SOME COCKY ROYAL ASSHOLE OVER YOUR BEST FRIEND…THEN MAYBE WE SHOULDN’T BE FRIENDS ANYMORE!”

Fizz gasped, then glared. “YOU REALLY ARE A SELFISH PRICK!”

“AND YOU’RE A POMPOUS SELLOUT CLOWN! I WANTED A SIMPLE LIFE WITH US! NOT ONE WHERE YOU OUTSHONE ME EVER SINCE WE WERE KIDS AND TEENS! I WAS TIRED OF YOU CONSTANTLY BESTING ME AT EVERYTHING! IF IT WASN’T FOR YOU, MY OWN DAD PROBABLY WOULD’VE STILL SEEN ME AS HIS ACTUAL SON!”

Fizz choked, trembling. “So…you really don’t care…”

“I DON’T! IN FACT, I’D MAKE YOU DISABLED AGAIN IF I COULD!”

“I’d make you disabled again if I could…” Blitzo’s cruel words shattered Fizz’s heart.

Tears flooded his eyes. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Blitzo. But from now on…”

He shoved Blitzo aside. “Stay out of my fucking life!”

“Gladly, asshole!”

Fizzarolli ran off back toward the shop in tears.

Blitzo stepped into the shadows, his eyes shifting to glowing yellow and a sharp grin growing on his face.

0 0 0

Blitzo stepped through the portal, standing just outside Ozzie’s Club.

“Sorry, I’m late, Fizz! Fizz?” he called. No answer.

He looked at his texts. No answers.

“He said we’d meet here.”

Nothing.

Just then, he spotted Fizzarolli slouching as he walked with a grumpy face.

“Hey Fizz, it’s me!” Blitzo raced over.

“Yeah, I know,” he snapped, barely looking at him.

“W-where are you going?”

“Away from you,” Fizz answered, a stray tear falling down his cheek.

“Why? I thought you said we’d meet.”

Fizz turned to him with a sour expression. “Well, that was before you called me a ‘sellout clown.’ And said you’d ‘make me disabled so you could have the spotlight.’ Is that right?”

Blitzo gasped. “The fuck, Fizz! I’d never say anything like that, okay?!”

“Well, you did! Cash was right! You were a jealous bastard from the beginning.”

“Papa told you that, too?! It was a misunderstanding from both ends, you know that!”

“I don’t care about what you think, Blitzo! Ozzie’s been a better companion than you ever will be! Even if you think my relationship somehow ‘jeopardizes our friendship.’”

Blitzo was shocked, tears beginning to form. “Fizz, I’m totally fine with you dating Ozzie! I know I made many mistakes, but I want you to truly live a happy life, whatever that means for you!”

“Well, you damn as Hell aren’t showing it!”

Blitzo reached for Fizz’s hand, but he pulled away. “Fizz, I swear by Satan himself that I’d never say anything like that to you. It was probably an imposter or one of your stalking haters. I may have suffered a lot in the fire, losing my mom, but that could never compare to what you had to endure. And I’m truly sorry, Fizz. I mean it!”

Fizz turned away, tears flowing down his cheeks.

A pause.

“I’ve had enough of your silly games, Blitzo! Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to text Ozzie and meet up with Glim.”

Fizz ran off.

“WHO THE FUCK IS GLIM?!” Blitzo cried. But Fizz didn’t answer.

Something was off. Their friendship had shifted to rivalry in mere minutes. The consistent rain falling down from the dark blue sky reflected his new sadness.

Blitzo didn’t like the thought, but he decided to follow Fizz. He ran after him as fast as he could. If there was a stalker hater or a crazed fan after Fizz, Blitzo was going to protect him, no matter how angry he was with him.

Blitzo took a deep breath and tapped on his phone until he spotted Ozzie’s icon.

“Hello?” Ozzie stood near the fireplace of light blue heart-shaped flames.

“Uh, hello, sir. This is Blitz.”

“What’s going on?”

“This is gonna sound strange. Fizz and I were supposed to meet in front of your club.”

“Yeah?”

“And he suddenly turned on me, accusing me of saying a whole bunch of nasty things to him.”

Ozzie frowned. “Did you?”

“No! That’s the thing! He claims that I somehow wanted to end our friendship or that you were in the way…”

Ozzie grunted. “You think I’m in the way of your friendship?”

“No, no, no!”

“What exactly did you do that made Fizz believe this?” Ozzie sounded annoyed.

“I don’t know, sir! I swear! I didn’t say those things to him! I just arrived to the Lust Ring!”

“That makes no sense. You had to be there to say those things.”

“But I wasn’t! It was some kind of imposter.”

Ozzie growled. “I guess I can see why Fizz still hates your guts. You abandoned him back then and now you’re doing it again. For what? Attention?”

“I’m not, sir…but…just hear me out, okay?” Blitzo spoke fast in a panic. “I-I think Fizz is in danger.”

“You have any proof?”

“No…”

Ozzie’s long blue mane of flaming hair briefly turned red with wrath. “Then whatever the case, I’ll go find him. Until then, YOU STAY OUT OF THE WAY!”

Blitzo gulped as Ozzie hung up. Tears flowed down Blitzo’s cheeks as he frantically traced Fizz’s steps.

0 0 0

Fizz waited until Glim finally came out of the store.

Fizz didn’t care about the long wait. He rushed into the imp’s arms and cried.

Glim gasped. “Oh Fizz! What’s the matter?”

“You’re not gonna believe this but…my former best friend said a whole bunch of nasty shit to me! Out of nowhere!”

Glim stroked Fizz’s head. “Oh shit, that’s horrible! What did he say?”

“H-he said that I don’t deserve the spotlight…that Ozzie’s in the way of our friendship and…”

He sniffed.

“He said that I’m just a disabled sellout clown!”

Glim hugged him again. “I’m so sorry. How could he do such a thing?”

“Jealousy,” Fizz glowered. “I guess him saving my life twice meant nothing after all.”

“I guess…some friendships aren’t meant to be,” Glim sighed sadly.

“Worst of all, Blitzo claimed he didn’t even do it moments later. What a fucking hypocrite!”

The two imps sat together on a bench.

“Being handicapped…it’s never been an easy thing,” Fizz sighed. “I know Ozzie accepts me fully…but for so many years, I’ve had to hide my flaws behind makeup and costumes. I thought working for Mammon would be a dream come true…but it was just me losing myself. Now…I just lost my former best friend.”

Fizz covered his face with his hands and sobbed.

“I know what it’s like to have to struggle daily because of how you look or how you move,” Glim added, mentioning to his scars and missing tail. “People can’t relate to you very well if they haven’t gone through it themselves. It still hurts all those years later.”

Glim added. “If Blitzo can’t accept who you are or how you look or who you chose to be with, I say fuck him! Leave the past behind. You’re still the amazing Fizzarolli right in this moment!”

Glim winked. “And if Blitzo ever comes back, I’ll take care of him. How about that?”

Fizz sighed, head lowered. “Sure, I guess.”

Blitzo raced over and panted for breath. He spotted Fizz and Glim together. And they were…kissing?!”

Blitzo’s heart shattered as Fizz and Glim did a make-out session right then and there.

After they moaned and French-kissed, Fizzarolli noticed him.

“Do ya mind, Blitzo?! I’m dating my new best friend!”

Blitzo folded his arms. “You date some weirdo you just met? The fuck is wrong with you?!”

“The fuck is wrong with you not letting me live my own life?!” Fizz fired back.

“Come on, Fizz,” Glim said, putting an arm around him. “Let’s go somewhere…private…”

Tears blurred Blitzo’s vision as jealousy, hurt, and betrayal flooded him.

But something told him to still watch over Fizz. So he peered around the corner to a nearby alleyway.

He spotted Fizz and Glim kissing again.

Then something made Blitzo’s blood turn cold.

Attached to Glim’s wrist was a familiar looking purple crystal! A crystal he had seen before on Earth…

Blitzo’s eyes went wide with fear. ‘No, that’s impossible! I just killed that fucker…!’

But instinct kicked in.

“FIZZ, GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

“What…?” Fizz asked, eyes blinking.

Glim turned around and punched Blitzo hard so that he flew backwards into the street.

“Wasn’t that a little harsh?” Fizz asked Glim.

Glim just laughed…a low demonic laugh that unsettled the jester.

Blitzo roared and raced back to Fizz. “Run, Fizz, before…!”

Fizz gasped as something wet slammed into his head, making him fall to the ground. Glim was nowhere in sight.

“FIZZ!” Blitzo screamed.

0 0 0

Fizz gasped as he woke with a start. He looked down and saw rusted chains wrapped around his torso and more looped around his robotic limbs. He couldn’t move.

He was brought back to the terrifying moment when he had been bound and gagged by Crimson and his mafia gang. Fizz looked around and saw he was in an old movie theater with seaweed and coral spread out among the dank space.

“Yikes, what happened here?” he wondered.

“You tell me, little one,” mused a spooky voice.

Glim’s face appeared in front of Fizz’s face in a jump-scare.

Fizz screamed. “SHIT! Who the hell are you?!”

Glim shifted into his true form…an aquatic demon with scarred gray skin, still seething from the electricity at the hotel pool. His glasses had been shattered, black blood dried under his glowing yellow eyes. His purple vest, black pants and black undershirt were torn.

“Your little friend did this to me,” Rolando growled, pointing at his face. “Almost killed me. Seems we have more in common than we thought.”

Fizz stared at him with fear and disgust. “I can’t believe I fucking kissed you.”

“It was pretty fun,” Rolando smirked, “Tasting the hurt and hatred between you and Blitzo. I’m already drooling at the sight of you, pathetic worm.”

Fizz shuddered. “You fucking sicko! You’re…gonna eat me?!”

Rolando poked him on the nose. “After I use you to bring down my rival.”

Fizz glared. “Look, I hate Blitz…or at least I used to, but I don’t want him dead! Let me go!”

“But I do want him dead. And unfortunately for you, you don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“What do ya mean?!”

Rolando sniffed deeply near Fizz’s neck and left scratch marks on his neck. Thin trails of black blood spilled down from the cuts.

“Let’s just say you’re gonna take a detour trip…down memory lane. Your traumas sure are terrific!”

Rolando lounged in a chair behind Fizz as the theater curtains parted, showing a green-tinted movie screen.

“3…2…1…” showed on the screen and Fizz’s memories played.

0 0 0 0 0 0

Fizz’s first memories were somewhat of a blur. He was staring up at the faces of his parents. They were imps with large striped horns, red skin, and the same black family marks on their foreheads. They took care of him as much as they could, despite their busy life at the circus.

One fateful day when he was a young boy, his parents didn’t wake up. He spotted other imps covering their bodies with white sheets and leading them away.

He sobbed as a motherly figure came to him. Tilla.

“What’s wrong, little one?” Tilla asked.

“Mom and Dad…they’re gone?”

Tilla nodded somberly. “Their illnesses were too great.”

“W-who’s gonna take care of me now?”

“I will.” She pulled him close. Tilla took his hand and led him to his new friends and fellow performers, Barbie Wire and Blitzo.

“Welcome to the family,” Cash Buckzo smiled down at him. “You’re gonna do great things someday, son.”

Fizz soon saw Cash and Tilla like an aunt and uncle…alternate parents.

But there was always an ache for his first parents…a longing that always stayed with him. He wished they could’ve been there watching him grow up into the stellar performer he became.

He and Blitzo were the clown duos, the extroverts who got the most attention. All three sometimes felt left out in their own ways. Barbie would sometimes feel excluded whenever the ‘boys would hang out.’ Fizz himself sometimes wished he was their actual sibling instead of an adopted child. And Blitzo received more pressure from his father than anyone else.

“Someday, Mammon will recognize us both,” Cash would tell him. The young Fizz was enraptured with stories about demons living the high life, being surrounded by adoring crowds and no worries about their next paychecks and meals.

“Just think, Fizz,” Cash waved a hand. “Your name in lights. Imps coming from all across the Rings just to see you perform with my children! Our beautiful circus visited by the King of Greed himself.”

Tilla strode over. “Don’t overwork the poor kid,” she reminded him. “After all, you have two others you need to keep an eye on.”

“I thought that was your job, mostly,” Cash rolled his eyes. “I know talent when I see it, and Fizz will go big…”

He then glared at Fizz, his shadow hovering over Fizz’s face. “…or face the consequences.”

Fizz gulped. He backed up and huddled near a young Blitzo and Barbie as they watched their parents argue.

“You’ve only cared about money from the very beginning,” Tilla scoffed. “You really think that earning more souls is more important than the safety of our children?”

Cash spread out his arms. “Hey, they’re never too old to learn to flip through the flaming hoops once in a while. Fuck, I was fired out of my first cannon at age eight! Conquering their fears early on will give our shows and business a head start!”

“You’ll only traumatize them! They could get seriously hurt!” Tilla countered.

“And you’ll only slow us down! Mammon is counting on us to be the best of the best!” Cash folded his arms.

“Mammon? Or you?”

“I’m the Ringleader. I decide what’s best for this circus.”

“This family circus…” Tilla glowered. “Where we all need to work together!”

“Exactly, bitch! So work with me here!”

The children flinched at their father’s harsh words.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, my boy Fizz needs to strut his stuff, and I need a drink.”

Tilla sighed and led Blitzo and Barbie away.

“You wanna be rich and famous someday, right boy?” Cash asked him.

Fizzarolli glanced over to see Blitzo off to the side, envy in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Fizz answered after a slight hesitation.

Cash mentioned to the lit-up arena and the imps sitting in the rows. “Then get out there and make me proud! No pressure or anything!”

Fizzarolli gulped and slowly made his way forward.

“Go for the gold!” Cash called to him. “Follow your fucking dreams!”

0 0 0

In the dark green Greed sky, a glowing neon green coin spun slowly like a moon. It had an “M” and a dollar sign on it. Teen Blitzo and Fizzarolli walked home after the concert, old warehouse buildings around them. Overhead were round streetlights shining red still spotlights.

“Alright, I’m gonna say it,” Blitzo began with a chuckle. “That was too many clowns.”

“I have to win that pageant someday,” Fizzarolli exclaimed. “Can you imagine how amazing it would be to get to work with him?!”

Blitzo glanced at his friend. “What’s the point? Isn’t being the star of our imp circus enough? Plenty of people already know who you are, Fizz. You don’t need to go work for Mammon like some creepy mascot.”

“It’s not about that!” Fizzarolli explained. “It’s getting to work with my idol. I just love that he’s giving someone new the chance to be in the spotlight! He’s an inspiration!” He stared dreamily at the sky; hands clasped together.

“Well, he’s…definitely something alright,” Blitzo mentioned as they walked under a red streetlight. “I mean I dunno, was it worth all our savings just to have him put on an over-hyped commercial, and then bitch about taxes, and then assault us with clowns, vomit, and pass out on stage?”

Fizzarolli laughed. “So worth it!”

Behind a streetlight post, a horned figure with glasses spied on the imp duo. The streetlight flickered ominously as the shadow darted off.

Fizzarolli sighed. “Blitzo, do you think I could win if I worked really hard?”

“I think…” Blitzo began and smiled. “I think if anyone’s gonna be the new clown face on everything…”

He rubbed Fizzarolli’s face affectionally with his fist and laughed. “…it’ll be you, Fizz.” Fizzarolli smiled.

“Holy shit, you’re Fizzarolli!” cried a voice in front of them. Blitzo and Fizzarolli stopped short with surprised expressions. “Oh MAN! Your stuff is great!”

A red streetlight shone on a tall lanky imp wearing a green shirt, black pants, and square glasses. He had white hair and a beard stubble. His name was Arick “Burnie” Burnz a.k.a. “Creepzo”.

Fizzarolli took a step back. He laughed nervously with a wave. “Oh h-hey there. Thank you, I appreciate that.”

Blitzo and Fizzarolli began to walk away, but the avid fan rushed forward to block their path.

“Whoa…oh…okay…” Fizzarolli breathed, hands up.

“After seeing your shows, I wanted to get into clown performing, too!” Creepzo exclaimed. “I’m really good!”

Fizzarolli chuckled awkwardly and walked toward him. Blitzo glared, arms folded.

“Hey, aren’t you that creep who’s always trying to sniff around our dressing rooms?” Blitzo asked in suspicion.

Creepzo grabbed Fizzarolli’s wrist, hard. “I have the best idea for a duo performance between us, that should spice up your act.” He pulled Fizzarolli to his chest, showing a sharp-toothed yellow grin. “Picture this: we start it like a romantic ballroom dance or a…”

“Dude, weird fuckin’ pitch! Fuck off!” Blitzo yelled.

Creepzo gripped Fizzarolli’s wrist harder. “I was talking to the clown, asshole!” He spun Fizzarolli around in a twisted dance. “I’m sorry Fizzie, I’m not normally so aggressive, I promise. I’ve just waited my whole life for an opportunity like this!” Fizzarolli froze in fear, his face reflected in Creepzo’s glasses. He continued. “With your fame, and my raw undiscovered talent, I know we can…”

“Hey shit-dick, beat it now, or I’ll make ya swallow your fangs!” Blitzo yelled, raising a finger and fist at Creepzo and walking forward.

Creepzo then turned to gaslighting. “Fizz! You don’t want me to leave, right? Tell him you don’t want me to go!”

Fizzarolli’s eyes darted around. “I-um…” Gathering courage, he pulled his wrist from Creepzo’s grip. “We have to go now! Thanks, though!” Blitzo gave Creepzo a shove as he followed Fizzarolli.

Creepzo dramatically crouched under the red streetlight. “Eugh! Fizz! FIZZAROLLI!” He spread out his arms.

Fizzarolli briefly looked back, before walking with Blitzo.

“Fine! Fuck you!” Creepzo spat. “You think you’re better than me, you elitist prick? Your act’s fucking trash anyways!”

“Cheeeese and hot sauce, Fizz,” Blitzo interrupted. “Your fans are something else.”

“What if my acts are trash? What if I’m never good enough?” Tears formed in Fizzarolli’s eyes.

“Hey, hey, don’t let one asshole get to you, ‘kay?” Blitzo said. “You’re, you’re plenty good enough.”

“But I have to be perfect,” Fizzarolli said.

Blitzo groaned. “Do you?”

Fizzarolli walked assertively. “I’ll just have to keep practicing, and someday, maybe, I’ll be good enough for Mammon.”

0 0 0

Fizzarolli’s dreams ended in flame and ash that fateful day. It was his birthday and he was a teenager. He laughed with Cash under the Big Top tent. Cash gave him a birthday card decorated with stars that read ‘Wish you were my son.’ Fizz wore a clown outfit and a red clown nose.

Fizzarolli smiled and waved at Blitzo, who was peering with jealousy behind the curtain. Fizzarolli didn’t know that Blitzo was about to give him a flower and a secret love letter.

He didn’t know that Blitzo couldn’t find the courage to tell him his romantic feelings.

He didn’t see Blitzo drop the letter in frustration, accidentally knocking into another imp holding a lit birthday cake. The cake dropped to the ground and the green flames on the candles rose and quickly turned into a raging inferno.

Fizz spotted fireworks in a pile that had been lit up…

He heard a bang and saw a flash…a force that blew him out of the tent. An explosion flared above him.

Agony…

Searing burning pain…

Fizzarolli screamed at the top of his lungs. His arms and his legs and his skin were burning, peeling away before his very eyes. His horns crumbled from the heat and flames until they were reduced to stubs.

He was dying, choking, begging for the pain to end.

Through his eyes streaming with tears, he saw a silhouette of Blitzo. Blitzo was covering one side of his face, which had been burned.

Fizzarolli reached one of his arms toward Blitzo.

“BLITZ! HELP ME! PLEASE!”

Blitzo was crying, too. He didn’t know what to do.

“I’LL COME BACK, FIZZ! I NEED TO GO FIND MOM!”

“BLITZ! WAIT! DON’T LEAVE ME!”

Fizz last saw his best friend running off…abandoning him, before losing consciousness.

When Fizz woke up in the hospital, Barbie, Tilla, and Blitzo were gone.

Cash blocked Blitzo’s way as he tried to see Fizz as he rested in bed.

“Please, Papa! He’s my best friend! I have to see him!”

“You started the fire that killed dear Tilla! You almost killed Fizz, too! And worse…you almost put our circus out of business. Now we’ll have to begin from scratch!”

“I didn’t! It was an accident!” Blitzo sobbed.

“It still happened because of you!” Cash jabbed him roughly in the chest. “You have been a sissy, an utter disgrace from the beginning! You’re no longer my son and you’re no longer part of this circus!”

“PAPA! NO! LET ME SEE HIM!”

“You’re never gonna see Fizz again under my watch!”

“NO!”

Blitzo soon received a harsh hit from his father and a couple of imps ushered him out of the room.

Fizz slowly woke up.

“My boy,” Cash said. “You’re alive!”

“Blitz…” Fizz grumbled.

“He’s…no longer welcome here. He started the fire on purpose.”

Fizz gasped. It was hard to believe. “W-why?”

“Pure despicable envy,” Cash lied. “He’s been jealous of your abilities for years. Starting the fire and running off was his plan to get you out of the way.”

“I-I don’t believe you!”

“The limelight was all he really cared about. If Blitzo were truly your friend, he’d be here by now. But…he’s not.”

Where was he? Why wasn’t he here?

Fizz started to cry. He stared at himself in a handheld mirror that Cash held. His face was no longer red but scarred white. His whole body was covered in white scars and burns. The only part that was red was his nose…it looked like he had a permanent clown nose on. His horns were stubbed remains of their former glory.

‘That face…that can’t be mine!’ Fizz thought in anguish. But there was no denying the harsh truth.

“I’m so sorry,” Cash added, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Fizz looked sadly at the spaces where his arms and legs used to be.

“Will I ever be able to perform again?”

“Yes…hopefully.” Cash said. “It will be a long grueling process, but we can’t give up.”

Cash Buckzo stared glumly at Fizz. Days turned into weeks as Fizzarolli slowly recovered. He was carried, spoon-fed, and pushed around in a wheelchair. Others around him gave him pitiful looks, like he was a helpless infant. He could barely speak…he had lost his voice.

The thought that he could potentially never dance again…sing again…perform again, filled him with despair.

The physical pain gradually went away, but the grief was all too raw.

Fizzarolli cried even more when he found out about Tilla’s death.

Tilla…the mother figure in his life who had cared for him and treated him like one of her own.

She was gone as well, lost to the flames.

Perhaps it was Blitzo’s fault.

‘He really did ruin my life,’ Fizzarolli thought.

Fizz thought he would be stuck in the hospital in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

Then…something unexpected happened.

0 0 0

Cash watched Fizzarolli suffer in silence.

‘My star imp…broken and beaten by my clumsy excuse of a son! How will I ever make enough money now?’

Cash Buckzo stared at a nearby poster of Asmodeus and Mammon…then got an idea.

0 0 0

Fizzarolli was soon sold to Mammon and Asmodeus by Cash Buckzo.

Mammon stared at Fizz in a mixture of shock and revulsion. Asmodeus, on the other hand, felt an urge to care for him.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Cash,” Asmodeus said.

“Thank you,” replied Cash. “I saw your advertisements about your new sex robots and figured…what if Fizz could be made into a kind of robot?”

“Hmmm…” Asmodeus began. “I haven’t done anything with living people before. But I suppose I could give it a try.”

Mammon folded his arms. “You did say that Fizzarolli was the best in your circus, correct?”

Cash nodded.

Mammon turned to Asmodeus. “Fix him up right and perhaps he could be my new brand figure. A clown AND a robot?” Mammon smiled. “The crowds would love him! Just think of all the ads he could be in, the pageants he could star in, the fans he could fuck, the talent I could exploi…I mean, respect fairly…”

Asmodeus glared in warning at Mammon and picked up Fizzarolli, wrapping him protectively in his arms.

“He may become your brand figure, but I’m gonna see him for the person he is…”

He stared into Fizzarolli’s large eyes. “A very cute one, too…”

Fizzarolli smiled weakly at his new companion, savior and future lover.

“An imp?” Mammon asked. “There’s no reason to get too attached to the low-class plebians, Ozzie.”

“That’s my concern, not yours, Mam,” Ozzie deadpanned.

Mammon gave Cash a sack of soul coins and Cash’s smile grew with greed.

Cash then sighed sadly at the thought of no longer having his star performer with him.

“I suppose Barbie will have to do,” Cash said. “Though I’ve heard rumors that she’s been looking into drugs.”

He then said after a pause, “Nah, that’s bullshit,” and shrugged it off. “She’ll be fine.”

Cash and Asmodeus and Mammon shook hands.

“Don’t worry,” Asmodeus said. “I’ll fix him up and he’ll be back on stage in no time. He’ll do great at my dinner club.”

“And MY stage,” Mammon reminded him. “And I expect absolute perfection from everyone’s favorite jester!”

Cash stared at the bag of coins, hardly waving goodbye as Fizz was carried away by Ozzie through the portal to the Lust Ring.

0 0 0

Before long, Fizz had four prosthetic long robot limbs…four new arms and legs that allowed him to stretch long distances and do flips like never before. He also was fitted with a new voice box, making his voice sound robotic. Ozzie laid him on a table, attaching wires to the ends of his nerves and covering the wires with the metallic material. When Fizz woke up, he moved his robotic fingers, slowly at first, but eventually getting used to the feeling.

“So strange,” Fizz breathed, staring at his fingers. “My mind can really control these limbs?”

Ozzie nodded.

Such freedom Fizz felt after being stuck in the hospital for so long!

His new form took some getting used to, but Ozzie was there for Fizz every step of the way. He cleaned up the spilled coffee mugs and messes Fizz accidentally made while trying to control his limbs. He picked him up when he fell down and helped him practice his dancing and singing.

“They’ll love your robotic voice,” Ozzie reassured him. “It’s unique…and adorable.”

“You really think so, Ozzie?”

“I know so, Fizzy-Frog.”

Fizz often hopped around like a frog on his new limbs, hence Ozzie’s pet name he had given him.

They kissed gently and stared into each other’s eyes.

“I like this better than pretending to roughly fuck in public,” Fizz said.

“Me too,” Ozzie agreed. “I may be the Sin of Lust, but…”

He stared at Fizz again. “…one special imp showed me the gifts of nurturing and love.”

Ozzie had saved his life. He had given him a new home, a new body, and a new life.

Every day, the two fell deeper and deeper into love. Of course, there were plenty of steamy lustful sessions…those were the icing on the cake. But seeing the kindness in Ozzie’s eyes and the joy on his face when he had successfully fitted Fizz’s limbs to his body was a moment the imp would never forget.

Another unforgettable moment was the day Fizz was assigned to work for Mammon for the first time.

“My childhood idol Mammon! I can finally get to meet him and be with him! Looks like he loved my performances after all.”

Ozzie looked concerned. “Please be careful out there, Fizzy,” he said. “I may have agreed to this for your sake, but he’s…quite temperamental.”

Fizz brushed it off. “Don’t worry! He’ll be so happy to see me. He’ll be like the father I never had!”

“More than me?”

“N-no,” Fizz answered, taken aback. “But I admire both of you guys. Come on, Oz, let me take this chance. The circus was just the beginning. I’ll get to be loved by even more demons now!”

Ozzie sighed. “Just know I’m here for you. Again, be careful. Good luck.”

Fizzarolli soon became Mammon’s new brand figure, his dream had come true at last!

Or so he thought.

He endured almost a decade of putting on a mask, hiding his true feelings from the public. Fizz had to look his best and act his best on and off the stage. Fizz lost count as to how many ads he was in. There were even sex robots made to look like him, instruments that made Fizz cringe every time he saw them.

“You need the perfect figure, Fizz!” Mammon would criticize. “Lose a bit more weight so more people will wanna get a taste of you. No one wants to see a saggy belly hanging from a jester, ya know. You do want to be a star right? You want to be fucked, right?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Fizz put on a fake smile. Saying the wrong thing would lead to a barrage of shoves and insults from the greedy jester Sin. There was no genuine love and compassion in Mammon’s glowing yellow eyes…to him, Fizz was a perfect product, nothing else.

“Your nude model picture session is in ten minutes, Fizz. And you have some meet and greets after your next show, so don’t be late,” Mammon warned. “And smile for the fans you little cunt!”

0 0 0

“Oh wow! Lookie who it is!” Fizzarolli began, standing over Blitzo. The dogs went back to Fizzarolli.

“Oh fuck,” Blitzo groaned as he stood up, “You again…”

Fizzarolli lifted up his glasses, “Stalkin’ me now, huh?”

“Oh, don’t fucking flatter yourself, clown. I have my own life, y’know. WITHOUT YOU IN IT!” Blitzo pointed a finger at him.

“Uh huh, sure,” Fizzarolli mocked. “Blitzo!”

“The ‘o’ is silent now, bitch!” Blitzo yelled, jabbing him with a finger.

Fizzarolli brushed off his arm.

Blitzo then grinned, “and gee whizz, we’ve been in each other’s relative vicinity TWICE in the last fifteen years! That would make me…” he spread out his arms, “THE SHITTIEST STALKER IN HISTORY!”

“Twice…” Fizzarolli began before petting his white dog and standing up to Blitzo, “…IS ALREADY WAY TOO MUCH.” He got into Blitzo’s face and fiddled with Blitzo’s round necklace. He lowered his glasses and shoved Blitzo to the side.

“Yeah?” Blitzo retorted, “Well at least I’m still actually working for my shit and not getting everything handed to me like some pampered attention whore!”

Fizzarolli froze in place at the insult. He growled and clenched his fists. The little white dog bounced up in the wheelchair on another dog’s head up to Fizzarolli. The white dog nuzzled its head against Fizzarolli, causing the jester to pause and look down. There was a bone in the dog’s curved snout. Fizzarolli took the bone and read the letters in gold on the magenta leash: “From Ozzie with <3.”

More determined, Fizzarolli roasted Blitzo with a comeback. “Yeah well…that’s what resilience and talent gets ya.” He chuckled. “Plus! My horns were always bigger than yours…weren’t they?!” He grinned, showing his eyes. Trash blew across the street.

Blitzo seethed…that had hit a nerve. Fizzarolli strolled away with a smug look. Blitzo whirled around and charged at the jester imp. He knocked Fizzarolli to the ground and he screamed. They crashed into the dogs and rolled on the ground in a scuffle. The dogs flew through the air, one of them dizzy on the ground, one running in circles. One of Blitzo’s brown horse plushies bounced onto the sidewalk. Before long, there was a crowd of sharks, imps, and Greed citizens watching them quarrel. A muscular green demon tore off his white shirt, “FIGHT FIGHT” was written on his chest.

Striker grinned and opened the windows, “One moment.” He twirled his lasso and expertly flung it into the air. The lasso wrapped around the two imps, and they screamed as they were pulled through the window. He flung the two imps into the room, and they crashed in a heap against the wall.

‘Two imps with one rope,’ Striker thought.

“Hired!” Crimson smirked to Striker, pleased with his quick kidnapping. Blitzo and Fizzarolli were already surrounded and held down by Crimson’s mafia shark gang. Pistols were pointed at Blitzo and Fizzarolli. The two villains laughed evilly as they strolled toward their helpless rivals.

“Funny to run into ya again, Blitzy!” Striker mocked, towering over him. He pulled out a red jagged dagger and put it against Fizzarolli’s throat. “…and with a famous friend…”

“Ah fuck me,” Blitzo groaned in defeat, hand over his face.

“For the record, we are not friends!” Fizzarolli spat, folding his arms.

“Hello, Asmodeus.”

Crimson, hands behind his back, grinned sinisterly in the phone video that Asmodeus and Stolas were watching in Asmodeus’ palace. Asmodeus’ face fell after not seeing his beloved imp in the video.

Crimson continued. “You don’t know me, but you don’t need to. All you need to know is that I have your little jester here with me!”

Striker brought Fizzarolli into view, pulling on one of Fizzarolli’s jester tassels on his head. He was tied up in duct-tape and struggled in vain against Striker. Striker grinned as Fizzarolli screamed before his mouth was covered with the duct-tape.

Asmodeus growled in anger and clawed at the holograph. Fizzarolli’s duct-taped mouth and scared eyes appeared in his hands as the video with Crimson returned.

“If you want him back alive, you will give me exactly what I want.”

Asmodeus clenched his fists and spoke in a low demonic voice. “Do you have any idea who you are FUCKING WITH?!” His face turned red, and his mane burst upward in white-red flame. All his heads were red with anger.

“I…think it’s a recording,” Stolas interrupted. The owl tried to console the king.

“Ya probably just asked if I know who I’m dealing with.” Crimson smirked, eyes narrowing, “and oh yes, I know. The weakest and most non-threatening of the Sins. The king who will do whatever it takes to save the worst kept secret in all of Hell. We both know you won’t risk anything happening to the clown…” He pinched Fizzarolli’s face hard with his hand and tossed him aside for Striker to grab.

The thin shark guard lit Crimson’s cigar with green fire. He took several breaths of smoke before putting the cigar out on a table. They were now in a large warehouse. The guard held a remote that read “Up” and “Down.” Blitzo was tied up in a cage on the floor and Striker posed on top of the cage. The mafia snake carried a struggling tied up Fizzarolli and tossed him into the cage and shut the door. A few of the cage bars were bent and worn. Fizzarolli breathed heavily in a panic as the cage was lifted upward on a hook with rope. Crimson grinned at his captives as he then eyed a pile of gold coins on a table. A few of the sharks got beer from a few nearby kegs.

“Oh, chill out, jester,” said the tied up Blitzo next to him. “Christ on a stick, it’s like you’ve never been tied up before.”

“Ugh, sure, but not by a bunch of psychos…”

Fizzarolli tumbled on his side. “Ack! And a piece of shit!”

“Am I?” Blitzo asked. “Ok…ok am I the psycho or the piece of shit?”

“Both!” Fizzarolli spat.

“Yeah, that checks.”

Fizzarolli sat up. “How is this happening?! I was just supposed to grab some gas station milk and rehearse some juggling…!” Fizzarolli fell onto his back and sobbed.

“Oh RELAX, I’m sure your big royal chicken ain’t gonna let anything happen to his peppy lil’ fuckdoll,” Blitzo mentioned in frustration.

Fizzarolli rolled over and sat up, seething. “Ooooh playin’ that card, huh? Ok…” he scooted closer. “What about you? Seems your tastes have gotten more…’regal’ lately?” He chuckled.

“Yeah, well unlike you, I fuck who I want, when I want. I’m not gonna be tied down to some big blue-blooded asshole.”

“You coulda fooled me, the way princey was cozying up to you at Ozzie’s…” Fizzarolli retorted, annoyed that Blitzo had insulted his lover. He wrapped his tail around himself, making a show of it with wide puppy eyes.

“Hey!” Blitzo snapped. “Stolas only cares about having a rugged peasant raw-dog him into his mattress!” He then glanced off to the side, nervously. “It’s nothing, ya know…”

Fizzarolli glared in suspicion with raised eyebrows.

Blitzo sighed and groaned. “It’s nothing else…”

“Then why were you even there?” Fizzarolli asked.

Sweat beaded on Blitzo’s forehead, his eyes shifting. “OTHER very important reasons, of course!” He didn’t want to mention how he wanted to spy on his co-workers making love at Ozzie’s.

Fizzarolli shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t actually care.”

Denying his feelings further, Blitzo emphasized, “I mean, Stolas is just a loud, thirsty bitch who loves feeling the thrill of getting dicked by the lower class!”

Fizzarolli narrowed his eyes, seeing through Blitzo’s lies. All he wanted was to be back in Asmodeus’ arms and away from his ex-friend.

“It’s a novelty to him,” Blitzo added.

Fizzarolli scowled. “Literally just said I don’t care.”

Blitzo pressed on. “And THEN! He’ll call me and try to see how ‘my’ day was, and he’ll pretend to care about me, and comment on my photos and laugh at my jokes…”

“Oh!” said Fizzarolli. “Well, that’s definitely your clue right there that it’s all bullshit.”

“I KNOW, RIGHT?!” Blitzo yelled. Fizzarolli rolled his eyes at Blitzo not getting his sarcasm. Blitzo continued. “He’s just a fake privileged asshole.”

“Sounds like you just hate him for being a prince,” Fizzarolli mentioned. He chuckled. “Because no one and I mean NO ONE, pretends to care that much just for a cheap lay.”

“Point is,” Blitzo said, “Royal demons don’t give a shit about guys like us. They’re all the fuckin’ same…”

“That’s not…!” Fizzarolli began, “A-always true…but I guess you’re right. They can’t be all the same if SOME have taste and SOME wanna fuck YOU!”

“Can we talk about something other than my sex life?” Blitzo asked. “Satan’s taint…is fucking that lust guy make this what you’re all about now?”

“YOU brought it up, asshole!” Fizzarolli snapped.

“CAN YOU TWO SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY?!” bellowed Striker from above, banging on their cage. “You bicker like a couple of teen SKANKS!” He hopped onto a box, then leaned forward and walked to the cage. “As far as I’m concerned…you two are BOTH embarrassments to our kind for meddlin’ with blue-bloods to begin with!”

He grabbed onto the bars, scaring Fizzarolli backwards into Blitzo. Blitzo kicked him off. “Says the assassin asshole who licks the boots of Stolas’ ex-wife!” Blitzo retorted back. “And now he resorts to lapping up to the father of my employee. Hypocrite!”

Striker’s eyes glowed and his sharp gold fang glinted in the dark. “You may also be annoying besides the clown. But at least loud-mouth here has the sense to only fuck his rich bitch instead of being a lil’ purse dog.”

“Oh great!” Blitzo called in sarcasm. “The fucking supremacist is on my side, wonderful.”

“Neither of you filth bags know what you’re even talkin’ about,” argued Fizzarolli. “If you think you’re superior to ANYONE, then you’re no better than any royal…”

Fizzarolli found himself being gripped by his neck and pulled to the side by an angry Striker.

“Don’t. You. Dare. Finish that sentence, clown…”

Fizzarolli breathed heavily, sweat dripping down his face. Blitzo seethed at Striker, looking in concern at Fizzarolli.

“HEY! Hick-for-hire!” Crimson called from below. “I said watch ‘em, not fuck ‘em! Keep ya hands off the merchandise!”

Striker reluctantly let go of Fizzarolli and shoved him to the side. He jumped off the boxes.

“EAUGH!” Fizzarolli yelled down to Crimson and Striker. “EVER HEARD OF MOUTHWASH?! FUCKFACE?!”

Blitzo sighed in annoyance. Fizzarolli continued to struggle, trying to bite through the duct tape with his mouth.

“Ya know? You’re really bad at this,” Blitzo deadpanned.

“Hmm? Ya know? Last time I checked, I was a FUCKING JESTER, NOT an escape arti…”

From inside the duct tape, Fizzarolli’s robotic arm buzzed and crackled. The force sent Fizzarolli upward and his face made a screaming face-sized dent on top of the cage. He fell back down, his teal heart on his forehead glowing hot red before cooling down. He sniffled. “I just wanna go home…”

“What the fuck, Fizz?!” Blitzo barked. “How is someone this flexible, this useless in combat?!”

They rolled out of the way of a goon and toward some boxes. They scooted away from the large gray shark and away from a deer-skull headed demon.

“I’m a performer! I sing, I dance, I promote products I don’t actually use…” Fizzarolli began. Blitzo shoved a running goon out of the way. Fizzarolli dodged the deer-skull demon’s knife. Blitzo picked up the demon and tossed him into another goon.

“I DON’T DO DANGER!” Fizzarolli cried as Blitzo knocked down the gray shark demon with a snap of the neck. He dragged Fizzarolli along. “Well good to know you’re still a wimpy circus puss.” Blitzo shot another goon in the head.

Fizzarolli growled in response as they climbed up a ladder. “I’d give you a comeback, but that would imply I give a shit what you think.” Fizzarolli leaned onto the ladder, but Blitzo rescued him before he could fall.

“You always cared what I thought!” Blitzo argued.

“Ohhoho, after what you DID TO ME?” Fizzarolli bellowed.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING! IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!” Blitzo’s voice broke.

“AN ACCIDENT?!” cried Fizzarolli. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

“Blitzo, you always had it out for me, because people liked me better! You wanted me gone because you were jealous! Just wanting the spotlight! I looked up to you, I thought you were my best friend. YOU RUINED MY LIFE! And then you just left me! I lost so much because of you! And you selfish piece of shit…YOU DIDN’T EVEN CARE!”

Blitzo sobbed. “I DID CARE, FIZZ! IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! IT WAS!”

“Ok you’re right, Fizz, it was all my fault, ok? I…I should’ve done more to help…I was…I was TRYING…there was so much going on. I was trying to get help, Fizz. I just…it was still my fault.”

“Glad you could admit it, Blitzo. WANT A MEDAL?”

“Look I’m sorry, Fizz…I am so sorry you got so hurt. I’m sorry for what you lost and I…I KNOW I can never make that right…but you have no idea what I lost in that fire…I mean its…it’s all my fault. I’d hate me, too.”

“So, why didn’t you try and tell me any of this? Or come see me?” Fizzarolli asked. “Even ONCE would’ve been fine!”

Blitzo ducked behind a box. “I tried…you were all I had left, Fizz. But they told me YOU didn’t want to see me.”

Fizzarolli stared in surprise. “I never told them that!”

“Bullshit…” Blitzo murmured then paused. “You didn’t?”

Fizzarolli cried, “No! And no one told me you came!”

Both of them looked at each other. “Oooohhh…” they said at the same time, realizing their whole fight was based on misunderstandings on both ends.

0 0 0

Blitzo climbed over the front of the car and tripped before standing back up. He opened the passenger door and made a polite hand gesture.

“I guess, royal jesters first?”

Fizzarolli giggled and did a show of walking gracefully toward the car. He was just about to climb in when a lasso rope caught around his neck. Blitzo gasped as he spotted Fizzarolli screaming, one hand reaching out. He was being dragged away, his eight fingers making marks in the ground.

A fuming Blitzo jumped on top of the car and pointed his gun out in the distance.

“Get…your…FUCKING shit-stain claws off him!”

The greenish smoke cleared, and Striker reared his head back in laughter, his snake tongue out. He had Fizzarolli in a headlock and an angelic gun in his other hand.

Striker’s yellow eyes widened in a crazed menace. “You think I’m just gon’ let you get away after all this? I’m THOUGH losin’ these fights!” He twirled his weapon and pointed it under Fizzarolli’s chin.

“This worthless little pet REEKS of his over-bloated master…I’ll at least enjoy getting’ rid of ‘im!”

Fizzarolli smirked, despite his fear. “Ok…is it bad that I’m getting hard?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” shouted an angry Striker, digging the revolver in deeper. “WHY’S IT ALWAYS A SEX THING?!”

Blitzo suddenly spotted two red gasoline cans. He fired a bullet at them and to his delight, the cans exploded. Fizzarolli flew into a high billboard that showed the Mammon logo and read, “Mammon’s Clown Pageant: Be there ya cunts!” Fizzarolli dropped to the ground, a small green flame on his teal heart over his shoulder.

Striker barely had time to look behind him, when the flames exploded into his eyes, face and onto his body. Now Striker was suffering the same fate that had befallen Blitzo and Fizzarolli so long ago.

Striker screeched, swayed, and scampered as the green flames danced across his clothes and body. He made frightened critter noises as he scurried away on all fours under a broken red car. His pointed tail tapped a puddle of water, extinguishing the flames on his tail before he disappeared.

Blitzo turned around and to his horror saw a terrified Fizzarolli surrounded by green flames. He reached up toward a hanging car on a hook but even his long robotic arm could not reach it. His robotic arm crackled with electricity and slumped to the ground. Fizzarolli flinched and cried as a burning telephone pole fell inches away from him. Flashbacks of a burned, helpless Fizzarolli at the circus filled Blitzo with adrenaline and dread.

“FIIIZZZ!”

Blitzo looked around frantically and spotted a metal barrel. He jumped over a line of green fire, rolling on top of the barrel. He rode on the barrel from one junk pile to the next. He rolled himself off a ramp and flew into the air. Blitzo expertly flipped from one trapeze bar to another trapeze bar. He landed on the hood of a car and onto a metal railing. He maneuvered sideways on it, holding onto the railing. He found himself on the edge of a large crane that held the car on a hook. Fizzarolli was surrounded by a circle of emerald flames.

Taking a brave breath, Blitzo leaped onto the hanging car, using his tail to wrap around the rope and hook for support. He lowered himself as much as he could, reaching out both hands for his friend. Fizzarolli strained and reached for Blitzo with his other functioning robotic arm. Thankfully, Blitzo managed to grab Fizzarolli’s hand with both his own. Straining, Blitzo lifted himself back up. Both of them flew into the air…holding each other tightly as they began to fall. Blitzo was afraid it would be the end, but fortunately, Fizzarolli swung them with his arm, which had wrapped around the bottom metal beams of the crane. They managed to swing and steady themselves onto the top of the crane.

After catching their breath, Fizzarolli glared. He shook Blitz hard and angrily cried, “YOU BLEW ME UP AGAIN YOU FUCKIN’ PRICK!”

“I did…” Blitzo began, “…but this time I stuck around.”

0 0 0

Blitzo stood up and brushed himself off, wearing a tattered black suit and dark sunglasses. He ran to catch up. “Wow, I have not been to a crowd event in years.” He held out his pistol with teeth as part of the design.

Fizzarolli glared at him. “Can you remind me why you’re here, again?”

“I…uhh…invited him,” Asmodeus mentioned, as Blitzo pointed his gun and ran off. He leaned down and whispered, “To help you, with extra security. You know your fans. Since I can’t be with you, I felt he’d be the next best thing.”

“He’d be the next best thing?” Fizzarolli flinched in disgust.

“Well, he kept you safe when I wasn’t able to, so I trust that.”

An angry Blitzo pressed his double-barrel weapon near the cheek of an imp boy fan who were cheering “Yes!” He and a girl imp were wearing green. Asmodeus laughed nervously.

Fizzarolli grumbled in suspicion, assuming Asmodeus’ and Blitzo’s behaviors were quite odd. “Mmm-hmm. L’il sus, babe.”

Asmodeus frowned before he and Blitzo accidentally bumped into each other. They briefly nodded before Asmodeus flew away to the sky in a teal comet of flames.

“You’re doing an awesome job, Fizzarolli!” cheered the crowd heartedly. Fizzarolli forced a wide grin as he waved. Blitzo appeared by his side.

“Come on, it’s just like old times,” Blitzo mentioned. “I’ll make sure no one gives you shit, today.”

“You mean besides you?” Fizzarolli retorted.

Before Blitzo could respond, the ground shook and the ruler of Greed himself appeared in a blast of green smoke. He was dressed in a large green jester outfit, with a jester hat with gold dollar signs dangling down. The outfit was black and green, with diamonds on it with gold trim. The black part on his jester hat looked like a crown. He carried a green and gold cane with a green dollar sign on it. He put two fingers on his cheeks and grinned. He also had black pointed boots and striped, green pants.

“Aaay, there he is!”

He gripped Fizzarolli’s chin with a thick white hand. “Now how’s my bright, shiny, brand baby doing?” He squeezed Fizzarolli’s cheeks and shook him hard. “Ready to reclaim your win another year? Yeah?” He towered over Fizzarolli, eyes glowing green.

Fizzarolli answered, his voice muffled, “You know it, Mammon, sir.”

“Goood, cause, you know…” he bent down to look at Fizzarolli’s face. “I saw your competition, and it’s pretty stiff, right? You are gonna have to try extra-hard like-fixin’ that posture. Not gonna lie, you’re looking a bit chungo, yeah?” He waved his arm near Fizzarolli’s belly. “Maybe lose a few so we don’t gotta make any more adjustments to the Fizzies. People like ‘em skinny as FUCK.”

Blitzo hid his weapon away, took off his sunglasses and seethed at Mammon talking down to his friend.

“Oh, right, sir. Of course! I’ll work on that,” Fizzarolli stuttered.

“What?!” Blitzo spat.

“Oh. And who’s this dumpster-diver ya got here with ya?” Mammon asked, glaring at Blitzo.

Blitzo stormed over to Mammon. “Hi, yes, nice to meet you, I’m the one who saw through your fake-ass bullshit from the day I had to spend all my savings on the shit covered dick show you called a performance. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Fizzarolli laughed nervously. “Haha-ha-ignore him, sir. He’s uh-he’s like this all the time. He thinks he’s funny.”

“Offended,” Blitzo glowered.

“Riight, yeah. You can shut you (HONK) ass mouth, boy,” Mammon shot at Blitzo. He turned to Fizzarolli and spread his arms. “I’ll see you on stage! And don’t forget to fucking smile, Fizzarolli.” He shook him hard, gripping his arms as Fizzarolli did a nervous salute.

“The smile is the face people like to seeeee from you!” He grinned and Fizzarolli forced a grin of his own. Mammon vanished in a cloud of green smoke and gold dollar signs.

“Wow, that guy sucks so hard,” Blitzo glared.

“Look, Blitz,” Fizzarolli barked. “I don’t know why Ozz brought you here, but can you at least not talk back to my boss?! I need this gig!”

“Why?” Blitzo asked. “Don’t you have the world’s best sugar daddy?”

Fizzarolli was incredibly lucky to have a partner like Asmodeus in his life. But now that he was back in Greed with the spotlight on him again, he could think of nothing else but winning the contest and pleasing Mammon…if only to avoid failure and abuse…

0 0 0

Fizzarolli wandered over to his boss and peered from behind the cardboard cutout.

“Hey Mammon, uh, I may not be, uh…i-in the right headspace to interact with the fans right now.” Fizzarolli stuttered. “Is it okay if I maybe skip the whole thing?”

“Psh, of course not,” Mammon turned around. He tossed four bags of money into his bin.

“I just don’t think that I’m really…”

Mammon shoved Fizzarolli off to the side, putting a hand over the imp’s mouth.

“Aaaw, come on Fizzie, my boy.” He patted Fizzarolli’s head with two hands. He then lifted him up and gripped his arm, hard. “Don’t you wanna do this for your fans?” He shook Fizzarolli and turned him around.

“Listen to them! They’re dying to meet you!”

Hordes of imps, succubi, and demons raced toward the gate, wearing green Mammon shirts. A giant dog demon with hearts over its breasts roared in excitement behind the cheering eager fans.

Mammon lowered Fizzarolli. “Dying to see your little Fizzie face!” He jabbed him in the chest and pulled him close. “You gotta make a good impression, mate. The better the impression, the more they’ll want a piece of you they can take home and fuck!” He gripped Fizzarolli’s head, leaning in uncomfortably close. “Don’t you want that, Fizzie? To be fucked?!”

Fizzarolli stammered. “Uh, I mean…no, not really, actually.”

Mammon posed with his head up and did a dramatic frown. “Fizzie, I-I’m not gonna lie…”

He then gripped Fizzarolli’s face, sharp yellow teeth bared, “I want that! So come on, just do this one thing for me.”

“Okay, sir,” came Fizzarolli’s muffled voice after Mammon squeezed his face against his own.

Mammon let go and did rocker signs with his hands. “Aw, you’re a bloody legend, Fizzie!” He pulled hard on Fizzarolli’s arms and swung him around. “They’re gonna wanna fuck you, like you’re fucking my heart with joooy right now!” Fizzarolli could barely breathe, he was being crushed by Mammon’s chest and arms. Mammon turned Fizzarolli’s face again and stretched his lips. “Now get out there and make me proud, you stupid little (HONK).”

Mammon vanished in green smoke, causing Fizzarolli to cough.

“Wow, Fizz, you let him talk to you like that?”

A stunned Fizzarolli turned around to see Blitzo behind him. Blitzo was upside down attached to a wire, wearing sunglasses, and holding a rifle. “You got some secret kink I should know about of something?” He spun around in a slow circle with a tattered red cape.

Fizzarolli folded his arms and looked away. “It’s just how he is.”

“I mean shit, if he talked to me that way,” Blitzo began.

“Ugh, it’s fine,” Fizzarolli sighed in annoyance and stomped away.

0 0 0

“Boo! Boo! Sellout piece of shit!” yelled a voice.

Fizzarolli glanced around nervously, before gently sending the boy on his way.

“Uh, wh-c-come again?” he stuttered in confusion.

“Ugh, your act is such fucking trash, always has been!”

To Fizzarolli’s horror, the narcissistic Creepzo was crawling up to seethe at Fizzarolli from the back of the crowd. He had his square glasses and wore a stained green shirt and black pants.

“Except now,” he pointed an accusing finger at Fizzarolli, “I have to see your smug face plastered on everything, everywhere! And you can all read all about it on my review blog: “fuck-Fizz-but-not-in-a-sexy-way.complainer.com.org.gov!”

He stumbled and fell forward.

Fizzarolli stepped back and chuckled nervously. “Heh, well anyway folks, heh.”

Creepzo clawed toward Fizzarolli on the ground, bent red fingers like sharp claws. “You’re not even a clown, anymore.” He stood up. “All you do is work at that overpriced, sleaze joint, and then every year, you come back here to put us though the same old tired routine.”

Blitzo seethed as he looked through his gun’s telescope piece…he spotted Fizzarolli fearfully stepping back from Creepzo, who inched toward Fizzarolli, fists clenched. “Is there a single original idea in that head?” Creepzo asked.

Fizzarolli laughed shakily as he backed up against the curtain. “I-uh-uh-uh…” Creepzo’s demonic shadow towered over Fizzarolli, with glowing red eyes. “You fucking suck, and so do your products. Your sex-bots can’t even get me off right, you know…”

Blitzo jumped in between the imps, aiming his rifle at Creepzo’s chin in warning.

“What? Still think you’re too good to even talk to me?” Creepzo spat. “Still gotta get this chump to stand in for you? You’re fucking pathetic.”

“To think what we could’ve been together if you hadn’t been too up your own ass to listen! Ugh!”

In Creepzo’s imagination, he and Fizzarolli jumped for joy on a grassy hill with purple flowers. The clouds were shaped like purple hearts. They held hands and gazed at each other romantically. In another fantasy, Fizzarolli was dressed in a dark purple slave suit, wearing a dog collar connected to a chain leash attached to Creepzo’s waists. He smiled with his tongue out and held a golden trophy with #1 on it to Creepzo, who was dressed like a king.

Blitzo aimed the barrel in Creepzo’s mouth. “Yeah, one more word out of you, twat stan, imma blow your head clean open in front of all these fucking kids.”

Fizzarolli hyperventilated, clearly sacred of Creepzo and his insults. He gripped the curtain and his fluffy white clown collar.

Creepzo laughed evilly in response to Fizzarolli’s fear. Blitzo jabbed his face with his rifle, sending him backwards and stumbling.

“You’re not done with me, Fizzarolli,” swore the envious, vengeful Creepzo, rubbing his swollen cheek and running off.

Fizzarolli collapsed to the side and Blitzo caught him.

“Hey, hey, woah, woah, you good?”

Fizzarolli let out a startled scream as Mammon appeared from smoke again behind them. He swatted Blitzo aside. “Yeah, mate? You alright, Fizz?”

Fizzarolli looked fearfully into Mammon’s glowing eyes. His eyes narrowed and his mouth sneered. As if to say, “You better not mess things up.”

Fizzarolli smiled forcefully. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’m-I’m fine, yeah, heh.”

Mammon’s eyes narrowed before he declared, “Tell you what, I’ll let the hotties go on before ya, give ya some time to get your shit together.” In a frightening moment, Mammon gripped Fizzarolli’s face and spoke in a low voice. “Get your shit together, Fizzie. You’re a bloody legend.” He grinned evilly, his sharp teeth giant as six small glowing yellow eyes appeared on his forehead.

He then stood up and spoke in his regular voice. “You’re a bloody legend, ya bitch!” He spun Fizzarolli around and he twirled toward the stage side entrance. Four green round lights decorated the open curtains.

“Oh shit, that guy got to you, didn’t he?” Blitzo asked. “You know you don’t have to…”

Fizzarolli was too stressed and scared to deal with Blitzo’s annoying attempts to stop him.

“I do, Blitz, I do.”

“Fucking, Hell, Fizz, this is stupid. That clown shit is not this important.”

“This job is!” Fizzarolli yelled in his face. “Without it, I’ll lose…”

“Everything!” the twin sisters mocked from atop the stairs. They laughed evilly and backed away toward the stage, glowing eyes flashing before vanishing.

“Seriously, that guy is a fucking dick,” said Blitzo bluntly, as Fizzarolli somberly climbed the stairs. “And he’s using you for everything cause you’re likeable, and he’s a fucking trash fire.”

“No, he’s not!” Fizzarolli yelled, not fully convinced. “He’s just trying to make me good enough.”

“Good enough for what?!” Blitzo deadpanned, holding his rifle, growing more concerned about his friend’s wellbeing.

0 0 0

“Fizz! Are you okay?” called a familiar voice from behind him.

Fizzarolli turned around in shock to see Asmodeus peering inside. Fizzarolli turned around. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?!” He sat down, dabbing his face. “You shouldn’t be here, Asmodeus! I’m fine, please!”

Asmodeus struggled to fit his large body through the door. Annoyed, he snapped his fingers and teleported behind his lover.

“Froggie,” Asmodeus breathed, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Fizzarolli held up his hands and moved out of his grip. “I’m fine! I’m fine! Just needed a minute!”

Asmodeus tried to steady Fizzarolli. “You aren’t okay, you’re shaking.” He pulled down his arm.

“Ozz, I’m about to go on for the finale, I need some time to mentally prepare.” He stood up and walked around his room. A poster on the wall advertised a “never stain Fizzy Scarf, it’s so washable, cum will never stick to it.” Fizzarolli juggled dildos in a “New dildo juggling update” on another poster. Another poster advertised “Fizzarolli clown juice.” A large Fizzarolli doll sat off to the side.

Asmodeus sighed and put a hand to his forehead. “Fizz, come on! I’m trying to talk to you, you can’t force yourself to…”

“Ozz,” Fizzarolli interrupted, “I have to do this. This could be my last chance to prove that I’m still good at this. That it’s not over! That I’m still good enough!”

He stared at the Mammon concert poster. “It’s not just Mammon. I’m fine. I just…need to be better.”

“You think you need to be this perfect, model performer…” Asmodeus began as Fizzarolli stomped to the vanity mirror, “…but that’s because Mammon is always forcing that image onto you!”

Fizzarolli stared at himself sadly. “But everything I have is because of Mammon. I have this life. I have security. I have you.”

Asmodeus looked at Fizzarolli sadly.

Fizzarolli said, “Without Mammon, I wouldn’t be…I wouldn’t have…I just…I have to win this…”

“Fizzie,” said Asmodeus, cupping his chin. He hated to see his cherished partner feel so broken and stressed. He wanted Fizzarolli to know how precious their relationship was, how it went beyond Mammon’s influence. Asmodeus knew that Fizzarolli wouldn’t live forever, nor would he be his last lover. But he knew that in his immortal life, Fizzarolli was one individual who brought such a unique passionate joy to it.

He wasn’t about to let another ruler of Hell take that away from him.

Fizzarolli pulled away. “I don’t want to lose. Because I feel like if I lose this...” his voice choked. “…I lose you.”

Asmodeus scoffed. “How would you lose me?” He placed two hands on Fizzarolli’s shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. “Come on, Froggie.”

Fizzarolli stepped away. “You’re with me because of who I am at my best! I’m barely worthy of working with a King of Sin…”

Fizzarolli cried out as he removed his jester cap… “cause THIS is who I am!” He revealed the broken stubs of what was left of his imp horns. Tears welled in his eyes as he held his cap. “Without all this, I’m just nothing, and Mammon made me this. I owe it all to him.”

0 0 0

Fizzarolli bowed as the crowd stood up and gave him a roaring demonic encore! One of the jester bots clapped and an angry Mammon slapped it off his web. He took a bag of popcorn from the other fanning bot and angrily chewed. Fizzarolli stood up and blushed at Asmodeus, who gave him a thumbs up behind the curtain. Fizzarolli had never felt so jubilant in his life.

“Thank you all so much. You know, it’s always been one of the greatest thrills of my life performing. And I’m so glad to bring you all one, last show.”

Fizzarolli smiled down at the waving imp boy he had met earlier and signed “THANK YOU.” The boy gasped and grinned, amazed to be recognized by his role model.

“Cause now…” Fizzarolli closed his eyes…and then grinned hugely with a shrug, “I quit!” He dropped the microphone and the crowd gasped.

Mammon vomited on the other fanning bot. “WHAT?!” he bellowed in rage.

In a flash, the king of Greed teleported in front of Fizzarolli. Fizzarolli flinched as Mammon pointed his dollar sign staff under his chin.

“QUIT?! You miserable piece of shit! What do you mean quit?!”

Fizzarolli smirked and moved the staff away with a finger. He waved his hand.

“I meaaaan, I quit. I’m done.” In an Australian accent, he mocked, “G’day, mate!” while flipping him off with two middle fingers.

Mammon’s eye twitched before he seethed, his face darkening. Smoke bellowed from his mouth and six smaller glowing yellow eyes appeared on his forehead. He vanished in smoke and rushed toward the flinching Fizzarolli. With low growls from inside enormous clouds of smoke, Mammon lifted up a giant sharp yellow bug leg that almost stabbed Fizzarolli who backed away. Asmodeus peered from behind the curtain, grabbing it in his fist.

“Oh that motherfucker…”

Mammon pulled back his sharp leg. He wiggled out of a slime-covered larva sack that resembled the design of his jester outfit.

He let out a low demonic growl. “YOU FUCKING UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SHIT!”

He rose from his sack, growling until the growls intensified into screams. Mammon was in his true demonic form, slamming down his eight bug legs on the ground. He had the appearance and traits of a spider and a parasite, thinking of nothing but consumption. He even had a striped bee-like bug bottom with stingers and spikes.

“I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING!” he screamed at Fizzarolli in a distorted demonic voice. “YOU ARE PRACTICALLY IN MY IMAGE!”

Fizzarolli just crossed his arms and glared unintimidated by his former master. Mammon jabbed a giant finger at him.

“I RAISED YOU LIKE THE SON I DIDN’T WANT!”

Fizzarolli slapped his giant finger away and narrowed his eyes, causing Mammon to narrow his eyes in return.

Asmodeus appeared protectively behind Fizzarolli in a roar of teal and red flames. He towered high and his three heads roared and turned red, speaking in a demonic voice.

“YOU’D BETTER BACK THE FUCK UP, MAM!”

Mammon chuckled darkly before turning to Asmodeus.

“Look who’s acting like a big fuckin’ hero.” He crawled over to Asmodeus, placing a finger under his chin. “Careful what you say, Ozzie. Wouldn’t want your little secret getting out, would we?” He smirked while pointing down at Fizzarolli.

Asmodeus yelled into his face, flames turning red. “I don’t care anymore!” The two Sins butted heads.

“Ozz?” Fizzarolli asked in concern.

Mammon smirked and backed up. “Because if you let him quit, I could tell everyone hereee that you…”

“What?” asked Asmodeus. “That I love him? Well I do!”

To Mammon’s surprise, the crowd erupted into fangirl screams and yelled “I knew it, I knew it!”

Mammon looked stunned and scratched his head. “Oh-uh. Shit.” Then he put his hands on his hips, coming up with an insult. “Ah-you dirty bitch!”

He crawled on all his legs and smirked near Asmodeus’ face. He spoke in a demonic voice, whispering ominously into Asmodeus’ ears.

“You are gonna regret revealing that, Ozz!” He chuckled darkly and snorted green smoke into Fizzarolli’s face. He then broke out into loud sinister laughter, revenge brewing in his eyes. He disappeared in smoke and dollar bill signs one last time. The crowd screamed and flinched as the arena, stage, and circus tents came crashing down in explosions.

0 0 0

“You ain’t never leaving this palace without protection AGAIN!”

Fizzarolli could remember Ozzie’s voice. Was he destined to be sheltered forever, unable to wander free on his own terms like he used to?

‘I should’ve listened to Ozzie!’ Fizz thought, ridden with guilt. ‘Now I’m in danger AGAIN!’

0 0 0

“You’ll always be broken…disabled…helpless…a mere product to the outside world and a somber memory to your former best friend.”

Fizzarolli sobbed at hearing Rolando’s terrible taunts.

“You may be famous and flexible, but not even you can escape your own mind. Not even your cocky lover can save you.”

“Ozzie! Help!” Fizz cried.

Rolando chuckled evilly and licked Fizz’s neck, making the imp flinch.

The green-tinted screen showed a sad Blitzo leaning against the wall.

“What’s your ex-friend doing?”

“Blitz?” Fizz asked.

Rolando peered forward and spotted Blitzo taking out his phone, Ozzie’s call number appearing on his phone screen.

‘Oh no you don’t, lowborn!’ Rolando seethed inwardly. ‘The King of Lust doesn’t need to get involved in my newest meal.’

“Such delicious despair!” he mocked to Fizz. “Fresh loss marinated in the sting of betrayal. He left you behind to die all those years ago. Now it’s time to take him out of your spotlight for good!”

“WAIT! NO, DON’T!” Fizzarolli pleaded.

He cried out, struggling in vain to escape. But the jester was quickly overtaken by the suffocating smoke and numbing waters of Rolando’s possession magic. He soon gave in, slumping down in his seat and closing his eyes.

0 0 0

‘There’s something wrong with Fizz,’ Blitzo thought. ‘But I can’t quite put my finger on it. I’d better tell Ozzie…even if it is my fault…’

Blitzo didn’t notice Fizzarolli arching over Blitzo, legs and arms stretched downward like a giant spider. Blitzo looked up and spotted Fizzarolli’s eerie grin and glowing yellow eyes.

“Robo-Fizz?!” he cried.

Fizz let out a chilling robotic laugh. “Close enough!”

He barely had time to react when the possessed Fizz picked him up and threw him hard into a store window, shattering it. Blitzo screamed. The force made him crash to the ground, sending nude model figures rolling on top of him. Blitzo groaned and stood up, pushing off a succubus mannequin.

Possessed Fizz flew toward him as Blitzo frantically searched for his phone.

Blitzo reached for the phone on the floor and managed to press the call button and roll out of the way just before Fizzarolli rolled into the space where Blitzo was moments before.

“OZZIE!” Blitzo cried as he ran for his life.

“Blitz? If I find out you’re hurting Fizz again…”

“Fizz’s possessed! He’s attacking me! You have to come down here!”

“Bullshit. I bet you’re making this…” Ozzie began.

Blitzo’s screams and Fizz’s eerie laughs were heard on the other end.

“The amazing imp fools, doomed to die together!” Rolando cackled in Fizz’s voice as he crushed the phone in his hands.

“NO!” Blitzo cried.

“What the…?” Ozzie blinked as the line went dead.

Blitzo tried to attack Fizz, but Fizz dodged many of his punches. Blitzo growled and pulled out his flintlock pistol.

“Bold move attacking your best friend,” Rolando mocked. He laughed as Blitzo’s bullets bounced off his robotic limbs. He flipped through the air, Blitzo moving backwards to avoid him.

“He still resents you to this day! You ruined his body and his life! Now you’ll never be in that dream relationship with him!”

Blitzo fired more shots, but Rolando tripped him, swinging Fizz’s long legs. He picked Blitzo up and spun him through the air before slamming him down onto the street.

“I bet Fizz wishes your limbs were lost too!” jeered Rolando, tugging Blitzo’s arms hard. Blitzo cried out, trying to kick from underneath him. “That way you’d understand more of what he had to go through! I see now why Barbie and your Papa hate you, too!”

He spoke in a perfect imitation of Robo-Fizz: “DOES ANYBODY LOVE YOU, BLITZOOO? NOOOO!”

“SHUT UP!”

“You were always at the bottom of the barrel,” Rolando continued. “Cash was right to call Fizz his son. But alas, he’s still broken and worthless, just like you.”

Blitzo grunted and headbutted Rolando in the head and used his pointed red imp tail to wrap it around his neck, making him let go.

“And broken imps are good for one thing: MY MEALS!” Rolando licked his lips.

Blitzo and Fizzarolli fought some more. Blitzo was nearly wrapped up in Fizz’s limbs once again…and he found himself getting exhausted. It was hard to keep up with the possessed Fizz.

‘His limbs are giving him an advantage…’ Blitzo thought. ‘But without them…’

“I’m sorry, Fizz,” Blitzo breathed, dreading what he was about to do.

Blitzo shoved Fizz/Rolando as hard as he could, sending him onto his back. Wasting no time, Blitzo leaped onto his chest and pressed down hard with his feet. Fizz gasped, spit coming from his mouth, his eyes bulging. Blitzo blinked back tears as he tore off one of Fizz’s long limbs and wrapped it around the jester’s waist. He sliced off the other one with a knife and wrapped it around Fizz’s neck. His metallic legs were also wrapped together in rapid loops by Blitzo’s shaking hands…and promptly torn off.

“GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY FRIEND, CUNT-SUCKER!”

Blitzo tightened the limb around Fizz’s neck.

“Harder, daddy. Kill me and Fizz together!”

Blitzo didn’t even flinch. “I DO THE SEX JOKES, FUCKER!”

With a flurry of punches to the face and gut by Blitzo, Rolando was eventually ejected from Fizz’s mouth in black goo. Blitzo quickly unwrapped the limb from Fizz’s neck as Rolando rematerialized.

Fizz slowly woke up, eyes back to normal.

“Blitz…”

“I’m here, Fizz. Now let’s…”

Blitzo was cut off with a mighty kick from the infestor demon, sending him backwards into the street. Rolando was hovering over the weakened jester imp, gripping his throat hard. Fizz gasped and choked, helpless without his limbs.

“Goodbye, Pissarolli,” Rolando mocked. Fizz closed his eyes and flinched, bracing for the end.

“YOU BETTER BACK THE FUCK OFF, EEL SCUM!”

Fizzarolli and Blitzo looked over. Asmodeus himself stomped through a portal, towering over everyone. His flaming mane of hair was crimson red, his ram and bull heads next to him snarling with rage. His rooster tail feathers stood up in aggression.

“STAY AWAY FROM MY FIZZY-FROG!”

Rolando took one look at the King of Lust and retreated in black goo as fast as he could. Asmodeus teleported in front of him equally fast, blocking his path.

With his giant hands, Asmodeus grabbed the infestor…and the demon screamed in distorted agony as Asmodeus burned him to a crisp. Blue flames fried Rolando’s body until he was nothing but a pile of black ash and bone shards in Asmodeus’ hands. He dropped the ash pile onto the street and stomped on it for good measure.

“FUCK YEAH!” Blitzo cheered.

Afterwards, Asmodeus shrank back down to his normal tall height and raced over to Fizzarolli.

“Fizzy!” Ozzie cried. He picked up Fizzarolli and cradled him in his hands. “Are you okay? Please stay with me.”

“I think I’ll stay with you all night long after that crazy trip,” Fizzarolli chuckled weakly.

“You’re alive, thank Satan and myself,” Ozzie breathed in relief, nuzzling the jester. Ozzie gasped as he spotted the detached limbs on the street.

Blitzo lowered his head in apology. “There was an infestor demon inside him. It was the only way I could make him leave Fizz.”

Ozzie sighed as he carefully picked him up, the exposed red and blue wires fizzling with sparks at the ends. “It’s okay. I can fix them.”

Blitzo began to wander away.

“Blitz…wait…” Fizz said.

Blitzo turned around.

“About what happened earlier…about how I reacted…I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” said Blitzo. “That bastard tricked both of us.”

Fizz sighed. “Well…I guess you saved my life yet again. I should’ve listened to you earlier. Someday I’ll repay you…just don’t know when.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Blitzo said. “I’ll be sure to listen to you more as well…and let you love whoever you’d like. I do have Stolas but it’s…complicated.”

Blitzo brightened. “Hey, now I can let Rita and Millie know that asshole’s dead for good. New paycheck coming in!”

He glanced around. “Ah shit, my phone’s gone.”

Ozzie waved his hand and gave Blitzo a new one.

“Thank you, Ozzie,” said Blitzo, taking the phone.

“Thank you, Blitz…” said Ozzie. “For helping save Fizzarolli again. If you ever need anything or you would like to visit, you’re always welcome.”

“Thank you, Ozzie, sir. Sorry about the limbs again.”

“It’s alright.” Ozzie mentioned to the dangling detached prosthetics in his arms. “Now then…” Ozzie began, peering playfully at his lover. “How would you like to be the top this time? Hmm?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Fizzarolli giggled. “That would be a nice change of pace. I’ve had enough of being dominated today.”

“Take care, Blitz,” said Ozzie. “And use that Asmodean crystal wisely.”

“Thanks again,” Blitzo called to Ozzie. Ozzie leaned down so Fizzarolli and Blitzo could see each other face to face.

“Friends, still?” Blitzo asked.

“Friends, still,” Fizzarolli replied with a small smile. Blitzo leaned over and gave Fizz a hug. He smiled warmly.

“Oh, feel free to stop by my collection again,” Fizz called to Blitzo as Ozzie stood up, carrying him. “In case you’re looking for more horny things!”

“Thanks,” Blitzo chuckled. “I’ll let you know.”

Blitzo tapped his crystal and headed back into his office, while Ozzie carried Fizzarolli and his limbs back to his palace.

In the shadows, lime green eyes glowed and the jingle of coins sounded in the shadows of an alleyway. A row of sharp green teeth snarled as Ozzie and Fizzarolli left through the portal.

“You both are gonna regret your hypocrisies…no one mocks the King of Greed. Heheheheheh.”

#helluvaboss #rolando #ghostfuckers #rolandoinfestseverycharacter

0 notes