#cw bad boss

[whump-card]

Sunless Lives Part 2: I Should Have Known

~1520words

CW: panic, negative self-talk, injury care, denial of medical aid, bad boss, IV

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~~~

They can see you.

They’re all going to see you.

Simon half-fell, half-lurched off of the bed and staggered over to the door, slamming it shut. He slid against it down to the floor, sucking in air as his vision continued to narrow and darken.

They got him. They got him. Just keep the door closed and you’ll be fine.

Thump-thump-thump.

HE’S BACK.

Simon’s hands flew up and gripped his head, and he realized for the first time that his left temple was bleeding from where he hit it on the counter. And his head was… vibrating? No, he was talking, and hadn’t even known.

“No, no, no no no no…”

“Simon! Are you - Are you okay?” Matthew.

“Go away!” Simon shrieked. Again his voice cracked as he broke into sobs, he sounded so stupid, how did any of this even happen -

The door rattled against his back, and he wailed in terror. 

“Please, Simon, we need to make sure you’re okay!” Matthew called.

Another voice cut in.

“Just leave him alone, for God’s sake! Help me with this bastard, come on!”

Christian.

Christian is safe.

“Chris!” Simon called weakly. He pressed his feet into the floor, trying to stand, but the attempt made the darkness in his vision swell. He ended up collapsing fully onto the floor in the fetal position, but that at least gave the door a little space to open.

“Chris!” he called out again. The door slowly opened a couple inches.

“Cap- Christian had to wrangle Finch,” Matthew spoke gently from behind the door, “He can’t… He’s gone, do you want me or Gina?”

Gina the ice queen, who barely spared Simon a second glance most days, or Matthew, who Simon had some pretty intense what-if feelings about? Hard to pick which was worse. But if humiliation is inevitable, might as well go with the person who’s actually nice. Simon pulled his buttonless shirt closed and sluggishly rubbed at his face with his sleeve, trying to get the blood off his mouth. Trying to make it less obvious.

“Matthew,” he finally breathed.

“Okay, Simon, I’m coming in.” The door eased open a little further, and Matthew scooted in sideways. He cursed under his breath when he saw Simon on the floor, but otherwise kept his reaction under control. He turned back to the cracked-open door.

“Gina, pass me the bite kit?”

Gina’s lean hand passed the large white box through the gap. Matthew knelt on the ground next to Simon and popped the latches open. Simon seemed to be drifting away.

“Chris?” he murmured.

“Hey, stay with me, Simon,” said Matthew. He rolled Simon onto his back and spotted the head wound.

“Shit - Gina, this is really bad, we have to take him to a hospital.”

“Okay,” Gina replied from beyond the door, “I’ll let Captain Isles know.”

“Thanks.” Matthew pulled on some nitrile gloves and focused on packing the bite and the head wound with gauze, taking care to open Simon's shirt as little as possible, then started setting up an IV with the synthetic blood that came with the bite kit - a medical marvel that could be used for universal transfusions, but not drunk by vampires. It worked quickly and didn’t need refrigeration, but it had some unpleasant side effects.

All the while Matthew kept talking to Simon, trying to keep him awake. He narrated his work, getting mumbles and blinks in response.

“Okay, those are all patched up for now, you’re going to feel a little pinch, okay?” He rolled up Simon’s sleeve to insert the IV.

“Mhm - Ah!” Simon winced when Matthew inserted the IV.

“Sorry, sorry!” Matthew flinched in sympathy. “Hey, keep your eyes open for me. Simon?” Matthew touched Simon’s chest, causing him to whimper.

“What was that, are you hurt there?” Matthew hung the IV bag on the doorknob to free up his hands, and pulled open Simon’s shirt, revealing fresh bruising where he had crashed into the floor. Matthew pressed gently to confirm the broken ribs, eliciting a small cry from Simon, but Matthew was distracted by what else he saw there.

Simon’s torso was laced with scarring. Clustered around the soft light brown flesh of his waist were marks that Matthew recognized as bite scars: dozens of pairs of discolored dots, some indented and some raised, with the occasional crescent of a full set of teeth. Further up, random little lines were scattered across his ribs, likely from short, deep cuts; and now that some of the blood was sopped up and Matthew pulled the shirt open further, he saw that bite scars spread densely across Simon’s shoulders as well. Matthew couldn’t make much sense of the lines but he knew what the quantity of bitemarks meant. At some point in his life, and probably for a long time, Simon had been a bloodbag.

Not that they were supposed to use that terminology, of course. ‘Blood worker’ or ‘blood trafficking victim’ were preferred but… who had the time to say all that?

Simon always did.

Matthew was startled out of his discovery by someone bursting into the room behind him. Matthew spun around to tell them off, only to find that it was Captain Isles, looking rather harried.

“Cap! Good, he was asking for you.”

Isles closed the door, then circled around and crouched at Simon’s other side, looking him up and down.

“What's the damage?” he asked.

“At least one broken rib, a really deep bite, and a head injury.”

“Chris?” Simon mumbled again. His eyes fluttered, wandering up to Isles’ face. The captain didn’t respond, but didn’t look away either.

“He had all his clothes on when you got here?” he asked.

“His shirt's been ripped open but -” the words caught in Matthew’s throat as he realized what his captain was asking. “But yeah, I think so, Cap.”

Isles stood abruptly.

“He’ll be fine. No need to take him anywhere.”

“What?” Matthew leapt to his feet as well. “Sir, he took a serious hit to the head, he needs to go to the emergency room!”

“And if we take him out of this building he’ll be at risk of an attack far worse than this!” Isles insisted, “We can treat him here.”

“Okay, I’ll call the infirmary.”

“No, we can’t do that either.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because.” Captain Isles paused and took a breath, steeling himself. “Nobody can know about this.”

Matthew gave up on saying ‘what’ again, just opening his hands in a desperate question.

“Listen,” Isles said, his voice low and dangerous, “We wildly fucked up here, letting Finch get loose in the VIU building. If this is officially reported in any way, the whole team, including me, and including Simon, lose our jobs.”

“And that’s worth risking Simon’s life? He could have brain damage!” Matthew retorted.

Isles huffed, and crouched back down to rifle through the bite kit. He pulled out a pen light and lifted Simon’s eyelids, flicking it across his eyes, lighting the dark brown up gold.

“Chris, what’s happening?” Simon asked softly. “Is he gone?”

“Yeah,” said Isles, “He’s gone.” He stood back up to address Matthew.

“Pupils are normal, and now that he's got some blood back in him he’s talking. He’s going to be fine, I promise.”

Matthew shook his head fervently.

“I still don’t understand -”

“You don’t need to understand!” Captain Isles snapped, “But I’ll lay it out for you anyway: this team is an experiment, I’m trying to use Simon’s experience instead of letting the VIU toss him into victim protection where he would have been sniffed out anyway. Twice now we’ve gotten into trouble, had agents in danger, because vampires recognized Simon’s voice over the radio. This would be our third strike, and it would end our team, and Simon’s privileges here at the VIU. You might think you’d be helping him by reporting this, but you’d be killing him. Without the security of living here at the VIU, he’s dead - or worse.”

Matthew stared at his captain, trying to process all of this new information. What exactly was Simon’s experience? It was looking less like he’d kicked vampire ass in the field and retired to comms and research with a few grudges to be wary of, and more like he’d been… captured. And their team was an experiment? Matthew had no idea their team was different from any other. Was this why the whole team were newbies except for Simon? Did the much older and more experienced Isles not want anyone who would notice that their team was different? Had they always been in more danger because of Simon and not known it? Matthew had joined the team last, was he even more in the dark than the others?

Simon had reached out and taken hold of Isles’ pant leg.

“Chris, can you stay? Please?” His voice was small, and fresh tears clustered in his eyes.

The captain glanced down at him, then back up at Matthew.

“Stitch him up. He’s bleeding through the gauze,” He ordered. “I need to go, we’re leaving with Finch.”

He jerked out of Simon’s grip and left the room.

~~~

~~~

~~~

Previous, Next, Masterlist

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy @pigeonwhumps @sunshiline-writes

[moongothic]

Seen a few people too many discuss the concept of Dragodile Baby 2 and my hot take is that there's no way in hell Crocodile would ever detransition just to go through nine months of horrible dysphoria again, let alone go through pregnancy ever again (or allow Ivankov to even touch him, what if they died and weren't able to trans Croc's gender again afterwards? Hell naw, ain't worth the risk)

But this leaves an opportunity for a Funnier Option:

Dragon wants another baby? Sure, but it's his turn to carry it >:)

[kitsumidori]

"On this week's episode of "Kitsu draws her sonas strangling characters she hates!" Mad Moxie seats the record straight with a narcissistic, overdressed turkey!!"

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Stolas and how much both the fandom and show runners coddle him........

[egginfroggin]

Redraw of little thumbnail sketch 6 on doodle page 2 in this post.

(Program used: Krita; time taken: about 2 hours, 45 minutes)

[suffersinfandom]

Okay. At the risk of sounding really petty... I think that you can be critical of OFMD with little to no chance of being called a hater or a racist if you're not being a hater or racist. I would argue that calling the indigenous lead "a homicidal psycho" when he is not shown to be that isn't not racist or hateful.

Ed is not a psycho who tortures his whole crew for fun.

Big "Ed needed to be put down like a wild dog" energy.

No, that is not the message the show was sending.

Everything else was hate for David Jenkins and disdain for the "GBs" and their cult-like behavior.

Like, girl (gn). Friend. Have you considered that people are calling you a hater and racist because of the things you type? That maybe this is not something that everyone who is critical of OFMD faces? You go on and on about how the show and David Jenkins are abusive, racist, and ableist while grossly misinterpreting everything about Ed's character in season two in a way that feels kinda racist.

For the record, I have nothing against people who just don't like OFMD in a normal way or have actual, substantive, genuine criticisms to offer. Unfortunately, most of the criticism I've seen comes from people who have decided that it's "racist zionist slavetrader yaoi" or people who were obsessed with it up through S2E7, but then decided that the whole thing is morally reprehensible after the final episode dropped. There's nothing to be gained from entertaining people who hate the show without watching it or people who, like this individual from Twitter, demonize Ed in a way that canon absolutely doesn't support.

[nebulare-art]

Day 26 (ALL EDGE, NO POINT)

[helluva-family]

-hugs stolas- you aren't weak. You're allowed to be scared and worried. Heck, never want kids and I'm freakin terrified for them because I just hate seeing people suffer.

Doodle by @bunny-is-cute

Stolas: It’s been a rough several hours. I just wanted to spend as much as I could with our baby. She so small and pink. She does have some hair coming in…but her litter horns have barely begun to form. I’ve tried to hold her and I’m so happy but so scared. She’s like a little hatchling but so much weaker and more vulnerable. I know Blitzø is tall for an imp…but this little one is barely a pound.

Thank you all for the support. I’m sorry there isn’t a bigger update.

[lucidmagic]

I don't need to restart/rewrite my supercorp fanfic

I don't need to restart/rewrite my supercorp fanfic

I don't need to restart/rewrite my supercorp fanfic

I don't need to restart/rewrite my supercorp fanfic

I don't need to restart/rewrite my supercorp fanfic

I don't--

[stewpid-soup]

VENT CW!! STAY SAFE!!

anyone else find it exhausting to just enjoy things?

I don’t want to support people or companies that are actively doing things that are bad (racism, homophobia, defending SA, etc etc). but it’s so mentally draining to look through all of this terrible shit and not be able to enjoy things bc of their creators or ppl associated with it

i mean, i don’t support dream. i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again. I don’t support dream or the dteam as a whole - but the dsmp was such a big comfort to me through quarantine, and even now i still love the storyline and the characters.

HP, well that’s self explanatory. JKR is just a shit person and i’m not gonna give her my money bc i enjoy the plot of HP. I just take fanon on its own for the most part. I own the books and the films already (my family loves HP and has for a long time, since before JKR was outed as a transphobe) so i don’t need to buy anything from her. HP was a huge part of my childhood and the thought of not interacting with any content related to it makes me so sad, because i still love it even now.

and as controversial as it may be, i’ve enjoyed hazbin and helluva boss for years now. it was another comfort during quarantine, and i watched it with friends and got to bond over it. i do not like vivziepop or support her, and it’s exhausting to see all this back and forth about her online bc it’s so confusing. I love these shows and it makes me so happy that I get to see hazbin come together after waiting so long, and the same goes for helluva boss. of course there can be improvements to the way vivziepop writes some characters, but i still love these shows so much. it hurts my heart to feel like i can’t enjoy the content because the creator is such a bad person.

and then the number of musicians i’ve had to stop listening to because they turned out to be shitty people. or actors i avoided watching content of because they’re bad people (especially when the list of ppl who support Israel came out- of course im not supporting anyone on there, but some of the ppl on there just rlly hurt my heart because ive enjoyed their content for so long)

i know there’s not really any way to avoid this, as people are complex and can be an asshole w/o you knowing. funding people like this isn’t something i want or care to do, so of course i actively avoid it. but I just don’t know what to do when it comes to this.

a friend told me that it’s sort’ve about picking and choosing things, because you never know what people are really like. they said that with the state of the world, it’s important to stay educated but don’t let shitty people get in the way of things you enjoy. i’m just at the point where i feel like i can’t enjoy anything because anytime i get stuck in a rabbit hole of content, i see people going back and forth about who should be cancelled and who actually isn’t a bad person. cancel culture is one of the worst things about the internet, and it just makes interacting with fandoms even more toxic than it already is.

ig this is just a rant talking about comforts i have that i feel like i can’t enjoy anymore because of cancel culture and just like..people being people? i’m just so tired of finding something i enjoy and then learning out that they are or possibly could be doing/supporting something bad and just— it makes me feel so guilty because i don’t want to indirectly/directly hurt anyone. i know what i believe in and what i do and don’t support, at least for the most part (still learning everyday atp), but it doesn’t make it any easier to part with things i hold so dearly in my heart.

does anyone else feel similarly? if so, what have you found that helps or at least is a comfortable middle ground?

idk bro, my life is so exhausting with everything i deal with in real life- so to feel like i can’t even find comfort in my silly little shows anymore is really depressing. my mental health is not doing well lmfaooo

[amischiefofmuses]

Tag drop, look the other way.

[weaselbeaselpants]

Not a Receipt-post. Just venting cuz it's twice now I've gotten this really accusatory ask, again:

Q: "Why do you 'HATE' Vivziepop??"

Short answer: I don't hate her. I hate how her fans can NOT take criticism,

because -> they have 0 boundaries with Viv -> whenever someone does criticize the shows in any way, they (the fans) -> embarrass you in front of the Spindlecrew who -> have no reason NOT to take the fan's word on how 'awful' you are, and so -> inadvertently ignore/condone your harassment.

Long answer:

I don’t know Viv and I never have.

I watched her YEARS ago back on deviantART when she was Vivzmind. I really loved her art and I still do. The few times I ever interacted with Viv, when I commented on her shizz, I remember her being fun, casual, and nice. True, maybe I don't know the "real her", whoever that is, but I have few if any qualms with Viv on a personal level. Judging every single artist who makes creative decisions you disagree with by John K standards is fucking hyperbole. I don't hate her.

What I HAVE always hated, and the thing that eventually drove me to quietly stop following Viv in 2013, are her fans....

we really need to start talking about them, okay?

~~~~Part 1 ~~~~~~ my experience, the Vivziepop standom THEN

There were two kinds of Vivzmind groupies back in the day, 1) the majority, aka ppl like me, and 2) this one very specific kind of Vivz-stan. While the basic majority of fans (me) were as lovebombing and prone to hype as anyone would be about the artist they admire, the people who were REALLY rabid for Viv's attention (stans) felt possessive. They felt hostile. Like, imagine you say outloud that you like the popular kid at school cuz everyone does and there'd be a weird false friend of theirs listening in, constantly @ing you with "yeah, well I like her MORE" or coming to their defense on perceived slights against her. I'm sure a lot of it was based in just social ineptitude and not anything too serious, but again it was beyond what was usual for popular DA artists.

When people say “Viv can not take criticism”, what they really mean is these fans could not take criticism.

I know all I have to go on is heresay given that much of her gallery and old work is gone but here's what I remember:

>>If you were a newbie follower and you accidentally did something Viv vocally didn't like, you'd pay for it. If you were like me and said once Viv’s art reminded you of neopets, Viv herself would say nothing but these fans would tear you to shreds for daring to not know Viv’s comfort zone. >>If you were asking for context on what was happening in one of her pics with characters you didn’t know, fans would inform you in a passive aggressive manner. "HOW DARE you not remember! Viv posted it, ugh yer so annoying, Felicia"

>> One thing Viv def did not like was people “stealing” her artstyle - not tracing or using her art w/o permission, just very clearly being inspired by her in making their own characters or pictures. She hated that. I get how, when you’re JUST a popular artist on the site it can seem annoying, like someone’s Patrick-Star-ing your every move while acting like they don’t know you...that's rough, trust me, but it’s STILL not the same as art theft-! Even so, Viv complained and would post journals about artists “stealing” her style. One time she happened to do this to an artist I did art trades with. Because of Viv's 'endorsement', he left dA forever. His profile was bombarded by passive-aggressive to just straight up mean Vivstans dogpiling him about how he "needed to give Viv credit". One of the few times I talked to Viv it was to say "hey I know you’re mad, but this guy’s kind of my friend", to which she said to me "tell you friend that it’s wrong and not okay to do this." So I did. He told me he more than knew by that point and was off the site within the week. This was long before I just fell out of interest and stopped watching her, but it always left a bad taste in my mouth that I did that. That's the thing: there's no big-style discourse, just a lot of little microaggressions that'd build up and wear you down.

Ppl often characterize "white knights" as being directed by their beloved artist to do the deed, but, as far as I know, Viv has never been the "DEFEND MY HONOR"-type. Viv never seemed to talk to these uber fans AT ALL; she was far more abt chit chatting with her friends and casual viewers. The vibe I always got wasn’t that Viv weaponized her worst fans’ behavior, it’s that she ignored them and also ignored how they may have hurt the rest of us. On paper nothing about Viv saying “ya’ll, I’m tired of these specific comments abt my work; copycats; non criticisms being dished,” is wrong. It’s that her underground stan-base would be the ones to pounce on you for it, for whatever reason I don't know. Maybe it was some kind of bid for Viv’s approval or maybe it was just cuz they felt better doing it; THAT is what you feared. So, when Viv did the bare minimum of get peeved at someone or something, it was a circumstance that meant nothing if it’d happen to any other artist but it would hurt because there was her initial judgment, and then there was her followers' judgment. This is important because while I think this exact attitude/relationship has changed, like hell do I think it’s gotten better...

~~~Part 2~~~The Spindlehorse chain of command, aka Vivziepop now

Now that Viv's the auteur creator of a beloved Indie series, I fully believe Viv's base has matured into a DIFFERENT breed of toxic. I’m always stressing this because it couldn’t be stressed enough: Hazbin Hotel is a preemptive fandom: It was made with the help of numerous internet famous animators collabing with an already devotedly popular creator at the helm; it was promised and hyped and kept up as a fandom before there was ever even a product (the pilot) out, and way before it was properly picked up in 2020; because so many internet people were working on it, it was a darling to many the animation/art scene on youtube+ people had a deep attachment to it; the fans have almost direct access/ability to talk to the showrunners directly and vice/versa, so the fans feel very ‘in’ on the show in a way other budding cartoon fandoms couldn’t really say. All these elements mean that Hazbin+Helluva are made with a great deal of love, devotion, and earnestness to them. It’s a very passionate, very close-knit community and just so we're clear, there's nothing wrong with that.

It just also means that the creator and the fans do not have great boundaries with each other and I think may be a little blindsided by the joy of creation. Where back in the day the 'old verse-same-as-the-first' would be Viv'd have a tiff w someone and that someone w be bombarded by basement stans, now there’s a different kind of vicious circle at play:

when the HH/HB fan communities hear rumors of “a critic” or “a bully” (usually just negative reviews /redesigns/fan theories that contradict what the creator wants) there’s a real threat of that 'critique' working it’s way up the chain of command TO the creators themselves. And by 'critique', I mean the real words and intent being taken out of context or twisted to fit the stans' pov. (ex: "Stolitz is a bad ship and Stella is a wasted villain" get's telephoned into "I hate that these characters are gay; I want Stolas to go back to his abuser")

The creators have no incentive of their own to comment on this bs. They're busy. BUT, because they are just as much the makers of as they are fans of their own show they feel the need to comment on any controversy they hear because they don’t want things getting out of hand. On paper, understandable; But in practice-

-the Spindlehorse crew don’t really know the context of the situation. They take it on good faith that their fans aren’t misrepresenting things to them, to which they then say nothing to stop people from being harassed, OR-

-they casually dish out their own comments in response to a situation they’re not actually a part of.

In 2018 Frootrollup1, a then-underage fan, drew redesigns of the cast of Hazbin because she draws redesigned versions of all of her fandoms → some fans saw her art as mocking/attacking Viv because assholes have done their own redesigns of Hazbin to spite Viv in the past → these same fans took their complaints to Twitter where a bunch of people, including Viv, all dunked on Frootrollup for being another “hater”...and only backed off when they learned her age and that it wasn’t a pic drawn in spite. "Oops." Frootrollup WAS a fan of Hazbin. She’s not anymore because people took her art out of context, had their own kneejerk reactions to it, and embarrassed her in front of the creator directly, who took these people’s sides. This isn’t an isolated incident and it keeps happening because the crew doesn’t discourage fans from reacting or asking for their input on crap that shouldn’t involve them. 

“Lots of fanbases have shitty fans” is not the point here. Hazbin/Helluva are a unique case. Yes all fandoms kinda suck, technically, and any case where you have the creators reacting to fans is gonna get parasocial. My point is that Spindlehorse is waaay to accustomed to their fandom as fans themselves and not outside viewers.

Remember back in 2015, when that one Steven Universe fan was being bombarded for her problematic art when it was really just a glorified hate campaign by some of her ex friends wanting to bad mouth her to the fandom?; and then IT WORKED? Imagine now that one of the people running the hate campaign on her had taken the 'evidence' to the Crewniverse directly, and Rebecca Sugar herself was like “wow, what a bigot!”- adding to the dogpile of hate that almost got that fanartist to kill herself??? Scary hypothetical, I know, but that's what scares me about this. If that isn’t already happening already, with a bunch of critical fans and redesign-artists going silent out of fear of the Vivbase, then it’s at a real threat of becoming a reality. 

-----brief aside, we gotta mention Tapatalk and why they're awful and you shouldn't dismiss them/accidentally condone them----

Complicating matters more is the BadWebcomicsWiki. While not KiwiFarms or 4chan, the wiki forums had the same problem of being made exclusively for bitching and moaning at webcomics ppl didn’t like (many of which were bad, but it's just as likely that should a webcomic DARE to be liberal or furry or lgbt themed it was suspiciously torn apart by people all too eager to note said things..). That is what the wiki and forum were made for. That is what they were always made for. Do not @ me abt how it was 'good once' or people had good intentions and didn't wanna use it for hate. I know, I'm getting to that ->

In 2015 When Zoophobia got a thread and later an article there, a bunch of randos from outside joined the forums simply because it was one of the first and only times where former Viv fans could congregate + explain all the details to the newbies+ talk about the bullying and microaggressions Viv’s base did that hurt them and how she did nothing to stop it; i.e. people started to use the shittybitch forums for genuine talk about the comic and criticism.

((never had, nor do I want a BWW account, but I used to check in every day back in 2015 for updates on one webcomic I hated before wising up and realizing the site was run by centrist chudheads. This is how I found out abt the Zoophobia discourse at the time))

The problem being that, when you go to a forum for any kind of dissenting opinion to be made, ANY KIND of dissenting opinion WILL BE made. It doesn’t matter if some ppl meant nothing wrong and just wanted a place to shoot the shit about how bad Viv’s stans were. A "bad-media-is-bad-lemme hate on it cuz I'm cool"-based wikiANYTHING is going to lead to truly bad behavior. That moment came for the ZPBWW forums when one user showed up posting graphic art of Angel Dust raping Viv’s severed head as a joke. If I remember right, and it's prolly still on their forum now, other users on the forum were mad that he did that, but it doesn't really matter. Viv HAD/HAS ALL the right to disassociate w that forum regardless of what, how, or why anyone else used it for. That’s what you do when your understanding of a website is-“oh, that place where people hate on every little thing I do including the guy who mailed me art of myself getting raped?”. And that’s before we even get to LincarRox/theToyTaker drama and how he scoured the BWW forums once he was kicked off the normal Hazbin fan scene for stalking/harassing Viv. 

The Vivstans know this harassment against her exists. They don’t understand the real depth of it, but they know it’s there. What they do is use that harassment’s existence to justify their own dogpiling. 

The most egregious part is, given how big the Spindlehorse fandom is, it’s not very hard at all for other fans- big name or indie creators, to be misinformed and believe only the stans’ versions of events without question → which adds even more stigma because if in this ‘cancel/DNI’-obssessed microculture we got on Twitter and Tumblr. People aren’t questioning or really knowing the situation any more than Viv does. Except, these people are just fans, not the showrunners, and should be more open to hearing (legit) criticism. They’re not and that’s leading to a lot of the regular fanbase to I think develop tunnel-vision. As an outsider, I can't tell you for sure if any of Erin Frost's claims are 'valid' or legit. The most upsetting thing by far though is HOW FAST people were to call her a liar or act like her complaints at Spindlehorse are "nothing".

tl;dr I think two truths currently coexisting at the moment are

Viv has been harassed and treated horribly by people saying they’re “just being critical”. I 110% believe this woman when she says she ‘hates creeps’. I've seen first hand some of those creeps. I don't envy her.

Viv and the Spindlehorse crew have terrible boundaries and foresight into their fandom’s innerworkings and should NOT be commenting on them- because they exacerbate the issues within.

Viv’s base in uniquely unhealthy and overprotective. From the stanbase on the fringe, to the excitable but vulnerable fans that make up the whole, to the creators themselves who aren’t equipped to micromanage or even just manage all this drama. I see a bubble of pent up aggression seeping under the surface of the Helluva/Hazbinverse fanbase and I’m really scared when it pops. 

I have no idea what’s actually going on with the Spindlehorse folks or what’s in their hearts. I’m not interested in rumors, and I’m SO not interested in stupid petty AntiHazbin shit that perpetuates the hateflow (PK Russel, BWW, DaftPina I'm lookin at yoooo). I want to be a fan of Helluva and be excited for Hazbin. I want to take part in all this seeing as I did follow Viv and still do like her art and her general attitude about animation. It’s always cool when someone you followed casually makes it big- you want to support them! But, I’m also just naturally skeptical and sardonic and critical of things I like. So I’m in constant fear that overprotective stans are going to take my words and embarrass me in front of Viv and crew. And that? That WILL def make me hate Hazbin. No, still not enough to join your weirdo AntiHazbinnie tags or stalker threads, but it WILL make me hate it.

I don’t want that, none of you fans want that, and I know the creators don’t want that to be happening on a mass scale with people who're just skeptical of their show.

In comparing Helluvaverse to any other animated show's online fandom, there's no one to one, but consider how rabid and anticritical Steven Universe was- consider how dismissive and gatekeepy the Rick & Morty fandom is, consider how inconsiderate of creator's boundaries the Bronies were. Hazbin isn't out yet and if Helluva goes for all long as Viv and Brandon intend, it's also in it's infancy. We all have an opportunity to fix these problems before it begins- I say we do our part.

[egginfroggin]

Snippet from a fic for Whumptober day 6: "It should have been me"

An alternate series of events for chapter 4 of I Told You So; nobody has a good time, Sabi is very unhappy, and Emmet gets to experience emotional damage.

Notes: blood, serious injury (specifically: seriously injured child), fear, threats of hypothermia and frostbite

Nobody dies, though.

Please let me know if I need to change any of the tags or add any tags.

Happy reading.

----------

It was everywhere, the white, the cold, the snow, the ice, the chill – caked onto his eyelashes as he squinted, trying to keep his eyes from freezing open or shut, shoved into his boots from running, dusting his clothes and Sabi’s messy bangs, covering the blue of his own scarf that was wrapped around her forehead.

The burning in his lungs and the need to leave made him dictate that this was safe enough. He dropped to his knees, curling around the tiny girl wrapped in his coat, and fumbled with the satchel at his waist. His fingers shivered with cold and rapidly encroaching fear – fear that seemed to be drawing closer and closer like a beast that had been kept at bay as he ran and was now free to catch up – but eventually caught and yanked the satchel open, reaching in to pull out the Celestica Flute.

He didn’t bother with the melody, didn’t bother with any sense of decorum or propriety or drawing up any of the learned skill he’d needed to figure out how to play in the first place – he just fitted his lips around the flute, ignoring how the frigid surface almost tried to cling to them, and blew.

Sabi gave a protesting sound at the blast of noise, the off-key, high-pitched scream that flew from the instrument. She whined, and he quickly dropped the flute to the snow in order to shush her.

Her eyes flickered open, looking up at him, and he was briefly ripped back to the marshes – back to finding her, as still and silent as the corpse of her mother he rolled off of her, soaked in brackish water and mud and blood that wasn’t her own –

Emmet shook his head, shaking the thoughts away – her eyes then had been too bright, and her eyes now were terribly dull.

“Do not move,” he said, lifting a hand to dust snow off of her face and hair. “I will call again. Do not move.”

He plucked up the flute again, blowing another pair of harsh, sharp notes into the mounting storm. They sang over the wind, and he knew that Lord Braviary would hear.

A deathly caterwaul sounded from behind him, bringing the reminder that his Noble was not the only one who would hear.

[badmusejail]

@starikune

What a pitiful sight the planet was.

Covered in an unnatural green smog; littered with craters and corpses; decay and destruction hanging in the air, a tragedy frozen in time; a world destroyed and abandoned.

Worst yet were how the majority of corpses appeared to have once been human--an emphasis on once as they lay contorted in agony; mutations sprouting from every inch of their being. Scales, feathers, fur; a mismatched hodgepodge of biological horror; misplaced limbs, broken bones, flesh contorted, stretched, and bloated into grotesque mimicries of bygones.

Biological warfare at its worst.

And yet, despite it all, still the glimmer of life beneath that dismal fate--the faint shine of hope in the darkest of hours.

A creature, walking in a manner akin to a digitigrade animal, switching between two legs and all four as needed to traverse the terrain and obstacles about, approached, perching upon the remains of a wrecked vehicle and staring.

Really--not much better than the poor creatures laying about, except this one had the luxury of living. Rocky dark blue scales covered the majority of its humanoid body, including a long tail that tapered off into a broken point. An unrelated streak of white fur traversed the right side of its body, starting at the shoulder and wrapping around the waist. Its face was mostly normal save for the glowing of red eyes and two large fangs sticking out. Shaggy black hair topped its head, and a singular canine ear emerged on the left side, pressed flat against its head. Claws dug into the surface of the car, metal straining under the pressure.

Along with the creature came a wave of telepathy--of a kind not intended to hurt, but also uncontrolled--a subconscious projection of the being's feelings and thoughts.

Despair. Fury. Agony.

His name is Giovanni.

Why are you here?

[whump-in-the-closet]

Merry Whump of May

@themerrywhumpofmay

May 9th- “We’ll burn that bridge when we get there.”

[collar | lost | roof]

***

(tw: lady whump, mention of past torture, minor character deaths, mention of dead bodies, gunshot, bad coping mechanisms— smoking addiction is implied)

Mal ran like she had never run before. The blood on her sleeves was not her own.

It was supposed to have been a simple con. They had promised the noblewoman nothing but the finest blades. The money would be paid upfront and then they would vanish, the expected delivery never arriving.

It was so simple, she had been allowed to accompany the crew on it.

But now she was running into the night, lungs burning for lack of air and eyes burning with unshed tears.

You messed up.

You messed this all up.

God, Xiang would kill her. Her leg twitched at the thought of what Xiang would do. There was a jaggedly circular scar in her calf, courtesy of Xiang.

Xiang had ordered an arrow to be shot through her fucking leg.

Mal didn’t know if she was more terrified of the dead body she had left behind or of what Xiang would do to her for leaving without the money.

The dead body with empty eyes.

Gold in her hair and blood on her lips.

The noblewoman was a corpse now.

And it was Mal’s fault. It was all her fault.

Mal stumbled to a stop, her hands clammy and stomach churning. The tell-tale signs that she was about to be sick. Which she was. Violently.

Light from an overhead lamp fell gently over her, its touch bronze and smelling of smoke.

The smoke didn’t come from the lamp– crouched just out of the circle of light, a man sat in the shadows of a building’s steps. He smoked a cigarette comfortably, the tip glowing with a dull light. He stared up into the sickly-coloured night sky and paid no mind to the person that had just thrown up all over the base of the lamp.

Mal ran her tongue over cracked lips. She looked behind her. There were shouts in the distance but she decided they were still too far away to be very concerned.

She walked over to the man. “Do you have an extra one?”

The man glanced at her, exhaling a puff of smoke. When he spoke, his voice sounded like it had been shredded. “Do you have money?”

“...No.”

The man smiled, closing his eyes as he inhaled the cigarette. “Too bad.” He didn’t seem to notice the blood covering Mal. Or he merely didn’t care.

“C'mon. I need one.” She needed the steadiness a cigarette would bring. She needed to keep her head together– to keep the image of a dead noblewoman in the back of her mind-- and for that, she needed a cigarette.

He didn’t open his eyes, but reached into his tattered jacket and pulled out one cigarette. He flicked it at Mal, who caught it with numb fingers. “Don’t expect a light from me.”

The shouting grew louder and Mal fled.

She turned a sharp corner, retreating into comfortable shadows.

A cat hissed at her from the sewers as she kicked up at water, splashing the small creature.

Mal winced an apology. She found a lighter in her jacket– thank the gods she never went anywhere without one– and shoved the cigarette into her mouth. Lighting as she was running was a bit hard, but not impossible.

She stopped only for the first welcome inhale of the cigarette. And for the exhale.

The alleyways branched into a dozen different directions, all lined with refuse and filth. A few were flooded. She turned to go back the way she had gone and was greeted with more shadows.

Lost.

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to find her if she was lost. Well. There was really only one thing to do.

Mal sat down by the sewers and waited until the shaking in her hands had stopped.

The only light came from the glowing end of her cigarette, bright against the shadows.

Maybe if she had a cigarette during the con, it wouldn't have all gone to shit.

She had been on the roof. Watching for any sign of officers or guards or anything slightly off. Like Xiang had said. She had done everything Xiang had said.

Well, not everything.

Waiting on the roof. Waiting on the roof, bored out of her fucking mind. The noblewoman had been talking. Just been talking and talking and talking, and how was she supposed to know that a noblewoman was that good with a pistol and sword?

There had been a gunshot. And Dar was on the ground, bleeding, twisting in on himself. Yan had been run through with the noblewoman’s sword.

Mal exhaled smoke, staring out into the shadows.

She had left three corpses behind. Not just the noblewoman’s.

A dripping wet cat made its way down the cobbled street. Its ears were pressed back into its skull as it stalked past Mal.

Mal inhaled the cigarette and breathed it out her nose. “Rough night, huh?”

The cat ignored her.

“Yeah, me too.”

The cigarette was nothing but a stub and Mal put it out on the bricks. “I need to find more.”

I need to get out of town. Before Xiang finds me.

Mal flicked on her lighter and watched the flame. She turned it off and the flame vanished. Clicked it on. The flame appeared, impossibly bright.

On and off.

On and off.

“I guess we can burn that bridge when we get there.”

[writereleaserepeat]

Gnashing of Teeth - Chapter 2

Previous // Next (tbd)

CW: pet-adjacent whump, instituzionalized slavery, nonconsensual fighting, fight scene, violence, blood, strangulation, non-con drug use

A/N: Detailed fight scenes are not my forte in writing (and I know they can be a bit boring to read), but they will not be frequently featured in this story. I felt that this one was necessary for setting the scene of the story, describing Sasha's mindset, and situating the reader to just what's at stake.

Sasha’s drug tests had come back clean. Of course they came back clean. They were smart when they dosed him, carefully timed around the fights he would be put in for, just enough days apart for his blood to come back pure. 

Given the intensity of the prior day’s workout routine, Sasha knew that he must have been a last-minute replacement for this bout. Maybe one of the other fighters hadn’t passed their blood test. Maybe they’d had a rash of resistance and been forcibly subdued. 

Maybe, as was common among Sasha’s kind, they had finally killed themselves. 

“You ready?” Boss’s voice spoke right into Sasha’s ear, the breath hot and rancid against his skin. If Sasha had been permitted any food in the last six hours, he knew he would have thrown it up. But he mustered the strength to answer rather than gag.

“Yes, Boss.” The answer was pure reflex, nothing more. Just enough words to get Boss to back the fuck away. 

Sasha tried to focus on the pounding in his chest, the angry heart that fluttered against his ribs, a side effect of the caffeine and other stimulants he had been force-fed hours prior. His eyes were fixed on the doors straight ahead. As soon as they opened he would be forced into the pit, and he would find himself face to face with another man - no, another thing - like himself. 

His life depended on his strength. 

Naked except for the collar around his neck and the tight black briefs that hugged his hips, Sasha struggled to control his breathing. Every part of his body was vibrating with the urge to fight, to let his bruised knuckles smash into flesh, his teeth wrap around any visible fingers or ears. He likewise anticipated the bloody thrill of his gums getting sliced open by his own teeth and nails scratching down his scarred forearms. Adrenaline flared and he rolled his shoulders back. 

“Atta boy,” Boss said and smacked Sasha on his sweat-soaked shoulder. “You get ‘em down and keep ‘em down, and we’ll give you a rest day tomorrow.” 

“Yes, Boss.”

That final promise of reprieve was always the sign it was just a few seconds away from go-time. Mere moments until the guillotine door would pull open and reveal the dirt pit with impossibly high walls, the crimson-splattered ground illuminated by blinding white lights. Spectators and bettors would cheer with unabashed bloodlust, always just out of sight behind the rails atop the walls. It was a cacophony of utter violence. 

And just as Sasha let out a sharp puff of breath through his nose, the door lifted open. 

Sasha rushed forward with a roar building in his throat, just as his handlers had taught him. Don’t think, don’t wait, don’t hesitate. He ran until he collided with another body moving at almost the same speed, their flesh hitting with a sickening smack. That first moment was the only chance Sasha would get to size up his opponent before they attempted their first strike. 

The other fighter was shorter, Sasha could tell just from the way their head had collided with his collarbone. But they also were broader, which he had determined the way that his own feet had slid back upon impact. As for strength he could only guess that they were about evenly matched. For a moment, Sasha swore he saw a glint of fury from blue eyes, but it could have just as easily been his imagination. 

Sasha drew back his left fist and sunk it deep into the other fighter’s abdomen. 

Boss liked Sasha to keep the fight on his feet for as long as possible, Boss said it made fighters look dignified as they pummeled their opponent. “Patrons don’t pay top dollar to see two brutes wrestling with each other in the dirt.” Grapple holds and headlocks were the most effective way to win, but it was always more thrilling to see the loser sway on their feet before toppling unconscious to the ground. At least, that’s what Sasha had been told in his training. 

After assessing his opponent, and after landing the first blow, all rational thought left Sasha’s mind. He gave in to the bloodlust and anger that so often overpowered him. Nothing less than nuclear fury would get him through the end of this match, whether the match was seconds or minutes long, and he would be one day closer to earning his humanity back. He was going to be a winner, then he would go back to the showers and get the blood washed from his knuckles, and sleep for twelve hours. 

It would be pure bliss. 

The only thing Sasha could hear as he sunk fist after fist into his opponent’s sides was the rush of his own breathing. Deep, guttural, animal breaths. He was an animal now, after all. The transformation had taken place as soon as he stepped in the ring. 

Warm liquid splattered across his face and he knew it was blood, but not his own. There was a spark of glee at the thought that he could win. The other fighter wasn’t making as much contact, and hadn’t yet landed a blow on Sasha’s face. Those training sessions had made Sasha’s instincts sharp enough to dodge uppercuts without a second thought. 

Then they both went down in a tumble of limbs as the other fighter lost his balance. Sasha reflexively bucked his hips, as he intended to roll the other fighter so he could end up on top. 

The other man tried to do the same, but he was too late. Sasha had already leaned forward and wrapped his teeth around their collarbone. This earned Sasha a ear-piercing shriek of pain before other teeth returned the favor, foreign enamel sinking into the skin above Sasha’s pectoral muscle. That was alright - so long as they were focused on biting, Sasha had the chance to move in for his finishing move. 

Other fighters didn’t like this method, Boss had said. They thought it was too inhumane. Sasha didn’t mind. As soon as the fighter bit down, Sasha pulled them in close to his body and released his own bite hold. Now they were trapped close to his body, and being stuck on the ground, they didn’t have even an inch of leverage. Then, and only then, did Sasha wrap his forearms tight around their throat. 

This fighter released their bite hold immediately and fell back to using their nails, but they were flat against the dirt, pressed beneath Sasha’s full weight as his forearms pushed against their jugular. Now their adrenaline-filled body was being deprived of the oxygen it so desperately needed to keep going. The desperate squirming told Sasha that he was close, so he pressed harder, his own forehead almost against the ground. Blood and sweat made their exposed bodies slick against each other, and Sasha knew that this was as close as he would get to an embrace until his next match. 

Blood thundered in his ears. Reality was starting to drift away as the wriggling form beneath him began to still, go limp, become little more than a prey animal. It wasn’t human to begin with, was it? A growl mounted in Sasha’s throat and he put his whole weight into the maneuver, every pound of muscle meant to crush, crush, crush-

Instinct was cut short by electricity freezing him in place. Sasha’s lungs seized and he fell off the other fighter, now in the dirt next to them, and he writhed beneath the current and its familiar agony. When the sensation ended he was on his back, staring up at the spotlights, his chest rising and falling with every gasp. The buzzing in his ears faded, and he heard the roar of whistling and hollering from the stands above, the sound of satisfied spectators who had won their bets. Through the fuzz of animal instinct, Sasha felt a small hint of pride. 

He’d won again. 

The victory was short lived as the catch pole tightened around his neck and hauled him to his feet. He struggled to go in the direction the handlers were pulling him, relying only on the tugging at his neck to guide him back to the darkness behind the door. Sasha still let out soft growls as he panted in spite of himself. Something in the pit was transformative, lighting his blood on fire with the urge to destroy. 

That very instinct was why victors were subjected to the catch pole, a stick that secured them a solid ten feet from the handlers. This was the only safe way to pull amped-up fighters away from their opponent and back to their cages. It would take Sasha the better part of two hours to come down from the animalistic high of fighting, and in that time he was a liability even to the handlers that had conditioned his obedience. 

When Sasha came to from the fugue of predatory bloodlust, he would be rinsed down and clothed. Severe wounds would be treated - often Sasha couldn’t feel them until the pain set in hours later - and the others would be left to heal on their own. If he had won, they would also feed him dinner, and fulfill whatever other small comforts had been promised. 

Darkness surrounded Sasha as he was pulled back into the tunnel and the doors to the pit shut behind him. He strained against the catch pole for just a moment when he thought he saw a silhouette, but another rough yank kept him moving forward. 

“Guess you earned yourself the chance to sleep in,” a distant voice said. 

Sasha only growled in response.

Taglist: @honeycollectswhump

[cxffeeshxp]

{{ L }} " Fuck, you two are immature. "