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my-autism-adhd-blog · 1 year ago

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Hi there! First of all I just discovered your blog and it helped me understand a lot about autism. I was recently diagnosed and I had maaany questions, and going through your blog gave me some answers. So thank you so much for your dedication! ✨

I was wondering if you could share some stuff about burnouts? I saw the post of the signs of burnouts, but I was wondering if you had information about what are the common causes or how to deal with them?

Have a great day/night!

Hi there,

I found some information in burnout recovery and causes:

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Signs

* Lack of motivation (hard to care about goals when everyday life is overwhelming)

* Loss of executive functioning abilities (decision-making, organization, etc.)

* Difficulty with self-care

* Easier to reach overload or meltdown

* Loss of speech, selective mutism

* Lethargy, exhaustion

* Illness, digestive issues

* Memory loss

* Inability to maintain masks or use social skills

* Overall seeming "more autistic" or stereotypical

* May have period of high energy before collapse

causes

* Passing as neurotypical / suppressing autistic traits

* Doing 'too much', too much stress

* Aging: needing more downtime, having less energy

* Changes, good or bad (relationships, jobs, living arrangements, belongings, environment, routines...)

* Sleep deprivation, poor nutrition, dehydration

* Illness

* Sensory or emotional overload

strategies

* Time

* Scheduling breaks, managing spoons

* Leave of absence

* Stimming, sensory diet

* Exercise

* Reassured and supports

* Routines

* Better environment/job/etc.

* Boundaries, saying 'no'

* Dropping the mask/façade

* Solitude

* Absolute quiet

* Creative projects, passions, special interests

* Paying attention to reactions and your body

Here’s another Infograph I found:

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Sleep and rest as much as you can. We often need more sleep than allistics and it is especially crucial to meet our need for extra sleep while in burnout.

Reduce your energy expenditure. Within reason, reduce social time and the amount of information you are taking in on a daily basis. This often means saying no, even to things you think you

"want" to do. (ex. re-watch TV rather than start new shows)

Engage in special interests at a comfortable and sustainable level. Rather than doing in-depth research, try decorating your space with posters or objects related to your special interests or watching a TV show related to one of them.

Focus on your hypersensitivities. Use earplugs/ headphones/sunglasses, use dishwashing gloves and a mask while cleaning, wear comfortable clothes, eat safe foods, leave spaces that are too bright, loud, or fragrant.

Stim!! MOVEMENT: dance, rock, tap, flap, stretch, walk, stim toys.

TOUCH: soft fabric, self-massage, play with hair. VISUAL: watch

TV/ movie, kaleidoscope, coloring book, satisfying videos

AUDIO/VOICE music, singing, echolalia. REPETATION/SORTING: solitaire, puzzles, sorting objects, repetitive doodles, counting.

VERY slowly create systers/routines that automate your care needs and implement them very slowly. This can look like visual aids, timers, lists, bullet journols, weekly routines, Expect if to take time and trial and error to get into these habits. Pick I-2 habits or systems to implement at a time, starting with the ones you're most excifed about.

Autistic burnout and Complex PTSD have a lot in common and executive dysfunction often increases during burnout, so resources made for these can be very helpful.

Burnout Recovery

I hope this helps. Thank you for the inbox. I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ♥️

#inbox #inbox reply #inbox is open

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twentyeightif · 3 months ago

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The Invisibles: Issue 1 Page 18 (art by Steve Yeowell) ©Grant Morrison

"On October 9 1993, which would have been John Lennon’s 53rd birthday had the Arch-Beatle not been shot dead by Mark Chapman in 1980, I performed a ritual intended to incarnate Lennon as a god." - Grant Morrison

"I wanted to make a dedication at the beginning of what was a whole new life for me in many ways. I wanted to summon a spirit of pure psychedelic inspiration into a Lennon-shaped environment. I sought not to manifest the real man; the troubled, cruel and violent Lennon with his flaws and contradictions but instead evoke Lennon the twisted mystic, the pop star intellectual, the elemental Air of the four Beatles as stripped back to their cartoon archetypes.

To get in the mood, I wore a Paisley shirt, skinny jeans and Chelsea boots. I sat at the centre of a circle made of Beatles albums and had Tomorrow Never Knows playing on a loop. My new 12-string white Rickenbacker stood in for a wand. As sacrament, I took a microdose of LSD, not enough for a full-blown trip but sufficient to soften consensus reality.

People sometimes misunderstand when I talk about what happened that night – I was not possessed by the ‘spirit’ of Lennon. This was not a mediumistic example of ‘channelling’ the alleged dead. This was magic. Intention Willed into Form.

I altered the temple environment using sounds, smells and images as powerful triggers, to push out of my consciousness all associations that did not relate to Lennon.

This overload of environmental cues was organized or compressed by Will into a singular, visible compound idea of Lennon-ness, so that everywhere I looked reminded me of John Lennon, everything I heard was Lennon, until all other qualities the space around me may have once possessed were edited out and replaced by the Lennonsphere!

[...]

This total possession of the ritual space by a coherent manifestation what I was looking for and it expressed itself visually and audibly as a 4-foot tall head that fit inside my temple space but felt much bigger, made of thousands of intricate multi-coloured and chiming shards of what resembled musical notation as rotated through a higher direction – intense flashing colours, digital high fidelity, shimmering musical glissades and drones.

I bathed in an electric fluorescent creative kaleidoscope – searing yellows and electric pinks, UV blues – receiving a download of powerful effervescent excitement and creativity. It felt most like the imagined Lennon of Revolver and Sgt. Pepper. A psychedelic god on acid.

[...]

As a more minor side effect of the ritual, I found myself with this song I’d strummed into life, composed almost automatically, complete with lyrics and music. It always sounded to me, at best, like a throwaway B-side from 1965 as imagined by the Rutles but that’s why I’ve always liked it. It’s a very authentic scribble of the moment…

It is emphatically NOT a communication from beyond the grave."

- Grant Morrison, "John Lennon Like You"

#the lennonsphere!#shoutout jacob who has never and will never see this blog #he gave me this little extracurricular tidbit since he's a bigger dc fan than me #the beatles #john lennon #grant morrison #the invisibles #george harrison #paul mccartney #ringo starr

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onyx666 · 11 months ago

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☽◯☾ let the moon settle you ☽◯☾

chapter 1

pairing : finnick odair x black fem!reader

warnings : none

don’t hesitate to click on the links （＾ν＾）(underline text)

In the dimly lit room, the air was heavy with the scent of incense and the echo of distant memories. Reclined on a worn leather chair, the cold sensation of the tattoo artist's gloves on her neck is sending shivers down her spine. The walls were adorned with faded tapestries depicting scenes of both despair and triumph, a visual testament to the haunting stories etched into the skin of those who sought solace here. The steady buzz of the tattoo machine hummed in the background, filling the room with an ominous soundtrack as she braced herself for the ritual about to unfold.

The inker, a silent figure with eyes that held the weight of countless stories, prepared the ink that would soon be embedded into her skin.

As the needle met flesh, the pain mingled with a strange sense of catharsis. The molnija, a symbol of the life she took in the arena, began to emerge on her skin like a dark omen. Each stroke of the needle echoed the haunting memory of that fateful moment, the arena's unforgiving atmosphere, and the desperation that had led to the kill.

The room seemed to absorb the shadows, amplifying the somber mood as she thought about that soul she had annihilated on that battleground. The flashing ghost that lingered in the recesses of her mind, its presence intensified by the ink weaving its way into her skin. The pain and regret converged in a melancholic dance, leaving an indelible mark not only on her body but also on her soul.

The lodge became a sanctuary of shadows, the only illumination emanating from the dim glow of the artist's lamp. The mark, now etched into her skin, seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a macabre testimony to the harsh reality of the Games.

Near the end of the process, a heavy silence settled in the room. She, marked by the indigo ink that told a story of survival stained with sorrow, rose from the chair. The molnija on her skin was a permanent scar, a visual echo of the arena's brutality and the darkness that had seeped into her soul.

In the mirror, she confronted her reflection—a visage altered by the weight of her choices. That mark is going to stand as a haunting emblem, a constant reminder that, in the pursuit of life, one will have to confront the shadows that cling to the edges of survival.

Capitol - [17 - 19]

As she stepped into the grandeur of her victor's party in the Capitol, the contrast between her humble origins and the extravagance surrounding her was stark. Winning the 69th edition of the Hunger Games became real. The venue, adorned with opulent fabrics and sparkling lights, gleamed with a decadence foreign to the simplicity of her home District. The air was filled with the lively hum of Capitol citizens, their colorful attire and extravagant hairstyles creating a spectacle that seemed to defy gravity.

Finding herself in a world where excess was the norm. The walls were draped in cascades of silk, shimmering in every hue imaginable. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting prismatic patterns across the room. The Capitol's eccentricity was on full display, with citizens dressed in outfits that defied logic and science—feathers, metallic fabrics, and avant-garde designs that hinted at a creativity untamed by the constraints of practicality.

A live band played a lively tune in the garden, the music pulsating through the space and drawing Capitol attendees to the dance floor. Still adjusting to the splendor around her, she couldn’t help but observe the vibrant dance of colors, both in the attire of the people and the kaleidoscope of lights that danced above them. Waiters glided through the crowd, bearing trays of delicacies that she had never imagined.

The exotic scents of Capitol cuisine wafted through the air, tempting her senses with a richness she hadn't known in District Eleven. Golden platters held bite-sized treats adorned with edible gold leaf, and glasses filled with effervescent drinks bubbled enticingly.

Despite the festive atmosphere, she felt a pang of homesickness. Her gaze lingered on the holographic displays showcasing scenes from Eleven, a stark reminder of the life she had left behind. The Capitol's citizens, however, seemed oblivious to the disparities between the districts, lost in their own world of excess.

The eccentricity of the Capitol population was a spectacle in itself—each person striving to outshine the other in a display of flamboyance that bordered on the surreal.

As she navigated the party, she encountered Capitol citizens eager to engage with the new victor. They complimented her on her triumph, but their words felt like a distant murmur amid the overwhelming opulence. The Capitol's fascination with the Games manifested in their insatiable curiosity about the victors, turning her into a temporary celebrity in this glittering world.

She exchanged bitter pleasantries with Capitol officials, their polished manners contrasting sharply with her straightforward sincerity. The conversations were a delicate dance between the genuine and the superficial, as she struggled to navigate the unfamiliar terrain of political niceties.

In the midst of the celebration, her eyes met those of a fellow victor from a previous Hunger Games. A mentor now, they approached her with a knowing smile filled with sadness. Their eyes held a shared understanding of the harrowing journey she had undertaken, a journey that went beyond the glitz of the Capitol.

One Capitolite, a woman, with an elaborate headdress that seemed to defy gravity, giggled and remarked, “You must have had quite the adventure! I can’t imagine living without all the luxuries we have here.” The implication hung in the air—her life in Eleven was inconceivable, a distant and inferior existence compared to the opulence of the Capitol.

Despite the glittering surroundings, she felt an undercurrent of isolation. The Capitol citizens, in their pursuit of entertainment, had forgotten the humanity behind the victor. It was as if her struggles and victories were reduced to a theatrical performance, a diversion for their amusement.

The conversation fading in the back of her mind, her eyes met those of the fellow victor who had approached her earlier. There was a silent acknowledgment between them, a shared understanding of the dichotomy they faced—the duality of being celebrated and yet diminished to mere entertainment.

As the night unfolded, She found herself torn between the allure of the Capitol's extravagance and the memories of District Eleven. The party was a swirl of colors, music, and laughter, but amidst the celebration, she couldn't escape the shadows of the arena that lingered in her mind.

In this juxtaposition of luxury and survival, her, the young victor from Eleven, stood as a living testament to the resilience that could emerge from the darkest corners of Panem.

In the midst of the discomforting conversations, she felt a rather presumptuous touch on her shoulder. Turning, she found Finnick Odair, the charismatic victor from District Four, wearing a smug smile that hinted at both arrogance and mischief.

His tanned, sun-kissed and golden skin provided a striking contrast to his sea-green eyes, a captivating blend that reflected both warmth and depth.

He seamlessly interrupted the group, his presence demanding attention.

“Care for a dance?” Finnick’s request was accompanied by a challenging smirk, and he extended his hand, as if daring her to refuse. With a mix of reluctance and annoyance, she accepted the offer, escaping from the scrutinizing gazes and disconcerting questions.

The sudden shift from interrogation to an invitation to dance was met with a collective pause from the attendees. Finnick's effortless arrogance had transformed the atmosphere, turning an uncomfortable spotlight into an impromptu moment of forced celebration.

As she took his hand and joined him on the dance floor, the live band adjusted its tune to a rhythm that matched the graceful movements of the two victors. Finnick's skilled steps and her stoic expression turned the dance into an unexpected spectacle, a blend of tension and compliance.

Their dance, devoid of any genuine warmth, became a symbol of reluctant participation, a forced interlude against the Capitol's tendency to objectify victors. Finnick's cocky banter and her occasional biting remarks created a dance that mirrored the power dynamics of their world. The Capitol citizens, momentarily intrigued by the unexpected turn of events, witnessed a performance that teetered on the edge of social discomfort.

As they twirled and moved across the dance floor, Finnick maintained his smug demeanor, enjoying the discomfort he had thrust upon her. Yet, she refused to let his arrogance go unchallenged.

"So why did you accept? Was it my pretty smile or the infamous reputation that lured you into this dance?" Finnick's voice carried a mocking tone, attempting to unravel her composure.

A wry smile played on her lips. "Oh, Finnick, don't mistake my acceptance for admiration. I merely thought a dance might provide a more tolerable alternative to your insufferable conversation."

Finnick's attempts to steer the conversation away from personal matters met with her sharp retorts, turning the dance into a verbal battleground.

Undeterred, he leaned in with a sly grin. "You can't deny there's a certain charm to this it. Perhaps you'll find it more enjoyable than you anticipated."

Her gaze remained unwavering. "Your charm may dazzle those pigs you occasionally call your friends, Finnick, but it holds little sway over me. This dance is a strategic maneuver, nothing more."

He chuckled, a low, confident sound that reverberated through her. "A strategic maneuver? You give this dance far too much credit. Perhaps you're not as immune as you'd like to believe."

The response was swift. "Charm is a fleeting illusion, Finnick. It holds no power over substance. This dance is a calculated choice, not a surrender to you."

Finnick's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Most would have succumbed to the allure of the Capitol by now. Yet here you are, dancing on your own terms."

A flicker of something unreadable crossed her eyes. “If you gaze long enough into an abyss-”

"The abyss also gazes into you" Finnick finished her sentence, intrigued by the cryptic response.

The party, once an uncomfortable ordeal, had transformed into a nuanced dance of social dynamics, where she navigated the Capitol's expectations with a mixture of defiance and composure. Meanwhile, he, though seemingly victorious, couldn't deny the unexpected complexity that had unfolded beneath the surface of that interaction.

As the dance concluded and the crowd rejoined them on the dance floor, they slipped away, finding solace in the secluded beauty of the garden. She couldn't shake off the resentment for what he represented – the embodiment of the Capitol's playboy image, a pawn in their elaborate game.

He noticed the lingering tension and attempted to break the ice. "You know, not all of us chose this life. We're just pieces in their twisted puzzle."

She shot him a skeptical glance. "You seem to be enjoying it quite a bit, playing the part they want you to play."

Finnick sighed, his eyes momentarily betraying a hint of weariness. "It's all about survival. You play the hand you're dealt."

She scoffed. "Survival? You seem to be doing pretty good from what all Panem and I can see."

He paused, his gaze meeting hers with a flicker of sincerity. "Not everyone is as free as they appear. There are strings attached, and cutting them comes at a cost."

They strolled amidst the vibrant blooms, the moonlight casting a delicate glow on their conversation. She couldn't deny the complexity of his existence, even if she resented the role he played.

"I've navigated shadows, walked paths I'd shield from the sun," Finnick admitted, his voice a delicate unveiling of vulnerabilities veiled by his charming facade. "But survival, that's the currency they demand from us."

Her skepticism softened into a momentary understanding. "Surviving at what cost, Finnick? Your fucking soul?"

He chuckled bitterly. "The Capitol doesn't leave much room for souls, darling. They don’t even care for it"

She sighed, the weight of the Capitol's influence pressing down on them.

He met her gaze, his eyes revealing a complex blend of defiance and resignation. "Did Snow spoke to you?" he asked dodging the look in her eyes.

"Not yet. Why?" she replied, searching for understanding in his guarded expression.

Finnick shrugged nonchalantly, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Just curious. The Capitol tends to play its games, and Snow is the puppet master. Always worth knowing whose strings you're tangled up in, especially after a victory."

She frowned, a knot of unease forming in her stomach. The mention of President Snow brought back memories of his looming presence in the Capitol, a figure synonymous with control and manipulation.

"What does Snow want with me?" she questioned, her voice tinged with actual concern.

Finnick chuckled, a wry edge to his laughter. "Who knows what goes on in that twisted mind of his? Just be cautious. Capitolites love to weave narratives, and we're all characters in their grand spectacle."

He deftly shifted the conversation, steering it away from the enigmatic dealings of the so called regent.

“What was the anchor that kept you going in the arena ?” he asked.

A pensive silence hung in the air before she began, “It’s not a memory; it’s a feeling—the warmth of the sun on my face as I worked in the orchards, the rustling of leaves, and the quiet whispers shared between workers.” Her voice carried a nostalgic lilt, a reflection of the simple and rarejoys she had known in District Eleven.

Finnick listened attentively, the subtle dance of moonlight casting shifting patterns on the garden floor. ��But in the arena, that warmth turned into the cold steel of weapons, and the whispers became the screams of those who fell.”

Her words bore the weight of the transformation, a metamorphosis from the familiar embrace of home to the unforgiving arena.

As she spoke, the moon’s glow accentuated the contours of her face, revealing a tapestry of emotions etched in every expression. Finnick, still standing in the shadows, observed with a silent intensity. The night seemed to unfold like a novel, each sentence adding depth to the narrative they were constructing.

“What about you, playboy ?”

He painted the scene with his words, “It was during the calm before the storm. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the district. The waves gently lapped against the shore, and for a moment, the air was filled with tranquility. I stood at the edge of the fishing docks, surrounded by the familiar scent of the sea. In that brief respite, I found a seashell on the beach. It wasn’t much you know, but it was enough. Just a simple reminder of a world beyond the brutality that was awaiting. Holding that seashell, I felt a connection to something pure, something untouched by the darkness that we were immersed in. It was a moment of quiet pride, watching the boats return with their bounties. I believed in a future where I could contribute to our district, make it better.”

Finnick’s gaze held a mix of nostalgia and sorrow. “But dreams have a way of shattering. The hollowness set in after the celebration, and the silence in my heart matched the quietude of the sea after the cheers faded away. I faced the reality that awaited me, all of us, as a victor, and it just became a distant echo of the life I had hoped for.”

"Live fast, die young, be wild and have fun....they say." she expressed with a bitter laugh slipping off her lips still cringing at the mantra.

As the gloomy moonbeam reflected on the side of her face in the moonlit night, she spoke with a grace that caught the peacock's attention, still standing in the shadows. The moonlight painted her face with a soft glow, revealing a tapestry of emotions in every expression. As strands of her hair danced in the gentle breeze, Finnick observed in silence.

The night, wrapped in the luminous embrace of the moon, held the promise of a new narrative written in the language of stardust and whispered confessions.

"I believed in the country Panem used to be." she said, still holding hope for the person she wanted to become.

In this moment, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, she became Moon, a celestial muse -a constellation of emotions and experiences that left an indelible mark on his heart, even him not noticing it.

Their conversation meandered through the intricacies of their existence, touching on the compromises they made to survive in a world that thrived on spectacle. Finnick, typically a master of charm, revealed fragments of a soul that yearned for freedom beyond the Capitol's whims.

As they continued to wander through the garden, the dichotomy between them softened. She glimpsed the cracks in his playboy facade as he caught a glimpse of the fire that fueled her resistance.

a/n : i keep seeing ppl do the ai voice cloning thing for a more immersive reading so why not try it

1) Finnick and Moon are 19 and 17

2) since the majority of Eleven’s population is predominantly Black and Native American/Indigenous, it seemed logical to me that Moon came from this District.

#finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick x y/n #finnick fanfic #finnick x you #finnick x oc #hunger games finnick #let the moon settle you #finnick odair smut #thg series #thg finnick #thg #thg fanfiction

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uninformedartist · 1 year ago

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So a review on Helluva boss So2 ep 6

Ok so gonna break this review down into positives and negatives with my additional thoughts.

Positives:

So always start off with this, big props and love to the animation team we know know and see your struggle working under Vivienne and animating her over-complicated designs. Props to the BG team really stunning backgrounds, was actually a bit over the top for me (Ozzie's palace and especially the dildo factory shit was moving way too fast) but did pause to have a look at the BGs it is really pretty, the shit pacing made everything a visual blur tho.

VA work stunning love always a joy to hear Alex and James in any VA work tho Fizz's song was eyyy not the best but don't blame Alex it was a shittly written song in general especially when it went to the heavy metal part, overstimulating af and again shit pacing during the song and the flashing visuals gave me a headache. Striker's new VA, Ed's voice really grew on me he should've been Striker in the 1st place because I know for a fact Norman couldn't reprise his role for future episodes.

I loved Ozzie and Fizz's relationship especially the end scene where you can see Ozzie development or got hold of the best technology to give Fizz functional limbs, was a tender scene their relationship and interactions made me smile. I'll give Viv 1 ty for not fucking up their relationship, ty Viv (I can be nice to her :). Tho 1 scene that bothered me... the 12 sec Ozzie dong scene 💀 my soul it was just so jarring especially with the fast pacing. Felt like a race car coming to an immediate stop then speeding off again. Would've like the scene replaced with Fizz telling Bliz something nice about Ozzie, why Fizz likes him. I'm tired of queer couples/pairings in this show describing their partner in 2 ways, 1. how good they are in bed or 2. they got x anatomy that's amazing. But its Viv writing this ep, sigh her and her damn middle school sex jokes I'll let it slide.

Now negatives:

I said it before I'll say it for all eternity, the pacing was dogshit bad oh my soul wtf... Viv, Adam whoever I know you guys don't listen to criticism but if any criticism you take fix your damn pacing 😑. I had to pause multiple times just to see what has happening, what was said, what this paper/sign etc said. It was bad, and that paired with the overdetailed BGs and character designs, for the 1st time ever I got overstimulted from a HB ep and had to take a 5 min break to rest my eyes (was by Fizz's song). Its a noisey spinning kaleidoscope this ep, so unpleasant and its all pacing. Stay on certain scenes a bit longer and allow the audience to take in the scene before them (that flackback scene) its makes a difference. If you get overwhelmed/overstimlated ect by such visuals I recommend watching the leaked episode its much better in terms of pacing since its mostly storyboards and there is no color, plus its just the VAs talking with no background music and zero to minimal sound effects.

I didn't care for Crimson in this episode, I know he became Viv's favorite 😒 but seeing this fucker back so soon, it wasn't enjoyable, especially since the only reason he's in this ep is for a "big score" 😑. Also I'm tired of this over convenient plots, Fizz so happened to be in the greed ring and so happened to run into Blitz and Striker so happened to be in greed meeting with Crim who need a man for a "big score" AND SO HAPPENED Striker sees Fizz/Blitz fighting outside the window 🙃. Its all too convenient for me it takes me out and I then think how the plot coming together is ridiculous.

Striker is so under utilized. Since Viv hates him (confirmed by sources I can't pull now apologies) and she wrote this episode, everything established of Striker in So1 is destroyed. He's a husk of his intended character, all talk no show, a misogynistic clown who you can see Viv has no care writing him properly because she doesn't like him which is fucking horrible, this woman will butcher an integral villian, one with a good motivation (he hates blue-bloods) all because "oh I don't like him he's not in my fav OC list", petty af.

Fizz's disability and how its handled, spoke about it in this post:

It still remains the same though now we see it wasn't Wally holding the cake just some other imp and the card Bliz made for Fizz was a love confession still doesn't justify his reaction shoving the imp and his still underlying jealousy of Fizz since they were young. Yes it was backing off from a love confession/ashamed he's not as good a performer as Fizz, Blitz was jealous of Fizz. Made another post saying how I like how Fizz sees his disability, he's content, happy, has Ozzie who understands him and even made/went out his way to get Fizz the best prosthetics to better his quality of life, I like that good on Fizzy :).

5. Going to be a separate long post on (ಠ_ಠ) Blitz, THE FUCKING BIRD IS BACK 💀💀💀 why your rotisserie chicken ass not in hospital or we just skipping past that and how Viv keeps I'm gonna say it, forcing her characters to have daddy issues by writing this fucking irritating basic fanfic trope of killing the mother offscreen/not having the mother in the picture/us seeing her face. A commenter pointed this out and it irritates me because its the 3rd time she does this, she show Tilla (Blitz's mom) in pictures, you think there would be an episode revolving around Blitz's childhood etc but no she's "in" a fast paced pitty party flashback. This woman really can't show an ounce of respect to any female characters.

This is all for now, will be making more posts the more this ep settles in.

Score: 4.7/10

#vivziepop critical #helluva boss critical #my post #spindlehorse critical #helluva boss critique

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