rose926

[rose926]

To be honest, I never post on Tumblr, but I just wanted to talk a little bit about this Helluva Boss show.

I recently watched all the episodes and read a lot of the episodes’ comments, and holy crap, the people in the comments are either blind, refuse to be up-front, or care for lousy shows. I read comments stating bullshit like “I love this new Striker villain” or “Blitzo’s backstory keeps getting more interesting. Just like this show” or “I’m so glad Stolas stood up to his wife. He’s the best character.” After reading a bunch of these flat admirations with no real substance, I'm curious if me and the comment section just watched the same video. To me, the show felt very lacking and unprofessional. I couldn't wrap my head around where all of this praise was exactly coming from. 

Overall, I do not understand what this show is trying to truly be. The pilot made it seem like a workplace comedy, yet the latest season two episode had the impression of a childish drama. It appears that Vivziepop isn’t aware that there is a way you can make characters interesting or empathetic, without transforming (given the appearance of the pilot) a sitcom into a fanfiction film and adding misinterpreted character trauma and abuse. Or rather she just doesn't have the creativity or skill to undertake another “realistic” way for the audience to relate to her characters. 

Another example of this victimizing route of pity, is in Hazbin Hotel’s “Addict” music video. In the video, Vivziepop anticipates the viewers to feel curious about Angel Dust's past and feel empathy for him. According to the music video, Angel gets sexually raped by his boss during his occupation as a stripper, and he suffered some mental breakdown of sorts. This certain “trauma tool” of earning character compassion that Vivziepop uses is extremely nonsensical, ineffective, and amateurish. I firmly didn’t give a shit about one thing that was happening in the music video, considering it felt so juvenile. In fact, I recall turning my phone off halfway through. 

In general, the mature concepts of Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel are flung around without any real thought behind them, other than to make it appear as an adult animated show and intend for character depth. Sorry, but swearing, sex, abuse, substance abuse, and gore, doesn’t automatically makes a supposed adult show HEARTILY for adults. You want to appeal to adults? Well then, I would start by trying not to partially exploit and mishandle mature concepts. This is not all my own nitpick, but the one I recognize others may have when watching. I can definitely see how certain people may get offended by the show in the regard of maltreatment to said concepts. Not everyone, just particular fully-fledged people.

Regardless, I think Vivziepop taking the turn she did in the latest Helluva Boss episode is bad for the show’s continuation. I doubt she had deeply thought ahead about where to take this show before introducing attempted story complexity with season two’s episode. If that is the case, Helluva Boss will become farther wonkier than it is thus far. I’m no genius, but I’m sure one would need to be absolutely positive where you want to take your story, characters, and plot during elaborate story fabrication. If not, then your entire narrative will get hopelessly lost and lose sense. Knowing Viv’s writing, I don’t think she has the ability to brainstorm both previously and profoundly, and logically connect the dots within the episodes.

In my opinion, I think Helluva Boss should be manifested as an erratic, doltish, (yet charismatic) comedy sitcom. The show takes place in literal hell. If I was in charge, I would make the world enticing by its vast oddity, and ludicrous hellfire anguish. When people think of hell, they think of torture. Where even is the hellish part of Vivziepop’s version of hell?

Of course, Vivziepop can take the show wherever she desires, but that’s how I think it would work best and be the most interesting. 

Similar to what I aforementioned, my belief is that Vivziepop is heading into things that she does not fully understand how to handle with her poor script writing. As the show progresses, more people may realize that she isn’t capable of running a thorough tv show. I mean, the first three episodes were convoluted as fuck so early. Therefore, it isn’t a big surprise that she was a pretty incompetent showrunner far before the latest episode. What I’m trying to say, is that she was always incompetent. It will probably just become more evident over time to some of the people who aren’t currently grasping it. 

Don’t get me wrong, there are things in Helluva Boss that are done right, and hell, the idea had great potential. However, the things that the show is rather successful in doing, is overshadowed solely by the writing and inconsistency. No offense to Viv, but I am 16, and I believe I could write just as good of a script (if not better) for at least half of the episodes that are out. 

Maybe some people genuinely are interested in the show, despite if they see the frailties, and that is fine. Although, the amount of mollycoddling this show (that is clearly far from perfect) gets is absurd. It is not an opinion that this show is not very well done, it is a fact. The fans need to stop overindulging Helluva Boss and start giving it some honest pros and cons, otherwise Viv will not be able to recognize and fix what it is that’s broken. That’s the only way this show may get better; straightforward criticism. If the fans that see the faults keep on spoon feeding their umpteen kindnesses on a show that doesn’t require it in its ongoing state, it’s incredibly plausible Helluva Boss will grow a poor reputation, even beyond its fanbase. 

#helluva boss #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva critical #anti vivziepop #vivziepop #vivziepop critical

[rose926]

FYI, THIS IS A FICTIONAL WRITING I WROTE ABOUT THREE MONTHS AGO. THE STORY CONTAINS VIOLENCE AND PROFANITY. THEREFORE, IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THOSE THEMES PLEASE DO NOT READ. NEVERTHELESS, IF YOU TOOK THE TIME TO READ MY AMATEUR STORY, I THANK YOU.

I cranked my head up and peered out the trapdoor’s apertures with a sense of both novelty and renewed optimism. My light at the end of the tunnel grew slightly dimmer when I discovered nobody was there.

What?

What the hell was that?

WHO the hell was that?

It was a voice! A real male human voice!

Did that sound come from a person who can help me? Or is it the same voice of the cruel man who threw me in this jail? Deep and minacious, it sounded like he was the one who spoke.

Who the hell was that?! Was that him?!

…

Shit!

I’ve waited a while with my head up and there’s still nothing! My mind screamed at me, begging to emit a harrowing cry for help. Yet, my throat was too raw to emit any sound other than winded wheezing.

My hands gripped my skull, threatening to rip each individual hair from my own scalp.

Oh god, there’s still nobody opening that goddamn door!

...

My eyes widened. Realization hit me harder than a bullet.

...

It was my imagination, wasn’t it, that sound?

The voices in the head are acting up again! The voices in my head were that voice! Those sick inputs filled me with a sign of hope in a hopeless situation, just for them to let me down! Those bastards! Giving someone hope and taking it away is the worst thing you could do to a person!

Being imprisoned not only echoed those strange voices in my skull, but also in this room filled with nothing, but debris.

Shit!

I could’ve sworn I heard my right-side brain being so boisterous, telling me to smack my head on those cement walls- that I ran my wrinkled hand down- until I bleed to death.

Maybe, just maybe, I could reach that trapdoor if I made my last attempt to leap with whatever remaining strength I had left. Maybe try to investigate it again for the millionth time.

My knees croaked, as I deliberately picked myself up to my feet. I tightly clenched my teeth at the feel of shoe-less, gnarled feet pressing down against inhospitably cold cement. My attempt at investigating, resulted in me bending my left leg, twisting my ankle, tumbling down into a broken wall, and trying to support myself on broken shards of glass. Frantically, I glanced down at my hands, now painted red and housed to dozens of shards of glass.

Great.

For how little I stood up since I've been thrown in this oubliette, a toddler had better footwork or at least knew how to walk more properly than myself. Not being able to saunter is an embarrassment that I don’t have to hide from anyone, besides cameras. If there were any security cameras, the bloke on watch duty must have had a good laugh at the poor man in the cellar trying to merely move a bottom limb.

Speaking of the bottom limb, my left ankle looked like a red Adam’s apple, but instead of it being on my neck, it was on my foot. Blood leaked from the place where I ripped open my skin from “90-degreeing” it. What was left of my ankle was undefinable. It was so drastically covered in blisters, that it looked more like a giant plum than an actual body necessity. Of course, it hurt like hell. Of course, my eyes watered more than the Amazon river from the pain. Of course, my body was too outworn to heal this significant of an abrasion. Although it was excruciating, the injury was partially overshadowed by the agony of my f*cked up hands. Glass is meant to be left in manufacturing, not left in between each of my goddamn metacarpals.

I couldn’t touch them nor touch them with anything, without pushing the fragments deeper into my skin. Now, as the injuries radiated through me an unbearable sense of anguish, I couldn’t even crawl. Another aspect of my plight was that my own throat refused to utter a single line of defamation. I desired to say a few things to the neurotic wretch who locked me in here for his own amusement. Even though I could not speak, replaying in my head like a broken record about how much I hated him, worked almost as well. Oh, how unimaginably much I despised that putrid piece of shit.

I was well acquainted with how my kidnapper looked; lanky, old, and especially psychotic. He wore a frock coat underneath a plain white shirt and donned a top hat over his slicked-back grey hair, which concealed his senior-like appearance. The man possessed a slim body structure and was most likely retired from being an exceptional basketball player. Overall, he looked like a rusty “lady-magnet” in his formal outfit. If he was younger, not crazy, and I was a woman, I would certainly be interested.

Despite his fashion sense, there’s nothing about the dude that I found esteeming. I mean, if a person kidnapped you and incarcerated you in a grotty chamber, then chances are you ain’t gonna like them. The only memories I had with him were filled with dread, slasher smiles, and helplessness.

I can recall the time the old man locked me in this cell.

I don't remember what happened before, but all I knew is that I was scared, terribly scared. My breaths became shallow and my heartbeat quickened, as I watched the guy peering back at me with a toothy grin. The man narrowed his eyes out of disdain, before tucking a lit cigarette in between his yellow fangs and sauntering towards my limp body. He stepped in a slow rhythm, each one of his steps more passive than the first as if he was in no hurry to confront me. Visibly terrified, I crawled away from the odd stranger, until I felt my blood run cold.

My back just hit up against the wall. It was the end of the line.

I tightly closed my eyes, expecting him to take a knife to my throat or gun to my head. However, what I was least expecting was that he would begin shouting. I felt a mix of relief, surprise, and terror in his little fuss. I opened my eyes to see him towering over me, like a predator to their prey. His hoarse voice and vulgar choice of words felt like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. He held his cigarette in a clenched fist, standing so near, that he practically wove it in my face. The smell of smoke caused my nose to wrinkle in disgust. I couldn't help, but wonder how people could enjoy dumping such stuff into their own lungs.

Knocking me unconscious with a bottle of “Stolichnaya” that he pulled out of his frock coat pocket, was the last thing I can remember the man doing. Before I knew it, I wound up in this dingy cellar with nothing, but the clothes on my back.

“Looks like you're in quite the dilemma,” I heard a familiar voice say, as I snapped out of reminiscences. “Having those hands must be unpleasant.”

I quickly scanned the room, trying, but failing to find the source of the voice. I took my panicked spectacles off the room and onto my so-called “unpleasant” hands that the voice talked about. My eyes widened in affliction at the sight of how bad my injury had gotten.

Oh, shit!

My hands were bafflingly sanguinary. I gagged at the sight of bone manifesting through thin tissue, just barely holding down my paltry breakfast of two saltine crackers. How could I have forgotten that my hands were practically converted into reflective daggers?

Claret rained down from the glass wounds, a pond of it spreading over a fair portion of the grubby cellular floor. My muzzy head spun, not sure whether it had more concern in the mysterious voice who could conceivably offer me an escape or my body trauma.

That voice sounded more real than the first, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t in my head. It was probably my imagination! My stupid, idiotic imagination! I’ve lost my fucking mind, haven’t I?! I lost my mind! Lost it, I say!

The minute I entered this hellhole, I was forced to watch my own sanity gradually deteriorate before my eyes, like an old book to a candle wick. It was as if I was chained to a lone theater seat with no eyelids, compelled to watch a dreadful movie premiere for all eternity.

When you're alone in a dreary vault, you’ll invariably find a way to entertain yourself, which includes watching yourself go completely bonkers with mental hallucinations.

I looked down, my shirt stained red from laying in a pool of my own blood.

#writing #fiction #violence #excessive swearing #gore warning

[rose926]

This is some Procreate art I made in 2020 when I was thirteen. This is also my first Tumblr post! I know this illustration isn't perfect, but maybe some can enjoy :)

Btw, I am a young writer and illustrator and it's what I will mostly be posting on my profile, if you’re wondering.

#illustration #digital art #digital illustration #animals #procreate #original art