#corporate wraps

[strawglicks]

big husband

[st4rstudent]

bugthinker but I just did whatever to him

bonus slop

[soapdispensersalesman]

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[venacoeurva]

...I know people in this day and age think any collaborative effort can fix things, often despite reality (ex. the MULTIPLE tumblr blackout protests over the last like 10 years across different owners of tumblr that didn’t change shit),

but I think going out of your way to buy things from tumblr en masse as a “well then they’ll be profitable and won’t have to change things to resemble profitable sites!” as if the CEO/higher ups are personally going to see this and not AT MOST just go “oh we made money, sick, Anyway.” is just. the most naive and frankly 5-year-old level of problem solving unrealistic idea if you think about it for more than 5 seconds. People are just so blinded by naive optimism it’s painful.

Staff isn’t going to see your purchases and go on a full redemption arc and restore porn in spite of payment systems’ massive stigma against it or Apple’s restrictions and never ever try to mimic Twitter or TikTok again, or whatever the fuck you’re expecting, they’ll keep focusing on shit tweaks that resemble other sites because those are what keep investors who think they know tech and user wants hooked and they think new people from other sites will come over for that instead of the fact these people are typically escaping those kinds of features.

Staff isn’t your friend, their vying for support like they’re your buddy who is hitting hard times and has been here holding your hand all these years is deliberate corporate marketing, they’re an arm of a corporation that spits in the face of LGBTQ+ people and especially black people for daring to post about themselves while touting themselves as The Queer Site! A diverse site! Look at this AMA we’re doing with someone about Black History Month! and you’re doing nobody a service when you’re unintentionally rewarding a service for getting worse because they will not know nor care about your motives, they just care that they got money and will continue making it worse regardless of you. They’re a corporation, not a small business ran by 10 people who are trying their best. People throwing money at Staff already encourages them, let alone when you buy into the weird parasocial shit they try with us which will continue as they see success with that method.

Like the mere idea of everyone buying the crabs to gift to make the site profitable is just unrealistic (especially in this economy with such terrible inflation and in NA there are issues with the weather and fires, on a site that mostly consists of groups of people who are typically low income or unable to work???), it feels very much like the gofundme pages people set up to raise money for celebrities who have debts who will be fine regardless and definitely don’t need your help. Corporations and CEOs are not your friends, they never will be. They do not care about you and they’re not some poor uwu victim of circumstance.

TL;DR half-assed blackouts aimed at companies that don’t care (that I have seen over and over) and “cr*b day” type efforts are incredibly dumb and will change nothing, and they will not change anything, just encourage them since they see they’re making money during their current marketing schemes, if they notice at all. You pitying them like they’re a poor innocent person is exactly what the corporation wants.

If you want to make a difference give that money to an artist or lgbtq+ people who basically get flagged as mature for Existing, or people who get their posts flagged for criticizing the site, or something, someone who gets screwed over by this site on the regular. It will do far more good than that whackadoo type pipe dream and sit down and think for a second, please.

[totally-ikea]

don't know if I have said this yet but I am aromantic/asexual (more specifically aceflux but I use aroace as a label) so yeah :)

[abstrakshun]

JEFFREY EARP - BLUE SCREENS (2024)

Microsoft Corporation, Inc. (American, b. 1975)

Microsoft Blue Screen of Death - 2024

Tumblr (American, b. 2007)

Tumblr Blue Screen of Just-Resting-a-Bit-Back-in-a-While - 2024

[dollelujah]

Goddamn, when you see them all together like this it really does hammer the point home

Even if the average fan doesn't have the vocabulary to describe the technical terms for what all these dress and skirt types are, they're definitely cognizant of Mattel squeezing the budget of these projects to the point where we can't get a nice fucking full A-line ball gown dress

[representation-emitter]

And don't I deserve it? Don't I deserve to to get what I want for once in my life?

[binah-beloved]

distorted Binah who fell with the rest of the Library after she dared hope that there might be a way to break the City's cycle, only to be proven wrong when the person she treasures most is taken away from her

distorted Binah who wanders what used to be the Floor of Philosophy, the neat shelves now overgrown with dark trees and foliage like a forest

distorted Binah with feathers and claws, her cloak a pair of feathered wings, limp and torn at the seams. she can't fly to reach the stars- not anymore, when her brightest star is gone

distorted Binah who's surprisingly silent, spending her time mourning instead of ripping anything apart. sometimes she'll sleep for days at a time in her nest of books and leaves

distorted Binah who approaches the guest who looks strangely familiar, letting out a strangled mechanical tune when you step up to her, not dead, just missing (it's you- it's you, you're here)

distorted Binah who tries so hard to wrap her crumbling wings around you, pushing gently until you're sitting with her in her little nest. she knows you're tired, after all you've endured- rest now. she'll be here. she may look different, but she's still your Binah

distorted Binah.

[cognitiveinequality]

listen, I hate yucking people's yums about spotify wrapped

but everything the company does is actively hostile towards musicians like me and it really sucks to see it paraded around with free marketing. Look at this shit!

A new threshold of minimum annual streams that a track must meet before it starts to generate royalties. The threshold, according to MBW, will de-monetize tracks that had previously received 0.5% of Spotify’s royalty pool.

Scenario: A musician has paid a distributor to put their music on Spotify. People (subscribed or ad-based) are listening to it - but Spotify has deemed it's not listened to enough for their threshold and therefore will not pay out for streams. Full stop, Spotify is profiting off that music without paying the artist. 'but it's so easy to listen to any music I want at the push of a button' really fucking screwed us all.

[telomirage]

in order from left to right: the face of someone who is unaware they're about to rawdog their first day back to work, the sky, the sky, the sky, the sky

[strawglicks]

welcome to the Coal & Ice District!

[gingerrhd]

Graham reminds me of guy fieri in a way that I don't think i can explain

[athina-blaine]

you can’t carry it with you if you want to survive (Nimona 2023) - Chapter 3 (Preview #1)

(Note: this is not the finalized draft; anything featured is subject to edits or deletion)

Chapter 2 (Recap)

As Ambrosius edged towards unconsciousness, he vaguely registered a harsh scratching noise, like nails scrambling against tile. Above him, someone yelled, followed by terrified screams and a mix of pained yelps and animal-like snarls. "Monster!" "Fucking hell–!" "It's got me, man, it's got my leg–!" The next thing he knew, the cadet's pinning weight disappeared, the shadows looming over him gone. The cadets had vanished, leaving Ambrosius alone on the hard floor, chest rattling as he struggled to breathe through the saliva and blood pooling in his mouth. Exhaustion enveloped him like a thick, suffocating fog. His body, heavy and sluggish, refused to cooperate as the adrenaline wore off. Despite his best efforts, his eyes started drifting closed. The last thing he saw was the muzzle of some creature as it stepped into his line of sight, its hot breath rustling his hair as it stared down at him with black, glittering eyes. Everything went dark.

Chapter 3 (Preview #1)

As Ambrosius regained consciousness, he gradually became aware that he was being slowly crushed.

Groaning, he writhed in discomfort, a dull, throbbing pain pulsating through his head. Prying his eyes open, he tried looking around, squinting underneath the harsh glare from bright lights above him. When he recognized nothing, panic squeezed his chest.

Before he could make sense of anything, however, a figure emerged above him, flashing a smile filled with impossibly sharp, jagged teeth.

Monster.

Ambrosius lurched upright, gasping as a wave of dizziness crashed over him and sent him toppling back down. Bile rose in the back of his throat and he had to screw his lips shut—the only thing that saved him from being sick was the fact that there was nothing in his stomach left to empty.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, he turned back towards the figure. “You …”

The shapeshifter’s grin widened. 

“Me,” she said. "Good to know your head isn’t completely meat-soup, nemesis. I was putting it at 3 to 1 against, personally.”

With a forceful swallow, Ambrosius attempted to lift himself once more, slower this time. The shapeshifter’s scarlet eyes remained fixed on him, shimmering with both curiosity and amusement. Human eyes, he noted. And yet, he had to fight back a surge of unease as he cast his gaze around the room, trying to take in his surroundings.

Instead of the trashed hotel lobby, he found himself inside a shabby, rundown shack of some kind. He was lying on a threadbare couch and had been buried under a truly staggering number of thick, fuzzy blankets. A fabric ice bag lay on the ground, melting in a small puddle of its own condensation; it must have fallen off his head just when he'd been shifting around.

He tried recalling those last few moments in the lobby, but his memory was a blur. There had been the cadets. Some kind of a commotion. The muzzle of a beast. And then, nothing.

Countless questions burned his tongue. When he opened his mouth, however, the shapeshifter shot out her hand.

“I already know what you’re going to ask,” she said, “and the answers are, in order: Here, there, don't know and don’t care, and, yes, this is a new top, thank you so much for noticing.”

Ambrosius blinked, wondering if perhaps his head had indeed been turned into meat-soup. She shot him an unimpressed look.

“Tough crowd. What, you hit your head or something?”

Laughing, she doubled over, slapping her knee. Ambrosius drew in a slow, deep breath, summoning all of his patience, and decided that it wasn't his head that was the issue here.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Oh, nowhere in particular.” Leaning forward, she dropped her voice to a low whisper. “Just the hellscape that haunts the dreams of good men. Where hope goes to die.” Straightening, she threw her hands over her head. “Welcome to the evil lair, nemesis.”

From the corner of his eye, Ambrosius took in the shack’s dilapidated walls and the junk scattered across the floor. An old board game sat abandoned on the coffee table, surrounded by dirty dishes and an almost empty jug of soda. A pizza box lay tipped over on its side, a few forgotten pieces of crust still inside.

He scrunched up his nose. Well. It certainly wasn’t like any evil lair he'd ever imagined when he was a kid. 

“Where are the cadets?" he asked, turning back to the shapeshifter. "Where’s Officer Laurel?”

Pinky digging into her ear, she lifted a brow. “Officer who now?”

“She was with me at the scene. Dark hair? Wearing a uniform? ”

“Oh, her!” she said, wiping her finger on her pants leg. “Yeah. I ate her.”

Ambrosius’ jaw slackened. Her sharp smile didn’t abate. His eyes widened. “You–”

She shoved his arm. “Freakin' relax, dude, you’re as gullible as the boss, you know that?” Shrugging, she started picking at her teeth. “Eh, she took one look at me and hit the deck. Like, fainted, like in an old movie or something.” Her eyes grew thoughtful. “Wouldn’t it be funny if she thought I was trying to eat you? That’d be pretty messed up, right?”

Ambrosius grimaced. Poor Officer Laurel; he'd need to check in with her as soon as possible. “And the cadets?”

“Those guys? Had them screaming for the hills. I’m pretty sure one of them peed his pants. Always, always funny.” Her eyes jumped to something over Ambrosius’ shoulder. “Oops, hold that thought.”

Ambrosius' eyes followed the shapeshifter as she rounded the couch before they dropped to his hands, his head still trying to process everything. Feeling dangerously close to overheating, he wriggled out from under the mountain of blankets, tossing them aside before sitting up. As he pulled out his phone, however, he scowled; the device had been crushed. Most likely a result of the fight. Another issue on his ever-growing list of problems to deal with later.

Thankfully, the screen still lit up for him at his touch. Dialing the most recent number, mindful of the cracks in the glass, he gingerly brought his phone to his ear.

“Sir!” said a voice as soon as the call connected. “Thank Gloreth, I didn’t know– I saw the cadets scampering off and I went inside and I saw this– this–” 

“Officer–”

“Sir, I saw this wolf-bear thing standing over you!” she exclaimed, her voice sharp with panic. “I think I must’ve passed out because when I woke up you were gone–”

“I’m okay, Officer,” Ambrosius said. “The wolf-bear thing is a …” 

Friend? 

But the word fell apart on his tongue. “… It was trying to help.”

“Oh! Well, that’s– That’s good, then!” She let out a forceful exhale, the sound crackling through the receiver. “I’m not sure what I would have done if something had happened to you, sir.”

Embarrassment crashed over him, sinking to the pits of his roiling stomach. He still couldn't believe he'd let a bunch of academy rookies get the better of him. How utterly disgraceful. “I’m okay. I just wanted to check in with you, Officer, make sure you weren’t hurt.”

“Forget about me, sir, it was five of those bastards against one of you! Are you sure you’re alright?”

For the first time since regaining consciousness, Ambrosius took a moment to assess how he was feeling. The side of his face was stinging, his knee aching as if it were being stabbed with a hot poker. He ran his tongue over a gash in his bottom lip, nausea rising at the metallic taste that burst in his mouth. Dizziness teased the edges of his vision, the room rocking gently on its side. Likely the results of a concussion.

The old injury in his shoulder was throbbing, pulses of dull, tingling pain shooting down his arm. He must have pulled it when he’d been throwing his weight around. He hadn’t even noticed. 

“I’ll live,” was all he said. Sighing, he lowered his head into his hand, wincing as he brushed his nose. Broken. “I'm sorry for frightening you, Officer, it wasn’t my intention. For now, you should just try and put all this behind you and return to your regular duties. I’ll take care of everything from here.”

He’d need to file a report first thing in the morning, and he tried keeping his pessimism at bay at the thought of the uphill battle that awaited him. Rarely had the objectionable behavior of cadets resulted in more than a terse reprimand during his academy days, and he knew things would only be more difficult in the kingdom’s current frenzied, emotional state. After the events of tonight, he’d likely just be seen as chasing a vendetta; the disgraced knight, in cahoots with monsters and villains, seeking revenge against the youths entrusted to protect the realm. He ran the very real risk of blessing those drunk, violent clowns with martyrdom. In fact, it felt inevitable.

His one consolation was that perhaps it would smooth things over with Starcrest's CEO if he’d already completed the bulk of the paperwork necessary for an insurance claim. A paltry comfort after a disastrous day—but it was something.

It took a moment for him to realize he’d yet to hear a response from the patrolwoman. He frowned. “Officer?”

A watery sniffle sounded on the other end of the phone. Alarm shot through him. “Officer Laurel?”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she said, her voice thick with misery. “I shouldn't have gotten you involved. None of this would have happened if I'd just tried harder sorting this out on my own."

His heart dropped, exhaustion settling over him like a heavy, smothering fog. “None of this is your fault. Your captain was wrong to put you in that situation in the first place. Rest assured, I’ll be filing a complaint with your senior staff first thing–”

"Frankly, sir, I don't give a rat's arse about my captain right now," she said, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. "They hurt you. You could have … you could have been … And it would've been all my fault.”

Ambrosius squeezed his eyes shut, guilt clawing at his chest. Of all the regrettable things to happen tonight, upsetting the patrolwoman might be the thing he regretted the most. “You did the best you could with the situation you were put in, Officer. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

She sniffled. “I'm sorry, sir. I just wisssshhhhzzzzzzztttt–”

Ambrosius flinched at the abrupt, strident static. “Hello? Officer?”

“Ssssszzzziiiiirrrrrrr–”

The line went dead. Ambrosius blinked, pulling his phone forward. The screen remained dark, however, and refused to respond to his attempts to turn it back on.

Cursing, he threw the device onto the coffee table and lowered his head, cradling his face. The patrolwoman’s melancholic words bounced around his skull, juxtaposed with the memory of the almost childlike delight in her eyes from earlier that night. It already felt like eons ago since he'd teasingly offered her an autograph—he should have known that he was setting himself up for disaster showboating like that. How would she look upon him now, if she saw him in this sorry, defeated state?

A dusty hand mirror rested on the coffee table. With a morbid curiosity, he picked it up, and, at the sight that greeted him, recoiled.

A furious, purpling bruise bled along the contour of his cheekbone and jawline, accompanying a bluish-black ring circling his now grotesquely swollen eye. Smaller bruises and cuts marred his lips and lower face from where the cadet had struck him, and the line of his nose had a slight crook to it. Broken, as he'd suspected.

The shadows beneath his eyes, a familiar sight in recent months and easily dismissed, now hollowed out his gaze with a stark, gaunt emptiness. He looked like a skeleton. A tired skeleton.

Tracing the discolored ring around his eye, Ambrosius tried to stamp down the hot, burning hopelessness constricting his chest. All the coverup in the world wasn’t going to fix this. He had no idea what he was going to do for the cabinet meeting tomorrow. He didn’t even want to think what Ballister was going to say.

Bal …

Amidst his brooding, he didn’t see the figure looming over him until it had leaned well into his personal space. When he noticed, he suppressed his urge to flinch. The shapeshifter grinned.

“You see a mirror and you just can't help yourself, can you?” she said, elbow resting on the arm of the couch. “I gotta hand it to you, though; you can really pull off a shiner.”

[cappurrccino]

there is literally no excuse for clothing manufacturers to not be using pre-shrunk fabric. it is so fucking hard to find things that fit right and then you follow the laundering instructions to the letter and it fucking shrinks and then it doesn't fit right anymore and you can't return or exchange it bc you've taken the tags off and wash it, so you've just wasted your money on something you maybe got to wear one time

[benevolenterrancy]

[looney tunes sound effects]