#it's just fucking inacessible

[clairedaring]

CHIN CHINAWUT and MAX NATTAPOL

THE MUSICAL MURDER (2024) dir. Marut Sarowat

[gothmods]

Found the guide written by that person who recently made that big post about how they would dm people advice on raising meat rabbits in light of food contamination and. Well.

[twowivestwoknives]

so there's not a dichotomy between ppl who 'want' to medically transition and people who 'dont want' to, yall know that right?

i feel like so often when convos come up re: trans ppl who dont medically transition is phrased so often like all of us just don't want to, as a matter of preference. and while there are definitely folks in that camp (who are valid as fuck, trans as fuck, and cool as fuck) there are SO MANY reasons people who would otherwise want to medically transition dont.

the medical system is hell and transphobic, inacessible, abusive, intersexist, racist, ableist, and carceral (and more). and even if you get past that, the choices on medical transition are still wildly limited (even with the choice expansion in recent years).

so much of medical transition was made with cis people in mind, or to 'correct' intersex folks' bodies. this isnt gonna make for a system that gives every trans person what they need from medical transition.

there are exactly 2.5 reasons I can't medically transition even though I've been out as trans since 2012. and they SHOULD be mitigatable, but they aren't. so i stopped pursuing it. even though i would /love/ to change my body in ways that would make living it so much easier and more joyful for me.

a lot of us are simply chosing the devil we know, you know?

[orlaite]

I think it's so funny when people speak about long films, black and white films, and old films as if they're inherently inacessible and niche and can only be appreciated by the Especially Interested. Like, my roommate/bestfriend has self-admittedly not seen Any Movies and her taste in film outside of what I have shown her is literally the Night at the Museum movies and Spooky Buddies - and she fucking loves every 3 hour long, 50+ year old, and/or black & white film I show her. She's obessed with Metropolis and Lawrence of Arabia! She sits through Overtures and Entr'Actes without a complaint! Methinks if you have a problem with appreciating and engaging with older, longer, b&w movies the problem isn't actually that these movies are inaccesible and uninteresting unless you're a pretentious film nerd: maybe you're just stupid and/or unwilling to appreciate art that's new to you? Much to think about.

[salt-volk]

post 705470921409019904   bc u have to PAY for monthlies u cant just earn them from gameplay. we need item that are easy to get yet also go up in value over time. every other game i play has these thing as a reward for long term & consistent players!

if the ONLY shit that retains value is premium/paid content then of course the economies fucked bc the only ppl who can make longterm value investment are those who are already well off. limited/retiring item earned from special prizes, chance event, quests, & gaemplay are essential for allowing ftp players to still get itmes that appreciate in value & be able to keep on par with premium paying users (bc then even if they dont spend money they can still have item that ppl will want).

part of dvs economy being so shit is bc u cannot "play the market" much the way u mgiht some other games. literally nearly every item is either 1. completely worthless junk that will return every year & already exists in abundance OR  2. its paid premium shit that only gets traded for other paid premium shit. rarely are there any "mid tiere value" items in between that can be leveraged by folk in the middle.

i think in retaliation to customs & monthies seeming too inacessible we went so far in the other direction that now all other items is TOO acessible which only makes the problem worse (if the ONLY valuable items are super hard to get or paid, then its impossible for ppl who dont have acess to those to "work their way up". if this was balanced by having more free/cheap to get yet also valuable items, then custom & monthlies would actually become MORE  acessible to the avg player bc they could get their hands on non-monthly non-custom items that still genuinely have value & could be traded for higher value thing.)

limited item does not always = bad & exclusionary. it can be a part of healthy economy & even a way to help limit exclusivity by giving ftp players economic mobility just for actually playing the game.

i think when ppl talk abt wanting more limited items they mean stuf like this. not more monthiles. but shit that can serve as ACTUAL reward for gameplay. right now participating in event, story quests, & even getting random chance pop up are all boring/un exciting bc once u have one set of the item thats all u ever need, theyre all worthless, retain no value, & nothing feels like an actual sruprise or a reward. theres no incentive to participate bc everything is easy & already handed to u.

dv userbase seems to be such weird mix... ppl who want to own every single item in the game with no effort & no exclusiveity but then also complain abt there being nothing to do, no long term gameplay goals, event reward feel lacking, & how boring it is between content drops. but usually part of the motivation/goals & participation feeling worthwhile on other games is BC u have to work a lil to collect things. exctiement of earning prize that gain in value, making sure ur present to collect event rewards bc the ones will be diffrent next year, new itme u strategize to trade for. & when u lack all of that ofc its gonna feel more boring.

tho obv thats not main issue with the site & im not sayin anyone is wrong for feeling that way i thinkit can def be hard to strike balance between "enough exclusivity to feel fun & motivating" vs "so much that it just feel unfair" but my point is just that right now we really need some "mid tier" limited items (that ARENT locked behing million potatoes worth of item alchemy lmfao) to balance the market & put free player on equal footing in the economy. stuff that appreciates in value & makes rewards actually feel special/worthwhile bc one day u can trade/sell it for something cooler! yk?

idk as a ftp player myself to me at least that would help playing dv actualy feel worht it.

[sm-stands-for-shit-muncher]

digital audio workstations are the same way. i have been using a free online daw (soundtrap.com) for the entirety of my music 'career' (if you could even call it that). it's admittedly less intuitive or featured as other conventional daw's, but it allows me to record, write midi, edit, mix, master, and export, and that is all i need. it has its own issues, and i have to use a few bullshit workarounds, but nevertheless, it gets the fucking job done, so who cares? i've heard an earful from nearly every musician i have worked with to "just pirate (conventional daw of choice)," which i do encourage! it is always morally correct to pirate from big companies, but you shouldn't have to. it's bullshit that the industry standard is so fucking inacessible and expensive that musicians feel pressured to steal, instead of just going for a cheaper option. i've gotten to the point where i'm proficient enough with using soundtrap.com that going through the trouble of re-learning how to make music in a new daw feels redundant. why disrupt my musical process just to better adhere to industry practices? fuck them industry practices!!! use cheap gear! take advantage of freeware! eat trash hail satan!!! >:3

The classism in the "music gear" scene is fucking atrocious. So many people will shit on other people for using affordable gear as a way to justify within themselves that dropping $3,000 on a guitar was a smart financial move.

About 3-4 years ago I joined a band and a month after I joined we went on some video podcast. Play a few songs, do an interview, something I've never done before but it seemed like it'd be fun.

I wasn't able to really get a word in during the interviews (stuttering/speech impediment/anxiety issues ran wild) but I was able to speak up whenever the host went around and asked us what our favorite instrument/gear brands were. Weird question, but alright buddy.

I've always been a fan of cheaper gear. You don't need all sorts of expensive shit to get the sound you want. So when he asked my answer was "Squier" and the dude just started laughing. Because who possibly would prefer one of the cheaper brands??? (Keep in mind this douche had a whole wall of the absolute worst looking collection of custom shop BC Rich guitars you've ever seen.)

Eventually he backed down once I started arguing with him about it, but his immediate elitist attitude really struck a cord in me because I see that shit all over the internet in music communities. "Oh you only like Squiers/Epiphones/Harley Bentons because you can't afford BIG BOY guitars like a $5,000 Gibson".

Fuck right off with that shit. Why would I pay thousands of dollars for a guitar when I can get something that works amazingly for me for just a few hundred dollars? The extra money I save by not dropping 4 figures on a guitar or amp goes towards paying my bills, feeding my kids, just trying to fucking live and exist.

At this point I've had to sell 99% of my music gear after over a decade of following the gear chase. I only have a "cheap" acoustic I bought several years ago for $350 and it's the best guitar I've ever had. I love my little busted neck Hummingbird to death.

I'm much happier now than I was when I had a huge assortment of pedals and guitars to choose from. The Gear Chase is designed to make you want to spend more and more money in an endless pursuit of finding that "perfect" piece of gear. Guitar companies, partnered youtubers, influencers, and all sorts of advertisement campaigns are purposefully trying to misguide you into thinking you NEED their product. It's marketing and capitalism at work and so many musicians fall for it every time. I fell for it for years before I got completely fed up with it.

Go out and gig with your Squier Bullet Strat and a cheap amp you found at a pawn shop, fuck anyone that gives you shit for it. Go ahead and record with whatever you have at your disposal. Put out an album that's comprised of Voice Memos you recorded on your phone with just an acoustic and your voice.

Music, like any art, is about way more than what you used to get there. It's how you express yourself that really matters. Don't listen to the elitists and marketers telling you the only way you can authentically reach your creative vision is by buying their snake oil.

[cepheusgalaxy]

Listen up, I really love school but sometimes teachers really seem to think that im a machine or that i have no personal life like

I study all-day (8 hours, 5 days a week) and my teachers still have the thought and the will of ordering us (me and the clasd) to do a work. Or a research. Which could be fine, hell, we spent the first half of the year without math class because our teacher has to deal with some problems and the school system didn't bother to send someone to take her place so yea it makes sense well have to bring some work home even though its not ideal and even so it is already difficult because HELL i already have plenty of things to do home: my personal projects, languages i want to learn, stuff i have to research becaude of the club i am, cleaning the house, doing the dishes, going to the bathroom sleeping 9 hours a day (i have to sleep a lot) and EATING and now homework, all without the eight hours (PLUS the hour i spend getting ready for school; bathing, etc.) I spent there.

And then all of a sudden my teachers all want to make us do a research because they just do not bother to teach us the thing in ONE FUCKING HOUR AND FOURTY MINUTES they have in the MINIMUM two days at a week and forgeting myself for a minute DO THEY REALIZE HOW FUCKING INACESSIBLE IS FOR SOME OF THE STUDENTS TO ACTUALLY DO THAT RESEARCH IN HOME??? Like fuck i could do these things at weekend but i am a fucking teen and i need time for myself and my friends and my interests and hobbies and projects and you don't just want me to have only two days (sometimes less) per week to engage in these things but now you want me to use my two precious saturday and sunday to do this shit. I want to learn, i live learning but I have a fucking life and studying is to be done at school and it is the school responsability to make it this way and it is REALLY funny how they are mocking students for not paying attention (which don't get me wrong they should but listen to my point) we are human beings and we have barely no time avaliable to do the things we like -like, there are places and times for doing each thing, i agree, but you are not leaving any places or fucking time for us to do such -yet, you are still fucking trying to TAKE the time we have for these things: fun is only at the proper time but school must take any time you want to right?

This is fucking hipocrit and annoying and senseless

Like, i have one play to script, two researches to do, a math homework and all for the next weeks. It is sunday and yesterday i slept like a fucking rock because i really had no time for proper sleeping this week and just wake up at 16h (4PM) and till this week i had to deal with some personal issues and today i went to my cousins birthday and i stayed there all fucking day.

How the fuck am i supposed to do all this shit like DO YOU EVEN REALIZE THE WIDE SPAN OF SITUATIONS WE DEAL WITH BECAUSE IF YOU DO THEN WHY

besides, i am still learning to manage time and i have really a hard time making space in my messy schedule to do all i want/need to do, and they do not even teach that at school so what am i supposed to do?

Be a computer?

[recordmcqueen]

Mmkay i know very few of my followers are here for bbb and lets face it thats not what ur getting around here anyway lmao but yeah im done with that now so if thats why ur here ig u can feel free to leave or stay but im not touching that hornets nest again

[logicheartsoul]

....so I may have just lost 3-ish years worth of WIPs and 5-ish years worth of personal stuff. Stuff I did not have a chance to backup.

I dunno if I am in shock or reacting to my hungry stomach or both.

Looks like I am not sleeping like I wanted to do. 

[mountaingoatsfirstlineaday]

even when it's a positive review i'm like "NO you DONT understand stop talking to ME!!" and i realize this makes me sound snobby. i am allowed to be a little snobby about this one thing. then i go read another one

reading the pitchfork reviews of goats albums to make myself angry

[chunky-ruckus]

I'm probably going to remove this chapter from Itty Bitty- it just doesn't fit- but I like it well enough to save. I'm keeping it here, on my OC blog, and I'm not sure if I should put it back on ao3 as something else? An outtake of some sort? Generally I hate getting rid of my writing / making it inacessable to others. Lmk I guess, it's just kinda.... Self indulgent bs anyway (not in a bad way) lol

___

Another morning.

More and more, you believe you were destined to die on Alt-

Aaah, wait a minute. Depression, you sly dog, you think. You almost had me using groundhog’s day as both a metaphor and a plot device. The bitch is good, but you got her number. And you refuse to booty call on this fine, foggy evening.

And it is fine and foggy. The espresso machine gives its awful death gurgle just like every morning, but you can’t see the lonely subgrubs beneath you, and so you get to skip making a new penguin analogy completely. You consider a silent hill analogy, bringing your hand to your chin in deep thought. It’s ten minutes wasted, and 15 hours 50 minutes to go before you can reasonably go to sleep again.

Haha. This sucks, man. 

You check your calendar, Maybe you have some more, secret events scheduled? But, save for the lonely event a week ago, there’s nothing. 

It occurs to you that you can schedule your own events. And why shouldn’t you? Why shouldn’t you put things in your calendar that you’ve already been doing? As a treat?

Fifteen minutes later. Stelsa would be so proud: your calendar app now has a streak of teal, those days where she’s got you on her calender. You suspect this is a secret plot device that will help you later.

Half an hour down since you woke up. You’re doing this. You’re making today happen.

...You’re staring blankly at your fridge. Which, to be fair, is adorned with pictures that Karako and Wanshi drew for you last time you visited the caverns. It’s so rare to see Karako at all, let alone with the jades.

The picture he drew of himself, protecting you with a psychic aura in pink and purple and your own body sprouting viscera like vines, is shockingly adorable. Wanshi’s companion piece, of her as a mother cat bringing you a piece of her hunt to share with kittycat!you (presumably not dead yet, which is quite a vote of confidence for your constitution) and kittycat!Karako (covered in blood and smiling one of those anime emoji smiles), is a bit more horrifying.

Ten more minutes down. 

You sigh. You know it’s up to you to get into some antics, some real shenanigans if you’re lucky, but your inspiration well is dry and frankly the Alternian dim season is fucking bleak. You’ve noticed more trolls lately are indulging in their violent tendencies. Everyone is moody and dark circles are more likely to be black eyes these days.

It’s going to be a long day.

It’s 1:30 when your pho- er, palmhusk starts buzzing.

You almost don’t recognize the sound over the humming of your fridge. How’s this for beating depression? You’re deep cleaning. Thinking about future meals. Considering a walk, even. Who’s doing it like you?

Shit. The palmhusk is still going hog fucking wild on your counter.

It occurs to you that you very rarely hear palmhusks buzz on this planet. In fact, you’ve set yours to do not disturb mode. You close the fridge- oops, you left the bottle of cleaning spray Marsti lent you- and check your phone.

Marvus is requesting to facetime. And here you were, thinking you’d have to come up with your own stupid bullshit for today. 

You slide the little button around on screen until you manage to answer.

“Ayooo,” he says, hair fanning around his shoulders- excluding his forelock, wrapped up in a little pink curler- as he reclines upside down on a bubblegum pink chaise. “Lunch time, baby, you ate yet?” He picks his teeth as if to sharpen them, readying himself for his own lunch. The muscles and tendons on his slender neck stand out like the waving arms of a crowd; it's mostly disconcerting, a little bit alluring.

“Already?” You knew it was after midnight, but connecting the dots of what time is it and when do you do the things that keep you alive is a bit beyond you right now. Your stomach rumbles. “I guess it is. No, I didn’t eat yet.”

“Real shit,” Marvus says. “Pick up whatever you want and bring it here.”

“I have,” you say, no shame left after the events of friendmageddon, “no money.”

“Yeah no shit,” Marvus twists his face at you, “but I got cash comin’ out both ends, babe. Catch me shitting singles.” Sounds like terrible news for the next stripper Marvus hires. “Catering place ain’t delivering today," they definitely are, "and my roadies are all setting up R N.” Oh, you hate that. He’s verbally conveying text talk? It would have been the same amount of syllables.

“You’re full of shit,” you say. “If you have so much money, buy some more guys to do your chores for you.” Your tone is only harsh in a playful sense, but you can’t help but laugh.

“Money can’t buy good company,” he says, winking. Leaning upside down has leant his face a boyish charm: all of what little fat he carries on his face has gravitated to his cheeks, and you can see a faint purple tint to his ears and hairline that shows he’s either blushing or about to faint from a head-rush. You can hear his heels thumping against the wall. A few trolls in the background are banging an accompanying beat onto what sounds like a table covered in plastic beads. Then Marvus’s face gets all mock-serious, too much squinting smile in his eyes to really scare you. “Man, hurry tha fuck UP if you’re tryna snack.”

“Send me a lift,” you say.

“Sheeeeesh,” he says, squinting his eyes, biting his lip, and bringing his L shaped fingers to his chin. “We love a gold digger.”

His eyes are starting to un-focus. Good, you hope he passes out in a silly little heap at your feet. Jerk. Clown. Asshole. You sigh affectionately.

“I’m serious. My whip,” you say, watching Marvus close his eyes and smile dreamily at your vernacular, “is outta gas.”

“Well my whip,” you watch him tap something on his palmhusk screen and nearly piss your pants when you hear a clown horn rendition of La Cucaracha horn right outside your window, “is already there.” When you look outside, some huge bug is scuttling horribly up the cliffside. Oh, the buggy- scuttle- scuttlebuggy? It looks like a vintage volkswagon, but stupid and with iridescent green-shifting-purple wings for doors. It’s carrying a pair of pink fuzzy dice in its... Grill? That seems to be the appropriate word: the gold plated mandible brings to mind both gold plated teeth and also the front of a car.

“It’s already paid for. Get ya’self something good,” Marvus says. Then he just hangs up on you.

Well. Beats deep cleaning your kitchen. Then again, your fridge can’t hang up on you.

Think of the devil, you hear something explode inside your fridge. You do not want to know.

You grab your coat and jump out of the window, towards Marvus’s scuttlebuggy.

“Too late, lapachka!” 

A huge clown in a striped shirt stops you at the door to the green room.

Another clown, half his size and with a half-shaved head, peeks her head from around him. “Don’t twist your willy, Silly, that’s Marvus’s-”

Marvus’s what, you’ll never be sure- maybe just Marvus’s, period- because yet another clown pushes her aside and stares down at the catering you’ve got stacked in your hands, mouth rounded and hands-to-cheeks in a delighted expression that only a clown could pull off.

“Marvus’s food, Mimz, back off.” Oh. You hope you aren’t included in that category. This stern clown is smaller than the other two, but is able to push them back into the green room.

The big guy- Silly?- sticks a sucker into his mouth and winks at you. “Za moe zdorov'e,” he says around the sweet.

The other, mime themed one- Mims?- reaches forward like a lover in a movie, desperate for a bite. You hope, for the second time that night, you aren’t a tasty treat for some clown cannibal.

“You know how he gets when he’s hungry.” The stern one pouts at them both, hands on her hips.

The clown signs something, and they all laugh.

“That’s soooo funny,” says the stern one, in a weird affectation of a valley girl accent, tilted slightly towards bored. 

“He’s so-” starts Silly, but steam starts coming out of his nose, and he sighs, sucking harder on the sucker.

The mime signs something at you, raising one brow.

“She’s asking if you’re here to eat,” says the stern one, a suggestive lilt to her tone.

“You think so?” says Silly. God, you can’t get a word in edgewise. And here you were, clowning for free. These guys are clearly professionals. “Maybe he wants an audience of one tonight.” He is no more endearing for his thick, russian-adjacent accent. You bristle. The clowns are laughing.

“The food is mine, actually,” you say, because you love getting killed with extreme prejudice by clowns.

The stern one smiles at you, nudging affectionately. “Sure,” she says. “So you aren’t sharing, zaychik?” She pouts. It's adorable, in the same way that a cougar is adorable until it GETS you.

The mime signs, puffing out her cheeks and pouting.

“We all paid something to be here,” Silly translates through a mouth of marshmallow.

They all look at you as one. You suspect they are only telling a half truth here. For the bit.

And you’re the punchline.

Silly comes back towards you. “Go,” he says, sticking the sucker in your mouth. It’s covered in saliva, but you can’t seem to spit it out. “Enjoy the show. Eat later.”

They slam the door behind you. You can hear the tearing of cheap takeout boxes, laughter, and the loud screaming of “bad ideas through this door: three for one special.”

Well, fuck.

You suck on the lollipop. As you exhale, you notice your breath is warmer, wetter. Steam leaves your nose and gathers around your ears. It's the very physical representation of a bad idea.

Well, why not roll with it? You are hungry for more than just lunch now. Although a quick rolling rumble in your stomach reminds you that lunch was your primary objective.

Damn Marvus. If you don't get your lunch, you're gonna... you're going to....

Well, you'll deep clean his green room and he'll never feel comfortable again. 

A team of blue blooded body guards, suits bursting at the seams, stand guard in front of the stage entrance. So that's not the way. They wiggle and jiggle in your vision; low blood sugar must be making you dizzy.

So. You sigh. You're sneaking in. To one of Marvus's concerts.

And you didn’t even bring your concert diaper.

“Za moe zdorov'e,” you mimic the sound of Silly’s words, sucking sugar, and then you’re pushing your way into the crowd, steam surrounding you.

The guards don’t even try stop you.

You stumble in slow motion through a crowd made of 2-d people. It's like you can see the secret workings of Alternia: all of these trolls are just paper puppets on a string. You follow the lights: all leads to behind Marvus's head.

He is so beautiful. You're struck by him. His smiling face. His easy stage presense. And, to top it off, shawty got the flatty. He looks less flat than the crowd; you suspect his lighting crew is just that good.

All in all, being in the crowd is just like last time. But this time, you're the weird part.

You muscle- a strong word for looking letting trolls see you cry and spooking the hell out of them- your way through towards the front. A girl with succulents in her hair bumps you. Her face drip, drip, drips and sloughs off her skull and into your hair. You wear her face like a mask. Everything is horrible.

The crowd pushes and pulls you. There’s blood fucking everywhere. It gets in your nose. It gets in your mouth. You chew it; it tastes like paper.

God damn it. You started this day rejecting your own groundhog’s day scenario, and look where it’s gotten you. You should have crafted a fucking penguin analogy.

There’s not too much you can do, really, except for hang on to the barrier once you reach it, fighting for your fucking life. You don’t even see the way back, that little path of destiny that led you out here.

You’ve been here before; you think it's a little poetic that the first and- what is becoming more and more likely- the last time you meet Marvus is in his stupid River of Dyx.

The only difference is that the longer the show goes on, the more disoriented you get. You’ve been intoxicated on Alternia before, and you're pretty sure you’re intoxicated once again. The fact that you keep confusing people for plants is a pretty big point in your theory's favor.

It’s got to be the sucker. Or maybe clown saliva is hallucinogenic. Either way, you’re feeling like the sucker now.

And you didn’t even get lunch out of this deal. You’re doing your best to emote a little frowny face above your head so that everyone knows your displeasure.

People are definitely crowding you, as if enough pressure can shrink your stomach. Fold it over itself and make you feel less hungry.

Yes. It's working. You emote a little thumbs up emoji. Nobody is watching you, though, now that you're at the front.

Marvus.

Marvus sings sweetly on stage, his mouth wide and teeth glittering, but you can barely hear him over the screaming of several thousand, bloodthirsty teens. And two saguaros singing operatic scales. Why is singing so much like screaming? The lights lower and frame his head like a halo, and you’re lulled to drowsiness. 

When you open your eyes again, it’s in a sea of cacti and corpses.

You want to scream, but you are already screaming. And so is everyone else, even the corpses.

You don’t know how it happens. If it’s even real. Marvus floats down from the stage like an angel and into the crowd's embrace like a lover. He doesn't cross the barrier. He holds his hand out to you, but you can't move to take it. You're drooling.

You’re floating. You think you’re crowdsurfing, which should be impossible. You’re dead, aren’t you? All the rest of those trolls are.

“I’m dead,” you say, testing the waters. Nobody reacts, or seems to care at all.

Marvus does that thing. The whole well what have we got here LOL etc etc. Just like last time. You can barely see his shadow for the light: two more months of stageplay. His stage voice vibrates in his chest, you can almost feel it in your own sternum. Buzzing like purring.

You wish that whoever was running your life would use a different plot device. Groudhog’s day is so cliche. It’s getting old. 

But, so it goes. He's going to go for the kill again. But this time, you-

There's no starstruckness this time: you’re genuinely afraid. You don’t want to double die on Alternia. You didn’t want to die at all.

The canesword comes towards you. You grab him by the wrist, but he’s so strong and you’re so out of it that it means nothing. So you flinch- 

The canesword stabs you in the shoulder. It hurts like hell. Bone grinds against metal. You pull it out and you bleed all over his shiny, waxed stage. How will he dance with his shoes slick with his blood? When did you get on stage?

“Thought this thing,” you say, groggily, “was a stage prop.”

Marvus’s face is stark raving naked in front of you. Eyes wide, mouth frowning and agape. Shocked.

But he recovers quickly, turning towards the crowd again. He brings the canesword to his mouth and, in what would be corny in a porno, licks your blood from the tip. With a wink and everything. How are you even friends with him. People are screaming. You can only hear the rumbling of his voice in his chest. You just fall uselessly to the ground again. It's all you've got.

When you open your eyes, the world is lit up in black-light and neon paint, all in dizzying stop motion. Two dimensional people on a two dimensional backdrop.

All but Marvus, who is staring at you, frowning in more dimensions that you can interpret. He is so beautiful, slender of jaw and wide of mouth. White knuckled grip on his canesword. Hair so perfect from the ghost of a single, pink curler. His eyes are bright, wild. He's frowning through a smile.

He holds his hand out to you.

You, whether you want to or not, go to him. He grabs you softly by each hand, kissing the backs of them.

"I could take care of you," he whispers. Just for you. "When it all goes to shit, you know? You make my kokoro go doki-doki and shizz." Corpse flowers and roaches bloom from the bodies beneath the stage, now decomposing. "Phee-ew," Marvus plugs his nose. "Ain't that something? Take a fuckin whiff, babe."

He shoves a corpse flower into your face and your whole world goes black.

___

You wake up when water fucking drenches you.

Marvus is chewing and singing softly; you turn to look at him. He sings: “I said it must be ‘cause a,” then he chews and hums through the word, scrolling on his phone, “got dough. Extraordinary swag and a mouth full of-” he pops the last bite of food in his mouth, still humming, then juggles a water balloon and throws it at the wall above you.

“Mouth full of what,” you say, unamused and soaking wet.

His head jerks up. “You up, babe?”

You want to answer, but you’re too busy coughing and choking on what tastes like your own blood and tap water. 

“Daayyyum, shawty!” Marvus says, doing that stupid fuckboy lip bite again. When you don't smile, he rips a piece of meat apart, grabs a pinch of rice, and shoves it into your mouth. “Mouth full of that.”

His thumb brushes your lip; you had no idea his skin was so oily. You wonder if he's been picking food up off the floor and eating it with his fingers. He wipes some sauce from your lip, and then sticks his thumb into your mouth. You tongue the last bit of rice from the whorls of his finger tip, some sauce from under his nail. A hint of his sweat accompanies the flavors of what is unmistakably chinese food.

He feeds you like that for a while. There are no cameras. Your head is pounding. He wipes your mouth for you every so often after you cough and the napkin is stained red.

His voice is soft when he speaks next, shoving a piece of orange chicken into your mouth. “Gotta get better at lying, bud.”

“Lying?” You ask through your mouth full of food.

He shrugs, taking his own bite of orange chicken. He’s holding his chopsticks all fucked up; it’s a miracle any food makes it to his mouth. “Killed you that first time ‘cause you was dying, dog. Killed you this time ‘cause you lied.”

“You’re really bad at killing me,” you say. His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile. He pinches your cheeks, forcing your mouth open, and sticks the bite meant for him into your mouth. His mouth is bigger than  yours; it's an ordeal to chew and swallow. What a way to tell you to shut up.

“Guess so,” he says, putting his chopsticks down. He’s resolutely not looking at your face. His gaze is fixated on your shoulder. “All lies got a little bit of truth in ‘em, though.” He rubs the ruined, bloody fabric of your shirt between his thumb and forefinger. It's so ginger that you want to interpret it as shy.

You shrug his hand away and- ah, shit, you’re still bleeding pretty bad. His bubblegum pink couch is a mess of your blood.

“What about you?” You ask, unable to tear your gaze away from his dilated pupils. The grain of rice stuck to his lip. “That guy on stage, how much truth is there in that?” You reach out-

“Lot of truth in that,” he says, wiping the grain of rice away with his thumb. Sticking it into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t ask.

“This is just like our first meeting,” you say, but it comes out flat.

“Nah,” Marvus says, offering you the box of beetle and broccoli. You decline. “Totally different. Now, you know what I'm all about.”

It’s a very sweet thing to say. Marvus seems to think so too, because he fucks it up immediately. “Now we’re tight. We’re buds. Ain’t we?”

“Oh,” you say. “Yeah. Dope.” You try for a winning smile, but Marvus isn’t having it.

“Sure didn’t act like it out there, though.” Oh, god, he’s honest-to-god pouting at you. He sticks a beetle into his mouth. It crunches. Sickening.

“Marvus,” you say, just as testy. “I don’t even know what was happening. Also I am bleeding so profusely. Oh, god, wait,” horror fills you. It couldn’t be real, could it? “Marvus.” You sit up, clutching on to your shoulder. “Do I make your kokoro go doki-doki?”

"Do I make your what-ero go who what now?" He gives you a scrunched-up look, confused.

Oh, thank god.

“Never mind,” you say, laying back down. If your blood won’t remain in your body, by god you are going to let your body remain on his couch. 

“Guess you was a lil confused before, huh?” He says, suddenly understanding. He pulls something off your pants... Oh, the stick to the sucker. You chewed off some of the paper, making the world’s shittiest, most useless shank. “Without me?” He pouts, but this time it's so fake you could see yourself laughing about it.

But, frankly, you’re still feeling testy. Does he not care that you’re bleeding out on his couch? That you were drugged? Kicked out of his greenroom that he invited you to?

“Friends,” you start, giving him a much more prodigious pout than he gave you. “Keep each other safe.”

“Not on Alternia, they dont.” Marvus’s eyes have gone soft, flitting from you to your shoulder; he flexes his hands, cracking his fingers.

“Well, I thought you would.”

Marvus physically startles at this, looking completely bewildered.

“You said you’d take care of me,” you say, and then you realize that was some kind of drug induced fever dream. “Or, you did in my dream.”

Marvus leans forward, slow and careful. He leans his elbows on his knees and folds his hands together. “Well, ain’t I said all lies got a little bit of truth in them?”

Then he leans in.

He’s smiling, his teeth sharp and glittering. “You been dreaming bout me, babe?”

“Yeah,” you stutter, leaning back. His eyes are on yours, pupils so dilated they’re black.

“And what do you know about me? Ain’t you been taught to be afraid?” His words wash over your face in a humid smog and you can smell his breath: chinese food and something earthy, probably bugs.

You don’t say anything, suddenly still as the wall stops you from backing up anymore.

“You was afraid back then,” his eyes lower to your shoulder, and his lids grow heavy. “When you got stabbed." He drags his hand under his eyes, revealing the purple waters.

“Nice passive voice, asshole. You stabbed me.”

He laughs, bringing his hand up to cover his eyes this time, and then he leans in further.

You think, for a wild moment, that he’s going to kiss you. His fingers come from his eyes to wrap around your head, his thumb stroking your jaw. He looks at you; you close your eyes. His breath is humid against your throat, and then his lips touch the edge of your wound.

It's simultaneously a kiss, and nothing like it. It stings.

His eyes roll up in a characature of ecstasy. He's looking straight at you.

To say you’re shocked is an understatement. You are so out of your element that you can only really roll with it.

He licks you, next, your red blood bright on his bruiseberry-grey tongue. Your breath stutters; it’s a sweet kind of pain, like pressing against a hangnail, or wrapping a bruise.

He hums beneath you. “Like that,” he breathes, and you don’t know if he’s asking or telling or offering, but you nod anyway.

He sighs against the wound, and then wraps his lips around your shoulder, pressing his teeth slightly into your skin.

His other hand has made its way to your waist, and he’s petting you slowly, like you’re his human stim toy. His other hand grabs you behind the shoulder, and he pulls you closer to him, groaning against your skin.

It hurts. It hurts, and it doesn't; it's so bizarre that it manages a horrible, frightening intimacy. His breath is on your skin. He's making noises that you can't inerpret. His fingers comfort. He- there's no better word for it- laps at your blood.

You, for your part, curl around him. Wind the perfect forlock of his hair through your fingers and ruin it. You ruin each other: Marvus gives you anemia, you give him a bad hair day.

With his lips around the gushing wound on your shoulder, he sucks slowly, looking up at you and giving you this shy smile like he’s not sure if you like it.

“Yeah,” you say. The world grows fuzzy at the edges. His eyes close as his tongue hits your skin, and you sigh.

His breath stutters against your neck, then he bites you. So, you pull his hair, hissing.

When he opens his eyes, he smiles again, his show smile. As if you're pulling it out of him. Twinkling on, your little star.

His hair is inhuman beneath your fingers, like very fine wire.

You close your eyes.

"You owe me lunch," you say.

And then you don’t wake up.

[draconicslime]

fun fact gradient texts inacessability for screen readers is very much tumblers implementation fault most websites just slap a color code into the whole text so everything does not read as seperate sentances. tumblr didnt do that each gradient letter is registered as a seperate sentance making screenreaders read it as such its bad scoob tumblr strikes again with being shit

i stg this site is held together by fucking duct tape and spit

[veeranger]

ok now that im not mad at video game anymore my theory on why i got screwed on that boss is that the souls did actually teleport back to the normal game space but because the phase 2 boss arena has no walls or anything, i died in a place that is inacessable in the normal area. in other words my fucking souls spawned in a goddamn wall. i truly dont know how something like that could have possibly gotten past playtesting so i have to assume its a known issue and was intentionally left in just to fuck you.

[applekitty]

It's like you make food for someone and then set it on fire and refuse to put it out because AESTHETIC.

LITERALLY

like. i like what's happening with more options for subtitles on youtube? but fucking sheesh. with ppl who go over the top to be impressive and artsy, they're just becoming inaccessible for people who might have sight problems. making CAPTIONS inacessible is so fucking stupid

[metrodisco]

fucking crazy nightmare i had last night

as im remembering it to type this down im kinda realizing how absurd this nightmare was but it was so terrifying for me. just so you know, i hardly wake up from any nightmares ever, i usually just go through the whole thing like a psychopath. but this time i actually woke up. i have terrible storytelling and writing skills, but ill try my best.

so lets get to it because it takes a turn.

alright, so it starts with me on tumblr. im scrolling until i see a post from someone i follow, i don’t remember the user, but thankfully i know they’re not real. let’s call them OP. here’s an important thing about OP: they’re those tumblr microcelebrities who have a cult following and who always gets notes on their posts no matter what it is. remember that for later.

anyway, they were saying some things about how nobody should pirate things, that people who do are making excuses. 

so, i started writing an ask - i don’t know why it had to be an ask, i could’ve just reblogged the post and written what i wanted there - explaining inacessibility to certain programs and higher prices for people who live in 3rd world countries, how streaming programs and etc are getting more and more expensive, all that jazz. and here’s the thing: i was being, very, very polite. i literally wrote something like “i respect your opinion, but here’s a few things you should consider”. OP had anonnymous asks turned off, but i still sent it. so, as we say in brazil, everything’s fine until there.

well, that’s where shit starts to hit the fan. i had completely forgotten about the ask, and was still scrolling through tumblr. i refreshed the page, and to my (unpleasant) surprise, there’s OP’s post again. except OP themself posted an additon with the post with part of my ask. they were pretty much mocking me, with a “haha snarky mean comment”. 

for someone who has anxiety, i actually wasn’t that bothered. i thought something like “wow, asshole move. i’ll unfollow you.”. but, surprise surprise: the “unfollow” and “block” button weren’t working. i figured it was just some bug, because staff doesn’t know how to do their job, and decided i’d try again later.

for some reason, i still kept scrolling tumblr. to my lack of luck, more additions kept popping up on the post, with OP reblogging each of them. all of the comments they reblogged were, of course, people talking shit about me. some just lightly making fun of me, some with another mean snarky comments and some just straight up being verbal abuse. 

i was already getting pretty upset with these, so i vented to a real mutual who i basically consider that cool cousin you have. honestly, the only good part of this mess. we ended the conversation with something like “yeah, people can be some fucking cocks sometimes.” 

after that, i was already getting pretty tired of this shit, so i tried the unfollow and block button again. this time, it worked. what a relief.

well, the nightmare isn’t over yet. we’re just getting started. buckle up for this shit.

i finally made a good decision and got off tumblr for the rest of the day. 

the other day, i checked tumblr again, thinking i’d be safe. until i saw the ammount of notifications hovering above the letter symbol. now, i already get nervous when i get 1 ask, which is super rare, so you could imagine how i felt when i saw dozens and dozens of hate messages. i tried my best to ignore them, but a lot of them got to me. i started deleting them, but then i saw something that really caught my attention.

just straight up a picture of where i live. in my dream i apparently lived in a house, and the anon somehow just figured that out. at that point i was fucking terrified. i started hearing noises from outside and looked out the window. there was a fucking angry mob standing outside my house.

obviously scared for my life, i went straight to my car to get the hell out of there. i managed to get out of the house, but someone broke the front window of the car. just when i thought it couldn’t get any crazier, someone threw a noose, that’s right, a NOOSE, trying to get my neck. 

the whole chase was fucking terrifying, it was like a horde of zombies.

i drove until i got to some forest and that’s when i woke up.

my first thought was “what the fuck” followed by “that was fucking insane i have to write this down.” and went straight to my computer and looked up a community on reddit for nightmares.

it’s been about 30 minutes since i woke up, and i feel like i’m never going to forget this. i think i might log off tumblr for a little while.

i really hope you guys don’t think i made this up. because, trust me, i don’t have the creativity to write something like that. 

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Some crusty old shitheel white dude keeps putting up a PPC sign and I keep pulling it down and tossing it into an inacessible area. Not in my fucking neighbourhood.

Just so you know you can be charged for that (up to a $5000 fine and a criminal record for vandalism/mischief/theft/etc).

Just be careful, anyways.