*slaps roof of edit* this bad boy has so much doomed space yaoi in it, you have no idea.
Cosmic Funnies

titsay
i don't do bad sauce passes
Misplaced Lens Cap
Not today Justin
Sade Olutola

shark vs the universe
DEAR READER
Keni
AnasAbdin
$LAYYYTER

Janaina Medeiros

romaâ

#extradirty
Xuebing Du
Peter Solarz
Jules of Nature
Aqua Utopiaď˝ćľˇăŽĺşă§č¨ćśăç´Ąă

seen from United States
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@nova-nox
*slaps roof of edit* this bad boy has so much doomed space yaoi in it, you have no idea.

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I said Iâd get them flowers if they bully me I will become violent /lh /hj
They are both quiet for a bit. Epilogue breaks the silence first, his smile wide and knowing. "Little Staaarrrr. Little Lover... Our Moonlight." He almost growls as he lets Prologue take the flowers from your hand, carefully. They hold the flowers and look them over. Epilogue speaks again, voice hoarse, loving in its tone. "Is this... A Love confession. Little dear Heart?" he coos. Prologue looks just as lovesick as he does. Prologue hums. "We would never... Bully you." He puts the flowers' stems in his pocket so the flowers are just only poking out. As they turn to you, they get on one knee in front of you, grabbing the hand that you gave them the flowers with. They lift that hand up to their grin and then brush their teeth against your knuckles. "We accept." They both say, Epilogue winks, because he can't help himself. "Hm. Moon, do we have anything we can give our little darling here?" Prologue curiously asks. Epilogue purrs and nods their head before rolling up your sleeve as they were still holding your hand. "We will give you something. Back. As a thank you. For choosing us." Epilogue strains, slightly excited. Prologue watches you, eye squinted, and a tad crinkled at the corner. Once Epilogue deems the sleeve is perfectly rolled up to your elbow, he pulls you close by your arm. He hums as he puts his grin against your forearm. His teeth part, you can feel it on the skin of your arm, making you shudder. With a soft chuckle, Epilogue parts their teeth, then lets both of their tongues lick up a stripe on your arm. The tongues slither back into their mouth and then with a sudden move, their teeth connect with the flesh of your arm. They bite hard down and hold it there. Epilogue's teeth pierce your skin but only lightly. Once satisfied, they pull back and let their tongues come out again to lick over the mark they have put on your forearm. "Good job. Little light. Little darling. Our Moonlight, Darling Heart." They both say, praising, voices hushed as the tongues once more disappear behind their now closed grin. They look at the bitemark, their smile bigger than before. "There. Now you are ours." Epilogue says with a rasp, then lets go of your arm, gets up from his kneeling position, and stands in front of you, arms folded behind his back. Their smiles are still big, but their eyes look soft and fond.
The Goblin Throne Part III page 21 is up! Today's page: chores.
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i've seen enough horror movies starring upper-middle-income white families stuck in spacious haunted mansions. gimme stories about millennials stuck in haunted studio apartments. consider the realism:
why is this protagonist staying in an obviously haunted building despite the glaring warning signs? because a week at a motel would send them spiraling into credit card debt, they'll take their chances with the vengeful spirits. why did they chose this apartment complex to begin with, despite the many many unexplained mysterious deaths that show up on the first page of a google search? hon some of us don't have the credit score to move away from high (paranormal) crime areas. how could i be so careless as to sign a soul-binding contract with a demonic entity? bitch they're called LANDLORDS
okay :)
i had gotten a dog, so the dog was a factor. dogs have to be the right size and shape. under 50 pounds. please see our restricted breeds list. he sleeps most of the time, a well-behaved menace. he's big because i'm single in the city and it gets dark here early - but i've had to trade that sense of safety for scrambling-for-housing.
cheerfully i report that i live in a hole! because humor, like vicks, soothes what-is-horrible. the windows are painted shut. the fridge sometimes just shuts off for no reason. there are only 2 working stove burners and they're not in the front. for some reason, rust is everywhere, no matter whether it makes sense for an area to rust. the door in the bathroom has a very badly-patched hole; white-yellow stark against the bad cherry vinyl.
okay. it's what i can afford. the pamphlet had said new england nepenthes(TM) apartments: a beautiful place to grow up. and yes, it's ground-floor, which isn't ideal. so we (my dog and i) have successfully secured the door with one of those big prybars that are 50 dollars. also i usually balance something heavy near any possible entrances - i want to be awake when they fall. you know, during the break-in.
for the first four months, i didn't notice. there had been so much to do in those four months. okay, our (okay, my, he doesn't pay rent) kitchen is literally four tiles wide and undivided from the other spaces. the dining room and office are also the living room (which is. also the kitchen). my bed is too big for the bedroom; i can either have it weirdly against the wall with a door (horrible) or i have to give up opening my closet all the way.
my mama raised me on martha stewart, so. it's quiet here, i love the location, and even if it's rundown, i can make it work. i buy peel-and-stick reusable wallpaper that has long lines to make it look like everything is taller. i move the plants around, trying to get them into the most sun. i put up shelves and hope that i'll have enough spackle later to cover up the worst mistakes i've made with the nail gun. and hey! the location. like the pamphlet said: a beautiful place to grow up.
it's in the middle of putting up our new wrought iron plant holders. i have adhd, time when i'm focused can pass ephemerally. oh shit, i realize. it's 9:30 in the evening. i am probably keeping people awake with all the drilling. fuck. my bad. i tilt an ear upstairs, waiting. nobody slamming the floor with a broom. nobody shouting. maybe quiet hours are at 10 and they're just waiting.
the holders are real wrought iron because my plants weigh a lot. i press the last one above my head, against the pilot holes. now i feel bad about the time. i should just wrap up this last one i'm attaching and then go to bed. if i wait, i'll forget in the morning. distracted, i look down to where i've left the screws on my desk (which is often also my dining room table and art station), and, as if the wall spat the screws out, the iron slips out of my grasp and cracks me hard against my nose before tumbling down to the floor.
fuck.
one of the worst things about living alone is when you get hurt. sparks jump in front of me. my eyes start tearing. fuck! i've broken my nose before, this feels like that. fuck fuck fuck. maybe it's not broken?
i have to hobble off the stool, trying to hold my nose while also not wanting to touch it. i do the first adult thing i can think of - call a bigger adult.
hey mama. i pant into the phone. no worries but how do i know if i broke my nose?
30 minutes later, we have decided it hurt but if i don't have a black eye, the nose is fine. it was already out of alignment anyway. i say the whole sordid story to her, and then i add i just feel bad i lost track of time, it's weird none of my neighbors complained.
as soon as i hang up, i hear the upstairs neighbors, with their quiet feet and soft, muffled voices. i hear people to the right and left of me. i hear them murmuring to each other. someone watches bad tv, i can hear the reality show music-to-dramatic-shouting.
i put ice on my face. i google nose break again just to be sure. i ask my dog if he thinks i look ugly, he responds by putting his three paws into the air and asking for a tummy rub. as part of our nightly ritual, i examine and worry about his amputation, even though it's completely healed up. i still do the physical therapy exercises with him. just in case. just to keep him warmed up.
later in bed, i am reaching to turn on gentle rain for white noise before i realize - huh. i think this evening is the first time i've ever actually heard anyone.
you ever have a thought that gets inside of you? i mean, yeah. of course you do, i guess all thoughts are inside you. but once in a while, don't you get one of those haha funny! thoughts that turns. bad. you know, when you've watched a scary movie and close the laptop and think it's not likely there's a killer in there, but have i ever really checked that deeply in the kitchen sink?
i was always the type to check. just in case. to put my mind at ease.
the thought is there when i wake up, like i'd had it for a while: i never actually see anyone coming and going.
the apartment complex is 12 buildings, staggered like spokes on a clock. i live in 6, the furthest from the road. we are spaced unevenly, but when i first saw it, i thought huh. what a nice quiet community. the grass is green and there are never any leaves. i've never seen someone come mow it. there are cars here, plenty. when was the last time you counted which cars are in the communal lot?
isn't it weird how you're always able to snag that one last spot?
i keep weird hours, is all. i laugh at the thought of it. there was a post on tumblr once that asked how long would it take you to realize the building was entirely empty. but it can't be empty, right? at night, when i can see into other people's apartments, i catch sight of the thousand ways other people decorate. blue LED lights or tapestries or nice curtains. so it is silly to think about that post, when i know other people are here. this is someone else's home.
i mention it to my sister when she comes over to help me move the couch purposelessly around before we both decide it was better where i'd originally had it. nobody, like, lives here. i say. it's weird. i've been here for five months, and i don't see anyone.
she shrugs. maybe it's too expensive for the area, or not really advertised enough. maybe most people my age keeping my hours don't like to live in apartments. who is to say.
after that, the shadows start. my dog and i go on our nighttime walk, and then i see the apartments come to life. the flickered silhouettes of them. the flash of tvs and laptops. the gauzy shape of others just-far-enough i can't quite make out their form. they walk away from the windows if i get close enough.
they must not know how to do it right. every third day, the animations repeat.
oh, i get it. i think. i'm living in a horror novel.
i'm cuban. my culture can be superstitious, yes. but it also means that i have been taught to keep my head on a swivel. we do not fuck with this shit. we do not oujia board the spirits for fun. we do not make a joke about the killer. we do not ever tempt fate, her ears are open-and-listening.
my lease is for one year. it's been five months, that's not that much longer. i can't afford to break it (or to move) at the moment. and, again, the dog factor. and i do love the location.
but once it is obvious, it is so obvious. i try to pay my rent by check just the once, but when i swing by the rental office, the whole floor of the building is dark. there is no cheerful team of realtors, only a single dark panel over door. due to unexpected circumstances, we are currently operating elsewhere. i go online and pay there instead.
no one here hosts parties. the mail truck never seems to come to any of the other buildings. my dog doesn't like going near certain places. i discover a 5-foot radius where my phone will always hang up on the person i'm talking with, even if i have service.
i watch carefully, while also pretending i am not watching. i check my mail, waiting for the electricity bill that never comes calling. in the front hall, amazon packages come with names too smudged for me to ever quite read. sanchez, maybe. then, to the same apartment a week later: tawny reed. it's different again the third week. i stop looking, feeling like i'm prying.
i mention how quiet it is here during the day to one of my bosses, and then the upstairs neighbor appears. her alarm goes off when mine does, almost like an echo. when i change my song, it takes her a few days to keep up. i had said something offhand about how i'm the only one with a dog. then, upstairs - the little patter of dog paws.
at night, i start seeing people on my dog walking route. they pace, insubstantial, something black at the end of their lead. their waving arms always bent at right angles, like they are figuring out how to navigate being 3D. i always wave back, cheerfully. i keep my headphones in. they are over there in the mist that-does-not-belong, and i am over here in the light-that-flickers-on-and-off. i do not need to make a scene about this. there are many reasons people might dissolve into nothing. it is not any of my business.
the upstairs girl smokes. i see her with her (pomeranian? poodle?) little rat-rabbit-dog (? dog in the loosest sense of the word), her legs up on the stoop. she always goes inside when i show up to our building, after giving me one of those straight side-to-side waves. i can never quite make out her features. she won't be there when i leave for our walk, but she'll be there when we get back, no matter how long my walk takes. she watching me, her eyes dark. she sits there, smoking, wearing galaxy-print leggings. the little dog running near her. (sometimes the dog is not there, until i look again, and it is. i must have just missed it, or maybe it was hiding under one of the trim little bushes. not my concern, whatever it is.)
i know she smokes, i can see the red glow and smell it on the air after. but there are no places to dispose of the butts and she never leaves behind any litter. so she must be careful with them, which i appreciate. cigarettes are bad for the environment. i am in no place to judge someone for their vices anyway. during the day, sometimes i hear her dog (a corgi? a terrier?) whine, this thin, reedy sound, like someone gasping for breath. like someone buried alive. a howl like dread. sometimes it even sounds human; garbled and anxious, bow wow wow warping into help help help.
but i'm sure my dog whines when i'm gone, too. i will not report her for this, because it's not her fault. and i don't want to get her in trouble. after all, we all love our dogs so much.
when i write a request for maintenance to help me with ants, i get a bounce-back error. three days later, we wake up, and a sea of dead ant bodies litter my carpet. an inch deep, they float on each other's backs, a black blanket.
i vacuum them up. i feel bad about their little ant souls. i tell them i am sorry. i will light a candle. i tell myself - this is no different than calling an exterminator. to remove yourself from the process is an act of careful self-duplicity - we would have been killing the ants another way, and just anticipating someone else handle the transaction.
how do i call someone about this? i cannot break the lease because i think the others here are ghosts. or my other theory: maybe the whole thing is a carnivore, and i am in the belly, already beginning to rot.
we cannot afford to move, it's only been six months. the heat and the lights stay on. i never invite others over. it feels wrong. we are alone here, the way we should be alone here. this is our place, for me and my dog and the rest of us. we are supposed to be here. we are supposed to live here, in this little hole-in-the-ground apartment.
we are not under any form of threat, anyway. i light candles and say the prayers our father taught us. we keep our distance from the mist ones, and adopt their way of waving, side-to-side. it is starting to look less like a wave and more like beckoning. come on, come on. something keeps us locking our door. we put up more wrought iron, even after it hit us so hard-on-the-face, which wasn't fun, and was very mean. maybe we should take it down - except i know it was so much effort to put up. oh the tub leaks and the freezer has begin to lock while it's shut. our boss says we look pale these days. we blame insomnia. it's just that it's so quiet here, sometimes. we like to make ourselves go very-quiet too, like a mouse. and then we turn that horrible white-noise machine on. we are so strange; we push salt down the drains and into our doorways, which is a waste and a bad thing to do. we do not look into the electricity problem. we fix the lightbulb without complaint. we do not send in new notices to maintenance, even when the rust on the walls starts running. we get fabulosa and scrub everything. we do not make a fuss. when our neighbors that have-no-jaw open the door for us, we keep our eyes on our dog and say thank you! and make polite small-talk. when they garble their responses let your welcome out, (no throat but the sound's so loud?)-we say haha yeah and scoot by the cold spot. we help others get their groceries out of the car even though the bags smell rotten. we do not use the basement laundry room with the single pale yellow lightbulb, even though it is so friendly and warm and free; we drive elsewhere for that, which might be lazy of me. whenever we leave, we take our dog, even though he would be fine alone, surrounded by the strange creep of rust. we are kind, and not frenzied. isn't that strange? shouldn't we be frenzied? there have been so many odd things here, shouldn't we be reacting? instead we sit in our apartment and say, casually - oh, i'm fine. how fun! how interesting. are we waiting for something? if we're waiting, which of us is hiding and which of us is hunting? we count our days on the lease - six months left! we can grow to enjoy it here. it has its quirks, but hey. sometimes staying for the location is reason-enough.
and we love it here. it's a beautiful place to grow up.
I donât know WHERE they got that snazzy jacket but I must ask so I could potentially have my own cause that shit is fire.
(Much love your creations are awesome)
"Oh!" Prologue says with a smile. "Well- Language!! no swearing!!-" he clears his throat, the smile ever present. "I made the jacket myself!" Epilogue looks pleased as Prologue talks. "I managed to get Moonie here to order fabrics online via the Fazbear account, which is stealing, yes, but I feel like it's fine for this! I was very excited to get the fabrics and really get to make clothes for just us!!" Prologue keeps talking, flustered, blushing, rays wiggling excitedly in place, and grinning as he speaks and gestures with his hand.
Epilogue looks happy.

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Apologies if stupid question:
Whatâs the difference between Epilogue, Prologue, and classic Eclipse? I donât follow super closely so it may be obvious but- đ
its not stupid!! Well Prologue was not made to have a Moon or be able to become an Eclipse! Prologue was just a regular Sun before a lot of bad things happened and his AI simply made... a Moon (he wanted it badly due to being replaced by a regular sun/moon) They do not have the light switching thing like sun/moon and they do not combine either!! The reason for the blue on Prologue is cuz he altered his own appearance!! UHH They fight to front the body so you can tell via the eyes whos out and about in the body LMAO and sometimes theyre both there :)
Prologue is the one who speaks the most!! So they are not a classic eclipse!! they also hate being called it cuz thats not whats happening theyre just a Sun and Moon fronting at the same time LMAO (idk if i answered it right but yk theres some thoughts about it KJHGSKJSHG)
"... is this really okay, little lover?" Epilogue was asking you, you were always surprised whenever he spoke so gently to you. You turned from the big pile of pillows and blankets you had made on the floor of their room. You smiled up at them. "Yeah! I wanted to spend time with you and Sunny in your new room."
He scoffs at this, not at your excitement of being in the room with them, but at the thought of this room being their new home. His red eye looks around before looking back at you. "The room. It's bad." He mumbled, sad. You frown at him, "We will make sure to decorate it some other time, yeah?" You assured him. You briefly wondered what Prologue thought of the room. "Okay," Epilogue replied. "What was your idea, little star? I know you did not. Ask to be here. Just to... Hang out."
Yeah, okay, he got you there. "Uhm... well, I did want to just hang out." You explain. "But I also... uh." You pause for a moment, god, will he even listen to your idea? "Moonie and also Sunny, if he's there, can you lie down on the bed I have made?" Epilogue looks mildly surprised, and so does Prologue. It was always so odd when they were both active. Their expressions were so different. "I... okay, we can do that," Epilogue said before walking over to the pile of pillows and blankets, and slowly lowered himself onto it and lay down on his back. He tilted his faceplate before settling, and then both of their eyes were on you.
Okay, be normal. You tell yourself. "Okay. Good, thank you, my universe." You say with a smirk as both of them blush just a bit. Epilogue huffs, clearly amused, then reaches a clawed hand out to you. You smile and place your hand in his before lowering yourself to straddle his midsection. Their eyes were halfway closed at the sight of you there. "Beautiful, dear star." You could hear their voices mingle.
You giggle and blush as well, much brighter than them, of course. "Okay, ready for my idea?" To that, Epilogue nodded eagerly, big hands settling on your hips. You smile and lean down, kissing their faceplate all over before moving your lips down to their exposed chest. You could hear their fans struggling to keep up in their chest and you could hear little sounds from Epilogue and some from Prologue. It was maddening in a good way, of course.
Once they were thoroughly kissed, you sat back and looked over your work. You usually didn't wear lipstick, but you did this time. "Well?" You ask them as you look them over; they were covered in red lip marks. Your eyes finally reach theirs; they look so sickeningly in love. Their hands move away from you and lay above their head on the blankets. "Looooved. Love it. Thank you, darling lover. Little dear. Our star. Our bright sweet thing." Their voices sounded love-drunk. All mixed and warm.
You were once more walking to the daycare. You weren't able to find Prologue anywhere, and he did not come to you when you called out into the empty air of the plex. When you got closer to the daycare, you heard... laughter?
Moving just a tad faster, you stopped at the windows and peered down at the daycare's open floors, hands pressed against the glass. Your eyes darted around until you saw it. Saw them. You pinched yourself. This couldn't be true. You felt a smile form on your lips.
What you were witnessing was Prologue and Epilogue, for that matter, smiling and laughing as they chased Sun around, who, in turn, was giggling and trying to hide behind things. You couldn't tell what was being said, but they were clearly playing with each other. You watch as Prologue takes a tumble and Sun gasps and hurries over to a fallen Prologue, but he simply does a sudden handstand, then does a flip and stands right up, smile wide. Sun laughs and claps excitedly, and they start doing little moves for each other like that.
You check your watch to see that it's soon time for Sun to switch with Moon, and you wonder how Prologue will be with him. Your eyes return to the boys below, who are back to running and climbing around the playground.
With a sudden click, it was dark, and Sun turned into Moon. Prologue stood in front of him, hands clasped behind his back. Both sides of his face smiled. You could see Epilogue say something, and Moon laughed before pushing the other away with a hand against Prologue's chest. Your face was starting to hurt from smiling.
Moon covered his eyes with his hands, and you guessed he started to count as Prologue jogged away from him to go find a hiding spot. You quietly chuckled to yourself before stepping back. You will let them play for now. You had never seen them like this before. Maybe things were good now? You hoped so.
You left the daycare's visiting area and went to do your rounds, a very cheesy smile on your lips. A warmth in your heart. Hope blooming in your chest for your beloveds.
this is the first time in my life i thought oh i hope thereâs music

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I feel like a lot of people get "All Art is Political" confused with "All Art is made with Political Intentions" which is not the same.
Needed a clean graphic for a project, and figured while I was vectoring I would put sex and magic back in.
Happy Pride Month
Reblogging this yearly for anyone who needs a very clean version <3 Happy Pride.
Reblog to put the sex and magic back into pride
Once when I was in undergrad, someone described something as âproblematicâ in class and our professor was like, âThatâs cool, but âproblematicâ doesnât really mean anything. It means that the thing youâre describing has a problem, and in and of itself thatâs not bad. Art, especially, should always have problems, or else itâs not interesting and not art, either. It sounds like youâre trying to say that this is bad, but you donât want to say âbad.â Is that right?â
So from then on whenever one of us called something problematic, he would make us talk it out until we could name the âbadâ thing we were hinting at. In this particular class, 7/10 it was some type of oppression, and the remainder was like, âIâm uncomfortable because this is very new/confusing/pushing boundaries that made me feel safe.â
Once we stopped calling things âproblematicâ and stopping at that, class got way more interesting and... we all had to say, like, âthatâs racistâ or âthatâs misogynisticâ or âew capitalism grossâ out loud, which a lot of us had never done in a classroom before. Or we had to be like, âUhhh... Iâm not sure whatâs so bad?â and confront our own beliefs and that was maybe even more useful.
Anyway. Whenever I see the word problematic, I canât help but think of this professor being like, âGood starting point, now letâs get specific.â I think when we have to commit to saying âthatâs ___â it requires a lot more careful thought about the truth and impact and complexities of whatever weâre claiming. Sometimes there really is some bullshit afoot, and also sometimes itâs art, and it should be full of problems, because thatâs what art is.
âRich kids should go to public schools. The mayor should ride the subway to work. When wealthy people get sick, they should be sent to public hospitals. Business executives should have to stand in the same airport security lines as everyone else. The very fact that people want to buy their way out of all of these experiences points to the reason why they shouldnât be able to. Private schools and private limos and private doctors and private security are all pressure release valves that eliminate the friction that would cause powerful people to call for all of these bad things to get better. The degree to which we allow the rich to insulate themselves from the unpleasant reality that others are forced to experience is directly related to how long that reality is allowed to stay unpleasant. When they are left with no other option, rich people will force improvement in public systems. Their public spirit will be infinitely less urgent when they are contemplating these things from afar than when they are sitting in a hot ER waiting room for six hours themselves.â
â Everyone Into The Grinder
Holy fuck you illegally downloaded a cardigan
@inkthusiasm

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Every day I handle more money than I will ever make. Every day.
At the start of my employment, my boss showed me videos of people stealing, and we both had a chuckle about it. How silly they were! There was a camera overhead, and itâs not to watch the shoppers. See, we canât actually stop shoplifters. They get away with it maybe nine out of ten times. But we, who are watched and tallied and witnessed? We are always caught.
At first it was hard to hold one hundred dollars bills. An amount I had never seen before. An amount that didnât exist in my household. Itâs normal now. Here is something that is not for me.
âWhat the hell, Iâll take another,â says the man, pondering our 200 dollar watches. What the hell. Total comes to 580 and not even a flinch in his face. I have been working for 11 hours today and made only 110 dollars. It will go to my rent. Today I work for free, it feels. When I get my check, I will have 35 dollars left for food and saving.
The six hundreds he hands me go into the cash register. For a moment, I imagine having money. Then I put it away, counting out his change.
I know for a fact we sell our products for double what they are worth. That I could be making commission. That they could hand me those 580 dollars and change my life and not even mark the difference in their checkbooks. Heâs not the only sale they make today, but I am the reason they made it. Heâs not the only one spending 600 dollars, but if I hadnât spent two hours with him telling me about his life, he wouldnât have spent any. I go home. I donât own a watch.
I have watched and rewatched a video on how to make salmon four ways. My shopping list is always the same. Pasta. Rice. Tuna. If I can afford butter it was a good week. I dream of the world I will never walk in, where I can throw the best fish fillet in the cart with a shrug. I hold hundreds in my hand and look up at the camera. I put them under the cash drawer.
I go to work. I scrap together my savings. I eat my bowl of rice slowly. My manager takes a paid week off from work just for his birthday. He owns a yacht.Â
Iâm not worth the cost of a watch.
i wrote this while i was working at orlandoâs walt disney world parks.
i was part of their college program. i moved to the state for it. they legally owned the building i was living in and still charged me rent. i ostensibly was being charged to work for them. it was a 2 bedroom apartment and they placed 6 adult women in it in forced triples.
as many as one in ten disney employees have experienced homelessness while working for the company. despite huge efforts to unionize, strike, or otherwise demand fair treatment; disney has refused to increase employee quality of life.
disney admits publicly that a good portion of their success is because the employees (âcast membersâ) are dedicated, passionate, and selfless. this is never reflected in pay. even âfaceâ characters (ie those that are princesses etc) make barely above a minimum wage.
at the time that i worked there, i made $8.50 an hour. at one point i was asked to create a human shield around a bag because a bomb dog had alerted to it. for eight fucking dollars an hour.
i now work a very cushy office job. i have bought the salmon and cooked it all four ways.
i go to the store. i am nice to the person behind the counter. she looks up at the camera while she counts out my change. there is nothing fundamentally different about her and i.
we are both worth more than the watch, anyway.
most fuckable tetris piece
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Z
Explain yourself.
some people might not have seen all of them yet
i am SO glad people are explaining their choices because one of my favorite parts of whatâs going on here is the huge variety of reasons and lines of thinking people are using all to arrive at the exact same answer
at this point so many of you have independently described similar personality traits for all the tetriminos that i almost feel like i could draw them as people
they are reading the comments
some wild shit going on in the notes thatâs hard to pick up on if youâre not getting notifications every time someone says anything:
for some reason both people who prefer S AND people who prefer Z say they think Z would be kind of mean
people who Donât pick the T overwhelmingly assume people who do chose it because it looks like a dick, actual given reasons for picking T lean more toward gameplay versatility, sex toy safety (i.e. they ALL look like dicks but T has a flared base), and personality
thereâs a fairly even split on use of gendered pronouns for I, O, T, and Z, but people tend to use she/her for L, J, and especially S
there have been multiple unconnected instances of the phrase âtriple t spin in the pussyâ. this doesnât really matter it just feels worth mentioning
by and large S and Z fuckers are MUCH more passionate about their choices than L and J fuckers
thereâs been a tumblr-typical handful of âsubmissive and breedableâ comments, but as far as iâve seen only the T piece has people explicitly and directly saying they want to get it pregnant. no idea what caused this. the art seems to have made it worse
guys stop calling my tetris gijinkas tumblr sexymen. 3 of them are women
Going to arrange these posts next to each other for beautiful context