#i mean i've had one of those for over a year now

[stackslip]

fujimoto is the absolute king of creating a world where mass death is a regular occurrence and yet every single time it feels singularly devastating. i've seen people say his work is nihilistic, that people die over nothing--i profoundly disagree! again and again, it is made clear that the deaths and horrors in chainsaw man aren't random acts of god, and that the people who die aren't random faces in a crowd but people who are willingly sacrificed in the name of social cohesion and the comfort of a few. the people killed by the gun devil all had names, lives, ages that were inescapable and their deaths are just as bad of a tragedy's as aki's. asa's mom's death might have been forgotten by all, and yet it has a profound impact on asa's own life and outlook. the people convinced to commit suicide by falling had long discussions about their everyday life before they fell off their balcony. it is power and nayuta's deaths--people who mattered little to makima and to barem, who were simply seen as tools for an end--that utterly crush denji and awaken pochita. himeno lost her partners, one by one, and every time she got more and more depressed. these are real people, all of them! their lives mattered! death is a normal occurence in chainsaw man, but the loss of a life is a tragedy every time

most importantly; most of these mass death events, as normalized as they are, are not random or natural. they're the result of devils being used as tools, of the powerful using those that they consider belong to them as payment for their comfort or to further their goals. in chapter one, denji got murdered after a lifetime of abuse as payment for his abuser's eagerness for power. the president of the united states pays for the gun devil to fight makima with one year from each american's life. the japanese government pays for makima's every death with the death of a citizen. public safety regularly sends its employees to cut their throats for a devil to wipe out a building. the german government contracted santa claus and gave her children in return. the chainsaw man cult used its desperate, scared child members to gain an army.

and now, foreign children are given citizenship simply so they can be gunned down coldly and used as blood and payment to use chainsaw man and make scared, rich old men live longer. idk how much more explicit you can be here. look at these kids! do their lives mean nothing? they're drawn in loving detail. they're real people being sent to be butchered!

death in chainsaw man isn't meaningless. far from it! this isn't saying "this world is absurd and has no meaning". this is about exploitation. chainsaw man has always been about exploitation and abuse, at its very core. these people mean something. these are real human beings, being fed to the grinder, again and again. they're being fed to it BY the rich and powerful, by their governments, by their employers, by their abusers. hell, yoru has fed her own children to this grinder, just to get a little more. ownership and greed, this is the core of what's happening. this is murder, not random acts of violence!

[angelicjackles]

— reckless heroine.

cw: fem!reader, best friend!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a smidge of fluff, injuries and blood descriptions — 2.2k a/n: this is the first time I've posted anything publicly in years so consider this a testing the waters fic, trying to find my groove and decide if i want to make this a regular thing.

summary: after a rough, but successful hunt, you and dean arrive back at the motel, only you were reckless and got injured, some duct tape patching up ensues from an angry dean.

The storm had arrived just as Dean and her pulled into the grimy parking lot of the Twin Pines Motel, how very Montana. The heavy raindrops pummeled against the windows like a stark warning. The sky rumbled with low growls, and flashes of jagged light illuminated the dim, rundown building. Inside their basic motel room, the air was thick with tension and the unmistakable smell of almost damp carpet—a cheerful welcome after a semi-successful hunt with a werewolf.

Dean slammed the creaky motel door shut behind them, the force alone almost enough to splinter the plaster around the hinges, his expression a maelstrom of anger and concern blended into one explosive temper as he flicked the lightswitch, the gross orange-ish glow of the overhead bulb highlighted the unsavoury nature of their accommodation. They’d come a long way from Kansas for this hunt.

Sam and Cas took off East together for a potential case, something something bizarre circumstances, frankly, there’d been little resistance offered when the duo took off to the east coast, leaving her and Dean to take Montana—although if they were real, they’d probably have taken anywhere over the east coast.

The door was barely closed for a moment before his gruff voice crackled through the air like a whip. “Did that brewing concussion knock all damn common sense out of your head?” Dean snapped angrily, his demandingly sharp voice rising above the impending storm. “You got a fucking death wish or something?”

She grimaced, carefully moving to sit on one of the twin beds, feeling the throbbing pain radiating from the gash on the back of her shoulder, the wound still steadily leaking blood, instinctively rubbing the spot on the back of your head that had collided with the concrete earlier in the night when he mentioned a concussion.

“Very funny,” she retorted in deadpan, infusing her tone with a touch of biting sarcasm that was quickly becoming a defence mechanism, and all but guaranteed to rile him up further. “The victim needed help, she was bleeding out and scared, and unlike you I actually gave a shit about more than ganking the mutt.” The implication that he didn’t care if the victim survived so long as they handled the werewolf wasn’t helping Dean’s mood, but the remorse she showed was negligible. “Besides, I handled it, didn’t I? And it worked—aren’t you always telling me ‘trust your instincts, your instincts are good’.” she added on before he had a chance to respond, putting an emphasis on the drawl of his voice. The mock only made that muscle in his jaw clench so hard it wouldn’t be a surprise if his teeth shattered. Heed the warning.

A growl bubbled in the back of his throat, but somehow he managed to keep it partially contained and tossed both his and her bags down onto the bed she hadn’t plopped down on. He may be pissed at her right now but that didn’t mean he was going to let his injured best friend carry her own bag. “Trust your instincts?” He gestured wildly with his hand, like that would somehow show just how worked up he was right now. She was getting to him, bad, and it was taking every ounce of willpower he was summoning from Chuck only knows where to stop from lashing out at her. “You were reckless and got yourself attacked in the process of playing heroine!” He rasped, his low voice reverberating off the thin motel walls with how loud his words escaped. 

Just for good measure he had to force his eyes elsewhere, just so he’d stop being faced with those claw marks on your shoulder, every glance at them made something in him coil and burn. Stomping towards the foot of the unoccupied bed, he aggressively unzipped his duffle bag and rummaged through it. Meanwhile she was busy shedding herself of the unnecessary clothing and gear, kicking her shoes off and abandoning them on the mysteriously patchy carpet next to the bed, unbuckling her belt and unlatching the clasp on the blade sheath on her hip, tossing both onto the lone chair off to the side of the beds.

Finally after a few long moments his fingers found the squished edges of the first-aid kit he’d grown used to keeping in there—the first-aid kit that only remained stocked up because she meticulously replenished what she, him and Sam went through after every hunt—Snagging it up, deft fingers were quick to unzip and flick through it haphazardly, plucking out several different medical supplies.

When he realised she hadn’t responded to his last few retorts, which was uncharacteristic for her, his eyes flickered back towards her, forest green eyes darkening at the blood leaking against her pale skin. “You put yourself in danger, again, and walked away with a souvenir I’m not too keen on.” He continued despite his better judgement, gesturing angrily at the deep werewolf claw marks on the back of your shoulder blade, having torn through her flannel and undershirt, soaking both in bright crimson and leaving her down to a base layer tank top.

The retort had her glancing over her shoulder, but able to see little more than the dark streaks of blood sticking to wet skin. The amount of blood she’d lost so far wasn’t enough to be life-threatening, but it was definitely a worrying situation that needed attention. God forbid the pair didn’t do their back-and-forth arguing before that though, not like she was bleeding out over here or anything. “You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed.” He grumbled, not so hotly as before, the edges of concern leaking into his voice. “These are gonna scar ugly...” The last part was more of an afterthought.

“More to add to the collection,” she mused out far too casually for the situation. “What did you ju—” He interjected, a warning hiss in his voice, but she was quick to wave a dismissive hand over her shoulder at him. “Forget it.” She brushed off, cutting off his warning remark.

‘It’s like she’s trying to piss me off,’ Dean thought to himself, and hell maybe she was. “For once, couldn’t you have followed the game plan, sweetheart? Fuckin’ hell…” His tone was a mixture of worried fondness and scolding terseness. Either way, she was quick to turn her entire body around on the bed to glare at him, ignoring the searing pain from her wound with the quick movement.

“Oh? Am I supposed to bow down to Dean Winchester’s expert advice? Follow orders blindly?” She shot back at him, a chilling kind of coolness to her voice. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure that’s your speciality,” she added, venomously, the tension in her voice masking the discomfort that coiled within her body.

And she could have sworn she saw him flinch as soon as the words tumbled out of her mouth, making a low simmering pit of guilt fester inside her, knowing she was out of line. Low blow. His gaze pained for a fleeting moment, pretty green eyes widening and mouth falling open the smallest amount like those words had quite literally taken the breath from his lungs; but it quickly hardened again as he stewed on those words, cracking open a bottle of antiseptic with more force than necessary. “Just— shut up, for once.” It was almost a plea, more of a pained demand, but she knew she’d hit a nerve. “Sit still and let me patch you up, okay? I may not be a doctor, but I can keep your ass from bleeding out.”

She rolled your eyes, watching as he pulled out a smorgasbord of supplies from the first-aid kit. “I’m perfectly capable of handling my own medical emergencies. This isn’t my first skirmish with fangs and claws, Dean. I don’t need your help,” her voice came out more snapped than intended.

Despite the fact they both knew the precocious positioning of this wound left her unable to attend to it herself, she’d have to be a pretty fine contortionist to deal with it without help. Dean opened his mouth to inform his best friend of just that but thought better of it in the final second, slowly his mouth slipped closed.

A frustrated grunt slipped past his lips and one hand racked impatiently through his short, messy locks. “Well, congratulations on surviving past encounters, but this looks like a crime scene,” he replied tersely before sighing in frustration, the adrenaline of the situation beginning to die. “—plus, you’re bleeding on my marginally clean bed,” he added on, in an attempt to diffuse the situation, which pulled a scoffed laugh from her mouth before it could be helped.

His tense shoulders dropped slightly in relief when she responded by gingerly peeling the fabric of her black tank top away from the wound, letting it slip down off her slender shoulder so he’d have access. 

The next fifteen minutes were deafeningly quiet, the only sounds were the soft pained noises that left her mouth, and the heavy breaths of concentration from Dean as he worked at disinfecting and patching up the wound on her shoulder as best as possible - Would this be easier to do in the bathroom instead of on the bed? Absolutely, but here they were.

Thankfully the wound didn’t need stitches, the claw marks the werewolf had left her with were nasty but not deep enough to be genuinely worrisome—not that it would stop Dean from worrying like a motherfucker. They’d leave some impressively disgusting scars, and hurt like a bitch for the next couple weeks as they healed, and as much as he was tempted to suggest going to the nearest a&e to get her properly seen to, just to be safe, he knew what her answer would be, so that wasn’t a battle he’d win. His basic hunter duct-taping would have to suffice.

The mood wasn’t great, both seething with worry and anger and pain that blended together into a chokingly intense thickness that lingered like smoke in the air, so it was in everyone’s best interests that they shut up.

“Done.”

Those words out of his mouth seemed to break the atmosphere and she slowly glanced back at him over her shoulder right in time for his thumbs to smooth out the medical tape that adhered the thick, white dressings to her pale skin, his touch extremely gentle despite everything, ensuring the tape wouldn’t come loose.

Turning on the bed so she was facing him as he remained stood up, her shoulders rolled back slowly, testing out the movement with the fresh patch up, it seemed to be healing. “How’s it looking, doc?” She quipped, her voice slightly lilted, making a weak attempt to lighten the mood up, too damn tired to argue further with him. His mouth quirked up in what could be described as a lazy grin. “Think you might just survive the night, thanks to the tireless effort of your handsome doctor.” He teased, only because he wanted to see her roll her eyes in that fondly affectionate way, and he got his wish.

The way she made a point to shake her head at him was all he needed to see to know that the sparky atmosphere had diminished; even though it was likely due to the adrenaline dying out and the pain kicking in.

His eyes followed her when she pushed herself to stand up, hands instinctively reaching out to steady her. “Mm, I don’t know, can’t say the bloody hands add to the sex appeal.” She hummed, eyes flicking down to his hands that were stained with her blood, hands that were now staining her arm in deep crimson too, her brows furrowing in distaste, but he didn’t seem in a rush to pull his hand back so she didn’t move to knock him off either. His gaze dropped to the offending hands in question, nose scrunching up at the sight of the blood as his thumb stroked against her elbow. “So… you’re saying I have sex appeal?” 

The tone of his voice in that moment was the most playful thing she’d heard from him in a long time. She couldn’t help but laugh, a real hearty ‘you’re such an idiot’ kind of laugh, the kind that had him grinning crookedly at her in return.

“Your ego needs no further stroking, I’m gonna plead the fifth on that one.” She held her hands up in mock surrender, which only rumbled an amused laugh from deep in his chest.

“That’s my girl.” Dean beamed, running his tongue over his teeth with a soft sigh. The adrenaline had long since faded and now he was left with that anxious worry and tired stress lingering in his body. “Fuck… C’mere, you,” he beckoned suddenly, barely giving her time to register his words before he was pulling her in against his chest, strong arms wrapping around her in such a delicate way, careful of her injuries while somehow managing to squish her into him. The height difference leaving the top of her head tucked perfectly underneath his chin as his fingers carted through her messy hair.

“Look... Call a truce, sweetheart?” The gruff hunter muttered into her hair, his arms cradling her close to his larger body. “Truce.” She conceded, placing a complacent kiss against his clothed shoulder, which earned a soft little rumbly hum from him.

The storm raged outside, but within the cramped motel room, a warmth had blossomed between the pair of them—a reminder that despite all the chaos of the job, it was them against the world and in this tempest, as the thunder rolled across the darkening horizon and the lightning split the sky, they both knew they’d face them together, side by side.

[yuurivoice]

Hi Yuuri I just wanted to say I miss Howell. That’s all I hope you have a good day😊

I do too! There's still a lot about him I want to know and figure out. I was able to delve into him a bit more (and get some much needed closure) with some friends. I don't think he's really a character that I want to do various iterations of in different worlds and campaigns, because it's that specific story of his that I love. If it's removed from that world and story, I'd rather have another shot at a new character.

I was able to salvage a couple of relationships out of the rubble from the entire ordeal surrounding TnD, and I've got no beef with anyone who wasn't literal human trash, so Howell's place in my heart is unscathed in terms of being attached to a really shitty time and situation.

Reflecting on those days, that shit was a nightmare scenario. Obviously my own emotional turmoil pales in comparison to the literal criminal and victim in our midst, don't get that twisted because those most directly impacted by one asshole's actions should be the primary concern. It is a hell of a pill to swallow having something that dear to you go up in flames in such a public and grotesque way.

I don't blame anyone who feels any type of way about how it was handled and the aftermath of it. The truth of it all is, one person's really fucked up actions had widespread effects on a lot of people. The radius of that bomb was no joke.

Howell is very dear to me, and those Sundays were genuinely the favorite day of the week for me over that time. The backlash, anger, resentment, and then emptiness of it all really took its toll, as I'm sure it did on everyone caught in the blast zone.

The bad guy got got in the end, and I'm thankful for the folks who made sure that happened.

That year as a whole was really difficult. That wasn't the only heavy thing I had to work through that year. There was a stretch of six months that were probably the worst of my adult life in terms of interpersonal turmoil. The universe really took a bat to my kneecaps.

Saying ALLLLLLLL of that to say, if I had lost my love for Howell, it would have taken a significant toll on me creatively. I would not so freely share the parts of myself it takes to create the stories and characters I do now. I can pretty confidently say that something like Echoes or Shattered would never happen.

I struggled mightily with BitterSweet Chapter 3 for that reason. It was hard to want to carve out pieces of myself to share with the world, and certainly very difficult to work with anyone else out of fear that their bad actions could rob me of my passion even more.

But I learned a lot, and over that time I also think I was able to show my community how serious situations get handled while I'm at the helm. I hate that me and the team have been on the frontlines of a few really serious community PR nightmares, but I do think we've been able to exhibit an ability to treat things with maturity, respect, and direct action.

So Howell means a lot to me. We've been on two journeys, one fictional, and one real...and boy we've gotten our asses kicked more than a few times.

There is a chance, albeit a small one, that there's a DnD story to be told with Howell and some friends, for the world to partake in. Don't know if it'll happen, but the chances aren't 0%...

[rupturedtaleblog]

Hi everyone, Tile here, under more ideal circumstances, you would have gotten everything I wanted to do for the anniversary all at once, but due to my personal life becoming far more busy than I'd like, the content for this year is going to be spread out over the rest of the month.

The following is mostly going to be a few thoughts of mine, over the history of this project, and about a few personal anecdotes. If you don't care about that, feel free to just look at the art up there, it was made by VeggieUTDR.

I would like to start things off by thanking those of you who have decided to still follow this project. What started out as a stupid joke made to spite someone had transformed into a project that is incredibly personal to me. One that I, come hell or high water, will see through it to its completion, one way or another.

8 years feels like an incredible amount of time. A lot of things happened to me, and some things stayed relatively the same. It's part of why I've decided to never really cancel this. By the time Rupturedtale started, it was during the boom of Undertale AU Sprite Comics, it was a project among many of those, and one that would surely fade just like a good chunk of them.

That never really happened, though, as I'm currently talking to you. As corny as this may sound, there is a part of me inside of this thing. And it's a part of me I cannot bring myself to hurt. This whole story is about hurt, really, it'd be cruel to put it out of its misery when it can become something truly beautiful.

If you're wondering why it's taken so long, besides my life in general being busy, it's because I've spent a lot of time developing some personal projects with some good friends of mine. Ones that for the time being aren't really meant for the public eye. Creating those memories is important to me, and they will also shape how some of the things in this project are going to be.

You might get to catch a glimpse at one of them.

There isn't anything of major substance that I can show right now, the Date itself has things that will be better off being shown in their proper context. And its overall script needs to undergo revision before it can be put into game form. In the event of complete and utter catastrophic failure, you can expect it to come out in comic form instead.

In general, for the projects that are made by my hand (and the very lovely people who help said hand), I will be publishing a roadmap of what to expect in the future. There are a lot of things that I want to do, and I'm very eager to show them to you. I just need to get to them first.

Again, I'm incredibly grateful for your patience, there's not a lot of you out there, I'm aware, but for the ones that still are, I promise you're gonna get what you've been looking for.

If there is anything I've learned the past few years, is that my love for this game will never truly die, I will be thinking about it for the rest of my life.

Though, that doesn't mean I will only create under its own shadow.

You can't just play with the same toy over and over again, you know.

You'd want something new.

Eventually.

[fanfic-writer-and-rambler]

Connected to this story

After Bruce Wayne has regained his bearings and been dragged to a lounge room at Ra's castle and has been retold that he has a son with Talia, Jason knew and now his in-law is Ra's Al Ghul.

Bruce, still in his batsuit, lays on the ground in Talia's study trying to remain his usual calm and composed self, but can only repeat a mantra.

Bruce: I have a child with Talia. I have a child with Talia. I have a child with Talia. I have a child with Talia. I have a child with Talia...

Talia: Is it that bad?

Bruce looks over at Talia as she holds tea.

Bruce (whimpering): Oh God I'm linked to you through a child!

Talia: My father was right, you would hate Damian!

Bruce: I do not hate Damian. I hate you. There's a difference.

Talia shakes with rage, but chooses to not stab him.

Bruce: I'm... Having a lot of thoughts racing in my head, but having a kid isn't the issue. I've raised three. Adopted Dick when he was 8. I'm upset that the woman I thought I cut off ties with wouldn't be linked to me forever.

Talia: Our relationship wasn't that bad Bruce, come on, you have to admit we had good times together.

Bruce sobs covering his face with his bat gloves.

Bruce: Oh God!

Talia: Is it because my father is Ra?

Bruce (realization): Oh God, Ra is that precious boy's grandfather.

Bruce buries his head on the ground and screams.

Bruce: Damn gas station condoms!

Talia rolled her eyes while drinking from her tea glass.

Talia: I'll have you know, my childhood was only filled with normal discipline, he stabbed me in my ankle twice and then stopped. Mostly because I expected those sneak attacks.

Bruce: Talia, I swear to Christ if he has done that to Damian I will murder him three times.

Talia: No...not that I'm aware of.

Talia takes a long sip from her glass while glancing away at Bruce.

Bruce rolled on to his back and stared at the ceiling.

Bruce: I've been deprived from that cute boy's 8 years. He could have had a semi-normal childhood. I saw you with the baby too, but I thought nobody would be STUPID enough to have a kid with you. I'm the stupid one.

Talia (smirking): You think he's cute?

Bruce whimpers to signify he means yes.

Talia: Our DNA worked together well then.

Talia giggles, but Bruce isn't in the mood.

Bruce: You're as delusional as I remember.

Talia: Bruce, get up, sit next to me, have tea.

Bruce groaned, stood up and sat a good distance from Talia. He removed his cowl and sighed accepting his son, but now worried for his safety.

Bruce: I swear to you, the ch- Damian isn't my issue. I'm not the type of man who wants nothing to do with their child. I will never be a deadbeat. I'm glad I'm not shooting blanks, the issue is- I mean no offense, but kind of do- Not a child from you! You and I have clashing ideals and now we have a child.

Talia takes a sip from her tea cup.

Talia: I grew up with this family, I'm not mad. Bruce, you're going to make a great father.

Bruce: Eight years later?

Talia: Yeah, apologizes it took me that long to tell you he was yours and that I had a child, but that's not a bad thing. How about ... You take him to Gotham. You're rich so he'll be used to your privileged living and he can spend time there.

Bruce: Spend time there? He's not returning here! Ever!

Talia: Oh come on, I'm raising him incredibly well.

Bruce: Around Ra's Al Ghul?

Talia: Y- Yes. On his birthday we have him fight assassins and punishments aren't that bad.

Bruce (seething): You got me fucked me! You got me fucked up! You have me talking like I'm from lower Jersey! He's living with me and I'm getting his stuff. That is my son! Not just yours and damn sure not Ra's! I have a say in my son's life! Got it!

Talia (impressed): Okay, I like this energy. He'll want to return here for proper raising, but he can spend a few months with you and then we'll humor him and see who he wants to stay with.

Bruce: Me. Me. He's living with me. I might have him visit- What am I saying?! You can visit him. You, not Ra!

Talia (pretending to be ignorant): Yeah, he'll stay for a few months. I'm getting what you're putting down.

Bruce: You're seriously not! Talia look at me, Damian WAYNE will be living with me from here on out.

Talia stands, placing her tea cup on the table.

Talia: Mm-hm, Mm-hm, Mm-hm, we'll see what Damian decides.

Bruce rubbed his forehead, trying not to cuss Talia out.

Talia: I'll go tell him to pack his things, you're going to have to talk to my father and I'm not sure if you remember this, you blacked out at a certain point, but Jason Todd was aware I had the child, kept it secret for revenge, Damian has visited Gotham to be babysat by him, and he helped raise him for 8 years. Okay, got that off my chest. Damian, let's talk!

Talia scurries out of the room as Bruce stands there, shocked at this new information. He had blocked out that particular part. Now that he remembered this his face turned red with rage.

Bruce (whispering in rage): He had his reasons. He had his reasons. He had his reasons. He had his reasons. He had his reasons. He had his reasons.

Bruce leaves the tea room in a huff.

Bruce: Jason, let's talk!

[lit-in-thy-heart]

me, for the past week:

[ID: the Adam Driver 'every day I wake up' meme from Marriage Story. The text is edited to read 'every day I wake up and think of more Pirates of the Caribbean/BBC Merlin parallels'. End ID.]

[ya-gurl-emily]

The awesome thing about college is that being there is miserable, and not being there is worse.

Nifty!

[running-in-the-dark]

got a new hard drive (had to, no space left 😔), so I'm using that as a reason to completely reorganise my files (mostly shows, movies etc)

I'm having such a good time 💖

[thebeautifulfantastic]

<3

[thedreadvampy]

everything around this housing shit basically boils down to: what I said would be fine 2+ years ago isn't necessarily what's fine now

[butchdykekondraki]

is it hard dating another system? /genq

nah, if anything it's wonderful. it's nice to be understood and not have to shy away from how it is being a system. :-)

[musical-chick-13]

......You ever realize why you have an opinion.

[crescentmp3]

many experiences today

[willkill4pudding]

...

[theabstruseone]

I slept in and just woke up, so here's what I've been able to figure out while sipping coffee:

Twitter has officially rebranded to X just a day or two after the move was announced.

The official branding is that a tweet is now called "an X", for which there are too many jokes to make.

The official account is still @twitter because someone else owns @X and they didn't reclaim the username first.

The logo is 𝕏 which is the Unicode character Unicode U+1D54F so the logo cannot be copyrighted and it is highly likely that it cannot be protected as a trademark.

Outside the visual logo, the trademark for the use of the name "X" in social media is held by Meta/Facebook, while the trademark for "X" in finance/commerce is owned by Microsoft.

The rebranding has been stopped in Japan as the term "X Japan" is trademarked by the band X JAPAN.

Elon had workers taking down the "Twitter" name from the side of the building. He did not have any permits to do this. The building owner called the cops who stopped the crew midway through so the sign just says "er".

He still plans to call his streaming and media hosting branch of the company as "Xvideo". Nobody tell him.

This man wants you to give him control over all of your financial information.

Edit to add further developments:

Yes, this is all real. Check the notes and people have pictures. I understand the skepticism because it feels like a joke, but to the best of my knowledge, everything in the above is accurate.

Microsoft also owns the trademark on X for chatting and gaming because, y'know, X-box.

The logo came from a random podcaster who tweeted it at Musk.

The act of sending a tweet is now known as "Xeet". They even added a guide for how to Xeet.

The branding change is inconsistent. Some icons have changed, some have not, and the words "tweet" and "Twitter" are still all over the place on the site.

TweetDeck is currently unaffected and I hope it's because they forgot that it exists again. The complete negligence toward that tool and just leaving it the hell alone is the only thing that makes the site usable (and some of us are stuck on there for work).

This is likely because Musk was forced out of PayPal due to a failed credit line project and because he wanted to rename the site to "X-Paypal" and eventually just to "X".

This became a big deal behind the scenes as Musk paid over $1 million for the domain X.com and wanted to rebrand the company that already had the brand awareness people were using it as a verb to "pay online" (as in "I'll paypal you the money")

X.com is not currently owned by Musk. It is held by a domain registrar (I believe GoDaddy but I'm not entirely sure). Meaning as long as he's hung onto this idea of making X Corp a thing, he couldn't be arsed to pay the $15/year domain renewal.

Bloomberg estimates the rebranding wiped between $4 to $20 billion from the valuation of Twitter due to the loss of brand awareness.

The company was already worth less than half of the $44 billion Musk paid for it in the first place, meaning this may end up a worse deal than when Yahoo bought Tumblr.

One estimation (though this is with a grain of salt) said that Twitter is three months from defaulting on its loans taken out to buy the site. Those loans were secured with Tesla stock. Meaning the bank will seize that stock and, since it won't be enough to pay the debt (since it's worth around 50-75% of what it was at the time of the loan), they can start seizing personal assets of Elon Musk including the Twitter company itself and his interest in SpaceX.

Sesame Street's official accounts mocked the rebranding.

[roaringroa]

they should make a life where you don't have appointments, work, school and events every single day for months on end