#as in theft from creatives. not that the theft itself was a creative act because it wasn't

[polarfarina]

Internet historian stealing his scripts directly from articles is hardly surprising... god damn though

[deepdreamnights]

Hey there, saw your post re: harassment around artists using gen ai and thought it was great esp with the debunking of data usage myths. Would you share your thoughts regarding concerns that models are being trained to copy specific art styles and thus pose a direct threat to the artists whose art styles are being used?

Well, there's several levels to that.

The main one is that on copyright grounds, styles are explicitly non-copyrightable. Moreover:

No one's style is unique

No one's style is unimitatable by analogue means.

The second point is important, because anyone can go on Fiverr right now and and find someone to replicate any given art style, and every competent draftsperson has to be able to do it to some degree or another. No major animation house, art studio, or comic company has ever hired someone because they couldn't find someone else that could imitate the surface-level aspects of their style.

The first point is just a matter of basic reality. Ex-nihlo creativity either doesn't exist or is so rare as to be a once-in-an-epoch thing. Everyone builds on the influences that they learn from, and if you think someone has a unique style what they really have is a different media diet than you.

For example, Don Bluth. Born 1937, aged 15 in 1952.

Same year Time released this this picture of Burlesque Performer Dale Strong.

Someone made an impression.

Marilyn Monroe was also a national sex symbol when Bluth was a teen, putting some context to most of his other ladies, but especially Goldie Pheasant (or maybe she's more Jayne Mansfield, hard to tell through the bird-ness). His art style has obvious roots with Tex Avery and I would guess he read Mad Magazine a lot as a kid.

And Not to hang the guy out to dry alone, I was a teenager in the 1990s, and most of my sexy fictional ladies are 9/10 some combination of Dana Scully, Peg Bundy, and Rhonda Shear.

The point being that style isn't something you create intentionally so much as an accumulation of influences, drawn from the commons. Attempting to claim ownership of such a thing is by itself an act of theft in my view, and allowing them to be protected under the law would mean a judge being shown exactly how many pieces of prior art the Walt Disney Corporation owns that your work superficially resembles. Why, they'll even run it through a style recognizing AI to make sure they catch them all.

But let's talk about style matching.

It just takes one image now, and doesn't require training.

Which I'm sure sounds frightening, but this has been the situation since February for Midjourney, and it was available in the Stable Diffusion ecosystem long before that. If the threat were as pronounced as feared, we'd have seen the impact by now. And we haven't, and we're unlikely to, for several reasons, several of them listed above.

The largest is that style isn't even close to the be all/end all of what an artist brings to a given project. And the kinds of execs who are making a 'replace 'em with a robot' kinda decision aren't the kinds of people who care about art style beyond how much it looks like the most recent successful thing. And nobody's ever needed a robot to ride coattails.

But the next largest part is that AI style imitations aren't really accurate because the robot doesn't see style in the same way we do. It's all just math to the robot, and it prioritizes what it notices, not what we do.

I'll demonstrate.

Jack Kirby will be my example, for several reasons.

He has a bold and identifiable style, he's arguably the most famous artist in western comics history, and he has many analogue imitators and homagers.

Using Midjourney and prompting "an illustration of dana scully by jack kirby, 1968, in the style of 1960s marvel comics --ar 3:4 --s 15"

Using the base model, on the first roll we get three complete style mismatches and one that's kinda close, though I'd say that's way more Sal Buscema or John Byrne.

Kirby's women had a certain, difficult to describe oddness about their faces that the robot doesn't seem to grok, and it doesn't touch on the kinds of wild patterns and bold black/white swatches that make Jack's work feel 'jack'.

Tom Scioli's take on Kirby is a sort of lovingly flanderized parody, but it captures the spirit of Jack's art much more directly even if a lot of individual details aren't period-accurate. He draws Kirby the way you remember Kirby from your childhood, but I don't question whether the page above is trying to be a Jack Kirby homage or one to Sal Buscema.

But Midjourney has style reference, so we can inject the Kirby right in. Using the picture of Sersei dancing from above with the same prompt, we get:

Well, the work is more convincingly period, but again, we're not terribly close to being on-point. In fact, they're not very consistent between each other. Top left is any 80s marvel fill-in artist. Top right is maybe Kirby-esq. Bottom Left is flat out Jim Lee, bottom right is very Byrne-y.

Using three reference images to give the best shot, I'm also moving to using images of a similar color style, and all with a woman as the central focus. I have included the infamous Crystal pin-up shot because as I said, Kirby women have a certain oddness to them (fondly).

Results (MJ 6.1 on the left, Niji 6 on the right):

It all says 60s-70s Marvel, but I don't think Kirby would be the first guess for any of them. Maaaaaaybe the lower-left Dana in image #2 if you squint.

And that's Jack Kirby. Massively popular and prolific with a career spanning decades. If anyone in the comics space should be impersonatable by this thing, its him.

I'm sure you could train a LORA to get closer, and sure, the tech is only going to get better from here, but by the nature of how the system works no generation pulls just from what is referenced. Every generation is both blended with other concepts and emphasizes only what the machine catalogs as relevant, not what we might.

There's not much to stop someone from imitating your style with a machine, but there was nothing stopping them from doing the same with an underpaid freelancer. The results are likely to miss the mark regardless.

If the client wants you, they'll try and get you. If they just want something kinda like you, they've always had an avenue to that.

Fortunately, you're more than your style, and whatever anyone can do with the machine, you can do better because you've got access to both.

[celticcrossanon]

BRF Reading - 9th of October, 2023

This is speculation only

Cards drawn on the 9th of October, 2023

Question: Were funds misappropriated from The Royal Foundation?

Interpretation: Yes, funds were misappropriated from The Royal Foundation.

Card One: The Six of Wands

This is a card of victory. As the first card of the reading, this tells me that yes, there was misappropriation of funds from the Royal Foundation, and that the people who did this got away with it. There was no prosecution and no return of the funds. It was a victory for them - they got away with the misappropriated funding.

Card Two: The Queen of Wands

This is the card of a fire sign person, and here it stands for Meghan, who is a sun sign Leo. This card tell me that in Meghan's mind, the misappropriation of the funds and the person getting away with it is is a well deserved victory (and that fact that she sees this action as a victory and not as a shameful thing tells you a lot about her as a person).

Card Three: The Hierophant

This is my card for institutions, marriage, and specifically the BRF. Here it represents the BRF. Coming after the Six of Wands and the Queen of Wands, this tells me who Meghan sees as the loser in the misappropriation of funds - that she sees the act as a triumph over the BRF.

If you look at the first two cards, they are both Wands, the suit of creative endeavours (both legal and illegal), and also the suit of PR and media attention. The energy I am getting from the reading overall says that Meghan saw the BRF as the enemy because they were not giving her enough media attention (e.g. her name was not included on the Royal Foundation, and if it was included it was not first, and other people were allowed to speak at joint events as well as her, etc and so on). Hence she saw the misappropriation of funds as a victory over the people/institution who were not giving her the attention she felt she deserved.

Underlying Energy: The Queen of Pentacles

This is the card of an earth sign person. The card itself represents Capricorn to me, so this is my card for Princess Catherine, a sun sign Capricorn, but as an earth sign person it could also be the late Queen, a sun sign Taurus.

As the underlying energy this card tells me two things. Firstly, the misappropriation of funds was done to get back specifically at either The Princess of Wales (then the Duchess of Cambridge), or at the late Queen Elizabeth II. There is an energy of spite around this card, and it is spite directed at one of these women that was one of the reasons for the misappropriation of funds, in a 'you said No to me so I will show you' kind of way.

The other thing this card tells me is that this was about status. Pentacles is the suit of material things, usually money and status, Meghan felt her status was not high enough, and because of this the misappropriation of funds became in her mind an act of revenge because she was not being promoted above everyone else in The Royal Foundation (except maybe Prince William - at that stage she would be happy to have the 'queen' position in status if he held the 'king' position, hence the card being the Queen of Pentacles and not the King).

Conclusion:

According to the cards, Meghan sees the misappropriation funds from The Royal Foundation as a victory to her, especially as the people involved got away with it. The action was done out of spite and malice towards the BRF, especially either The Princess of Wales or the Late Queen. Meghan views the act as her victory because she felt that she was not being given enough status and media attention.

Note: I am not saying that Meghan was the person who misappropriated the funds. You are not allowed to go around accusing people of theft, it is called libel. I am simply talking about the act of misappropriation, whether it happened, and how Meghan viewed that act as she was the person who popped up in the centre position in the reading, after the victory/getting away with it card..

[jkflay]

Out of nowhere post, but my friends were talking about making Fakemon and our own Fakemon dex and it made my mind wander over to Palworld and how it... frustrates and disappoints me on a level I never thought I'd be at.

Btw here's the Fakemon I made, I really like it:

Back on topic, and from what gameplay I've seen (I haven't played it myself) the concept of a open-world survival game is a really promising one and the execution's not bad either. While there isn't much to do other than exploring the world, building your base, fighting the various evil teams and catching Pals, the game is in Beta and the act of of it doesn't look boring in of itself. The base development and resource collecting seem to be the main focus of the game with how a vast amount of the game's content is related to it.

As for interacting with Pals, catching's is Legend's Arceus level's of simple (throw the ball, hoope it catches), but battling the enemy Pals is where it gets interesting. You tackle it in a real-time third person fashion ala Fortnite with various weapons from clubs to guns. And while you can do it solo, you can send out your Pals to help you out in real-time. And I gotta be honest, it's really cool! Being a Beast-Master/Summoner is super cool. And with them also being able to help you in your base and mobility is so simple and yet looks so fun.

...And yet... it frustrates me...

Obviously, the designs and art style of the Pals being so close to the Pokemon art style, as well as ripping off various Pokemon designs pretty much one for one. I'm not defending the multibillion corporation here, I'm defending art integrity and not encouraging theft because it's not cool and shouldn't be encouraged, as well as promoting creativity in designs.

If Palworld had a unique art style (still can be cartoony, just different), I'd be fully onboard with it. As is, it just makes me feel icky about it. Like it was so close to perfection, and yet there's one little thing that ruins it for me. One bad apple spoils the bunch if you will.

But it is what it is. As a little treat, here's my personal tierlist of the Pal designs

Hopefully my little rant about this made sense. Palworld's getting an expansion update with a new region and of course new Pals. And from what I've seen there's a good amount that are becoming much more distinct art style-wise and I'm happy that it's continuing to make it's own identity.

For now, if I want to get Palworld for myself I think I'll pirate it. I hope there'll be a day where I don't feel this way or another game like Palworld comes out without these hang ups.

(Honestly as an artist I'm tempted to redesign some of the designs I dislike, maybe when I have time, who knows)

[jadedloverart]

Artist vs. AI

Now that I am older and have a better understanding of both how to be intentional through the creative process and the ways capitalism as a white supremacist value affects our creation of art, I have come to many conclusions about the ways we are conditioned to engage, not only with our own art, but with the art of others as well.

If our natural state as living beings is to create and to grow, we do so not only for ourselves but for others- to translate the ways we view this world to each other in symbiotic ways. 

The practice of art is a mirror to the self, and therefore for the creator, but the sharing of that art (and thence of the self) is equally as important because it speaks so deeply to our humanity.

We are social creatures by our evolutionary nature; we desire to be seen; to be known, and to be loved in our vulnerability. This desire marks the importance, not only of sharing our self expressions with each other, but also of acknowledging each other's self expressions (and the work that goes into them).

In America, where capitalist (via. white supremacist) values infect everything down to the very way we interact with each other (i.e. our entitlement to other's efforts and time, and to this very planet that we are meant to live with) computers are making art. 

Not only are they making art, but they are stealing the work of real artists to do it.

This introduction of casual theft sends a very clear message that states that the work of creation is not a worthy practice if it does not result in an endless, "perfect", consumable product upon which monetary value can be placed.

How else could it be when indoctrinated by a capitalist culture? A culture that uplifts the values of consumption above all else- of individualism and subsequently of division above all else.

These values seek to change the balance between the artist and those who view their work from a beneficial symbiosis to something more parasitic, for they reduce the act of creation to a simple product whose only value is found in: the amount one can sell the work of their hands for, the number of people who view the product, and the number of pieces an artist can grind out to satiate the wanting masses.

When creation is valued only by its ease of consumption, no true sameness or commonality can be found. How can we truly relate to an image vomited onto a page by a computer? An image devoid of intent, of labor, of thought, and of the journeys that mark our humanity?

These are instead markers of (but not limited to) the ways white supremacist values harm everyone, even white people. These ideals seek to strip away the things that make life worth living- culture, art, the beautiful parts of individuality found in our sameness.

The values of individuality have been replaced by the values of empty isolation; the sameness that binds us together has been violently replaced by fear and mistrust of otherness; the meaningful work of our hands has been replaced by a passionless grind that still, somehow, results in a life that most cannot afford to live. 

A long time ago, these words impacted my life in immense ways. "How we spend our days is how we spend our lives."

If we define work as the efforts into which we pour our time and energy (and thus our lives), when we value instant gratification over all else, it becomes easy for us to reduce the value of the work behind the end result- the physical manifestation of someone's life.

The introduction of artificial intelligence to the art world presents itself as a step forward, the footfall of whom seeming to bring nothing but benefits, but this technological advancement is a death by sweetness- a death spurred onwards by the novelty of comfortability and ease; by the instant gratification that oppresses the value found in the work.

Our revilement of AI's encroachment on creativity has become yet another battle for our humanity. 

Artists will never stop creating, but they will stop sharing their work should it continue to be disrespected; to be engaged with only by demands for more; to be stolen when these impossible quotas cannot be met; to be mangled and dissected, only to be stitched into a Frankenstein of fodder whose only purpose is cheap entertainment. 

And when we are faced with nothing but fodder, we will lose something real. Something whose absence will be felt like a wound that knows no balm- only the salt of a facsimile of art.

The way we combat the death of shared creativity on an individual level is to stop being passive consumers of each other's art, and instead, to actively, intentionally engage with each other's art- to practice thinking of the work and the process and the time that goes into creation.

To speak of each other's creations with kindness, compassion, and encouragement, as though we are gardeners tending to each other's growth.

We must actively remind ourselves, not only for others but for ourselves, that creation for the sake of creation is a fulfillment of purpose- an acknowledgement of self and the worth we find in our connection to the world- to each other.

To revile capitalism's demands of us to relinquish meaningful art, we must actively remind ourselves of these things. This responsibility lies not only with the artist, but with those who would engage with it. 

We must learn to be slow in a world that asks us to consume thoughtlessly and quickly. We must take our time to externally acknowledge and to value the labor that the act of creation requires- the pain of it, emotionally and physically; the hours sunk into learning a skill in the name of adding something of ourselves to this world.

We must realize as a culture that art must not be aesthetically perfect to be meaningful and worthwhile. It must not be perfect to be priceless.

[kintatsujo]

I'm still on that "some people sure have an utter lack of compassion for artists" (used here the way some use "creators")

Someone said, in one of these arguments, that art is in how the viewer reacts and not in the art itself

And darling if that's true the Grand Canyon is art but most of us agree it falls under "natural wonder"

When you act as though you're owed art from a particular person you are saying you deserve their voice, their brain, their soul, and their body because you don't understand the physical strains of the creative process

You can identify with someone's art, because they're reaching out to you and that's really only part of it

But art is a dialogue, not simply reaction

Otherwise there'd be nothing to react to.

And the fact that we are reaching and reaching and reaching OUT to you-- to you! And your response is to grab it like a small child with no thanks and no reciprocation of feeling

Well, you're not a small child.

Art is communication. And art theft is a communication too-- it says you don't see the person on the other side as a person the same way you are.

[lwoorl]

"Oh AI is so soulless oh there's no intent behind it oh it doesn't know what it's doing oh the most important part of art is the process oh the struggle oh the pain of the artist" Could you be any more pedantic.

It's fine if the process of working manually is the most important part of art for you, but stop acting as if that was an universal truth. What about modern art that just repurposes premade objects? Where's the beautiful process there? You sound like those people that disparage digital art because it lacks the sooooul~~~✨✨✨ of real paper. Fuck off

But fine, let's say what you mean by process is the intelectual exercise of coming up with a concept to portray in the piece. Who the hell do you think gives AI the instructions of what to make? Or do you think the thing really comes up with ideas by itself? There's more things you can do with AI than writing a two words prompt and see what it makes, you can give it a specific reference, you can set different things in different areas of the piece, you can be specific, add modifications to whatever it comes up with first. It's a fucking tool, and like any other tool it has the potential to be a vehicle for human expression. Why is coming up with a concept and controlling its execution less artistic than raw skill? "Soulless" you call it, as if any of us knew what qualifies as soul in art, as if "soulless" hadn't been used a thousand times in the past to disparage new mediums and techniques.

I understand you're upset by the art theft, I am too, but that's on how certain companies are scrapping data (there do exists some that only use images on the public domain, not that you care about it) NOT on the tool itself. What do you want to accomplish, really? Because it won't stop existing no matter how soulless you think it is. Saying it's not art, saying it has no soul, saying it can't be creative or whatever, you REALLY think that's a convincing argument for those that use it in inmoral ways? Say you're mad and you hate it, fine, fucking vent, I don't blame you, there's plenty of reason to vent! But stop acting so fucking self righteous about the nature of the human spirit or whatever.

This attitude of "AI art is bad because is soulless" does neat 0 to stablish laws and restrictions regarding its use, and if anything it distracts of the real problem. We could be talking about making laws so it can only take images from the public domain! We could be talking about creating incentives for companies to hire real humans for their art! How do you expect to solve a problem if you don't even know what the real problem is? Because the problem is that it uses images it has no right to, and the problem is that it'll take people's jobs, "It's so soulless :(" is literally not a part of it. Fucking luddite

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How copyright filters lead to wage-theft

Last week, "Marina" - a piano teacher who publishes free lessons her Piano Keys Youtube channel - celebrated her fifth anniversary by announcing that she was quitting Youtube because her meager wages were being stolen by fraudsters.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WcyOxtkafMs

Marina posted a video with a snatch of her performance of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata," published in 1801. The composition is firmly in the public domain, and the copyright in the performance is firmly Marina's, but it still triggered Youtube's automated copyright filter.

A corporate entity - identified only by an alphabet soup of initialisms and cryptic LLC names - had claimed Ole Ludwig Van's masterpiece as their own, identifying it as "Wicca Moonlight."

Content ID, the automated Youtube filter, flagged Marina's track as an unauthorized performance of this "Wicca Moonlight" track. Marina appealed the automated judgement, which triggered a message to this shadowy LLC asking if they agreed that no infringement had taken place.

But the LLC renewed its claim of infringement. Marina now faces several unpleasant choices:

She can allow the LLC to monetize her video, stealing the meager wages she receives from the ads that appear on it

She can take down her video

She can provide her full name and address to Youtube in order to escalate the claim, with the possibility that her attackers will get her contact details, and with the risk that if she loses her claim, she can lose her Youtube channel

The incident was a wake-up call for Marina, who is quitting Youtube altogether, noting that it has become a place that favors grifters over creators. She's not wrong, and it's worth looking at how that happened.

Content ID was created to mollify the entertainment industry after Google acquired Youtube. Google would spend $100m on filtering tech that would allow rightsholders to go beyond the simple "takedown" permitted by law, and instead share in revenues from creative uses.

But it's easy to see how this system could be abused. What if people falsely asserted copyright over works to which they had no claim? What if rightsholders rejected fair uses, especially criticism?

In a world where the ownership of creative works can take years to untangle in the courts and where judges' fair use rulings are impossible to predict in advance, how could Google hope to get it right, especially at the vast scale of Youtube?

The impossibility of automating copyright judgments didn't stop Google from trying to perfect its filter, adding layers of complexity until Content ID's appeal process turned into a cod-legal system whose flowchart looks like a bowl of spaghetti.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/12/fairy-use-tale/#content-id

The resulting mess firmly favors attackers (wage stealers, fraudsters, censors, bullies) over defenders (creators, critics). Attackers don't need to waste their time making art, which leaves them with the surplus capacity to master the counterintuitive "legal" framework.

You can't fix a system broke by complexity by adding more complexity to it. Attempts to do so only makes the system more exploitable by bad actors, like blackmailers who use fake copyright claims to extract ransoms from working creators.

https://torrentfreak.com/youtube-strikes-now-being-used-as-scammers-extortion-tool/

But it would be a mistake to think that filterfraud was primarily a problem of shadowy scammers. The most prolific filter scammers and wage-thieves are giant music companies, like Sony Music, who claim nearly *all* classical music:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/22/crisis-for-thee-not-me/#filternet

The Big Tech companies argue that they have an appeals process that can reverse these overclaims, but that process is a joke. Instagram takedowns take a few seconds to file, but *28 months* to appeal.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/17/cheap-truthers/#robot-sez-no

The entertainment industry are flagrant filternet abusers. Take Warner Chappell, whose subsidiary demonetizes videos that include the numbers "36" and "50":

https://www.dexerto.com/entertainment/annemunition-bizarre-copyright-strike-youtube-random-numbers-1317750/

Warner Chappell are prolific copyfraudsters. For decades, they fraudulently claimed ownership over "Happy Birthday" (!):

https://consumerist.com/2016/02/09/happy-birthday-song-settlement-to-pay-out-14-million-to-people-who-paid-to-use-song/

They're still at it - In 2020 they used a fraudulent claim to nuke a music theory video, and then a human being working on behalf of the company renewed the claim *after* being informed that they were mistaken about which song was quoted in the video:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/05/warner-chappell-copyfraud/#warnerchappell

The fact that automated copyright claims can remove material from the internet leads to a lot of sheer fuckery. In 2019, anti-fascists toyed with blaring copyrighted music at far right rallies to prevent their enemies from posting them online.

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/07/23/clever-hack-that-will-end-badly-playing-copyrighted-music-during-nazis-rallies-so-they-cant-be-posted-to-youtube/

At the time, I warned that this would end badly. Just a month before, there had been a huge scandal because critics of extremist violence found that automated filters killed their videos because they featured clips of that violence:

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/06/06/people-who-document-evidence-of-violent-extremism-are-being-shut-down-in-youtubes-crackdown-on-violent-extremism/

Since then, it's only gotten worse. The Chinese Communist Party uses copyfraud to remove critical videos from Youtube:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/27/literal-gunhumping/#communist-bandit

and so does the Beverley Hills Police Department:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/10/duke-sucks/#bhpd

But despite all that, the momentum is for *more* filtering, to remove far fuzzier categories of content. The EU's Terror Regulation has just gone into effect, giving platforms just *one hour* to remove "terrorist" content:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/04/eu-online-terrorism-regulation-bad-deal

The platforms have pivoted from opposing filter rules to endorsing them. Marc Zuckerberg says that he's fine with removing legal protections for online platforms unless they have hundreds of millions of dollars to install filters.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/03/25/facebook-has-a-facebook-problem/#played-for-zuckers

The advocates for a filternet insist that all these problems can be solved if geeks just *nerd harder* to automate good judgment, fair appeals, and accurate attributions. This is pure wishful thinking. As is so often the case in tech policy, "wanting it badly is not enough."

In 2019, the EU passed the Copyright Directive, whose Article1 7 is a "notice and staydown" rule requiring platforms to do instant takedowns on notice of infringement *and* to prevent content from being re-posted.

There's no way to do this without filters, but there's no way to make filters without violating the GDPR. The EU trying to figure out how to make it work, and the people who said this wouldn't require filters are now claiming that filters are fine.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/11/protocols-of-qanon/#no-filternet

Automating subtle judgment calls is impossible, not just because copyright's limitations - fair use and others - are grounded in subjective factors like "artistic intent," but because automating a flawed process creates flaws at scale.

Remember when Jimmy Fallon broadcasted himself playing a video game? NBC automatically claimed the whole program as its copyrighted work, and thereafter, gamers who streamed themselves playing that game got automated takedowns from NBC.

https://old.reddit.com/r/beatsaber/comments/bi9cp5/beat_saber_stream_blocked_by_jimmy_fallon_show/

The relentless expansion of proprietary rights over our virtual and physical world raises the stakes for filter errors. The new Notre Dame spire will be a copyrighted work - will filters block videos of protests in front of the cathedral?

https://www.techdirt.com/articles/20190425/09282042084/why-your-holiday-photos-videos-restored-notre-dame-cathedral-could-be-blocked-eus-upload-filters.shtml

And ever since the US's 1976 Copyright Act abolished a registration requirement, it's gotten harder to figure out who controls the rights to any work, so that even the "royalty free" music for Youtubers to safely use turned out to be copyrighted:

https://torrentfreak.com/royalty-free-music-supplied-by-youtube-results-in-mass-video-demonetization-191118/

We need a new deal for content removal, one that favors working creators over wage-thieves who have the time and energy to master the crufty, complex private legal systems each platform grows for itself.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/04/content-moderation-broken-let-us-count-ways

Back in 2019, Slate Future Tense commissioned me to write an sf story about how this stuff might work out in the coming years. The result, "Affordances," is sadly still relevant today:

https://slate.com/technology/2019/10/affordances-cory-doctorow-sf-story-algorithmic-bias-facial-recognition.html

Here's a podcast of the story as well:

https://ia803108.us.archive.org/3/items/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_314/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_314_-Affordances.mp3

Meanwhile, governments from Australia to the UK to Canada are adopting "Harmful Content" rules that are poised to vastly expand the filternet, insisting that it's better than the alternative.

https://www.cbc.ca/news/politics/bill-c10-user-generated-content-1.6007192

[hedgeyart]

Genuine question I want input on that’s been bouncing around in my skull for a couple hours. I trace art as a relaxing activity because my brain likes the structure of just drawing over what’s already there but my creative half enjoys the act of creating some form of art even if it’s not unique and often is significantly inferior to the original drawing. Would this count as art theft? I have little to no intention of learning any actual art skills from it or ever really making my own unique art. I just enjoy the act of tracing itself and find it relaxing. Is this wrong of me to do? And if it is am I allowed to be proud of how well I matched someone’s artwork with my traced version? Could I show my friends like hey look I traced this art really well I’m very proud of it? Or would that be wrong and art theft? Please don’t take this the wrong way I do not intend to nor desire to take anyone’s work and claim it as my own I’m simply a little dumb and genuinely curious about this situation.

I don't think it counts as theft if you're not claiming it to be original work. Art theft is more than just tracing, it's taking somebody else's work and claiming it to be your own, whether intentionally or by accident. If you're just doing it for your own enjoyment and sharing it with friends, making it clear that it's traced and not original work, then it's probably fine.

If you're posting it online or otherwise sharing it on a more public level, that's different. Even if it is, as you put it, "significantly inferior to the original," you would still want to include a link to the original or at least the original artist's name for proper credit (I'm sure I don't need to explain that just adding "credit to the artist" without clarifying who the artist is would not be sufficient). And if that artist asked you to take it down, you wouldn't have much ground to stand on to claim it as your own.

But again, if you're sharing it with your friends and creating it for your own enjoyment, I don't think it's that big of a deal. As much as I'd like to encourage anyone interested in art to pursue building their own skill, I know that a lot of people really do just do it for fun and without the intent of pursuing art as a skill. I don't expect everyone to agree with me. As an art student pursuing concept art, I've been taught to think of tracing as a tool rather than an evil nasty thing that you should never do. Even as a professional there are times where it's okay, and even encouraged, to trace. What you're doing sounds fairly harmless. If you're worried you could always try taking up some of those adult coloring books or something, but honestly I wouldn't worry about it too much.

[comeandreadawhile]

Snow Day in the Clone Wars

Submitted prompt: Clones see snow for the first time.

4k+ words this was meant to be a little thing and it just kept going. 

Pre-relationship Rexwalker, brief Codywan at the end. 

As had been the case for the majority of things during the war, Kaminoan simulations did not compare to real experiences; for all that the simulations and live training were widespread and creative, the scope of possibilities throughout the galaxy was infinite and usually unexpected.  Such was the case with snow.  

Snow—as the long necks and trainers had led them to believe—was harsh and biting.  It came on heavy winds and cut into you as if the air itself was made of blades.  It stole the air from your lungs and left you frozen, a waste of resources, once the blizzard moved on.  Snow was blinding, terrible for visibility; dark clouds blanketing the sky and ice packing itself onto your viewplate and falling too thick to show anything else in the beam of your helmet light—or a clear, frozen morning magnifying a rising sun’s rays with a vengeance, reflecting them in a way not unlike staring at the offending star itself and giving the enemy an advantage. But as with most subjects they’d been trained on, preparedness and expectations for the worst of situations had meant a lack of details—or perhaps the long-necks just saw no reason for the details—regarding the moments that were not so unpleasant and battle-ridden.

Torrent Company, who were sure the higher-ups were determined not to give them more than a few days leave at a time, had been tasked with checking in on the state of affairs between Pantora and Orto Plutonia—or, rather, to confirm with the Talz that no one had gone behind Senator Chuchi and the new Chairman’s backs regarding trade (or theft) of the planet’s resources.  It seemed for once that the Jedi would be able to act as the peacekeepers they’d wished to remain; their men, while not getting the rest that leave would’ve provided, were at least in for a theoretically easy mission, acting as precautionary bodyguards instead of soldiers fending off an attack.

And the mission had been easy, for the most part.  As easy as making atmosphere and dropping to the surface during a blizzard, and speeding—very cautiously in the low visibility—toward the village of the Talz.  The check-in had gone well, Threepio assisting with the communications and Ahsoka getting to learn from her grandmaster in his diplomatic element. With a message recorded for the Pantoran leadership, they could be on their way; it was only halfway between the village and where they’d hoped to rendezvous that the snowstorm had become too harsh for the transport ship to land or to find their way back; that left the option of finding shelter until the storm died down.  

Through some miracle—be it dumb luck or the will of the Force, it made no difference to the men—there had been a rock face they’d almost crashed into, which featured a cave that was both wide enough to fit the troops present, and deep enough to offer some warmth once the small emergency heaters were deployed and the many warmer-than-normal-human bodies were at rest in the wind-shielded structure.  As the chill of the storm was slowly staved off, just as steadily did the laughter of relieved troopers fill the air and special snow-resistant armors become a pile for them to recline against as the temperature slowly rose.  Ahsoka had stolen Rex’s for a blanket, wedging herself between him and her master to leech what warmth they had for her to steal. General Kenobi had finally made contact with Cody—who had been left in charge of the Resolute—to inform him they’d not died in a bout of diplomacy gone wrong, but simply been grounded by snow until morning.  The slightly harried look Rex only knew from years observing his older brother had melted into relief and something warmer that he was sure he knew the reason behind.

Sure, because as much as he’d hoped Cody would confide in him if he was correct—as General Skywalker leaned against his shoulder, arching somewhat over Ahsoka who was happy as any warm child nestled between her guardians—he knew the hope was a bit hypocritical.  General Skywalker had laughed at something Fives pantomimed while recounting some wild event or another before settling back against him as if it was the most natural thing in the world, warping himself to not crush his padawan, and the small voice in Rex’s head admitted that the warmth in his chest was not coming from the small heater some feet away.  

 More than once in the night had Ahsoka woken up spooked by a noise breaking through the howling of the storm, or a particularly shrill gust whistling through the nearby smaller caves

The insulated armor suits were dragged away from the cave walls to be makeshift mattresses and pillows—she and her master had made a deal to share with Rex at the mere price of also sharing their parkas-turned-blankets—yet the thick fabric could offer little in way of blocking out the noise. Still nestled snuggly between her two most frequent caretakers, she wondered if they were having as much difficulty staying asleep as she was; every so often she felt one of them adjusting the overlapping edges of the parkas to make sure she was covered.  Ahsoka hadn’t minded, of course; Togruta were not made for cold environments, but with arguably the most blanket and a very warm Rex beside her, only the tips of her montrals had anything to say about a chill.

Had she not finally been somewhat sleeping again, she would’ve had several things to say when the sun began to rise, and with it went Rex—would’ve, had Rex not shifted the parkas back about their owners’ forms to make up for his absence.  

There hadn’t been any visibility until the storm had passed, just before sunrise, but habit dictated that at least one man be assigned guard duty in case of an unexpected need to defend or vacate.  Retrieving the emergency blanket from its canister in his kit—folded so tightly they were a pain to put back, hence why most of the men hadn’t bothered using them when they were warm enough during the night—Rex made to relieve the current guard, stepping over snoring bodies as he went.

Without sparing a glance outside, he nudged the trooper with the toe of his boot while wrapping the blanket around his shoulders.  The trooper—a shiny who still hadn’t found a name that fit quite right—looked dazed as he stared out toward the horizon, merely inclining his head with a hum in response to Rex’s prodding.

“Changing of the guard, solider,” Rex spoke quietly, not wanting to rob their brothers of what sleep they could catch.  “Go get some shut-eye before we break camp.”

The shiny opened his mouth to say something before glancing up and, upon recognizing his captain standing above him, jumped up wide-eyed. “Yes, sir,” He chimed, moving a hand to cover his mouth as some nearby brothers shifted.  He began again more quietly, “The storm settled out within the last half of the hour, all’s been quiet, sir.”

Rex nodded at the report and went to take up the man’s previous spot, expecting to hear footsteps retreating as the new addition found a place to settle between the sleeping bodies—and noticed he was met with silence.  Glancing behind him, Rex raised an eyebrow at the shiny, “Something wrong, trooper?”

“Ah—no, sir.  Just getting one last look before turning in,” he answered, pointing past Rex. The captain felt his brows draw together a moment before turning to look at what the man was pointing at, and—

Oh. Oh wow.

“From what they told us, I never expected it could be so pretty,” the trooper said, echoing Rex’s thoughts as if he could hear them.

Outside, in the first light of morning, was snow as he’d never seen during any training or mission.  The clear morning sky held scarce clouds, still without more than the crisp, gentle breeze to usher them along and painted pink from the dawn; no flurries or sleet to be had.  Instead, the overnight storm had left them the parting gift of a landscape blanketed in soft white powder, the harsh forms of the surrounding rocks and trees made soft where the snow clung to the edges and the whole of it tinted with the warm pallet of daybreak.  

After what could’ve been seconds or minutes, the footsteps Rex had first expected fell quietly against the stone, and he was left to watch the sunrise in peace.  After some time, though it couldn’t have been more than an hour, he heard some of the other early risers shifting and letting out their own claims of wonder at the morning that greeted them.  Footsteps he recognized as Hardcase’s—they dragged a bit when he wasn’t marching—stopped beside him, and in perhaps the most focused state Rex had seen him, the trooper knelt where the snowfall had ended and reached out to press his hand in it. The powder gave a muted crunch as it compacted into a perfect imprint under the un-gloved hand.

“It’s soft when it isn’t whipping into you from all sides…” he remarked.

All at once the focus Rex saw in Hardcase melted into giddy mischief.  Rex watched as he stood and trotted off to the pile of brothers Rex assumed he’d slept in.

“Fives!  Fives, come look at the snow!” The man in question groaned as he was tugged into sitting up until he looked out.  Soon enough, several troopers were curiously poking out into the snow, some testing the waters in just their blacks before their Captain scolded them to at least put on their snow armor before going out to play.  

With their still groggy generals’ leave, of course; the lazy wave Anakin gave from his bedroll and Obi-Wan’s grinning nod were accepted with several loud whoops.    

Ahsoka stirred at the commotion, the less serious of Torrent tripping over each other in their haste to pull on their snow armor and the more serious complaining about being dragged into theirs by excited brothers. The padawan stretched under the blanket of her and her master’s parkas, snuggling into the line of her master’s back to doze off while the morning was still young.  

A quiet hum disturbed her, “You don’t want to go play in the snow, Ahsoka?”

Well if the option was there—

Ahsoka stretched one more time in the warmth she was loathe to leave before removing herself and her parka from the fold, tugging on her boots and gloves before pausing.  “I haven’t had breakfast.”

Anakin re-situated his parka while nodding towards the mouth of the cave, “You go have fun, work up an appetite showing the boys how it’s done.  I’ll make you breakfast after.”

 Anakin knew what growing up in a stagnant climate was like. Everyday looked the same on Tattooine; hot, hazy, with sandstorms in the afternoon, rain on three days of the year if they were lucky.  It never snowed.  The first year on Coruscant had been exciting and terrifying in many ways, the simplest of which was Obi-Wan getting to explain the planet’s weather to him.  The spring rain had left him in awe, seeing so much water falling all at once and racing in droplets down the windows, down his cheeks and palms when he and Obi-wan were caught outside.  The winter snow had been even more surprising. While nights on Tattooine were certainly chilly, there was never enough moisture for a frost, much less snow. Obi-wan had woken him early, carried that boy to a veranda in a bundle of blankets to watch his first flurry fall, quiet but for the whistle of wind.  

He assumed the clones had and were still going through similar after only knowing a planet of perpetual rainstorm; what was it like for them to first feel dirt under their feet?  To smell grass and feel sunshine?  Geonosis must’ve been a shock in more ways than one.

Anakin watched, still bundled up and comfortably resting on his captain’s warm armor, the white fabric thick and plush beneath his head. Said captain was watching their men play, still sitting in his watchmen’s spot wrapped in an emergency blanket Anakin swore couldn’t actually be of much use.  He mourned the heat he’d amassed through the night as he stood and bundled up their winter wear, taking the armful with him as he made his way to Rex’s side.

He could hear Obi-wan moving something about behind him, likely starting tea to stave off the chill.  Their men were getting the break they needed, throwing snow up in the air and at one another, some screaming if any found its way inside not-quite-fastened suits, a few rolling around in it and making snow people where there was space to do so.  Ahsoka was laughing, more freely than Anakin had seen in a while, throwing balls of snow and dodging others with glee.  Rex was watching the scene with a small smile.

Anakin laid the winter armor across their laps when he sat and offered half of his unzipped parka, holding it out for Rex to lean into if he wished.  

“Thank you,” Rex accepted with a wider smile, draping his half of the parka about his far shoulder, pressing his arm against Anakin’s to make the coat fit over both of them.  Anakin would be sure to start a kettle of instant caf—weak and cheap but effective and warm—once he got to making breakfast, as the chill had already tinted Rex’s cheeks pink.  It was an amusingly domestic thought given the circumstances, and one he was happy to indulge in.  Rex always seemed happy to be made breakfast.

Anakin never made Padme breakfast.  Not that either of them didn’t want him to, she had just had a particular preference when it came to food and presentation.  She had a particular preference about most things, which he didn’t begrudge her for; he simply acknowledged that, a year into a war that was only getting worse, deciding to quietly annul their already quiet marriage had been best for both of them.  

“Thank you for the pillow last night,” he replied.  The clones were so wonderfully warm; he was tempted to lean a little further into Rex.  A quiet ‘of course’ met him just before a snowball did.  

Rex watched in something between amusement and horror as Skywalker sputtered, snow dropping from his face down past his collar, and Hardcase straightened up from having thrown the snowball meant for Kix.  Ahsoka tried to choke back a laugh, but the lilt of an accented “oh my” from slightly behind Rex’s shoulder made the padawan guffaw. A couple of the men chuckled as well, and as Skywalker wiped the snow from his eyes Rex could see the lines of his face pull into a revenge-filled smirk.  A few of the laughing men stood underneath snow-laden trees, and with a brief wave of the general’s hand the heavy branches shook and dropped mounds of frozen powder onto his men.  

A few shouts of “No fair!” went up before his general stood and stretched his arms.  Skywalker resettled the parka about Rex’s shoulders before cockily stomping off into the snow, intent on giving their men a lesson on aiming at the right targets. General Kenobi voiced a half-hearted warning about getting soaked and freezing without his coat while taking up Skywalker’s abandoned spot and handing Rex one of two mugs.  

 Rex would not get to finish that mug before being urged into his snow armor and dragged out into the fun.  To make things more fair the Jedi split into different teams, erecting their own walls of snow to take cover behind during a snowball barrage. Hardcase was dutifully making as many snowballs as he could, watching with glee whenever Ahsoka managed to get a hit on their general.  Jesse and Fives were having no trouble dodging, and they had been a great asset to Skywalker’s team with how merciless they were and how fast they rolled up their next frozen projectile.  It was all in good fun, throwing snow and being hit by it, the cold bite of the powder refreshing when it sprayed from impact on a shoulder or chest.  But as the sun crept higher in the sky, General Kenobi reminded them of their approaching rendezvous with the 212th, and upon throwing the last of their collected snowballs the men filed back into the cave to warm up and prepare to leave.  

Skywalker fell in next to Rex, chuckling as he brushed snow out of his hair and slipping on his parka once they were properly inside. The Jedi started towards their packs and rations, and Rex began the arduous task of once more folding up his emergency blanket.  He unzipped his suit to the waist and sat, needing his hands without the thick winter gloves for the task.  He nearly jumped when a pair of cold arms circled him from behind.

“We never had snow on Shili, even when I visited it was always too warm,” came Ahsoka’s voice, still slightly giddy from the fun.

Rex chuckled and continued to work, “We never had snow on Kamino, always too wet.”  Ahsoka chuckled against his back before tightening her grip.

“You guys are so warm,” she remarked appreciatively. Finally succeeding in getting one end of the blanket to fit in its tube, Rex wiggled away from her to shove the rest of the fabric in and deposit the cylinder on his pack.  Turning about to face her, he crossed his legs and opened his arms.  Ahsoka took the invitation, using her parka once more as a blanket over her legs.  He caught Skywalker glance at them and saw the warm grin that sprouted at the sight they made.  There were still snowflakes on his lashes.

Ahsoka burrowed into Rex, earning a few soft looks from their men, while her master continued preparing food.  It was a warmer variation of rations; they’d been given dried, spiced meats and soups for the cold weather.  Skywalker held out a warm mug, and the smell of caf met Rex’s senses. His insides felt warm before the first sip hit his stomach.  He was debating how much time he’d have to prepare his own food once he was free of the little commander trapping him where he sat, when a portion was set down by his thigh.  Skywalker nudged Ahsoka’s shoulder with his knee.

A similar portion to his own was lowered to the Togruta’s face.  “Here’s yours, get off Rex so he can eat his.”  Ahsoka accepted the bowl with a pout, clearly unhappy about moving so soon after getting comfortable.

“She’s fine, sir.  I don’t mind,” Rex assured, reaching for his own bowl before pausing. “Er, not to undermine you, of course.”

Skywalker simply sighed before sinking down next to him. “You spoil her, Rex,” he remarked, shoving a spoonful of food into his mouth.  As if to prove the point, Ahsoka wriggled down a bit, curling around her bowl to balance it and making room for Rex’s arms while he ate.  He heard a content hum leave her as she settled and tucked into her meal.  But—

“So do you, sir,” he replied, blowing on the steaming spoon in his hand.  He’d been awake to remember with some fondness Skywalker fretting over Ahsoka being warm enough the previous night.  Skywalker hummed in acknowledgement before quiet fell between them, the murmur of their men eating and packing up a comfortable white noise under the sounds of their spoons scraping and clinking.  Somewhere behind them a recently rebooted Threepio was asking General Kenobi about their departure time. Rex didn’t expect the silence to last around Skywalker, and it didn’t.

“It seems we’re well matched then.”

 Anakin was felt a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was pleasantly surprised. Instead of indignant choking or sputtering, a wide-eyed blush briefly overtook his captain’s features and melted into a soft smile.  Ahsoka was glancing between them both with avid interest, the last spoonful of her meal held halfway to her mouth.  

Rex was pointedly not looking at either of them, scraping the last of his bowl into one pile to scoop from.  Raising the spoon to his mouth he agreed with a barely there smirk of his own. “Seems so.”

 As if to save him from the skipped heartbeats caused by Skywalker’s comments, General Kenobi received word from Cody that their pickup was coming in half and hour, their original rendezvous point finally clear of storm and clouds—and all of twenty minutes away.  At that, remaining packing was sorted quickly and remaining food vanished even quicker.  Before long, speeders were loaded and they were off.  

If the snow had been pretty just before the mouth of the cave, it was lovely to race past.  Mountains and valleys of it seemed to sparkle in the late morning light, glistening just enough from the slight melt to look like fogged glass.  Some of the flurries kicked up by their speeders caught the light just right to glitter as it fell.  The snow shone gold and white in the sun, while long blue shadows stretched out behind the tall thick icicles they sped between.  While certainly not a break, and relieved to return to somewhere above freezing, Rex was almost sorry when they finally came to a stop in front of the transports that would bring them back to the Resolute and found himself taking in the sights one last time while the men loaded their supplies.  A blue shadow approached with the sound of crunching footsteps.

“Ready to go, Rex?”

He gave a light sigh, “Back to reports and central heating.”

Skywalker chuckled beside him, bumping their shoulders. “We’re a team, we’ll handle the reports together.”  Something about the way he said ‘together’ made that funny warm feeling return in full force, and Rex was glad his snow armor hid the blush that came of it. There was snow caked to the edges of Skywalker’s goggles and sprinkled throughout the fur of his hood that, were he bolder, he’d be tempted to brush away.  

They walked shoulder to shoulder up the transport’s ramp to rejoin their men, Threepio having awkwardly waddled into the supply area and Ahsoka asking General Kenobi where he thought they’d be sent next.   Rex turned before the doors were closed and came to a conclusion; snow could be as lovely as it was harsh, and as wonderful as it was dangerous—despite the Kaminoans and their simulations.  And perhaps, he thought—looking towards Skywalker fussing over Ahsoka’s hood—that applied to most of the Kaminoans’ teachings on clone life experiences.  

Cody was waiting to greet them once they were safely docked on board the Resolute, and Obi-wan was grateful to be back in a climate-controlled environment.  Once the Senator and Chairman had again been reassured of how the visit went, he left the war room with Cody in tow to stretch his legs after the last mildly cramped rotation.  As they walked Cody held out a cylinder, “Thought you might want this now that the call is over.”

Taking the cylinder with a curious hum, Obi-wan was met with the scent he knew as his favorite tea upon removing the cap.  A happy sigh left him.  “I missed you.”

“You were gone a day, sir.”

“Am I not allowed to miss you when we are parted, Commander?”  The answer to which was a quiet chuckle.  Turning a corner into another empty but familiar hallway, Cody spoke up again.

“Any progress on those two?”

An amused snort came from his dignified Jedi, and after a sip of tea a pleased hum followed.  “Oh my, they were almost flirting.”  A scarred eyebrow raised in response.

“Really?”

“Truly, dear.”  As they neared Obi-wan’s quarters he shifted the thermos between hands to shimmy out of his parka, before Cody took the entire cylinder and held onto one of the puffy sleeves.  “Ah, thank you.”  

“Of course.  Who was doing the almost-flirting?”  

The question was met with a fond eye roll.  “Anakin, of course, though he’s about as tactful as he was before the war.”  He entered the code to the door and sighed as it opened, “Oh Cody, they looked like a little family, like it was the most natural thing in the world.”  As he stepped through the threshold he felt a hand on his waist and a kiss on his temple.

“Rex is usually pretty good about knowing what he does and doesn’t want.  If Skywalker is making an attempt, it probably won’t be long until that little family is official.”

Obi-wan folded the parka over the chair and accepted the thermos when Cody offered it back.  Unscrewing the cap once more he ventured, “Would you want to go with them? After the war?”  

Cody pressed their foreheads together and two gentle hands rested on Obi-wan’s shoulders, “Only if you come with me.”  A warm moment passed before Obi-wan chuckled.

“You’re such a sap, dear.”

“Skywalker could stand to take notes.”

[littleeyesofpallas]

I was going to do these at random but then i got it in my head to stage these as an alternative first round of fights like in the manga, even though we really didn't get to see most of those play out...

To start i feel like the most obvious match up that we missed out on would've been Zaraki fighting Driscoll: For one Zaraki works around the bankai theft by not having one, and his whole made for battle/blood knight character type plays directly with The Overkill. Kind of like in his fight with Nnoitra, it'd make for a great emphasis on what Zaraki's actual strengths are; not that he simply fights and kills people, but that his supposed infinite potential comes from being pushed to his limits and learning to adapt and overcome new opponents. By contrast Overkill only gives Driscoll more power based on killcount, even if the people he slaughters are weak and he doesn't learn anything from fighting them.

So, the fight could start with the two of them both hacking their way through waves of faceless low rank goons to draw a parallel, but in the fight itself Zaraki's emphasis would be on drawing on meaningful fighting experience even with no bankai, while Driscoll would rely on a stolen bankai and a superficial killcount. There could be a fun moment where in a fit of desperation Driscoll tries to boost his power by squeezing in extra kills, targeting more weaklings, and lashes out at Yachiru, but she deflects his attack all on her own, he's shocked and confused, and in the moment of hesitation Zaraki lands the finishing blow.

Much less thematic, but I feel like Bambietta, with The Explode, would've made for a better counter measure to Byakuya's Senbonzakura. She could've opened the fight with her projectiles and Byakuya would got through his usual routine of fighting at a distance and being dodgy and precise with his blocks and counters, until suddenly he'd realize there were less petals than before, and Bambi could explain how every time he "blocked" her Explode projectiles they turned some of his thousands of blades into bombs and blew up. And she'd taunt him about how many blades does he have left and how long can he keep up defending himself while sacrificing his petals. He'd smugly use his bankai to summon up its crazy number of petals and ask if her explosions can keep up with so many petals, but then we'd get the reveal and she'd seal it away. Then Byakuya would have the moment of stark realization where he has zero petals to fight with. And then he'd get blown to hell and back before ending up in basically the same situation he was in with As Nodt in the actual manga shoved into the back of a bloody crater.

Similarly I don't think there's too much thematic resonance in this match up but I like some of the kind of obtuse dynamic they could have. it's never properly addressed, but we do know that Candice is technically one of the newer Sternritter, as she's said to have less control over her Vollstandig when hers is involuntarily prompted. Giving her lightning theme I like the idea that maybe she's something of a prodigy herself. Obviously not as young as Hitsugaya, proportionally speaking, but a fast learner and someone who rocketed up the ranks of the Wandenreich as a genius technician of Quincy skills. Hitsugaya could have a little back and forth about what it means to be a genius, and the difference between instantaneous intuition and carefully practiced talent. It would prompt his bankai and how real power comes from sober self reflection and not self aggrandizement, but then she'd take advantage of his weather gathering, like he used with Tier, and use it to amplify her lightning, get one good hit in, Hitsugaya would brush it off and ready a counter attack, and she'd seal his bankai.

Also room for some kind of banter with Rangiku, I'm sure. Probably with her calling Rangiku old and starting a whole cliche back and forth over that.

Meninas deserved more love, and screen time, and a real fight to herself. I feel like the best way to really illustrate her schift as The Power would've been to have her, and not the early unrevealed PePe, be the one to fight Jidanbou. Not that the gate guardians even make much sense being involved when the Quincy didn't invade through the four gates, but still... I'd love to see little Mini just arm wrestle Jidanbou and/or the other gigantic gate guardians into submission effortlessly. Have Komamura show up with his bankai as the one thing even bigger than the gate guardians. And then Mini steals it, instead of Bambietta, and gets into a raw strength beatdown with Komamura himself as the biggest of the captains.

I'm still mad she never hulked out properly. We only ever got the one panel of her with a buff arm going after Liltotto when she got lovestruck. Unrelated to this iteration of alternate fights, but it also would've been neat to see her fight Kira; he'd try and utilize his shikai the usual way, but Meninas would just get bulkier the heavier Wabisuke made her to carry the additional weight. And then Kira would end up baffled and terrified in the shadow of a fully hulked out Meninas.

Maybe a little too obvious, but I feel like a proper wushu fight between Sui-Feng and Cang Du was stolen from us. It also would've been a perfect set up for the bankai theft because Sui-Feng could go full assassin but immediately run into the problem that if Cang Du's Iron skin can't be pierced, then she can't leave any marks to hit twice. So obviously that makes her only option the bankai, and he can swipe it from there. I feel like unlike most of the other captains Sui-Feng would get to have a cool moment where she still fights Cang Du to a standstill even without her bankai, but then of course he just sinks back into the shadows at the end of the first raid.

This one feels like a stretch, but for all the weirdness of PePe and the creative choices that went into him, I liked the little bit of his explanation of his powers where it wasn't just a romantic or erotic kind of Love that his power controlled, but that he compared it to the instinctive need to protect an innocent baby. And with Jizo being the patron deity of dead children, it would have been really cool to see him have some thematic play with Mayuri. I know it's not how his powers worked in canon, but I actually would've really liked if his power wasn't as directly focused on himself. So that he could provoke people to act on their strong desires to the detriment of logic, but without a lot of direct control over it. So he'd hit Mayuri, and Mayuri would shrug it off because he doesn't care about anyone and then without warning Nemu would be put in danger in the course of the fight and Mayuri would be compelled to protect her. And he wouldn't know what happened as he threw himself in the way of an attack. Then like everyone else he'd pull bankai and PePe could steal it, so that weird creepy cupid man could have a giant creepy baby. but more importantly Mayuri could quietly and furiously ruminate on his feelings during the interim training arc

I know Mayuri didn't actually lose his bankai with the rest during the first attack in the manga, but it felt like he should have since his was part of that batch of SS arc bankai we saw earliest and got kind of accustomed to throughout the rest of the Arrancar arc. (more so than Sui-Feng's at least) Actually in regards to that same sentiment, I feel like renji should have lost his bankai too, even though his ostensibly posed less of a threat than some of the more well honed captains'. It's a shame that so many of the lieutenants just kinda got lost in the background of this arc. It would've been really cool to see the gotei compensate the loss of their bankai by doing more tagteams and group fights

[agape-philo-sophia]

Those of us who have less conditioning -- who don't obey the chain of authority; who have less attachment to falsity -- recognize that the so-called "authorities" in our way of life are stupid and idiotic in their actions. We have truer, higher and realer conscious awareness and self-development making us more authentic and capable of recognizing the authority of truth -- of what is right, good, true and moral. The "authorities" and their supporters are falser, lower, and unrealer selves; unaware and unconsciously living, doing wrongs as though they were right; or transforming what's right into a wrong. Conscience is the internal guiding system humanity is blessed with having. It is literally your compass to living in the Right. Police and Military side swipe their consciences by following orders from their masters. Police make all kinds of justifications and excuses as to why they follow through with immoral orders but there is no legitimate excuse. Justifications for burying the conscience are null and void. As it is the conscience itself that will direct us toward what is moral, right, justified, and true. The Ancient Mystery traditions considered the conscience the home dwelling of the Higher self. To sell your soul means to disobey your conscience. The immorality of government is obvious once we start being honest with ourselves. It’s very clear to see that not only politcians are not to be trusted but also the foundation of government itsself even if the politicians were to be trusted is wrong. The foundation namely consists of violence, incarceration and theft. Theft is theft, also when government does it. When someone or some entity claims you MUST pay them money or you will be incarceted and means you are a slave. Back in the days they took 100% of slaves labour now it’s about 30%. Even if it’s used for collective purposes doesn’t make it any less of an act of theft. Government has a monopoly on violence. If you would act like the government you would be arrested. What grands government the right to be above the people and to rule other people. It’s an illusion of self proclaimed control. Just a group of thugs with their minions in blue who are the modern day houseslaves that rather inslave their own brothers and sisters for a paycheck than actually become conscious and start thinking for themselves. It’s really pathetic and pittyfull. The level of unconsciousness is so severe that they think what they actually are doing is a virtue and they see themselves as brave people. Nothing could be further from the Truth. Following orders is not a virtue at all. It means you’re deeply asleep to a world of immorality and chaos. Apart from the immoral actions they commit everyday by stealing from their brothers and sisters for their big boss government and incarcerating their own brothers and sisters for victimless crimes because some words of a piece of paper says so that has been written by their slavemasters they are actually very much being mocked by the people behind the government who have set up this system of control. Many of the pole ice off eye seers are being covered in dark occult symbols. Terrorists dressed in fancy clothes with pseudo weaponry forcing the man made law down people’s throats and stealing and harming people with unrightful violence all over the world where in many countries. oke its understandable that they try to calm the peace of rioteers but you dont do that with violence. Police shouldnt be with protests because they make rioteers out of peaceful protestors when they start to taunt them and intimidate them with their costumes and often very authoritarian behaviour, wich they get training in and theyre expected of to behave in this way. Ofcourse also them can be themselves but they have to abide by the man made law wich is immoral and relative in many ways and is different everywhere on the earth and everywhere there comes more violence from the police and also the people rioting in many countries is often because of government interference or against the government. Government does nothing but trying to control violence for the betterment of their agenda’s of control and control because thats where they are steering towards for totalitarian control and that is definitely not something you want i can assure you because I am out of the mind control programs (or at least many of them but still having to deal with the programs themselves all around you and yes it’s designed that way. The police has also a big say on the centralisation of protection because in the end that’s what a non psychopathic cop wants to do for joining the cops but that’s also a powerful reason why people still believe in the pole ice. Because they might think that’s all the police does. This concerns naive and ignorant people that ignore all the negativ and unrightful and immoral actions the order followers pursue. They have to because those are the pillars of the entity that is controlling them and telling them what to do with the hyrarchical pyramid shaped organisation and protocols and information accessability. They’re out of alignment with Natural Law and/or the Universal one’s whatever you would like to call it everyone who is inner knowing and understands the logics of the universe and what it’s made of and what life itsself’s building blocks are of reason. Because then you get the understanding that the universe and this planet’s purpose is to live free truthful and with Love as foundation. They know not what inheritent rights are. Your natural right is basically everthing as long it doesnt bring harm to other sovereign beings. That’s it you know and if you are breaking those you’re fooling yourself and become addicted eventually to the Ego that consists of the wanting for suffering so people can have attention from others and self pitty. They have given up on their true dreams and Passions and talents and basically are too passive or too active in things that dont really matter and are distracted by mindless sports games and videogames and going out and get wasted kind of dissuations of Truth by the Ego of pleasure. Not many truly want to understand the matter of the fact, the objectivity of Truth that this universe and planet and dimensions consist of because not everything is relative and unknowable and that’s beauty of it you have to find these powers in yourself and connect with the higher mind wich is the Neo-Cortex and have the left and right brain hemispheres in balance. Intellectually merged with creativity is true intelligence but many do not know this and tend to be in unbalance by one of the halves of the brains and this also shapes their worldview and way of being in a deep way. Statism is a religion. The believe in a corporate organisation that has taken over the control of the people to do what they plan. And believe me they got plans. If you can connect the dots of what is going on in the long run in the past and in the future its all very obvious and people still making fun of people talking and discussing and recognizing the Truth in these games they play and how they manipulate the minds of the masses into ways of thinking and choose between options they both have given you as if you may not think outside of the box unless its for financial ways and they can make money off of your taxmoney then suddenly you can work with them. Theyre taking so much of our money . With that money still intact in our wallets we can do alot of things we would normally give the government for doing what we dont know they pay and you just get thrown in the collecetive money box and they decide where they use it for it doesnt really have a worth. Everyone should make up for themselves wich organisations they support with their money or they start their own business without government interference but in the times we live in that is still a hard thing to do because we’re still under all these legislations and rules and buracrocy it’s unbelievable how deep they have spun their webs to back their fundamentals of control over the people

[thebiasrekkers]

Shadow’s Birthright | MYG

Chapter 00: Prologue

Plot: Riding in on thunder and lightning, two princes are born. But a crown cannot be shared. It can only be worn by one and one alone. The hands of man have separated the brothers, allowing one to live in wealth and comfort inside the palace while the other grows up among commoners. But Fate cannot be destroyed by the hands of man. A shared destiny reunites the brothers; one to become a king who descends into madness and the other will rise as a dragon whose journey has only just begun in order to claim a crown he does not desire to have.

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: series | historical!au | fantasy!au | angst | romance | drama | tragedy

Pairing: Min Yoongi (Lee Yoon) x Female OC (Kalina Shuri)

Warnings: Historical setting, caste system, magic/sorcery, graphic violence, disturbing graphic images, religious tones, angst, slow burn, smut

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,128

Tag List: @luxekook​, @pinkpjmin​, @btsaudge​, @flowerwrites06​, @stillcopingxx​, @taevkimchi​, @aroseforyoongi​

AN: I’ve teased you all enough with this. I’ve been doing it since Yoongi dropped that damn MV (you all know it by now, don’t act like you don’t). And now here we are. Me. Again. Teasing you with a prologue. But it will be worth the wait, my loves. It will be worth the torture that I am about to put you all through. Because it’s a story I think needs to be told. I know I’ve seen some one-shots out there, and while that’s great, I want to put my Korean History knowledge through the ringer and really put you guys on a roller coaster. If you love this story, show it love. I’m writing this because it’s a story featuring a subject I’m passionate about and one that I will put all of my heart and soul into. Just like with Make It Right. So I present to you the start of this journey, this trilogy series (yes, I said it) full of heartbreak, magic and love.

P.S. Please bear in mind that while the historical accuracy will be mostly correct, I am setting this in a time period in Joseon history where there was no such thing as a king who had a twin brother. Obviously that’s where the fiction/creative freedom is going to come in. Everything else will be period accurate, trust and believe. 

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

“The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and pain.” - Dante Alighieri - The Divine Comedy

Thunder rumbled across the skies as a pained scream tore through the night. 

Hurried footsteps echoed through the palace halls as maid servants and eunuchs piddled about. Some carried brass basins full of water, others had armfuls of fresh linens. Royal physicians moved in and out of the White Lily Pavilion, urgency in their steps, and everyone was talking at once.

“The water isn’t hot enough!”

“Are those fresh linens?”

“The tonic is almost ready!”

“She’s sweating far too much!”

“We need another pillow!”

“Her legs are swollen. We need cold compresses!”

“Elevate them for now!”

“Her Majesty needs some water!”

Suddenly, there was a sharp gasp from one of the maidservants as an approaching eunuch appeared, followed by a small entourage of soldiers, eunuchs and handmaidens. She stumbled forward when another servant ran into her back, nearly knocking the fresh basin of water from her hands.

“His Majesty, The King, has arrived!”

Those who were able to, prostrated themselves before the king immediately. He wore deep crimson robes with golden dragons embroidered on the sleeves and chest. The topknot was held together with a golden ornament that resembled flames - a dragon pin pushed through to hold the item in place. His eyes were wide, full of concern, and burned a rich umber that was reflected from the crack of lightning that lit up the sky.

“How is she?” he asked as the royal physician approached, wringing his hands clean of blood. “It’s been hours!”

The Royal Physician sighed, sweat beading out over his forehead and nose. “It is a difficult labor, Your Majesty. Truthfully, I’m worried about Her Majesty’s safety.”

The King glared at him, causing the doctor to flinch slightly. “If she dies, I will have your head. Do you understand?”

The physician bowed deeply, as did his assistants. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I will do everything in my power to ensure that the Queen has a healthy delivery.”

Suddenly, one of the maid servants appeared, a smile on her face. “The baby is breaching, Sir!”

The Royal Physician made haste, following after the servant and back into the pavilion. The King watched, his hands locked together as he began to silently pray for the safety of both his Queen and his child. His eunuch and bodyguard sidled up on either side of him, whispering encouraging words to help ease his anxieties. 

After what felt like hours of listening to the doctors and servants yelling encouraging words to the Queen, a shrill yell of agony broke through the night. On the tail end of the scream, a baby’s cry could be heard. The King felt his legs give way and he was held up by his attendants as he laughed in relief. But just before he was allowed to enter his Queen’s chamber, he heard something concerning.

“My Lord! Another one! Another child is pushing through!”

“What?!” the physician yelled, confused. This concerned the King, but since the Queen was still in labor, he was not granted entrance into her chambers. “Bring more linens and fetch Her Majesty’s tonic! Hurry!”

More urging words were given to the Queen as she continued her labor. The tension was so thick in the air that it could be sliced completely in half with a sword. Every so often, an attendant would tap at the sweat collecting on the King’s brow and temple. The storm that threatened to rain down on them continued to make itself known until another young voice pierced through the sky.

The King didn’t bother halting his steps as he all but ran toward the entrance of the Lily Pavilion. He kicked off his boots and his sock-clad feet thundered against the polished wood flooring. Two servants quickly slid the doors open to allow the King to enter the Queen’s chambers. His haggard breathing escalated when he saw his Queen’s complexion was even paler than when he’d last seen her. The servants and physicians quickly moved aside to allow the King to situate himself at her bedside. 

“Choon-jung,” he whispered, his hands immediately moving to grasp her own as she reached out to him, “you did very well.”

Tears leaked from her eyes as she smiled weakly up at him. “Cheon-ha,” she managed to croak out, her dark bangs clinging to the sweat on her forehead and cheeks, “forgive your servant for her lack of grace.”

“Nonsense.” He stroked her cheek with as much affection as he could without allowing his emotions to overcome him. “You must rest now, my Queen. It has been a long night.”

“Your grace is immeasurable.” Again, she smiled. For a moment, all they did was look at each other. Finally, she huffed out a breath and craned her neck in different directions. “The Royal Physician?”

“I believe he went to go fetch your tonic, my Queen.” The King watched her nod again. Just as he was about to speak, two maidservants appeared. Each of them were holding thick silk blankets; one gold and the other emerald green. The King’s happy mood slowly grew dour. “Are they princes or princesses?”

The two servants seemed to sense the tone shift in The King’s expression and voice. They both looked at one another before lowering their heads solemnly. When he slammed his hand on the floor, they immediately fell to their knees while cradling the children and prostrating themselves at the Queen’s bedside.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty!”

“My King,” called his Queen, attempting to soothe his ire, “please, you must remain calm.”

“Are they princes or princesses?” He asked the question again through clenched teeth. He would not ask a third time. 

One servant lifted her head to meet the King’s harsh gaze, gasping and then dipping it back down again. “F-Forgive your servant’s insolence, Your Majesty,” she stammered, clinging to the emerald blanket for what he could only assume was out of comfort, “they are both healthy princes.”

“Dojin-ah,” the King called, his hand already extended out in waiting. His bodyguard approached and placed a small dagger in the King’s palm. The two servants huddled even closer together as the King stood. “Which of the princes was born first?”

The Queen sat up fully, arms flying outward to cling to the lower half of the King’s robes. “Cheon-ha! I beg you to show mercy!” She tightened her grip on the silk fabric and he could only flash a pained expression as he stared into her fearful eyes. “They are your sons, My King!”

“You know that I cannot do that, Choon-jung,” he replied softly, his brows furrowing, “twin sons will only create turmoil in the Royal court. I do not want my sons fighting over the throne in the future. Nor will I have them be used as tools by any of the noble factions to obtain more power for themselves.” 

Tears spilled from the Queen’s eyes and her hands slowly slid from his robes. He knew that she couldn’t argue with him. It wasn’t her place, and even if it were, she had no counterargument to dissuade him with. Reaching down to stroke her cheek, he gave her a silent apology with a mere look. He slowly unsheathed the dagger, his gaze hardening as he looked back at the two maidservants. 

“Which of the princes was born first?” he asked again, pointing the tip of the dagger in their direction. “Do not lie to me or I will take your lives from you. Do you understand?”

The girl holding the golden blanket shuffled forward on her knees, holding the child swaddled inside out to the King. “This is the first-born prince, Your Majesty.”

He hummed, turning to face the servant holding the emerald blanket. “Give me the child.” Her head shot up and she turned a frightful gaze to the Queen. For a while, all the Queen could do was avert her gaze. “NOW!” The King’s booming voice shook the young servant girl from her frozen state and she slowly stood to approach the King.

When the child was placed into his arms, the King looked down at the young prince. His hair was jet black and his complexion was a bit red from having been brought into the world finally. The child fought sleep for a few seconds before he blinked up a set of dark, curious eyes at him. The King’s heart skipped a beat when the child sputtered a tiny giggle and smiled at him. 

For a moment, the King of Joseon believed he would not be able to do this.

Before he could stop her, the Queen was up on her feet and wrenched the child from his grasp. She stumbled backwards, landing hard on her bedding. Her hair and robes were completely disheveled and her servants were immediately at her side as they began to straighten her appearance as best they could. Clinging to the child, she glared harshly up at the King.

He sighed. “Choon-jung,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowing, “do not do this.”

“I cannot let you kill him!” She pulled the baby up to her cheek and buried her face into the blanket, sobbing openly into it. “I will not let you do it!”

The King hated seeing his beloved Queen in this state. For as long as they’d been married, before he’d even been crowned King of Joseon, he simply wanted to live a fulfilling life with his wife. They’d tried many times over the years to bear children, but to no avail. And now, when they were finally granted a miracle from the Heavens, they were instead cursed with two sons. 

He’d never wished for the twins to have been princesses more than in that very moment.

Again, the Queen reached out to cling at his robes. He knew that she was desperate and he wanted nothing more than to grant her every wish she desired. But bloodshed often ran rampant in the palace. It took place when he was a child many years ago. He didn’t want that life for his sons. 

“Please, My King! If you must deny this child’s existence, then send him away!” Seeing her tear-stained cheeks upset him and he slowly lowered himself down to her. “Please don’t kill our son. I’m begging you!”

For a long moment, no one said anything. The only sounds that could be heard were the tiny coughs and sleepy sneezes of his sons. Finally, he sighed and lowered the dagger at his side. He could not win against her.

“Very well,” he said, causing her to release another sob; this time from relief. 

His bodyguard, Dojin, was about to retrieve the dagger. But before he could get his hands on it, the King shot his arm out to snatch his son out of the Queen’s arms. Before she could stop him, the King brought the dagger’s blade down on the child’s face. Blood wept from the right cheek and the infant screamed in pain. The Queen’s own screams intermingled with the noise and while it hurt his heart to do this, he knew that it had to be done. 

He rose to his feet, handing both the dagger and the child to Dojin. “Take him, Dojin-ah. Take him and leave the Capital at once.” His bodyguard blinked, holding the child close to his chest. “You are not allowed to return unless summoned. Do you understand?”

Dojin’s lips parted slightly. “B-But Your Majesty…” 

“He is your son now, Dojin-ah.” Reaching into the sleeve of his robe, he pulled out hiding inside of his palm and shoved it into the silk belt wrapped around Dojin’s waist. “When the time comes, give this to him. You will know when.”

He watched his bodyguard and dearest friend frown. “Your Majesty…”

“This is my decree.” The King placed his hands on Dojin’s shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Go. Go now!”

He watched Dojin lower his head sharply and then hastily made his retreat just as the Royal Physician returned. He looked over his shoulder curiously and the King quickly swept his arm out across his body. “The Queen only gave birth to one son. That is what the entire Kingdom will know from this day forward.” His eyes narrowed as the servants and physicians all looked between each other. “If I so much as hear a whisper of anything else within these palace halls, I will bathe the royal gardens with your blood.”

Sharp gasps and hushed whispers were thrown between everyone. The King stomped his foot, commanding for silence. “Am I making myself clear?!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” All the servants lowered themselves, their heads bowed deeply to hide their faces. “Your grace is immeasurable!”

[weavingthetapestry]

Epiphany 1540 - The Linlithgow ‘Interlude’ Is Performed

(John Slezer’s engraving of Linlithgow Palace, c.1693. Reproduced under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution licence, with the permission of the National Libraries of Scotland)

On Epiphany 1540, a play known only as the ‘Interlude’ was performed before King James V of Scotland in Linlithgow. This play, which at the time was perhaps little more than another festive court treat, has since been of great interest to both historians of Scottish theatre and the Protestant Reformation. The king’s alleged reaction to this performance, as reported in a letter from the English Warden of the East March to Thomas Cromwell, has fuelled speculation over his religious views. Meanwhile the description of the play itself, preserved in some ‘notes’ which accompanied the letter, has led many critics to argue that the Linlithgow Interlude was an early version of ‘Ane Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis’, the most famous work of the Scots makar and herald Sir David Lindsay of the Mount.

James and his pregnant queen Mary of Guise spent Yuletide 1539 in the lochside palace of Linlithgow, newly refurbished in the latest Renaissance style. With the Yule celebrations over and the New Year’s gifts dispersed, the festive season usually closed with the feast of Epiphany or ‘Uphalyday’ on 5th/6th January. Uphalyday itself was an important occasion, marked by solemn religious services alongside more boisterous entertainment like guising and the ‘Feast of the Bean’. This year the court tailor was especially busy making costumes of red, yellow, and purple, because a play was to be performed before the king, queen, and entire council ‘spiritual and temporal’.*

An account of the proceedings was sent by Sir William Eure, an English March Warden, to Henry VIII’s ubiquitous chief minister Thomas Cromwell on 26th January 1540. Eure had recently been at Coldstream, meeting commissioners sent by the Scottish king, and had fallen into conversation with one. This was Master Thomas Bellenden, ‘a man (…) of gentle and sage conversation, especially touching the stay of the spirituality in Scotland’. Bellenden was actually the Lord Justice Clerk, and director of the royal chancery. He also had close court connections beyond his official duties- his mother had been the king’s nurse while his younger sister Katherine worked in the royal wardrobe (and her third husband was Oliver Sinclair) and his brother John’s literary works were patronised by the king. However, Thomas Bellenden would also become known as a Protestant sympathiser and even in 1540 he was sufficiently reform-minded for Eure to describe him as ‘a man inclined to the sort used in our Sovereign’s Realm of England’…

(King James V and his second wife Mary of Guise. Source- wikimedia commons)

Taking him for a like-minded fellow, Eure discreetly questioned Bellenden about James V’s attitude towards Protestantism. Bellenden gave the rather ambiguous answer that James and his secular counsellors intended to reform the ‘misdemeanours’ committed by churchmen in Scotland. He then informed Eure about an “Interlude” performed for the king on Uphalyday, ‘the whole matter whereof concluded upon the declaration of the naughtiness in Religion, the presumption of Bishops, the collusion of the spiritual Courts, called the Consistory Court in Scotland, and misusing of priests.’ Even more interesting was the king’s alleged reaction to this reformist drama. Bellenden supposedly told Eure that, when the play finished, James turned to the bishops present and threatened to send six of them to his uncle Henry VIII if they did not reform their lives. Gavin Dunbar, archbishop of Glasgow and the king’s chancellor** answered carefully that the bishops would obey even a single word from the king, to which James angrily replied that he, ‘would gladly bestow any words of his mouth that could amend them.’ Bellenden also claimed that the king intended to remove all churchmen from government posts and that James studied every day, looking for a way to prevent clerics holding Crown offices. Bellenden then asked Eure to assist him by having a description of the acts that had been passed in England ‘touching the suppression of religion’ sent to the king of Scots.

One nineteenth century editor of Eure’s letter considered it ‘unquestionable proof’ that James V was planning a Scottish Reformation in 1540. In fact, things were rather more complicated. A full exploration of James V’s religious policies and personal beliefs would take far too long to go into here, but a couple of brief points may be made. Firstly, whether or not James actively sought to remove all churchmen from government as Bellenden is supposed to have claimed, this was never accomplished during his reign, nor did he ever make good on his alleged threat to send some bishops to England when they didn’t clean up their act. Secondly James V benefited greatly from the desire of both the papacy and the Scottish clergy to ensure that he did not break with Rome. Papal indults allowed him to wield a great deal of influence in church appointments, while the Scottish church contributed thousands of pounds to the Crown. James may have publicly flirted with the idea of a Reformation after the manner of Henry VIII but he was already doing quite well under the current system, and never made any real attempt to alter this during his personal reign. Possibly Eure’s letter should be viewed as an indication of the hopes which reformist councillors like Bellenden might have had of their king. Alternatively, perhaps it merely reflected an image which Scottish reformers or English diplomats, or indeed the king of Scots himself, wished to present to Henry VIII’s government down in Westminster. Thus although Eure’s report is intriguing, any conclusions about James V’s spiritual policy which rest solely on the authority of a secondhand report of an isolated remark made on Uphalyday, must be limited.

However the Linlithgow ‘interlude’ clearly made an impact. Eure was so impressed by its reported effect that he procured a synopsis of the play from a Scot ‘of our sort’ and attached it to his letter. The play opened with the antics of a character named Solace, ‘whose part was but to make merry, sing ballads with his fellows, and drink at the interlude of the play.’ Following this harmless comic section, the play took a more serious turn when another actor entered, dressed as a king. The role of this ‘king’ was largely confined to ratifying the other characters’ decisions, but his presence is intriguing- was he supposed to reflect the real monarch sitting in the audience?

(Bare and roofless, the Great Hall at Linlithgow Palace on a dreich day sadly doesn’t give a great impression of its former opulence. But please try to imagine a sixteenth century court celebrating Yule with a roof over their heads, hangings on the wall, and a fire in the grate).

The king was followed on stage by his flattering courtiers Placebo, Pikthanke, and Flaterye, who fawn over him at great length. Then four more characters enter. The first three are an armed man, a bishop, and a burgess, corresponding loosely to the mediaval concept of the three estates- those who fight, those who pray, and those who work. This also reflects the division of the Scottish parliament, often referred to as the “Three Estates”. But these three characters were also accompanied by a character named Experience, who was dressed like a ‘doctor’ (in the university, not the medical sense- presumably an expert in theology or law). When these characters had assembled on the dais beneath the king, the action was driven by the entry of one last character- a Poor Man, who lamented as he walked up and down between the audience and the noble characters on the raised scaffold. He complained that he was reduced to beggary by the demands of the courtiers, and could not get redress because he did not know the comptroller or the treasurer, who controlled petitioners’ access to the king.*** Asking for the king, he was pointed towards the actor dressed as the king on the dais. The Poor Man was apparently unconvinced by this figure and launched into a rant, stating that, ‘he was no King for there was but one King, which made all and governs all, who is eternal, to whom he and all earthly Kings are but officers, of the which they must make reckoning.’

Although this speech seems very bold for an actor to deliver in front of the real king, its sentiment was by no means without precedent in the court literature of James V’s reign. But the Poor Man did at least rein in his dismissal of all earthly kings. Taking another careful look at the king in the play he concluded that the actor could not be the king of Scots, ‘for there was another King in Scotland that hanged John Armstrong with his fellows, and Sym the laird, and many other more, which had staunched theft’. This (somewhat simplistic) account of James V’s attempts to restore justice allowed the Poor Man to segue into a lament for the one thing which this true king of Scotland had not achieved- the reform of abuses committed by the Church. The Poor Man claimed that these included the harrying of the poor through the Consistory Courts; the theft of men’s wives and daughters; maintaining their illegitimate children whom they married to the sons of the nobility; the levying of high rents on the secular lands which had been granted to the Church; and the sexual immorality of cloistered monks and nuns. Early in his speech the character of the bishop tried to shout him down, but the Man of Arms rose to defend the Poor Man and told him to carry on. The Poor Man’s argument was then ‘proved’ by the character of Experience. Their evidence convinced the Man of Arms and the Burgess, who decided that it should be also approved by parliament. When the Bishop attempted to protest, the other two told him bluntly that, ‘they were two and he but one, wherefore their voice should have most effect.’ The play then ended with the king approving and ratifying all the foregoing arguments.

It is a bit difficult to gain a real sense of the dramatic effect of this play from such an abbreviated description of its plot. However it is immediately obvious why Eure was so interested in the Linlithgow Interlude’s content, since it seems to have espoused a blatantly reformist programme, if not necessarily ‘Protestant’, in the modern sense. But the ‘notes’ describing the play are of interest to historians for another reason, since they also reveal close similarities between the Interlude, and one of the most famous early examples of Scottish drama- David Lindsay’s ‘Ane Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis’.

(The fountain in the courtyard of Linlithgow Palace was constructed in 1538 on the orders of James V)

Sir David Lindsay of the Mount was a prominent figure at James V’s court. He had been close to the king since James’ infancy, beginning as an usher in the royal household. Although he was removed from the king’s household during the ascendancy of the Earl of Angus, he was restored to favour when James began his personal rule. The king later appointed him Snowdon herald and then Lyon King of Arms, a position he held until his death in 1555. Aside from his heraldic duties, he was a poet of great skill and several of his works demonstrate his close, quasi-paternal relationship with the king. Indeed, this may have allowed him to carefully criticise the king, exhorting James to amend both his personal life and the abuses in his kingdom. Lindsay was also claimed as a proto-Protestant by some following the Reformation but it is debatable how far he was sympathetic to what we would now call Protestantism. However his views on the state of the realm are most famously addressed in his play ‘Ane Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis’, probably his best-known work. This chiefly survives in two versions: an abbreviated text in the Bannatyne MS, and a more complete version printed in 1602. It was staged at least twice during Lindsay’s lifetime- once in 1552, on the playfield of Cupar in the author’s home county of Fife, and then in 1554 in Edinburgh, when it was again attended by Mary of Guise, now ruling in Scotland as queen regent for her daughter Mary I. The play has also been performed several times in the modern era, since its revival for the second Edinburgh Fringe in 1948.

The early performances of the ‘Satyre’ took place in a very different context to that of the Linlithgow ‘Interlude’. There was no king in the audience and, despite the queen regent’s best efforts, religious discontent was growing in the 1550s (especially in Fife). Meanwhile the open-air playfields of Cupar and Edinburgh, with their audiences of burgesses, local lairds, craftsmen, farmers, and others further down the social scale, were very different to the intimate and elite surroundings of Linlithgow Palace. But the framework of the Interlude does seem to resemble that of the Satyre very closely. The ‘Satyre’ opens with a short speech by a character named Diligence before a king (‘Rex Humanitas’) enters in the company of his flattering courtiers Wantonness and Placebo. These last two are more overtly malevolent than the courtiers described in Eure’s ‘notes’ and they are hanged at the end of the play, which is not a feature of the Interlude. Although flattering courtiers were a common target in sixteenth century literature, their behaviour in both plays is otherwise very similar. Rex Humanitas and his courtiers are joined by a character named Solace, a drunk who is also capable of singing ballads. His appearance coincides with the first jokes about the sexual immorality of the clergy, and this is a major theme throughout the ‘Satyre’, couched in very similar terms to those of the ‘Interlude’. 

An eighteenth century depiction of Sir David Lindsay of the Mount. Reproduced under the Creative Commons Attribution licence by permission of the British Museum)

As in the ‘Interlude’, much of the action in the ‘Satyre’ is also driven by the complaint of a Poor Man (accompanied by another character named John Commonweal) who bemoans the abuses of the clergy and the nobility. There is no learned doctor named Experience to support the Poor Man’s argument in the Satyre, but there are characters such as Good Counsall and Correction, the latter of whom convinces Rex Humanitas to call a parliament. The second half of the play therefore deals with the meeting of the ‘Thrie Estaitis’ who are explicitly identified as ‘Temporalitie’ (the nobility or the equivalent of the Armed Man in the ‘Interlude’, though less explicitly warlike), ‘Merchant’ (equivalent to the Burgess in the ‘Interlude’) and ‘Spiritualitie’ (the clergy). Temporalitie and Spiritualitie are harangued for their sins, the latter getting the worst of it, and although Spiritualitie attempts to argue, he is eventually forced to accept correction. The play ends with the execution of the king’s evil counsellors.

The similarities between the overall structures of the ‘Satyre’ and the ‘Interlude’ is clear, and there are numerous minor details which both plays share. Little wonder then that the 1540 ‘Interlude’ has also been attributed to Lindsay and viewed as an early version of the ‘Satyre’. However, it must be acknowledged that there is no explicit evidence which confirms Lindsay as the earlier play’s author. Many of the themes shared by the ‘Interlude’ and the ‘Satyre’ are also found in other Scots literature of the period, and there are important elements of the ‘Satyre’ which are never mentioned in the ‘notes’ about the ‘Interlude’. For example, there are no female characters mentioned in the description of the ‘Interlude’, whereas in the ‘Satyre’ characters such as ‘Chastity’ and ‘Lady Sensualitie’ play important roles. It must be remembered though that Eure’s contact may not have recorded every detail of the Linlithgow ‘Interlude’, especially if they weren’t relevant to his religious and political aims.**** And overall, despite some academics rightly urging caution, there does appear to be a general consensus that the ‘Interlude’ and the ‘Satyre’ were in some way connected. The survival of an account of the Linlithgow ‘Interlude’ is thus of great significance for the study of Scots literature and sixteenth century court culture.

The Yuletide festivities drew to a close and by early February the court had moved to Edinburgh in advance of the queen’s coronation. The long-term impact of the little interlude at Linlithgow on James V and his council cannot be ascertained, if indeed it had any real impact at all, beyond its entertainment value. Nonetheless, the frustrations and ideals which informed the play would fester for the next twenty years or more and, eventually, a reformation would indeed be effected in Scotland, though it was destined to take a very different form to anything James V, Henry VIII, or even David Lindsay might have imagined. And in any case, even if areas such as James V’s religious policy and the play’s authorship must remain something of a mystery, the survival of a description of the performance at Linlithgow offers a rare insight into court entertainments in sixteenth century Scotland.

Notes:

*’The whole council spiritual and temporal’ is a bit of a vague phrase but presumably included at least to the king’s closest, privy councillors, who might be loosely associated with the small group who witnessed most royal charters at this time. Two of these men- the chancellor Gavin Dunbar and the justice clerk Thomas Bellenden- we already know were in attendance. It is perhaps not too much of a stretch to guess that some of the others were in the audience- men like the bishop of Whithorn, the earl of Moray (the king’s older half-brother), the earl of Argyll, the chamberlain Lord Fleming, the secretary Thomas Erskine of Brechin and the clerk register James Foulis of Colinton. Perhaps some of the queen’s ladies were also in attendance, or even some of his illegitimate children who were likely at Linlithgow at the time, but this must remain speculative.

** Gavin Dunbar had also been one of the king’s tutors and, known for his ‘cursing’, he was not usually at a loss for words.

*** Interestingly the treasurer of the day was James Kirkcaldy of Grange, who might have been in the audience. Kirkcaldy obtained a reputation in later literature for his defence of persecuted Protestants.

**** And in the case of ‘Lady Sensualitie’ in particular, I do have to wonder how popular an account of how consorting with concubines allegedly impeded the cause of reform would have been with an English ambassador during the reign of Henry VIII.

Selected Bibliography:

- Printed copy of Sir William Eure’s original letter can be found in Sir Henry Ellis’ “Original Letters Illustrative of English History”, series 3 vol. 3 and is also calendared in the Letters and Papers of Henry VIII here.

- “Accounts of the Lord High Treasurer”, vol. 7, ed. Sir James Balfour Paul

- “Ane Plesand Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis”, by Sir David Lindsay of the Mount- I used both this printed copy of the 1602 version and the modern ‘standard’ edition by Roderick Lyall, and of course the notes associated with this (link to publisher’s website here)

- “The Linlithgow Interlude of 1540 and Lyndsay’s Satire of the Thrie Estaitis”, by Greg Walker in Medieval English Theatre vol. 37 “The Best Pairt of Our Play: Essays Presented to John J. McGavin”

- “Versions of Lindsay’s Satire of the Three Estates”, by Raymond A. Houk in PMLA vol. 55, No. 2 (June 1940).

And others.

[ask-fantasy-sanders-sides]

Oh my gods! PLEASE elaborate more of the Times of Troubles!

Well, many, many years ago, before “The War Between the Gods” officially started, the gods of the world would fight constantly. The Gods were constantly at each other’s throats, using their followers as chess pieces -- giving them just enough power to destroy their enemy’s soldiers, as if they were expendable resources, and not people. 

The Overgod, Ao the All-Being, grew furious at this behavior. But, they needed the gods to learn for themselves that this was wrong, so Ao waited for an opportunity...

It came in the form of the Dead Three. (...and, thus, the event that sparked the War.)

You see, every deity has something called an Artifact -- an item imbued with their power. Ao’s artifacts are the Tablets of Fate, two tone slabs that detail the order of everything, and all things that happen and do not happen, in this universe and every other, in every timeline. They are the code for existence itself.

Bane the Lord of Darkness and Myrkul the Lord of Bones decided they would steal the Tablets and find a way to alter them, to turn themselves into Overgods. Now, only an Overgod can alter the tablets, but they didn’t know that.... So, Ao pretended not to see them, and let them take the tablets.

Bane and Myrkul quickly realized they could not influence the tablets, but were certain they could find a way to with time, so they hid them.

Ao called all of the gods to their realm, acting furious, and demanded to know who had stolen their tablets.

...Obviously, no one spoke up. Everyone kinda knew who did it, and those two definitely weren’t gonna say shit.

So, after a moment of silence, Ao decided they must all be punished.

Now, Tyr the Even-Handed stepped forward. As a god of Justice, he pleaded to Ao, declaring that the practice was unfair, especially considering Ao (as an Overgod) knew all things, and obviously knew who was truly at fault. It wasn’t fair to punish everyone for what a few did.

Ao, insulted, struck Tyr blind for speaking against them. 

Tyr fell to the ground, gravely wounded, and Ilmater the Broken, a god of self-safrafice and compassion, rushed forward to help him to his feet -- saving the soldier’s pride, and letting Tyr use him as a crutch. This also was an insult to Ao, since it was technically disobeying the punishment Ao had just administered, so now Ilmater was to be punished to. Ao spoke,

“For the theft of the Tablets, and for Ilmater’s foolishness, you will all live as his people do -- humans, with no power beyond your own limitations. You will take human form, and live in the Inner Circle with mortals, deposed and weak until my Tablets are found and returned.”

Ao designated Helm the Watcher, a god of Protection, to stay Godly and guard the gate into the heavens, while the rest of them were made mortal and banished to Earth.

While their minds and memories remained the same, all of their physical forms had changed into mortal reflections of their previous forms: Tyr was a blind old man, and Ilmater was a deeply injured young man, each step an agony for his mortal form. 

Torm the True, the friend (and son-figure) of Tyr and god of Loyalty, immediately rushed to find Ilmater and Tyr. Impressed by Ilmater’s bravery and selflessness, he promised to stay by their sides and protect the two, as their guardian. Tyr would be their leader, and Ilmater would be his aid. They became the Triad, a trio of good-aligned Human Gods.

But, of course, Torm wasn’t the only one seeking the strange duo.

Bahamut the Valliant, a fellow Old God of Justice (once the Platinum Dragon, one of the oldest and most powerful of all the gods in existence, but now a human calling himself “Marduk”), sought out his old friend Tyr, and vowed to join them as well.

Sune the Lady of Love, the human goddess of beauty and compassion, was so moved by Ilmater’s act of kindness that she sought him out immediately, determined to protect him and show him the kindness he gave so quickly to others in need.

She brought with her Lathander the Morninglord, human god of creativity and birth, and her best friend.

Torm was not quite as fond of these new additions, since Sune, Bahamut/Myrkul, and Lathander liked to fuck around and party instead of focus on their very serious mission of retrieving the tablets (and often convinced Tyr and Ilmater to join them), but he grew to enjoy their company in time.

Torm was taught, by his new friends, how to have fun and relax, and how to form relationships with other people that weren’t just “I’m your knight and I protect you” (he and Ilmater are dating now and its very cute)

Tyr and Bahamut, once older-generation gods of black-and-white Justice, were taught compassion and mercy by Ilmater, Lathander, and Sune, and grew to temper their blades of justice with an open mind.

Sune, Ilmater, and Lathander, though they loathed the process, were taught by the others that conflict could not be pushed away and ignored forever, and sometimes you need to fight for the people you love and the things you believe in.

Sune was taught patience and healing by Ilmater, though ‘patience’ did not stick quite as well as the other thing 

Later on in their travels, Sune got separated from the others for a moment and found Sharess the Temptress, the goddess of sensuality, being corrupted and about to be murdered by Shar, the Lady of Loss, Goddess of darkness, loss, and the Underdark. Enraged, Sune fought Shar, saving Sharess’s life and bringing her back to join their party (Sune did not kill Shar, because Sune is not a killer, but Shar is still,,, like,,,, mad about it)

In their travels (due in no small part to Sune’s insistance on throwing a party literally every time she met a new Suneite), they ended up spending a lot of time with their mortal worshippers, and learning about them and why they followed beings they had never truly met or even seen. After getting to know their people, realizing they were truly people and touched by the way they had given their lives to their worship, they all accidentally learned the lesson Ao had really sent them down for: Your worshipers are your family, they should be everything to you, and you should treat them with kindness and respect. They are not your toys, they are your children. They have adopted you, and it is your job to honor them for it.

After various misadventures, when the Tablets were finally returned and the gods reinstated to their Godhoods, they kept this new lesson in mind, along with their new friendships and allegiances with each other. Though they would never forgive the Dark Three and their allies for what they had done (during the time of troubles, they were all mortal, which means all of the paladins and clerics in the world no longer had powers: the gods couldn’t give them any. They got Very Mad that their followers were left so defenseless, once they realized what that meant) and the War has still not yet ended, the Gods(or at least the good ones)’s new number one priority became their Worshipers, now always.

[viciousgracearc]

2, 13 & 14

THE BE HONEST MEME    /    ACCEPTING.

2. Are aesthetics important to you? If they are, why?

          They are important to me personally but only for my own blog/s. I don’t really care how others decide their own aesthetic / what their blog looks like, for as long as I can read their writing / their pages. For my part, I do enjoy setting up my blog/s and making them look “pretty” if you will, although I am a minimalist so that also reflects my aesthetic and the amount of effort I put into it ( lmao ). But it is important because it is part of the process to me and I do feel some comfort in knowing that my blog looks nice but also ( hopefully ) accessible. 

13. Have you ever thought about leaving rp? What caused it? What changed your mind?

           Oh, yeah. Before coming back last February, I never thought I would be coming back at all. I had some terrible experiences with previous partners ;  I had been gaslit, manipulated into writing weird plots, disrespected multiple times for writing unpopular female characters, falsely accused of theft, stalked, stolen from, people would act like my friend then go behind my back to convince my ship exclusive partner to ship with them instead ( for the same character ). I’ve known people who made me feel uncool / stupid for liking certain ships / certain plots. There was a lot of anon hate / duplicate hate / anxiety-inducing vague posts, etc etc. I even met my abuser here on Tumblr. I could list more, since there were a lot of just... not so nice things. But also??? I love my characters so much. I also had some free time on my hands, and the only creative outlet that really worked for me is writing. So I figured I would try again and this time, meticulously curate my experience so none of the shit that happened before repeats itself.

14. Do you think rp has had a positive or negative affect on your life or you as a person?

          I do feel like it’s a bit of both. I think of my characters so much and that takes up a lot of my time and my brain space, and I am a little too attached to my blog in a way that... might be a bit unhealthy. But also because it brings me joy? I love my threads so far, I like getting asks and sending asks, I like ranting about my muses. And also, writing has always been a way for me to process some of my emotions, and as someone with BPD, that’s important for me. I think sometimes it is negative when it gets in the way of like, doing real-life stuff ( sometimes I would rather be here than be out, but it’s also summer here [ too hot to go outside ] + we are in a pandemic so I guess it works out? ) but I feel like the positive outweighs the negative. RP allows me to be creative and also to be immersed in different points of views. It helps me cope and it makes me excited even though at times it also makes me anxious. It really is just a matter of curating my own experience and finding a balance.