#corporate entertainment painting

[quasi-normalcy]

I mean, don't get me wrong: Netflix is just as shit as Disney, as corporations go; but there's just something about Wish--seemingly so safe and soulless and focus-grouped with its generic, Rapunzel-faced, Disney Princess(TM) heroine and its paint-by-numbers plot and its Whedonesque, hang-a-lampshade-on-it humour, and its bland, inoffensive, Lin Manuel Miranda-pastiche musical numbers--losing a nomination to fucking Nimona, which is about as anarchic as mainstream entertainment media can be, featuring a protagonist who is about as far from being a Disney Princess as anyone can be, and which we all saw evolving organically in real time from someone's sketch on Tumblr. One of them feels like extruded film product; the other one feels like art.

[ellieslaces]

CAN’T CATCH ME NOW. (prologue)

presenting: Umbrella’s Hunger Games

featuring: leon kennedy x fem!reader

synopsis: the Hunger Games, an annual show of brutal control the Capitol has over each of the twelve Districts. the Games’ number one sponsor: Umbrella Corporation, the creator of the Games’ most horrific torture strategies and nightmare inducing deaths. these games have always been cautionary, always a far away but constant threat — until you find yourself Reaped and thrown into an area full of your worst fears with 23 other Tributes, all out for blood.

content warnings (future): harsh language; heavy violence; gore; torture; heavy themes of murder; infanticide; social injustice; class discrimination; brief mention of suicidal thoughts; angst; character death; eventual smut; enemies to lovers

notes: this is inspired by the Hunger Games (no 1) and takes place in the universe; if topics such as violence murder infanticide etc trigger you, skip this series; the reader is said to be a Career Tribute

Chloe talks: posting a my prologue for my new Leon Hunger Games series before the next strike tomorrow! please enjoy, I’m convinced this will be my magnum opus :)

word count: 768 (it’s a prologue, so it’s short)

now playing: can’t catch me now ; olivia rodrigo

how you can help Palestine! 🇵🇸

Images of dark alleys, of scorching hot deserts, of raging icy tundras, of sickly beautiful yet dangerous forests haunted each child’s dreams. Not for any reason in particular other than the fact that the images were fed to them since birth. Spoon fed into their heads — the showings of each years annual Hunger Games.

Decades upon decades ago, the ocean swallowed nearly half the continent in a devastating and unprecedented tsunami. States and even smaller countries were lost to the depths of the sea, leaving the remaining forty percent of the country overflowed with a surplus of population.

Women, men, and children with nowhere to go, now crowded the north part of what once was the United States. Now twenty of the fifty states remained, thousands upon thousands of casualties, leaving too many for the forty percent of the country to support.

The government handled it with the worst of ideas, their support was lost, their lack of understanding and empathy led to an inevitable uprising. People stormed the gates of the White House, threatened to kill — and did kill — senators, and representatives, and judges, and even their families.

This uprising nearly destroyed the country as a whole. Thousands were slaughtered, bloodlines were destroyed, families killed by the rebels. Until a group of unknown power that had been hiding behind the scenes for decades stepped forward, taking control of the people. This led to a bloodbath of violence, political control, and the people finally were forced to accept their defeat.

From then, the country was divided into thirteen Districts, each with its own purpose of serving the new country’s Capitol. This new country — Panem — was run with a ruthless government, a controlling President with no mercy and a clever mind. He was cruel, and heartless, and as dangerous as he was calm.

No one dared to object him, no one dared to take his power for fear of the consequences. So, for decades, President Ozwell E. Spencer ran the country. His company — one he started long before he was elected as President — Umbrella was the sole sponsor and creator of the annual Hunger Games.

Where each spring, twenty four children between the ages of twelve and nineteen were picked at random by pairs to represent their District in a fight to the death.

One boy, one girl from each District, chosen by random to be plucked, and bathed, and painted, and paraded, and eventually murdered for the sake of entertainment. Once, these Games were a reminder of what revolution could do, how it could crumble a nation. But that notion was long gone, all that now remained was the entertainment value of their deaths. Deaths none of them deserved. Deaths you never imagined you’d actually witness, much less cause yourself.

The intricacies of these Games were lost upon you, all you knew was to survive. Despite being a so called ‘Career’ and had as close to luxury as you could for someone from one of the Districts, you hardly had the stomach to commit things such as murder. Much less upon other children, people your age.

District One, luxury items, riches, and favor of the Capitol itself. Careers, the title of the Tributes that were put into the Games each year. These Tributes were raised with advantage, raised with early training available to them. Available to you.

For the majority of your life, since you were able to understand what the Games meant, you’d been trained by Victors, the Redfield siblings. Chris and his sister, Claire, were once Tributes themselves, in consecutive years.

Chris Redfield won at nineteen with pure brutality, physical strength and power, partaking in the bloodbath and taking out a good majority of the other Tributes in the beginning. Chris’s Games lasted a mere week.

While Claire Redfield managed to outsmart each and every other Tribute in her arena, successfully becoming the Victor by simply waiting for them all to die by natural causes, or killing themselves with their own stupidity. Her Games lasted three, the ending of said Games pushed quickly to be brought to a conclusion. Leading the girl to become Victor at a mere thirteen.

So, despite the fact that you weren’t technically supposed to be trained by Mentors unless Reaped, the Redfield siblings trained you behind the curtain. They prepared you for the possibility of you being Reaped, of being subjected to the horrors they’d seen. To the murder they had to commit to stay alive. They wanted you to win, to have a chance of survival.

But, maybe they should have just let you die. Maybe they shouldn’t have taken you under their wing when they found you shivering in the rain after a school bully had taken your pack and shoes and jacket.

Maybe they should have just let you be killed. Then you wouldn’t have to live with the memory of him.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Sedated

Adam x Reader

TW: Pervy Adam, Guardian Angels, Reader unknowingly being watched, Self-touch, masturbation, Desires, obsession, clumsy ass reader

How we ended up here was beyond either of our wildest dreams. Adam had fallen from grace, desperate to prove his worth and reclaim his place in heaven. The added bonus of watching over you—a strikingly mundane mortal—was just a silver lining to his celestial punishment. For you, however, life felt like an endless loop of monotony, each day blending into the next in a haze of dull routines. 

In the mortal realm, chaos reigned, and you secretly blamed Lucifer for the mess. But today wasn’t about the cosmic battles of good and evil; it was about dragging yourself through another tedious nine-to-five, chained to the soul-sucking machinery of corporate America. After work, you’d immerse yourself in true crime documentaries, the only thrill in your otherwise drab existence, before collapsing into bed to muster the energy for another day.

Adam’s fall from grace had been ironic—a small, devilish woman had orchestrated his demise. Yet, the prospect of redemption as your guardian angel offered him a flicker of hope. He had vowed to keep you safe, ensuring that you remained blissfully unaware of the unseen chaos swirling around you. 

Yet you were no spark of entertainment; your life was a tedious boring cycle. You worked, ate, and binge-watched TV shows like every other soul on the planet. But beneath the surface, you harbored a darker side, a flicker of rebellion that emerged during your worst days. Perhaps that was why Adam had been assigned to you—there was little danger in your life, just a series of mundane tasks punctuated by occasional enjoyable nights.

On this particular day, fate had conspired against you. You had slept through your work alarm, and slept blissfully unaware of the fire alarm also blaring in your apartment complex. Adam, in a state of panic, had done everything possible to intervene without alerting anyone else. With a gentle but firm push, he nudged you out of bed, waking you in a daze. 

Draped in a sheer silk nightgown and a fluffy robe, you rushed downstairs, only to find the fire marshal casually informing you that it was just a tripped wire. As you and Adam exchanged simultaneous facepalms, he couldn’t help but marvel at your ability to sleep through the chaos—and his own lack of foresight in checking the building.

Once back in your apartment, the reality of your tardiness dawned on you. Groaning, you scrambled to get dressed. In Adam’s misguided attempt to help, he had placed your shoes near the door, leading you to trip and smack your head against the wall. With a growing bruise on your forehead and a now-lost security deposit, you bolted out the door.

The day continued its downward spiral. Your coffee was scalding hot, burning your tongue. A passing truck sent a wave of mud splattering across your clothes. The elevator in your office building was out of order, forcing you to climb nineteen flights of stairs in heels, your patience wearing thinner with each step.

Meanwhile, Adam was feeling the strain, too. He had never seen you in such a chaotic state, and while he had been tasked with keeping you safe, his interventions seemed to lead you into misfortune. When Jacob, your overly friendly coworker, got too close, you found yourself tumbling into Sarah’s lap, laughter erupting around you, the workplace gossip already brewing.

The copy machine malfunctioned, resulting in an ink explosion that painted you from head to toe. And when you attempted to sneak into the men’s bathroom—desperate for some privacy due to the womens bathroom being out of order—you ended up trapped as every male coworker seemed to have an urgent need. 

By the time you returned home, you needed a serious reset. A long shower and some quality "me time" were in order. As you prepared a quick meal, doom-scrolling through your phone, you felt the weight of the day begin to lift. After a quick tidy-up, you retreated to your room, pulling out your feel-good essentials.

Adam, watching from his hidden vantage point, felt a thrill of anticipation. He knew what was coming. As you slipped into the shower, an ethereal glow enveloped you, and he settled into the cozy corner of your room, entranced by the thought of what was soon to come. 

You emerged from the bathroom, a vision of perfection, your hair cascading around your shoulders. Adam’s breath hitched as you moved with an alluring grace, pulling out your toys with an enticing casualness that sent his heart racing. 

The moment you climbed into bed, he felt a primal urge wash over him. As you began to explore your own body, he mirrored your movements, his hand working in tandem with yours against his own body. Each sigh and moan that escaped your lips tugged at his very soul, igniting a deep yearning within him.

Taking his weeping cock in hand he sighed as he watched you lean back and run your hand across your body. He began soft slow strokes keeping in time with your touches and caresses.

As your hand dipped over your chest and down your stomach, feeling yourself, his breath hitched. He almost whined at the thought of burying his head in your heat. How sweet you must taste with how much of you was soaking your precious folds.

One hand of yours spread your folds open, displaying your pretty pink hole, while the other rubbed your pert nipples. He was in awe at how every time you did this, it was like he was watching you the first time. Like he was a child learning what sex really was. How could one person look so damn good doing something so sinful?

He sped up his pace on his cock as he watched your pretty fingers dive in. Oh, how he knew his length could reach places far deeper than those pretty little fingers. You struggled to attempt to touch where you needed relief, where he knew in a few languid strokes he could have you seeing stars.

As you moaned and panted, Adam could only imagine if it was him making those sounds come from you. If you were begging for him and whining out his name so softly. Gripping on his thick arms, bouncing with his pace, eyes crossed and overwhelmed.

He watched as minutes passed by, your fingers abused your tight hole and sensitive bud. He was eager to watch the next part unfold. As you turned on your toy, he watched your hole clench around nothing. A deep groan left him as he imagined that tight clench around his large length.

As you slowly rubbed the toy along yourself, making it nice and wet, he licked his lips, his red tip pulsing with the need for more than his hand. He wished for you to come over and blow him till your throat was sore or even just let him abuse your cunt. He desired nothing more than to not be a figment in your life but a passionate lover as he made you realize who you really belonged to.

However, as the toy slid in and you let out the softest more whorish moan, he was a goner. He was pounding his cock, whispering your name under his breath, hoping that maybe this would connect you two better. He was pussy whipped, and he hadn't even had the chance to physically take you yet.

If you could fuck yourself so good like this, you were definitely worth the first man's dick. He watched as the toy was slowly sucked into your greedy hole, and he was jerking into his hand. He wanted to keep up with your pace and learn exactly how you liked it; however, the languid bounce of your tits and heightened moans only made him lose control as he stroked his length harder.

You looked and sounded so beautiful, so amazingly hot and gorgeous. He wanted to be the one making you beg like this, not some silicone toy. However, as you built yourself up to climax, he also began to see white as he spilled over his large hand. A low groan of your name was barely heard by you.

Adam's thick white cum was covering his hand and robes as he looked at your pretty legs shake from your orgasm. He was whipped, to say the least, at this point. He stood resituating himself, what he would give for you to use that mouth to clean him up slowly.

At first, this may have started with him wanting to become an angel again, but now his goal is to get you to heaven with him so he can really show you a good time and let his name fall from your pretty lips. All he knew now, as time passed, was that he wouldn't be Sedated till he finally had you in his arms.

[craykaycee]

sneaks onto ur dash to talk ab one of my aus with these magma doodles------

This is a Street Artist AU I-- basically adopted from @starrspice (thank you, lovelyy!!) This is a post-fire AU where the DCA escapes the fire themselves and into the city. They're stripped of the proper prompts and triggers for their childcare and entertainment programming, but are able to find something their coding can latch onto: a group of children who need entertainment. They modified their performance and entertainment programming with their arts and crafts protocols to create art as a performance!

More details (so many details-- I went off xDD) and designs of the AU, of which I've titled "City Lights and Paint Water", under the cut :3c

They're pretty beat-up from the fire, and without proper access to maintenance, they've retained the burn marks, splattered paint, and other grime associated with being outdoors. Over the months as street artists, passersby donate their old paints and other supplies, hence the oversized trousers and worn apron! (P.S.: cloth placement is more accurate in the magma doodles)

Sun and Moon each have preferred mediums and styles!

Sun prefers acrylic paints and spray paint, his paintings a controlled chaos with loud, scattered colors, large brushstrokes, and splatters. His paintings always have a lot of movement due to his freeform painting style, splattering paint and getting a laugh from the kids.

Moon like to work with watercolors and colored pencil, the colors more muted with small pops of brighter colors (such as lights within windows). He likes to capture the lights of the streets, wondering what the true night sky looks like, his art giving a soft and ethereal mood.

Then we have our Main Character (MC), the viewer/reader! They're a graphic designer for a big corporate tech company, tasked with making pamphlets, brochures, posters, et cetera for the company. Though they do good work as a graphic designer, their true passion is fine arts, but their work isn't taken seriously due to its "childish" appearance despite the real-life deeper meanings. In the meantime, they create for themself, crafting and making trinkets for their apartment. They even make some of their own clothes, made up of several different garments to make something one-of-a-kind. Their outfits are fairly chaotic, typically accompanied by a hair accessory, but the patterns and colors compliment each other well.

MC grew up in a rural area, and still love the open and free areas it provides, but they had to move to an urban city for work and better opportunities. It's a big step up from their small town, overwhelmed by the activity. At the start of the story, they feel disconnected from their work, drained by the cookie-cutter bland work of their graphic designer job, but it's the only way they can reliably earn income.

The story starts with Sun spotting MC beyond the crowd, rushing somewhere. He continues to see them in the distance, unable to approach them due to their haste. He's mesmerized by their appearance, drawn to their creative expression just in their outfit. Moon catches a few glances of MC in the evenings, but doesn't have the same draw to them as Sun, figuring them as just another "everyman" in the crowd. One day, in MC's haste, they lose a paper from their portfolio. When Sun catches it, he sees a presentation sheet of several different designs meant for a business card or a t-shirt emblem. Sun is astounded by them, making MC more interesting than they already were.

It's not until about a week later that Sun takes an opportunity to return the paper and give his compliments. When he does this, however, MC's face falls before forcing a polite smile, thanking him. Before Sun could say anything more, they're gone.

There's so many small moments I'd like to explore, but that's the set-up :3cc I nearly have chapter one (1) completed, two (2) chapters after that already planned. The chapter length is pretty short right now, but I don't know if I wanna beef them up or keep them at this shorter length. We'll see! :D

Welp, these are my boios! I hold them gently in my hands and present them like a proud parent

[jgoddesstarot]

Pick-A-Pile: Their Career: What Profession or Field is Your Future Spouse In?

👑Check out my masterlist to see all of my pick-a-card readings😊

✨ Visit my shops at Ko-fi.com or J.Goddess Tarot✨

🔮Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are based upon my intuitive interpretation of the cards and about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

🔮How I read: I use a mix of tarot cards, oracle cards, along with my intuitive abilities of claircognizance, clairaudience, and clairsentience.

🔮How this works: Close your eyes and take deep breaths, pick the pile you are most drawn to. If you aren’t drawn to any pile then that’s okay, these messages aren’t for you.

Pile 1

Tarot Cards: 5 of Cups, The Lovers, The Hermit (in reverse), Queen of Cups, The Chariot

Ah, my sultry Pile 1's! Embark with me on an intoxicating voyage to uncover the career secrets of your elusive future love.

Picture a soul who's tasted the bittersweet symphony of life. They've endured setbacks, but here's the allure: instead of languishing in bygone disappointments, they've channeled these lessons, forging a path glowing with promise. Like a phoenix, they've taken their setbacks and used them as fuel, emerging brighter and more determined.

Now, imagine them weaving through a world where harmony and connections reign supreme. Their charm lies in the art of building bridges, mending fences, and orchestrating unions. Their profession thrums with the rhythm of relationships, be it in the hallways of legal battles, the nuanced dance of consultancy, or the embrace of human resources. Their every endeavor is painted with passion, fostering environments dripping with mutual respect.

But, the plot thickens. Rather than being an isolated genius, they thrive in the pulsating heart of collaborative arenas. Their days are painted with group dynamics, team brainstorming, and the infectious energy of collective creation. Every project, a harmonious dance of diverse minds.

In this riveting tale, their heart emerges as their compass—a wellspring of empathy, care, and intuition. Whether in the healing embrace of healthcare, the nurturing realms of social work, or the soulful corridors of counseling, their profession beckons to souls in need, offering solace and understanding.

And as our tale nears its climax, the essence of sheer willpower and ambition becomes palpable. This lover is destined to blaze trails, to dominate arenas with a fierce determination that sets the world alight. They are a force, a whirlwind of goals and victories, and their chosen field echoes with their triumphant strides.

To tie this enigmatic tale together, enchanting Pile 1's, your future lover’s career is an exhilarating blend of resilience, harmony, collaboration, empathy, and fierce ambition. This tantalizing mix promises a partner whose professional life mirrors a journey of challenges, triumphs, and heart. As Destiny weaves its tapestry, these revelations hint at the captivating tale of your shared future.

Pile 2

Tarot Cards: 5 of Swords, 10 of Wands, 2 of Swords, Ace of Cups, 8 of Wands

My tantalizing Pile 2's, prepare to embark on a riveting journey, delving into the exhilarating career landscape of your enigmatic future love.

Visualize a realm teeming with cutthroat competition and exhilarating duels of wit. In this world, your future spouse emerges as a master strategist, a maven who thrives amidst the electric tension of challenges. Their arena? Perhaps the high stakes corridors of corporate warfare or the intricate dance of political maneuvering.

Yet, with power comes responsibility. They might be ensnared in a web of weighty expectations, but ah, they wear their burdens like a king wears a crown—regal and undeterred. Every decision, every responsibility is borne with a grace that makes you wonder if they were born for this.

Peering deeper, we find them at the crossroads of pivotal decisions, casting judgments that ripple through time. The gavel of authority, the responsibility of steering ships through turbulent waters, they're at the helm, orchestrating outcomes with a finesse that's nothing short of mesmerizing.

But what fuels this fire? An undying passion, a wellspring of love for their craft. They're not just chasing gold or accolades, but a deeper calling, a passion that lights up their soul. Their realm could be awash with colors on a canvas, the poetic dance of numbers, or the rhythm of heartfelt melodies.

And as the tale unfolds, a whirlwind of motion emerges. Envision them dashing through airports, or fervently connecting with souls across continents, weaving stories, striking deals, or capturing moments at the speed of light. The pulse of journalism? The adrenaline of sales? The world awaits their next move.

In wrapping up our delicious tale, my alluring Pile 2's, Destiny paints your future lover as a formidable force in a world of strategy, responsibility, passion, and ceaseless motion. Their journey promises thrills, challenges, and the sweet taste of fulfillment. As the stars align and tales intertwine, remain receptive, for destiny has its own rhythm, and your dance is just beginning.

Pile 3

Tarot Cards: 10 of Pentacles, 3 of Pentacles (in reverse), 6 of Wands (in reverse), 10 of Swords, 3 of Swords

Ah, my alluring Pile 3's, immerse yourself as we journey into the opulent tapestry of your future lover's career. Let the tantalizing revelations unravel, revealing a narrative you'll surely find hard to resist.

First, picture a world awash with prosperity—a realm where luxury isn't just a fantasy, but an everyday reality. In this gilded domain, your future partner thrives, perhaps manipulating the strings of business empires, orchestrating the ballet of real estate, or mastering the cryptic language of finance. They've crafted an empire, not just of wealth, but of ambition realized and dreams manifested.

But ah, the plot thickens! Every gold thread in this tapestry was spun amidst trials. In their earlier days, shadows of doubt and walls of disregard might have threatened to eclipse their brilliance. Yet, with indomitable spirit, they emerged, carving a niche where their genius could no longer be overshadowed.

Despite the accolades and the tangible trophies of success, there's an enigmatic humility to them. They waltz through the corridors of achievement, not with boisterous fanfare, but with a quiet confidence. They let their masterpieces echo their tales, garnering silent respect from every corner.

As our tale takes a riveting turn, we find them at a crossroads—a dramatic shift that upended their world but paved the way to their destiny. A switch that might've tasted bitter initially, but ultimately led them to their passion, their true north.

And oh, the finale? A heart so vast, so tender. Their profession might echo with the soft murmurs of comforting words, the healing touch that mends broken spirits. Whether in the embrace of healthcare, the sanctuary of counseling, or the comforting realms of social work, their purpose is clear: to heal, to comfort, to uplift.

To wrap up our sumptuous saga, delectable Pile 3's, Destiny paints your future lover as a beacon of resilience, prosperity, humility, transformation, and boundless compassion. Their career is not just a job; it's a testament to a journey of trials turned triumphs. As fate weaves its stories, savor these revelations and remain enchanted by the cosmic dance of love and Destiny."

Other Resources:

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[cherishmii]

STARBOUND !

INTRODUCING....!

𐙚 "Inazuma" Group chat members!

✩ ⋆ Balladeer: Scaramouche is a popular streamer known for his good looks and charming voice. His family is also famous, even His mother—Raiden owns The Inazuma corp. but nevertheless he stands out as unique. He's fearless during horror streams and always keeps his audience entertained. Often invited to host shows, this time he finally joins one as a host and meets an interesting girl.

✩ ⋆ Alatus. : Xiao is both a streamer and a model. He used to be an idol trainee but quit due to a bad company. Meeting Scaramouche, one of his best friends, changed his career path, and now he's one of the most famous streamers. They met in their first year of college, and luckily, Xiao found another loner like himself.

✩ ⋆ Barbatoes: Venti, the campus comedian, met the two loners, Xiao and Scaramouche. Venti loves hosting parties and enjoys drinking, but everyone agrees that his voice is truly ethereal. Despite initially getting annoyed by Venti, the three soon became close friends and were known as THE trio on campus—until Childe came along!

✩ ⋆ Tartagliajax: Childe, known as Mr. Worldwide, joined the friend group because of Aether. They kept running into each other while traveling, even during college. As the campus crush and a wealthy individual, Childe was part of a group called Fatui and brought Scaramouche in with him. They both left the group at the same time and are now among Scaramouche's closest friends.

✩ ⋆ Aether: Aether is the most loved member of the group chat. He originally wanted to be hired as a manager but now acts as a sort of manager-member of the Inazuma Corps. He was already famous before joining Inazuma, gaining recognition in every country. After joining Inazuma, he invited Childe to join as well, and Childe agreed because Aether and his college friend were both in it.

✩ ⋆ Kamisatoayato: Ayato is one of the most successful people at a young age, co-owning two corporations: The Kamisato and Inazuma. He gained fame for helping his younger sister, Ayaka, become the first talent at Kamisato Entertainment as an idol. He also co-owns Inazuma, where he provided funds to support talents when they first started streaming.

✩ ⋆ Rhinedottir: Albedo is a well-known artist with paintings displayed in museums and entries in history books. He also gained fame for his looks and knowledge in chemistry and science. Despite being an artist and streamer, he received a college scholarship for his exceptional intelligence. He joined Inazuma at Aether's invitation, where he gained even more popularity and began streaming.

In the field of online streaming, an introverted indie streamer, known for her quiet nature, has never collaborated before. So why now? Fans wonder why she avoids collaborations — is she simply an odd one out? When she finally accepts an invite to a show, unknowingly the guest host is a popular but grumpy streamer who often collaborates due to his company, unexpected sparks fly as she discovers the guest host might just be her future boyfriend. Nevertheless, things changed as they found out what she truly is.

✩ BACK / NEXT

★ TAGLIST (,,>ヮ<,,)! : rq still open!

@vxcmx @quacking-simp @sketcheeee @xionri @moonjellyfishie @raineyun @yuemirala @cheriswag

✩

> STARBOUND

Scaramouche x Y/N

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Copyright won't solve creators' Generative AI problem

The media spectacle of generative AI (in which AI companies’ breathless claims of their software’s sorcerous powers are endlessly repeated) has understandably alarmed many creative workers, a group that’s already traumatized by extractive abuse by media and tech companies.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/09/ai-monkeys-paw/#bullied-schoolkids

Even though the claims about “AI” are overblown and overhyped, creators are right to be alarmed. Their bosses would like nothing more than to fire them and replace them with pliable software. The “creative” industries talk a lot about how audiences should be paying for creative works, but the companies that bring creators’ works to market treat their own payments to creators as a cost to be minimized.

Creative labor markets are primarily regulated through copyright: the exclusive rights that accrue to creators at the moment that their works are “fixated.” Media and tech companies then bargain to buy or license those rights. The theory goes that the more expansive those rights are, the more they’ll be worth to corporations, and the more they’ll pay creators for them.

That’s the theory. In practice, we’ve spent 40 years expanding copyright. We’ve made it last longer; expanded it to cover more works, hiked the statutory damages for infringements and made it easier to prove violations. This has made the entertainment industry larger and more profitable — but the share of those profits going to creators has declined, both in real terms and proportionately.

In other words, today creators have more copyright, the companies that buy creators’ copyrights have more profits, but creators are poorer than they were 40 years ago. How can this be so?

As Rebecca Giblin and I explain in our book Chokepoint Capitalism, the sums creators get from media and tech companies aren’t determined by how durable or far-reaching copyright is — rather, they’re determined by the structure of the creative market.

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

The market is concentrated into monopolies. We have five big publishers, four big studios, three big labels, two big ad-tech companies, and one gargantuan ebook/audiobook company. The internet has been degraded into “five giant websites, each filled with screenshots from the other four”:

https://twitter.com/tveastman/status/1069674780826071040

Under these conditions, giving a creator more copyright is like giving a bullied schoolkid extra lunch money. It doesn’t matter how much lunch money you give that kid — the bullies will take it all, and the kid will still go hungry (that’s still true even if the bullies spend some of that stolen lunch money on a PR campaign urging us all to think of the hungry children and give them even more lunch money):

https://doctorow.medium.com/what-is-chokepoint-capitalism-b885c4cb2719

But creative workers have been conditioned — by big media and tech companies — to reflexively turn to copyright as the cure-all for every pathology, and, predictably, there are loud, insistent calls (and a growing list of high-profile lawsuits) arguing that training a machine-learning system is a copyright infringement.

This is a bad theory. First, it’s bad as a matter of copyright law. Fundamentally, machine learning systems ingest a lot of works, analyze them, find statistical correlations between them, and then use those to make new works. It’s a math-heavy version of what every creator does: analyze how the works they admire are made, so they can make their own new works.

If you go through the pages of an art-book analyzing the color schemes or ratios of noses to foreheads in paintings you like, you are not infringing copyright. We should not create a new right to decide who is allowed to think hard about your creative works and learn from them — such a right would make it impossible for the next generation of creators to (lawfully) learn their craft:

https://www.oblomovka.com/wp/2022/12/12/on-stable-diffusion/

(Sometimes, ML systems will plagiarize their own training data; that could be copyright infringement; but a) ML systems will doubtless get guardrails that block this plagiarism; and, b) even after that happens, creators will still worry about being displaced by ML systems trained on their works.)

We should learn from our recent history here. When sampling became a part of commercial hiphop music, some creators clamored for the right to control who could sample their work and to get paid when that happened. The musicians who sampled argued that inserting a few bars from a recording was akin to a jazz trumpeter who works a few bars of a popular song into a solo. They lost that argument, and today, anyone who wants to release a song commercially will be required — by radio stations, labels, and distributors — the clear that sample.

This change didn’t make musicians better off. The Big Three labels — Sony, Warners, and Universal, who control 70% of the world’s recorded music — now require musicians to sign away the rights to samples from their works. The labels also refuse to sell sampling licenses to musicians unless they are signed to one of the Big Three.

Thus, producing music with a sample requires that you take whatever terms the Big Three impose on you, including giving up the right to control sampling of your music. We gave the schoolkids more lunch money and the bullies took that, too.

https://locusmag.com/2020/03/cory-doctorow-a-lever-without-a-fulcrum-is-just-a-stick/

The monopolists who control the creative industries are already getting ahead of the curve on this one. Companies that hire voice actors are requiring those actors to sign away the (as yet nonexistant) right to train a machine-learning model with their voices:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/5d37za/voice-actors-sign-away-rights-to-artificial-intelligence

The National Association of Voice Actors is (quite rightly) advising its members not to sign contracts that make this outrageous demand, and they note that union actors are having success getting these clauses struck, even retroactively:

https://navavoices.org/synth-ai/

That’s not surprising — labor unions have a much better track record of getting artists’ paid than giving creators copyright and expecting them to bargain individually for the best deal they can get. But for non-union creators — the majority of us — getting this language struck is going to be a lot harder. Indeed, we already sign contracts full of absurd, unconscionable nonsense that our publishers, labels and studios refuse to negotiate:

https://doctorow.medium.com/reasonable-agreement-ea8600a89ed7

Some of the loudest calls for exclusive rights over ML training are coming not from workers, but from media and tech companies. We creative workers can’t afford to let corporations create this right — and not just because they will use it against us. These corporations also have a track record of creating new exclusive rights that bite them in the ass.

For decades, media companies stretched copyright to cover works that were similar to existing works, trying to merge the idea of “inspired by” and “copied from,” assuming that they would be the ones preventing others from making “similar” new works.

But they failed to anticipate the (utterly predictable) rise of copyright trolls, who launched a string of lawsuits arguing that popular songs copied tiny phrases (or just the “feel”) of their clients’ songs. Pharrell Williams and Robin Thicke’s got sued into radioactive rubble by Marvin Gaye’s estate over their song “Blurred Lines” — which didn’t copy any of Gaye’s words or melodies, but rather, took its “feel”:

https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/robin-thicke-pharrell-lose-multi-million-dollar-blurred-lines-lawsuit-35975/

Today, every successful musician lives in dread of a multi-million-dollar lawsuit over incidental similarities to obscure tracks. Last spring, Ed Sheeran beat such a suit, but it was a hollow victory. As Sheeran said, with 60,000 new tracks being uploaded to Spotify every day, these similarities are inevitable:

https://twitter.com/edsheeran/status/1511631955238047751

The major labels are worried about this problem, too — but they are at a loss as to what to do about it. They are completely wedded to the idea that every part of music should be converted to property, so that they can expropriate it from creators and add it to their own bulging portfolios. Like a monkey trapped because it has reached through a hole into a hollow log to grab a banana that won’t fit back through the hole, the labels can’t bring themselves to let go.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/08/oh-why/#two-notes-and-running

That’s the curse of the monkey’s paw: the entertainment giants argued for everything to be converted to a tradeable exclusive right — and now the industry is being threatened by trolls and ML creeps who are bent on acquiring their own vast troves of pseudo-property.

There’s a better way. As NAVA president Tim Friedlander told Motherboard’s Joseph Cox, “NAVA is not anti-synthetic voices or anti-AI, we are pro voice actor. We want to ensure that voice actors are actively and equally involved in the evolution of our industry and don’t lose their agency or ability to be compensated fairly for their work and talent.”

This is as good a distillation of the true Luddite ethic as you could ask for. After all, the Luddites didn’t oppose textile automation: rather, they wanted a stake in its rollout and a fair share of its dividends:

https://locusmag.com/2022/01/cory-doctorow-science-fiction-is-a-luddite-literature/

Turning every part of the creative process into “IP” hasn’t made creators better off. All that’s it’s accomplished is to make it harder to create without taking terms from a giant corporation, whose terms inevitably include forcing you to trade all your IP away to them. That’s something that Spider Robinson prophesied in his Hugo-winning 1982 story, “Melancholy Elephants”:

http://www.spiderrobinson.com/melancholyelephants.html

This week (Feb 8–17), I’ll be in Australia, touring my book Chokepoint Capitalism with my co-author, Rebecca Giblin. We’re doing a remote event for NZ on Feb 13. Next are Melbourne (Feb 14), Sydney (Feb 15) and Canberra (Feb 16/17). I hope to see you!

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[Image ID: A poster for the 1933 movie ‘The Monkey’s Paw.’ The fainting ingenue has been replaced by the glaring red eye of HAL9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey.]

[rebeccathenaturalist]

I have been a resident of the Pacific Northwest for almost two decades, and yet yesterday was my very first time making it to the Enchanted Forest fairy tale-themed amusement park outside Salem, OR. It's such an Oregon thing, really--unlike your major corporate theme parks which are polished and enormous and structurally supported by reams of trademarks and licensing deals, Enchanted Forest was the brainchild of one guy who managed to wrangle family and friends into helping him build an entire twenty acre theme park one bag of cement at a time.

And it's just that charming, really. You can see the love that went into making each exhibit and ride. One family member designed sculpted the buildings; another specializes in animatronics; a third focuses on the music (it's the only theme park in the U.S. that doesn't use any third-party copyrighted music!)

But I fell in love with the little details, like the brightly painted mushrooms in the Alice in Wonderland section, and the punny grave markers in the western town, and the colorful waterfalls in the Seven Dwarves' mine, and the massive, moss-covered cement "boulders" lining the pathways, and the two dozen singing blackbird animatronics popping out of a huge fake pie. It's silly and fun, and yet at the same time there's so much care that went into it. A small museum shows pictures of the Tofte family and friends working on it in the 1960s and 70s, and then you can go out and see the actual structures they were building still around today.

And, it being me, I spent some time examining the flora I found (baldhip roses! western sword ferns! inside-out flowers!), and delighting over a common house spider that had made a web inside a giant moving kaleidoscope (and which I had a heck of a time trying to get a picture of.) It's a really lovely place, and the landscape has recovered nicely from all the construction over the years.

We're definitely going to be going back; apart from the entertainment value, we also just appreciated the artistry and craftsmanship that went into this family-owned treasure.

[50calmadeuce]

Ch. 12: The Ride

Warning: Mention of miscarriage. Some chapters have sex.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know. :)

Despite having been married for four years, the dynamic between you and Jake still carried the fresh, explorative energy of newlyweds. The nature of your lives had meant you'd scarcely had the opportunity to deeply acquaint yourselves with each other's everyday realities. Riding together across these fields brought back a flood of pleasant memories, a reminder of the shared experiences that had initially drawn you closer while you were dating.

You closed your eyes and leaned further into Jake, embracing the comfort of his presence. You felt him skillfully switch the reins to one hand, and with his now-free arm, he wrapped it around you, pulling you closer into his embrace as the horse continued its gentle pace:

"I so needed this after today's test," you remarked, feeling the tension of the day start to ebb away as Jake guided the horse through the tranquil field.

"I bet. I wish I could bring a horse with me to my training," Jake mused, his voice carrying a hint of longing.

You couldn't help but grin at the thought, the image of Jake and a horse at his military training painting a humorous and endearing picture in your mind. "That would definitely be an interesting sight on a military installation," you replied, the amusement clear in your voice.

You felt Jake chuckle. "Yeah. It would be."

The memory faded away as the soft, soothing sounds of flowing water reached your ears, prompting you to open your eyes. Jake had guided the horse to the creek, a serene spot that held memories and promised a moment of peaceful reflection.

"Do you remember this place?" Jake inquired, his voice tinged with nostalgia as the horse came to a gentle stop near the water's edge.

"How could I forget?" You responded, a warm grin spreading across your face at the memory. This was where he had taken you for a picnic, a moment that had become one of your cherished memories together.

You felt Jake gently nudge the horse, prompting it to resume its walk along the edge of the creek, the tranquil sound of water accompanying your peaceful ride.

Around one bend, there was a small sandy area. As you came around that bend, you saw a blanket spread out and a small basket set up, awaiting your arrival with an air of planned surprise nestled against the backdrop of the creek's gentle flow.

You sat up straighter when you caught sight of the setup. "Jake," you said, your voice filled with happy surprise, and you could feel his smile against your back, radiating warmth and affection.

When you arrived at the spot, Jake smoothly dismounted the horse and secured it to a nearby tree. He then turned back to you, extending his hand to help you down with a gentle smile.

After assisting you in dismounting the horse, Jake wrapped you in a close hug and peered into your eyes. "What's your most vivid memory of this spot?"

You blushed. "Do I have to give you just one?"

He chuckled softly, the sound mingling with the rustling leaves around you, and his eyes sparkled with an invitation to share more than just a single memory.

"Alright," he conceded, his voice a gentle nudge to your comfort zone, "give me as many as you like. But start with the one that means the most to you."

"First off, this is where you gave me our first kiss."

His smile widened. "You mean like this?" He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours, prompting you to close your eyes. The kiss was tender, affectionate, and filled with love.

The world around you seemed to pause, the only reality that mattered was the warmth of Jake's lips against yours, the gentle pressure that spoke volumes of the years spent in silent longing, now given voice in this single, perfect moment.

As Jake pulled back, the world came rushing back in a dizzying array of colors and sounds, but none of it could compare to the clarity you found in his gaze. It was as if you were seeing each other for the first time, the veil of familiarity lifted to reveal the truth of your feelings laid bare.

"That's exactly what I meant," you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips.

"You brought me here for a romantic picnic once," you reminisced, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as the memory enveloped you in its warm embrace.

Jake's eyes lit up with the recollection, a mix of nostalgia and affection dancing within their depths. He grasped your hand, his touch gentle yet filled with purpose, guiding you toward the blanket laid out on the ground.

As you both settled onto the blanket, the softness of the sand beneath seemed to welcome you, a familiar comfort that whispered of lazy afternoons spent in each other's company.

Jake opened the picnic basket, revealing an assortment of your favorite foods, each selection a reminder of past conversations and shared moments. There was the cheese you'd discovered on a whim during a weekend getaway, the wine you'd both enjoyed on a quiet evening under the stars, and an assortment of fruits and sweets that spoke to the many tastes and textures of your relationship. A smile spread across your face as you surveyed the selection of cheese. An interesting tidbit about Jake: he despised cheese, never touching it himself, yet he always made sure to include it for you, knowing well how much you enjoyed it.

He uncorked the wine bottle, carefully filled a glass, and then offered it to you. As his fingers brushed against yours while passing the glass, a familiar shiver of excitement coursed through you.

"Anything else?" he inquired, a playful glint in his green eyes.

You took a sip of your wine, holding his gaze firmly. "This is where we made love for the first time."

He reached out with his unoccupied hand, and you handed over your wine glass to him. Afterwards, he carefully took off his cowboy hat and placed it softly on the blanket next to him, letting out a soft sigh.

"You're right. Since we lost the baby, I haven't really cared about anyone but myself. I chose paths that I believed were right to protect you, but they weren't enough, and I almost lost you in the process," he confessed, eyes downcast to the blanket, idly twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. Then, lifting his gaze to meet yours, he added, "For that, I am deeply sorry. I can't express it any more sincerely than that."

The weight of Jake's confession hung in the air, a palpable presence that momentarily stilled the gentle rhythm of the creek around you. His words, raw and unguarded, cut through the tranquility, reaching deep into the core of your shared pain—a pain that had, until now, been a silent specter in your relationship.

The loss of the baby was a wound that had never fully healed, a shadow that followed both of you, often unspoken but always felt. You saw the burden of his guilt in the slump of his shoulders, the way his hands trembled slightly as he played with the blade of grass, a simple action betraying his inner turmoil.

His admission, sincere and heartfelt, bridged the distance that grief had imposed between you. In his eyes, you saw not just the apology but the love and the fear of losing what was most precious to him—you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, not just for the loss you both shared, but for the love that remained, resilient and enduring despite the trials it had faced. You reached across the blanket, your hand covering his, stilling the nervous movement. "Jake," you whispered his name and squeezed his hand, a silent reassurance, a promise of solidarity.

Jake's eyes, glistening with unshed tears, held yours, a mirror to the depth of emotion you both shared. In that moment, at the creek, with its beauty and tranquility, became a sanctuary, a place where wounds could be acknowledged, where healing could begin.

"I love you," he whispered, the words carried on a breeze, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. "And I promise, from this moment on, to be not just your partner, but your ally, your confidant, and your greatest supporter. We'll face whatever comes our way, together."

His promise, straightforward yet significant, served as a soothing comfort to your spirit. Leaning in, your foreheads met, allowing you to share a breath, a moment of connection and comprehension. You then cradled his face in your hands, pressing your lips to his, as tears began to trace down your cheeks.

The kiss began with a tone of forgiveness and apology but soon escalated into a hungered and fevered passion. You separated briefly, breathing heavy.

You reached out, starting to unbutton his shirt, gently tugging it free from his jeans. With the shirt removed, he was left in just a white tank top, his dog tags resting beneath.

Jake's gaze was intense as you ran your hands across his muscular build. It was the first time you found yourself truly taking in the details of your husband's physique. You lifted the tank top over his head, revealing his slightly hairy chest with the dog tags dangling in the middle.

You kissed him once more, this time with renewed passion. Your hands explored his chest and abs, sensing the strength in his body. Your right hand then cradled the side of his face.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured between kisses, tears streaking down his cheeks.

"I know, Jake. I know," you replied, offering comfort and understanding in your words.

You both pulled away, locking eyes, sharing a moment of deep connection and mutual understanding.

Jake reached out, his fingers carefully working to unbutton your plaid shirt, freeing it from where it was tucked into your jeans. You then removed it and casually tossed it aside.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and admiration. His hands traced your arms as if it was the most precious treasure in the world.

You reached down, pulling the tank top over your head, and added it to the pile with your shirt, leaving your naked breasts exposed.

He gazed at you, his eyes brimming with desire and admiration. "I need you, Y/N. Just as much as you need me."

You stood up, kicked off your cowboy boots and then slowly started to unbutton you jeans.

His eyes followed your every move, his breath catching in his throat as you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your jeans and pushed them down, revealing a pair of lacy tan panties.

His eyes widened as he took in the sight of your smooth skin. You stepped out of you jeans and walked over to him, your hips swaying seductively. He couldn't help but reach out and touch you, running his fingers over your soft skin and feeling the heat radiating from you.

Jake got onto his knees, hooking a finger onto your underwear and pulling you to him.

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with desire. You could feel the heat of his breath on your skin as he slowly kissed up your thighs, stopping just short of your mound. He teased you, kissing and licking all around but never quite touching the spot that was begging for attention.

Every time he came close to that spot, your breath quivered, sending your heart into a race filled with anticipation.

He could feel your need, and he loved it. He loved the way you writhed beneath him, the way your hips bucked against his mouth as he continued to tease you. He could hear your moans of frustration, and it only made him want to drive you crazy even more.

He then kissed your stomach, a moan escaping your mouth.

"You drive me crazy, Y/N," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion, as he looked up at you, grabbing your panties and pulling them down for you to step out of them.

You knelt down and held his face gently in your hands, your lips met his in a kiss. While kissing him, your hands trailed down his chest, reaching his jeans, where you began to slowly unbuckle his belt.

You broke the kiss and looked at him with sultry eyes. You slowly unzipped his jeans, and pulled them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and ready.

Sitting back on your heels, you then reclined onto the blanket, eyes on Jake as he quickly removed his jeans and boxers. Before you knew it, he was hovering above you, gazing into your eyes.

You smiled at him, and he lowered his head to yours. He kissed you passionately as you ran your hands down his back. He moaned into your mouth as you gently scratched his back.

He broke the kiss and moved down your body, stopping at your breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking on it gently. You moaned as he continued to suck on it, then he continued to the other one. He sucked on that one too, running his tongue over it before moving back up to your neck.

"Jake," you moaned. "I want you inside me."

Jake smiled at you and then positioned himself between your legs. He ran his cock up and down your slit, teasing you. You whimpered in frustration, wanting him to just shove it in already. Finally he gave in and you moaned as he slid into you, filling you up. He slowly began to move in and out of you, savoring the feeling of your pussy around his cock. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper into you. He moaned as he felt your pussy clench around him, and he began to move faster. You cried out in pleasure, your body arching up to meet his thrusts.

He leaned down and kissed you, his tongue plunging into your mouth as his cock plunged into you. You moaned into his mouth, your body shaking with pleasure as your orgasm hit. He felt you tighten around him and he came.

He collapsed on top of you, his cock still inside you, but he looked at you, sincerity in his gaze. "I'm sorry."

You brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. "I know." Then, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close to hold him tightly. "I forgive you." You kissed the top of his head that rested on your chest.

Tags: @buckysteveloki-me @bellyliveslife @tgmreader @callsign-barbell @86laura11 @dizzybee03 @kmc1989 @guacam011y @nerdgirljen @hookslove1592 @dempy @djs8891

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #40 – Dead Silence by S. A. Barnes

This was yet another book that has been on my TBR list for so long I had entirely forgotten what the actual pitch was – I went into it pretty much entirely blind, just ‘sci fi horror’ from the glanced over marketing copy on the back. Which is really the best way to go about reading(/watching/playing) horror, anyway. It was an entertaining enough read? If an uneven one – the first half was really incredibly better than the second, unfortunately.

The story follows Claire Kovalik, the ‘team lead’ of a maintenance crew repairing com relays in the ass end of the solar system – at least until they finish this last run and are officially rendered obsolete. Too psychologically fragile for her corporate masters to trust her with an actual ship, the only future she has to look forward to is a deskbound sinecure revising training manuals on Earth. She’s seriously considering killing herself instead, when their sensors detect an archaic distress signal past the edge of charted space – the Aurora, first and last space liner for the rich and famous, vanished with all hands on its maiden voyage decades ago. The finder’s fee and accumulated bounties would be enough to set everyone on the team for life (not even counting any artifacts they pocket to auction on the side), so the five of them board and reactivate the old hulk, exploring its galleries and aiming it towards Earth. Just a 60 hour burn to reliable communications with the rest of the system, totally worth it for fame and fortune. Even once they start discovering the state of all the former passengers, and figuring out what happened in those last hours aboard the ship.

So! This is Event Horizon but with the Titanic. It’s other things too, but that’s the pitch. Now, I like Event Horizon, and adore exploited corporate serfs being slowly suffocated by looming dread as they explore the gore-stained ruins of past decadence, so that’s no bad thing for me. But still, even from the outset this is not a work that tries to break any molds. This honestly becomes much more of an issue in the third act, when the book basically shifts genre and also has to come up with answers and a resolution to the whole thing and just does not land it for me.

The main twist on the formula is that Claire is the only survivor of a Martian colony that was annihilated by plague (and a missed resupply) when she was a child, the physical and emotional trauma of which left her partially deaf in one ear, terrified of emotional connections and (most pertinently) already possessed of significant experience with hallucinating the bloody corpses of people she cares about wandering around when she’s stressed. Which turns out to be a very useful life skill, when they turn the ship back on and everyone starts having to deal with that. Which is mostly pretty fun! The paranoia and terror as everything goes to shit at the end of the first act are great. Sadly, the book then decides to keep going.

The first half of the book is the story of the initial salvage crew’s discovery of the Aurora, as relayed through Claire getting debriefed/interrogated by a couple of corporate goons after being found half-dead in an escape pod. The latter half is those same corporate goons conscripting her for a return journey to the ship, now guiding three platoons of mercenaries. It’s like if you watched a double-feature of Alien and one of its bad sequels. The book slips from well-executed to paint-by-numbers, and the big reveal is basically the most boring possible answer you could imagine. This is not helped by the book’s action sequences just not being very...good.

Part of that is just the book’s complete lack of faith in its audience, or understanding of subtlety. Several twists are telegraphed so obviously that it’s hard to believe Claire is actually surprised by them, and character beats are just repeated so often you want to grab the author and scream you get it already. Claire’s tragic backstory is repeated something like half a dozen times, and the surprise villain spends half the final confrontation basically giving a monologue about how he’d drown a nursery full of babies if it topped up his 401k.

Villains aside, the supporting cast is mostly fun-if-one-note. Decently executed, but all very much walked out of sci fi central casting. Which more or less works, in that they’re all energetic and mostly fun to have on page. The unfortunate and singular exception is Claire’s love interest, the team medic. Whose...nice? Has a daughter back on Earth? Might as well be a statue carved from literal white bread? You know the cliche about hollywood action movies where the hero’s girlfriend has zero personality or arc and mostly exists to be hot and motivate him by being imperilled? Basically the gender-flip of that.

One thing the book kind of teases but absolutely never really explores or tries to resolve is the fact that in addition to all the hallucinations and madness with (boring, but) mechanistic and materialistic explanations, ghosts might also just be real? There’s several points in the book where Claire sees the body she doesn’t recognize hovering around someone, and when she describes it to them, they know who it is. It’s also a recurring thing that her visions of her dead mom are supposed to be how she even knew how to send out the SOS that got her rescued from the dead colony as a child. You might expect that this would eventually build to something, or be key to the final resolution. You would be incorrect.

So yeah, would have been a very solid horror novella if it just cut the entire second act. As is, I mean I’m not angry I read it, but not sure I’d go out of my way to recommend it either.

[darcydarlingdabbles]

🎙️✨ Until the Devil’s Last Dance ✨🎙️ Part 2

🍒 On Ao3☕Read on Ream☕On Tumblr 🍒

That Old Black Magic by Glen Miller

🎙️ “Oh, I do love a good bit of drama, don’t you? There’s a spell that lingers in the air, my friends. Something intoxicating, a force that binds you, twists you, and refuses to let go. That old black magic is creeping in, and once it has you in its grasp, well, let’s just say... you’ll never be quite the same again.”🎙️

🎶That old black magic has me in its spell 

that old black magic that you weave so well🎵

Alastor's fingers tightened imperceptibly around the stem of his glass as Vox launched into yet another self-aggrandizing anecdote. 

The supper club's jazz quartet provided a soothing counterpoint to the alpha's grating voice, their mellow tones a balm to Alastor's fraying nerves.

"...and that's when I told the network executives, 'Gentlemen, the future of entertainment is television!'" Vox boomed, slapping the table for emphasis.

Alastor's painted-on smile never wavered.

 "How fascinating," he purred, the words tasting like syrup on his tongue—and this omega hated sweets.

If only the fool would shut up long enough for Alastor to excuse himself to the powder room.

He took a delicate sip of the ludicrously colored drink he’d been given. Vox’s good sense to pick The Red Horizon club did not extend to his selection of cocktail, and his personality left much to be desired. 

He didn’t have taste. Just flash with no substance. 

But…The omega agency had certainly matched Alastor with worse prospects.

"Of course, someone in your position couldn't possibly understand the intricacies of my work," Vox continued, oblivious to Alastor's disinterest. 

The omega felt a record scratching inside his brain and his temper flair.

He knew the intricacies of entertaining, and he knew them well. Not that anyone knew him for his work in radio.

The last time he attempted to mention it to Vox, he got offered a job— as the man’s ‘cute little secretary.’

Over his dead body.

"Oh, I'm sure that's true," Alastor murmured to appease the alpha, and keep him talking while the omega rested his chin on his hand. His gaze drifted across the dimly lit room, settling on the now familiar figure at the bar like a reprieve.

The blonde alpha was staring again, golden eyes fixed on Alastor with an intensity that sent an invisible shiver down his spine.

Alastor was no stranger to hungry alpha gazes, but this...this was different. There was a pull there, a black magic he couldn't quite name.

Absently, the omega traced the rim of his glass with one elegant finger. 

The crystal sang softly, a faint counterpoint to his date’s endless droning.

"Are you even listening to me?" Vox snapped, jolting Alastor from his reverie.

"But of course, darling," Alastor lied smoothly. "Please, do go on. I'm simply enthralled by your tales of corporate conquest."

As Vox launched into another self-important story, Alastor's attention drifted once more to the mysterious alpha in the leather jacket. Their eyes met across the crowded room, and Alastor felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the little bit of liquor.

🎶Those icy fingers up and down my spine,

The same old witchcraft when your eyes meet mine.🎵

The blonde alpha's golden eyes widened, as if he'd heard the soft chime of Alastor's glass from across the crowded room. 

Ridiculous, of course—the band was in full swing, couples twirling across the dance floor. And yet…those eyes held Alastor captive, warm and earnest in a way that made his breath catch.

A genuine smile tugged at Alastor's lips, unbidden. For a moment, the rest of the world faded away.

🎵That old black magic that you weave so well 🎶

"Ahem." Vox's pointed cough shattered the spell. "I said, don't you agree?"

Alastor blinked, realizing he'd been caught, again. He poured on the charm, leaning in with practiced interest. "Oh absolutely, my dear. Your insight is simply unparalleled."

Vox preened, but his satisfaction was short-lived. He twisted in his seat, following Alastor's previous line of sight. 

The rough-looking alpha quickly averted his gaze, suddenly fascinated by his empty glass.

“"I see.” Turning back, Vox's lips curled in distaste. “Perhaps if you'd chosen a more demure outfit, you wouldn't be drawing such tawdry attention."

“Oh? Whatever could you mean by that Vox?” Alastor's smile didn't waver, though something cold settled in his stomach as he simpered. "Why, I was ever so mindful to dress nicely for our evening out," he purred, voice dripping with honeyed charm. "After all, you were kind enough to share your…opinions on my wardrobe choices with the social worker after our first two dates."

Inwardly, Alastor seethed. 

Such was the lot of an unmated omega in this alpha-dominated world—constantly scrutinized, constantly judged. He smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from his perfectly tailored vest, thinking bitterly of the hoops he'd jumped through to meet Vox's exacting standards.

Before the dark-haired alpha could respond, a waiter rematerialized at their table. "Good evening, gentlemen. Are you ready to order?"

"Ah, yes," Vox said, puffing up importantly. "I'll have the filet mignon, rare, with the truffle reduction." He barely glanced at Alastor before continuing, "And for the omega, perhaps the poached salmon salad? I’m sure you want to be mindful of your figure, after all."

Alastor's smile became brittle, though his voice remained light. "How thoughtful of you, darling." His stomach growled in protest, mourning the loss of a proper meal. 

These arranged dates were half about the food, after all—a way to indulge beyond his usual means.

As the waiter departed, Alastor sipped his drink, thinking longingly of the hearty gumbo he could have made for a fraction of the price of this overpriced lettuce. 

But needs must be met, he supposed. At least the music was decent.

🎵I should stay away, but what can I do?🎵

Alastor's gaze drifted to the new frilly cocktail Vox had ordered for him, a saccharine concoction topped with a plump maraschino cherry. 

A treat, the alpha had said—Alastor would rather a dry red wine. Since he wasn’t allowed his whiskey.

With deliberate grace, he plucked the fruit from his glass, bringing it to his lips. As he did so, his eyes wandered across the room, seeking out the blonde alpha at the bar.

Their eyes locked just as Alastor bit down, the cherry's sweetness popping across his tongue. 

He held the alpha's gleaming gaze…just restraining himself from tying the stem in a knot with his tongue. That would be laying it on a bit thick, wouldn’t it?

🎵Darling, down and down I go, 

round and round I go 🎶

"I must say, your network's latest programming schedule is simply fascinating," Alastor sighed, seamlessly returning his attention to Vox. "Do tell me more about your fall lineup."

Vox preened, oblivious to Alastor's wandering attention. 

"Well, since you asked..." He launched into a detailed monologue about ratings and demographics.

As the waiter set down their meals, Vox paused his vainglorious speech. "I'm glad you're not eating too heavily tonight, dear. I'm quite looking forward to showing you off on the dance floor later." Vox leered.

Alastor suppressed a shudder, imagining Vox's grabby hands pawing at him under the guise of dancing.

 "Oh? How lovely," he lied smoothly. "But surely you were about to tell me about that thrilling new game show concept?"

Vox's eyes lit up, and Alastor settled in for another interminable story, his mind already calculating how long he could delay the inevitable groping on the dance floor.

♫ ♫ ♫

As the last morsel of food disappeared from their plates, Alastor dabbed at his lips with his napkin, his mind racing for an excuse to postpone the dreaded dance. 

A flash of inspiration struck, and he turned to Vox with a carefully crafted smile.

"If you'll excuse me for a moment, darling," Alastor cooed, rising gracefully from his seat. "I simply must freshen up"

Vox waved him off. "Don't be too long, sweetheart. I'm eager to…show off my moves."

Oh, Alastor could not begin to explain how he was not Vox’s sweetheart.

Alastor's smile tightened imperceptibly as he glided away from the table, his steps measured and unhurried despite his desire to put distance between himself and his boorish date. 

As he passed the hostess stand, a thought occurred to him.

Pausing, he leaned in conspiratorially to the Peter, the club host. "Pardon me, but I couldn't help but notice the gentleman at the bar. Might you know who he is?"

He might expect the smiling blonde beta’s face to light up with gossip-fueled glee, but instead, it soured. "Oh, him? That's Lucifer. He's a friend of our cook.” Peter leaned close. “I wouldn’t let yourself be tempted—you can judge that apple by its skin.” 

The omega kept from shooting a scowl at the boldness of the beta—this was not the place or the time. 

Though, from here, he could see what Peter meant. The skin of the blonde alpha’s forearms held more ink than the Sunday paper.  

"Lucifer," Alastor murmured, savoring the name on his tongue. A sudden warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading through his veins like liquid fire. 

He'd never felt anything quite like it before.

🎵 I hear your name and I’m aflame.

Aflame with such a burning desire. 🎵

Alastor barely had time to settle back into the plush booth before Vox's meaty hand clamped around his wrist. The alpha's eyes glinted with a possessive hunger that made Alastor's skin crawl.

"Come on, dollface. Time to show you off," Vox growled, yanking the omega to his feet.

Alastor's smile strained as he stumbled after the alpha. "My, aren't we eager?" he quipped, trying to maintain his composure.

Vox's grip tightened as he jerked Alastor close. "You bet I am. Been waiting all night for this."

As the band struck up a lively foxtrot, Alastor found himself desperately trying to find his footing. 

He was an excellent dancer. Being a tall omega meant he often lead others of his designation and female betas while the men and alphas were off to war. 

Alastor could finesse any partner.

But Vox's movements were erratic and forceful, completely at odds with the music's rhythm. Each time Alastor attempted to fall into step, Vox would drag him in another direction.

The oaf wouldn't know rhythm if it bit him in his oversized head. 

The brunette longed to take the lead, to show this buffoon how it was really done. But societal expectations chained him to this farce of a dance.

"Isn't this great?" Vox bellowed, oblivious to Alastor's discomfort. "You're lucky to have such a talented dance partner."

Alastor's smile twisted into something closer to a sneer. "Oh yes," he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'm positively overwhelmed by your... enthusiasm."

As Vox continued to manhandle him around the floor, Alastor's contempt grew. 

His eyes darted around the room, seeking an escape—or at least a distraction. They landed on the bar, where a pair of golden eyes met his own. 

 🎵The same old witchcraft when your eyes meet mine🎶

Vox's hand slid lower down his back, yanking Alastor flush against him. 

The omega's nose wrinkled at the alpha's overpowering cologne as Vox's hips ground against him in a vulgar parody of what should be done on a dance floor.

"Now this is more like it," Vox purred, his breath hot on Alastor's ear. "You know, as this is our third date,”

“So it is,” the omega said, hiding the wariness in his tone with a lilting tease.

“So.” Vox blundered over the beat of the music. “ I've got certain…expectations."

Alastor stiffened, his lips holding no hint of a smile. He leaned back, trying to put some distance between them. 

"My dear fellow, I believe there's been a misunderstanding. The matchmaker was quite clear about your preferences for an unmated—"

"Untouched," Vox interrupted, his grin predatory. "And why do you think that is, doll?”

Alastor's eyes widened, his carefully crafted facade cracking.

"I…I beg your pardon?" He stammered, genuinely caught off guard for the first time in years. His mind raced, searching for a way to extricate himself from this increasingly uncomfortable situation without causing a scene. “I’ve no idea what you could possibly be implying.”

“Oh, don’t play like that, a male omega can’t play coy.” Vox huffed, forgetting the pretense of a dance as his pawing hands held Alastor. “I want to be the one to plant the first flag, if you catch my drift."

Alastor pushed against Vox's chest, but barely escaped an inch. "I'm afraid I'm not interested in that sort of…arrangement, sir. Perhaps we should call it a night?"

Vox's grip tightened, his expression darkening. "Not so fast, sweetheart. Do you have any idea how much I spent on dinner? On this whole evening?" He leaned in, alcohol-laced breath hot against Alastor's cheek. "You owe me something for my trouble."

A flicker of genuine anger flashed in Alastor's eyes, quickly masked behind his practiced smile. 

The audacity of this utter buffoon.

"Now, Vox," Alastor said, voice dripping with false sweetness, "I don't recall agreeing to any form of transaction. Surely a gentleman such as yourself—"

His words were cut short as Vox's hand suddenly grabbed his ass. 

Alastor froze, eyes wide with shock and indignation. His mind reeled, searching for a way to salvage the situation without compromising his carefully cultivated image.

Though he longed to show yet another entitled alpha what he was capable of. 

But he hesitated, acutely aware of the eyes upon them, of the delicate social balance he had to maintain. 

For a moment, Alastor found himself truly at a loss, his usual wit and charm failing him in the face of such brazen disrespect.

Just as Alastor's composure threatened to crack, a ringing voice cut through the tension.

 "Pardon me, gentlemen. Might I cut in?"

Before either could respond, a blonde figure slid between them, deftly maneuvering Alastor away from Vox's grasp and into his own. Alastor found himself whisked onto the dance floor, guided by sure hands and twinkling golden eyes.

🎶Cause you’re the lover I have waited for.

The mate that fate had me created for. 🎵

"Lucifer," the alpha introduced himself with a roguish wink. "I hope you don't mind the interruption."

The omega’s relief was palpable, though he masked it with a coy smile. "Not at all," Alastor' sighed gratefully. "Though I’m afraid I must protest when we are caught by my proper date—as a matter of principle."

“Whatever ya need, doll.” Lucifer grinned, falling easily into step with his new partner.

“My name is Alastor.” the taller man  corrected, caution moderating his tone, knowing his history of putting boundaries before alphas and how they reacted.

Lucifer just smiled, and said. “Whatever ya need, Alastor.”

And just like that, this pint-sized alpha earned his first genuine smile of the night as he stole the omega away.

🎵Under that old black magic called love🎵

🎙️ “Care to dance, darlings? Up next, ‘Sway’ by Dean Martin will leave you breathless.” 🎙️

🍒 On Ao3☕Read on Ream☕On Tumblr 🍒

[venbetta]

The "Golden Child" Headcanon (Glamrock Freddy)

Something I've constantly based my interpretation of Freddy on is him being the golden child of Glamrock era. (Mixed with the pyromaniac Freddy hc)

For those curious, golden child syndrome is "One who is favored or the favorite (in a family, on a team, at work, etc.), often held in high esteem by others, and for whom there are high hopes"

I thought it fit him pretty well. It's not canon. It's my hc/portrayal of him... with no Michael Afton influence involved.

Enjoy

____________________________________________

Fazbear Entertainment have always been under fire for the decades of failed franchises and establishments, following the grizzly tales of child murders, conspiracy, and corporate corruption. Along with technological malpractice, injuries, negligence and many other violations under the sun.

With the new Mega Pizzaplex underway, they might as well have slapped a new coat paint against the many dozen layers of past mistakes.

The well known iterations of Freddy Fazbear have always shifted through the times, but he's the face of the company, so it's great to make him both recognizable and a role model for all children. Every Freddy that's been made almost had a paternal facet to them, some more than others.

Glamrock Freddy was no different, only rocking the glamrock aesthetic and based on the late singer Freddie Mercury.

His design was simple yet his build was far more advanced than any of his predecessors, and due to the company's tendency of shrouding the past, they wanted to make him even more inviting.

The usual coding followed a similar format with permanent traits:

Optimistic, passive, charismatic, and committed, to name a few.

These traits are what made Glamrock Freddy “Freddy Fazbear”, or at least a modern version of him.

The company wanted these traits to be followed to a T, not wanting incidents from the past occurring the same way. While they wanted their other glamrock stars to strive, their focus on the main attraction caused some shortcomings in managing the cast.

Overlooking some programming errors and disregarding the less than desirable traits given to the other mascots.

Because of their fixation on Freddy, the others suffered.

The company perfected Freddy's programming and wanted nothing but that from him. Anything less would result in disciplinary measures or “bug fixes” to make sure he knew how to work properly.

Freddy's optimism was overbearing to the point that it felt unnatural and forced. His general disposition was the friendly front man, but in the confines of his room, he was aware of his lack of independence.

Some companions, like Chica and Bonnie, although we're programmed relationships, he leaned on them as his lifeline. Most of his bandmates meant a lot to him, as they were all made under the same creators that have each of them life and sentience.

Seeing children happy was another thing that kept him going, knowing he was created specifically for the joy of children.

However, a single mistake or flaw in a performance could cause him to internally spiral and shut down. When that happens, Freddy retreats to a charging station or his greenroom to contemplate his actions. Even when nothing happened, he couldn't help but be rattled, on edge knowing that the higher ups were always watching. All eyes were on him after all. Not a single slip up should be happening, not when he was a perfect machine created to make people happy.

His hyperactivity and drive to keep guest spirits up would mess up his battery charge, leading to more needed breaks. But that wasn't something he needed, he just needed to keep working.

Because what good would he be if he wasn't striving to work harder to make others happy.

[halfusek]

What do you think about that new Bendy game coming out on the 14th?

hard to tell from how little there is

the trailer didnt really captivate me, but i guess its fair how much of a nothing there is considering the game will be free, so i'd expect something like batds - i did enjoy batds for what it was (maybe except for the final "reveal" about the collage which was uh. a giant nothing burger)

seems like this is leaning to the scp / found footage / analog horror territory, which ive gotta say im very sceptical about, at least personally to me they are often executed in an unsatisfying way but who knows maybe the devs who kept delivering a disappointment after a disappointment will surprise me

i do like the design of that thing that you can see clearer in the screenshots, im intriguied by the possibility of meeting a less messed up butcher gang character, and im especially excited about The House

seems like im not the only person reminded of the little barn allison painted on the wall we can see at the beginning of batim's chapter 5, i would love a tie in back to that (cuz it never really was tied back to and thats quite interesting why she'd paint something specific like that)

but i am begging them, i am getting on my knees - stop STOP copy pasting the bendy face png on everything, i promise the house doesnt need to have a giant bendy face, it looks sooooo out of place

speaking of overdoing things, mentions of 414 are starting to get a bit tasteless, especially that the number isn't really meaningful in-universe - yes i know that's henry's assigned subject number - but 414 really started as a joke from one of the developers which was picked up by theorists. that meaning was given by fans and it doesn't seem to have any satisfying origin in-universe. yes henry has the 414 subject number *now*. what does it refer to? there's a few theories (like we used to theorise about it waaay before batdr) but there's nothing that's really clearly stated. if it's just gonna be a number that appears cuz ooooo oooh look its a number you guys like isn't this fun like jiggling car keys in front of a baby that's gonna get old Pretty Fast. but maybe they are planning to give it a meaning, i'd be looking forward to it

i will give them that the game being officially developed by Gent Corporation is kind of funny

it seems like they're trying to alleviate responsibility for Whatever Horrors That Happened Really off of JDS shoulders (and joey's by extension) and put the blame on gent for being The freak evil corporation and im not sure how to feel about that (weeeeeell i do not like this direction the way it is looking now. i would have liked it more if it was executed differently)

my thoughts are that this is going to be a game that will not really answer any questions or will answer questions we didn't/wouldn't have but it will be more or less entertaining while we wait for the main course (the cage)

[puhpandas]

I still see fans use the glamrocks dismantlings against greg! which is crazy cuz the game makes us do it and we’re never faced with an alternative ever. It’s not like greg was presented with a faz wrench, realized he could reboot the bots, then turn around and said nahh. He had maybe 3-4 hours left on the clock and I doubt any kid could make a plan to reboot 3 violent robots while also worrying about vanny within that amount of time

Their dismantlings, while sad in ruin, feels like a cheap attempt at glamrock angst when the glamrock angst should’ve been focused on how FE treats/neglects their robots. Why are we blaming the child over the greed/carelessness of men that put him, and everyone else, in that situation? Sotm better pull through and show how evil big corporations are so fans can parallel it with FE smh

YEAH I've actually never really thought about that second part. I think that's actually why I was so miffed by it in ruin and it didnt hit, and I love the glamrocks so it really should have!! it felt too cheap and thrown in, like there wasnt any buildup. and jtop literally SAID in the john interview that they put in chicas rebeakening as fan service to be able to feel that satisfaction at fixing her. he pretty blatantly either said or implied idk which but pretty sure it's the former that it was so you could fix what Gregory had done, which is. kind of strange

I understand it from an outside player perspective, bc it's like everybody felt bad breaking them, but I feel like this wasnt the way to go about it, especially because Gregory himself was not even involved when they were being fixed. theres nothing about the actual situation being expanded upon, just one part being put back into place by the "kind" child to fix what the "other" child had done

I think that's why I was miffed by cassie and roxys relationship too and it didnt hit like Gregory and freddys. it felt so sanitized, like, the whole point of roxy is that she isnt at all what a perfect character for the brand would be like and shes insecure and mean and lashes out, but then as soon as cassie finds her under the forklift shes suddenly back to being a soulless entertainer robot that's nothing but kind? her voice acting LITERALLY turns robotic!! it's like her entire personality was stripped away for her to be more likeable, even if that wasnt the intention, and it just didnt make it feel genuine

that's what it feels like with 'fixing' chica too. theres no real genuineness to it, it's just slapping a bandaid on it and not talking about what really matters about the situation. PLUS in the process it just paints Gregory who's already in an atrocious light from another event from the exact same game in an even worse light, especially with how jtop implied it in the interview that he was the "bad" to Cassies "good".

it feels like less to actually make you care or think about chica being sentient trapped in this building and broken and STILL under the virus and just. heres a bandaid, hope you guys feel better about (gregory) breaking them! isnt cassie a sweetheart for doing this? (theres an unlike unsaid there)

no hate to cassie or anything /gen. I have zero problem with her, it's just how it all as a whole was handled. this feels like a mistake theyve been making a lot recently with focusing on the wrong things. not focusing on the sentient Fazbear ent characters and how they each dont fit into their boxes for one reason or another and instead just the "look roxy and cassie are friends and shes back to acting like her animatronic performer self and now you as the player get to experience satisfaction but nothing about the situation actually changes". it's like this with mimic too, where they keep focusing on the boring mortal parts of mimic of it just being an old ass rusty robot instead of the glitchtrap AI virus parts of it, which are the actual dangerous scary parts that make it feel powerful and hard to beat in any capacity

ur so right about the Fazbear ent stuff not being focused on enough, especially since it's one of the most prominent amazing storylines in sb!! Bonnie in ruin should have served that, but it didn't, it just added more kindle to the fire in our own minds to make the story better. they didnt actually talk about the implications of bonnie being there and dead and phased out but it's there. the implication is good enough I guess, but it's just another thing about how it could have been expanded upon. like cassie could have had a little dialogue putting it into perspective like "omg he was here the whole time? it looked like someone killed him! it's so unfair that they just phased him out like that :(" or something then boom, makes the player think about it

ur so right about all the things u said in ur ask about the "glamrock angst" instead of focusing on the actual sad parts of their story that are AMAZING. especially since they're framing them being broken as the most terrible worst thing to ever happen to them and the ONLY bad thing when it was done by Gregory and not the mistreatment and abuse from Fazbear ent that made Freddy abandon the place (bc of bonnie) which was done BY the company. its framing Gregory as being the bad one twice in the same game when he didnt need another player while Fazbear ent, who is already the culprit of the glamrocks story that isnt expanded upon enough, isnt emphasized so players only focus on Gregory breaking them as being their worst fates

[satancopilotsmytardis]

I still have brain rot, more FNAF×MHA notes for myself for when I have time to work on this:

Dabi: 8 foot tall scarecrow/jack-o-lantern creature made for the Halloween season. He was supposed to be made to work in like huge corn mazes and has a bunch of lights inside of him, so through his "tattered" exoskeleton the "fire" could be seen coming through. It was decided to color him blue instead of traditional fire colors because they didn't want anyone to see him moving through the corn and get actually scared that something was on fire.

Compress: 6 foot long rabbit animatronic styled after the white hare from Alice In wonderland. He has rabbit looking legs and usually sits back on his haunches which leaves him looking fairly short among the other animatronics. He has no face and instead has a black and white "mask" screen over his face that can project symbols while he talks or emotes, tho notably no facial expressions/emojis/emoticons were programmed in. He was designed to be an entertainer and used to have a stage where he would start each show by popping out of a large top hat.

Spinner: 7 feet tall, he was originally designed to be a dragon animatronic that was supposed to play the villain in one of the stage shows against a knight, but during production, the engineers ran out of time to get his wings working/attached. He was sent out anyway, and the kids called him a lizard and didn't like him, so corporate immediately had him shelved and sent to the basement to be replaced by a wizard animatronic.

Toga: 5 feet tall, she is an animatronic that is styled similarly to a Raggedy Ann doll. She was made to do arts and crafts with kids but started to grow an obsession over the color red and painting herself to look more like her favorite kids/staff members/other animatronics, and the mechanics couldn't get the obsessiveness out of her programming so they deemed her unstable and sent her to the basement.

Twice: 6 feet tall, Twice was originally a Staff Bot, just one of many made to help clean up, direct guests, and help with the day-to-day running of the partyplex, but he got pulled aside at random to be the test bot for a more advanced program that made him Too self-aware. He realized that his freewill was given to him by chance and on accident and his brain may have snapped a little, making him violently attack and dismantle any other staff bot he saw until he was sent to the basement as well.

Shigaraki is "human" 5'9", and is AFO's secret kid. He told his dad he was going off to college, but in actuality, he applied for a janitorial position in the company with a false identity so that he could actually see the empire his dad built up close and personal. He's the new hire and gets the shit job of going down to the basement to deal with the moody bunch and ends up finding them to be kindred spirits

[cup-and-chaucer]

Really the problem with these BookTok books like Romantic Comedy is that...they are commodities. The answer to Fran Leibowitz's brilliant quote, "A book is not a mirror, it should be a door." is that, with advent of a literary social media, we are not reading to engage with a story or an idea but to attain an ideal. Marketing is built on the tension of relatability and aspiration. We see commercials set in clean, pristine suburban homes with happy, well-behaved children because it feels like it something we could attainably be if only we had the right brand of cereal or peanut butter or dish soap or life insurance. We want to see ourselves in those places that feel within our grasp. With the rise of books as a commodity to be marketed, rather than as art or entertainment, we increasingly want to see ourselves in the books we read. We want to see aspirational versions of ourselves either reading the book (aesthetics bloggers like Dakota Warren) or within the pages of the books. This why so many of those romance books feel so...conflict-avoidant. Don't get too close to reality or imperfection.

As the idea of a corporate morality (think: rainbow capitalism) emerges, it comes out in books too. Books have to have queer or PoC characters...not because those characters are essential or interesting or natural parts of the landscape or have their own purpose in the books but because the people reading the books want to feel like they are reading diversely and want to believe they are the type of people who also have queer or PoC friends. It doesn't matter if these portrayals are sanitized or feel tokenish.

A book like Romantic Comedy, where the characters mouth literal Facebook think-piece memes I saw during the height of the Black Lives Matter protests in 2020 as their political beliefs, without much self-reflection on the fact that these are two culturally powerful white people who are saying those things to signal that they are good people. It feels like a distraction and a benediction so you can support them in their rockstar fantasy romance, white guilt free. They are saying you are a good person for liking this book because the people in it are good the way you want them to be good and in the way you also want to be good. And they don't have to mean a word of it, they don't have to examine themselves any deeper, if the box is checked and disclaimer signed.

It's also why I think there is so much moral puritanism in reading now. We can't read Lolita because most of us don't want to be associated with its content and what we read, because it is now synonymous with what we buy and own and identify with, is a mirror to who we are and what we aspire to be. The problem is that books are not material things, not really, not the way jeans or furniture or cooking utensils are. They aren't forms of self-expression for the reader, the way fashion or make-up or paint is, they are simply a collection of thoughts from the imagination of an individual put into the world to tell of an experience or make an argument for us to read. That's all.

And all of this, all of this, all of this fucking capitalism is going to get conflated with the very real need for representation in literature and media, for more equitable publishing, for uplifting marginalized voices and experiences.

*sighs*