#profit pulling copy

[kylejsugarman]

the lack of originality in recent horror is so depressing. like obviously remakes and soft reboots and sequels are inundating every genre but that pattern in horror specifically feels doubly tired because the moments they are tirelessly trying to replicate are reflections of the time and people who crafted them, so every effort to copy the placid inhumanity of michael myers or the helplessness of "the exorcist" or the slick but still personable savviness of the first "scream" will inevitably fall flat because those moments have passed and there are new fears, new people to tell new stories. of course there are some universal and timeless fears but when u try to endlessly replicate something in a genre that has its roots in innovation and ingenuity, u are preventing horror from evolving in the way that it is fundamentally meant to and estranging new creators whose unique visions might not be the next conjuring and gross like 100 million dollars on a 10 million dollar budget.

[echoekhi]

I’m Declaring War Against “What If” Videos: Project Copy-Knight

What Are “What If” Videos?

These videos follow a common recipe: A narrator, given a fandom (usually anime ones like My Hero Academia and Naruto), explores an alternative timeline where something is different. Maybe the main character has extra powers, maybe a key plot point goes differently. They then go on and make up a whole new story, detailing the conflicts and romance between characters, much like an ordinary fanfic.

Except, they are fanfics. Actual fanfics, pulled off AO3, FFN and Wattpad, given a different title, with random thumbnail and background images added to them, narrated by computer text-to-speech synthesizers.

They are very easy to make: pick a fanfic, copy all the text into a text-to-speech generator, mix the resulting audio file with some generic art from the fandom as the background, give it a snappy title like “What if Deku had the Power of Ten Rings”, photoshop an attention-grabbing thumbnail, dump it onto YouTube and get thousands of views.

In fact, the process is so straightforward and requires so little effort, it’s pretty clear some of these channels have automated pipelines to pump these out en-masse. They don’t bother with asking the fic authors for permission. Sometimes they don’t even bother with putting the fic’s link in the description or crediting the author. These content-farms then monetise these videos, so they get a cut from YouTube’s ads.

In short, an industry has emerged from the systematic copyright theft of fanfiction, for profit.

Project Copy-Knight

Since the adversaries almost certainly have automated systems set up for this, the only realistic countermeasure is with another automated system. Identifying fanfics manually by listening to the videos and searching them up with tags is just too slow and impractical.

And so, I came up with a simple automated pipeline to identify the original authors of “What If” videos.

It would go download these videos, run speech recognition on it, search the text through a database full of AO3 fics, and identify which work it came from. After manual confirmation, the original authors will be notified that their works have been subject to copyright theft, and instructions provided on how to DMCA-strike the channel out of existence.

I built a prototype over the weekend, and it works surprisingly well:

On a randomly-selected YouTube channel (in this case Infinite Paradox Fanfic), the toolchain was able to identify the origin of half of the content. The raw output, after manual verification, turned out to be extremely accurate. The time taken to identify the source of a video was about 5 minutes, most of those were spent running Whisper, and the actual full-text-search query and Levenshtein analysis was less than 5 seconds.

The other videos probably came from fanfiction websites other than AO3, like fanfiction.net or Wattpad. As I do not have access to archives of those websites, I cannot identify the other ones, but they are almost certainly not original.

Armed with this fantastic proof-of-concept, I’m officially declaring war against “What If” videos. The mission statement of Project Copy-Knight will be the elimination of “What If” videos based on the theft of AO3 content on YouTube.

I Need Your Help

I am acutely aware that I cannot accomplish this on my own. There are many moving parts in this system that simply cannot be completely automated – like the selection of YouTube channels to feed into the toolchain, the manual verification step to prevent false-positives being sent to authors, the reaching-out to authors who have comments disabled, etc, etc.

So, if you are interested in helping to defend fanworks, or just want to have a chat or ask about the technical details of the toolchain, please consider joining my Discord server. I could really use your help.

------

See full blog article and acknowledgements here: https://echoekhi.com/2023/11/25/project-copy-knight/

[seat-safety-switch]

With the ever-present rush towards convenience, so many sit-in restaurants are becoming take-out-only instead. Let's be honest: none of us really want to go outside and talk to people in order to get food. Just flip that app and bingbong® yourself a drunk order of fried treats for only $25 in fees.

Pizza Hut was one of the first to abandon the pull of large square footage, throwing millions of nostalgic red plastic cups into industrial grinders in a mad rush to stop bleeding so much goddamn money all the time. Today, those cups are worth $250 on eBay, so they look pretty stupid now, don't they?

The problem with all this is, in the time of our foreparents, it was real hard to fake the existence of a restaurant. If you went to a Pizza Hut, it was a real-ass physical building. It probably had not been copy-pasted together by a bunch of Taiwanese scam artists using Google Image Search fifteen seconds before you appeared. That was more of a Taco Bell thing. Nowadays, you can't be sure. Computers treat bullshit the same as any other kind of shit, so sometimes you'll be ordering from a completely imaginary restaurant. Feels weird, doesn't it?

As with many other cases in my adult life where I figured out everyone was just faking it, I decided to try and make some quick money. Papa needed a new engine, you see, and Slant Sixes don't exactly grow on trees anymore. With just a couple wonky Excel spreadsheets and a glob of code the size of Upper Tonawanda, I was in business with Switch's Fun-Time Pizza, an entirely non-fictitious restaurant whose address happened to be at the same place as a Pizza Hut.

Folks would pay me money, and then I'd quickly pay Pizza Hut to have a pizza ready by the time the delivery guy rolled up. Nobody seemed to care that the box said the wrong thing, and soon I was collecting fat stacks of money for doing nothing at all, just like the platforms themselves. This went on for a few weeks, fattening my bank account for slaughter. Until the first complaints came in, that is.

Yes, friends: it turned out that the local Pizza Hut had hired someone who wasn't very good at washing their hands. Soon, I was handing out big-time refunds on behalf of a massive international corporation, except I was doing so out of my own ill-gotten profits. My rickety, strung-together bullshit engine made entirely out of spreadsheets and chewing gum simply could not comprehend the idea of a refund, much less one for a weak human phenomenon such as food poisoning. Soon, all the money was gone.

Have I learned something from this whole experience? Yes. The most important thing in food service is to wash your hands thoroughly before (and after!) handling the customer's meat. The second most important thing is to charge at least a hundred percent premium over your supplier, to leave room for little hiccups such as this.

That's way easier to do if you position yourself as an upscale luxury restaurant, such as Lord Switchington of Canterbury's Refined Palate Pizza Parlour For Bourgeois Assholes Only, which will be launching this weekend in the very expensive neighbourhood next to mine. Hopefully their Pizza Hut is a little bit better at keeping the bathroom soap dispenser stocked.

[wildrangers]

Book Lovers // Quinn Hughes

Word Count: 5K

Summary: Quinn x fem OC author

Content: prolonged meet cute, flirty banter, fluff. Truly, I saw the clip of Quinn sharing he's a reader and knew I had to write something based on that.

Quinn took a deep, contented breath as he perused the shelves before him. He had a rare day off and was doing one of his favorite fall activities: book shopping.

Normally, he just went to Chapters or Barnes, depending on what country he was in, but he’d decided to explore a new place. He’d been discussing books with Lauren, the new social media manager, and she’d ranted about how they and Amazon were “destroying local markets and harming author profits.” Most of her argument had gone over his head but he took away enough, so here he was at Thomas’ Tomes–the closest locally-owned book shop to his apartment. He figured that was as good a place to start as any and it certainly didn’t hurt that it was a block from his favorite coffee place. 

Which is how he found himself, pumpkin spiced latte in hand, soaking in the relaxing energy of the cozy shop. He’d already selected a few historical fiction novels and was scanning the mystery section he’d just entered. He pulled his phone out, scanning his notes app for the title Lauren had recommended. She’d said it was pretty gruesome but he figured he could handle it…probably.

“Can I help you?” a voice nearby asked, startling him. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Are you sure a mystery book is a good idea?” 

His gaze rose to meet warm, golden brown eyes filled with amusement. “What do you mean?”

“It’s broad daylight in a public setting and you almost dropped your PSL because I greeted you.”

“You didn’t scare me, I was just in my own world” he argued, but felt his cheeks pinkening. She really had set off a fight or flight response just by doing her job.

“Of course” she replied and he couldn’t tell if he was being sensitive or if there was a teasing glint in her eyes. “My offer still stands.” 

“I’m sorry what?” he asked, confused and scrambling to keep up. 

“To help you find something…preferably a book. I don’t know how much help I’d be beyond that.” 

“Oh sure, yeah, thanks” he mumbled, setting his stack of books down on the table next to him so he could more easily show her his phone screen. “Someone recommended this book to me, do you have it in stock?”

He caught a whiff of something earthy and relaxing as she leaned closer, her eyes scanning the note. “Ah, yes we actually have a display over this way. Theo’s a local author.”

He picked up his items and followed her, moving much quicker than he anticipated having to to keep up as she weaved through the store. “Have you worked here a long time?” 

“My whole life essentially” she chuckled, throwing a grin over her shoulder. Just as she turned back, they passed a window that set her red hair aflame in the midday sun. 

“Oh, yeah? No labor laws then?” he teased, he hoped, successfully.

“I mean, I basically harassed my parents to let me stock shelves or talk to customers. Now I’m slightly less enthusiastic about inventory.” 

He laughed at her light tone, drawing to a stop as she did. “Wow, is this a series or something?” he asked, taking in the full display. 

“Well, the one your girlfriend recommended is the first in a new series” she answered, pointing it out. He was about to correct her but she continued quickly, “And the sequel isn’t out until early next year, so you’ll be waiting a bit for answers. Maybe start with this one?” she suggested, pointing out a title with the fewest books available. 

“Only a couple copies left, it must be popular. Have you read it?” 

“More times than I can count” she huffed.

“You’d think if you kept rereading it’s because you enjoyed it, no?” he chuckled. 

She simply shrugged, turning fully to meet his gaze, “Well, what’s the verdict? I do feel the need to warn you, these books are much closer to horror than just a normal mystery or thriller.” 

“Why does no one think I can handle these books?” he sighed in mild annoyance, grabbing the one she’d recommended off the shelf. 

“You just don’t seem like a horror enthusiast, that’s all.” 

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Do you want me to answer genuinely?” she responded, eyebrow quirked in a challenge he couldn’t help but rise to.

“Sure but if you hurt my feelings, can you at least give me a discount?” he joked and she snorted out a laugh.

“You’ve got yourself a deal” she smirked, offering her hand to shake on it, which he did. He wasn’t at all surprised when her handshake was firm and she maintained eye contact the entire time. “Well, you have two historical fiction books with you and that was the first section you went to when you walked in.”

“You were watching me?” he laughed, earning him an eye roll.

“It’s 11AM on a Tuesday, there’s not much else to do,” she replied, gesturing to the otherwise empty store. “Plus, it’s a fun game to play when I procrastinate on doing actual work. Anyway,” she emphasized, closing her eyes briefly to seemingly get herself back on track. “Once you found those, both of which are part of long, ongoing series, you debated going left to nonfiction or right to mystery. My guess is, you normally would go pick out some biographies, maybe some historical nonfiction or even, oh, maybe some kind of ‘how to maximize yourself’ guide. How close am I?”

He felt his cheeks warm from pink to scarlet, “I mean, close but that doesn’t mean I can’t also like mysteries…” he argued weakly. 

“True enough, who’s your favorite thriller writer?” The long silence was answer enough so she continued, “If you want, you can go pick out a nonfiction book and I’ll throw the thriller in for free.”

“You don’t have to do that, my feelings weren’t that hurt.”

She shrugged, “I can’t in good conscience let you pay for that book, you must have done something to piss off your girlfriend.”

“My coworker, actually” he corrected and her eyebrows rose. “What?”

“What did you do to the poor girl?” 

“Nothing! I even took her suggestion to shop locally.” 

“Our hero” she fake swooned and he rolled his eyes, making her laugh. “Fine, how about when you’re done you bring up your haul and I’ll throw in a surprise? I feel like you’re making it a pride thing to buy the book now.”

“Color me intrigued, we have another deal” he replied. “My name’s Quinn, by the way.” 

“Dora” she replied but a loud snort erupted from near the registers. “Fuck off, Richie” she snapped, turning away from him to seemingly go yell at whoever laughed at her.

Quinn tried to relax back into the calming routine of ambling through a bookstore but he kept hearing her voice and couldn’t focus on much else. He grabbed a biography Jack had recommended, both dreading and eager to be teased by the redhead.

“Don’t let her manipulate you into buying that garbage” the guy, presumably Richie, called as soon as Quinn was in his line of sight. 

“I’m doing no such thing! Tell him, Quinn” she replied, cheeks flaming red in annoyance, her golden eyes fierce with indignation. 

“My coworker actually recommended this author. A different book but still…” he shrugged, placing his other selections on the counter. He noticed her eyes appraising his selections and the quick, amused quirk of her mouth before she whirled to focus on Richie. 

“See I told you!”

“I’m sorry for not believing you” Richie said, seeming sincere to Quinn’s ears but Dora’s eyes narrowed. “It’s just that Theodora here often tries to swindle impressionable young men to improve her book sales.” The heavy emphasis on the girl’s full name made Quinn pause. 

“Wait a minute…” he blinked rapidly, processing this new information. “Your family owns this shop, right? Thomas’ Tomes?” 

“...yeah” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring daggers at the giggling Richie. 

“And when you gave your name as Dora, he laughed. And this book, it’s written by Theo Thomas. And he just called you Theodora, which I think means you wrote this?” he questioned, feeling proud of himself for putting the pieces together and a little embarrassed it took him so long.

“He’s solved the mystery! Maybe he can handle your book after all, dear sister” Richie teased. 

“I was going to tell him!” Theo argued, grabbing a pen and opening the book. “That was the surprise, Quinn, now you have a signed copy of the book. You’re welcome, you can thank my asshole brother for ruining the reveal. I also signed a copy of the one your coworker recommended, can you pass it along to her? On the house.” 

“Are you sure?” Quinn questioned and she nodded, shifting to ring up the rest of his purchase. 

“Theo, stop” Richie huffed, shifting her away from the till. “You need to stop procrastinating and finish that last round of edits, they’re due within the week.”

“It’s just garbage anyway, you said so yourself” Theo replied mopily, sitting down on the stool next to the register.

“Oh come on…” Richie sighed, pausing his scanning to give his sister his full attention. “I was just messing with you. I know the sequel’s giving you a hard time but you’re at the finish line now, just a few more days of work then it’s out of your hands. And you’re an incredible, if worryingly grotesque, writer so I have every faith it’ll be amazing.”

“Did you hear that, Quinn?” Theo asked, grinning widely. “He finally admitted I’m a good writer.” 

“Oh fuck off, you guilted me into it!” Richie replied, grabbing the debit card from his outstretched hand. “Quinn, right?” 

“...yeah?”

“Quinn, can you please take my sister anywhere other than this shop? The cafe, the movies, a strip club? I literally don’t care, she’s driving me nuts.” 

“Richie! I’m sorry, he’s kidding, he knows that would be a weird, rude thing to request of a total stranger.” 

“A total stranger you’ve been flirting with…” he mumbled and Theo jammed her elbow into his side.

“Here, let me walk you out…” Theo said, grabbing his bag of books and rapidly leading him away from her brother. Once the cool fresh air surrounded them, she turned quickly towards him. “I am so sorry, Richie thinks he’s funny when he’s really just weird.”

“I have two brothers, I get it” Quinn assured her, reaching to grab the bag from her hands. “It was nice to have someone sign something for me for once.” 

“Do you sign things for people often?” she questioned, confusion evident in her eyes as she scanned him, trying to place who he may be. 

“Most nights yeah” he chuckled shyly, embarrassed by his comment. “Forget about it though…”

“No, no, I’m curious now” she smiled, head tilted in appraisal. “Not an author, I’d know you already. You definitely don’t give off musician vibes…but I don’t think I’ve seen you in anything either so not an actor. Who are you really Quinn? Here I was feeling bad for putting you through the ringer for my own amusement back there and you were a celebrity the whole time.”

“I wouldn’t go that far” he laughed anxiously, running his hands through his hair. 

“Well you’re either someone of import or completely delusional and just handing out signatures to people on the streets, so which is it?”

“I’m a hockey player.”

“...okay, and?”

“We’re in Vancouver.” 

“Yes, I’m aware.” 

“This is a huge hockey city! You don’t know the Canucks?”

“I don’t live under a rock, of course I do” she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I was raised in a bookstore though so sports aren’t high on my list of interests.” 

“Are they on your list at all?” 

“Take a wild guess, Quinn” she replied sarcastically. “I guess you’re a big deal then?”

“I mean, I am the captain…”

“Is that normally what gets girls interested in you?” 

“Damn, tell me how you really feel” he answered, averting his eyes and trying to play off how the quip hurt him. 

“Hey, I’m sorry” she replied, her voice gentle as she tugged softly on his coat sleeve “That’s not how I meant it. I guess I’m just surprised you felt the need to try to impress me when I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since I walked over to you in the shop.” 

He was briefly stunned into silence, causing her to rapidly continue, “Oh god, I’m leaving. I hope my book doesn’t traumatize you and I’m sorry for assuming you were trying to impress me, that was weird and presumptuous of me.”

It was his turn to grab her sweater sleeve lightly, “Can I have your number?” 

“Are you sure you want it? I’m clearly an expert at putting my foot into my mouth…” 

“I’m 100% sure but only if you’re interested. There's no pressure.” 

Theo reached into the shopping bag, adding her number to her signature before returning it. “Text me when you finish chapter eight, not a minute before okay? You need to know what you’re getting into here.”

***

Theo sighed, finally closing her laptop for the night but not before catching the time: 1AM. She’d procrastinated most of the day before forcing herself to do the one chapter she’d promised herself she’d get done. She was confident in the overall story but she felt like a single thread was missing that would lead to the next book’s central plot. Should the apparent villain be more gray and get a redemption arc? Or should she double down? Or maybe…her phone vibrating across the desk stopped her obsessing.

Respectfully, your mind must be a truly terrifying place. What the FUCK was that twist?

She smirked, butterflies tentatively taking flight in her stomach at the unknown number’s text.

I’m sorry, who is this?

How many men do you secretly sell your book to, sign said book with your number, and give detailed instructions on when they can use that number?

At least three today that I can think of, so any additional information would really help.

It’s Quinn.   

Ah yes, the biography and historical fiction lover! What twist are you referring to? 

I think if I typed it out I’d get flagged by an FBI agent or something…that was gruesome

I tried to warn you…

Take my advice, try harder with your next group of guys

I’ll do my best. I suspect the more I’d try to warn you off the more you would have dug your heels in though

Nah, I don’t have a competitive bone in my body 

Of course, my bad. Will you finish the book or is it too much? You can always give it to your girlfriend

*Coworker. I wouldn’t be texting a beautiful girl I just met if I was in a relationship

How charming and reassuring of you!

Are you always like this?

Like what?

Chirping

…I’m sorry what?

You don’t know what chirping means? That’s disappointing given you're a writer, Theo… 

Please, enlighten me

Chirping is a hockey term for when you’re ribbing someone. During a game, guys will chirp or make fun of each other to get under their skin. 

Are you saying I’m getting under your skin?

I’m saying I feel like my brain has to work overtime to keep up with you

That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me

That can’t possibly be true

As she mulled over what to say next, the three blue dots popped up so she paused until his response appeareed

Can I ask you a forward question? 

Shoot 

Are you free tonight? 

Are you asking me on a date?

Not quite, I’m asking you to come to my hockey game 

And why’s that?

Because you’re clearly smart and cute and have a twisted mind that I’m curious to learn more about. But you gave me a warning, so asking you to go to my game is mine

Ah, so since you passed my test you want to see if I can pass yours?

If you want it to be a challenge, sure. I just think it’s fair for you to get a glimpse of my weird life before I actually ask you out. Just like how you showed me a glimpse of your weird brain. 

Challenge and pre-date screening accepted. Where do I go and when? 

Which is how Theo found herself weaving through the crowds at Rogers Arena. Quinn had offered to get her a second ticket so she’d have company but she figured it was fair she went it alone since he was game to read her book. How terrifying could a hockey game be in comparison to a brutal serial killer story?

Quite scary, it turned out. The crowd was electric, the arena was sold out, and the noise was deafening. She’d never admit it to Quinn but she did watch some basic hockey rule videos on YouTube so she wouldn’t be totally oblivious. By the third period, she felt settled into the rhythm of the game and was actually enjoying it a bit. Especially when a fight broke out and she could cheer for violence against a random man she didn’t know alongside thousands of people. There was something very cathartic about the experience. 

It also turned out that Quinn, in this world, is a big deal. She’d immediately noticed that a huge percentage of fans were wearing his jersey. And as the team warmed up, Quinn had traded a puck for a piece of candy causing the teenage girl to scream in hysterics afterwards. It was both bizarre and fascinating to watch given she’d met this random man the day before at her family’s store. Maybe she should have asked for a signature, it probably would sell for a pretty penny…

A roar from the crowd pulled her attention back to the ice and her heart dropped to her stomach. Fights were a lot less fun when you knew and had budding feelings for one of the guys involved, especially when who he was squared off against had almost half a foot on him. To her surprise and relief, Quinn could hold his own, using speed to his advantage. When they both fell to the ice before finally being separated, she took it to mean it was a draw but the crowd screamed like he’d single handedly won the championship game, even as he was guided off the ice by the officials. There was less than three minutes left in the game so she hoped that was why rather than that he was hurt. She worried her lip between her teeth as she pulled out her phone.

Idk if you’ll see this before the end of the game but are you okay?????

She sighed as the minutes passed, the final buzzer sounding without a reply, so she stood to leave with the tide of people. Just as she tucked her phone in her pocket, she felt it buzzing insistently with a phone call. 

“Quinn, are you okay?” she asked without greeting him. She was focused on his answer but noticed a few fans within hearing distance whip their heads towards her at his name.

“Yeah, sorry I jumped right in the shower after the major.”

“I don’t totally know what that whole sentence means but I’m relieved you’re alright.”

His warm chuckle through the phone made her toes curl. “Did I scare you off?”

“I’m offended you’d think so” she replied but if he’d been with her, he’d easily tell she was a little shaken by the experience. 

“If you say so, Dora…” he teased and she laughed loudly, accidentally drawing more attention her way. “Can I take you out for a drink then?”

“Yeah, I’d like that. I’m currently in a sea of your most devoted followers though so I’ll need some help finding you.” 

He stayed on the phone as he guided her through the arena to the parking deck where he’d meet her shortly, only hanging up once she confirmed she was at the right car by reading his license plate number back to him. She scrolled through her phone while waiting but she felt eyes on her. She couldn’t help but be a little uncomfortable at the thought that these strangers knew Quinn’s car or at very least understood players would be emerging into this section of the parking garage. As a lifelong Vancouver resident, she obviously knew how hockey-obsessed her city was but she never thought much about these details.

She heard male voices approaching from the opposite direction of where she’d come so she tucked her phone in her purse. Quinn emerged with a tall blonde, their two heads bent together in serious conversation. When a young boy approached, they both paused, kneeling down to greet him and sign his jersey. They repeated the motion a few times before excusing themselves from the small crowd that had formed. 

“Hey! How’d you like the game?” Quinn asked, briefly pulling her in for a hug.

“I really liked the fighting until you were involved, then it was less fun” she admitted, smiling to greet Quinn’s companion. “I’m Theo.”

“Elias, good to meet you. Enjoy the rest of your night and maybe help Theo into your car before loading up, yeah?” Elias suggested and she felt her brows furrow. Quinn quickly glanced back towards the small group of people and her eyes followed his, noting that several phones were out and seemingly recording everything.

“Thanks man, drive safe” Quinn replied, placing his hand on the small of her back to guide her to the passenger side “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine” she replied despite her confusion and frazzledness. He must have seen it on her face though because he quickly unlocked the door and helped her in. A moment later he was in the driver’s seat, backing up and speeding through the parking deck. 

“I think this is the longest silence I’ve experienced in your presence” Quinn mused at the long, but not uncomfortable, quiet that had settled.

“I’m sorry that was just…”

“A lot? Too much? I can drop you off if you’ve changed your mind, I get it” he nervously filled in.

“Quinn, stop,” she laughed. “That’s not what I was going to say, it’s just a lot to process. I really thought you were trying to, like, gas yourself up when you said people wanted your signature daily but the girl you gave a puck to almost burst into tears afterwards” 

His cheeks flamed a deep crimson which she found wildly endearing, “Yeah, it’s a lot to process for me and it’s my life.” She took in his tired eyes and the dark circles beneath them. 

“Why don’t we go back to my place? I have a full bar cart and you seem like you could use some quiet” she offered. 

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Quinn, I extended the invitation, of course I’m sure. Just take the left at the next light.” 

She guided him through the city to her apartment, allowing silences to stretch while he seemingly decompressed from the game and its aftermath. Contrary to his initial impression, she was comfortable with quiet and enjoyed when someone’s company didn’t require constant banter and attention.

“Here, park in this spot, my neighbor’s away this week so no one will care if you're there.” 

He did as instructed and she went to open the car door, nearly knocking him with it, “Jesus, Quinn! Did you sprint over here? I can open the door myself, you know…”

“I didn’t sprint, I just moved quickly. And I know you can open the door, I just wanted to do it for you” he mumbled and she smiled at his nervousness. 

“Well, thanks and I'm sorry for almost injuring you. It seems like something that could really fuck with your job.” 

“Just a little” he chuckled, offering his hand to help her out of his truck. She took it, enjoying how warm and calloused his fingers felt against her own. He went to remove his grip but she squeezed his fingers in a silent request to keep holding on, which he did. 

“This is a great spot” he complimented as they rode the elevator up to her floor. “I guess the writing’s really working out?”

“I moved in about a year ago. I’d been doing pretty good but then my most recent book, the one your coworker recommended, kind of blew up. Which is great but also has made getting the sequel done a bit stressful” she admitted, reluctantly releasing his hand to unlock her door. 

“Why’s that? Wouldn’t the success kind of add to your confidence?”

“It did, for a little, but if this next one tanks then it just proves it was a fluke and then what?” she questioned, flicking on the lights. “Penny!” she called, squatting down to pet her beloved dog. 

Penny wiggled into her body, pushing her over and onto the floor making Theo chuckle. “Settle down, it’s only been a few hours.” 

“She’s beautiful” Quinn complimented from behind her, closing the door as he stepped inside. Penny was immediately investigating him, sniffing his hands as her tail wagged excitedly. “What a sweetie. You said her name’s Penny, right?”

“Yeah, short for Pennywise” Theo elaborated as she stood back up to slip her shoes off. 

“Of course, how silly of me to not make the connection” he chuckled. 

“I mean, I’m named after a horror novel character so I had to continue the family tradition with my own child” she explained, making her way towards the kitchen. 

“Are you really?” 

“Yeah, Theodora from Haunting of Hill House. Richie was named after Tozier in Stephen King’s It.” 

“That makes your choice of genre less surprising.” 

She laughed and shrugged, “What can I get you to drink?”

“Honestly? I don’t really drink, I just wanted to see you tonight since the game didn’t scare you off.” 

“I tried to tell you, I don’t scare easily,” she teased. “I don’t really drink either. Hot cocoa?” 

“Sounds great, thanks” he replied and she busied herself getting the ingredients together. “Seriously though, what did you think of the game?” 

“Like I said, it was fun until I worried you were hurt, then it was significantly less enjoyable” she answered, handing him a warm mug. “Want to hang in my library? Your book taste is questionable but I still think you’ll enjoy my collection.” 

“Why is my taste questionable?” he scoffed but followed her down the hall. 

“It’s just very…dude bro-y.” 

“How elegant” he teased and she rolled her eyes. 

“Maybe not elegant, but accurate, no?” 

“Whatever, Dora” he grumbled and she laughed.

“Is that going to be a thing? You call me by my least favorite nickname when I annoy you?”

“To be fair, it was you who offered that name up.” 

She sighed, sipping her drink and settling into the couch in her study. She watched as he slowly made his way around the room, every wall lined with books from floor to ceiling. “This room is incredible.” 

“Thanks” she beamed, genuinely thrilled at the compliment. “It’s kind of my pride and joy, aside from Penny, of course.” 

“I can tell,” he replied earnestly, settling beside her. “There has to be some nonfiction in here, right?” 

“Sure, if you’re into true crime, psychology, forensics, and/or mental health memoirs.” 

“I actually really enjoy psychology, it’s helped my game a lot.” 

“Really?” she asked and couldn’t hide the surprise from her tone which earned her a light glare. “I just meant that hockey seems much more physical than cerebral.”

“Oh it’s super mental actually” he argued and she nodded her encouragement for him to continue. “Okay so tonight for example. I didn’t have to drop my gloves and fight but doing so showed my team that I have their back and the other team that even though I’m smaller, they can’t push me around. Since I’m a quieter guy, I choose my actions carefully to kind of speak without speaking if that makes sense.”

“It does but you’re not small, silly. Not that it would matter even if you were but you’re not.” 

“I’m hockey small” he corrected and she didn’t know enough to argue. “Oh, another example. When a player is approaching the goal, they have to strategize what they can physically do while also anticipating the goalies expectations. Which is hard because the goalie is doing the same thing. So, it becomes really strategic in addition to the skill you need to play at this level.”

She nodded, genuinely intrigued by this new element of the game she watched tonight. He must have taken her silence for boredom because he quickly continued, “I’m sorry, I can be a bit of a hockey nerd.”

“Don’t be sorry, it honestly makes the game more interesting to me to think of it that way. Plus, I already knew you were a book nerd, what’s one more level of nerdiness?” 

He rolled his eyes and she laughed, lost in their deep blue. The air shifted between them, tension developing where there had been none. She set her mug down, eyes dipping to his lips and back up. She really wanted to know what his mouth would feel like against hers. 

“I come with a lot of baggage” he admitted quietly and she shrugged. 

“Don’t we all?” she asked, matching his quiet tone. She couldn’t help herself from raising a hand to gently trace the curve of his cheekbones. “I really like looking at you” she mumbled before she could think the comment through. 

He chuckled softly, covering her hand with his own, “I really like looking at you too, weirdo.” 

She grinned at his response, closing her eyes as his mouth finally met her own. 

A/N: Sorry for the cut to black, I'm debating if I want to continue with this OC so let me know what you think! It's my first OC in a very, very long time so sorry if the grammar is wonky in spots.

[victoriadallonfan]

Having re-watched Alien (1979) and Aliens (1985), I think I've realized what went wrong with the further expanded film universe on a thematic level (this is not accounting for AVP films, which seem to exist within their own continuity atm).

The main issue is that these films made 2 intertwining mistakes:

Making the Xenomorph too animalistic

Removing the mystery of space

For the first part, Alien and Aliens are quite vague about the Xenomorph mind. Alien treats it almost like a serial killer at times, including a particularly interesting moment where it disregards Jones the Cat entirely, despite making a very easy target, and how it will sometimes meander up to the crew as if it knows it's inflicting terror upon them. This Xenomorph even seems to only flee when Parker goes to kill it with a knife and hides within the evac shuttle when it realizes that Ripley was going there as well.

Aliens forgoes this in favor of showing how terrifying their numbers are even in the face of superior (if greatly mislead) fire power, but then pulls the rug under our protagonists by (seemingly) cutting the power and testing the endurance of the auto-turrets. While the drones are not individually as intelligent as the original xenomorph from the first film, this is instead given to the Queen, who understands not only the danger Ripley poses to her Hive but hostage negotiations of the most blunt variety. And, of course, incredible spite and vengeance when Ripley burns her eggs.

Basically, the two films do a good job of making you wonder... how sapient and sentient are the Xenomorphs? Do we take Ash's word and think of them as simply Hostile Weapons or do we see them for the adaptable and complex - if instinct guided - parasites just trying to protect their hive? This is further food for thought when we learn that one of the cut endings would have had the Xenomorph kill Ripley, tentatively use the shuttles control panel, and speak into the intercom with Dallas voice (ala Predator).

Imo, that goes too far into making them human, but we'll circle back to that later. The point is that the Xenomorph is never clearly one thing or another, but rather, something that constantly foils our attempts to understand them completely.

Aliens 3, Alien: Resurrection, Prometheus, and Alien: Covenant fail in that regard, because they take the firm stance that the Xenomorph is... an animal. A very, very, dangerous and hostile animal but an animal nonetheless. It's not some vague horror that we struggle to comprehend and reason with, because all the facts (as they are for now) are laid out: the Xenomorphs are weaponized animals that just kill, reproduce, and kill etc etc.

Nothing is entirely new about the Xenomorphs in these movies (beyond the forms and one part of Covenant, but we'll circle back to that as well), but rather trying to recapture the formula of Alien and Aliens. And even when the film isn't necessarily about the Xenomorphs like Prometheus, it still goes out of its way to copy the play by play of Alien to an almost hilarious degree (except, somehow, having a cast entirely of stupid scientists).

The Xenomorph is used as a toll for the films to talk more about the human threats who would use them, which is fine, except the same message of "Weyland-Yutani wants Xenomorphs, They Failed" over and over again (except I guess for Alien: Resurrection, but that had Walmart as a plot point so...) gets tedious. It's not longer about the folley of mankind, but rather this one company led by a man (or Android?) who keeps fucking up.

Ditto goes for the second part: removing the mystery from space. Alien and Aliens treat the Space Jockey and other (non-Xenomorph) alien life at an arms distance. They are large, grand, ominous, and vaguely defined. We don't know much about WY in either movie, nor how much is them knowing versus independent people within the company (Burke mentions cutting out his own bosses for profit for example, and Bishop the company Android is heroic and horrified at the situation they are all in, a big difference to Ash). The Xenomorphs having a Queen was a huge reveal, because we literally had no idea until then if those were actual eggs or simply pods artificially created.

Aliens 3 tries to add some mystery with the prison colony, but it's also hamfisted and given a lot of exposition to explain the situation they are in, but I will give it kudos for making Weyland (???) look like Bishop as a twist. Aliens: Resurrection... yeah, no.

Prometheus and Alien Covenant gave us a plethora of seeming mysteries, but also gives us really super simple answers. Basically, Space Jockeys are just super humans seeding life across the planets and they wanted to bomb Earth into oblivion because we killed Jesus Christ (who was a Space Jockey). And one of our androids then - possibly - goes to their home planet and bombs them to oblivion thus wiping out the human race. And they made Xenomorphs yadda yadda.

Prometheus in particular seems to despise the idea of space being a mystery, with the conversation David has with a scientist being plainly spelled out as the theme of the film: "Sometimes, humans/space jockeys just build shit, and it goes wrong I guess. No gods or mysteries here, just hubris."

Which, if handled well, is still a fascinating idea (I think it's a pretty interesting 'take-that' against the stupidity of Ancient Alien Conspiracy Theorists)... but it's not handled well. At all. And certainly doesn't work well when trying to write Xeno-Horror.

So, what COULD work?

Well, I think we need to look at how Alien and Aliens made the Xenomorphs, Space Jockey's, and Space itself all work.

For the xenomorphs, I think back to one scene I actually thought was interesting in Alien: Covenant; as a chestburster is born from a hapless scientist, it lays its eyes (???) on David and replicates his movements, mimicking the first living thing it witnesses. Nothing is ever done with this (of course), but think about the potential that could be used! Plenty of animals like crows, ravens, dolphins, octopi, killer whales etc etc can use mimicry in voices and actions, and that includes things like tool-use! And of course, the fact that they take on new forms from hosts helps with that.

For the Space Jockey's: scrap them. They had their time, the mystery is basically solved. Show us new and different alien civilizations long past. Were they also victims of the Xenomorphs? From some other threat entirely? Surely, there are extraterrestrial predators out there that don't follow the Xenomorph formula. Why not have them share the splotlight, with just as little explanation?

For space itself: stop with trying to recapture Alien and Aliens. Alien: Isolation is the only successor specifically because of the format of the medium. Alien and Aliens rely heavily on the shock factor of sudden reveals. Remove that, and you are given "bug hunt" games and movies ala discount Starship Trooper. Focus more on making human space feel almost alien and beyond our understanding as well, but just enough that we can recognize the purpose that we would have them for our society.

How I would write an Alien Story:

(This would all be backstory and setup for the actual story)

I would set it within a colony satellite with an explicit task: a skyscraper ecological time-capsule for deep space experimentation of wildlife.

It would have levels, with humans situated at the second uppermost and an AI as the manager at the top level of the satellite, with all the other animals in different levels fit for their habitats (including some non-earth, non-xenomorph aliens). It's a religious sponsored and run organization, offshoots of [Insert Church Here] that is trying to get good press with cutting edge AI and biological research.

The prize is an alien lifeform that looks like a cross between a crocodile and a panther. Usually docile when fed, it has been growing more and more agitated, harming several workers on the job. Most assume it may be some late-stage degenerative disease within it's brain.

Not all things are as it seems, as at the bottom of the station, a location no one but a select few faithful engineers are sent to maintain, a pod is damaged. A young attendant watches in shock and horror as a bloody and maimed chest burster crawls out of the pod, possibly having injured itself to burn through the lock. The creature is mewling in pain, but the young attendant makes a choice: leaving food, water, and blanket for the creature. Watching as the creature watches them, before going to feast. All under the gaze of a camera.

The xenomorph grows and grows, eating more, getting bolder and allowing its "caretaker" to feel more comfortable. Soon it begins to recognize certain sounds as they pray when he feasts, and association occurs. One day, its hiss sounds suspiciously like "Lord".

This is when the young attendant reaches out to higher, but trusted, priests to share this miraculous revelation. The first one is shocked, terrified, but intrigued as the creature mimics words like "Lord" and "Mighty". Barely audible, some would say hallucinatory, but they believe they can here this humanoid creature speak their language.

The second is equally shocked, terrified, but listens and becomes a believer.

The third one does not believe. Rightfully horrified and full of questions. Their arguments in front of the beast escalate into violence and when the young attendant shoves the priest to the ground, it is the Xenomorph that pounces. Blood is shed. the creature rises in front of it's faithful, and the Xenomorph uses the same sounds it heard over the fight. Lord. Mighty. Here-tik.

They can't be delusional or driven by guilt! This is a sign... right? This creature is speaking to them!

The faith grows. Never large. Can't risk word getting out or people noticing too many missing priests. The satellite is just barely large enough that people can excuse going missing for a few days between objectives.

But key individuals are brought in. The creature is worshiped. Animal offerings are delivered. It's changing, slowly. Growing larger (not a Xenomorph Queen, it's too maimed, but adapting to a steady diet).

Things might have escalated, had one of the priests killed not had an estranged sibling/spouse/loved one who had the pull to make a formal investigatory complaint.

The investigator arrives with his repertoire, this supposed garden of eden in deep space, none the wiser to what he would uncover. (Again, this would be the backstory, not revealed except through character investigations and evidence found during that. Defeats the purpose if it's spelled out like this).

It would play with the idea of how sapient/sentient the Xenomorphs are (do they care? do they understand? if not, why act like this? if yes, what does this mean for their continued slaughter), how much one puts into faith versus delusions, and leaves lingering questions: who put the xenomorph on the ship, why is the AI so complicit with the deaths and disappearances, and why is the one non-xenomorph alien acting so dangerously agitated despite being far away from the xenomorph's quarters?

[dailycass-cain]

So you want to preorder the NEW Batgirl #1 coming to a comic shop near you on November 6?

Well, hopefully, this can help you attain that preorder. So you're doing your part to make sure this series lasts.

The first step is to find your local comic shop. Use a search engine for that most heavenly of place that has comics.

Or if you already know search them online (they might have an online shop), an app, call the store, or visit it in person.

Now I'm using my experience from the shops I visit in the midwestern area. So this could be different in the region you're in the US (or Canada). I have no idea on the best way to attain this book outside the country save Canada. So anyone who can answer that pls chim in here.

I mean, possibly, you could buy it on their website (or their eBay shop) and MAYBE they have international shipping. Then again, if you have a US friend maybe they can do this all for you?

Preorders will begin next month. If you go in person you could put your order in. If you know those who work at the LCS they might think of you and put that in your pull list.

I know one LCS in my area, he is thoughtful enough to sometimes keep a variant that has Cass for me knowing that Wed I pull up I'll nab it. Cause he knows my weakness. That, and Rian Gonzales variants.

Likewise, the other LCS I went too. There was a clerk there who'd put stuff in my pull that she knew I'd like.

But there's always that chance they might not do any of this. So it's best to just do this person next month to guarantee your preorder.

Now let's talk about variants. Some shops if they sense there's "blood in the water" when preordering will order more comics. More comics mean more chances to get the variants (i.e. the Artgerm or Jeff Dekal ones).

There are only two variants that might be problematic to attain that I can foresee.

The holo variant from Artgerm one. Unless there's a comic convention near you that same weekend there's a good chance these might sell pretty fast. It is Artgerm after all.

Unless, your LCS is part of a "larger" chain. So one of my LCSs is a Graham Crackers which is a HUGE midwestern comic shop. So there's a really good chance I'll be able to attain all my variants.

HOWEVER....

The other LCS I go to, while they are my primary pull list really don't dabble much too much in variant covers.

This is because they're trying to make a profit and they don't see being able to make one. At least that's what I was told back when I had Batgirls on my pull.

If they do. It would be two or three copies. Like the last AAPI Batgirls variant. Said my shop owner did secure me a copy even without me asking them because they knew of my interest in Cass.

I've noticed since they "enacted" that policy they do order more of the "hotter" comics. Like I noticed a few Birds of Prey, Batman, and X-Men variants in one visit not too long ago.

Still, I know attaining the 1:25 Skylar Patridge will be next to impossible from them. They don't order 25 copies of a comic (unless it's Batman or Spider-Man).

For that, I'd recommend a larger comic shop chain (or if you know your LCS. They might order enough and you can reserve said copy via them next month).

If not...

Again, I'd recommend a larger chain with their web shop or if they have one via eBay. I've nabbed all the variants I want because Graham Crackers is HUGE in the Midwest.

If you know your shop will have more than 25 copies of Batgirl #1 please preorder the 1:25 by Patridge next month if possible.

Or wait until their website opens orders (usually a week prior to release on a Thursday.

If not... There's always a chance if there's a comic around that period (or a bit after) they might have it to purchase. However, you so won't be paying the original cost of it. 😬

Now here's my overall impression of the release. DC itself doesn't think this comic might sell. I mean they're only doing a 1:25 only for this series. That's it.

That already is 🚨 because we aren't getting a 1:50 like we did with Batgirls #1.

That is why I HIGHLY stress PLEASE PREORDER THIS COMIC! DO NOT WAIT UNTIL NOVEMBER 6th! Show your love for this character by preordering the heck out of it! Add this to your pull list!

Please do your part!

That said, please go crazy and nab these covers and variants. They ain't kidding when the last Cass solo was over 14 years ago (I'm counting Batgirl Vo1. 2). You've voiced your want. DC heard it. This is you honoring that want.

Cause if not...

Well, I can't say cause in all honesty? The old DC regime is gone. They ain't side scheming or pushing something else behind the scenes. Just this might be it for Cass when it comes to an ongoing solo.

Why I say please do your part. Hopefully, this helps and if not someone better than me can advise you better (and they reply via this post). But this is me doing my best with the knowledge I know.

[gallifreyriver]

So, Kellogg's Boycott. Again. Haven't seen any posts about it here yet, so figured I'd make one.

In short: We're all tired of these big companies gouging their prices just because they can, and calling it 'inflation.' We're tired of companies announcing record profits while they cut bonuses/lay people off/force workers to run on skeleton crews/etc. We're tired of "Shrinkflation" And we're tired of a bunch of other shit too, but you get my point.

So, vote with your wallet.

On April 1st, stop buying Kellogg's, and keep that up until June 30th. Just three months- just one quarter of the fiscal year. Companies report earnings each quarter, and if their earnings drop it will reflect in these quarterly reports.

Why Kellogg's?

Because their CEO recently pulled a "Let them eat cake." TLDR; Kellogg's has raised prices by 28% across the board, bragged about record breaking profits, and then suggested that families struggling to afford groceries, because of aforementioned price gouging, just "eat cereal for dinner!"

And well, that message was not well received by anyone, as one could imagine. Pissed a lot of people off.

So yeah. The plan is to stop buying any Kellogg's products (below) for the entirety of the second quarter (April 1st-June 30th) and to collectively tell Kellogg to fuck off until they lower their prices. The goal isn't to "destroy the company" or cost anyone their jobs- but we will hit them where they will listen. Their profits.

If they don't listen, then we don't come back, and we start in on the next company, and keep going until they all get the message. There's always alternatives (more on that below) and we don't need them. If they refuse to drop their prices, then we just stick with the alternatives we found.

Three months is a minor inconvenience to teach a corporation a lesson, and we can do it.

So, take this month before April to find your alternatives. If you need help, I based a non-comprehensive list (below) off the image above. There's tons more just a google search away, and I bet others have made lists as well. There's also always the option to make your own. There's tons of recipes online showing how to make dupes of your favorite products.

Some things to note:

Don't go stocking up on your favorite Kellogg's products the last week of March and think you're not crossing the picket line. The point is to make Kellogg's feel the loss in profits, and stocking up on Cheez-its beforehand will defeat the purpose. I sincerely promise you can make it three months without buying Kellogg's. Again, three months is a minor inconvenience to teach a corporation a lesson, and we can do it.

That said, Safe Foods are acknowledged. If you or your child is neurodivergent and has issues with food (i.e: literally won't be won't be able to eat at all without their safe food) you get a pass. By all means feel free to try and find alternatives, but it's very unlikely that the few who can't boycott will cause it to fail. There should be plenty of the rest of us to pick up the slack.

Don't be a bystander- meaning don't go about this thinking "Oh, well surely there's enough people boycotting that it's fine if I just-" No. If we ever want things to change then we need to be strong enough to do even something as small as not buying something we like for three months. Furthermore, it's on those of us who can afford Kellogg's products to boycott Kellogg's. It's not the responsibility of those who already can't afford Eggos to boycott Eggos. Nothing will change if you go about just assuming everyone else already has it handled for you. Take a stand.

And importantly, Spread the word. This only works if we let as many people as possible know about it.

So reblog this post, or make your own post, or both. Even feel free to copy and paste this entire post off-platform if you need to. I've also seen some suggest making flyers, or even just writing on post-it notes, and sticking them to Kellogg's products in the store to spread the word off-line.

Just get the word out there. If we ever want these companies to stop gouging us for every cent we've earned, then we have to make a stand somewhere.

If we do nothing it will only ever get worse.

[jessiarts]

Too many people are willfully misunderstanding why artists are protesting AI art right now.

All they hear is "Artists are mad at fun new tool and scared it will replace them, so they're trying to take it away from us!!"

Artists are not protesting the tool itself. Many even like the concept of the AI tools, believe it or not.

We are protesting that it takes and uses our work without our consent and without any compensation, all while the companies behind the tool are making loads of money off this practice.

We're fighting for regulation of the tool. Not only does it scrape work created by artists into it's database without the artist's permission, private medical photos have also been found in these datasets. None of that is ok.

From the start this tool should have only been fed images in the public domain, and any artist work fed to it should have come from artists who have consented to it and who were then also compensated whenever their work was used by the AI tool. There's also other issues like:

Sites like ArtStation and DeviantArt refusing to place AI in it's own category to separate it from human made art. Just like traditional and digital art get separate categories, so should AI generated art. (Also some are trying to hide when they generated something from AI and try to pass it off as done by their own hand??? If you believe it's 'just another tool,' why are you trying to hide it???);

How DA tried to pull a fast one and first made AI scraping an opt-out function and said that dead artists work would be scraped because they weren't alive to tell them no;

How the companies behind the tools are knowingly making money off the AI scraping artist work without artist consent;

People are selling AI art with no regard that their generated image likely contains work that another artist created;

Etc.

"But humans take inspiration from other artists all the time! The AI is just doing the same thing!"

First off, it's not. And I don't even mean that in a "AI art is soulless and can never be the same as Human Art!" way or anything.

I just mean these "AI" tools aren't 'true AI' like how you're thinking. They're no Hal3000 that actually make decisions on their own. They're algorithms programed by humans to search the acquired database and photomash together a product based on a prompt. They're not actually becoming 'inspired' by anything. (And it's not insulting the tool to say this either!)

And that's not even the point, but let's pretend for a just minute that what AI Art programs do is the same as a human taking inspiration- Even humans are not allowed to take too much of another artists idea/work with the intent to profit without getting in trouble. Even if that 'profit' is just internet clicks, people very much still do get mad at other humans for copying another artist's work and trying to pass it off as their own.

And that is what's happening with a lot of generated art. It will spit out pieces very similar or nearly identical to another artist's work and will often even include artist's signatures or watermarks in the product. Because it just photomashes, essentially. (Again, not a dig!)

And I'm not knocking photomashing, it is used in the industry. And I bet most artists are actually fine with the concept of a photomashing tool. However, even when humans in the industry use photomashing, they have to use their own photos, public domain photos, or have permission of the owner to use the photos they intend to photomash with. And we sure as hell are not allowed to use someone's private medical photos in our work either.

We're only asking that the work generated by AI Art programs follow these same standards. Again, we're only fighting for regulation, not to take this "new fun tool" from you.

But unfortunately that's all some who are already enamored with the idea of AI Art are willing to hear from our arguments.

It's easier to just believe that artists are simply "afraid of change" or "afraid of being obsolete" and are trying to rain on your fun than to look at our arguments and concede that, "Hey, maybe this tool was implemented in a bad way. Maybe artists do deserve the basic respect of being allowed to consent to their work being used to train AI, and to being compensated by the company behind the tool if their work is used. Maybe we should look into more ethical ways of implementing this new tool."

No one seems to realize that artists would not be fighting this tool if it was done right from the start and didn't just outright take our work to train the AI without our permission. Hell, artists release stuff to help teach/'train' other human artists all the time! We release full tutorials, stock images, even post finished art for people to use for free sometimes!

The difference is that when we do, we consented to do so. It wasn't just ripped from our hands by people who felt entitled to our labor for their own gain.

We're not trying to take away your fun new tools! We're only asking that your new tool does not come at the expense of abusing us!

I really don't think that's a hard ask.

[catboybiologist]

Ho boy I just got hit with a wave of HRT related asks.

I'll respond to them to the best of my ability, but imma make a copy/paste disclaimer here:

I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL. I have a very, VERY marginal ability to interpret medical data over the average person due to my bio background, but it's far less than people think- hell I just said something wrong about insurance that someone had to correct.

Unfortunately, however, the nature of trans healthcare being under constant political threat worldwide means that everyone should prepare to diy, and know the basics of how they would pull that off. That's why I'm answering these questions, more info out there is always better. HOWEVER, you would better be served by other sources, like:

Anything I say directly about medical care will be an interpretation or regurgitation of something that is likely in these sources, plus a dash of personal experience. My bio knowledge and interpretation is not going to kick in here, it's gonna be too far deep in the weeds of cellular mechanisms that it's not directly relevant.

[etheries1015]

"Oh?" Sariel said amusingly to the cold blonde prince, "I figured you two would get along nicely, seein as (y/n) is the author of one of your favorite books." Chevalier paused, eyes widening slightly in shock before going reverting back to normal cold stare.

"Oh!" You chirped up, "you've read my books? which one is your favorite?" You chuckled excitingly, not getting much of a reaction out of the brutal beast.

"I was not aware you were an author," Chev said, looking at you, "Be that is it may; You do not seem to conduct yourself the way you write." You scrunched your nose together and pursed your lips.

"Ouch," You chuckled, "What a backhanded compliment, thank you."

"Huh?" Luke chimed in with a tilted head, "But when looking into your background your name wasn't anywhere linked to any sort of author," He pointed out, a smile of admiration playing on his features. You shrugged before teasingly responding, "Haven't you heard of a pen name?" Raising an impressed eyebrow, Noktos lips curled up in a sly smile. "Oh? You'll have to tell me what it is, so I can read it myself, I would love to see what our precious Belle can do. Do you have a copy with you?"

Clavis roared out in laughter, pulling a very familiar book from behind his back, handing it over to Nokto. Where had he gotten that? Nobody knows, and never will, I suppose.

"I had already known of your writing endeavors!" He boasted, "Yours truly even took a read. Although, I fear your story lacks a very distinct amount of fun..."

Silvio, who was also listening in, decided to take the liberty of snatching the book out of Noktos hand, asking what only any businessman would ask.

"So...how much of a profit have ya made off of your books?" He studied it dubiously in hand, feeling the grooves of the spine and quality of the pages, "You must be pretty well off if it's considered the 'brutal beasts' favorites." With a haughty smile, he naturally threw in, "If I like it enough, I might even invest in it, if you'll make a deal with me, I'll be sure all of Benetoite knows your name, lady." Sighing slightly you gave him a side glance before rolling your eyes.

"I make enough to be content. what matters is that others enjoy my writing, not how much I make off of it." You replied bluntly. Silvio only scoffed before keith also gave his two cents, holding out his hand for Silvio to hand him your book. With a startled look, his eyes lit up in excitement.

"I've read this book! you wrote it? I'm a huge fan of all of your works, the way you write is so mesmerizing it's difficult to put it down! Would you mind uh- ah..." He stopped himself with a blush tainting his cheeks, "I'm sorry! You must not like being bombarded with all of my questions. I-" You interrupted Keith with a hearty chuckle.

"Don't worry Keith, let's have tea and sweets sometime and you can ask me all you want." You threw a side glance at Chevalier, "You're welcome to join as well, Prince Chevalier." He glanced up from his paperwork in hand only for a mere second, enough for you to understand he heard what you had suggested.

"Ah-" Keith started as Gilberts hand snaked from behind and snatched the book out of his hand, flipping the book to it's back to read the synopsis. He looked up at you with his piercing red eye, his smile unwavering as he tucked the hardcover under his arm.

"A noblewoman writing a book in an alias," He hummed, "I believe any other would like their name to be well known, to bring up their family name and increase the likelihood of their popularity," You froze in place and glanced around the room for an awkward moment, trying to think of some excuse to tell the Obsidianite prince. After a moment of silence, he let out a low giggle, turning on his heel and heading out the door.

"I'm only teasing, little rabbit. Thank you for the book, I sincerely hope you do not disappoint. After all, if he (chev) likes it, surely it must have its merits. I will find you when I'm done, I want to join in on your little tea party to discuss my thoughts as well." You sucked in your breath as he left the room, your pursed lips coming apart with a 'pop!'.

"Well," You chuckled nervously, grabbing the drink Silvio had graced you with and lifting it in the air before downing the contents, "Here's to hoping he likes the book!"

[motziedapul]

As a Filipino, I'm never surprised by the ignorance of the Global North when it comes to the reality of the Global South's life and history, but it still does gall me to have Americans, from whom the worst and most damaging colonial violence that STILL affects Filipinos today, try to Americasplain activism to me as though it is not one of the world's worst terrorist nations.

America committed a 250000-1 million Filipino genocide against my people using tactics the NAZIS copied including concentration camps and torture just as we were about to win our independence from Spain, AND stole our money and resources for decades after they "gifted" us Independence from their violent colonial rule AND still terrorize us with army bases full of murderous rapists and pull us into wars while profiting off our impoverished overseas workers.

But Americans on socmed still act like they know better about what activism looks like but can't stand to criticize their genocidal leaders for a second because it's inconvenient.

Be for fucking real. The Philippines isn't even TOP OF THE LIST of nations most abused by the USA and we were literally genocided.

[cubeshapedlemon]

Hellooo, could you please write cooper Howard x trans!male reader? Ftm, so he/him, maybe like a bit of smut and I’d like to think that it would catch him off guard because reader passes pretty well, thanks! 🫶🏼

hey! i really apologize for how long this took my excuse is definitely something that i definitely am saying and definitely not some bs that really just means i was lazy. i hope you like it! im sorry its definitely not my best but enjoy if you can!

Way Back Home

A grody bar isn't usually where you expect to find worthwhile company, it is where you would expect to find one murderous gunslinger, turns out they can be one in the same.

☆ ☆ ☆

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Trans Masc Reader

3.4k words

cw/tags: trans male reader, cannon typical violence, improper binding techniques (mentioned), bottom growth, oral sex (tm receiving), piv, unprotected sex, pet names, implied childhood abuse, implied transphobia if you really squint (not by the ghoul), alcohol, smoking

☆ ☆ ☆

authors note: hey! again i apologize for everything stated under the ask but yeah! please lmk if i made any spelling or grammar mistakes or if i missed something in the tags. Also don't translate repost or copy this fanfic anywhere without my permission. thank you for requesting and thank you for reading!

The poor excuse for a bar you've found yourself in certainly has an interesting vibe. Tension between groups is so thick it chokes anyone that enters. Ghouls and other mutants aren't exactly popular around these parts, so when the bar owner decided to start letting them in to increase profits, the local population wasn't exactly thrilled.

Though you could care less, just passing through for a drink and whatever interactions come your way. There's no shame in that, just because the world is a blistering hellscape of barbarians, bullets, and blood doesn't mean a guy can't blow off some steam every once and a while. Though tonight, no one seemed particularly interesting.

That is of course until he roamed in. You had heard about him, the fearless gun-slinging ghoul. Wandering the wasteland and making more caps in a month than most people see in a lifetime. He certainly had a reputation. It was very clear that he knew.

Narrow hips swinging lazily as he walks in, eyes roving over the crowd of patrons, all of whom now had quieted down their conversations by at least one notch. His scarred lips pull back into a cocky smirk, tongue tip curling to lick his time and tobacco-stained teeth. Huffing out what looked to be a chuckle, he refocuses, walking towards the bar.

His gaze fixates on you, challenging you almost, it doesn't falter once, only breaking to give you a curt nod, turning to wave over the bartender to order. If you were honest, you would admit what the intensity of that eye contact did to you. The waves of desire shooting downwards. But there is no place for honesty in the wasteland.

Taking a sip of your drink, attempting to still your nerves through the burn of it, you hear an over exaggerated sigh next to you. “Now, I'd love to chit chat, but we both know why I'm here. Don't we?” Of course, it really was only a matter of time. “I believe we do,” you say non-committedly, turning to look at the bounty hunter.

“Well that certainly saves us some time now,” he declares, turning his head only slightly, eyes still straight ahead. “Your dear ol’ boss ain't too happy with you, put a pretty penny on your head in fact.” Straightening your posture, your hand discreetly slides to your holster, ready to go at a moment's notice. “So I've heard,” you acknowledge, tone flat and untrusting. The ghoul certainly was no angel. It would be foolish to not be prepared for the worst.

“See now, I don't have any interest in killin’ you,” he clarifies, “For now at least.” Finally turning to meet your gaze once again. Surprise befalls your face, which he notices, but does not comment on. “I need ya’ for somethin’ else.” Oh. “While I can think of plenty a’ reasons to keep a pretty boy like you in my company,” He comments, hazel eyes running up and down your body. “You're particularly useful to me in terms of your former boss.”

Clearing your throat, you decide to engage with him, anything you could do to not get on his bad side at this point would be to your advantage. Though it's not time to show our cards. He doesn't need to know everything. “And how is that? I was never anything but a grunt with a gun for that asshole,” You say, the lie sounding pretty convincing if you were to say so.

A small smirk falls on his face, like he knows. It's so small you almost missed it. “Asshole is right,” he says, pulling a pack of cigarettes and matches out of a pocket in his duster. “That piece of shit owes me ‘bout 600 caps.” he grits out, striking a match against his boot and lighting the cigarette that is now delicately clenched between his lips.

“Anyhow,” he begins, inhaling. “He wants you back alive, so you get the pleasure of bein’ a ‘bargaining’ chip and pack mule,” he laughs out, flicking the ash onto the bartop. Wow this guy is confident, “Yeah? What's in it for me?” Taking another puff from his cigarette he grins, “What's in it for you huh?” he barks out a short laugh, “Well Casanova, you get to stay alive.” I mean what could you really expect?

☆ ☆ ☆

By about the 6th day on the road he had gotten decently comfortable, allowing you to have your hands unbinded, and even chatting a little bit. Not that you exactly learned anything from those interactions, anything important that is. Pretty much the only things you managed to deduce was he was a fan of old movies, chems, and alcohol. The old movies thing might be a stretch though, while he did reference them he never gave a true opinion.

Now, the end of the 7th day, setting down for the night, you search through your pack, hoping that there was a crushed can of something or other at the bottom. It was unusual for you to be so low on food. Usually replenishing supplies every 4 days. But of course, you haven't gotten to do that. Ghoul's clearly don't need as much food and water as smoothskins. At least this one didn't. You had only seen him eat and drink a few times over the past week. Even then, it was small and he didn't seem to enjoy it very much. Anyway, he clearly was in no hurry to stock up on food.

Which ultimately is the reason your rummage had left you empty handed. Releasing a frustrated groan, you drop your pack on the ground again. The hollow thud of fabric accompanying your discontented huff. “What are you bitchin’ about now?” The ghoul asks, you could almost hear the eyeroll in his question. Looking up at him, you don't feel the need to dignify him with an answer. Leaning back on the rock behind you, you look at him half lidded. Clearly not understanding your intent to be frustrated and nonchalant, your stomach growls, spelling out his answer.

“I forget how often you smoothies have to eat,” he says, almost to himself. Rolling your eyes, you focus on what he is doing. Hand gripping his knife, he places it over the fire, a piece of what looks to be rad rat meat speared on it. Turning it over steadily, he roasts it. The once raw, gamey meat slowly becoming edible. Not that he particularly cares about that, usually he'll just eat it fresh and bloody. Must have just felt like something different.

His usually piercing gaze is at a soft focus, intent on the task of cooking, but almost peaceful. The swirls of gold in his eyes become more pronounced in the firelight. Now that you can focus on him, as far as ghouls go, he's pretty handsome. Well, actually as far as people go, he is. You never really fancied yourself a ghoul fucker, but he just had something about him.

After a few minutes, he pulls his knife away from the fire. Plopping the hunk of meat onto a handkerchief on the ground in front of him, he begins slicing it up. Chopping up the more undesirable bits off and setting them aside, as well as slicing the bulk into strips. Bunching the handkerchief portion in one hand, and the undesirables in the other, he walks over to you. Popping what seems to be a limb into his mouth, crunching as he bites down. “Here,” he says, dropping the handkerchief onto your lap, walking back to his original spot and sitting.

You must have made a sound of surprise, or at least you must have looked surprised. Either way the ghoul feels the need to make a reasoning for his decision. His mouth full, he speaks again. “What? Can't have you goin’ ‘round passin’ out on me.” Responding with a small hum, you pluck a slice from your lap, placing it in your mouth. While sustenance was sustenance, it didn't mean it was the best. The tough meat forcing you to rip it with your teeth to make it more manageable.

Out of your peripheral you notice him staring, gaze locked onto your face, and more specifically your mouth. Running his tongue across his teeth, his gaze roves down your body before removing itself entirely. Tipping his hat down to cover his eyes, he leans back, getting comfortable.

He sure is interesting.

☆ ☆ ☆

About halfway into the next day you finally get to the all-too familiar settlement. Rusted chain link fence and scrap-built home looking all the same. A spike of anxiety pulls at your throat in seeing it again. Memories flooding back of the cuts and bruises sustained in that house. For as long as you could remember.

The freshest of them, now only a memory. Scar tissue thick against your fingertips as you rub against them absentmindedly. A push on the back pulls you from your haze, “Come on now’ we ain't got all day,” The ghoul reminds, his tone is gruff, like he wants to get this over with already. Before your brain gets the message, your legs do. Walking to the door, two grunts standing guard. With a nod from the ghoul they open the door.

Walking a few paces inside, you quickly come face to face with him. A dangerous sneer pulls over his face as he sees you. Dark, beady eyes locking onto yours. “Hello, son,” he says, gritting out the last word like a mockery. “It’s about time you came home.” In your peripherals you see the ghoul subtlety raise a brow at that, but makes no other indication he noticed. Your ‘father’ slowly moves his gaze from you to the ghoul.

“So you don't just kill everything in your path,” he laughs out, “You actually followed my instructions to keep him alive, that's certainly a first for you.” His words attempt to pierce the thick skin of the ghoul, but they easily fall flat as the ghoul just gives him a grin. “While this back n’ forth we have is real cute n’ all I think it's ‘bout time you pay your dues.” Stepping closer to him, the ghoul places a heavy hand on the back of your neck, gripping the slightly grown-out hair at the nape. His grasp tightens to an almost painful level, the pressure releasing slightly when he pulls your head back, neck bearing towards him.

“See, I've grown a little attached to this one. I really was wonderin’ if I should bring him back at all.” As the last sentence ends his gaze is pulled to your exposed neck, before flicking back to your father with a deeper intensity than you have ever seen. “You haven't been very good at paying your bills,” he laughs out, releasing your neck with a push forward. Lazily waltzing forward he comes to what seems to be about a 5 foot gap between himself, and your father. “You give me, double, you get to keep on breathin’,” As the ghoul's words sink in, you see your fathers fists tighten, the guards in the room readying themselves for his signal.

Without a second thought, your father gives the signal. Before you can even blink, shots ring out in the room. It takes you a moment to even process what happened, but once you do, you don't know what to do. About ten feet ahead of you your father, or what used to be him, has slumped to the ground in a pathetic lump. Next to him, his top two men. When your ears stop ringing, you hear the ghoul. “Come on now, move your ass! I ain't got all day,” he says to one of the other guards in the room, gun pointed to his head. “Unless you wanna join spaghetti bolognese over there, I would suggest you get me what I'm owed.”

Clearly not wanting to risk it, the guard quickly collects a bag of caps, placing it in his hand. Snatching the bag, the ghoul walks back to you, grabbing you by the neck again to force you out the door with him. “Come on now pretty boy, I got better shit to do then wait around here all day.”

☆ ☆ ☆

It has now been a few months since you had started traveling with the ghoul. It had surprised you originally when he made you travel with him still, instead of just dropping you and going on his way. But at this point you could not imagine a different life. While you guys aren't exactly close, you certainly trusted each other to an extent. At this point you had been through many things together, and you had truly proved your usefulness to earn your keep.

But even through this, that one lingering feeling always stuck. The ache that had been there since the first time he had looked at you. He must have felt it to, with the way that he looked at you. It truly could only be described as erotic in some contexts. But of course, with the good came the bad. He made you angry like no other, his stubbornness could break even the most hard-headed opponent. Right now was a great example of that in fact.

A rad storm raging on outside the rickety walls of the shelter you had found yourself in, he still found it a great time to try and win the gold metal in bitching and complaining. “That storm ain't shit, we coulda’ out run it if you weren't so goddamn slow.” he said, his words having a familiar sharpness but, at this point, no real bite. “I wouldn't be so slow if we weren't walking for the past 3 days straight!” you half-yell back, he laughs at that, head tossed back slightly. “You smoothies are so goddamn weak, I could be the next town over if I finally got rid of your ass.” His tone is low and mocking.

“Weak huh? You wanna say that to my fucking face? You can't work without me.” you say back, frustration truly spilling over into your tone. “Oh would I ever,” the ghoul says, walking over to you. His gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that pins you to the wall. As he closes in on you, frame practically pinning you to the wall, he leans in even closer, his face inches from yours. Before either of you can tell who initiated, your lips attach. A groan falling from his scarred lips, he works his heavy grasp up your body, eventually ending on your jaw. Forcing you even closer somehow, his tongue works its way into your mouth, the metallic sting of blood and tobacco invading your senses, not that you could manage to care.

Using his other hand, he drags it down your front, undoing your belt, and slipping his hand down your pants. He pulls his lips from you in surprise at what he finds. His fingers drag across your folds collecting moisture. Moving upwards again, his fingers trail across your bottom growth before pulling out of your pants. You breath in shakily, knowing that's not what he was expecting, you wait very impatiently for him to say something.

With a small grin he looks at his fingers, your wetness dripping from them, and then back to you. “Well cowpoke, I certainly wasn't expecting that. But I'm sure you'll taste just as good drippin’ on my tongue as you woulda’ felt down my throat.” With that last word, he slips his fingers into his mouth, releasing an honest, and gratuitous moan at your taste. Removing his fingers, he swiftly drops to a knee, tugging your boots, pants, and boxers down. Placing one leg on his raised knee, he opens you up for him. His gaze running from your eyes all the way down to your center. After taking you in for a moment, he hungrily attaches himself to your core.

Flattening his tongue he collects your wetness, once again moaning at the flavor. After a few more licks, he suctions his lips around your bottom growth. With light suction he luxuriously wraps his tongue around it, his usual ferocity, somehow not present. While his gaze locks onto yours, you see his eyelids flutter slightly. In the time that you have known him, you had never known the ghoul to be a patient man, but in this moment, he wanted to take his time. And oh gods above, he was.

Rolling his tongue over your core again, he slips the pink muscle inside, pressing against that perfect spot inside of you, but he removes it quickly, much to your dismay. releasing a frustrated groan, you grab the back of his neck, his hat tipping off and falling to the ground in the process. He seems to get a kick out of that frustration, now retreating entirely from your core in favor of nipping at your thighs. Your frustration growing, you push his head back. Looking at him now he truly looks better than ever, his face seems to be something akin to flushed, the lower half of it covered in you. “Come on now, I don't have all day.”

He chuckles at your use of the phrase, echoing the many times he has said it over the past months. Giving one last teasing nip to your thigh, his fingers now running across your wetness, slipping two in at once. The sudden fullness catching you off guard, you steady yourself against him. Giving you only a moment, he quickly sets a brutal pace. The tips of his middle and ring fingers brushing against your g-spot with every thrust. The waves of pleasure begin hitting harder and harder, the sensation building in your lower half.

With this increase, your moans only grow, echoing throughout the shelter, the sounds of the rad storm now unimportant. Noticing this uptick, he reattaches his lips to your bottom growth, the soft kitten licks from earlier now replaced by firmer, more desperate pressure. With this addition the waves soon become sparks, the edge coming into sight. “Fuck- Im gonna-” you sob. He only nods in acknowledgement, continuing his ministrations. Finally allowing yourself, you fall off the edge. Pleasure bursting forth in a way it never has before. Your legs quaking and clenching as his motions stay consistent throughout, working you through it. He only stops once you push him away.

Pulling his fingers out, he laps at the residual wetness, giving you a moment to gather yourself. As he does so, his other hand presses against the front of his pants, which you now notice are significantly tighter than before. His hips buck forward into his own hand. Without warning he gets up, wrapping your legs around his torso he walks you to a countertop a few feet away, placing you on it. His lips connect themselves with yours again, his dominating presence becoming even more clear as he tears your shirt down the center, buttons ripped off, the sound of them hitting the floor only distant background noise.

His hands drag their way up your torso, taking a moment to appreciate everywhere they find themselves, the patch of hair leading to your core, the raised scarring on your waist. His fingers even taking a moment to run the gauze that binds your chest. Tearing his lips away from yours, they move down your neck leaving bite marks and deep bruises in their wake. With his other hand he releases himself from his pants.

He gives himself a few pumps, yet quite impatiently, he leads himself to your core, pressing inside. The wetness allows this to happen with little to no resistance. He fills you completely, setting a harsh pace. His hips slamming into yours as he steadies himself, wrapping an arm around your waist for leverage. Releasing a groan of his own, he tilts his head back, taking everything in. His eyes are half lidded, and focused on where your bodies connect. Still being sensitive from your last orgasm, you feel the pressure build sooner, clenching around his length he grips onto you even harder. “Fuck- I ain't gonna last long if you keep doin’ that.”

Smiling to yourself you do just that, one hand going to your center, pushing yourself closer and closer with each stroke. Purposely clenching more than normal, teasing him closer as well. “I'm serious doll, I won't,” he warns, though he doesn't change his pace. “I know, I won't last either,” you gasp out, reassuring him. With a few more thrusts, the waves come crashing down. He soon follows after you, releasing inside of you. He steadies himself on the counter top before removing himself from you, and tucking himself back into his pants, grabbing a clean rag and tossing it to you to clean yourself up with.

Lets hope this shelter has some RadAway somewhere…

[canmom]

more on art production ~under capitalism~

reading Who Owns This Sentence?, a very engaging and fiercely critical history of the concept of copyright, and it's pretty fire. there's all sorts of fascinating intricacies in the way the notion of IP formed around the world (albeit so far the narrative has mainly focused on Europe, and to a limited extent China), and the different ideologies that justified the types of monopolies that it granted. the last chapter i read skewers the idea that the ability to exploit copyright and patents is what motivates the writing of books and research/invention, and I'll try and pull out the shape of the argument tomorrow. so far I'm only up to the 18th century; I'm looking forward to the rest of their story of how copyright grew from the limited forms of that period into the monster it is today.

it's on libgen if you wanna read it! i feel like the authors would be hypocrites to object :p

it is making me think about the differences between the making of books and other media, from (since this has been rattling around my head lately) an economic angle...

writing books, at least in the case of fiction is usually done on a prospective, spec-work kind of basis (you write your novel with no guarantee it will get published unless you're already an established author under contract). admittedly, a lot of us probably read books by authors who managed to 'make it' as professional authors and write full time - but this is not a lucrative thing to do and to make it work you need truly exceptional luck to get a major hit, or to be extremely prolific in things people want to read.

the films and games of the types most of us play are, by contrast, generally made by teams of salaried people - and thus do rarely get made without the belief it will be profitable. if you went on about your 'monetisation model' when writing a book, people would look at you funny and rightly so, but it's one of the first questions that gets asked when pitching a game.

open source software is a notable comparison here. a lot of it is done for its own sake without any expectation of profit, taking untold hours, but large free software projects tend to sprout foundations, which take donations (typically from companies that use the software) to pay for full time developers. mozilla, notably, gets a huge part of its funding from google paying for their search engine to be the default in Firefox; this in turn drives development of not just Firefox itself but also the Rust programming language (as discussed in this very enlightening talk by Evan Czaplicki). Blender is rightly celebrated as one of the best open source projects for its incredibly fast development, but they do have an office in amsterdam and a number of full time devs.

what money buys in regards to creative works is not motivation, but time - time to work on a project, iterate and polish and all that. in societies where you have to buy food etc. to survive, your options for existence are basically:

work at a job

own capital

rely on someone else (e.g. a parent or partner)

rely on state benefits if you can get them

beg

steal

if you're working at a job, this takes up a lot of your time and energy. you can definitely make art anyway, loads of people do, but you're much more limited in how you can work at it compared to someone who doesn't have to work another job.

so again, what money buys in art is the means of subsistence for someone, freeing them to work fully on realising a project.

where does the money come from that lets people work full time on art? a few places.

one is selling copies of the work itself. what's remarkable is that, when nearly everything can be pirated without a great deal of effort, it is still possible to do this to some degree - though in many ways the ease of digital copying (or at least the fear if it) has forced new models for purely digital creations, which either trade on convenience (streaming services) or in the case of games, find some way to enforce scarcity like requiring connection to a central server and including 'in-app purchases', where you pay to have the software display that you are the nebulous owner of an imaginary thing, and display this to other players. anyway, whichever exact model, the idea is that you turn the IP into capital which you then use to manufacture a product like 'legal copies', 'subscriptions' or 'accounts with a rare skin unlocked'.

the second is using the work to promote some other, more profitable thing - merchandising, an original work, etc. this is the main way that something like anime makes money (for the production committee, if not the studio) - the anime is, economics-wise, effectively an ad for its own source manga, figurines, shirts etc. the reason why there is so much pro media chasing the tastes of otaku is partly because otaku spend a lot on merch. (though it's also because the doujin scene kind of feeds into 'pro' production)

the third is some kind of patronage relationship, notably government grants, but also academic funding bodies, or selling commissions, or subscriptions on a streaming platform/patreon etc.

grants are how most European animated films are funded, and they often open with the logos of a huge list of arts organisations in different countries. the more places you can get involved, the more funds you can pull on. now, instead of working out how to sell your creation to customers who might buy a copy, under this model you need to convince funding bodies that it fits their remit. requesting grants involves its own specialised language.

in general the issue with the audience patronage model is that it only really pays enough to live on if you're working on a pretty huge scale. a minority make a fortune; the vast majority get a pittance at most, and if they do 'make it', it takes years of persistence.

the fourth is, for physical media, to sell an original. this only works if you can accumulate enough prestige, and the idea is to operate on extreme scarcity. the brief fad of NFTs attempted to abstract the idea of 'owning' an original from the legal right to control the physical object to something completely nebulous. in practice this largely ended up just being a speculative bubble - but then again, a lot of the reason fine art is bought and sold for such eye watering sums is pretty much the same, it's an arbitrary holder of an investment.

the fifth is artworks which are kind of intrinsically scarce, like live performances. you can only fit so many people in the house. and in many cases people will pay to see something that can be copied in unique circumstances, like seeing a film at a cinema or festival - though this is a special case of selling copies.

the sixth is to sell advertising: turn your audience into the product, and your artwork into the bait on the hook.

the alternative to all of these options is unpaid volunteer work, like a collab project. the participants are limited to the time and energy they have left after taking care of survival. this can still lead to great things, but it tends to be more unstable by its nature. so many of these projects will lose steam or participants will flake and they'll not get finished - and that's fine! still, huge huge amounts of things already get created on this kind of hobby/indie/doujin basis, generally (tho not always) with no expectation of making enough money to sustain someone.

in every single one of these cases, the economic forces shape the types of artwork that will get made. different media are more or less demanding of labour, and that in turn shapes what types of projects are viable.

books can be written solo, and usually are - collaborations are not the norm there. the same goes for illustrations. on the other hand, if you want to make a hefty CRPG or an action game or a feature length movie, and you're trying to fit that project around your day job... i won't say it's impossible, I can think of some exceptional examples, but it won't be easy, and for many people it just won't be possible.

so, that's a survey of possibilities under the current regime. how vital is copyright really to this whole affair?

one thing that is strange to me is that there aren't a lot of open source games. there are some - i have memories of seeing Tux Racer, but a more recent example would be Barotrauma (which is open source but not free, and does not take contributions from outside the company). could it work? could you pay the salaries of, say, 10 devs on a 'pay what you can' model?

it feels like the only solution to all of this in the long run is some kind of UBI type of thing - that or a very generous art grants regime. if people were free to work on what they wanted and didn't need to be paid, you wouldn't have any reason for copyright. the creations could be publicly archived. but then the question i have is, what types of artwork would thrive in that kind of ecosystem?

I've barely talked about the book that inspired this, but i think it was worth the trouble to get the contours of this kind of analysis down outside my head...

[getfuckedblr]

Hello hello I am new to the bookbinding world of fic (as in, I’ve never bound a book or considered it, I just started seeing gorgeous bindings on tumblr) and I’m wondering: what are the ethics & rules around binding fics? What about paying artists to bind fics for you?

hey there! thank u for your question, but i’m not like an Authority on the ethics of bookbinding hahaha. I’ll answer to my opinion, though!

i think the most generally accepted guidelines would be:

when possible, ask the authors permission - to bind it or to post the typeset (for free). to this point i would add that it’s becoming kind of a general practice among fic writers to have a statement abt their stance in their bio on ao3 - i would check that first, but if they don’t i generally leave comments on the most recent/last chapter asking for permission, or if they have their tumblr listed i contact them here!

this is a hobby/craft, first and foremost. you’ll find a lot of the community discussing less the content of the book and more the skill/time/effort of actually making a book. i love it and it’s very worthwhile, but it is expensive and time consuming with not too many avenues for turning a profit

and as for profit: selling bound fanfiction jeopardizes the ff community as a whole. the police aren’t gonna knock your door down, but it is gonna scare writers into pulling their work lest they get served a lawsuit for copyright infringement. if you find someone who is open to being commissioned to bind a fic, that’s fine in my opinion. if an author reaches out and wants to pay you to bind their fic, i also see no problem with that. gifting is actually a large part of this community - a lot of binders, if they have the resources, will gift a bound copy to the author. the issue becomes when you sell like many copies of fanfiction on a public website like etsy, as we’ve seen with manacled - that is actually reportable bc of copyright, and can get the seller as well as a non consenting author in legal trouble.

so yeah those are my thoughts! there’s a lot more nuance going on in the community but i fear there are much better articulated videos and posts about it on here and on tiktok.

i hope you do take up bookbinding bc it is the most rewarding craft i’ve tried so far (and i hope you have better luck with cutting straight lines than i do LMAO), but you’ll be fine if you accidentally cross some invisible ethical line. no one is mad about accidents - it’s really only the malicious people who know it’s wrong and continue to do it anyway that everyone is mad at.

[prokopetz]

Thank you for the explanation! ❤️ now I’m intrigued, though: Where can I find information on why 4E was published under a more restrictive license?

(With reference to this post here.)

Before we can talk about that, it's necessary to understand what an incredible shitshow 4E's commercial launch was in general. I go over that in some depth here.

Understanding the sequence of events outlined there is important because it dispels one of the most widely accepted wrong answers to your question: that Hasbro and WotC cooked up the 4E Game System License (GSL) because they didn't want a repeat of Pathfinder.

In truth, the 4E GSL is what caused Pathfinder; Paizo was one of a handful of third-party publishers who'd taken advantage of the D&D System Trademark License (STL) to produce officially branded D&D products, and they'd likely have been perfectly happy to continue doing so if WotC hadn't come to them and said "hey, if you want to remain STL-compliant, you need to throw away all of your 3E material and re-develop it for 4E, under a more restrictive license, with zero notice – that's cool, right?"

(It was not, in fact, cool.)

As for why the 4E GSL really happened, there are a variety of opinions on that – a lot of it ultimately comes down to internal office politics, so there may never be a clear answer. As far as I've been able to gather, however, the problem is that the OGL had always served two masters. By all accounts, several of the OGL's principal architects genuinely believed in establishing a creative commons for D&D – but that's not how they sold the idea to the suits at the head office.

Internally, the pitch in favour of the OGL was that it would allow WotC to delegate the creation of D&D supplements and adventures to third parties, allowing WotC itself to focus on core book sales. (i.e., the PHB/DMG/MM trio and the main setting hardbacks.) Core books were always the more lucrative side of the coin, with supplements and adventures serving less as a profit-making enterprise in themselves, and more as long-tail support to drive further core book sales. The prospect of being able to get that long-tail support for free was very tempting, and is likely the main reason that corporate agreed to publish the Third Edition under the OGL in the first place.

The OGL accomplished that, to a degree, but it also resulted in a lot of publishers lifting D&D's rules text wholesale – remember, the OGL allows verbatim copying-and-pasting of rules text, which was its main draw from the perspective of third-party publishers – and stuffing it into their own standalone games. This sort of thing was fairly small-time prior to the Pathfinder debacle, but there was enough of it going on for WotC's new owner, Hasbro, to see it as a thorn in their side.

TL;DR version: in all likelihood, 4E's GSL was an effort by Hasbro to rein in the OGL and return it to the purpose for which it had initially been sold to WotC corporate: an instrument for outsourcing D&D's long-tail support to unpaid third parties while reaping the benefits of that support in core book sales.

(Of course, as outlined in the linked post, what was actually accomplished was to shrink D&D's third-party support practically to nothing while simultaneously creating its own largest competitor; it's a fair question how much of this was due to the GSL itself, and how much of it was due to all the other corporate incompetence and general fuckery attendant to 4E's rollout, but either way, the result was WotC and Hasbro pulling the plug on 4E early, and reverting to the OGL for 5E. It was a learning experience all around – though the present business with the OGL 1.1 leads one to suspect that they didn't learn the right lessons!)

[starlightscythe]

Raining in Manila

Greg Hirsch x f!Reader

Also includes an instagram!AU (idk what it's called but I added some insta interactions)

Plot: you're the Chief of Financials at Waystar Royco and also Logan's Goddaughter, tasked to go with Greg to the Philippines to check up on the xerox business, not knowing some budding feelings will grow along the way.

Warnings: stressed!reader, will add more later.

P.S: purely written for Greg. Fuck Nicholas Braun, man. What a prick.

"So you're half Filipino? All this time?" Greg asked, trailing you from behind. Pushing your heavy baggage cart as you walk with hands free, clutching your phone with your right hand.

"I am 1/4th Filipino, Greg. My grandma, Nerie is the Filipino. Lucky wife to my Grandpa, Victor whose a European." You explained, steps hasty as you walk towards the exit of the NAIA airport.

Greg tried to catch up with you as best as he can with his long legs, pushing the heavy cart with force to walk side by side with you.

You were sent here by Logan to check the Xerox copy machine side business and to evaluate the profit and if it's still considered to be operational by income standards. Waystar is apparently looking to cut their losses even if it means a thousand people would lose their job just to pay off Peirce.

"That's interesting. So you speak the language? B-because you know, what if we got lost and none of us speak the language? Google Translate isn't exactly eh- exact?" He pushes his hair back, adjusting the sleeve of his suit, "Is it normally this hot here?"

"I told you to lose the suit dumbass. It's a tropical country- and you know what-" You paused, stoping by a souvenir shop a saw an English-Tagalog Dictionary, "learn the language while we're here."

Quickly purchasing the book and throwing it at him which he catches clumsily mid-air.

The ride to your hotel was short, doesn't help that Greg was complaing about the tropical heat and how he's sweating underneath his suit.

"Honeymoon?" The Uber driver asked. Smiling at you and Greg from the rear view mirror.

"Uh- oh- no. No. Just work- work mates. Happy workmates" He laughed, "here for work."

"On valentines day?" The driver raised his eyebrow.

"Yeah, unfortunately." You replied, pulling your lips in a tight line as you message an unresponsive Roman about the hotel reservation.

Exiting the Uber and going straight to the hotel lobby whilst Greg was left alone to unload your bags from the trunk. A couple minutes of waiting for him, he finally emerges besides you, tapping your shoulder lightly.

"Oh, took you long enough. Show them the reservation." You spoke, returning your attention to your phone.

Greg stood there confuse, pushing his hair back and wiping his sweat from his forehead, "What reservation? I thought Roman sent it to you?"

"I thought he sent it you?!" You whispered to him, "well, call Kendall and have him sort this out."

"Is there a problem?" The receptionist finally arrived in front of you.

You quickly turned to her and smiled, "no. No. We're all good. He's just sorting out the reservation paper. Such a klutz, this one."

"Well, Ma'am if you just have a name for the reservation and an I.D I can verify it even without the papers." She assured you.

Rummaging through your bag as Greg tried calling Kendall behind you. Taking out your Waystar employee I.D and showing it to her.

"Can you try, (Y/N) Abberdon? I think my collegue might've put it under my name."

The receptionist typed for a bit and shook her head, "we don't have that name in the system Ma'am. Is there any name? Maybe under the name of your collegue?" She gestured to Greg.

Grabbing the man by the I.D which dangled from one of those laces with the retractable strings. "What- hey!" Greg exclaimed, hand still on the ringing phone.

"Try Gregory Hirsch?" You desperately looked at her. The woman did the same thing only to looked up at you once again and shook her head.

Mentally punching Roman in your head at this point, "Ok well, we don't have his I.D but, Roman Roy?"

"I see a Roman Roiland but no Roman Roy, miss. I am sorry."

"Oh my god," You backed away from the reception desk, "I am sorry- just give me a minute" Excusing yourself. The woman nodded her head and returns to her work.

You grabbed Greg by the arm and dragged him away from the desk, looking up at him for an answer.

"They won't call back. I tried Kendall, Shiv, and Roman." He panicked, "I could try Tom?"

"Then try Tom." You deadpanned, "I am going to call Roman. But keep calling whoever is in that flip phone of yours Greg or I will throw that ancient thing in the trash."

"No need to be stres-"

"Don't tell me what to do." You suddenly flipped out at him, making him flinch, "I am- I am sorry. I am just stressed, you're right. This is not big deal. If we can't reach out to any of them we'll just have to book it ourselves."

Greg nods, "yeah. Ok. I'll keep trying to call Tom."

A couple more minutes of you guys looking like anxious rats on your phone trying to contact everyone. Greg finally got a hold of Tom over the phone.

"Tom! Oh thank God. Listen I am- we- yes me and (Y/N)- we're stuck in the Philippines- yeah- can you just- Is Roman with you?- oh- right- uhuh- well, here." Greg hands the phone to you.

You took it out of his hand, "Jesus I forgot how these things work," Fiddling with the flip phone for a bit, "Hello? Tom? What the fuck is going on? Where the fuck is everyone?"

"Enjoying your vacation with my assistant? That you stole by the way. How dare you?!"

"We're not on vacation, dipshit. What's happening over there? We can't get a hold of everyone and we're stuck in another country with no hotel reservation."

"Oh yeah, well. There's been an emergency and Shiv just told me you guys might be stuck in there for another week or two because they're using the private jet to go to the bahamas."

"What the fuck?!" You exclaimed, quickly returning back to your normal tone, "well can you atleast have Roman call me b-"

The phone suddenly crackles and Roman's voice was heard though the phone, "hey god-sis. Yeah listen, I did an oopsie and I kinda forgot to put in a reservation..."

"What's happening...?" Greg tried to ask but your head was running a million miles per minute.

One thing you hated was when plans didn't go as planned and mostly being stucked in another country where you barely speak the language and your American Express might not work.

You raised your hand out of frustration, an attempt to throw Greg's phone onto the ground. But he was quick to catch your arm with his tall physique, snatching his phone out of your hand.

"He-hey. Ok. How about you sit and calm down. Ok?" He tries to comfort you, "I'll handle this. I know you're stressed out so just relax. Ok?"

You nodded, sitting by the nearby sofa of the hotel lobby. Frantically typing into your phone whilst running a hand onto your hair out of frustration.

"Yeah- ok- I can manage that. Ok. Thanks- bye" Greg ends the call and sat on the couch parallel to yours, "ok so, we'll book a hotel and have it on the company card. Shiv said we could do whatever we want for the next two weeks as an apology for your distress and inconvenience. So...there you go. Don't stress ok? Cause youre kinda freaking me out too."

Slowly nodding as you bit your lip, preventing yourself from laughing at the distressed Greg as he sighed and lean back onto the white sofa, putting his earphone on to calm himself down. You sneakily took a picture of him and posted it on Instagram.

"Well I'll just see if they have a spare room available." You pull a tight smile , touching his shoulder as you move past him. Greg gives a nod in response.

"Hey," You greeted the receptionist again, "looks like my collegue might've missed it in his brain to book a reservation, is there a room available for two weeks? Two room separately...preferrably for me and him" Pointing at Greg behind you.

The receptionist tuts as she tapped at her keyboard for a bit, looking appologetic up at you, "sorry, looks like we're all fully booked at the moment. That's normal for valentines Day- oh wait- we have an opening for a honeymoon suite... I am afraid that's the only room available."

"Oh..." You scrunched your face. Scratching the back of your head in frustration, "is there like...another hotel?"

"Well you can try the love hotel from across the street but at valentines week I am afraid all of the hotel right now are fully booked too, miss."

Glancing at your watch, it reads 6:37 pm. And the jet lag was getting to your system. Not really wanting to go out there and dragging Greg around the block you were forced to weigh your options.

"Does it have a couch atleast?"

"Yes ma'am. But I am afraid it only has one bathroom."

"That's fine." You sighed, taking out your business card, "just do it. We're way too tired."

The woman apologized again as she took your card before handing you two keycards for the room. Telling you that your bags will be delivered in your room shortly.

Dragging your feet back to where Greg was, you handed him the other key card by shoving it in his face. Greg took it and read;

"Honeymoon suite?" He asked, looking up at you with wide eyes

"Yeah, not alot of options at valentines day, buddy." You scoffed at him, "you're welcome to run around the block for a new hotel room. They're all fully booked apparently. and I am too tired to argue for separate room. So either suck it up or get out."

Greg grunts in annoyance, standing up and following you anyways.

You turn back at him, "there's a love hotel full of jizz across the street. You're welcome to that"

"Uhuh, and if I get sick because of it, you'd have to be Tom's assistant for as long as it takes."

"He wishes, Greg"