I'm random. Go figure.

Hello. Let's all make peace and be friends. I like NND (utaite /ensou/ MAD), music, manga. books. movies, writing, anime, doujinshi, funnies, art and many things you'll come to learn if you follow me :D I translate some Japanese too from time to time but not as much now. You can try to request me!

[writing-prompt-s]

after dying god informs you that hell is a myth, and “everyone sins, its ok”. instead the dead are sorted into six “houses of heaven” based on the sins they chose.

[wpsstories]

We arrived first at the House of Lust. “House” is a misleading term. It was more of a camp, spread over acres and acres of lush forest. There was a white sandy beach (nude, of course) full of copulating couples. There were little cabins sprinkled all along the path, from which orgasmic moans regularly came belting out. Men with six pack abs and women with perky breasts strolled by without even noticing me and God. They only had eyes for each other, tickling and pinching each other with flirtatious giggles.

“What do you think?” God asked as we passed a nineteen-way taking place in a pool of champagne. Little cherubs flitted overhead armed with mops and cleaning supplies, thankfully. “Lust is our most popular sin.” I eyed the supermodel-like figures of a couple passing nearby, and could easily see why. “You can look however you want. Hell, you can be whatever gender you want. No fetish is too taboo, and no desire can be denied here.”

It was quite tempting, but I wasn’t ready to make a permanent decision here. “Let’s see the others,” I told God.

We carried on to Greed. We passed rows and rows of mansions, each more opulent than the next. Some of them were so large that they would have had enough bed rooms to fit my entire hometown. And so many different styles: one second, we were in a beautiful French vineyard in front of a gorgeous chateau with the Alps in the background. The next second, a warm tropical beach with a modern mansion atop breathtaking cliffs. After that, a ski chalet in Colorado with a roaring fire in a hearth large enough to fit an ox. Each one had various Italian sports cars and Rolls Royces parked in front, with the occasional smattering of boats, helicopters, etc.

“Any material desire you ever wanted,” God explained. “Your own world, where you can have everything. You want the Hope Diamond? You can fly to Washington DC in your own solid gold helicopter and buy it from the Smithsonian. Hell, you can just buy the Smithsonian.”

Also tempting, but I decided to keep looking.

Gluttony was next up. Tables and tables of the very finest foods: beautiful steaks cooked medium rare; butter-poached lobster tail; fresh oysters on a half shell; exotic wines in dusty bottles that had been hiding in the cellars of the world’s finest restaurants. Everyone had a glass of champagne in hand and simply lounged on couches and chairs near the tables, eating endlessly. As soon as the inhabitants took a bite, the food just instantly came back. My mouth watered even watching them.

“In every other House, the food is practically sawdust compared to Gluttony,” God explained. “You haven’t truly experienced heaven until you’ve been to Gluttony.”

I shook my head, and we kept moving.

Sloth was as you’d expect. An endless sea of the softest mattresses, stacked with cushions and pillows that made the story of the princess and the pea seem minimalist. Little angels visited each resident, giving them massages that made them all melt into their blankets.

Wrath was… well, a lot like what I’d expect Hell to be like. Fire, brimstone, whips, torture.. you know, the works. Except here, you weren’t the one being tortured. Every enemy you’d ever made in your real life was now under your thumb. “Lots of people choose their fathers,” God explained. “Lots of grudges against parents in general, you know. But you’re not limited to that. Someone beat you out for a big promotion back on Earth? Take your pound of flesh here.”

Then we arrived at Envy. It looked… well, a lot like home.

“Go on in,” God said, gesturing toward the door. I turned the knob and walked in… and found Emily waiting inside. She ran forward, wrapped her arms around my neck, and planted a kiss right on my lips. “Welcome home, honey.”

I looked back toward God. “Oh, don’t be coy,” he said. “You have no secrets from me. We all know that you were in love with your best friend’s wife.” She didn’t seem to hear him at all; she went back into the hall. “We all know that you just settled for your own wife while secretly pining after her. Well, this is your chance to live happily ever after.”

I peered into the kitchen. Emily was baking something, wearing nothing but an apron. Her curly black hair fell softly over her shoulder as she whisked ingredients. She turned back, noticed I was observing her, and an enthusiastic smile spread across her face.

“It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?” God whispered in my ear.

I wanted to take it. God damn did I want to take it. But I shook my head.

God seemed puzzled. “You need to make a decision,” he told me.

“I haven’t seen Pride yet.”

He scoffed. “No one ever wants Pride, trust me.”

“Well, I want to see it.”

_________________________

Pride was boring. Just a row of workbenches in a bare white room.

“I don’t get it,” I told God.

“Yeah, no one does,” he answered. “That’s why no one ever chooses it. Doesn’t cavorting in Lust sound better than sitting here building little trinkets for the rest of eternity? Wouldn’t you rather gorge yourself in Gluttony? Or spend time with Emily in Envy?”

I considered the options again. “I pick Pride,” I finally told him.

He narrowed his eyes. “What? Look at it!” He gestured around the room again. There wasn’t much to look at. “Why would you choose this for the rest of time?”

“Because you don’t want me to pick it,” I told him. If he was really God, he’d know what a contrarian I can be. And I knew he was hiding something, trying to pretend like Pride didn’t exist. There was something special about it.

God scowled back. “Fine.” He led me over to one of the workbenches. In the center, there was a black space. A blank, empty void that went on forever. “Here’s your universe,” he said. “You’ve got seven days to get started.” He took his seat at the bench next to me and went back to tinkering in his own world. After a long pause, he finally spoke again: “You know, it might be nice for me to actually have some company for once.”

[feral-flower-child]

FUCKING I MEAN.

IT’S LIKE 7AM AND I LOVE GONNA REBLOG SO I CAN READ THIS SHIT AGAIN

[silent-calling]

… Well shit.

[astrodidact]

[poisonforourthoughts]

Because the statement was so vague and could be twisted to mean anything, I researched it to find a more transparent statistic… this is from 2 different sources from 2017 and 2018. In short- it’s worse

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

A Timeline

1850s: Some scientists notice the connection between dinosaurs & birds and think birds might have evolved from dinosaurs, given similarity between Archaeopteryx and many dinosaurs, as well as between dinosaurs and living birds  

1960s: Deinonychus is discovered. Scientists starting to realize birds did evolve from dinosaurs; other ideas become fringe hypotheses 

1970s: More dinosaurs are discovered that point to dinosaur behavior being more like birds than reptiles 

1980s: Scientists begin using evolutionary relationships (ie, cladistics) to classify life, rather than Linnean Taxonomy (Kingdom-Phylum-Class etc.), especially for extinct creatures, because it really doesn’t apply to extinct life like, at all. Coelophysis, an early dinosaur, is speculatively depicted with feathers. Some very bird-like dinosaurs are debated on whether they are birds or dinosaurs. 

1993: Birds are straight-up called dinosaurs in the famous film “Jurassic Park,” which is one of the first pieces of media to depict dinosaurs as extremely birdlike; changes public perception of dinosaurs dramatically  

1996: Sinosauropteryx, the first feathered non-avian dinosaur, is revealed to the public. Birds determined to have evolved from dinosaurs, full stop; BANDits (birds-are-not-dinosaurs scientists) now a backwards, on-par-with creationists group. Since we classify dinosaurs based on their evolutionary relationships, we start calling birds dinosaurs, because they evolved from dinosaurs. 

1999: Sinornithosaurus, the first raptor (ie, cousin of Velociraptor) dinosaur found with feathers, is described. Many other feathered dinosaurs are described as well, from all over the group closely related to birds. The Walking With Dinosaurs landmark documentary series calls birds dinosaurs. 

2000: Microraptor, a raptor dinosaur with full wings on its arms and legs, is described 

2001: Velociraptor is given… “feathers” in Jurassic Park III. Velociraptor also portrayed as more bird-like than ever. When Dinosaurs Roamed America, another groundbreaking dinosaur documentary, shows all members of the group closely related to birds (except T. rex) with feathers, including Deinonychus, all over their bodies. Also calls birds dinosaurs. 

2002: A specimen of Psittacosaurus, a dinosaur about as far away from birds as you can get, is described with quills on its tail very similar to feathers 

2004: Dilong, a small relative of T. rex, is found with feathers and display structures like modern birds 

2007: Many feathered dinosaurs are now known from the group most closely related to birds. A specimen of Velociraptor with feather attachment sites on the arms for wing feathers is now known. Velociraptor now known to be definitely, no question, feathered 

2009: Tianyulong, another dinosaur from a group very far from birds, is found with fluffy quills covering all over its back 

2012: Feathered dinosaurs now coming out many times a year. Yutyrannus, a large and closer relative to T. rex, found with shaggy feathers all over its body 

2014: Kulindadromeus, another dinosaur from the group very far from birds, is named. It has fluffy covering like that of Sinosauropteryx all over its body, rather than quills. Feathers determined to be mostly likely ancestral to all dinosaurs and lost secondarily in larger species (especially if fluff known on closest relatives, pterosaurs, is also feathers - see below). 

2015: Zhenyuanlong, a close relative of Velociraptor the same size as Velociraptor, is found with extremely large wings. Raptor dinosaurs inferred to have large wing feathers unless anatomy indicates otherwise (such as having short wings). Jurassic World comes out, making dinosaurs less bird-like than in the original Jurassic Park - with lizard-like tails and behavior, and no feathers at all. Essentially, a huge step backwards. 

2018: Branched fluffy covering very similar to feathers described now on multiple pterosaurs, the group most closely related to dinosaurs (think Pterodactyls). Fluffy covering considered ancestral to all members of the Pterosaur-Dinosaur group, if not all animals more closely related to birds than to crocodilians. 

We have known birds are dinosaurs since before many people reading this were born - since before I was born. We have known dinosaurs had feathers since the mid-1990s. We have known Velociraptor was fluffy and had wings since the mid-2000s. This isn’t news. This isn’t up for debate. Please grow up. Thank you! 

[dignity-not-intact-deactivated2]

broke: birds aren’t dinosaurs

woke: birds are dinosaurs

bespoke: dinosaurs are birds

[thehollynerd-deactivated2021050]

I love that Gellert is described as ‘merry-looking’ and ‘with an air of Fred and George-ish mischief about him’ in Deathly Hallows.

I like that this description is in direct (possibly even purposeful?) contrast with Tom Riddle being compared to Percy in Chamber of Secrets.

For some reason I really love the idea of Gellert Grindelwald, one of the most dangerous Dark wizards in history, having been really a lot of fun to be around as a young man, when Albus met him.

[verteorchidee-deactivated202505]

I hope it’s going to show in the fb flashback scenes :D

[hallovvedground]

This is where Blanche comes yelling about the goddamn aesthetic choices of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows films and how they ruined everything TM.

I wouldn’t hold out my breath for this sort of portrayal as it has been so far switched into a more moody dark tone every single time but Gellert Grindelwald must have been really *really* fun to be around. Bathilda Bagshot talks about him like she never met anyone as lovable in her 100+ years, she kept his pictures on display even after he had gone out to be a known criminal. Albus Dumbledore surely thought he was fun to be around. A lot of people afterwards surely found that they wanted so badly to be close to Gellert Grindelwald they had to become part of a questionable rebellion movement for him.

BTW even if was Tom Riddle was creepy and weird he still was a popular boy among his classmates and professors (yes he was prefect and a lot more solemn/adult looking… he actually compares way better to what Albus dumbledore may have been like, a person who had been forced to grow up faster because of their upbringing), he still was charming enough for Harry Potter to trust him. This is in what they are similar.

But yeah Gellert Grindelwald is presented in multiple ways as a foil to Voldemort, one of which is his “merry” persona, he looks playful, mischievous, and it doesn’t seem to be a pose, while Tom Riddle was probably posing if he was to ever look like he enjoyed life at all. Even the framing of their behavior at that point: Ariana Dumbledore? An accident. His expulsion? Result of “experiments”. Think of how cold blooded Tom Riddle was when murdering his father at 16 years old: it wasn’t an accident or a passion crime. It was calculated.

[meanwhiletimely-deactivated2020]

“Tom Riddle was probably posing if he was to ever look like he enjoyed life at all” ahaha accurate. 

Gellert, on the page, definitely seems far more likely than Tom to revel in all of life’s pleasures. Cue Tom rolling his eyes and pointing out that if Grindelwald had spent a bit less time reveling and a bit more time making himself invincible he wouldn’t be rotting in Nurmengard… but the two of them have always had very different priorities (and psychologies! once again… narcissist vs. psychopath).

But yes, Tom and Gellert possess two contrasting kinds of charisma. Tom’s charisma lies in his commanding demeanor, his self-assurance and poise, his intriguing (or unsettling) inscrutability, and his ability to immediately assess what kind of approach or persona will be most effective in achieving a specific goal from a specific target – his ability, in other words, to wear a interchangeable variety of masks. Gellert’s charisma is the kind that’s innate, not calculated – it’s the kind found in cult leaders and prophets, the kind that embodies the Classical meaning of the Greek word kharisma: “divine favor” or “gift of grace”, a magnetic power of presence that seems almost superhuman in its ability to captivate and enthrall. Tom’s charm is a tool in his manipulation toolkit, always discarded the moment he no longer needs it, but Gellert’s is an authentic aspect of his personality.

At least in my own book-based interpretation 😇

[thehollynerd-deactivated2021050]

Gellert being more likely than Tom to revel in life’s pleasures is an accurate understatement hahaha. Honestly, sixteen-year-old Tom comes off in the books as the sort of Prefect who enjoys sending the Slytherins to bed at 9 pm on the night they’ve won the Quidditch final.

This actually leads back to why I am convinced Gellert valued Albus and wanted him as his ally for his personality, not just his magical power. I do not think young Gellert would have taken any random wizard as his ally so long as he was extraordinarily powerful. Gellert got along with Albus because Albus himself has quite a fun personality, and both of them are very Fred and George-like (although Albus is more restrained) and, crucially, they share the same values. No matter how strategically convenient it was, I do not think young Gellert would ever be able to tolerate Prefect Boy Tom Riddle long enough to form an allyship with him. Gellert made a blood pact with Albus/wanted him at his side because they clicked as people, not just as magically skilled wizards.

In an AU in which Gellert and Tom were both young and the same age (which would actually be quite entertaining to read), I can’t imagine them ever getting along, regardless of their shared interest in the Dark Arts. It would be like the Dark wizard version of Percy vs Fred and George (the books do compare Tom to Percy and Gellert to Fred and George), with Tom, as you said, just constantly rolling his eyes at Gellert and thinking he lacks direction/discipline/is only good at getting himself expelled, and Gellert probably teasing him exactly like Fred and George did with Percy (the one thing we know for sure from the books is that Gellert loves to jeer at Tom).

[silverhawk]

honestly tho that scene in the incredibles where mr. incredible sees the names of all the old super heroes that used to be his friends / that he knew from Back in the Day and how every one of them has been killed by syndrome is such a chilling scene for so many reasons 

like for one, everyone he knew is dead at this point and has been killed on the same island he’s at now and two, its heartbreaking bc that means that almost every hero wanted to try out being a hero again despite the laws against it and wanted to try and help someone out and relive their glory days, only to be straight up murdered like fuck that scene is just so fuckin intense

[allthesebees-deactivated2019070]

[marisatomay]

[theladyspanishes]

I think the core of that scene for me is, when you’re insane like me and you go through it frame by frame, you can work out that Gazerbeam defeated the omnidroid twice - the only super we have enough information to confirm did so. I always wondered about his body in the cave, how and why he got the password… But it makes sense. This thing goes haywire, gets an upgrade, and goes haywire again? He must have been hella suspicious! So he does what any good superhero would do - tries to get to the bottom of what’s really happening on Nomanisan Island. During the process he’s clearly caught and wounded but has just enough time to get himself somewhere he can leave a final message, just praying that the next super to come along will find it and break the cycle. Gazerbeam is my hero.

[xxxtictacion]

Incredibles 2 has a lot to live up to

[thatgirlwithanopinion-deactivat]

All of this and…

I’m just realizing that the name is No Man Is An Island???? As in, everyone needs someone to depend on and connect with, no one is ever completely alone or should act all on their own.

[swan2swan]

Also Gazerbeam probably has X-ray vision–so he not only survived long enough to defeat the Omnidroid, he had the ability to see Syndrome entering the password.

[animagix101]

Holy guacamole! I should pay more attention, I don’t think I got any of that stuff!

[frognonbinary-deactivated202412]

does anyone think about the fact that now mr. incredibles has to live w/ the fact that all his friends getting killed by syndrome could have been avoided if he had just been nicer to syndrome from the beginning

[breefolk-hates-staff]

^I was thinking that from the beginning reading this and was shocked it went through so many comments before anyone pointed that out.

Syndrome waited until his machine was almost ready to go before asking Bob to come to Nomanisan. He also was surprised to find out that he was married to “Elastigirl”, which means he likely built his list and went through everyone else before finally deciding it was time to kill Bob.

[gay-jesus-probably]

Also, Syndrome literally didn’t find Bob until the start of the movie. He found Frozone and was stalking him. If Lucius hadn’t hung out with Bob, then Frozone was going to be the next one lured. There’s literally a scene of Mirage realizing that the guy in the car with her target is Mr. Incredible. He wasn’t going through the list, he was stalking and finding every former Super he could, luring them to the island, and then killing them, for the sake of improving his robot. Finding Bob was just a happy accident, and Syndromes obsession with him meant that upon finding a bot that could beat Bob, he figured he’d hit perfection and was ready.

and like, let’s be real here in the intro Buddy was crossing the line the second he showed up, Mr. Incredible mentioned he’d been very nice to Buddy, via signing a ridiculous amount of autographs and doing pictures and stuff, and that he was not going to risk a childs life as a sidekick (albeit in less words). Buddy literally showed up by breaking into his car, and then stalked him all evening until he was arrested. That’s disturbingly obsessive behavior, there’s no amount of niceness that would stop Syndrome, it was an impossible situation. No amount of nice was going to appease Syndrome, the second he faced any sort of rejection from Mr. Incredible he was going to lose it and go supervillain. After his arrest he should have gotten put into therapy, but yknow, set in like. the 50′s. so it makes sense he fell through the cracks when the cracks were a goddamn canyon. Don’t victim blame Mr. Incredible.

[iguanamouth]

oh my gdO CAN YOU DRAW GODZILLA MOMMA CARRYING LIKE A HUNDRED LIZARD BABIES ON HER BACK FOR TAKE YOUR CHILD (lizard) TO WORK DAY

oh SHOOT well i cant swing 100 but how bout

[daybreakboys-deactivated2024031]

If I don’t always reblog this assume I am dead

[blu3-skyy]

SHES SO PROUD OF HER BBY

[njcklenjart]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

crimeAU

Reviews and reblogs would be appreciated!

[sixpenceee]

I love everything about this.

[shrieksofexcitement]

That… is so amazingly self-aware.

[teacup-occamy]

Paint Tool SAI, roughly 10 hours

[mariusslonelysoul]

THIS IS A PAINTING AND IT ONLY HAS 95 NOTES?!

[oekaki-chan]

An artist : Aw man! I saw my arts were reposted on Instagram. I’ve asked them to take my arts down but they ignored me.

Me : Say no more! Click this link, then click ‘fill out this form’. Fill the form and wait for about 1-2 days, the staffs will remove the image you were reporting from the reposter’s account :^)

[probably-voldemort]

My family is not very religious most of the time.  We pray at Christmas and Easter and Thanksgiving dinners, and my mom’s entire side of the family excluding her parents and siblings is hardcore religious so whenever we do anything with them it’s kind of religious.

But the point is, most of the time we aren’t, but every year at Christmas time, a church in the next town over puts on a Bethlehem and it’s kind of a tradition to go.  They go all out.  The building is massive, and they’ve got it all decked out.  There’s animals and stalls and everyone is in costume and in character.  When you get there, they give you some pennies and you can go and barter for cool little trinkets, and there’s other more expensive things you can buy with your own money.  And they have the best apple cider.  All in all, it’s pretty cool.

But anyway.  We go every year, bundled up in hats and scarves and mittens, and have a good time.  We’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember, and my mom talks about going when she was a kid.

I’m going to mention again that everyone is massively in character, especially the really super hardcore religious adults.  Because this is an important fact.

Every year since I was about thirteen or so, there’s been this one lady who worked at a stall selling ponchos (I have, like, three.  They’re really cool).  She was probably there before that, but I was thirteen when she started trying to barter for me to marry her son, who was also about thirteen.

“What a pretty little thing.  I think you’d make a very good wife for my son.  These are your parents?  I’ll give you six goats for your daughter’s marriage to my son.”

Her son, meanwhile, is in the “shop” behind her looking absolutely mortified and like he’d rather be anywhere else than there, and I’m pretty sure I probably looked just as embarrassed.

My parents gave her some sort of excuse, like it wasn’t enough goats or they weren’t ready to marry me off yet or something, and we moved on.

The next year we’re back again, and come up near to the same stall.

“Ah!  You’re back again!  Have you married your daughter off yet?  I can up my offer to nine goats and three chickens for your daughter to marry my son.”

Somehow she remembered the exact people she’d tried to buy their daughter off of for an entire year?  So my parents are refusing her offers again and me and the son are trading embarrassed looks and we go on our way.

And then it happens again.  And again.  And again.  Each and every one of the last six years this lady has tried to buy me in goats to be her son’s wife. 

 A couple years ago when we were waiting in line to get inside my mom jokingly said that they should accept this year and see what she’d do and I completely refused because it was mortifying enough as it was.

One year we brought my friend with us and we’re waiting outside and my sister was like “Are you gonna sell Kee this year?” and my dad was like “Maybe if there’s enough goats” and my friend was confused as heck and I was like “This lady tries to buy me to marry her son every year.  I told you that” and she’s like “Yeah but I didn’t think this was a thing that actually happened” and she was still skeptical and by the time my parents had finished refusing the lady’s offer, she’s killing herself laughing and then spent the next few months telling me I couldn’t look at guys because I already had a fiancée.

Anyway, it happened again this Christmas and the son has somehow gotten almost ridiculously attractive since last year.  The speech this year had something to do with how I was far too old to not have a husband yet, and the son and I just rolled our eyes at each other as his mom tried to barter with my parents for me.

This year’s offer was twenty six goats and nine chickens.  My sister looked up how much goats are worth, and was mad our parents didn’t sell me so she could have sold the goats and gotten $2000-$8000 for them.  My dad says they’re waiting out on an offer of a camel.  My brother thinks they should have it more than once a year so he can get more apple cider.

Now I’m back at uni, and in my first psych class of the semester the guy sitting beside me looked really familiar.  

As in his-mom-tries-to-buy-me-with-goats-every-Christmas familiar.

That kind of familiar.

We introduced ourselves before class started and I sat there for a couple minutes readying to make a total fool of myself in case I was wrong before turning to him again.

“This is going to sound really weird if you aren’t who I think you are, but by any chance does your mom try to buy you a wife with goats every Christmas?”

His friend gives me a weird look as he walks past me to sit on the other side of him, but he’s definitely putting the pieces together.

“That’s you?  Bethlehem in [city name], right?  God, my mom is so mortifying.”

And we both kinda laugh and meanwhile his friend is giving us both weird looks now because apparently he didn’t know that his friend’s mom was trying to buy him a wife using livestock.

So he turns to his friend and is like

“Oh, I forgot to introduce you.  Danny, this is my fiancée, Kee.”

And I kinda rolled my eyes and was like

“I’m not actually your fiancée.  Your mom hasn’t offered my parents enough goats yet.  But apparently my dad will sell me for a camel.”

And he laughed and shook his head like

“I am not telling my mom that.  I don’t want to see what she has planned for if your parents ever accept.”

So yeah.  His friend was really confused by that point and we explained it to him and it turns out he’s pretty cool and we’re Facebook friends now and hang out in psych classes.  Apparently his mom only ever tries to buy me for him and she and my mom had gone to the same church growing up which is why she can always pick us out.

So yeah.  That’s the story of how some lady tries to use goats to buy me to be her ridiculously attractive son’s wife every Christmas, and how he’s in my class and we’re friends now.

[probably-voldemort]

It was the 23rd of December, 2017, and my sister had convinced her friend to come with us this year.

“And that’s where Kee’s fiancé usually is,” Sam explained as we stood in the line waiting to get inside.  Her friend gave her the same sceptical look she’d apparently been giving since Sam had first told her.

“He’s not my fiancé,” I pointed out, trying to rub some feeling back into my hands.  The Goat Guy had been texting me updates since that morning.  The organizers had discussed it at length, but apparently temperatures of negative eighteen, thirteen inches of snow, and a blizzard warning weren’t quite enough to have Bethlehem cancelled (or for my parents to decide to skip it this year).  Hashtag Canada.

The line was long this year, and we’d already been standing out in the cold for the better part of half an hour.  My brother was loudly lamenting the fact that we couldn’t get to the hot apple cider until we’d made it inside.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I braved taking off a glove to check it.

“Who do you keep texting?” my mom asked, not-so-subtly trying to peer over my shoulder at my phone.

“Gregory from psychology,” I told her, sending off a text informing him that we were still in line.  It wasn’t technically a lie, since, you know, that was his actual name and he was in my psychology classes.  It wasn’t my fault that my family only knew him as the Goat Guy.

“Ooo,” Sam teased, elbowing me in the ribs, her bony elbows hurting less than usual through all our layers.  “I’m going to tell your fiancé he has competition, and then maybe they’ll offer us something useful.  Like a car or a trip to Hawaii or something.”

I snorted again.  “One, he’s still not my fiancé.  Two, he doesn’t have competition, because I’m not interested in him or in Gregory.  And, three, this isn’t a game show.  If anything, his mom will just offer maybe a horse or something.”

“Can I have the horse?”

I rolled my eyes, glancing at my phone as another text came in.  Hurry up.  “Sure, Cole.”

My brother pumped his fist in the air.  “Nice.”

It took another ten minutes or so to make it to the front of the line, and my family had placed their bets on the amount of farm animals that would be offered this year.  My dad reminded me that he was selling me if they offered a camel, and I rolled my eyes, trying to act as reluctant to get to that part of the night as I usually was.  Apparently I didn’t do as good a job as I thought I did, since Mom questioned me.

I shrugged, feeling my phone go off again.  “I guess I’ve just decided to go with it.”

Sam rolled her eyes.  “She thinks he’s hot,” she told her friend.  Which, well, it wasn’t exactly untrue.  Objectively the Goat Guy was ridiculously attractive, but that doesn’t mean I want to (or have time to) date him.

We’d reached the entrance by that point, and were given our little pouches of pennies to buy small trinkets and ducked into the (compared to outside, at least) warmth of Bethlehem.

Roman soldiers milled amongst the people, asking for taxes and wanting to see our papers.  We didn’t have papers, obviously, but the soldier who checked us took an extra penny as a bribe.

“Wait,” Sam’s friend said, stopping in her tracks.  “There’s a petting zoo?”

There was, in fact, a petting zoo.  The petting zoo and the apple cider were there to keep us pacified as we waited for the soldiers to allow us entrance into Bethlehem, and Cole and our parents went off to get us something to drink while I followed Sam and her friend to see the animals.

“What is this?” Sam asked, frowning.  “Where are all the animals?”

There were significantly less animals than usual.  Two whole pens were empty, and I could see a few soldiers and townspeople whispering to each other in a panic.

“Maybe they were too cold,” I suggested, reaching out to pat a pig’s head.  It snorted and turned away.

My parents and brother returned with our drinks, and I sighed into the bliss that is Bethlehem hot apple cider, and, by the time we made it to the gates to listen as the soldiers reminded us of laws that I don’t remember, I actually had a bit of feeling back in my fingers and face.

I pulled off a glove, typing up a quick text.  We’re in.

The stalls were as neat as they always were.  I bought a wooden hammer to add to my collection for a couple pennies.  My mom dug out her wallet to buy a carved wooden bowl.  Sam and her friend took selfies with a girl from their soccer team who was working in a bakery and she snuck them a free scone.  Cole found another apple cider vendor and took three cups for himself.

“Look,” Sam said, grinning wickedly as she wrapped an arm around my shoulders.  “There it is.”

And there it was.  The Goat Guy’s mom was standing outside her shop, heckling with a couple over the price of a rug.

“That is a poncho,” I agreed, glancing at one hanging on the side of the shop and deciding I was going to buy it after this whole thing was over.

Sam rolled her eyes.  “You know that’s not what I mean,” she pointed out, craning her neck.  “I don’t see your fiancé, though.”

“That’s because I don’t have one,” I pointed out, stopping to look at the smithery so I didn’t look too eager to get there.

No one bought that I actually wanted to see some guy pound metal with a hammer (there wasn’t an actual fire or anything, so he was really just sitting there hitting it), so they dragged me across the hall, grins on their faces.

The Goat Guy’s mom, who we will henceforth refer to as the Goat Mom for sake of ease, perked up as she saw us heading towards them, finishing up her bartering and holding her arms out in greeting.

“Ah,” she called, grinning at us.  “Back again, I see.  Surely you must have found a suitable husband for your daughter by now.”

“Nope,” my mom said, giving me a pointed look.  “She’s still single.”

(And, yeah, I was, and still am, but she doesn’t have to be so judgy about it)

The Goat Mom gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.  “My dear, you’re far too old to be without a husband,” she cried, causing people to stop to watch.  I could feel my face heating up, and glanced around wondering where the Goat Guy was at.  We had agreed months ago that this was always far more embarrassing for me than it was for him, so why was he taking so long?

“You won’t be young forever,” the Goat Mom was continuing, grabbing my hands and forcing my to look at her.  “You’re running out of time.”  She glanced past me to my parents, a smug look on her face that said she got just as much enjoyment out of this as my family did.  “My son is still in need of a wife.  I’ll tell you what, I will give you thirty goats and ten chickens for your daughter.  She—”

“Aww, Mom.  You started negotiations without me?  How are they supposed to know I’d be the perfect husband for Kee if they can’t see how hot I am?”

The Goat Mom froze for a moment, her grip on my hands loosening enough for me to pull away.  I followed the shocked gazes of my family and his mom to the Goat Guy.

He was leaning casually against the shop, somehow managing to look good in clothes that were 2000 years out of fashion, a smirk on his face and a half dozen goats and a llama surrounding him.

“That’s Kee’s fiancé,” Sam whispered to her friend, as if there was any doubt about his identity.

His mom blinked out of her shock, narrowing her eyes at him.  “Are you drunk?”

The Goat Guy looked offended, raising a hand to his chest.  “What?  No!”

Cole started cackling.  I don’t think he had any more idea what was going on than the rest of them, but fifteen year old boys are weird.

His mom glanced back at us for a moment, and I had to look away to keep the grin off my face, and noticed quite the crowd had gathered.

She took a deep breath as she turned back to her son, pressing her fingers to her temples.  “Then why do you have goats?”

I couldn’t keep myself from snorting then, but, thankfully, everyone seemed too distracted to notice.

The Goat Guy rolled his eyes, relaxing back against the shop once more.  “I mean, you’ve been failing at bartering me a wife for eight years, Mom,” he pointed out.  “I think they just don’t believe we really have as many goats as you say we have.  So I brought goats!”  He waved the ropes in his hands, and sent me a wink.  “And a llama!  Girls like llamas.”

“I think that’s actually an alpaca,” my brother helpfully pointed out, and the Goat Guy grinned.

“You’re probably right, my man,” he agreed and turned back to me.  “I’m adding this alpaca onto the list of whatever my mom’s already offered.  We can ride off on it into the sunset.  What do you say?”

“I say it probably wouldn’t hold us.”  I was grinning now, too, no longer able to hold it in.

The Goat Guy just shrugged and stayed silent, letting our families stew for a moment.

“Are you sure you aren’t drunk?” his mom finally asked, glancing between us in confusion.  “Maybe you’ve been spending a little too much time at the, uh, tavern.”  She glanced at the goats and the llama (alpaca?), realization dawning on her face.  “Gregory, you had better not be the reason everyone is panicking about the animals going missing from the petting—trading post.”

“Not drunk,” he insisted, ignoring the part about him stealing the animals from the petting zoo as he thrust the leads of the animals into her hands before she had a chance to protest.  “I’m just excited to see my future wife.”  He crossed the distance between us, my family stepping back, still mostly in shock, and wrapped me up in his arms.  “How’s it going, Kee?”

I laughed, hugging him back quickly before pulling away.  “Hey, Gregory,” I echoed loudly, my grin growing at the gasp that came from someone in my family.  “How’d you find the psych final?”

He groaned, burying his face in my neck.  “Ugh, don’t even get me started,” he whined, an arm wrapping back around my shoulders.  “I didn’t fail, but that’s about all I can say.”

I hummed in sympathy, watching our families try to piece together what was going on and the crowd that was wondering if this was supposed to be happening.  His mom’s mouth was opening to say something as I caught sight of a couple of soldiers pushing through the crowd, and nudged him.

“You!” one yelled, and the Goat Guy’s head snapped of my shoulder, staring at the soldier in shock.  “He stole the king’s animals!”  One of the others came forward, pulling him away from me.

“You, uh, have the right to remain silent,” he started, fixing his grip on the Goat Guy’s arm.  The soldier who grabbed his other arm rolled his eyes.

“He doesn’t have any rights.”

“Oh, right.”  The second soldier nodded and turned back to the Goat Guy.  “You don’t have the right to remain silent,” he amended.

“Take him to the king,” the first soldier ordered, taking the leads from the Goat Mom.  “He should be tried at once.”

The Goat Guy regained his wits and started to struggle against their hold.

“Wait for me, Kee!” he cried as they dragged him back through the parted crowd.  “I’ll come back for you!”

By the time he’d disappeared and the crowd had filled in their path, I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe.  It’d gone better than either of us could’ve hoped.

I calmed down after a moment, and the Goat Mom was still staring in confusion in the direction her son had disappeared in.  I stepped past her to the shop, pulling the poncho I’d noticed earlier off the wall.

“I’d like to buy this, please,” I said, and her eyes snapped back to me.  I grinned and handed her the money, and she pocketed it without bartering, and I walked away, the crowd parting for me as I wandered towards the next stall.

My family joined me a few moments later, as I was browsing some blown glass ornaments and ignoring the fact that the shopkeepers were whispering about me.

“What was that?” my mom demanded.

I shrugged.  “That was her bartering for me to marry the Goat Guy like every year.”

“Yeah, that was not like every year.”  Sam snorted and I could practically hear her rolling her eyes.  “Since when do you know the Goat Guy?”

“Since January?”  I tried to look confused, but I’m pretty sure I was still grinning.  “You knew that.”

“No?”

“Yeah?” I countered.  “Gregory from psychology?”

The stared at me for a long moment before any of them spoke.  Sam’s friend was the only one who seemed more entertained than confused.

“That was Gregory from psychology?” my mom asked, and I shrugged, grinning wider.  “You planned this, didn’t you?  That’s why you kept texting him outside?”

I shrugged.  “I mean, we didn’t plan him getting arrested,” I admitted.  “But, yeah, we planned the rest.”

“How’d he steal the goats and the alpaca?” Cole wondered.

“He knows a guy.”

“Like that’s what’s important here.”  Sam rolled her eyes.

“Why?” my dad asked, and I shrugged again.

“Seven years’ worth of revenge.”

“That’s not what’s important either,” Sam interjected, huffing loudly.  “Kee’s totally dating the Goat Guy.  I called it.”

“We’re not dating.”  I rolled my eyes, pushing past them to continue through Bethlehem.  There should’ve been another apple cider vendor coming up soon, and I’d lost all the heat from the last one.

My family did not drop it through the rest of Bethlehem, and neither did any of the vendors who, apparently, knew exactly who I was (my toque was kind of distinctive, so I guess I’ll give them that) and let me know how sorry they were to hear that my man had been locked up just for trying to provide for his family.

We also saw the Goat Guy again, who had been locked up with the prisoners in a large cage, guarded by a handful of soldiers.

He grinned as he saw us approaching, calling out for me and sticking his arms through the bars.

“Can I borrow your notes later?” he asked.  “I’m in here for nineteen years, so I’ll be missing a bit of class.”

Sam and her friend posed for selfies with him, and then she made me pose for one with him that will definitely be used for blackmail at a later date.

And that was Bethlehem.  No one shut up on the entire drive home, or for the rest of Christmas break, for that matter, about the fact that I’d been keeping my knowing the Goat Guy a secret for almost a year—which I hadn’t, as I pointed out multiple times.  They all knew about Gregory from psychology, and he was literally in my phone as The Goat Guy.  It wasn’t my fault they hadn’t put the pieces together.

My family is convinced the Goat Guy and I are meant to be and still not entirely convinced that we aren’t currently dating, and I’m kind of dreading what that might mean for Bethlehem 2k18.  Honestly, I’d rather not have to deal with the fallout of my parents actually giving in and getting me a bartered husband, no matter how hot he might be.  But I feel like they’re going to accept one year, especially after what we did this year.  

The Goat Guy says his mom isn’t any better, and is already planning for next year but won’t let him know anything.  Maybe I can convince my parents that I never have to go back ever again.

Two weeks later, I caught the Goat Guy’s eye from across the psychology lecture hall, waving him over.

“Hey,” I said, grinning at him as he slipped into the seat beside me.  I turned to my friends.  “Guys, this is Gregory the Goat Guy.”

“Her fiancé,” he added, and I snorted at my friends’ incredulous looks and punched him gently in the shoulder.

“Not my fiancé,” I corrected, and turned back to him.  “The llama was impressive, but you know my dad’s expecting a camel.”

“Darn,” he said, laughing.  “I could have sworn you said llama.  I guess I’ll have to find a camel by next year if we ever want to get engaged.”  He paused, raising an eyebrow.  “But you know, I did get arrested before your parents had a chance to decline the offer this time.  Maybe they were going to say yes to the llama.”

“Wait,” my friend said, leaning around me to give the Goat Guy a once over.  “That story was real?  The Goat Guy actually exists?”

[rhetoricalproceeds]

I will be here and I will be waiting for the next bit of this story come December

[onceiwashere]

i cant believe its daylight savings time and i havent seen the “hello its me your cousin oskaar from iceland” video on my dash yet you are all slackers

[onceiwashere]

i guess i have to do all the work around here dont i

[sashayed]

You guys, you must stop doing this. You must. We cannot keep yelling at you about it because it makes us so angry, and we are already angry all the time, about real things, like how our lives are turning into a real world Handmaid’s Tale, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haha ha ha ha ha ha. We cannot keep spending our energy being mad at mediocre men for writing mediocre books that inexplicably win awards and that people tell us to read, for some fucking godawful who knows reason.

So men. My guys. My dudes. My bros. My writers. I am begging you to help me here. When you have this man in your workshop, you must turn to him. You must take his clammy hands in yours. You must look deep into his eyes, his man eyes, with your man eyes, and you must say to him, “Peter, I am a man, and you are a man, so let us talk to each other like men. Peter, look at the way you have written about the only four women in this book.” And Peter will say, trying to free his hands, “What? These are sexy, dynamic, interesting women.” And you must grip his hands even tighter and you must say to him, “ARE THEY, PETER? Why are they interesting? What are their hobbies? What are their private habits? What are their strange dreams? What choices are they making, Peter? They are not making choices. They are not interesting. What they are is sexy, and you have those things confused, and not in the good way where someone’s interestingness makes them become sexy, like Steve Buscemi or Pauline Viardot. Why must women be sexy to be interesting to you? The women you don’t find sexy are where, Peter? They are invisible? They are all dead?” He is trying to escape! Tighten your grasp. “Peter, look at this. I mean, where to begin. ‘She could have been any age between eighteen and thirty-five?’ There are no other ages, I guess? Do you know what eighteen-year-olds really look like, in life? Do you know what thirty-SEVEN-year-olds look like, god forbid? And not that this is even the point, but why are these supposedly sexy and dynamic and interesting women BOTHERING with your boring garbage ‘on the skinny side of average’ protagonist? Why did you write it like this, Peter?” 

And maybe Peter will say at last, “I don’t know.” Maybe he will be silent for a long long long time, and then maybe he will say, “I guess it’s scary and difficult for me to imagine the interiority of women because then i would have to know that my mother had an interiority of her own: private, petty, sexually unstimulating, strange: unrelated to me and undevoted to my needs. That sometimes I was nothing to my mother, just as sometimes she is nothing to me. That I was not at all times her immediate concern.”

“I know, Peter,” you can tell him gently.

“I don’t want to know that my mother was a human being with an internal life, because to know that would be to risk a frightening intimacy with her,” Peter will say, maybe. “Because to know that would be to know that she was only a small, complicated person, no bigger or smaller than I am, and I am so small. To know how alone she was. How alone I am. How alone we all are. That my mother survived with no resources more mysterious than my own. And yet she gave me life. My God: she gave me life. How can I pay her back for that? And how can I forgive her for it? How can I ever repay her for the good and the evil of it, my life, every day of my life?” He will be sobbing probably. “I am frightened of her. I am frightened of loneliness. I am frightened of dying. O God. My God. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.” Drool will run from his mouth as he cries. The way babies cry. He will be ashamed. You must hold him. You must say, “Shh, Peter. Shh.” Wrap your man arms around him. Hum into his thin hair as your own mother hummed once into your own sweet-smelling baby scalp. Kiss him gently on his mouth. There. You did it, men. You fixed sexism. Thank you. You’re the real hero here, as always, you men, and your special man powers, for making art. 

[fandomisnotyoursafespace]

Fandom is not your safe space.

Nor should fandom be your safe space. Fandom is for people to explore all sorts of possibilities in fiction and art. Not all of those possibilities are going to be fluffy, “wholesome,” “healthy,” “uplifting,” or whatever other adjective the Morality Brigade here on Tumblr wants to trot out.

Fiction is not reality. Depiction is not endorsement. No, it may never be “just a movie/fic/artwork,” but that does not make it reality. Fiction serves particular purposes, and one of them is to permit us to vicariously experience certain dangerous or otherwise unpleasant things safely.

If you believe that the purpose of fiction is to “uplift” us and fiction that does not is wrong and bad, congratulations: You’re a right-winger. (Or maybe you’re on the extreme left. When you get that far out to the ends of the spectrum, it doesn’t matter.)

If you think that anyone who writes or reads noncon is a rapist or rape apologist, you are too stupid for words. If you think that anyone who ships an incest ship or an adult/teen ship is an apologist for incest or pedophilia, you are too stupid for words.

It is none of your business what other people write, draw, and ship. Let me repeat that: It is none of your business what other people write, draw, and ship. You do not get to tell them they’re “trash,” you do not get to concern-troll them with passive-aggressive nonsense like “love yourself more uwu,” and you absolutely do not get to harass them off Tumblr or elsewhere.

Also, their past trauma or lack thereof is none of your business, either. Nobody has to present their “cred” as a rape or incest survivor before they’re allowed to enjoy fanworks that don’t meet with your approval. Total strangers don’t owe you their backstories. For that matter, not even your friends owe you every detail of their backstories. Mind your own business.

Don’t want to see all this “problematic” content on your dash or elsewhere? Unfollow people. Learn how to use Tumblr Savior, XKit, AO3 Savior, and similar tools. Control your own online experience. It is not the responsibility of others on this site to take care of you, who are a total stranger to them. Given how heavily female Tumblr skews, such demands are nothing but reinforcement of the expectation that women are supposed to take care of everyone else but themselves. (Yes, women are still oppressed as a class, even before you factor in intersectionalities.)

It’s amusing how some of you have the “courage” to dogpile, harass, and stalk others on this website whose taste doesn’t meet your oh-so-pure standards. People who create fanworks are soft, easy targets to kinkshame, aren’t they? Especially when, again, most of them are not cis straight men. Women have been policed and shamed throughout history for exploring their own sexuality — including by other feminists. The 1980s were full of feminists policing other feminists:

Often conflated with radical feminism, antiporn feminism grew out of radical feminism in the late ‘70s and early '80s—as did its counterpart, pro-sex feminism. The feminist porn wars of the '80s are largely forgotten to the general public by now, but at the time they were heated, divisive, and intensely personal. In 1982, Bar­nard College’s Center for Research on Women held a conference called “Towards a Politics of Sexuality,” which was picketed by antiporn feminists for including explorations of s&m and overall pro-sex viewpoints along with discussions of race and sexuality as well as sexual history (many of which were published in the 1983 anthology Powers of Desire: The Politics of Sexuality).

Yes, sex-positive feminism was eventually co-opted by patriarchal forces, but it started out because a great many feminists were heartily tired of radfems telling them they were “traitors” and “brainwashed” for liking anything but the blandest, most euphemistic, and most painfully egalitarian erotica. (If you like that sort of thing, more power to you. Your tastes don’t make you better than the rest of us.)

Getting back to the here and now, I don’t see you going over to 4chan or Reddit with these morality campaigns. More importantly, I don’t see you organizing to go after big media corporations, especially those whose TV shows, movies, and books help form the toxic backdrop of misogyny, racism, rape culture, homophobia, transphobia, and similar bigotries behind everyday modern life. The occasional blogpost calling out this animator or that author, no matter how many notes it gets, is not the same thing as an organized campaign.

No, harassing David Gaider off Tumblr doesn’t count, not when Bioware makes more of an effort with social justice in its games than any other game company does. You can scream all you want about how “allies suck.” You need them in the real world, beyond the hothouse environment of Tumblr. If people in general could be trusted to do the right thing for the right reasons all the time, without pressure, there would be no need for any kind of activism at all.

Nor does screaming “pedophile” at John Green and insinuating that any grown man who reaches out to teenage girls is “creepy.” Yes, his “cool dad” act is annoying, and his books leave a lot to be desired. Have you considered that such outreach is part of his job as a YA writer? Have you also considered that stigmatizing men for trying to be mentors to adolescents, when you have no evidence that they’re actually perverts, reinforces traditional gender roles?

Tl;dr: Fandom is not your safe space. Tumblr is not your safe space. AO3 sure as fuck isn’t your safe space. People will post things you don’t like in all three spaces, which they have every right to do. Get over it, grow the fuck up, take responsibility for your own mental health, and stop confusing your oversized sense of entitlement with “social justice.”

[namenamo]

Excuse me if is not problem could you plz tell me which episodes appears fushikizou abd zatto? qwq please

I think I’ve answered this question somewhere before but for the life of me can’t recall so I’ll just compile the list again here. 

 16-77 the first episode where zatto and fushikizou appeared together (also referenced again in the second movie) 16-78 continuation of above episode (ON NI KIRU YO HOKEN IINCHOU)18-18 fushi and isaku being cute and fushi’s message18-73 merry go round19-31 31 to 34 is the culture festival arc19-3219-3420-40 40 to 42 is the last part of the sports day arc20-4120-62 andou-sensei’s party21-05 fushikizou and zatto-san special episode22-15 library bookI’m sorry if there are any mistakes or I left anything out I just did this while looking at the nhk page there might be some episodes I can’t remember. I suggest you watch the whole arc for the arc episodes since the context might be lost if you just watch one. 

Have a nice day. 

[cmykenna]

Commissioning and Copyrights

There’s a post that’s been floating around Tumblr and Twitter that has (understandably) upset a lot of artists:

The original post seems to have been deleted and it was posted anonymously, so I have no idea who this person is or what inspired them to write this vitriol, but it’s prompted some conversations on Twitter and Tumblr that I wanted to address.

Rude attitude towards artists aside, this is a serious misunderstanding of how commissioning and copyright works. Judging by some of the replies to this post, this seems to be a common misunderstanding: Commissioners do NOT automatically get all rights to the art that they’ve commissioned.

Artists automatically own the rights to any work they have created as soon as the work is created, without needing to file any kind of legal paperwork, unless part of the commission agreement states that the client/commissioner is granted rights. Many commissioners (and artists!) do not realize this. They assume whomever is paying for the creation of the work owns the copyright to the work. It is not the payment that transfers this ownership. The payment is simply for the creation of the work. Not for the rights to the work itself, unless explicitly stated and agreed upon. (It’s worth noting, I work in the US, I am not sure how copyright law differs in other countries so my statements here are framed in the context of US copyright law).

Those of you who do professional work-for-hire freelance work (or work full-time for a studio) probably noticed in most of the contracts you signed there are clauses stating the client/company owns the work you’ve created (either in part or in full). This is because without that clause, you, as the artist, would actually still own the rights to the work and the company would be unable to use the work they paid you to create.

This is one of the reasons it’s important to have a contract signed by both the artist and the client whenever you’re doing a job. I know that many people (and I have been guilty of this too) tend to be more casual about one-off commissions and don’t always have a contract involved in those sorts of transactions, but honestly, with attitudes like this out there, it’s probably a good idea. A contract should clearly lay out what the usage rights are once the work is completed and can avoid misunderstandings or legal grey area down the line. For something small like a commission, it also just gives you something easy to point to if you need to ask a former client to stop using a work they commissioned in a way that was not originally outlined in the contract.

Generally, because of the informal nature of personal (non-commercial) commissions such as one-off character commissions, pet portraits, etc, artists may be more casual about how the commissioned art is used, but it’s still important to check with the artist what specifically you are allowed to do with the art, as each artist may have different preferences. Some may be happy to grant full usage rights, others may allow redistribution rights (with or without credit) but not allow the work to be resold or edited. 

What this person above is doing, by editing out the artist’s signature, is technically illegal unless they have agreed-upon rights that allow them to edit the artist’s work (removing a signature is editing) and re-post it without credit. 

These laws exist not to make commissioners miserable or to try to snag free advertising or whatever else this commissioner seems to think. These laws exist to protect artists’ rights which are increasingly vulnerable due to the nature of image-sharing on the internet. 

Commissioners and artists, know your rights and make sure you understand them before money exchanges hands.

There’s a super helpful article here that goes into some of this in more detail that you may find useful: http://www.hongkiat.com/blog/design-contract-clauses/

Edit: Here’s another helpful article detailing what exactly “Work For Hire” is and how/when it grants rights to the commissioner/employer: http://www.americanbar.org/publications/tyl/topics/intellectual-property/copyrights_and_works_made_hire.html

The key points in this are that a written agreement is necessary for the work to be considered “work for hire” and for copyrights to be granted to the commissioner/employer. *Disclaimer: I am not a lawyer and this post should not be considered professional legal advice, but merely useful information based on my personal experience working as an artist. If you have legal questions about a contract or the rights to your work or work you have commissioned, you should contact an attorney.

[mediamattersforamerica]

The Daily Show and the USWNT take on myths about the wage gap (and destroy a Fox News guest’s opposition to equal pay in the process).