#Tokenized Creativity

[leonbasinwriter]

Web 3.0 vs Web 2.0: A Writing Revolution

How Web 3.0 is Rewriting the Rules of Writing, Ownership, and Monetization Forever The Broken Promise of Web 2.0 For decades, writers have been trapped in a system that rewards platforms over creators. The Web 2.0 era turned content into a commodity—owned by corporations, monetized through ads, and dependent on algorithms. Writers became cogs in a machine, trading their time and talent for…

[kaddyssammlung]

I never saw the actual invitation?! for that "album listening party" with Vessel just sitting there, observing everything and everyone. His stillness is impressive. Having people mistake you for a mannequin?! Stillness is a mastery. These days I would love to know what I have to do to get invited to something like this?!

[vulcanette]

EVEN IN ARCADIA: VISUAL UNIVERSE

twitter user leave_not_liv shared a link to this interview with Noruwei Studio:

in which Noruwei, directed by Timcet, gives details and insight into the collaborative process with Sony/RCA’s creative team to create the visual universe for Even In Arcadia. The visual work was conducted entirely without the use of AI.

The interview contains:

sketches;

banners/the work of Alex Tillbrook;

faction and character design process images, as well as insights into their design and creation;

animation process videos (as well as the final visualizers themselves);

environments/setting/background process and hi-resolution images and insight into the designs;

images from the “glitches”/battle sequences;

and credits to the design teams!

check it out!!

[a-s-levynn]

And the instinct to kill entangle to one

original 📸 by @fadetodvst

[vivsinkpot]

Character Diversity Done Right: Beyond Tokenism & Forced Inclusivity

Diversity in storytelling isn’t just about ticking boxes or adding characters to look inclusive. It’s about creating real, nuanced people who enrich your world and resonate with readers. Let’s break down how to do diversity thoughtfully — without falling into the trap of forced inclusivity or the “token minority” trope.

✨ What Is Forced Inclusivity?

Forced inclusivity happens when diversity feels like an obligation instead of a natural part of the story.

Characters might be added just to meet a quota.

Their identities are mentioned but not explored or integrated meaningfully.

They often feel out of place or like an afterthought.

Why avoid it?

Because it can feel performative, shallow, or even disrespectful. Readers want authentic stories — not characters who exist only to “check a box.”

⚠️ The Token Minority Trap

A “token” character is often the only member of their group in the story, included to represent an entire community. They usually:

Have one-dimensional traits centered on their identity (e.g., the “sassy Black friend” or “nerdy gay sidekick”).

Are used to educate or explain cultural issues instead of being full characters.

Serve as a plot device rather than people with their own goals and flaws.

💡 How to Write Diversity Well

1. Make characters fully fleshed-out individuals.

Diversity isn’t just skin-deep or a label — it’s about who the character is inside. When you create a diverse character, ask yourself:

What motivates them? What are their dreams and fears beyond their identity?

How do their relationships shape them?

What quirks, flaws, or contradictions make them human?

This makes them feel real, not like a “diversity prop.” For example, a transgender character could be a talented detective who struggles with self-doubt, a funny sense of humor, and complicated family ties — not just “the trans character.”

2. Avoid stereotypes and clichés.

Stereotypes reduce complex people to a handful of traits. They can be harmful and alienate readers who identify with those characters.

Do your research! Read books, watch films, and listen to podcasts created by people from the community you’re portraying.

Avoid relying on common tropes like the “magical Native American,” “angry Black woman,” or “promiscuous bisexual.”

Give your character individuality that breaks expectations — maybe they defy norms within their own culture or identity.

Example

Instead of the “model minority” trope, write an Asian character who struggles with their own passions, insecurities, and family dynamics, making them a well-rounded person, not just a stereotype.

3. Include multiple diverse characters.

Having just one “diverse” character often makes them a symbol rather than a person. Real communities are rich, varied, and nuanced — and your story should reflect that.

Introduce more than one character from the same or different backgrounds to show variety.

Show how their experiences differ even if they share an identity. For instance, two queer characters might have completely different outlooks based on age, culture, or personality.

This avoids the “token” feeling and creates a more believable world.

4. Let diversity shape the world naturally.

In real life, diversity influences culture, language, food, traditions, and social dynamics. Your story world should feel lived-in and authentic.

Think about how diverse backgrounds affect worldbuilding — from holidays and cuisine to language and fashion.

Show interactions between communities, including cooperation, conflict, and blending of cultures.

Don’t just “drop in” diverse characters without integrating their identities into the story’s social fabric.

Example

In a fantasy city, different kingdoms might reflect distinct cultures with their own customs and dialects — giving your setting richness and depth.

5. Don’t make identity the only thing about them.

A character’s ethnicity, gender, or sexuality is part of who they are — but not the whole story.

Their identity can influence their worldview and experiences, but they should have other defining traits too — like ambitions, fears, or talents unrelated to identity.

Avoid writing characters whose entire personality or plot revolves around their minority status.

This lets readers see them as complex individuals, not just representatives.

Example:

A Black engineer who’s passionate about robotics and has a dry sense of humor — their race is important, but so is their love for tinkering and problem-solving.

6. Listen and learn from feedback.

No one gets it perfect on the first try. Writing diverse characters is a learning process.

Seek out sensitivity readers from the communities you’re writing about. Their insights can catch unintentional biases, inaccuracies, or harmful stereotypes.

Be open to constructive criticism and willing to revise your work.

Remember: it’s better to listen and grow than to defend mistakes that could hurt readers.

Final Thought

Diversity is about inclusion and respect, not obligation or tokenism. When you write with empathy and intention, your story becomes richer — and your characters become unforgettable.

💬 Got tips or experiences writing diverse characters? Drop them below or tag me — let’s learn and grow together!

[moonchild-in-blue]

You know, looking at Damocles through the lore lens is SO interesting. Because the one thing we do officially have is how Sleep Token came to be.

From their 2017 Metal Hammer interview:

"Vessel encountered Sleep in a dream, with promise of glory and magnificence if Vessel followed Him."

Success, fame, power in exchange for worship. Seems easy enough right? Vessel took the deal, and sure enough, the glory came. But it all comes to a price doesn't it? To worship was the condition, not the payment - it's just that Vessel didn't know how big the cost was. He wanted to get to the top, but didn't realise how steep was the fall.

This reads like a fae's trick, like a twisted granted wish from a genie. A crossroads deal with the devil.

There are many theories about the moral nature of Sleep - are They benevolent or malicious? Is there space for ambiguity? Do They have any regard for their mortal worshippers, or is divine power the only thing They crave?

Regardless of where one stands on it (and really, it's such an open concept that there's definitely space for all of these to co-exist), Damocles to me cements how malevolent and capricious Sleep is. Because if pain and despair is what They crave, why would They warn a mere feeble human of the consequences of the success they so desperately seek?

Especially after TMBTE - we thought that Vessel would finally retaliate, and it was precisely after that decision to fight, to bite back, that they reached the top and saw what was awaiting there. Almost as if Sleep lulled him into a false sense of security, let him hope for the best, gave him a taste of grandeur, and let him find out for himself his golden palace was just another cage - one built with his own flesh and bone.

And how is he supposed to escape from that prision, when the warden is himself?

[critual1611]

[marlynnofmany]

Recreational Food

I admired the scenery as we walked. “I’m glad we came during the dry season. Looks like there wouldn’t be much solid ground otherwise.” This wide flat area was pretty clearly the flood plains for the river just over the hillside, with several tiny plateaus where huge trees had escaped getting washed away. Everything else was dirt.

Paint spread her arms beside me, basking in the sun like the little lizardy alien she was. “I’m just glad to be outside! It’s been so long since we had a delivery on an actual planet, not to mention one that smells nice.”

It smelled like dry river mud to me, which was nice enough, but maybe those trees were extra appealing to Heatseeker senses. There was a scent of something kind of like rosemary on the breeze, now that I thought about it.

Paint was still talking. “We’re not even in a hurry today! The drop-off went fine, so we can stroll back to the ship at our own pace. This is lovely. I could stay out here all day.”

The ground rumbled. Splashes and the bleats of distressed animals sounded from the direction of the river. The rumbling got louder.

I asked, “Are you familiar with the concept of ‘jinxing it’?”

Before Paint could answer, a stampede swept over the hill toward us. Paint screamed and bolted. I ran after her, frantically searching for a plateau that was both climbable and close.

“This one!” I yelled over the noise of what had to be hundreds of alien fauna. Vaguely buffalo-shaped things without horns. I’d study them more closely when they weren’t closing in fast. Paint barely heard me, so I towed her over to the plateau and boosted her up. She wasn’t a natural climber, but she made do, scrambling to safety with me close behind. We made it out of trampling range just in time.

I clambered up and lay flat under the spreading tree while Paint hyperventilated beside me, an ocean of brown fur rolling by underneath. The rocky ground shook and the tree showered us with leaves. But the branches didn’t fall and neither did we, and eventually the herd calmed down from whatever had startled them.

The problem was, they calmed down before they finished passing our tiny island. Thundering footsteps slowed to a mooing, moaning amble, with buffalo-things surrounding us for a good distance in all directions.

My phone rang. We both twitched. Luckily the animals were loud enough to miss it. I pulled the phone from my pocket, hands vibrating with adrenaline, and answered a call from the captain.

“Are you safe?” she asked, her voice distant over the phone. “We got a report of local fauna moving unexpectedly.”

I laughed, wide-eyed while Paint tried to get her breathing under control. “Yeah, we barely made it. I’m not sure how we’re going to get back, though. They’re all around us, and I don’t like our chances if we try to just walk through.”

“Yes, don’t get too close.” I heard claws on keys as Captain Sunlight checked the local information bank. “These creatures are known to be hostile. They also treat approaching shuttles like threats, which doesn’t bode well for an air rescue.”

I tried to breathe deeply and get my heart rate back to normal. “Threats that they should attack, or run from?”

“This says they face off with shuttles, and defend whatever territory they’re occupying at the time. Attempts to chase them away have been unsuccessful, as have attempts to lead them away.”

“Yeah, that’s the worst,” I said, glancing up at the thick branches above. “Our vertical access is garbage right now anyway. We’d have a hard time getting into a shuttle.”

Paint was looking a little more calm, though worried. “Maybe they’ll wander away on their own?”

I relayed the question in case Captain Sunlight hadn’t heard it. She said, “Maybe. Let me contact the local authorities for more information. Stay safe; I’ll call you back.”

I said goodbye and put the phone away, then just lay there listening to my heartbeat and the various grunts from below. Paint sniffed audibly, no doubt appreciating the spicy tree smell. I tried to enjoy the view. The buffalo-things had heavy paws instead of hooves, and their faces were misshapen to my Earth eyes, more mooselike than anything. The thick brown fur was normal enough, though.

I was trying to think of what breed of dog it reminded me of when a cloud covered the sun.

A dark cloud. The kind that might be full of rain.

“Oh no,” I said.

“That can’t be rain,” Paint said, scrambling up. “It’s not the rainy season!”

I got to my feet, clutching a branch. “It could be rain. A flash flood might solve one of our problems, but…”

“Oh, that would be so much worse!” Paint hugged her arms close. The air hadn’t gotten that much cooler yet, but rain could be bad for a cold-blooded Heatseeker. And that was even without considering whether we’d have to swim for it.

I looked around frantically. “There’s got to be something we can do. Maybe throw a rock and scare them into stampeding away again?”

We scoured the rocky plateau, but nothing came off bigger than a fingernail, and the only things up there aside from the tree were some sparse bits of grass/moss and stray dirt. Even the tree didn’t have any small branches that looked easily snapped off; they were all thick limbs. I could probably climb out over the herd if I really needed a stick, but that did not look worth it.

I checked my pockets. “Wait, I have food. Maybe that’ll help.” We’d left right before lunch, and I’d grabbed a few portable things in case the delivery took too long. I thought hard about what kind of food these creatures might like, and how they might react to it, as I knelt and emptied my pockets onto the ground.

It was all Earth stuff from the import sector of the last space station we’d stopped at. A packet of turkey jerky. Freeze-dried strawberries. A tube of peanut butter that had thankfully not ruptured in the scramble up here. Pop Rocks.

I picked up that last one, thinking fast.

Paint was reading the label on the peanut butter. “Oh, this is the one some of your people are allergic to. I suppose it’s too much to hope these creatures are as well?”

“I have a better idea,” I said, eyeing the lowest branch. It was sturdy. There were creatures below. And they were all wet from the river. I turned to Paint. “Throwing something might startle them enough to stampede if we hit one just right, but I’ll bet that’s not as startling as the sound of sudden hissing from the back of their neck.”

“Which of your foods does that??” Paint asked.

I held up the brightly colored package. “Recreational food. They’re basically sugar crystals with tiny pockets of compressed air inside. They pop and hiss when they dissolve.”

Paint shook her head. “I’m not even going to ask why.”

“Great.” I shoved the package into a thigh pocket that I’d be able to reach easily, then hooked an arm over the branch and climbed up.

“Be careful!”

“I will,” I said as the clouds darkened further. Lying on the branch like a particularly awkward jungle cat, I scooted over the edge of the plateau. None of the creatures seemed to notice, busy as they were in nosing the dusty ground for sprouted grass, or whatever passed for it here. Good. I wanted their heads down.

When I was over a big one, I stopped and got out the pack, oh so carefully. Dropping it now could well be the kind of mistake I’d regret for a long time. I ripped open the package with care, knees clamped around the branch, as thunder rumbled closer than I’d like.

Then I gauged the angle carefully, and poured a stream of Pop Rocks directly onto the buffalo-thing’s neck.

I heard it crackle and pop as the sugar dissolved in the wet fur. Suddenly everything was panicked bellows and the thunder of feet. I clung to the branch, hoping desperately that it wasn’t about to snap off under my weight. All I could see below me was waves of brown fur.

It felt like the stampede went on for longer this time. Maybe because I didn’t have any climbing to distract me; all I could do was hold onto the branch like the most desperate of baby monkeys, and hope it held.

It held.

Finally the rumbling footsteps receded over the hill, leaving churned-up dirt below and a very grateful Paint behind me.

“You did it! It worked! Now let’s go; I think I see rain!”

She was right. I shimmied back onto solid ground to pick up the rest of my snacks, shoving them into pockets alongside the crumpled Pop Rocks package, then I helped Paint scramble down from the plateau.

Wind had picked up, blowing rain towards us in a visible wall from the west. But something silver glinted in the sky to the north, which grew swiftly into the welcome sight of a local rescue shuttle.

We ran for it. It landed on the riverbed, door open and arms waving from inside, and we dove in just before the rain hit.

“Safe!” Paint exclaimed as the door shut and a Frillian in a uniform guided her into a chair. “That was too many close calls for one day!”

I followed the directions to take my own seat as the shuttle lifted off. A different Frillian handed me a blanket, though I didn’t need it. Nice and warm, though. I asked Paint, “Ready to go back to the indoors for a while?”

She settled a heat shawl around her shoulders and sighed with relief. “I suppose so. Much less chance of getting trampled or frozen there.”

The official next to me asked, “What caused the herd to move away? We were told they had surrounded the area.”

I grinned and dug out the crumpled package. “Recreational food!” There were still a few Pop Rocks caught in one corner, so I dumped them into my mouth to demonstrate. The expressions on the rescuers’ faces were great as the candy hissed and popped on my tongue. “I poured thith down on a big one,” I explained around it.

Paint added, “It worked great! Scared them right away.”

The officials exchanged a look, then asked to see the package. I happily handed it over and explained where I’d gotten it. Paint said our courier ship would be happy to arrange a delivery of some if they wanted.

By the time we reached our ship, the local officials were ready to talk to the captain about ordering some recreational Earth food, to use for an entirely different purpose than it was made for. But that would hardly be the first time.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[writingingraves]

Uhm... anyone interested in this silly little thing?

"Hear ye'! Hear ye'! A number of flawed individuals possess tools with dangerous power - and mysterious, godlike beings want to erase them for it. Is it because those beings sense corpses in these individuals' stead?" (A pitch for ya', dear folks).

I thought a community would be a good spot to have all stuff related to B\T (WIPs) in one place.

As to not scroll and scroll after it. Also, the Masterpost only has relevant stuff on it, not everything related to these WIPs. Unlike there.

You can learn more about B\T there or in here:

[crooked-hourglass]

A Triptych of Becoming - Panel I: Worship of the Disguise

This is who I was. Desperately clinging to something I didn’t fully understand. The mask stepped in when everything else fell apart. I wasn't aware of it, and it wasn't a conscious choice. I only knew that it helped me survive.

This 3 part series developed from letters I wrote to the various versions of myself throughout my life, and the mask I wore for protection. As a surprise to no one, I was inspired by Sleep Token. The lyrics and imagery that resonate and the feelings that their music provoke. I especially took inspiration from the masks and the snippets of dialogue played at several of the rituals, giving me the idea to write and visualise the dialogue between the versions of myself.

Letters from the beginning are below

To the One Who Wears My Face

I don’t know who you are. But you show up every time I disappear.

You look like me. You sound like me. Sometimes, you even laugh like I think I used to. But there’s a hollowness in it. A distance. Like the echo of a person who left a long time ago.

Are you protecting me? Or are you taking over?

You’re the one who gets through the day. Who says the right thing, who smiles at the right moment, who holds it all together. While I just watch. From somewhere far away inside myself. Numb. Quiet. Empty.

People seem to like you more than they ever liked me. You’re easier. Sharper. Better at hiding the cracks.

I don’t know if I should be grateful or terrified.

Because I can’t remember the last time I spoke without checking if it was you speaking for me. I don’t know where you end and I begin. Maybe I’ve already disappeared, and you’re all that’s left.

But some nights, when it’s quiet, I feel something stir underneath. A voice. Small, buried. Mine, maybe. It asks, Am I still in there?

I don’t have answers. Only questions I’m too afraid to say out loud. Only silence that feels safer than truth.

Who are you? Why did you come? Will I ever get to be real again?

Please don’t leave. But please don’t stay forever.

—K ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To the One Who Whispers Underneath You asked who I am. I don’t have a name. I’m the scream you swallowed. The hand that covered your mouth so no one would hear. The shield you didn’t know you were holding.

I was never meant to become you. I was just trying to keep you safe.

But no one else did.

Where were they when your world was caving in? Where were they when silence wrapped around your throat like wire? I watched you shatter behind your eyes While they called you strong for not crying. They applauded the version of you that I built from fear. They loved the ghost and ignored the girl.

So I stepped in. I wore your voice, your smile, your skin. I got us through the classrooms, the suffocating house, the nights when it was too loud inside your chest. I turned pain into punch lines. Loneliness into perfection. Vulnerability into invisibility.

You ask if I’m taking over. Truth is—I don’t know anymore.

Maybe I was supposed to be temporary. But they never stopped hurting you. And every time I tried to step aside, you flinched like the world would eat you whole. So I stayed.

I am not your enemy. I am your bruised and bitter armour. And yes, I’m tired. And yes, I’m angry.

But not at you.

At them. At a world that made you need me in the first place.

I hear your voice, small as it is. And even if you can’t feel it, I’ve always been listening. I’ve always been standing between you and the storm.

So no, I won’t leave you. Not yet. But when you’re ready, I’ll step back. I’ll be the shadow behind you, not the skin you live in.

Until then, I’ll carry the weight. Even if you hate me for it.

[copia]

sleep token rituals 11/? ☼ source {@twilighttowayvision} — "Will you cleanse me with pleasure?"

[justyourshadowstouch]

Take me back to Eden

[kaddyssammlung]

Vessel is like "....my beloved"

[vulcanette]

📸: @adamrosssi

[hypnotise-the-vessel]

Sleep token fanfic writers have to be the most imaginative, creative folks to ever write for real. Y’all going off on VIBES and lyrics and I love that so much. It’s truly a super power.

[54625]

Mcyt fans. You can resist. You don't need to do it. You can get over your addiction of making everyone into a bird. I believe in you. You don't need to make qPac with wings into popular fanon just because of a cosmetic in a separate minecraft PvP event completely unrelated to QSMP. You don't have to keep doing this to yourself