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cafe-of-insomnaics · 5 months ago

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I thought I loved Transformers but because of you and your writing I realized I am in hopeless servitude to SO MANY OF THESE MECHS. 😩😩 I used to only pine for Bee and the twins but SHIT YOU GOT ME BARKING FOR EVERYONE NOW. I shan’t forgive you for this!!

I regret nothing! 😀

Everything Is Alright Pt 109

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Relaxing into his warm frame, you let the feel of his palm sliding against your spine lull you and rest your cheek against him, feeling his spark thrumming under you as familiar as your own heartbeat. Listening to him describe the cities of his world, and hearing the wistful longing in his voice, leaves a bitter ache inside you. He misses his home and it’s something you can’t even begin to understand when he’s told you his world was devastated by their war. That there’s no going home for him or any of them. Eyes closing as his servos of his other hand slide against the back of yours, you look up at him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

• Venting softly to stir your hair, he looks down at you in surprise. And it is what it is, but that you’re unhappy because he’s unhappy about a world you’ve never even seen means so much. Shifting his plating, there’s a flicker of guilt as his spark snares you and you startle against him. But you don’t resist as he wraps himself around you and that delicate spark he can only just sense. Offering you images of Iacon’s skyline, the exhilaration and freedom of flight. Watching you drift through his memories, feeling your joy sparking through him as he follows you. Circling and studying that inconsistent, gossamer thin shadow of an incomplete bond clinging to your light. We could go flying, he offers, stalling because he knows you’re going to be upset with him for this. Won’t want to understand it’s necessary at first, but you’ll forgive him. You always do. You have to.

• Reaching for a new memory when he offers it, your breath catches as a different alien city glitters beneath you, seen from the air the way he’d seen it. Turning to find him, he engulfs you and it’s not like when you’d been tangled in him before, both of you swimming through each other. You’re caged in his light, overwhelmed and unable to move or think. Confused, but aware of him tearing at you. Destroying something that’s yours, not his. Something he has no right to and you feel the loss jolt through you flinging yourself from him as soon as he releases you. Physical body jerking to get free, to break that contact as he reaches after you. And the connection stretches and snaps, his servos catching your upper arm when you slide half out of his lap. “What did you do?” Can’t breathe, shaking with that awful, wrenching wrongness and it hurts.

• “Our spark is fine,” he soothes, unsettled as you cringe away when he tries to pull you to him. Like you’re afraid of him. Closing his plating, he drags you back to him, hooking an arm around you to keep you there as you splay a hand against him, upset and almost panicking, you’re breathing much quicker than he’s used to. Had it hurt? He’s doesn’t know, but hates the thought. That twists guiltily through him as he curls himself tighter around you. Hadn’t wanted it to hurt, but he had to do it. Had to sever Soundwave’s claim to you. “It’s alright. It’s over.” His own spark aching unpleasantly, unsettled by your distress. You hadn’t known Soundwave that long, not really. Sliding his servos up your spine, his wings droop slightly. “I’m here.” And he’s all you need, because you’re all he needs. Even if you can’t see that he had to sever that leash. Can’t let Soundwave or anyone else control you or him.

• Staggering and nearly dropping the stack of data pads in his hands, it feels like being blindsided. Like when he’d lost the feel of you in his mind, but he can still sense your emotions and you’re upset. Not just upset, hurting. And he can’t sense his bond, the loss almost crippling. Denta clenching behind his mask, his head turns as Megatron looks up in surprise, chin propped on a fist. Aware of the furious sound he’s making, as he storms off the bridge and through the halls. And he’s going to strangle that self-obsessed, paranoid idiot.

• Aware that whatever upset Soundwave is something he probably doesn’t want to be involved in, Megatron is still tempted to go see the fallout. To see what’s made Soundwave that furious. Venting tiredly, he debates following. Sure that he knows exactly where the communications officer is going and that this is somehow about Starscream. It always is.

Might I recommend ‘Shit’s Gonna Be Ok’ by I Fight Dragons 🥲 I’m sorry, but really. It’ll be fine… Eventually.

#star i love you #but come on man #you should have known better #wonder if reader will ask Soundwave to rebond #and agree to bond with megs

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cafe-of-insomnaics · 6 months ago

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cafe-of-insomnaics · 6 months ago

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GO APOLLO GO

SIC 'EM

EVERYONE LEND HIM YOUR STRENGTH!

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cafe-of-insomnaics · 6 months ago

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Starscream isn't going to be happy on who just joined the family

Shh no one tell megs star is still my favorite

#transformers #megatron #brainrot

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cafe-of-insomnaics · 6 months ago

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Put Out That Cigarette

Pt. 2

DISCLAIMERS: reader is trans-masc, not straight, reactions are based on personal beliefs and experiences, etc

ik that christmas has already passed but this is my lil unwinding from having a bit of a rough one❤️ i hope anybody else who needs it enjoys it too

Previous | Next

If you thought that things would be fine after that first meeting, you were wrong.

So, so, so wrong.

Apparently, being claimed as ‘theirs’ meant that your little cottage became their new hang out spot. And by their, you mean the apparent cassette-bots that the bigger, more angry one carried. Meaning you weren’t wrong in your assumption of that one being a parent, but having three more giant living robots in your home wasn’t something you were prepared for.

At least Christmas wasn’t a complete disaster.

You managed to painstakingly explain to Big Dad Bot—who you then learned was called Soundwave—that you were going to be having people over for a night. And at least he seemed to get the message, because the next morning they were all gone. And you got to clean up, because the two humanoid-looking ones couldn’t not make a mess for one minute, and you were able to rush cooking. You ended up having to buy a pre-cooked rotisserie chicken instead of getting a turkey, but you at least had the excuse of prices being too high to afford it.

That’s one time inflation worked in your favor, you suppose. It still sucks so much ass, though.

And as you wave goodbye to the last car rolling out your driveway and down the road, you sigh deeply. You’re honestly not even sure if the quintuplet will come back, but after having to socialize for an entire day, you’re unsure if you can handle it. But you turn back to go inside, closing the door and taking a breath, rubbing your face to get rid of the bad buzz-fog that’s starting to settle into your bones. Everyone had pitched in with cleaning, but you’re still left with dishes to wash and…

And the lingering emptiness that’s suddenly hitting you like a truck.

It was so loud today. So much talking. People moving and laughing and eating and enjoying food. And for the past few weeks it’s been almost to that level, except it’s mystery alien robots instead of humans, the names of which are still very brand new to you, but hard to forget. Ravage, Rumble, Frenzy, and Laserbeak. All so unique, and more memorable than any human you’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Probably because they’re the only non-human people you’ve ever met.

But now, that’s all gone.

It’s dead silent for once.

Something in you makes you walk quietly down the little hallway, reentering the kitchen without a sound. You don’t even talk to yourself. The lack of noise—of bustle and presence—starts to weigh heavy on your shoulders. And you’re reminded of why you look forward to events like these, even though the cacophony overwhelms you sometimes and the talk grates on your nerves. You just miss people.

Being up in your little cottage, as idyllic as it may be, still leaves you isolated. With a job at home, and living low-cost and by yourself, you only leave to go get groceries or go on a little walk. Not many places to make friends. And being online doesn’t get you many close contacts. Not when you keep to yourself to just have a form of escapism. There’s no old high school connections, no meet-cutes, or destined moments of friendship. Just you, the wildlife, and the sky above.

Some days, you consider if it was even worth moving out to this place. The peacefulness is nice; you love it with your whole being. But… when it’s just you? You, with no one to touch. And not in that way. But just… no one to brush arms with. To bump elbows. Tap knuckles or play fight or hug or hold hands. No one to rest your head against when you’re tired. No one to make you feel warm on your old couch while you watch a movie you want to talk about.

It’s just you. Just. You.

But your somber dishwashing is interrupted by the sound of something breaking, making you whirl around to find the source of the noise. And it turns out to be Rumble, flat on the floor with Ravage languidly stepping over him with an almost exasperated expression. “Sorry boss,” Frenzy grins at you, both him and his brother calling you that despite you not having no rank. “Thought the hinges were tougher than that.” And then he hauls up his brother, already fighting over who gets control of the remote.

You regret introducing them to TV.

You sigh, going back to scrubbing dishes as Laserbeak follows them in, flinching when you hear something clatter. You think for a second that the silence was better, but you know deep down that you don’t.

Anything is better than that oppressive weight that hung around in the air like an illness.

But that doesn’t stop your annoyance from flaring up when you feel a metal beak poke your shoulder, Laserbeak’s head now hovering to watch what you’re doing. You look over, raising a brow as you set a plate in the drying rack. “Who were all those people?” He asks, those bright eyes blinking at you and almost making you squint. You hesitate to answer, now aware that if Laserbeak saw, then the others probably did too. So you weren’t as alone as you thought you were.

And now Soundwave knows who you care about.

You let out a little breath, stepping back to turn off the water and dry your hands. “Family,” you reply, already hearing the big robot bird trail after you like a damn duckling. What makes you so fascinating, you don’t know. But part of you is reminded of when your family dog would herd a person of her choice towards the couch for cuddles, although you know that’s definitely not applicable here, and you doubt it ever will be. “They’re family. That’s all.”

“Family.” Laserbeak parrots, making a ‘humph’ sound before exiting the kitchen to join up with the other three in your living area, having grown bored with watching you. From where you stand you can already hear the twins fighting over what to watch, and their shouting only gets louder when Laserbeak goads them on. The only quiet one is Ravage, but he doesn’t even bother to stop the idiocy.

You’re starting to get a headache.

As quietly as you can, you pour yourself a small glass of cider—you’re not really one for strong alcohol, and nobody brought wine unfortunately—and manage to slip outside. It’s so much more quiet, and you’re almost halfway sure you’re alone. It’s always a gamble. With his size, Soundwave can’t actually enter your home. So half the time when his charges come over, he’s with them, and the other half he isn’t. And you’re thinking that tonight may be one of those nights where he just turns them loose, allowing them to find their ways to you instead of dropping them off.

It seems, though, that you’re wrong tonight.

As soon as you lean against the wall outside, hulking steps come closer, prompting you to look up at the dark shape of Soundwave standing nearby. He looks down at you, that red visor glowing dimly in the night and making him seem all the more ominous. Your shoulders rise, posture stiffening. You don’t know how to feel about him. Sure, him and his little family have been filling that void in your house, giving you that socialization back that you so desperately needed, but you also didn’t get a choice in it. Your feelings were never considered in this equation.

And you doubt they ever will be.

The silence between you two becomes unbearable, though, with him staring down at you without moving an inch. You can hear laughter and clatters from inside, presumably Rumble punching Frenzy again, but it does nothing for the tension in the air out here. So you’re the first to break eye contact, taking a sip from your glass as you huff, trying to seem like you aren’t bothered by his presence. “You got a staring problem,” you comment, looking down at your cider and watching it bubble.

He doesn’t dignify that with a reply, which only makes the silence worse. Now, instead of awkward, it’s sour. Filled with almost a shared disdain for each other that’s building more and more each day, with yours being fueled by his. But there’s a line the two of you won’t cross. There’s no shit-talking. No yelling between you two. And it’s mostly because you’re unwilling to go that far. Not because it’s mean or rude. Of course not. But it’s because you’re incredibly aware of just how powerless you are in this situation. And he’s a giant robot. One wrong word, one wrong move, and your whole life could be gone in a second.

At the very least, Soundwave is aware of that fact too.

But that still leaves you with this prickling quiet, only filled by the chaos the twins are causing inside. You take another drink of your cider, looking to the side now, out into the darkness of the forest. There’s always an anxiety out here once the sun falls. A worry. Some instinctual notion in the back of your mind that something isn’t quite right. That the shadows are hiding a stalker. Or an attacker. More often than not, those boogeymen often—fittingly so—come in the shape of humans. Your brain thinks up some nightmare scenario of a stranger following you home. Of someone walking up to your door with unfamiliar shoes and an unfamiliar face, knowing too much about you and turning the doorknob.

It’s never happened before, but the fear still feels real.

And despite the fact that Soundwave’s presence somewhat alleviates that stress, there’s no getting rid of an anxiety that’s been hardwired into your very being. So your hand tightens on the glass when you hear a quiet sound out in the dark, eyes trained on a shape you think you saw move. You feel like a doe about to become game, always freezing and listening and looking for the threat. Paranoia crawls up your spine like a centipede, both quieting your thoughts and making you have more at the same time.

A low growl noise interrupts your watch, startling you and making you whirl around to look up at Soundwave again.

You notice that his metal hands have curled into fists now—or as much as they could curl anyway. He’s staring down at you still, but that visor is brighter. Intense. Making you feel pinned down, like a sniper taking aim. “Unnecessary,” he says, tone low and snarling and metallic. It curls over your paranoia and strikes it like flint hitting stone, igniting a familiar frustration and taking your attention away from the uncertainty of the dark.

Was he calling you unnecessary? Like you’re just something to get rid of, but he can’t because his kids happen to like you? You grit your teeth, taking a larger swig of your drink. Well. Two can play at that game. “Eyesore.” You mutter in return, gaze turning to the four still inside your cottage. It seems that, somehow, the twins and Laserbeak conked out on the couch, the TV light reflecting back whatever reality tv show they were watching. You can hear Soundwave make a faint venting noise, metallic behind that mask of his.

Or maybe that’s just what he sounds like. You’re not really sure.

Your nose wrinkles the longer you stand out here, hating the fact that his presence fills that hole in you. That you’re growing reliant on the sound and chaos him and the others create. That he doesn’t have that same attachment or need, because he should be torn down to the same level you’re at. You’ve got no clue where he’s from, why he’s here in the first place. You’ve only get hints through prodding the cassettes, and they never wish to get into detail. Always wanting to ‘keep this place clean’, as if they didn’t cause messes daily. And your gut tells you that you’re just setting yourself up for hurt, that this’ll all be temporary until something comes and rips it out from under your feet.

But despite the lack of choice you have, you doubt that you’d really make them leave anyways.

Sighing softly, you squeeze your eyes closed, a headache beginning to pound in your temples. This situation has left you more tangled up than you care to admit. “I’m heading to bed.” You state, setting your glass down on the railing and turning around without bothering to bring it back in, figuring you can deal with it in the morning. But you pause for a moment in the doorway, looking down at the wreckage Rumble caused trying to get in. Remembering the pressure they had alleviated, although it was replaced by this newfound frustration and bitterness. Your shoulders fall, and you brush your fingers over the one hinge still in place.

“Goodnight.”

You whisper those words as fast as possible and walk inside, not quite sure why you even bother to say them in the first place. Maybe it’s an olive branch. Maybe it’s out of a need to please. To be wanted. Or needed. But your head hurts, and you just want to sleep because lately your rest has been dreamless, so you at least get some quiet bliss for what feels like a moment. And you miss the way Soundwave’s head tilts after you’ve gone, those metal fists seeming to relax somewhat before giant fingers carefully lift the small glass you left behind, staring at the glimmering cider inside for far too long. Then it’s suddenly crushed, glass shattering under an action that was just a little too forced.

That red visor turns up to the night sky, crickets filling in for the sounds of your breathing, the tension never having truly left.

#transformers

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cafe-of-insomnaics · 6 months ago

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SO HERE IS THE WHOLE STORY (SO FAR).

I am on my knees begging you to reblog this post and to stop reblogging the original ones I sent out yesterday. This is the complete account with all the most recent info; the other one is just sending people down senselessly panicked avenues that no longer lead anywhere.

IN SHORT

Cliff Weitzman, CEO of Speechify and (aspiring?) voice actor, used AI to scrape thousands of popular, finished works off AO3 to list them on his own for-profit website and in his attached app. He did this without getting any kind of permission from the authors of said work or informing AO3. Obviously.

When fandom at large was made aware of his theft and started pushing back, Weitzman issued a non-apology on the original social media posts—using

his dyslexia;

his intent to implement a tip-system for the plagiarized authors; and

a sudden willingness to take down the work of every author who saw my original social media posts and emailed him individually with a ‘valid’ claim,

as reasons we should allow him to continue monetizing fanwork for his own financial gain.

When we less-than-kindly refused, he took down his ‘apologies’ as well as his website (allegedly—it’s possible that our complaints to his web host, the deluge of emails he received or the unanticipated traffic brought it down, since there wasn’t any sort of official statement made about it), and when it came back up several hours later, all of the work formerly listed in the fan fiction category was no longer there.

THE TAKEAWAYS

1. Cliff Weitzman (aka Ofek Weitzman) is a scumbag with no qualms about taking fanwork without permission, feeding it to AI and monetizing it for his own financial gain;

2. Fandom can really get things done when it wants to, and

3. Our fanworks appear to be hidden, but they’re NOT DELETED from Weitzman’s servers, and independently published, original works are still listed without the authors' permission. We need to hold this man responsible for his theft, keep an eye on both his current and future endeavors, and take action immediately when he crosses the line again.

THE TIMELINE, THE DETAILS, THE SCREENSHOTS (behind the cut)

Sunday night, December 22nd 2024, I noticed an influx in visitors to my fic You & Me & Holiday Wine. When I searched the title online, hoping to find out where they came from, a new listing popped up (third one down, no less):

This listing is still up today, by the way, though now when you follow the link to word-stream, it just brings you to the main site. (Also, to be clear, this was not the cause for the influx of traffic to my fic; word-stream did not link back to the original work anywhere.)

I followed the link to word-stream, where to my horror Y&M&HW was listed in its entirety—though, beyond the first half of the first chapter, behind a paywall—along with a link promising to take me—through an app downloadable on the Apple Store—to an AI-narrated audiobook version. When I searched word-stream itself for my ao3 handle I found both of my multi-chapter fics were listed this way:

Because the tags on my fics (which included genres* and characters, but never the original IPs**) weren’t working, I put ‘Kara Danvers’ into the search bar and discovered that many more supercorp fics (Supergirl TV fandom, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor pairing) were listed.

I went looking online for any mention of word-stream and AI plagiarism (the covers—as well as the ridiculously inflated number of reviews and ratings—made it immediately obvious that AI fuckery was involved), but found almost nothing: only one single Reddit post had been made, and it received (at that time) only a handful of upvotes and no advice.

I decided to make a tumblr post to bring the supercorp fandom up to speed about the theft. I draw as well as write for fandom and I’ve only ever had to deal with art theft—which has a clear set of steps to take depending on where said art was reposted—and I was at a loss regarding where to start in this situation.

After my post went up I remembered Project Copy Knight, which is worth commending for the work they’ve done to get fic stolen from AO3 taken down from monetized AI 'audiobook’ YouTube accounts. I reached out to @echoekhi, asking if they’d heard of this site and whether they could advise me on how to get our works taken down.

While waiting for a reply I looked into Copy Knight’s methods and decided to contact OTW’s legal department:

And then I went to bed.

By morning, tumblr friends @makicarn and @fazedlight as well as a very helpful tumblr anon had seen my post and done some very productive sleuthing:

@echoekhi had also gotten back to me, advising me, as expected, to contact the OTW. So I decided to sit tight until I got a response from them.

That response came only an hour or so later:

Which was 100% understandable, but still disappointing—I doubted a handful of individual takedown requests would accomplish much, and I wasn’t eager to share my given name and personal information with Cliff Weitzman himself, which is unavoidable if you want to file a DMCA.

I decided to take it to Reddit, hoping it would gain traction in the wider fanfic community, considering so many fandoms were affected. My Reddit posts (with the updates at the bottom as they were emerging) can be found here and here.

A helpful Reddit user posted a guide on how users could go about filing a DMCA against word-stream here (to wobbly-at-best results)

A different helpful Reddit user signed up to access insight into word-streams pricing. Comment is here.

Smells unbelievably scammy, right? In addition to those audacious prices—though in all fairness any amount of money would be audacious considering every work listed is accessible elsewhere for free—my dyscalculia is screaming silently at the sight of that completely unnecessary amount of intentionally obscured numbers.

Speaking of which! As soon as the post on r/AO3—and, as a result, my original tumblr post—began taking off properly, sometime around 1 pm, jumpscare! A notification that a tumblr account named @cliffweitzman had commented on my post, and I got a bit mad about the gist of his message :

Fortunately he caught plenty of flack in the comments from other users (truly you should check out the comment section, it is extremely gratifying and people are making tremendously good points), in response to which, of course, he first tried to both reiterate and renegotiate his point in a second, longer comment (which I didn’t screenshot in time so I’m sorry for the crappy notification email formatting):

which he then proceeded to also post to Reddit (this is another Reddit user’s screenshot, I didn’t see it at all, the notifications were moving too fast for me to follow by then)

... where he got a roughly equal amount of righteously furious replies. (Check downthread, they're still there, all the way at the bottom.)

After which Cliff went ahead & deleted his messages altogether.

It’s not entirely clear whether his account was suspended by Reddit soon after or whether he deleted it himself, but considering his tumblr account is still intact, I assume it’s the former. He made a handful of sock puppet accounts to play around with for a while, both on Reddit and Tumblr, only one of which I have a screenshot of, but since they all say roughly the same thing, you’re not missing much:

And then word-stream started throwing a DNS error.

That lasted for a good number of hours, which was unfortunately right around the time that a lot of authors first heard about the situation and started asking me individually how to find out whether their work was stolen too. I do not have that information and I am unclear on the perimeters Weitzman set for his AI scraper, so this is all conjecture: it LOOKS like the fics that were lifted had three things in common:

They were completed works;

They had over several thousand kudos on AO3; and

They were written by authors who had actively posted or updated work over the past year.

If anyone knows more about these perimeters or has info that counters my observation, please let me know!

I finally thought to check/alert evil Twitter during this time, and found out that the news was doing the rounds there already. I made a quick thread summarizing everything that had happened just in case. You can find it here.

I went to Bluesky too, where fandom was doing all the heavy lifting for me already, so I just reskeeted, as you do, and carried on.

Sometime in the very early evening, word-stream went back up—but the fan fiction category was nowhere to be seen. Tentative joy and celebration!***

That’s when several users—the ones who had signed up for accounts to gain intel and had accessed their own fics that way—reported that their work could still be accessed through their history. Relevant Reddit post here.

Sooo—

We’re obviously not done. The fanwork that was stolen by Weitzman may be inaccessible through his website right now, but they aren’t actually gone. And the fact that Weitzman wasn’t willing to get rid of them altogether means he still has plans for them.

This was my final edit on my Reddit post before turning off notifications, and it's pretty much where my head will be at for at least the foreseeable future:

Please feel free to add info in the comments, make your own posts, take whatever action you want to take to protect your work. I only beg you—seriously, I’m on my knees here—to not give up like I saw a handful of people express the urge to do. Keep sharing your creative work and remain vigilant and stay active to make sure we can continue to do so freely. Visit your favorite fics, and the ones you’ve kept in your ‘marked for later’ lists but never made time to read, and leave kudos, leave comments, support your fandom creatives, celebrate podficcers and support AO3. We created this place and it’s our responsibility to keep it alive and thriving for as long as we possibly can.

Also FUCK generative AI. It has NO place in fandom spaces.

THE 'SMALL' PRINT (some of it in all caps):

*Weitzman knew what he was doing and can NOT claim ignorance. One, it’s pretty basic kindergarten stuff that you don’t steal some other kid’s art project and present it as your own only to act surprised when they protest and then tell the victim that they should have told you sooner that they didn’t want their project stolen. And two, he was very careful never to list the IPs these fanworks were based on, so it’s clear he was at least familiar enough with the legalities to not get himself in hot water with corporate lawyers. Fucking over fans, though, he figured he could get away with that.

**A note about the AI that Weitzman used to steal our work: it’s even greasier than it looks at first glance. It’s not just the method he used to lift works off AO3 and then regurgitate onto his own website and app. Looking beyond the untold horrors of his AI-generated cover ‘art’, in many cases these covers attempt to depict something from the fics in question that can’t be gleaned from their summaries alone. In addition, my fics (and I assume the others, as well) were listed with generated genres; tags that did not appear anywhere in or on my fic on AO3 and were sometimes scarily accurate and sometimes way off the mark. I remember You & Me & Holiday Wine had ‘found family’ (100% correct, but not tagged by me as such) and I believe The Shape of Soup was listed as, among others, ‘enemies to friends to lovers’ and ‘love triangle’ (both wildly inaccurate). Even worse, not all the fic listed (as authors on Reddit pointed out) came with their original summaries at all. Often the entire summary was AI-generated. All of these things make it very clear that it was an all-encompassing scrape—not only were our fics stolen, they were also fed word-for-word into the AI Weitzman used and then analyzed to suit Weitzman’s needs. This means our work was literally fed to this AI to basically do with whatever its other users want, including (one assumes) text generation.

***Fan fiction appears to have been made (largely) inaccessible on word-stream at this time, but I’m hearing from several authors that their original, independently published work, which is listed at places like Kindle Unlimited, DOES still appear in word-stream’s search engine. This obviously hurts writers, especially independent ones, who depend on these works for income and, as a rule, don’t have a huge budget or a legal team with oceans of time to fight these battles for them. If you consider yourself an author in the broader sense, beyond merely existing online as a fandom author, beyond concerns that your own work is immediately at risk, DO NOT STOP MAKING NOISE ABOUT THIS.

Again, please, please PLEASE reblog this post instead of the one I sent originally. All the information is here, and it's driving me nuts to see the old ones are still passed around, sending people on wild goose chases.

Thank you all so much.

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