#rights revocation

[as-rethinking-norms]

The Silent Suffering of Our Time: A Stark Look at Mental Health Stigma

In an age where the world openly battles with a plethora of crises, one particularly nefarious struggle simmers beneath the surface, eluding the widespread attention it so desperately requires. It’s the silent suffering endured by countless individuals grappling with severe mental illness, trauma, PTSD, and an array of psychological afflictions. It’s ironic, really. We inhabit a society that…

[snekdood]

im just gonna say im mediterranean and call it a day

[mostlysignssomeportents]

“If buying isn’t owning, piracy isn’t stealing”

20 years ago, I got in a (friendly) public spat with Chris Anderson, who was then the editor in chief of Wired. I'd publicly noted my disappointment with glowing Wired reviews of DRM-encumbered digital devices, prompting Anderson to call me unrealistic for expecting the magazine to condemn gadgets for their DRM:

https://longtail.typepad.com/the_long_tail/2004/12/is_drm_evil.html

I replied in public, telling him that he'd misunderstood. This wasn't an issue of ideological purity – it was about good reviewing practice. Wired was telling readers to buy a product because it had features x, y and z, but at any time in the future, without warning, without recourse, the vendor could switch off any of those features:

https://memex.craphound.com/2004/12/29/cory-responds-to-wired-editor-on-drm/

I proposed that all Wired endorsements for DRM-encumbered products should come with this disclaimer:

WARNING: THIS DEVICE’S FEATURES ARE SUBJECT TO REVOCATION WITHOUT NOTICE, ACCORDING TO TERMS SET OUT IN SECRET NEGOTIATIONS. YOUR INVESTMENT IS CONTINGENT ON THE GOODWILL OF THE WORLD’S MOST PARANOID, TECHNOPHOBIC ENTERTAINMENT EXECS. THIS DEVICE AND DEVICES LIKE IT ARE TYPICALLY USED TO CHARGE YOU FOR THINGS YOU USED TO GET FOR FREE — BE SURE TO FACTOR IN THE PRICE OF BUYING ALL YOUR MEDIA OVER AND OVER AGAIN. AT NO TIME IN HISTORY HAS ANY ENTERTAINMENT COMPANY GOTTEN A SWEET DEAL LIKE THIS FROM THE ELECTRONICS PEOPLE, BUT THIS TIME THEY’RE GETTING A TOTAL WALK. HERE, PUT THIS IN YOUR MOUTH, IT’LL MUFFLE YOUR WHIMPERS.

Wired didn't take me up on this suggestion.

But I was right. The ability to change features, prices, and availability of things you've already paid for is a powerful temptation to corporations. Inkjet printers were always a sleazy business, but once these printers got directly connected to the internet, companies like HP started pushing out "security updates" that modified your printer to make it reject the third-party ink you'd paid for:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Now, this scam wouldn't work if you could just put things back the way they were before the "update," which is where the DRM comes in. A thicket of IP laws make reverse-engineering DRM-encumbered products into a felony. Combine always-on network access with indiscriminate criminalization of user modification, and the enshittification will follow, as surely as night follows day.

This is the root of all the right to repair shenanigans. Sure, companies withhold access to diagnostic codes and parts, but codes can be extracted and parts can be cloned. The real teeth in blocking repair comes from the law, not the tech. The company that makes McDonald's wildly unreliable McFlurry machines makes a fortune charging franchisees to fix these eternally broken appliances. When a third party threatened this racket by reverse-engineering the DRM that blocked independent repair, they got buried in legal threats:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/20/euthanize-rentier-enablers/#cold-war

Everybody loves this racket. In Poland, a team of security researchers at the OhMyHack conference just presented their teardown of the anti-repair features in NEWAG Impuls locomotives. NEWAG boobytrapped their trains to try and detect if they've been independently serviced, and to respond to any unauthorized repairs by bricking themselves:

https://mamot.fr/@q3k@hackerspace.pl/111528162905209453

Poland is part of the EU, meaning that they are required to uphold the provisions of the 2001 EU Copyright Directive, including Article 6, which bans this kind of reverse-engineering. The researchers are planning to present their work again at the Chaos Communications Congress in Hamburg this month – Germany is also a party to the EUCD. The threat to researchers from presenting this work is real – but so is the threat to conferences that host them:

https://www.cnet.com/tech/services-and-software/researchers-face-legal-threats-over-sdmi-hack/

20 years ago, Chris Anderson told me that it was unrealistic to expect tech companies to refuse demands for DRM from the entertainment companies whose media they hoped to play. My argument – then and now – was that any tech company that sells you a gadget that can have its features revoked is defrauding you. You're paying for x, y and z – and if they are contractually required to remove x and y on demand, they are selling you something that you can't rely on, without making that clear to you.

But it's worse than that. When a tech company designs a device for remote, irreversible, nonconsensual downgrades, they invite both external and internal parties to demand those downgrades. Like Pavel Chekov says, a phaser on the bridge in Act I is going to go off by Act III. Selling a product that can be remotely, irreversibly, nonconsensually downgraded inevitably results in the worst person at the product-planning meeting proposing to do so. The fact that there are no penalties for doing so makes it impossible for the better people in that meeting to win the ensuing argument, leading to the moral injury of seeing a product you care about reduced to a pile of shit:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/25/moral-injury/#enshittification

But even if everyone at that table is a swell egg who wouldn't dream of enshittifying the product, the existence of a remote, irreversible, nonconsensual downgrade feature makes the product vulnerable to external actors who will demand that it be used. Back in 2022, Adobe informed its customers that it had lost its deal to include Pantone colors in Photoshop, Illustrator and other "software as a service" packages. As a result, users would now have to start paying a monthly fee to see their own, completed images. Fail to pay the fee and all the Pantone-coded pixels in your artwork would just show up as black:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/28/fade-to-black/#trust-the-process

Adobe blamed this on Pantone, and there was lots of speculation about what had happened. Had Pantone jacked up its price to Adobe, so Adobe passed the price on to its users in the hopes of embarrassing Pantone? Who knows? Who can know? That's the point: you invested in Photoshop, you spent money and time creating images with it, but you have no way to know whether or how you'll be able to access those images in the future. Those terms can change at any time, and if you don't like it, you can go fuck yourself.

These companies are all run by CEOs who got their MBAs at Darth Vader University, where the first lesson is "I have altered the deal, pray I don't alter it further." Adobe chose to design its software so it would be vulnerable to this kind of demand, and then its customers paid for that choice. Sure, Pantone are dicks, but this is Adobe's fault. They stuck a KICK ME sign to your back, and Pantone obliged.

This keeps happening and it's gonna keep happening. Last week, Playstation owners who'd bought (or "bought") Warner TV shows got messages telling them that Warner had walked away from its deal to sell videos through the Playstation store, and so all the videos they'd paid for were going to be deleted forever. They wouldn't even get refunds (to be clear, refunds would also be bullshit – when I was a bookseller, I didn't get to break into your house and steal the books I'd sold you, not even if I left some cash on your kitchen table).

Sure, Warner is an unbelievably shitty company run by the single most guillotineable executive in all of Southern California, the loathsome David Zaslav, who oversaw the merger of Warner with Discovery. Zaslav is the creep who figured out that he could make more money cancelling completed movies and TV shows and taking a tax writeoff than he stood to make by releasing them:

https://aftermath.site/there-is-no-piracy-without-ownership

Imagine putting years of your life into making a program – showing up on set at 5AM and leaving your kids to get their own breakfast, performing stunts that could maim or kill you, working 16-hour days during the acute phase of the covid pandemic and driving home in the night, only to have this absolute turd of a man delete the program before anyone could see it, forever, to get a minor tax advantage. Talk about moral injury!

But without Sony's complicity in designing a remote, irreversible, nonconsensual downgrade feature into the Playstation, Zaslav's war on art and creative workers would be limited to material that hadn't been released yet. Thanks to Sony's awful choices, David Zaslav can break into your house, steal your movies – and he doesn't even have to leave a twenty on your kitchen table.

The point here – the point I made 20 years ago to Chris Anderson – is that this is the foreseeable, inevitable result of designing devices for remote, irreversible, nonconsensual downgrades. Anyone who was paying attention should have figured that out in the GW Bush administration. Anyone who does this today? Absolute flaming garbage.

Sure, Zaslav deserves to be staked out over an anthill and slathered in high-fructose corn syrup. But save the next anthill for the Sony exec who shipped a product that would let Zaslav come into your home and rob you. That piece of shit knew what they were doing and they did it anyway. Fuck them. Sideways. With a brick.

Meanwhile, the studios keep making the case for stealing movies rather than paying for them. As Tyler James Hill wrote: "If buying isn't owning, piracy isn't stealing":

https://bsky.app/profile/tylerjameshill.bsky.social/post/3kflw2lvam42n

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/08/playstationed/#tyler-james-hill

Image: Alan Levine (modified) https://pxhere.com/en/photo/218986

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[tribalephemeral]

Revoke

The superego all unchangedThe limit of life was discoveredThe limit of life was distraughtNot to be seen, he lived out his lifeYour pieces were falling to shardsYour shards were falling to splintersUngranted, revoke the rightsRevoke what is true and holyRevoke what you knew and what didn’tRevoke the penalties and pricesRevoke what lies in your heart From my 2017 book Synaptic Syntactic available…

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

The unfortunate thing about television production from the 1960s is,

the writers usually retained the rights to the serials they wrote, meaning their estates can revoke the rights to rebroadcast their works in the future.

[queers-gambit]

When The World Seems So Cruel

prompt: ( requested ) Billy knows something's bothering his girl, so, he follows his instincts and checks on her - family, friends, and slutty cheerleaders in bikinis be damned.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

word count: 5.1k+

warnings: cursing, smut 'cause why not, boys being assholes 'cause they're losers, misogyny, toxic / abusive / neglectful family, description of background violence, angst, did Cherry really write it if there wasn't a helluva lot of projection and need for revocation of internet access?

"Miss Cahill? I'm sorry to interrupt," you half-smiled at your math professor, "but I was just wondering if you still had my test? I never got mine back."

"Right," she cleared her throat, glancing around your body to see most of the class empty at that point. "I wanted to talk to you about that," she paused to pull out your test from a manilla folder. "I was very shocked to grade this under your name, honey, you're usually such a well-focused and high-achievin' student, I mean, you're on track for the Nat Scholarship! So, to see this... Was shockin', it's... Not your best work," she winced, handing the packet over.

You blinked in shock, frowning as anxiety mounted in your chest when you saw the glaring F in red marker. You mumbled in embarrassment, "I guess I've just been off my game..."

"Honey," Miss Cahill sighed in her light country accent, leaning on her desk with both fists so your eyes met hers, "I can always tell when one of my students is goin' through somethin' at home."

You froze, shaking your head, "No, no, it's not... It's not so bad."

"What's goin' on?"

You shrugged, "I've just been... Really tired," you decided on excusing, hoping beyond hope it was enough.

It wasn't, of course it wasn't. Miss Cahill just sighed and offered, "I can let you retake the test next week - but only after you go see the guidance counselor."

"Right... Um, yeah, okay, yeah, sounds good; um, thanks, Miss Cahill."

You made an escape, distracted by the third failing test you received this week; nearly barreling straight into a meaty, solid chest. "Woah, hey, no need to run 'round lookin' for the man of your dreams, I'm right here, doll," Billy teased, hands grabbing your upper arms to steady you. "What's got you inna rush, baby? You know I pick you up after this class."

You smiled in brief distraction, "Yeah, sorry, baby, I was just thinking about this essay coming up. Hi," you offered, stretching up on your toes to kiss him in greeting. "How're you?"

He half-smirked, "I'm good, you know Mr. Brunson's got a stick up his ass as usual."

"Mhm. As usual, and totally has nothing to do with you provoking him," you teased, latching onto his waist as you shoved your test deep in your shoulder-bag. You neared his locker, and you managed to choke out, "Hey, um... Y-You wanna get outta here?"

Billy offered you a look of mild confusion, smirking with a strange laugh, "You wanna ditch school?"

"Maybe."

"Why?"

"I'm just tired," you offered meekly, "I feel like I haven't slept in a week."

Billy lead you up to his locker, hand on your waist to keep you close as he mused, "This feels like a setup."

"It's not, I promise."

He yanked the metal door open, "Uh-huh. You told me when I met you that I'd have to practically kidnap you to get you to skip class. Huh? 'Member all that? All them lectures you gave me 'bout the importance of goin' t'class if I wanna do anything after this shithole?"

"Yeah, but things change, Bee."

Billy's face dropped, shoving his books into his open locker before turning, leaning his shoulder on the locker next to his, arms crossed as he stared at you. "What's wrong?" He questioned sharply.

"Billy, I'm just tired."

"No, it's something else. What's wrong? What's goin' on?"

You sighed, "You know what? It's okay, nevermind, I actually promised Eddie that I'd help him make those banners for SGA during lunch today, so," you glanced around, "I'm gonna go."

"Nah, baby, hol' up, I ain't mean - "

"I know, handsome," you promised softly, nodding as you reached for his waist to give a squeeze and keep him close. "I just forgot I told a friend I'd help them out, so, I'll just see you after, yeah?"

One hand rose to pet over your cheek, sighing, "You sure you're good? You don't look okay, sugar."

"I'm good," you nodded, deflating into his embrace and hearing him chuckle. "I'm just stretched thin this week, probably shouldn't make promises to my delinquent friends with all the college drama to worry about."

"What'd Munson do this time to only get banner-duty? Huh?"

"Probably got caught skipping or something," you mumbled against his pectoral; inhaling the scent of his mall-bought cologne and finding it a refreshing change from the CVS-brand he used when you first met. "School did something right by makin' everyone in detention serve the SGA for all their shit."

"Definitely got me to shape up," he joked, pecking the top of your head before finishing, "but I mostly missed out on time with you."

"Hey... I was thinking, maybe I can come over this weekend? Keep Max company, maybe keep Neil at bay? Can have a sleepover, too, if you want."

Now Billy's head cocked and his expression hardened, "The fuck you wanna come over for? You know how tense shit gets - "

"Billy."

"Nah, you're not makin' sense, pretty girl," he snapped, pulling back to stare down at you. "What's going on with you? You don't wanna be at home or something? The fuck's goin' on that's so bad you'd rather be at my place?"

You felt tongue tied, but the bell rang shrilly and literally saved you from needing to answer. "Shit, I gotta run, baby. I'll find you later, okay?" You promised, lifting onto your toes to kiss him, promising, "I love you."

He frowned, grumbling, "Yeah, love you, too." He watched you vacate the hall, his mind basically going blank to all other thought beside you. The entire lunch period, he sat on the hood of his car, chain smoking, wondering where he went wrong; what he did to upset you; what could be going on and most importantly, why you couldn't say anything to him about it.

However, after lunch, Billy found you in the library's designated SGA room and thought you appeared ten times as relaxed, laughing with Eddie Munson. When the punk caught Billy's eye, he nodded in respect; gesturing for you to look, and your head turned with a smile. You parted from Eddie and trotted up to Billy, feeling relieved when he grabbed you in a possessive hold; searing his lips to yours.

"Hi," you giggled.

"You seem happy."

"Kinda hard to be in a bad mood around Eddie."

"I can see," he lead you away. He wanted to bring back up about whatever was bothering you, but didn't; fearing ruining your joyful mood. Instead, his fingers just tangled with yours and you entered history together.

What should've been a decently peaceful class turned into a state of confusion for you and Billy when the intercom kicked on, the front office asking for your presence with the principal. Billy glared at the speaker box as you cast him a look of doubt, both confused by the summons; being all too used to them calling his name instead. All of history passed miserably; Billy alone without his favorite person to keep him on track and becoming antsy the longer you were gone. When you didn't return by the end of class, he grabbed anything you left and begrudgingly went to the last two classes of the day.

When the final bell rang, Billy waited for you at his car for a solid 25 minutes with several cigarettes being burned, but when you still didn't show, he grew worried. So, he stored everything in his Camaro, not needing to worry about his sister because Max got a ride home with her new bestie, Jane, and her father, Jim Hopper, and stormed through the school. Anger radiated off his very being, nearly stomping his steps, and just before he got to the front lobby, he saw you exiting the office.

You didn't notice him at first, and for a moment, Billy thought you were going to hurl whatever was on your stomach as you held a few pieces of paper in shaking hands. "Baby," he called your attention, finding your eyes light up at the sight of him. "The hell's goin' on? You were gone the rest of the day, I got worried."

"Yeah, it was some shit wrong with my college applications, but we got it straightened out," you lied, stepping into his embrace. "I'm sorry I worried you, handsome."

He met your lips in a kiss, promising, "Not your fault. C'mon, day's over, our weekend can start once we get the hell outta here."

"Hmm," you hummed dreamily. "Lemme go to my locker and we can get gone."

Billy didn't mind waiting, and when you were done at your locker, he escorted you to his car; only a few students still lingering after hours. He opened your passenger door, winking at you, then quickly jogged to his side and slid in. "C'mere," he breathed, reaching for your cheek instantly; hand sliding along the back of your neck and bringing you in close.

You moaned when Billy's lips molded to yours; all but instantly salivating when his tongue tangled with your own in a messy dance. You had a few rules about PDA, especially in school; but being in his car was neural territory and Billy needed a way to expel his neediness. Praising God for making today steadily warm and that you wore a skirt, you were ready to cry when Billy's hand came down to grip the meat of your thigh.

"Billy," you rushed when his hand traveled under your skirt to ghost over your panties.

"Nobody's here t'watch," he smirked. "C'mon, lemme do this for you, pretty girl. You don't wanna go home yet, right? Ain't got some curfew?"

"Nope," you surged forward to slam your lips to his, moaning when his hand now confidently pet your panties as your legs spread all the wider to encourage him.

"Good girl," he praised quickly, skimming the apex of your thigh to hook your panties and pull them to the side. "Mhm," he hummed with a cocky smirk, "I knew you liked getting fucked in public. Feel how fuckin' wet you are - shit, Goddamn."

You mewled; tension mounting as you tightened up from the stoking pleasure. "Billy - " You gasped when he plunged his fingers into your cunt, easily sliding in due to your arousal. "Ohhh, fuck," you breathed, eyes shut and mouth agape in pleasure, "needed this - needed this so bad. Just needed you."

"You'll get so much more, baby."

You whimpered, "Now, please. Please, please, please."

He smirked, "Wanna get in the back or ride me, princess? Huh? Tell me what you need."

Your eyes locked with his as you thought it over, but then, you smirked as you readjust the passenger seat and turned so your ass was propped up. It gave him a full view of your messy cunt; panties askew from his previous motions and fluid rubbed all around. Billy reached out with one hand to plunge his pointer and middle finger back into your core, the other wrangling open his belt, button, and jean zipper in frantic movements.

He shimmied from the garments and sat up, following your lead in adjusting his seat. He instantly mounted behind you over the center console, licking his palm and stroking his himself to life as he drug his cockhead up and down your wetness.

Billy reached out to move your panties once more, line himself up, and plunge full-hilt. You gasped and grunted, letting yourself be shoved forward a little to catch on the seat; Billy hissing between his teeth as your warmth enveloped him in a sticky-wetness. "Hang on, doll, ah, fuck, there we go," he chuckled, readjusting his position before starting to move his hips to create the most delicious friction.

"Fuuuuck, Billy!" You whined when he held both your hips with only one hand keeping your panties to the side.

"Needed this, too," he chuckled. "Good girl, fuckin' taking me so well. You'd let me do anything, wouldn't you? Fuck you however I want to, huh? Yeah," he lifted one hand to smack the meat of your bottom, creating a ripple; liking the way you twitched and delivered two more, finishing, "I know my pretty baby would let me do whatever I fucking wanted with her - " he clenched his teeth, hips punctuating his words, "'cause she was fuckin' made for me."

"Yes," you moaned, mind blank from all the previous drama of your day; ready to weep like a bitch in heat, "anything, baby, yes, yes, yes, anything you want."

"Good girl," he laughed ruefully; picking up the pace to fuck you outta your mind as he ensured you felt every throbbing vein of his engorged cock. He chased his own orgasm as you were charged with your own; hand reaching for your clit to start applying pressure in tight circles. "Let me cum in you, sweetheart. C'mon, baby, tell me I can cum in you - in this pretty pussy - in my pretty pussy - lemme fuckin' cum in you."

"Billy, fuck - yes, baby, yes! Yes, harder, please, fuck me harder and you can cum wherever you want."

"Even your ass?"

"Yes, Daddy, yes, anything you want! Fuck my ass full of your cum, please, fuck, I need it! Whatever you want, I need. Please!"

Billy's golden curls stuck to his forehead and neck, entire car rocking with frantic, animalistic movements - but anyone lingering around the school to see it wasn't surprised. Billy felt like he went faster than usual, that he got a little rougher; but he was nearing his end and it was hard to keep pace. When you cried out and legs shook from your flash-bang of an orgasm, he knew you had finished and could focus on his own; never pulling out.

He'd fuck your ass later.

"Fuck!" Billy came with a shout; shooting hot, salty, opaque white ropes of cum into your quivering cunt. He stuttered his hips into the meat of your ass, balls contracting; emptying himself inside you as you relished in the feeling of his warmth flooding your lower belly. He chuckled, mocking, "Might just have to get you off that pill so I can get you fucking pregnant already."

"Whatever Daddy wants."

Billy laughed as he pulled out of you slowly, instantly turning again to crash into his driver seat. You went a little limp but managed to turn over, both panting as the windows were fogged up; but aired out when Billy rolled two down to light up his cigarette. "So," he spoke through his inhale and deep breaths, "you wanna tell me whats wrong now?"

"Hmm?"

"Why're you so distracted? Distant? Even with me?"

You felt panicked by the confrontation, resorting to your last line of defense. "Just dealing with a lot," you answered as your legs spread as wide as you could to start toying with your beaten-pussy. He watched with a stoic expression as you used your fingers to stuff his dripping-cum back inside you. "'S been stressful, guess I just had a bad day," you whined lightly, still playing.

"Fuck's sake."

"Hmm?" You feigned innocence.

"You're just askin' for it, huh?"

"Maybe," you pouted, "or maybe I just need your cum - "

"Cut it out, we gotta go," he snickered, turning the key in the ignition. "Your dad hates me enough, can't have you late for family dinner."

You went quiet as your thoughts were plagued with a screaming voice that begged Billy to just read your mind and understand what was wrong - why you were so upset, so panicked. But you knew better. So, you flipped down your skirt and readjusted yourself, sucking your fingers of his cum before letting his hand tangle with one of yours on your lap.

"Maybe you'd wanna come over tonight?" You asked softly. "Go see a movie or something?"

"You never wanna go out on Friday nights," he chuckled, but something felt terribly wrong about the notion. "You do homework and study on Friday and Sunday nights, you said it was a relationship rule, huh?"

"Things can change," you pouted.

"I told Tommy and Ryan I'd hang with them and the guys tonight," Billy spoke slowly. "But I can cancel if you - "

"No, no, don't," you shook your head, "go see your friends. 'Cause I'll see you in the morning, right?"

"Right."

"And I can stay the night... Right?"

Billy nodded, "Anytime you want, baby, yeah."

"Okay, cool," you spoke softly, deflating in his seat when he pulled up to your house. "Um..." You stared up at the home as if it were haunted. "Do you wanna come in for a little?"

His head tilted and brows furrowed, "I have to pick up Max from Hopper's, remember?"

"Right!" You gaped, but didn't move.

"What's wrong?" He asked with a hardened tone, making you gulp lightly. "You don't wanna go in?"

"I could, like, just go with you?"

"Baby, the fuck's going on? Know I hate repeating myself and shit, so just fucking tell me - maybe I can fucking help."

"Nothing, no, it's just, it's nothing, I'm sorry, I just - I'm sorry," you chuckled. "Guess I'm PMSing and feel clingy or something."

He only hummed as you leaned over to kiss him in parting. Both promised you love each other before you got out, jogging up the driveway and opening the front door; pausing to wave at him and then disappear in the house.

"Yo, dickhead! Hey! Grab me a beer!" Tommy Hagan called to Ryan Sheen as he went to rummage in his uncle's basement fridge. "And grab Billy one, too!"

"Nah, I'm good," Billy refused, glancing at the can in his hand. It was still half-full. He didn't feel like drinking after having time to sit and think about your behavior the past few days, worrying about you more than he wanted to get drunk.

"What?" Tommy laughed obnoxiously, smacking his teeth after. "You don't want a second? What's wrong with you, got some test you gotta study for?" He laughed at his own joke. In Tommy H.'s mind, only fucking losers study on Friday nights.

"Nah," Billy eased, setting his can down as he felt his irritation flare. He was annoyed at Tommy, sure, but also by the idea that something was wrong with you and you didn't trust him enough to say anything. "I actually gotta go, you guys," Billy stood.

"What?" Now Ryan scoffed, slapping a can of beer to Tommy's open hand. "You're not serious, dude! We've only been here, fuckin' what? Half an hour, bro!" He sucked his teeth in annoyance, rolling his eyes, "C'mon, we were going to Alicia's pool party tonight - you're supposed to give us a ride! The fuck's more important than the slutty cheerleaders in bikinis?"

"That Maria chick's been all over you, too," Tommy laughed. "You can't tell us a single thing that's better than Maria Thomas, all soaped up, in that tiny bikini she wore for the car wash. It's all our wet dreams come to life, Billy, you can't seriously consider missing that!"

"Not everybody's desperate to see Maria's tit-job. You know what? Whatever, man, I gotta go see my girl," he tugged his jean jacket on, tugging his blonde curls out of the collar.

Ryan rolled his eyes as Tommy laughed, "No way. Nuh-uh. You're seriously going to fuckin' ditchin' us for that chick?"

"Man, fuck you, guys, I'm ditching your dumbasses for my girl," Billy snapped. "Better what your fucking mouths and how you talk about her."

"Whatever, man. You're just whipped."

"She got you on some leash or some shit? Got you on a curfew like she's your mommy?" Ryan rolled his eyes, groaning, "Seriously, dude, we only see you at practice now!"

"Look, I just know something's up with her, so, I gotta check on - "

"So, what!? She ain't even tell you why she's pissed off? C'mon, man, that is such a stupid fuckin' tactic chicks use to get guys to go crawling back to their spoiled asses! Bitches do the pettiest shit to get us to suck up to them and shit."

Billy turned and easily caught Tommy by the collar of his shirt before he could even let go of his beer can, slamming the loudmouth into the wall as the aluminum can clattered. Ryan and the two other irrelevant guys left in the basement could only freeze, knowing Billy Hargrove's aggression and not wanting to become part of the receiving end.

"I told you to watch your fucking mouth," Billy seethed.

"Fuck offuva me!" Ryan pushed Billy's arms off. "She's just some bitch, bro, you've already fucked most of the school - what's so different with her?"

Billy scoffed, nodding in amusement as he backed off a few steps. "You know? If I wanna go hang with my girl instead of you deadbeat dickheads, 's exactly what I'm gonna do. Not my fault y'all ain't shit and don't know what it means to keep a chick happy."

"Fuck off, Billy! You're so fucking pussy whipped!" Tommy barked. "Ditching us for that crybaby! Dude, it's not even real! She didn't even tell you whatever she's all upset about! You just had a feeling, so, just sit the fuck down, finish your drink, down a fuckin' second beer, and then let's go to the party! See some bitches that are actually worth seeing!"

Billy shook his head, "I ever hear y'all talkin' about my girl like this again," he chuckled dryly, "might be the last time y'all can even form words. Fuck yourselves," he sneered.

Billy didn't hesitate to storm out of the room, ignoring their jeers and sneers about him being "pussy whipped" and all their complaints about him skipping out on being their ride to "the hottest party of the year." The door slammed behind him, rattling a few windows; making a beeline for his Camaro and pausing at the trunk. He found a pair of your sports shoes you'd eventually need, grabbed them in a white-knuckle grip, then got in the driver's seat and peeled away.

When Billy got to your house, he noticed the lights in your bedroom were barely turned on; knowing you didn't like overhead lighting and probably had a string of lights plugged in. On the contrary, the rest of the house seemed wide awake - every single downstairs light turned on. He grabbed your shoes and his school books (left in his backseat) and got out of his parked car, approach the front door, and paused when a barrage of voices suddenly met his ears. He froze.

The screams were full of hate, and while he couldn't make out distinct words, he heard both your mother and father's elevated voices. It was relentless, it was full of anger and hate and confusion and accusations and Billy wasn't sure how long he stood there with his fist raised. With a deep breath, Billy finally knocked at the door... Then again... Then again... And again, using the metal knocker to bang rapidly. He heard the voices lower and stopped knocking; taking a step back, then waited with his best look of indifferent innocence.

When the door ripped open, Billy was greeted by your angry-looking mother, who didn't look at who was at the door when she snarled, "What the fuck do you want!?"

"Uh, yeah, um, hi, ma'am..." Billy waved awkwardly.

"Oh, Billy," she gasped. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize it was you, sweetie. What's wrong? What - What time - ? Do you know what time it is?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry to interrupt so late, but nothing is wrong," he assured. "I just know your daughter's a little forgetful when there's a test comin' up," he chuckled, holding up the shoes and his books, "and she promised to help me nail this essay for my college portfolio... Did I use that correctly? Portfolio? She's always tryna broaden my vocabulary," he chuckled smoothly.

She smiled warmly, another victim to his charming influence, "Sure, honey, yes, of course, it's Friday or something, right, of course you can come in. C'mon, c'mon in." She stepped out the way to let Billy enter into the foyer. "Baby Girl's just upstairs in her room," she gestured with a wine glass Billy just noticed towards the staircase as she used your childhood nickname. They paused at the grand bannister, her eyes rolling when there came the muffled pounding of a bass-line from some song turned up to the max. "She's always blasting her music now adays, it'll make her deaf," your mother scoffed, taking a long sip, then waved him up. "Go on, get up there, good luck on your essay."

"Thank you, Miss Lady," he purred with a small smirk; nodding as he then watched her retreat to the sitting room, and barely a moment later, your father was exiting the kitchen.

"Billy," he greeted stiffly, glass of scotch in hand.

"Sir," Billy replied with a nod of respect, stepping out of his shoes (per household rules) to leave your parents at the front of the house's sitting room; beginning his ascent to the second level. He'd been there before, so, locating your room was like muscle memory; knocking when he approached the door and pausing when he only heard blaring music.

Another knock, no answer. So Billy opened your door.

You were sat on the ground, back against your bed, record player spinning, and the window you faced cracked open to waft the cigarette smoke out. His heart clenched when he saw you, your sadness nearly tangible as light made your tear-tracks on your cheeks glitter. "Baby," Billy spoke softly, watching you jump in shock. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, I tried to knock."

You nodded absently, "Music's on."

"Yeah, 's a good song," he allotted as he shut your door securely and asked, "want it locked?"

"Doesn't lock," you answered robotically, looking back out the window.

"Can I turn the music down, baby, please? Real hard t'hear you."

You nodded and he lowered the volume - but when he did, he understood why you had it so high. Your parents could be heard arguing downstairs, and even with an entire floor between you, it was still loud. So, he turned the music up just a little, frowned, and moved beside you, grunting lightly as his tight jeans constricted while he sat.

"Can I?" He asked, pointing at the cigarette. You handed it over mutely, your usual quip of "it's may I, not can I," nowhere to be heard. After two puffs, he meant to hand it back, but instead, you just fell into his side as if all energy you had to keep you up was depleted; a nearly drowned-out whimper emitting. Billy saw the coffee mug you had been using as an ashtray and dropped the cigarette instantly, using both arms to tug you into his lap.

Billy held you in a fetal position, gently and slowly squeezing you into his chest as he needed to feel you close; and you evidently needed to feel physical love. Billy had to gulp harshly when he felt your tears soak his shirt first, then the jerking of your shoulders; quivering of your body. This long week had finally caught up.

"Baby," he sighed, kissing your forehead. And instead of asking the idiotic and repetitive 'are you okay?', Billy instead just asked in a hush, "Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?"

Through your tears, you answered in a hiccuping-hush, "I didn't want it to be real."

Billy just sighed again, pulling you in tighter so you set under his chin. He let you simply rest, he just wanted to feel close to you... But something caught his eye. About three feet from you was your slumped, turned-over backpack; spewing contents as if it had been tossed aside in a fit of rage. What was interesting, though, was the crumpled pieces of paper; at least one sporting a huge, uppercase F circled in red marker.

"Yeah?" He whispered, sighing as he wanted to bite his tongue but couldn't. "Seems real enough to fuck up your grades though, huh?"

"I can retake the tests."

"You're gonna have to study."

"I know... 'S kinda hard to study here, though. Can't really focus on anything when all that's, you know, going on."

"No shit, Sherlock."

You snorted through your tears, "Don't make me laugh, I'm sad."

He smirked, "Yeah, yeah, all right. Listen, I'll just... We'll go to the library for tonight, and after, we can go to my place. How's that?"

"Thought you weren't allowed overnight visitors?"

"I'm not, but sneakin' inna my place can't be worse than tryna focus while here, right? Gotta be better than listening to this shit."

You nodded against his neck as a distant glass shattered, making you relent, "Touché."

"C'mon," he decided, kissing your forehead again, "pack a bag, baby. You're comin' with me - don't gotta stay here. Not tonight. Gonna come stay with me."

You pulled back just enough to ask, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, pretty girl," he smirked, caressing your cheek. "Might even let you do that green face goop thing you love bothering me about."

"It's an avocado face mask, and when your skin is literally glowing, you can thank me then."

Billy grinned down at you, taking the moment to swoop down and connect your lips in a long kiss; breathing each other in. When a second shatter sounded from downstairs, you flinched away, but Billy was quick to hush, "Hey, hey, hey," and when your eyes met his, he assured, "you're safe with me. Always safe with me." You nodded, tears shining in your eyes. "And you don't ever have to hide these parts of you - not from me. Never from me. I love you, pretty girl," he whispered, "and all parts that make you exactly who you are. Family included."

"I don't deserve you," you whispered.

"Nah, what you don't deserve is dealing with this shit. So, c'mon, get a bag together. We'll come back for what you need later, but get something together for the weekend."

You thanked him with a kiss, and while you got your things together, Billy mutely reached out to examine the pages in his grasp. He sighed, noting the three different failing tests and knew he had to "step up" his "boyfriend game" if he truly wanted to help you; and for the first time, he knew, without any selfish motives, he honestly did. He figured, for all you've done for him, providing you with something akin to a safe environment was a drop in the bucket; shoving those tests back into your school bag, standing, and helping you gather the last of your necessities.

Who needed slutty cheerleaders in soaped-up bikinis when this, right here, was what true love was? Shockingly, not Billy Hargrove.

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

[finsubbybedwetter]

Good afternoon, please have a seat. I am an administration officer acting under the authority of the Male Reproductive Rights Reform Act. You are here today to receive official notice that your MRRRA standing has been lowered to Restricted/Developmentally-impaired in response to the recent update in your medical history.

Please confirm for the record that you recently reported a bedwetting episode to you doctor. Thank you. I presume that you were not aware that male adult bedwetting has recently been reclassified as a prohibitive developmental impairment. Yes, we are aware that you only reported a single incident. However, as your medical records indicate that you experienced frequent bedwetting throughout your teens, we consider this episode to be indicative of relapse into chronic, habitual bedwetting, which is grounds for immediate corrective action.

You have been enrolled into the Adult General Urinary Incontinence Correction Program at a male remedial facility. More commonly referred to informally as the toilet training program. Yes, we understand that you have no history of full incontinence, but as bedwetting was only recently recognized as a prohibitive condition, we do not currently have a remedial program more specific to your needs. Also, studies have shown that daytime wetting is disproportionately common and often under-reported in bedwetters. We believe this program will be a good fit for you.

You will undergo corrective therapy and continuous assessment over a six week period. The corrective component of the program consists of hypnotherapy and severe negative reinforcement. You will be diapered at all times during your stay at the facility, and fitted with a moisture-sensing alarm to ensure accurate record keeping of wetting incidents for assessment and disciplinary purposes. I believe you had some experience with this kind of alarm in your teens so this should be quite familiar to you. Yes, you will be diapered at all times, not only for bed. Please understand that program rules do not permit us to make any exceptions for your case.

Bathroom visits will be restricted to a fixed schedule and fluid intake will be managed to ensure that you receive an accurate assessment. In order to keep our assessment false positive rate within MRRRA guidelines, the bathroom schedule and fluid intake minimums have been tuned to be challenging for an adult male with average bladder control and extremely challenging for impaired individuals such as yourself. We have also found that stressing program participants in this way boosts the efficacy of the negative reinforcement component of the program.

At the conclusion of the program, your assessment results will be reviewed by committee and you will be prescribed assessment outcomes. Outcomes vary widely. The more severe outcomes include permanent revocation of reproductive rights, castration, gender reassignment, and in instances involving developmental impairment such as yours, revocation of legal adulthood.

Should you receive a favorable assessment, your standing will be lifted to Qualified-unrestricted/Developmentally-impaired. Yes that's correct - your diagnosis as an adult bedwetter is permanent and thus will be reflected in your public record regardless of assessment result. A favorable assessment only indicates that you are not currently experiencing symptoms. Also, please be aware that current and future employers and sexual partners, if any, will be notified of your condition. Though, having seen your file it looks like you won't need worry about that second part..

That concludes this proceeding. When you leave this office you will be escorted to the facility for induction. Your assessment period has already begun. I hope I don't have to tell you that any non-compliance will reflect extremely poorly.

Alright, now that that's done and we're off the record, I can finally be honest with you. You're fucked. I've sent dozens of pissy-pants virgins just like you through this program, and you know what? You losers always come out more pathetic than you went in. Right now you're just a bedwetter, but in six weeks time you're going to be a stuttering, subservient, diaper-dependent sissy. You want my advice? Don't fight it. Forget about "favorable assessment". Forget about ever losing your virginity. Think of this as six weeks to adjust to your new life.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Law-Related Vocabulary

for your next poem/story (pt. 4/4)

Ambulatory - capable of being altered

Attainder - the termination of the civil rights of a person upon a sentence of death or outlawry for treason or a felony

Bestiality - the crime of engaging in sexual relations with an animal

Blasphemy - the crime of insulting or showing contempt or lack of reverence for God or a religion and its doctrines and writings and especially God as perceived by Christianity and Christian doctrines and writings

Brownfield - a tract of land that has been developed for industrial purposes, polluted, and then abandoned

Clemency - willingness or ability to moderate the severity of a punishment (as a sentence); an act or instance of mercy, compassion, or forgiveness

Cold blood - a state of mind marked by premeditation and deliberateness—usually used in the phrase in cold blood

Concubinage - the relationship between persons who are cohabiting without the benefit of marriage

Days of grace - period of time beyond a scheduled date during which a required action (as payment of an obligation) may be taken without incurring the ordinarily resulting adverse consequences (as penalty or cancellation); also called "grace period"

Donation mortis causa - a donation that is to take effect on the donor's death and that is revocable

Ex maleficio - arising from wrongdoing; created by law in response to a wrongdoing

Exonerate - to relieve especially of a charge, obligation, or hardship; to clear from accusation or blame

Express malice - the knowledge that defamatory statements especially regarding a public figure are false

Extreme cruelty - behavior toward a spouse that involves physical violence or threats thereof, acts calculated to destroy the peace of mind or health of the spouse, or acts destructive of the purpose of the marriage

Floodgate - something serving to restrain an outburst (as of litigation)—usually used in pl.

Flotsam - floating wreckage of a ship or its cargo

Flying squad - a usually small standby group of people ready to move or act quickly; especially: a police unit formed to respond quickly in an emergency; called also "flying squadron"

Fourth degree - a grade given to less serious forms of crimes

Freedom of the seas - the right of a merchant ship to travel any waters except territorial waters either in peace or war

Golden parachute - an agreement providing for generous compensation to an executive upon dismissal

Great bodily injury - physical injury suffered by the victim of a violent crime that causes a substantial risk of death, extended loss or impairment of a body part or function, or permanent disfigurement; physical injury that is more serious than that ordinarily suffered in a battery

Indemnify - to secure against hurt, loss, or damage

Messuage - a dwelling house with the adjacent buildings and curtilage and other adjoining lands used in connection with the household

Moiety - half of something

Moot - deprived of practical significance; made abstract or purely academic

Next friend - a person appearing in or appointed by a court to act on behalf of a person (as a child) lacking legal capacity

Nunc pro tunc - now for then—used in reference to a judicial or procedural act that corrects an omission in the record, has effect as of an earlier date, or takes place after a deadline has expired

Primogeniture - the state of being the firstborn of the children of the same parents; exclusive right of inheritance

Prurient - marked by or arousing an unwholesome sexual interest or desire

Putative - thought, assumed, or alleged to be such or to exist

Sedition - the crime of creating a revolt, disturbance, or violence against lawful civil authority with the intent to cause its overthrow or destruction

Seriatim - in a series; individually in a sequence

Strictissimi juris - according to the strictest interpretation of the law

Wrongful death - a death caused by the negligent, willful, or wrongful act, neglect, omission, or default of another

Wrongful life - a malpractice claim brought by or on behalf of a child born with a birth defect alleging that he or she would never have been born if not for the negligent advice or treatment provided to the parents by a physician or health-care provider (Note: Wrongful life claims have usually been rejected by the courts. The injury is not the birth defect, but the life itself, and courts are reluctant to declare life an injury. A specific calculation of damages for wrongful life would entail affixing a monetary value to the difference between life in an impaired state and nonexistence. There is no legally established right not to be born.)

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

More: Law-Related Words More: Word Lists

[the-californicationist]

Revocation

MDNI/18+

Had a prompt from my darling bestie @gemmahale who asked about the 141 and how they might react when you revoked your consent for whatever reason. So, I thought I would do one of these little stacky-stacks for the first time to try it out. Don't be mean to me! This is my first time doing this Tumblr list thing. Idek what it's called.

GAZ

Gaz loves to fuck you with a slow, steady beat. His go-to is keeping you wedged tightly underneath him in a prone position so his length can enjoy the thickness of your ass and thighs. But, all it takes is a sudden sharp breath from you and he pauses, stopping his long rod right where it sits to wait and listen for your protests. "Babe? Everything alright?" He slowly slides out of you the rest of the way, your plump lips kissing the tip of his cockhead gently as he leaves you. Curling himself beside you, he'd be so soft and sure to check on your body and your feelings before letting you get back up to speed. Gaz would pet a huge hand down your back, rubbing your skin and making certain you knew he was there to help you feel good.

SOAP

Soap was adamant about having a light system. He would lean next to your ear and ask you to check in with him. "How are you, bonnie? Still green?" And if you said green, he would sigh, keeping up his pace, grunting with enthusiastic pleasure. If you said yellow, he would pause and wait, since you usually elaborated, and he would change whatever tune he needed to for you. Slower? He could fuck you achingly slow. Making sure you felt every inch of his delicious upward curve, and that lusciously thick head of his. If you said red, though, he would go full hands off and turn into aftercare mode real quick. Water, towels, juice, blankets at the ready, eager to give you what you needed to feel like yourself again.

GHOST

Ghost never lets it get to yellow. Never. He couldn't. Every single moment he's watching you like a hawk, noticing your pleasure, listening for your moans to deepen or to lower just enough to tell him you're close to coming. If you move into a position you don't like, he can feel your tension ripple across his cock, and he fixes it immediately, knowing when your breathing quickens or slows how far along you are to riding another wave of pleasure. You're so reactive, and he loves it. He gets off on knowing just the slightest pressure will send you over the edge. And when you come, it is like a maestro at the crest of his symphony, every note in exactly the place where he wants it, feeling you flutter and pulse around him in a perfect little harmony.

Except for that one time when there was a moth. Then, he was immediately on moth duty, full stop and fully naked. But, he was more than happy to cuddle with you after it was safely dispatched.

PRICE

The thing about Price is that he never fuckin' shuts up. The whole time he's kissing you, licking you, biting you. He's talking to you. The whole damn time.

"Yeah, love? You like that?"

"Want more, yeah? Fuck yeah, I'll give you more."

"Tha's it, love. Tha's my good girl. Come for me, just like that. Make those noises, love."

"You alright, love? Need a moment? Let me hold you. C'mere."

"Fuck, you are feeling so good. So pretty. Tell me how I feel, baby. Go on, tell me."

And so the whole time he fucks you, you are gasping in breaths, telling Price everything he wants to know. He wants to know how it feels, how it sounds, if its warm, if its hard, if you can feel the way he throbs inside of you when he comes. He wants every single juicy detail, and he pulls it from you with his hungry coaxing.

So, when you got a leg cramp, he talked you through it, pulling his fat cock from you with a long, wet pop, helping you get into a better position before he applied pressure to the spot, working out your muscle, easing your pain, talking you through the whole thing...

"Tha's it, good girl. Such a good fuckin' girl. Doin' so good for me..."

[fiercynn]

On October 11th, four days after Hamas’s attack and Israel’s declaration of war, thousands of Gazan workers logged on to the blue-and-white-colored defense ministry app Al Munaseq (“the coordinator”) to find that Israeli authorities had revoked their work permits, stripping them of their legal status. The change meant that these workers could no longer remain in Israel, but they also could not return home to Gaza, which Israel had placed under a hermetic siege and constant bombardment. “Our situation is very difficult right now,” Saleh, a Gazan who usually works in Jaffa, told Jewish Currents, using a pseudonym for fear of further retaliation. The permit revocation was ordered by the Coordinator of Government Activity in the Territories (COGAT), the Israeli body in charge of Palestinian civilian affairs, and came without any explanation or instruction. And just hours after the permits were revoked, Israeli authorities began detaining the now-illegal workers. By October 17th, 4,000 workers had been detained without trial to check if they “helped Hamas in planning the massacre, ” according to Israel’s Channel 12. Jessica Montell, the executive director of Israeli human rights organization HaMoked, told Jewish Currents that the arrest campaign is “unprecedented in both scope and lack of transparency,” noting that “overnight, thousands of people who had Israeli work permits became illegal aliens and have been rounded up.” Each of these moves is illegal under international law and a “prohibited act of vengeance against the workers,” according to a letter five Israeli human rights organizations sent to Israel’s defense minister, attorney general, and head of COGAT on October 12th. [x]

- jonathan shamir for jewish currents on october 19, 2023

[sporadicthingcollection]

Eppur è d'uopo, sforzati! (Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: In which a stork arrives early, Buggy has a rough day, and you get what you deserve. Pairing: Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: Clean. Word Count: ~1.5k. Warnings: Pregnancy, childbirth, exploitation of a Devil Fruit power. A/N: good news is that i'm not ovulating anymore bad news is that i got a mental image in my head that wouldn't go away so i'm subjecting you guys to it too. also, this buggy has more of the anime version in him, so just a heads up!

---

It was a power move, plain and simple. Boa Hancock, Warlord of the Sea, refusing to negotiate with anyone away from Amazon Lily. And Buggy, having drawn the short straw, gets ordered under threat of revocation of his title to go do it.

So not only does he have to brave Sea Kings in the Calm Belt, he doesn't even get to go ashore when he gets there. No, he has to send the female crew to deal with it.

And, to make matters worse, you insisted upon going with them. You, with swollen ankles and an aching back. You, waddling around and damn near ready to pop. You, eight and half months pregnant with not just any child, but his child.

How could you be so callous and cruel to him like this? Where do you get off on tormenting him with the knowledge that, if something happens, he won’t be able to get to you? It’s pure sadism is what it is, and he’s wearing a rut in the deck trying to get his mind off of it.

A distant scream splits the air.

Your scream.

---

Nine months. Babies come out at nine months. That's how it's always been, that’s how it always will be.

So then why, oh why, does this little asshole decide to pop out at eight and a half?

A wave of pain wracks you. You double over in your chair.

You suppose you're lucky. You’re in a palace in a private room with a bed, a tub of warm water, anything you could possibly need. The midwife, Cassandra, has gentle hands and comforting words. Dozens of women show up to fuss over you and encourage you, a number of them mothers themselves. Dahlia brings food, Gloriosa sings songs, Marguerite and Sandersonia hold your hands when the contractions get worse.

Even the Pirate Empress herself pays the occasional visit, albeit under the excuse to scold you for making a ridiculous amount of noise. But she always lingers with a curious gaze, and commands that more bedding be brought or that “I must be prepared for when I bear the child of my beloved,” whatever the hell that means.

Too bad they don’t have any morphine.

---

The only thing stopping Buggy from collapsing into a million parts is that he has completely locked up. He cannot move his head, his fingers, his eyes, everything is frozen stiff.

Fortunately for him, Galdino asks the question for him. “She’s what?” 

“I just told you: in labor.” Alvida is way too calm. She dusts her coat, adjusts her hat, buffs out a scuff on her fingernails. “Her water broke right in the middle of the discussion. Three hours of political maneuvering, wasted.”

“I think we got it sorted, though.” The strongwoman shakes her head. “Poor gal. Of all the dumb luck.”

Another scream rips the air. Everyone flinches.

It cuts through Buggy like a knife through... well, himself. He gets his senses back and only one thing consumes his mind.

He vaults over the side of the ship. Kuja laws be damned, he needs to get to you, even if he has to swim for it. Before you get hurt. Or killed. Or worse.

He only realizes the mistake he’s made when he hits the water.

---

You blink in disbelief. “It’s what?”

“Upside-down,” Cassandra says. She adjusts her glasses. “If my intuition is correct, it’s coming out rear end first.”

Breech birth. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised. Your grandmother was a breech, your mother was a breech, your niece was a breech... Breeches all the way down in your family.

And, considering its father, of course the little fucker’s an acrobat.

You groan and fall backwards. Part of you is glad he’s not here. You’d strangle him. The other part wishes he was here. So you could strangle him. And rip his balls off. Hell, you might just do that anyways. DIY orchiectomy.

A contraction wracks you and you yelp.

---

What do you do with a distraught sailor, when the sun is highest?

Hold him back from swimming to the island. He’ll kick and thrash and escape all three of the strongmen and throw himself overboard and Cabaji will have to jump in and fish him out.

What do you do with a distraught sailor, early in the evening?

Lock him up in a cage with Richie. He’ll cut himself to ribbons and slip through the bars and sneak past everyone on deck and throw himself overboard and Cabaji, having just finally gotten himself into dry clothes, will have to take another dip.

What do you do with a distraught sailor, at the witching hour?

Clamp him to the mast with Seastone handcuffs. He’ll pick up a nail on deck and pick the lock and outrun everyone trying to catch him and throw himself overboard and Cabaji will make Mohji jump in this time because he’s getting really sick of this bullshit.

What do you do with a distraught sailor, early in the morning?

Hack off his hands and arms and noggin, throw the Seastone cuffs on his ankles, tie his torso to the mast, stuff his own bandanna in his mouth, then post up guards.

Even gagged, Buggy’s screams rival yours.

---

Just when you’re ready to give up the ghost and will yourself into unconscious bliss, you feel it. Something gives. Then something else. With one mighty push, one mighty curse, and one mighty splat, your child is born.

The baby howls like a beast. You suppose you’d be screaming too if you were covered in shit and viscera and had a full head of hair.

You want to hold it. You need to hold it. "Give-- Gimme it," you sputter.

Cassandra, hands it to you. "A boy," she says.

You’re ashamed to be a little disappointed. Based on the talk, you were hoping for a girl. But it all fades as you hold him in your arms and bring him to your chest, overwhelmed by a tide of hormones and emotion.

He’s a little funny-looking, with his pink skin and little stretched face and his legs at weird angles. But he’s here. A baby. Your baby. Buggy’s baby.

You start to sob.

---

Buggy is once again frozen stiff. He wants nothing more than to help you back aboard, hold your hand as you step over the railing, and escort you to his cabin. It would be the absolute least he could do.

But no. He’s stuck up here on the quarterdeck, doing even less than that. He watches as you make your way up the stairs, clutching a bundle wrapped in a floral-patterned blanket. Dark circles ring your eyes and your gait is stiff and exhausted.

Say something. Anything. “You look like hell,” he says. Goddammit.

Fortunately for him, you huff in amusement. “I’ve certainly been through hell.” You stand closer and angle the bundle towards him. “Wanna see what I found there?”

His hand hovers over the corner of the blanket. What if it’s dead? What if it’s got a dog’s face? What if its hair is red? What if it’s got its father’s--?

“Just look, Buggy,” you scold.

He swallows. He pulls back the corner.

Nestled in the blankets, blinking in the light, is a miniature you. A head full of thick dark hair, already starting to curl at the ends. Dark eyes, peering at him the same way you do. And, right in the middle of its chubby little face, your delicately curved nose.

Heat fills his belly with smoke. He recognizes this emotion. It’s the same one as when he sees someone waving around a treasure map. When he spies a chest overflowing with gold. When he first laid eyes on you.

He can hardly hear his own voice. “She’s gorgeous.”

“He,” you say. Buggy looks at you. You smile. “He’s a boy.”

A boy. A boy. His boy. Your boy. He has a son. You gave him a son.

The smoke catches fire and sets his whole body alight. He snatches the baby -- his son! -- from your arms and holds him -- his son! -- up high, presenting him -- his son! -- to the assembled crew like a boxer holding up a champion belt.

He shouts, bellows, screams for the whole world to hear: “I have a son!”

A cacophony of cheers goes up from every man and woman on the deck and, for a few moments, everything is right in the world. Mohji throws his arms around Cabaji. The strongwoman picks up Galdino and spins him around. Alvida smiles as she leans against her mace. Richie roars. Even the Kuja who escorted you back whoop.

Wait a damn minute. You did all the work. You made his son. You pushed him out. All he did was be in the right place at the right time with a bad pullout game.

He places the baby back in your arms and sweeps you into his own, separating his trunk from his legs to raise you up even higher. He wants to shout something eloquent, an ode to your strength and beauty, a paean to your power, a declaration that you are the greatest treasure he’s ever stolen.

But all that comes out, through snot and tears that he didn’t even realize were flowing, is a garbled, blubbered, “I love this woman!”

The cheers only grow, joined by your clattery laughter.

---

To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar

[daarka]

For those late to the party who want to know what the hell is going on with #OpenDnD, #StoptheSub, #DnDBegone etc, and why everyone is cancelling DnDBeyond subscriptions, I tried to do a crash course as succinctly as possible. OpenDnD.Games is a great resource for more in-depth details, and if you wish to do so, you can cancel your DnDBeyond subscription through this direct link (as there have been many reporting trouble in locating where to do so). Edit: Tweaked the very first detail below, as someone reminded me it was not a wholly accurate statement as I had initially written it. Apologies to everyone who already reblogged the first version of this :')

Hasbro acquired Wizards of the Coast (WotC) some time ago, but recently they got new leadership who said in an interview that they see D&D as "under-monetized". Hasbro is on the decline with finances, and WotC is its biggest cash cow. Why milk that cash cow through producing more content when you can instead revoke a legally irrevocable license that makes it impossible for 3rd party content creators to exist?

America loves a good monopoly. The old license that permitted the community to grow to what it is today was OGL1.0a, and without it, D&D would not be what it is right now, nor even close. They tried to shift to OGL1.1, a new license that is, in a word, PREDATORY. Horrific, nasty shit.

OGL1.1 was quietly sent to large creators to sign. It then got leaked. The community erupted. The backlash was loud and unanimous. WotC was radio silent for like two weeks. They finally gave a single-sentence "we'll explain soon" tweet on DnDBeyond's account. Then more silence.

A WotC employee reached out to large creators to blow the whistle on WotC. The source was verified, and they shared that WotC sees the community as an obstacle between them and their money, all they care about is bottom line, and they're delaying in hopes we forget and move on.

And also that they are mainly looking at DnDBeyond subscription cancelations to gauge the financial impact; they don't care about our sentiments, only our money. So everyone erupted into signal boosting for others to unsubscribe as the single and best way to make ourselves heard. Cue the mass unsubscribing.

Today (January 13th 2023), a shitty PR piece was posted on DnDBeyond full of blatant lies and, in my opinion, barely-contained saltiness. Right before that, though, OGL2.0 leaks came out; the tweaks they'd begrudgingly made following the backlash. 2.0 is basically just as bad as 1.1; they just spoke of it as being more changed than it was.

In other words, they keep bold-faced lying to a community of rules-lawyers who recreationally read fine print :)

Meanwhile, Paizo (creators of Pathfinder) has come to the rescue, vowing to release a truly open license that will allow everyone to continue pursuing the livelihoods they're passionate about; this is the Open RPG Creative License, or "ORC".

Canceling subscriptions immediately sends a potent message, even if you may have to resubscribe later for functionality in your games. You'll still have the remainder of your billing cycle to enjoy paid perks.

Everything's a little on fire, but I think we'll be okay ♥️

OGL1.0a was never meant to be revocable, as loudly stated in the past couple days by the very people who authored it. It is very likely that WotC is actually just bluffing and bullying, and is actually powerless to revoke it--something many lawyers more knowledgeable than myself seem to be suggesting. In which case, it is my greatest hope in all of this that 3rd party creators are able to continue doing what they love, with no further interruptions.

Remember: the majority of WotC and DnDBeyond employees feel the exact same way we do, but they don't have a choice. Hasbro is the enemy here. Be kind to each other, and know where blame should and should not be placed. If you want to stay up to speed, the account of @.DnD_Shorts seems to be a very active and informed voice, largely responsible for sharing the first leak. If Twitter makes you want to puke, I completely understand; DnD_Shorts also has a YouTube channel with frequent updates on the situation posted in video format.

It's cathartic to me to try to signal boost this stuff, and provide summaries that might help others stay informed. It helps me feel like I'm somehow able to affect these nasty things that are otherwise just inflicted onto lil guys in the community like myself.

However, this has been beyond exhausting and stressful. I'm going to start untangling myself and stepping back from posting about this issue so I can hopefully restore some of my own sanity.

It's been really crazy--in a good way--to see the power this community has when rallied together under a common threat. It makes me proud to be in that community.

At the end of the day, all TTRPGs are really just exercises in creativity and fun. The golden rule has always been and should always be that there is no right or wrong way to play, other than what suits you and those you play with. Likewise, no one should ever feel guilty or judged by others for playing one system over another. It's okay to like D&D5e despite all this. No matter how much they've tried, Wizards of the Coast cannot claim jurisdiction over the invaluable memories you've made, and what has become a creative outlet for countless people. Myself included.

Boycotting is a great way to be heard, since they only care about money. But continuing to use the content you have to play D&D5e is your prerogative, and hurts no one. Furthermore, it's also okay if you can't cancel your DnDBeyond subscription because you rely on it too heavily for your games. That doesn't make you a traitor. That doesn't estrange you from the community. DnDBeyond, at its core, is a great tool that is popular for a reason; it's the new leadership that is forcing it to become something it wasn't meant to be. One day, I hope to be able to resubscribe in good conscious, and I hope that day is soon.

To reiterate, if anyone's even read down this far... be kind to one another. Keep in mind that big enemies win when the party is divided. You can love or hate anything you want in the TTRPG sphere, but how you feel about it does not invalidate someone else feeling the opposite.

Be kind. Be patient. Be empathetic. We're already coming out on top.

[kathegreat]

✶

let's talk about how much jurisdiction hotshot actually possesses. hotshot is confirmed to have been thoroughly involved in the investigation of the poachers, played a factor in the revocation of their licenses in collaboration with additional authorities, & carries around a fucking tool. hotshot is a law enforcement park ranger. they’ve expended an ass-busting amount of time in the academy training program to even earn & own their position. that is over six hundred hours of courses, some of which incorporated ferocious physical conditioning. they'll go on patrol, assess campgrounds, direct searches and rescues, offer assistance to visitors, & enforce and conduct any other obligations as a park ranger. maybe they’re an overly frenetic jackass, yes, but not reduced to that. they’re undoubtedly a fuck-around-and-find-out.

counting down the days until they’re promoted, because claire is right. they are damn good at their job.

edit: the recent audio really cemented their capabilities!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Good riddance to the Open Gaming License

Last week, Gizmodo’s Linda Codega caught a fantastic scoop — a leaked report of Hasbro’s plan to revoke the decades-old Open Gaming License, which subsidiary Wizards Of the Coast promulgated as an allegedly open sandbox for people seeking to extend, remix or improve Dungeons and Dragons:

https://gizmodo.com/dnd-wizards-of-the-coast-ogl-1-1-open-gaming-license-1849950634

The report set off a shitstorm among D&D fans and the broader TTRPG community — not just because it was evidence of yet more enshittification of D&D by a faceless corporate monopolist, but because Hasbro was seemingly poised to take back the commons that RPG players and designers had built over decades, having taken WOTC and the OGL at their word.

Gamers were right to be worried. Giant companies love to rugpull their fans, tempting them into a commons with lofty promises of a system that we will all have a stake in, using the fans for unpaid creative labor, then enclosing the fans’ work and selling it back to them. It’s a tale as old as CDDB and Disgracenote:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/CDDB#History

(Disclosure: I am a long-serving volunteer board-member for MetaBrainz, which maintains MusicBrainz, a free, open, community-managed and transparent alternative to Gracenote, explicitly designed to resist the kind of commons-stealing enclosure that led to the CDDB debacle.)

https://musicbrainz.org/

Free/open licenses were invented specifically to prevent this kind of fuckery. First there was the GPL and its successor software licenses, then Creative Commons and its own successors. One important factor in these licenses: they contain the word “irrevocable.” That means that if you build on licensed content, you don’t have to worry about having the license yanked out from under you later. It’s rugproof.

Now, the OGL does not contain the word “irrevocable.” Rather, the OGL is “perpetual.” To a layperson, these two terms may seem interchangeable, but this is one of those fine lawerly distinctions that trip up normies all the time. In lawyerspeak, a “perpetual” license is one whose revocation doesn’t come automatically after a certain time (unlike, say, a one-year car-lease, which automatically terminates at the end of the year). Unless a license is “irrevocable,” the licensor can terminate it whenever they want to.

This is exactly the kind of thing that trips up people who roll their own licenses, and people who trust those licenses. The OGL predates the Creative Commons licenses, but it neatly illustrates the problem with letting corporate lawyers — rather than public-interest nonprofits — unleash “open” licenses on an unsuspecting, legally unsophisticated audience.

The perpetual/irrevocable switcheroo is the least of the problems with the OGL. As Rob Bodine— an actual lawyer, as well as a dice lawyer — wrote back in 2019, the OGL is a grossly defective instrument that is significantly worse than useless.

https://gsllcblog.com/2019/08/26/part3ogl/

The issue lies with what the OGL actually licenses. Decades of copyright maximalism has convinced millions of people that anything you can imagine is “intellectual property,” and that this is indistinguishable from real property, which means that no one can use it without your permission.

The copyrightpilling of the world sets people up for all kinds of scams, because copyright just doesn’t work like that. This wholly erroneous view of copyright grooms normies to be suckers for every sharp grifter who comes along promising that everything imaginable is property-in-waiting (remember SpiceDAO?):

https://onezero.medium.com/crypto-copyright-bdf24f48bf99

Copyright is a lot more complex than “anything you can imagine is your property and that means no one else can use it.” For starters, copyright draws a fundamental distinction between ideas and expression. Copyright does not apply to ideas — the idea, say, of elves and dwarves and such running around a dungeon, killing monsters. That is emphatically not copyrightable.

Copyright also doesn’t cover abstract systems or methods — like, say, a game whose dice-tables follow well-established mathematical formulae to create a “balanced” system for combat and adventuring. Anyone can make one of these, including by copying, improving or modifying an existing one that someone else made. That’s what “uncopyrightable” means.

Finally, there are the exceptions and limitations to copyright — things that you are allowed to do with copyrighted work, without first seeking permission from the creator or copyright’s proprietor. The best-known exception is US law is fair use, a complex doctrine that is often incorrectly characterized as turning on “four factors” that determine whether a use is fair or not.

In reality, the four factors are a starting point that courts are allowed and encouraged to consider when determining the fairness of a use, but some of the most consequential fair use cases in Supreme Court history flunk one, several, or even all of the four factors (for example, the Betamax decision that legalized VCRs in 1984, which fails all four).

Beyond fair use, there are other exceptions and limitations, like the di minimis exemption that allows for incidental uses of tiny fragments of copyrighted work without permission, even if those uses are not fair use. Copyright, in other words, is “fact-intensive,” and there are many ways you can legally use a copyrighted work without a license.

Which brings me back to the OGL, and what, specifically, it licenses. The OGL is a license that only grants you permission to use the things that WOTC can’t copyright — “the game mechanic [including] the methods, procedures, processes and routines.” In other words, the OGL gives you permission to use things you don’t need permission to use.

But maybe the OGL grants you permission to use more things, beyond those things you’re allowed to use anyway? Nope. The OGL specifically exempts:

Product and product line names, logos and identifying marks including trade dress; artifacts; creatures characters; stories, storylines, plots, thematic elements, dialogue, incidents, language, artwork, symbols, designs, depictions, likenesses, formats, poses, concepts, themes and graphic, photographic and other visual or audio representations; names and descriptions of characters, spells, enchantments, personalities, teams, personas, likenesses and special abilities; places, locations, environments, creatures, equipment, magical or supernatural abilities or effects, logos, symbols, or graphic designs; and any other trademark or registered trademark…

Now, there are places where the uncopyrightable parts of D&D mingle with the copyrightable parts, and there’s a legal term for this: merger. Merger came up for gamers in 2018, when the provocateur Robert Hovden got the US Copyright Office to certify copyright in a Magic: The Gathering deck:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/14/angels-and-demons/#owning-culture

If you want to learn more about merger, you need to study up on Kregos and Eckes, which are beautifully explained in the “Open Intellectual Property Casebook,” a free resource created by Jennifer Jenkins and James Boyle:

https://web.law.duke.edu/cspd/openip/#q01

Jenkins and Boyle explicitly created their open casebook as an answer to another act of enclosure: a greedy textbook publisher cornered the market on IP textbook and charged every law student — and everyone curious about the law — $200 to learn about merger and other doctrines.

As EFF Senior Staff Attorney Kit Walsh writes in her must-read analysis of the OGL, this means “the only benefit that OGL offers, legally, is that you can copy verbatim some descriptions of some elements that otherwise might arguably rise to the level of copyrightability.”

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/01/beware-gifts-dragons-how-dds-open-gaming-license-may-have-become-trap-creators

But like I said, it’s not just that the OGL fails to give you rights — it actually takes away rights you already have to D&D. That’s because — as Walsh points out — fair use and the other copyright limitations and exceptions give you rights to use D&D content, but the OGL is a contract whereby you surrender those rights, promising only to use D&D stuff according to WOTC’s explicit wishes.

“For example, absent this agreement, you have a legal right to create a work using noncopyrightable elements of D&D or making fair use of copyrightable elements and to say that that work is compatible with Dungeons and Dragons. In many contexts you also have the right to use the logo to name the game (something called “nominative fair use” in trademark law). You can certainly use some of the language, concepts, themes, descriptions, and so forth. Accepting this license almost certainly means signing away rights to use these elements. Like Sauron’s rings of power, the gift of the OGL came with strings attached.”

And here’s where it starts to get interesting. Since the OGL launched in 2000, a huge proportion of game designers have agreed to its terms, tricked into signing away their rights. If Hasbro does go through with canceling the OGL, it will release those game designers from the shitty, deceptive OGL.

According to the leaks, the new OGL is even worse than the original versions — but you don’t have to take those terms! Notwithstanding the fact that the OGL says that “using…Open Game Content” means that you accede to the license terms, that is just not how contracts work.

Walsh: “Contracts require an offer, acceptance, and some kind of value in exchange, called ‘consideration.’ If you sell a game, you are inviting the reader to play it, full stop. Any additional obligations require more than a rote assertion.”

“For someone who wants to make a game that is similar mechanically to Dungeons and Dragons, and even announce that the game is compatible with Dungeons and Dragons, it has always been more advantageous as a matter of law to ignore the OGL.”

Walsh finishes her analysis by pointing to some good licenses, like the GPL and Creative Commons, “written to serve the interests of creative communities, rather than a corporation.” Many open communities — like the programmers who created GNU/Linux, or the music fans who created Musicbrainz, were formed after outrageous acts of enclosure by greedy corporations.

If you’re a game designer who was pissed off because the OGL was getting ganked — and if you’re even more pissed off now that you’ve discovered that the OGL was a piece of shit all along — there’s a lesson there. The OGL tricked a generation of designers into thinking they were building on a commons. They weren’t — but they could.

This is a great moment to start — or contribute to — real open gaming content, licensed under standard, universal licenses like Creative Commons. Rolling your own license has always been a bad idea, comparable to rolling your own encryption in the annals of ways-to-fuck-up-your-own-life-and-the-lives-of-many-others. There is an opportunity here — Hasbro unintentionally proved that gamers want to collaborate on shared gaming systems.

That’s the true lesson here: if you want a commons, you’re not alone. You’ve got company, like Kit Walsh herself, who happens to be a brilliant game-designer who won a Nebula Award for her game “Thirsty Sword Lesbians”:

https://evilhat.com/product/thirsty-sword-lesbians/

[Image ID: A remixed version of David Trampier's 'Eye of Moloch,' the cover of the first edition of the AD&D Player's Handbook. It has been altered so the title reads 'Advanced Copyright Fuckery. Unclear on the Concept. That's Just Not How Licenses Work. No, Seriously.' The eyes of the idol have been replaced by D20s displaying a critical fail '1.' Its chest bears another D20 whose showing face is a copyright symbol.]

[theoutcastrogue]

A while back we were talking about probation violation arrests, and I hadn't realised how BAD the situation is in the US.

There are a bunch of stupid parole restrictions that can land you back to prison for nothing, right? And parole is when you serve a portion of your prison sentence, and then they let you out on probation – with huge caveats. If you violate one of these rules while on parole, you return to prison to serve the rest of your sentence.

But since 1984*, federal courts give "supervised release" instead of parole and probation, and that's ON TOP of the full prison sentence, not replacing part of it. Associating with felons (could be your family!), not getting a job within 30 days, not calling back your probation officer – these are NOT criminal offences, but they can send you to prison without a trial. For an administrative technical violation. Remember, unlike parole, you've already served your full sentence! This is so fucked up. (Another technical violation is being homeless, but whaddayaknow, now this CAN be a criminal offence, fuck these people.)

So this supervised release is mandatory for certain offences, and at the judge's discretion for the rest. But federal judges appear to dole them out indiscriminately, defence lawyers do not excercise their right (should be duty!) to contest it, technical violations happen all the time (one could say they are designed to happen all the time), and the upshot is:

30-35% of the federal prison population is incarcerated for revocations of supervised release, not for any actual crime. Holy shit.

Currently the ACLU is suing, but only for the details. They (correctly) say that the whole mechanism of defining and quanitifying violations is arbitrary and doesn't take important factors into account, disproportionally affecting people with disabilities and mental illnesses. They're right! But the mechanism shouldn't exist at all, it's on TOP of the prison sentence, absolutely indefensible in any modern legal system.

*of course it was Reagan who started it, but Clinton made it worse and by now everyone in power just goes with it. this is so fucked up.