And I'm like...

A) which fandoms are you reading fics for where you have this kind of offerings on the regular?

B) have you heard of short stories? If you truly think every story NEEDS to be longform to connect with people, I sincerely feel sorry for you.

C) Average novel length is between 50k to 100k. I'm sorry, but CONSISTENTLY demanding fic writers to push out fics of that length is insane. Just think about it: YOU DEMAND AUTHORS TO PUT OUT FICS THAT COMPARE TO COMMERCIAL NOVELS IN LENGTH (AND QUALITY) AS A BASELINE.

So a free tool called GLAZE has been developed that allows artists to cloak their artwork so it can't be mimicked by AI art tools.

Using both Glaze and Nightshade would corrupt the generation of pictures mimicking artist AND mess with the AI's recognition of what everything is. Like it would generate a dog when you ask for a cat.

find smallest place in your room

toss in every pillow and blanket in the house that you personally are not using 

climb in on all fours your animal, you primal beast

touch a minimum of two walls and twenty separate fabrics at all times

nap in the hole

nap hole

this is short but i hope you like it ;w; 

SONGFIC: YOU KNOW YOU LIKE IT BY DJ SNAKE; ROHAN KISHIBE.

‘Perfect’, he thinks, ‘I confess and this is what I get.’

Rohan huffs, rolling his eyes. Exasperation clear as he tries not to mess with his hair and ruin his hairstyle, let alone take his headband down. 

“What?” they ask, looking down. Their stubborn statement still lingering on Rohan’s mind.

“I’m not the right person for you to be with.” 

Smacking his pen into his sketchbook, Rohan’s eyes show his determination when he speaks, unusually calm for the way he’s feeling. “Listen, I don't care about what the fans or the media say, I don’t follow their lead. I’m not their puppet. I am my own person and I get to choose who I date. You saying that seems like you don’t feel the same way. Just say it.” He leans back against his chair, hands slightly trembling with the anticipation that he is about to be rejected.

“What?!” they repeat again, “I’m not saying that! I do feel the same way! It’s just. You know, I’m not an artist. In fact, I’m not into art that much —at least not in the way you are.” 

“And?” he asks, arms crossed under his chest now. 

“I can’t draw.” 

“That doesn’t matter.” he says, adding. “Drawing with simple lines and circles IS art.” Before they open their mouth to argue he asks again. “What else?”

“I’m not famous.” 

“Do you think I mind?”

They fall silent, looking down as they fiddle with the sleeves of their shirt. 

Rohan takes his pen, leaning the sketchbook against the end of the table —looking up, he seems to catch a detail before looking down to illustrate it. 

The only sound in the restaurant, beside the sounds of the teacups and the casual chat from tourists and customers, is Rohan’s pen sliding against the paper, tracing and shading —adding all the details he wants. Perfectioning in the way only Kishibe Rohan, perfectionist by excellence can.

After a while, Rohan looks at them. A gentleness present in the way he speaks. Strange but interesting. “I’m not the famous mangaka when I’m with you, (Y/n). I hope you know that. You don’t anger me like Josuke does. You make me feel calm, like I don’t have to prove myself.” 

With a flick of his wrist, he shows the sketch to them. A perfect portrait of them sitting as they drink from their cup. 

They stare at it and then at him, mouth open in amazement. Before they can say anything Rohan takes the lead. 

“You don’t see yourself like I do, but that’s alright. You’ll see your worth sooner or later. One way or another —with me or not.”

“I—” they stutter with their words, stopping midway. Speechless. 

Rohan nods to himself. “Whenever you are ready to give me an answer, you know where to find me.” standing up, he takes the sketchbook —the only thing he brought aside from his pen— and signaling at the waiter so he can pay for them both, they interrupt his actions.