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Ranboo sat in the back of his family’s van, pressing lightly on his stomach as he felt a few marbles come back into his mouth before he swallowed them back down again, as he’d been doing for a few hours at this point. Machinery rattled in the back of the van; different cameras, scanners, and other ghost hunting stuff. Ranboo had been in this game for a few years, when he met his adoptive family Phil and Techno. They met him at his group home and realized he was something special, and something that could definitely help with their less than normal job.

Ranboo grew up lonely. They never knew their birth parents, as they were given up as a baby. So what did lonely kids do? Well, in Ranboo’s case, learn magic! That would surely make them cool! They became good with cards, regurgitation, and slight of hand, cause what else were they supposed to do with their time? They very quickly learned that the others kids didn’t find any of that cool, and they were only pushing potential friends farther away. Eventually, they set their sights on a family, but that didn’t seem to be going well either. Ranboo lost almost all hope of being adopted by the time they were a teenager. Until one day when he met Phil and Techno. Two best friends (they had to make it very clear to the adoption agency that no, they were not gay, Phil had a girlfriend, they just wanted a kid together cause fuck it why not, which in Ranboo’s opinion made perfect sense). These two were weird. Like, really weird. And Ranboo loved them immediately.

They were professional ghost hunters (which almost made the adoption agency kick them out, they had to call Phil’s girlfriend Kristin to verify that she had a stable job and was supplying Phil and Techno with enough money to properly take care of a child) and were looking for another member of their troupe. Ranboo believed in ghosts wholeheartedly, and was ecstatic when they showed genuine interest in his magic tricks (which included the marbles, to his surprise). When Ranboo turned 16 he was officially legally adopted, and it was the best birthday present he ever could have received. From that point on, the three of them were a ghost hunting team (Kristin still had a “real job” cause they needed money), and quickly learned that Ranboo was a pretty damn powerful medium. He could sense and communicate with the dead through their machines far easier than either of his dads, and had helped them find plenty of haunted locations in the past.

The place they were headed was a memorial to an old war, some place that Ranboo had a feeling was incredibly haunted. Now, museums were normally at least a little haunted, but almost never haunted enough to make him feel ill. But this memorial, whatever is was, was unwieldy upsetting to him.

“You doin’ alright back there, kid?” Techno asked from the drivers seat, and Ranboo swallowed down his marbles again to answer. “Yeah, just, uh, a bit nervous. Something feels…off about this place.” “As you’ve said,” Phil chuckled. “Whatever’s here has to be mega haunted.” He said, fiddling with his camera. Oh, right, they were youtubers too, Ranboo almost forgot that part. They had a somewhat popular channel and Ranboo was incredibly grateful that his parents were very considerate with what he wanted to put online. Right now, Phil was just trying to make sure their main handheld worked. “Yeah, something’s here. I’m sure.” Ranboo adds. This was about to be one hell of a trip.

~~~

It’s midday when they arrive at the museum of the town of L’Manberg, somewhere none of them had ever even heard of. They meet a nice man who Phil had called over the phone to do a tour with. He introduces himself as Mr. Manifold, or just Jack, and leads them around the museum. Apparently, this small town had a lot of war time history, and Jack knew loads of it, since apparently he’d had an ancestor who fought, which was pretty cool. Ranboo tried desperately to feel for anything specific attached to the man, especially if he had a great great grandfather who died in these parts, but nothing. No ghosts. Ranboo still felt wrong, but he couldn’t find why. Nowhere they went had any sort of supernatural readings, no matter how cool it all was. With every nervous glance Phil and Techno gave to Ranboo, he felt worse and worse that he could have led them somewhere useless.

Until that one room.

Apparently, the museum was built over a specific relic of the war. Jack started leading them down an old stone staircase, into a place he said was called “the final control room.” There were old half decayed wooden chests lining the walls, moss infested stone bricks, and a single wooden button in the center of it all.

As soon as Ranboo entered the room, they collapsed.

They had never had panic seize them like this in their entire life. Something in the room, something about it, was wrong. So, so wrong. Something had happened in there, something that hurt a lot of people. Something that time couldn’t let go, that had lingered in that room and hit him like a freight train over a hundred years later. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see through his own tears, and could only barely feel Techno lift him and run him back out of the room.

“Something bad happened in there.” Ranboo muttered as soon as he was able to. Phil and Techno looked to Jack, who explained that that was the very room where the infamous L’Manburg traitor tried to kill the original founders. He apologized for taking Ranboo in, but they insisted they were fine to continue the tour. So, Jack did. Eventually when he finished (with no more incidents, thank god), Phil thanked him profusely for his expertise, and Jack wished them all well and invited them to explore on their own a bit to stop and read.

“Im so sorry, i swear to god I felt something, i still do, there has to be something here, there has to-“ Ranboo started apologizing as soon as Jack was out of hearing range, only for Techno to cut him off. “It’s ok, Ranboo, it’s ok. Maybe you’re just off your game, it happens to everyone, we’re not mad at you. You figured out what was wrong with that room, maybe that was all it was. And hey, we get to look around this cool museum!” Ranboo looked and saw the genuine excitement in Techno and Phil’s eyes and chuckled, ignoring the feeling that the control room was definitely not what he was looking for, no matter how upsetting it was. His parents were both huge history buffs, and he bet that they loved being here and just learning more than even finding actual ghosts.

“Ok, yeah, I- I’m just gonna go sit outside, if that’s alright. I feel like i’m suffocating in here. You guys keep exploring and call me later, we’ll meet back up then.” “If that’s what you want to do, mate. Keep in touch.” Phil tussled Ranboo’s hair, and him and Techno left to put their paranormal equipment back in the car, leaving Ranboo to find their way outside through a back door. He stepped out and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He felt better…for all of two seconds.

Then he opened his eyes and panic hit him again.

The outside area to the museum was a historical town, a place that held some of the exact homes that L’manberg citizens lived in over a century ago, and with those homes was a horrible sight that almost made Ranboo pass out from sheer panic for the second time that day.

A tower. Massive and made of cobblestone, it grew to lengths almost higher than Ranboo could physically see. It was old, moss covered, and slightly crumbling, as old stone is, but still sturdy. The control room was nothing compared to this thing.

Ranboo managed to keep himself from throwing up as he made his way closer to the tower and read its plaque: “Tower of the Child Soldier.” Ranboo pulled some of the marbles up to his mouth and started chewing on the glass, a nervous tic that Kristin warned would break his teeth one day, but for now her warning was the farthest thing from his mind. He read on.

“This tower was built by an original citizen of L’manberg who couldn’t take the war efforts, ending their own life by jumping off this very tower. Letters and documents from other soldiers around this time indicate the victim of this tragedy was a child. This stone is a testimony to the cruelty of war, and just how many innocent people were lost not just to the battle, but to the wars they were fighting with themselves. Rest in peace, Child Soldier, your memory has lasted far beyond your years. To learn more, visit the memorial of the Forgotten Soldiers.”

Ranboo didn’t know when they started crying. This was horrible, so so horrible. But, for the first time, they felt like they found part of what they were here for. He rushed back in the museum and found Jack shockingly quickly, asking about the memorial to the forgotten soldiers. Jack explained that while the stories of many remembered veterans’ stories were told in the museum itself, there was another memorial to the soldiers whose names and faces had been erased over time.

The memorial Jack led them too was, admittedly, beautiful. It was outdoors, marble archways and columns aligned in a circle with display cases with belongings. Some of the things were all together and labeled that it’s likely they all belonged to the same person, though historians were unsure who those people were. Some display cases just held random objects. Finally, there was a small room with a door and a staircase. Jack said that it led to the room where the rest of the memorabilia that belonged to the child soldier was. So, Ranboo thanked him and went down.

The hallway at the bottom was narrow, the walls were glass cases lit up and filled with remnants from this poor kid. Diary entries, songs and poems, hand knitted scarves and jackets, and mementos that were presumably gifts from their friends. There were even letters from people who knew them, ranging from talking about how irritating they were as the youngest soldier at just 16, some talking about how they’d never met someone so loyal and it was a shame they were fighting in such a huge war so young.

Ranboo had never felt quite like this in his entire life. He honestly couldn’t help the tears that rolled down his cheeks. He felt utterly sick to his stomach, pain stabbing him through the gut at the sheer grief he felt. The feelings weren’t his, something was pushing this onto him. This was what he set out to find; this poor child, only a little bit younger than he was now, losing his life to suicide in this war. “I’m not sure if it’s you that’s here,” Ranboo started quietly, “but…but I’m here to talk to you. To learn your story. I’m a medium, I just want answers.” Nothing. Ranboo continued. “I’ve never had a place make me feel like this. I knew something happened here the moment I heard of this town, and I needed to see. I learned about the war, I learned about the rebellion and the betrayal and-“ at that, a draft blew through the room, dropping the temperature drastically. Ranboo was sure he closed the door behind him, and even if he hadn’t, it wasn’t this cold outside.

“I know, I know that must have been horrible, I can’t imagine, I went in that room and just the sight of the stone and chests sent me into a panic attack. I can’t imagine what it would have been like in person.” It felt like a rock was sinking in his gut the more he talked about the control room, so Ranboo shifted gears. “I’m so sorry. I’m about as old as you were, I can’t imagine. You didn’t deserve it, you didn’t deserve any of it. And you don’t deserve to be stuck here alone. This place may have forgotten you, but I don’t want to. I’m here. I want to be here, if you’ll let me be.” Ranboo could barely finish speaking before he fell to the ground, his forehead pressed into his knees as he began to sob. He knew these feelings weren’t his, he knew it, but he also couldn’t reason through the blind grief and sorrow he was feeling enough to care.

With no warning, the lights in the display cases at the walls went out, leaving a single illuminated case right in front of him, the center of it all: a uniform. White and blue with accents of red. Tattered, torn, with small patches and embroidery on it. And at the foot of the case, a little ghost stood. Barely 5 inches tall, standing just on the other side of the glass. Ranboo was…well shocked, to say the least. He’s been able to feel ghosts, sure, but he’s never seen one. Half of him didn’t think they could even have a visible form until right now.

The child soldier was a boy, somewhat translucent and shaded blue, with dirt filled hair, sunken almost glowing blues eyes, and a torn up mismatched outfit of whatever he must have been wearing when he died. He stared up at Ranboo, who he’d let stop sobbing, tense and full of distrust. But as Ranboo looked at him, he found himself tearing up again all on his own. “You look…exhausted.” The little ghosts eyes went wide, shoulders dropping as he began to cry again. Ranboo laid a hand in front of the glass, and was shocked when the ghost stepped through onto it. They pulled him up to their chest, feeling the cold and only half corporeal being press into them and cry as Ranboo swiped a finger up and down his back.

“It’s been so long,” the ghost muttered eventually. “Even when I was alive, I…” He trailed off, and Ranboo didn’t push him to continue. “It’s ok.” Ranboo said, cause what else were they supposed to say? It was a ghost. A real, actual fucking ghost, it was taking all of their self control to not freak out. All things considered, it looked weak, but if this kid was what was infecting the museum and the memorial and messing with their head like that, Ranboo could guess that he was anything but. “I’m here to help, however i can.” “How?” the ghost whispered in response. “I’m dead. Thats it. I didn’t do well enough in life, now I’m here forever. Even if you can finally see me, you can’t stay.”

“Can I take you out of here? You don’t deserve to spend the rest of your afterlife surrounded by the same places you were for your entire life. I travel a lot, I’ll take you.” Ranboo wasn’t sure why he was offering. He certainly didn’t need to, he just met this dead kid. But…something about all of this hit home for them. They lived their life seemingly alone, unappreciated, and helpless. Getting a family had been Ranboo’s saving grace, maybe they could be a saving grace for this ghost too.

“I…I’d love to go. But I can’t.” the ghost admittedly sadly. “Im stuck here. Im bonded to this stupid uniform and there’s nothing else in here that I’ve had a stronger connection with. There’s only one thing I might be able to re-bond to, but it’s not down here.” “Wherever it is, I’ll find it.”

“I had it throughout the whole war, and it was on me when I..when I died. I’d bet it’s there. If you find it, I’ll be able to follow wherever it goes. That’s how I think it works, or at least, that’s how it feels like it should work. You’re the first person who’s ever been able to see me like this, I want to trust you. If you really can somehow feel my emotions, you’ll find it. Help me and I’ll leave with you.” “I’ll find it, then. I’m not leaving you behind.” He didn’t know why he became so attached to the ghost, but he wasn’t going back on his word now. Ranboo pulled the ghost away from his chest, holding him to eye level with one hand and holding the other outstretched. “I’m Ranboo.” The ghost grinned, his smile taking up his whole face as tears still poured from his eyes. He took one finger with his hands and shook. “I’m Tommy.”

~~~

The sun was starting to set by the time Ranboo gathered everything they needed for what they were about to do. Whatever weird physic connection they had to Tommy was truly fucking with their head as they circled the tower, trying to get a sense of where this thing might be. Almost everyone in town was home for the night, which Ranboo was grateful for since he was pretty sure that digging up around a memorial site was probably unappreciated at best and illegal at worst.

He was running fully off his own intuition, digging near the front of the stone, quickly realizing that whatever Tommy needed was in that area. It luckily wasn’t too far down, since Ranboo was only using their hands, but eventually they found it: a compass. This was it. Almost as soon as their hands touched the old iron, the sick panicked feeling they’d had since first arriving here went away, though Tommy’s lingering grief remained. They pulled a water bottle from their backpack and quickly cleaned off the compass with their shirt till it shone like it hadn’t been buried for a century. They opened it’s clasp to find the inside miraculously untouched and clean of grime, save for a message that had been scratched into the inside years ago: “Your Tubbo.” Along with this, it was fully functional, pointing in a direction that was decidedly not North but hey at least the hand was working. They clenched it in one hand and pushed the upturned soil back into place with the other. They had to push back more tears as they thought that this had been Tommy’s, now unsure if the sadness was theirs or not, but that was an issue for later. Right now they just needed to steal this century old historical artifact and be on their wa-

“Ranboo! There you are, Phil and Techno have been lookin’ for you!”

Now call it a practiced reflex or whatever, but when a kid who has spent most of their free time practicing magic tricks that may or may not involve swallowing marbles gets caught by a museum curator holding what could be a priceless addition to the museum that they are not going to give up, you can imagine that in the panic to hide it, muscle memory may kick in.

Ergo, you know exactly where the compass ended up the second Ranboo heard Jack’s voice.

Ranboo turned away from the monolith to see Jack running towards him, trying to keep his cool and pretend everything was fine as he felt the cold metal of the compass slip down his throat and into his stomach, eventually clinking against the marbles he hadn’t had time to pull to his mouth. “You alright, man?” he questioned, and Ranboo nodded. “Yup! yup, totally, absolutely nothing wrong here, heh…where are my parents? I have something to show them.”

~~~

“This is crazy, we didn’t even know this was here!” Phil said, standing at the cobblestone tower. “It’s sad, too. You said there was more stuff left behind by this kid?” Techno asked, and Ranboo nodded, wanting to get back to the other memorial as soon as possible so they could get Tommy and get out of this town. “Yes, there’s a little underground tomb thing in his memory, and we need to go there before it closes and we head home.” Ranboo said with a determination that was rare for them. Techno and Phil took the hint to follow.

Making his way back to the memorial, Phil and Techno looked around a bit at some other artifacts, but Ranboo bolted straight back to where Tommy was. Racing down the steps, he saw all the lights were still broken except for the uniform spotlight, and Tommy was nowhere to be seen. “Tommy, it’s me, I’m back. I found it, I found the compass. ‘Your Tubbo,’ right? You can come with me, I’ll get you out of here.” Nothing. He waited. He heard the district footsteps of his parents behind him, but paid them no mind. “Tommy? It’s ok, you don’t have to hide! It’s me, Ranboo, your friend, remember? Tommy??” He started to get frantic, and felt a calming hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, Ran, you don’t need to have another panic attack today. Who’s Tommy?” “The soldier, this soldier!” Ranboo said, pointing at the uniform. “The kid, the one who built the tower! He asked me to find something, it was where he said it would be, I spoke to him, I touched him, he was here!! Please, please you have to believe me-“ “We do, mate, we do!” Phil interjected, taking Ranboo’s hands in his and rubbing circles into the backs of his palms. “You spoke to a ghost, that’s incredible! But, maybe if you found what he wanted, he’s moved on? You helped him find peace.” “He didn’t want peace, he just wanted a friend! I told him I’d be back for him.” Ranboo practically sobbed. He again didn’t know what came over him, he was never like this. He barely knew this ghost, why was he getting so worked up over this?? Phil and Techno exchanged glances that told him they were thinking the same thing he was.

“Ranboo, listen to me;” Techno said, placing his hands on his kid’s shoulders, “you helped him. He’s at peace now because of you. He probably didn’t know that would happen, but he’s ok now. He’s happy, alright?” Ranboo took a few deep breaths, and suddenly felt a shocking wave of calmness wash over him. And by shocking, he meant freezing. It was like a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head, but he no longer felt ill. Sure, he was shivering, but he felt…better. So, so much better. He was worried about Tommy, but maybe his parents were right, maybe he had moved on. Maybe Ranboo had helped him.

No one noticed that the air in the cellar grew warmer as the trio left the up the stairs.

~~~

Ranboo’s sense of calm had persisted as he was helping pack up his family’s van, now knowing they’d have to drive through the night to get home, but so did the chill. In fact, his shivering had gotten so bad that Phil had stopped to buy him a blanket and a few packs of hand warmers at a gas station, and that was barely doing anything. It had been a few hours at this point, and while Techno was driving in silence and Phil was asleep, Ranboo found himself laying across the backseat pulling the marbles back up to his mouth again out of habit, only to barely suppress a hiss of pain when they hit his teeth. They were fucking cold, and the sensation on his teeth was incredibly unpleasant. Pulling the marbles out of his mouth, he was shocked to discover that they were coated in ice, fully frozen over.

None of this was making sense. They set the marbles aside, sitting up somewhat and pressing a hand to their torso underneath the blanket. It was frigid, the entire area of his stomach was ice cold. Was…was it the compass? Could it be?? He tried to pull it up, but for the first time in years, he couldn’t. He tried again. Nothing. He tried a third time, and this time distinctly felt something yanking the compass back into his stomach.

The aura of calm (which Ranboo was quickly realizing was being pushed onto him like the panic had been earlier) was cracking, and Ranboo began to panic. He couldn’t throw up, his body temperature had dropped by at least 10° F, and his stomach felt like it had frostbite. What could he possibly have done, what could possibly-

wait.

The air in his stomach was dropping in temperature, his emotions were being manipulated, and the compass was in his stomach, the one thing that the ghost had said he’d be able to latch onto to leave with Ranboo.

no fucking way.

“Tommy…?” Ranboo whispered as loud as he would dare as to not disturb his parents. He waited for a response, until-

“I was wondering how long it’d take you.”

Ranboo could have screamed. The calm aura shattered, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from hyperventilating while his other hand stayed firmly grasped over his stomach. Fuck. Holy fuck, there was a ghost inside of him. Was he possessed, or was this being haunted? It felt like he was being haunted, more so, but either way he would certainly fucking rather not be. “What are you doing in there?! Get out!!!” Ranboo hissed frantically, still trying to pull the compass out of his stomach and hopefully the ghost along with it. The compass was pulled back down regardless.

“Hey, don’t yell at me like this is my fault! Why would you swallow my compass anyway? Don’t you think it was a bit of a shock for me to see you walk into my room, feel the presence of the most valuable item I owned before I died, and attach myself to it only to end up in here?! Pretty damn weird way to rescue a guy, if I do say so myself.” Tommy snarked, and Ranboo sighed. “I’ll explain later, I don’t want my dads to hear me. I’m sorry, now let me bring you out.” “No can do.” Tommy replied. “I don’t, uh, deal with adults well. I heard them talking to you, that’s why I didn’t just leave the second I ended up in here. I’d rather not meet your folks. And myself and the compass seem to be just fine.”

“I’m gonna die.” “No you won’t, pussy. I’m not that cold.” “The metal against my stomach lining is!” Ranboo quietly argued, “just let me bring the compass up, i’m not gonna get rid of it. I want to help you, but i can’t do that if we’re both ghosts.”

“You…you still want to help me?” “‘Course.” Tommy responded in silence for a few seconds, before sighing. “Fine, but if you toss it I’ll curse you.” Ranboo hummed in agreement, not bothering to argue that if he wanted to toss it he wouldn’t have dug it up and certainly wouldn’t have swallowed it in the fucking first place, and this time when he pulled up the compass it came easily. When he pulled it out of his mouth, a cloud of steam came out with it like he was standing outside in negative degrees. Sure enough, the compass was frozen and almost hurt his hands to touch, so he immediately opened a new pack of hot hands for it, wrapping it carefully.

With nothing else in his stomach, he could start to focus on what Tommy himself felt like, which he’d expected to be nothing, but was…definitely something. Firstly, the ghost was cold, as was to be expected, but oddly physical. Like, there was a noticeable weight in his stomach, but he was generally used to that. Tommy didn’t necessarily weigh…less or more than the marbles, but he weighed differently. His weight was spread out, and since he wasn’t as solid as what Ranboo normally swallowed, it felt strange. He could feel something, someone, in there, but it wasn’t like anything he’d felt before. He…didn’t hate it. Tommy was almost…soft? Like a form made of tv static that he could feel along the bottom of his stomach, but he still had a form and some mass. Tommy hadn’t said anything since he gave up the compass, so Ranboo took the opportunity to press his unoccupied hand against his stomach, feeling where the front walls touched Tommy’s form and the tv static feeling spread. Then he felt Tommy press back, seemingly done with talking for the night. Ranboo patted where he felt his stowaway and laid an arm over his…well, he guessed friend now.

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.

Karl didn’t know why he felt like this.

It was like his body was upset, but Karl wasn’t. 

He slowly dragged himself out of bed, 5:30 a.m., the frown on his face more prevalent than ever. 

He grabbed his clothing and went to take a shower. He washed his hair and then his vision blurred. He stood there, aware, yet not, as his body ran through the motions of the shower as his mind slowly drifted away.

Something in the back of his mind was pressing for memories he didn’t have, memories he had forgotten or pushed down.

As his body moved to exit the shower, he forced himself back, blinking and taking breaths.

He didn’t remember much of his morning routine.

Karl’s body jerked a bit as he opened the fridge-how did he get here? His head jerking back and forth as he tried to scan through the contents, settling for some yogurt. It was easy to eat.

He sat down with his spoon-spoon?-and began to pour some in the bowl-when did he get those?

He took his spoon and began to eat, looking at the clock. 5:50 a.m.

Strange, it didn’t feel like it had been 20 minutes. 

His eyes blurred as he stared at the yogurt he was eating, his body still moving on its own before his memory blanked and he was blinking again, but this time staring into Quackity’s concerned eyes.

“Amor? Is everything alright?” The avian asked. Karl tried to say something, opening and closing his mouth,but no words came out. He reached out slowly to grab Quackity’s hand before finding his vision blur again.

He was vaguely aware that Quackity was speaking to him, making hums in return as that’s all he could figure out how to do. 

His memory blanked again before he woke up once again to being gently lifted in the air. He felt fuzzy and floaty and hated this feeling.

His wandering eyes met Quackity, who was now massive and very concerned. Karl blinked again, trying desperately to come back to reality, but he was too high up.

His vision blurred, but Karl blinked out of it. His vision blurred again and he blinked out of it again. His vision kept blurring no matter how many times he tried to pull himself back to the ground, back to his body.

He felt something soft and warm kneading him, gently pushing his body downwards. He blinked again, pulling himself out of the floaty feeling. His body whined before he was pushed into a softer area, where he laid limp on the ground. He kept feeling the ground, as well as stretching every limb that he had managed to take control of.

“-arl? You with me?” Quackity asked, his voice vibrating through the air and barely reaching Karl’s brain. He shouted a ‘Ya-huh’ back at the avian as he tried to regain consciousness again.

Something pressed up against him as he felt the area around him with his hands. “Can you please talk to me?” Quackity had asked, undoing everything he had done as his vision blurred again and his mind went blank.

His eyes unblurred as he blinked the feeling away again thanks to someone gently rubbing his knuckles. He blinked the blurry away, slowly rubbing the new hand that was trying its hardest to bring him back to reality.

His ears heard, through layers of fuzz, a heartbeat. Two, if he listened hard enough. One was much louder, while the other was closer. A voice rumbled through his body, which even though he couldn’t make out what they were saying, felt nice.

He felt something pressed to his head, and if he focused, he felt something running through his hair. He hummed as his hand gripped the thing rubbing his knuckles-another hand.

Karl felt another hand on his head, pressing him against a soft but firm surface. His mind slowly floated back as he focused on the gentle touches. 

The person holding him began humming, vibrating through his ears. A familiar tune, but Karl couldn’t figure out how he knew it.

Blinking again, and he slowly looked up at Sapnap. The fireborn’s glowing eyes staring down at him, full of care and compassion. It was fairly dark in the room. “Karl?” Sapnap asked softly. 

He hummed in question, realizing Sapnap was gently pressing his head to his chest. “Stay with us, okay?” The fireborn added, gently kissing his forehead. He nodded as Sapnap kissed his hand.

The fireborn continued humming and rubbing his knuckles, slowly bringing Karl back. 

He slowly turned his head, looking around. “Where-where are we…?” He asked slowly. “Quackity stored us, darling, don’t you remember?” The fireborn asked, concerned.

”Not-not really?” He added, then, “I don’t remember too much.” Karl felt the fireborn take a deep breath. “You don’t remember what happened?” He asked, gripping Karl’s hand tighter.

”No-is that bad?” He asked. “I-i don’t know. I’m sure Quackity can help us more but he’s around people.” The fireborn returned. Karl laid against Sapnap.

”It’s okay love.” The fireborn reassured, running a hand through his hair. Karl heard Quackity humming, the vibrations calming him down. “How long was I out?” Karl asked after a bit. 

“At least 30 minutes, that’s what Quackity said.” The fireborn responded. “F—-.” Karl muttered.

It was a long day for Bad.

A long week, even. 

Skeppy had been pressing his buttons. From demanding sand and attention when Bad had no time, to Skeppy killing his fish and kidnapping his horse for the sake of a joke. 

The demon sighed as he sat on the bed in his room, staring at his empty fish bucket in the corner. A loud crash rang through his ears, a growl escaping his throat as he slowly rose from the bed.

He was tired of Skeppy’s antics.

Bad stalked down the stairs, wings raised in agitation even though he attempted to calm himself. His eyes caught the shimmering gem shrunken on the table before he made it off the stairs. 

The demon stopped in his tracks, sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hey Bad…” Skeppy muttered. “What did you do.” Bad drawled as he slowly continued down the steps. 

“So…I was grabbing a book from the shelf, but then the shelf fell and the shrinking potion I grabbed broke…” The gem explained. The demon approached the table, reaching down to grab Skeppy.

“Yeah, you better pick me up.”

Bad’s eyes narrowed.

‘It was just a tease. Skeppy’s playing.’ He told himself, lowering his guard yet again.

“Are-are you okay, Bad?” Skeppy asked, adding, “You’ve been glaring at me for a bit.” The demon’s nostrils flared.

”Am I okay. Am I okay?! All you’ve done this week is demand more and more things from me. You killed my fish and kidnapped my horse. And only now you ask if I’m okay.” He shouted, eyes narrowing on the gem in his hands.

Skeppy looked up at him with fear in his eyes and a tremble racking his body.

Skeppy was scared? No, that’s not good, Skeppy can’t be scared.

He moved Skeppy to his mouth, purring as the other was moved to his throat. 

Skeppy would be safe deep within. He would keep Skeppy safe.

The demon’s purrs heightened as Skeppy landed into his storage. He pressed his hands against his storage as he felt Skeppy moving around within.

He purred once Skeppy finally settled in, relaxing into the calmness.

”-you Bad.” Bad hissed sadly. “Why did you have to do this?!” The gem shouted at him. The demon hissed and pressed against his storage. 

“Geppy?” He forced, whimpering. “Bad, what the f—- were you thinking?!” Skeppy yelled at him. The demon’s face filled with pure fear and shock, before he let the gem out.

He carefully slid the gem from his mouth and onto his hands. “I-i don’t know what happened Geppy, I’m so sorry.” Bad explained. Skeppy just glared. “Like h—- I’d believe that, put me down.” The demon shivered slightly and carefully set Skeppy back down on the table.

”Go away. I don’t want to see you.” The gem spat, stomping his foot down on the table. 

The demon nodded and walked to the door, trying to hold back his tears. ‘What had he done, and why?’ He asked himself mentally as he left the house and wandered down the path.

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