By the time you realise that they can traverse water, it’s too late. The surviving members of your unit manage to make it back by shedding their excess gear and running for their lives; the slower ones were crushed to death within minutes.

You later describe the creature to one of the humans you captured, wanting to know the name of the monstrosity that will haunt your nightmares for cycles to come.

The human smiles as it speaks a single word, slowly and distinctly, in its barbaric tongue.

And at first you are, you’ve learned how to dodge. You’ve learned where their territories are. You know how to defend yourself.

But then one night you are sleeping in your shelter. You’re in a tree covered temperate part of earth. It seems benign. There are been no sightings of the dreaded “hippos” around. Not even any bears. But there is a slight rustle of the undergrowth. You try and ignore it telling yourself it is just the wind.

Then you hear the rustle again. closer this time.

You peer out into the darkness but see nothing amongst the trees.

The rustle again and now you realise you can smell something. It’s musky and slightly foul. It’s the smell of an omen, a warning. But what of? Where is this smell coming from.

You sit up, but it’s too late. The foul smelling creature is on you. You are hit with 17kg of coarse fur and vicious bites. Long dark claws tear in to you and you are pinned down white the striped creature tries to bite your throat.

It takes some doing but you manage to wrestle free. Blood drips from your wounds and already they itch with the sign of infection. The creature has a bloodied snout, rust rad, mingling with the black and white hairs. It lets out a terrifying growl from the back of its throat and looks to attack again. It’s between you and your knife, so your only choice is to back away.

Eventually the creature gives up and snuffles off in to the undergrowth, down a hole near your shelter you hadn’t noticed before.

When you make it back to your base you once again consult the captive human.

BAMrumblerumblethumpcrash!!!

You lost Jaxurn to a plant. Not even a mobile or carnivorous plant, just one that caused a vicious allergic reaction on contact that killed him in less than a rai'kor. Commander Vura'ko died to an insect bite, a tiny local pest that sucked a tiny bit of her blood and apparently replaced it with a bit of its last meal, which was full of disease. Backwash. She died to bug backwash. And yet you honestly envy them after that… thing you encountered…

When you got back to base the quarantine officer refused to let you inside. They had to roll a containment tank outside to put you in, because you all knew there would be no chance of eliminating the smell if it got into the ship’s air ducts. Smell. You wonder if your nasal slit will ever recover from this stench.

And the smell would. Not. Leave. After incinerating your gear the Q.O. had you use every cleansing agent they could think of, including a few janitorial ones, and still everyone fled the stench if they were downwind of your tank. Desperate to protect everyone’s nasal slits from the smell the quarantine officer interrogated the humans. From them, a glimmer of hope: there was a cure. Somehow the juice of a certain fruit on this mudball was the only thing that could break up the chemicals in the little horror’s spray. Immediately the Q.O. sent a team to recover buckets of the stuff and made you bathe in it. That was hours ago and it didn’t seem to be working, though. All it was doing was turning your blue skin an interesting shade of purple.

Sighing in frustration you wave the med-assist on duty over, who only approaches after checking the wind direction. Annoyed, you flip on the tank`s vox speaker.

It came for someone almost every night. 

Any soldier alone was a viable target for this native monster that moved unseen by any but the security viewers, usually only spotted in hindsight.  They were taken as silently as this earth-monster moved.  Sometimes they’d find the remains in the morning taken up a tree and hung there, mostly eaten, as if it were a grisly reminder that the monster was still there, waiting unseen, to strike again. 

What little they saw of the monster on the vidfeed showed true horror.  Yellow eyes that shone with all the light it could gather.  It had fangs as long as his grasping digits.  Claws half that size formed curved hooks that allowed it to climb up their fortifications with impunity.  And in the underbrush, its spots made it almost impossible to see clearly in the undergrowth, if it could be seen at all.

Even the native sentients, the humans, had a healthy respect and fear for it. 

The earth natives called the monster a leopard.  

It was a constant fear that muddied the senses, and let the monster hunt even more effectively as the soldiers were always on edge.  Sleep deprived with fear, it made them even better targets for the monster. 

But rumor was that there was worse on this planet.  Rumors of a monster like a leopard but larger, and bigger in every imaginable sense. Stripped instead of spotted, which leaped from the underbrush with a sound.

The troops were not-quite-looking at her in the way troops do when they don’t want to be seen to contradict a ranking officer, but can’t quite muster a correct Expression of Enthusiastic Assent.  “The name of this species,” she pointed out, “is synonymous with dullness and slowness in the language of the Earth barbarians.”  Well, one language out of several thousand—these creatures needed Imperial guidance more than any other world on record—but there was no point in confusing the rank and file.

“I would warn you not to fuck with us, mate.” Their forced guide, a prisioner, had warned with a chilling grin upon capture. “If you think a moose is bad, wait until you tango with a red back.” To this day Tar'van fears the creature known as the red back, and what horrors it would bring.

The prisioner turned out to be of little help,the stubboness of his people causing them to refuse the danger that the captured human warned of. Tar'van recalls a moment when one of his squad members approached a creature know as a dingo, insistent they had seen these creatures before and they were tame. They barely escaped with 5 of the original 7 members of his squad.

Another moment Tar'van recalls was the brutal mauling they witnessed by the hands of a creature called an ‘Emu’

“Don’t feel too bad,” the prisioner mocked. “We lost a war to the Emu’s as well.”

Now with only 4 members of their squad left, including themself, Tar'van had learned to listen to the prisoner, to be wary of the simplest of creatures. This human was of the sub-species of ‘Zookeeper’ after all.

The ‘Zookeeper’ looks off to the distance, where the creature is.

“It’s a kangaroo, leave it be and you’ll be fine.” Tar'van nods, a human signal of acknowledgement if they are correct. The human smiles a bit.

“That creature cannot possibly harm us.” Tar'van’s squadleader protests. “It is so docile. I will aproach it and bring back it’s head to show this human is a fearmongering liar.”

The human reels back, a look of disgust crosses their face and anger passes through their eyes.

“Fucking do it mate, I dare ya.” The human hisses. The squad leader puffs up their hoinn gland, a sign of pride to their species, and aproached the so called ‘Kangaroo’.

“This will be unpleasant.” A squadmate mutters as they watch their leader raise their fist and bring it down on the creature. The ‘Kangaroo’ looks a little stunned by the impact, before it raises itself upon its strong tail and uses its powerful heind legs to launch their squadleader backwards through the air.

Their squadleader lands upon the ground, unmoving with black blooded oozeing from them. It appears Tar'van is the squads leader now.

“I don’t know what they expected.” the human says, smugness filling their tone. “Kangaroos are fucking shreaded. 8-pack and all.”

Tar'van steps forward to the human, whom inches back in a sign of fear as Tar'van pulls their blade from its holster, and in their first act as leader, frees the human of the bonds around their hands.

They had faced Emu’s. They had lost one in the battle but had experienced them. But this was no emu.

Looking to their guide, they all stare in horror as his face changes from calculating to fear. Pure, heart consuming horror as he stares at the large bird. “Cassowary…” They mimic him in fear. Squawking the horrific name as another joins the first in the mad run towards them.

“Excuse me,” the native Terran guide speaks up in a tired tone, and the squad’s cheers die on their lips. “This is Japan. You haven’t seen what–”

“Silence, worm! No sting can penetrate this plating!”

The guide tries to warn them once again, merely earning a blow that throws them to their knees. The troops set out, morale high, certain in their ability to brave the wildlife now and thirsting for vengeance against the non-sentient native species. One soldier thumps his fist against a tree. A hollow sound follows.

In an instant, the soldier is the centre of a storm of the striped insects. At first, no one pays it any mind. Their little stings cannot penetrate the new plating, after all.

But then the soldier falls to his knees, and the squad stares in horror as the insects enclose him in layer upon layer of their own bodies, all moving. The squad’s medic yells a warning at everyone to stay back, watching the readouts of the unfortunate soldier’s armour on their diagnostic screen with undisguised horror. The insects aren’t even stinging. They simply keep moving, one atop the other, and the soldier’s body temperature is slowly rising until he drops to the ground, quite literally cooked alive. The insect swarm takes off, unharmed save for the ones that were crushed when the trooper fell.

The human bares its teeth. A smile, they call it. Something humans do when they are happy. Yet you can’t help but think of all the creatures with the their large fangs and sharp teeth. (What kind of species uses a threat signal as a sign of happiness?)

“Persistence and ingenuity.” The human answers, still smiling. 

“Is that a miniature tiger?”

“Why does this human own a small pack of wolves?”

The aliens ask their human captive why small wolves live with them. 

“Oh, you mean dogs? Yeah, they’re the only animals that can keep up with us.”

The aliens look at each other in fear. “What do you mean?”

“Oh well that’s why you guys ‘won’ is because humans aren’t super fast or strong. I think my middle school biology teacher called us pursuit predators? It means we evolved to hunt things by following them at walking pace until they had to stop to sleep and then catching up to them then. Dogs are the only animals that can keep up with us. Did you know one time a pack of wolves tailed a herd of caribou for three days straight?”

“Uh… okay, what about these small round things with big teeth?”

“Omg dude no if you give a hamster enought time that little fucker can chew through concrete :)”

The aliens aren’t expecting any difficulties with their underwater expeditions. Of course, that’s when four of the life signs on the central screen simply vanish, like they’d never been there. 

Alpha turns on the direct communication lines to the remaining submersion pods, and the only thing they hear through the tinny speakers is screaming. 

Alpha resists the urge to turn and stare at the shackled human standing behind them, but Beta, Gamma and Theta have no such compunctions. 

The human shrugs. “I mean, we’ve never really been down there so we’re not entire sure, but we’ve heard stories of giant squids and stuff. No smoke without fire, and all that.” 

“There can be neither smoke nor fire underwater, human, cease your prattling.” 

The human snorts. “It’s a phrase. A metaphor? Man, I don’t know, I studied marine biology, not literature.” 

The human is unable to tell them anything useful about what might have happened to the submersion pods, but retrieved footage later shows tentacled behemoths snaking out of the depths of disturbed silt and cold water, and crushing the submersion pods effortlessly, in full view of the outer-hull cameras. The monsters have giant beaks which rip through the organic alloy sheets, and into the bodies of the pod pilots within. 

The outer-hull cameras register the blue of fresh spilled blood and gore, at the same time the on-board cameras register screaming and the red glow of critical power failure. 

The last thing the aliens can see on the retrieved footage is thin, long, snakelike creatures appearing out of the darkness and gloom, creating their own light and descending upon the remains of their brethren. They are accompanied by creatures that look like plastic bags, but which feed upon the toxic remains of the organic alloy of which the pods were made.

Dihesil cautiously followed their leader onto the terrain. It is rough, though patches here and there are slick and glassy. Their human guide is terrified. It strains against the soldiers holding it, muttering frantically under its breath. “We’re gonna die, we’re gonna fucking die.” Squad leader Tarhsis seems unconcerned. As the small group approached the top of the sloping terrain, a slight rumble shook the ground. The human yelped and struggled worse than ever, and the guards scowled and lifted it straight off the ground to carry it along. “Please!” The human cried. “We have to retreat now, if any of us wants to survive! Please, I’m a geologist, I know what’s happening! We’ll be killed!” Tarhsis laughed. “Silly human. Your fellows have tricked us before, and we will not be tricked again.” They pointed toward the top. “Advance.”  “No!!” The human kicked its guards in the loikinin glands and ran, the two soldiers left coughing and wheezing. Dihesil reluctantly raised their blaster to strike the human down, but Tarhsis stopped them. “There’s nowhere for it to run. We have camps down there, and we’ll punish it properly after we’re done here.” The squad had taken only another two paces when the ground rocked beneath their feet and threw them down. A horrible gasping roar began at the top of the incline, and bright orange liquid spilled out. The heat slapped Dihesil in the face, making them realize that perhaps the human had been right to flee.  In the end, only Dihesil made it back to the sip and to the camps in time to warn the others. The human who had run shook its head as it saw the burns lacing Dihesil’s body.  “I told you so.”

~~~~~

Yunor had been on the first ship to land on the island chain, and had seen their good friend die at the hands of something the Terran had called “Japanese honeybees.” It made them furious that such a small creature could kill their friend. Now, they swore to explore these islands and discover, conquer, and catalogue all of its deadly features.

Their three hundred and twenty-second day began quite well. They were off to investigate the water creatures that lived around the islands. Curiously enough, no rogue Terrans were on the beaches, nor were there any complicit guides on recreation. They greeted one of their other friends cheerily, then began combing the beach for creatures. 

An hour after arriving, Yunor had been pinched by several “crabs,” and was becoming irritated. A tremor ran through the sand, strong enough to knock them off balance. It continued for several seconds, then ceased. They picked themself up and laughed, returning to the search. The ocean seemed to recede as he walked towards it, further than normal, and far out, it was rising into a massive wall of water. The sea approached fast, growing larger and larger as it came, and Yunor gasped, tried to run, but too late—

“A what?” Piklono shook the bars of the Terran cage. “What was it?”

“A tsunami,” one Terran said.  

“We’d like to get this over as quickly as possible human.” It was true. This human country, Canada was it? Was large and cold. 

It took far too long to get ready and the vast expanse of it made exploring the country difficult. This and Russia had very little volunteers for these exact reasons.

“Fine then, I guess.  If you wanna get frostbite and amputate a toe or three than who am i to judge eh? Lead the way.”

The human rolled his eyes but remained compliant. Good. Retily wanted it to be over as soon as possible.

He did not like the cold or the way his comrades appendages would turn black in it.

——–

“Human hurry up!” Squad leader Fargin yelled, brandishing his prod to help move the human along. The human, whose name was Michael he found out from his collar, stood at the end stiff.

“Don’t-, Don’t fucking move guys.” The human, or Michael really, hissed.

Only then did Retily notice his eyes were much larger than normal. Was the human experiencing the so called frostbite it talked about? Than why was he staring off into the distance at that certain spot?

“Hey uh, Fargin i think i just saw something move?” Comrade Yurien said, staring at the same spot the human was.  

Huffing Squad leader Fargin brought out his binoculars and looked where the two were. A small excited noise came from the back of his throat as he brought his binoculars down.

“Ah Human! No need to fret. It is simply an albino version of a black bear. Do not worry i shall take care of it immediately!”

What was meant to be reassuring sentence, and one of Fargin showing off his might, made the human pale considerably. He took a step back and dread filled his face.

“No fuck we need to-, we need to get out of here immediately. It ain’t safe. Just-. oh fuck oh fuck” The human seemed afraid of whatever this thing was. And if the human seemed afraid than Retily didn’t think it was smart to go after whatever it was.

“Pull yourself together human!” Fargin said, “Yurien and Mastive come with me. We shall dispense of this creature at once!”

The three set off towards the animal and each step they took made the human shrink behind Retily. It was all going so well but then the animal turned around and attacked.

Yurien was the first to go, with a bite to the neck and claw marks to the chest he bled out immediately. Fargin came right after, his screams echoing around the frozen tundra. Mastive however made a mistake.

Mastive ran.

The bear chased after him and in the distance they could hear loud screams of pain. The bear had caught up to him it seemed.

“Wha-, what was that?” Retily asked, immediately turning towards the human.

“A polar bear. Largest, most vicious, bear of bears and we’re fuckin’ lucky it didn’t notice us.” The human replied, still shaking and pale.

“Why?”

“Human, where are we now?” asked Kron, the general. The human, Josh, who didn’t even seem fazed by the heat, answered, “This is Florida.”

A few soldiers had already been killed off to panthers and black bears, so the remaining decided it’d be best to travel at night when the wildlife were asleep. Before, there had been a total of twenty soldiers. Now there were only six.

Something brushed against Neerin, causing him to yelp, only to realize it was moss dangling from a tree. The stems reminded him too much of jellyfish tentacles that they had encountered earlier, causing him to shudder as he scratched at the stings on his legs.

As they continued trekking deeper into the swamp, the water became less shallow until they were no longer wading and had to swim instead. The faint sound of ducks quacking in the distance was almost a relief to listen to. At least they’d have food if they needed to stop for the rest of the night.

Suddenly, there was noise.

Everyone stopped, asking each other if they all heard the same thing. They scanned the area, but it was too dark to see. Thinking it was probably a fish, they resumed their trail. Surely nothing would attack them at night on water, right?

Then, there was the noise again, only it was closer and sounded like a low rumble.

Everyone paused. Something was stalking them. But what?

“Oh shit,” Josh whispered in horror. “Human, what is that noise we just heard?!” Kron demanded. “I recognize that sound anywhere, I heard it before while I was kayaking,” by now, Josh’s voice sounded panicked. Kron grew impatient, “Well? What is it?!”

Josh gulped, “Its an alligator.”

Before Kron could ask what this ‘alligator’ is, one of his soldiers let out a bloodcurdling scream as something dragged him beneath the water. Everyone looked around frantically, calling out his name, when a dismembered leg with a noticeable bite mark floated up.

All soldiers froze in shock when the creature resurfaced, baring its rows of bloodied teeth lining the inside of its elongated snout in rows, hissing as it swam closer.

“SWIM AWAY!”

Everyone scattered, frantically swimming as fast as they could. Unfortunately, the ruckus only attracted more alligators, which were faster and bigger. There was no hope for survival.

Kron hadn’t even noticed Josh escaped, paralyzed as he watched his army be dragged underwater, the sounds of agonizing screams and the snapping of jaws as the gators devoured them.

Then, he heard it. The guttural growl as one approached him. Even in the dark, the reptilian creature looked like it was… Smiling. Sadistic and hungry.

Grabbing a nearby stick floating in the water, Kron tried swatting at the carnivore, only for it to bite the wood in half and clamp its teeth into his arm. Kron screamed in pain, tugging at his arm in a panicked frenzy. The gator was relentless, only biting down harder with each pull until Kron’s arm ripped off, the remaining swallowed whole by the beast.

Tears and snot ran down Kron’s face, stumbling backwards as the gator swam towards him again. When he was able to think rationally, Kron pulled out his combat knife and aimed for the reptile’s back, but the blade didn’t even penetrate through its skin, like it was made of its own scaly armor.

There was that dreadful hissing noise again, only this time it was behind him. Then all around him. Kron was surrounded by the alligators who had finished off his men and were now focused on him for their last meal.

Kron whimpered in defeat and all the gators pounced on him at once, above and below the water. His limbs ripped off and chunks of flesh torn out of his body, the water turned red with blood, his screams echoing in the marsh as the alligators ate him alive.

None of the aliens survived. Only Josh the human.

Aisrain snarled at the word, “Is that an insult? Don’t make me remind you of what happens to disrespe-” “Shut up.”, the human stated curtly, and Aisrain huffed, moving himself to stand in front of the human-

Only to gasp in pain as the “tree root” came to life, boring its fangs into his legs as the crew gasped in shock and horror as the creature clung to their leader’s leg for a few moments longer, then releasing him and wiggling into the brush.

Aisrain growled as a burning pain began to spread through his leg, and he glared intensely at the human guide.

“What. Was. That.”, he hissed, and the human smiled.

“A cottonmouth snake. Well known here, in South Carolina, for their pale mouths. That was a baby, unluckily for you.”, she grinned, and Aisrain yelled out in pain before placing his hand around the human’s neck. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘UNLUCKILY’!?”

The human sneered.

“Unlike a mature cottonmouth, which will just bite you and deposit a bit of venom…”, she chuckled sadistically, and Aisrain’s pride melted away with her voice in her next words.

“A baby cotton will deposit ALL of its venom in one bite.”

The crew’s eyes widened, gasps filling the air, but the human held her hand up, silencing them. “It gets worse, Captain Aisrain.”, her words strengthened on the leader’s title, making him shiver under her sadistically happy gaze.

…time I should get off Tumblr and go eat something…

Right. This is the last post I’m making on the topic, because honestly, I have far too much going on in my life right now (to fill in new followers: one dying relative, three recently dead ones, grief coming out the wazoo, care duties for other relatives, a damn PhD) to dedicate any more mental or emotional space to this discussion. I appreciate that people have questions on this, and I honestly think I answered most of them in the post that’s being referenced here, but in the interests of having it all in one place, here we are.

Second disclosure: this ask was not initially sent on anonymous, but I’ve copied and pasted it and sent it to myself anonymously so that I can answer it publicly without people knowing who OP is, because I’ve noticed that some people have been sending incredulous messages to people who’ve defended book wankery on that previous post, and I don’t want to be the cause of that.

So, on a point-by-point basis:

If i am unable to get to the library and im also not able to afford a book, how does pirating it hurt the author?I was unable to afford the book in the first place so they would never have gotten the revenue from that sale.

Because it’s theft. Plain and simple. And without meaning to sound unkind, that argument is simply fatuous, because if you apply it to literally any other form of property - let’s say a car, because why not - then it’s not an argument anyone would make. “If I wanted a car but wasn’t able to afford it, and I stole it instead, then how does that hurt the car dealership? I wasn’t going to buy it anyway, so they haven’t lost revenue!” Yes, they have, and yes, an author loses revenue from a stolen copy of their book, because it’s a copy of their book in someone’s hands that that person did not pay for. If you just don’t buy it and then don’t steal it, then of course the author hasn’t lost revenue; Ford doesn’t lose income every time I look at one of their cars and don’t purchase it. They do, however, lose income every time I look at one of their cars and drive it off the car lot without paying (please don’t come for me, Ford, this is a hypothetical and I can’t drive).

In fact, for authors it tends to be even more the case, because most people will get a stolen copy of the book from a pirating site where the ebook or pdf has been shared. You aren’t the only person downloading that file, I promise you. It’s never just one lost sale. It’s dozens. Hundreds, even thousands, for more popular books. That’s the thing about creative work, such as books, art and music. It can be stolen over and over and over again. And it is.

And here is the other thing that most people can’t grasp. Authors’ income is directly, inexorably tied to the number of books they sell. This is not up for debate. Authors are not salaried. We don’t get, say, £4k a year regardless of how many books we shift. Let me explain very briefly. A traditionally published author, i.e. an author who has signed with an agent and / or sold their book to a publishing house, will usually get an advance. This is a one-off payment based on approximately how well the publisher thinks the book is likely to sell. These advances vary wildly in amount. They used to be much bigger. Celebrities can command huge ones, because it’s a broken system. A debut author will probably get in the four figures. That’s all they get until the book ‘earns out’ the advance, i.e. it sells enough copies that the advance has been recouped. After that, the author earns a percentage of sales (royalties).

A self-published / indie author, like me, is someone who doesn’t have a publishing house. We use a print-on-demand or ebook service, like Amazon KDP or Lulu, to make copies of our books. We then get a percentage of each sale, with no advance, and the ‘publisher’ (i.e. Amazon, Lulu) takes a cut, and the rest of the sale goes towards printing the physical book or delivering the ebook. Our only income comes from each copy of the book sold. This is why we lose income when you pirate a copy; because it’s a copy you get from which we get absolutely nothing. Diddly squit. Our hard work is in your hands for you to benefit from, enjoy and consume, and we see absolutely nothing for it.

But wait! I hear you cry. You get exposure, don’t you? Someone new has heard of your book! To which I pat you very firmly on the head, so firmly that your eyes start to water, and I whisper softly in your ear yes, child; an audience who steals from me, and then I walk away. In all seriousness, the ‘exposure’ argument doesn’t hold water. Asda don’t take exposure points when I try and buy milk there. I don’t need to build an audience of people who want my stuff for free. That’s no use to me whatsoever, unless those people want to do my food shop for me. On the same praxis, don’t repost art without credit, or against the artist’s wishes. It’s the exact same principle.

[…] but you seem to be implying that poor people without access to libraries shouldnt read books.

I am begging you on bended knee to see the equivalency here. You’re essentially accusing me of not understanding the needs of poor people, and of therefore being classist. How do you not see that this also applies to people - book wankers, in this case - who steal the meagre income from authors? You’re a huge part of the reason that hardly any of us get to write full time. You’re part of the reason that we can’t make a living off our work. Every time you steal a book, you reduce an author’s ability to pay their rent, to buy food, to pay for travel. You are contributing to our financial woes. You are depleting our income.

Most of us, unless you’re Stephen King or JK Rowling, really don’t make a lot of money from our work. I haven’t ever gone into the profit margins of my book before and I’m not super keen on doing so now, but I’ll tell you that I make a very small amount of money off each book sale. That was my personal choice, because as a first time author I was wary of pricing myself too high. I didn’t have the confidence to ask for more, and I’m not going to raise the price 3 years later. As for how I spend the money, I generally use my royalties to pay for travel to university and to writing research trips, because I don’t drive and rely on trains to get to university, which can be costly. I also use it to buy food. I still live at home so rent isn’t a big concern, luckily; I can put my salary towards that when I’m working at another job. Most authors have many more financial burdens than me. If you’re an author trying to pay your rent and bills and pay for your food, then book wankery is going to be much worse for you than it is for me. If you’re an author with dependents? Good luck to you.

And guess which authors suffer most from the effects of book wankery? I’ll give you a clue: it isn’t single working-middle class cis white able-bodied authors like me. It’s authors of colour, disabled authors, trans authors. Authors whose work about marginalised experiences is too niche for big publishers to risk advances on. Authors who can’t take a second job to supplement their writing income because they have health or access issues. Authors who can’t get a foot in the door of the publishing world because they come from working class backgrounds and don’t have the connections. Authors with children who need food, clothes, daycare and stable housing.

Now tell me again how being against book wankery is classist or proof that I don’t think poor people should be able to read. I am against book wankery because I believe that poor authors should be able to earn a living from their work and not have their shit stolen. I’m annoyed when it happens to me as an individual, because it peeves me off to have my hard work essentially waved away with a flick of the wrist and a wry well, I like it, but not enough to pay for it. That’s annoying, and hurtful, and frustrating, and yes, it diminishes my already small income, but at least I’m not going to be homeless due to it at this point.

I’m livid, however, when it happens to authors who have more to lose than me. Authors who have literally lost publishing deals because they couldn’t prove enough sales to publish the sequel in a planned trilogy, because so many copies were stolen that it looked like no-one read it. Authors who have fallen behind on rent payments. Authors who have to rely on an unreliable net of benefits / social security because their income is being eroded. This isn’t a case of book wankery having no real world effects, because it does. I’m fortunate to be able to avoid most of them simply by definition of my privilege in other fields.

I don’t think that poor people shouldn’t be able to read books (or to rephrase without the double negative, I think that poor people should be able to read books). I just think that within the capitalist society we live in, and with the current (outdated, horrible, unfit for purpose) income model of the publishing industry, we need to consider who we’re actually hurting when we pirate books, because I promise you that it’s not the Big Corporate Bosses. Borrow a book from a friend, because at least that copy was paid for initially. Ditto a secondhand bookstore, where you might be able to pick it up for like £2. Heck, wait until it comes on a huge sale and buy it then. There are alternatives. Consider them first.

IT IS VERY REAL!! ALWAYS BE AWARE.

Otherwhise:

Stay aware, keep things you can use to defend yourself on your person (Keys between your fingers, peper spray, taser, etc)

Keep in mind what areas to aim for in a struggel

Always use your palm, elbow or tug your tumb in while striking to prevent injuring yourself.

Be carefull and try to go places in larger groups, preferably with several male friends.

Keep in contact with people and let them know about your where abouts so that not hearing from you in a while raises suspicion.

They like to aim for college students both because of the age group and because it’s more likely that you missing will be noticed late.

If you go out a lot or are searching for a new partner, stay aware. Don’t give your number out to strangers, go clubbing with bigger groups of friends and arrange that some of you stay sober that night, do not leave if you aren’t all together, watch your drinks, you can not trust a cute person you met at a club who brought you a drink, yes that also goes for other women. Do not leave with strangers, potential one night stands are not worth the risk. Do research on the clubs security beforehand, maybe go to the more expensive one with the better reputation, sure you might not be able to go as often but you will be going more save.

Same goes for bars.

All things considered you really want a new relationship try dating within your actual social circle. People your friends have known for a while or maybe long time friends themself. People who are registered at your university and you know have been leaving a social foot print are also more likely to trust. Always aim to go out with people you know others recognize and tell people when you plan to go on a date.

So, I am of the firm opinion that when commenting, unless the author explicitly asks for constructive criticism, that it is not acceptable to give it. That it is violating a boundary that should not have to be explicitly stated to exist for people not to violate. A lack of consent for that kind of feedback from strangers on the internet.

Today I wake up to a response to me attempting to explain this politely and gently to someone that they are violating that boundary of someone who did not explicitly give consent for people to give constructive criticism that said, to paraphrase, that it should be that unless explicitly stated not to give, constructive criticism must always be welcome.

Which. You’re coming into a space that was created by the author and is not your own space in order to tell them that they built the story all wrong after a certain point, and then you have the audacity to say it’s right and just that you are allowed to do so just because there isn’t a sign that says no?

It is, as far as I am concerned, an utter violation of the concept of consent. It should not be that an author needs to explicitly refuse consent everytime, anymore than a person should be required to explicitly refuse consent to any other violation of their boundaries.

And honestly, to the best of my understanding of the fandom etiquette I GREW UP WITH, it is rude to provide constructive criticism on a piece of writing unless explicitly asked for (ok, the exception to that is the implied consent to criticism involved in taking part in a workshop, but AO3 is not a fucking workshop).

I am done with that entitled asshat. I refuse to attempt to explain to them that they are violating a rule of common decency, AGAIN. But I needed to get that out of my system before I started screaming in frustration and scared the cat.

—

Edit:

By this point, you’ve either found a blog theme that you like or you’ve completely resigned yourselves to the default themes. Either way, you no longer care about your blog theme and that’s the way it should be.

You constantly gain a new appreciation for the, like, five followers that have followed you since the beginning.

You have a never-ending library of memes in your blog’s archives

If you ever need a pick-me-up, you can go back into the depths of your blog and find old content that you never thought you’d see again.

You probably never reblog unsourced/reposted art because you’ve been on Tumblr long enough to remember the original post in the first place.

A great appreciation for the updates that actually made the site work better (putting the reblog button at the bottom of the page, for instance)

A complete apathy to any sort of drama that this site devolves into.

You’ve probably discovered XKit by now and are grateful every day of your life.

You’ve seen and/or participated in some of the greatest events on this website, for better or worse (Mishapocalypse, the “reblog this if you’re in _______ fandom” posts, “What color is the sky?”, DashCon and the immediate fallout)

Bad things that come from being on Tumblr for 5+ years:

Different day, different discourse.

You’ve slowly watched people that you’ve followed for years go through eighty blog changes and that cool SuperWhoLock blog you once liked is now a belly-button fetish blog and you have to wonder where it all went wrong.

“Guys we literally settled this argument like two years ago why the fuck are we doing this all over again”

Living long enough to see people’s opinions on groups, events, and identities completely flip flop in the course of a couple of years.

Your block list is a mile long and full of porn blogs

Going from thinking that Tumblr was the best website ever to an old, jaded veteran who just wants to post memes is a very hardcore slide and it’s given me whiplash

Posts that you really used to like were deleted a long time ago back before deactivation was a thing.

Being 18+ years old on this site and knowing that the opinions of most of the users basically boil down to what minors think is social justice but really isn’t. Their hearts are in the right place…but… well, they’ve got a ways to go.

Out of the blue, someone will message you about why you don’t post about certain shows anymore and you don’t have the heart to tell them that you haven’t tuned into that show in 4 years.

30 minutes later: *throat swells up and tongue goes numb*

….

Everyone I Love Is Dead

The English Have Stolen All My Sheep

You Want To Be My Boyfriend? First You Must Answer These Riddles Three

The Protestants Have Stolen All My Sheep

I Love You A Lot But You’ve Left Me And It’s Raining [fiddle solo]

The Sea Is Treacherous, Just Like The English

One Time Bonnie Prince Charlie Punched Me In The Face And It Was Awesome

* Everyone I Love Is An Allegorical Representation of Ireland

* The English Stole My Farm And Put Sheep On It

* You Were My Boyfriend But Now You Won’t Even Come To The Window To Look Upon Me And Our Dead Infant Child (In The Rain)

* Whack Fol Too La Roo Umptytiddly Good They’ve Stopped Listening Now Let’s Talk About Revolution

genres include:

I Left Everyone I Love Back Home In The Holler To Be With This Guy Who Doesn’t Wear Shoes Or Have Teeth But He Plays A Mean Jug

The English Told Us Not To Move West Yet, We Ignored Them, My Entire Family Was Killed

You Were My Boyfriend But You Tied A Sack Of Rocks To My Petticoats And Threw Me In The Creek (And My Baby Too)

Mama Loves All 14 Of Us A Lot But She’s Weary Of Our Shit And Now She’s Dyin’ (Gather Round)

The McCleans Stole A Firewood Log From Our Pile So We Won’t Rest Until The Last Of Their Male Kin Is Laid In The Cold Ground

We Knew The River Would Rise But We Still Didn’t Fix The Levee 

The River Rose, The Levee Broke, Everyone Died, It Was Just As We Reckoned (dulcimer twang-a-lang) 

When The Rebels Come A-Marchin’ I’m A Southern Man And I Feed Their Horses My Best, When The Yankees Come A-Marchin’ I’m A Northern Man And I Feed Their Horses What The Rebels Left

I think someone needs to put in a word for the English folk tradition though:

I Met a Girl and We Went Hunting (It Was a Metaphor for Sex)

I Met a Girl and We Caught Some Birds (It Was a Metaphor for Sex)

I Met a Girl and We Found Her Lost Pet (It Was a Metaphor for Sex)

I Met a Girl By Staying At Her Parents’ House and She Made My Bed (It Was an Especially Thinly-Veiled Metaphor for Sex)

I Am a Girl and I Regret Engaging In Metaphors for Sex Because Now I’m Pregnant

I Met a Girl and Bribed Her Into Sex But She Stole My Horse and Ran Away With It

I Met a Girl At an Inn and We Had Non-Metaphorical Sex But She Stole My Stuff The Next Morning and Now I Have Syphilis

Your Fiance Died Either at Trafalgar or Waterloo, Let’s Get Married, I’m Glad You Said No Because I’m Really Him In Disguise

Lord Nelson Sure Was Awesome

The Press-Gang Dragged Off All the Important Men in My Life (And Now They Are Dead)

Farm Laborers Are The Salt of the Earth And Are Never Grindingly Poor

I Went Out Riding and Noticed Mongolia

We Fought a Bunch of Guys (On Horseback)

Witness My Many Ungulates

(While On a Horse) I Met a Hot Girl Who Reminded Me of a Plant

On Three, Say What That Terrain Feature Looks Like to You (One, Two, Three, A Horse)

Witness My Many Ancestors’ Many Ungulates

I Also Enjoy Heavy Metal, Especially If It’s Made of Horseshoes

Oooorrrrweeeeuuurrrreeeeuuuuwwwwwrrrrrrrr (Is Tuvan for “Horse”)

We Must Plant the Crops, Let’s Get Drunk! 

We Must Harvest the Crops, Let’s Get Drunk!

There’s No Crops Right Now, Let’s Get Drunk!

Sex On the Beach Is Awesome, War Is Bad

There Are Ghosts in the Trees

The Japanese Exploit Us (And the Americans Do Too)

I Love the Sea, This Island Is Beautiful, War Is Still Bad

Hey, There’s an Old Man, Let’s Get Drunk!

I Am A Brawny-Armed Lumberjack Who Loves a Town Girl, Oh No!

Oh Fuck, I Slept With a Fur Trapper, What Shall I Tell Maman?

Hauling Logs, Rolling Logs, Driving Logs, All Day, What Ho!

Like Hell You’re Marrying That Good for Nothing Bambocheur!

Fetch My Gold Ring That Fell Into the Sea!  Now!

I Met A Sailor While A-Strolling, And Now We Are In Love!

I Want to Kiss the Sailor I Met A-Strolling, But I’m Afraid My Father Will Find Out!

A Spider Has Bitten Me And If I Do Not Dance I Will Die, Alas

I Am A Very Fancy Man With A Very Fancy Hat

The Cable Car Is A Thinly-Veiled Metaphor For Your Feminine Torture, O Woman

Rome Is The Very Best Place And Every Other Place Is Just Awful

I Love You, But You Are Married

I Love You, But You Are Fickle (Why Did You Dance With The Baker’s Son, Thou Vixen?)

I Love You, But You Left Me All Alone On This Romantic Wind-Swept Hillside, Which Is Actually Very Pretty, But Not As Pretty As You, Foul Temptress

Rome Is Still The Best Place And Every Other Place Can Go Right To Hell

Seriously Once You Have Been To Rome You Will Just Be Sick At The Thought Of Being Anywhere Else, You Will Pine Away And Die

I Love You, But You Are Dead (Or Maybe You Just Went To Live In A Slightly Prettier Place)

Rome, Rome, O Rome, Ah Rome, Rome Rome Rome, Have I Mentioned That I Love Rome?

Venetian Special Genres:

Women Are Like The Ocean: Salty And Full Of Drowned Sailors

Women Are Like The Ocean: I Cannot Figure Them Out At All

I Saw You One Time At A Party And I Have Designs Upon Your Feminine Virtue

- That Incompetent Sailor Is Actually A Girl, But She Will Have Sex With You If You Don’t Kick Her Off The Boat

- Someone Of Any Occupation Is Doing Something, But Unfortunately They Are Now Dead

- Fuck You Spain (Haha, We Sunk Your Boat And Stole Your Silver)

- Fuck You England

- We Might Be Small, But We Will Fight You

- Life Isn’t So Bad, If You Just Go Outside

- Fuck You Winter

- Look At That Guy (Wild Racism)

- We Like Going To Other Countries (More Wild Racism)

- Drinking Is Fun

- Drinking Makes Me Long For Sea

- God Is My Dad

There Was A War And Everyone is Dead, There’s Also a Symbolic Bird

There is Going to Be a War And Everyone Will Die, There’s Also a Sybmolic Bird

The Dyeing Is Happening Right Now, There’s Also a Symbolic Bird

I Had a Dream About Us Dying (No Birds Involved)

Alas You Are Dead 

I’m a Bird, I Drink Vodka

Fuck It’s Cold

Frost Do Not Freeze Me Do Not Freeze My Horse Do Not Freeze My Wife Please I Have Children

And my personal favourite:

~ I Married To A Man And Moved Far From My Home But I Want Fucking Back On My Fucking Land To My Parents And A Guy Whom I Actually Planned To Marry Before My Society’s Patriarchal Structure Destroyed My Life

~ A Guy Whom I Loved Loved Me And Also A Some Other Bitch So I Poisoned Him So That Nobody Gets Him

~ This Is My Land And I Love It Very Much, Period

~ I Made A Traditional Kupala Wreath And Released It On Water To Find My Love, No Sexual Hits Involved

~ I Have A Veeery Deeeeep Well In My Garden, And Also A Veeery Curly-Wurly Cabbage, And Also A Veeery Sweeeet Carrot Growing There, Come On Guys Check It Out, Oh, And There Are Totally No Sexual Hints

~ Graphic Descriptions Of Lesbian Sex

~ Everybody Is Dead After A Battle But There Is One Particular Cossack Whom I Am Especially Obligated To Mourn About Because He Is A Representative Of Our Entire Nation’s Young People

~ The Couple Cannot Be Together Because Of Various Reasons And Everybody Cries

~  The Couple Cannot Be Together Because Of Various Reasons And Everybody Cries And It’s Compared To Some Sad Shit Happening In Nature

~ Let’s Kill All People Who Threaten Ukraine Hahaha Yay!

~ I have a boat and have procured many crawfish do you love me?

~ I sure do love crawfish, boats, the bayou, and also dancing

~ My girlfriend can cook, and is therefore superior your girlfriend, who cannot

~ my girlfriend cannot cook and is therefore inferior to all other girlfriends

~ I saw you over a pile of crawfish and knew I was in love (on the bayou)

~ There was a ship and everyone on it was brave as it sank in a storm on the ocean or possibly one of our many inland-sea-sized lakes, please remember the name of the ship 

~ We fell in love when we were young and we didn’t actually understand each other and you figured that out before I did because I’m slow-witted and you’re kind of a jerk so you left me (now listen to this sick organ/fiddle/guitar/harmonica/piano solo)

~ Fuck the railroad, fuck the government, and especially fuck the HBC

~ Gosh everything in this country is inhumanly big and inconvenient and trying to kill us, we’re so lucky to live here, it’s so majestic

~ The English stole our sheep and exiled my true love to Louisiana

~ That’s Cute - an indigenous/ Métis coproduction after hearing that last one

~ Well we’re all in debt and working in a mine fucking sucks but at least we can get drunk and go dancing on the weekends

~ This guy went to prison for a crime he didn’t commit/did commit but with the most sympathetic motive for doing it ever and now he’s out of jail and everything is bittersweet, either because he broke out and has to go back or because he’s lost years of his life to a broken legal system.

The Wren Is The Best Bird (And Delicious!)

I’m Gay For Owain Glyndŵr

My Goats/Sheep/Cows Are Better Than Yours

Lullaby About Killing Things

Fuck You, England

I’m Dying, But First…A Harp Solo

I Was Busy Thinking About A Girl And The Cows Ran Away

Got Dumped, Time To Die In The Woods

Wales Is Really Pretty, Our Trees Are The Best

Owen Cheated On Me, So I Had Sex With David

I Also Had Sex With The Hot Crwth Player And It Was Amazing

Sailing ship, 1870, Ivan Aivazovski

(my personal !!!!! moment is when the Russos explain that in their universe, the Only People who will ever get the Soul Stone are the people who will sacrifice a loved one on the say-so of a spooky floating creep.

"sacrifice" someone you love lol did you mean brutally murder someone you love to prove your character is bad?

look, the correct way to do the scene i hate is either:

TAKE ONE:

Red Skull Ghost: you gotta punt someone over this cliff to get my shiny rock

thanos: don't know if I wanna do that? I love murder but like idk all I got with me is this person I think of as my kid and I am a sociopath but doin that feels bad I think

red skull ghost: yeah no DEFINITELY do it it's MUCH better if you like the person, that's like uh,,,you're sacrificing something

thanos: what an excellent point I keep TELLING all these whiners that I'm murdering them for their own good, you get it, bro

*yeets gamora*

thanos: uhmm sweetie...WHITHER is my STONE

red skull: omg lol you just murdered your kid ten seconds after a stranger told you to do it, you failed the EASIEST test, you ain't gettin SHIT and there's nothing you can do bout it I'm a creepy ghost lol

thanos: ...

red skull: also you killed a loved one in this very mystical ghost place so now she gets to haunt your ass until you kill yourself lolol

*THE SOUL STONE COMES INTO PLAY IN SOME MORE INTERESTING WAY, gamora's shade spends the next hour of the movie grimly screaming her sexts to peter whenever thanos is trying to concentrate*

OR, TAKE TWO:

idk someone gets to the planet before thanos, you'd have to rewrite the whole movie to get steve and bucky there but thematically, for this example, who CARES:

red skull ghost: yup yup the soul stone, good, anyways, sacrifice someone you love, chop chop

bucky: well We Know Who's Getting Sacrificed

steve: 200% not an option, help me whack this ghost like a pinata until the stone comes out

bucky: steve im so ready to be Done cmon it's Fine

steve: No, and also Never, and also fuck you and anyone else who suggests it ever again, and also No

red skull: fine I guess you dont really want my stone get outta here pussies

bucky: you gotta quit saying the whole world can go to hell for me Pal like just chuck me off a cliff I am So Tired

steve: No, Part Deux: if we cant get the stone without killing someone we love neither can thanos, and evidence suggests he loves nothing but Murder so we should be Fine. let's get outta here

red skull: you're really not gonna do it? you're really gonna sacrifice half the galaxy for ur dumb friend over here?

steve: why didnt the future invent a way to punch ghosts oh my GOD

red skull: goddamnit goddamnit not even one little murder

*they start to leave, steve wakes up in the glowy purple pool with the stone?!?*

red skull, sulking: it's the SOUL stone, u gotta prove that ur not a sociopath who would murder a loved one for power before u can get ur grubby little meat hands on it

dumbasses

Suit up for battle. Head to toe tyvek suits like hazmat workers wear is ideal here. Not kidding, when I was clearing poison ivy out from under our deck I got a disposable suit, disposable gloves, wore safety goggles, and a mask. And then bundled them up and chucked them. And I’m not even super sensitive to poison ivy. 

 If you can’t swing that, long pants, long sleeves, gloves, tuck sleeves INTO gloves and pants INTO socks, and if you can cover your face with a scarf and wear goggles so much the better. And then I still might chuck those clothes after, if you have someone who’s super sensitive in the house.