Encounters With ICE Are Expected Increase In The US Soon. You Should Know What To Do.

With everything going around these days about generative AI (such as c.ai in fan settings, and chatgpt for everything else) I've decided to put together some banners for creators to put with their works if they like. Here are the ones I have so far:

(LET THE MACHINE STARVE - DO NOT FEED AI MY WORKS)

(KEEP ART HUMAN - DEATH TO AI)

(THIS WAS MADE BY A HUMAN - KEEP IT THAT WAY)

(NEURONS NOT WIRES - DEATH TO AI)

(HUMAN MADE HUMAN LOVED - DEATH TO AI)

(SAY NO TO GENERATIVE AI - DEATH TO CONSUMERISM)

(NEW THOUGHTS ARE HUMAN MADE - DEATH TO GENERATIVE AI)

(MADE WITH HEART NOT A CPU - DEATH TO AI)

Feel free to use these! I just ask that you reblog this post if you do, and tag me for credit somewhere on your blog (:

I've tried to pick a color that looked legible on both light and dark backgrounds, but feel free to ask for other colors (via askbox) if you're needing something else and I'll try to get to it!

edit: some other versions i had made as well but wasn't sure how easier they were to see, so I put them beneath the larger versions!

Hot take, I HATE konig.

(Because he replaces my beautiful king gaz)

TELL ME THIS ISNT YOUNG! SIMON RILEY. TELL ME RN.

also kyle gallner

hey, so you know that thing i made forever ago? yeah, here's part two lmao

i started this one in august of last year, got about half-way done, then kind of just let it sit on my hard drives. my cod brainrot is still kicking around, so i thought i might as well finish it

Ghost is like uncannily good with animals. He is on some Snow White shit.

TW: none :3

Ok, so hear me out, he’s not a dog person (they do swarm to him tho, because dogs always go for the one who wants to be around them least)

But yk what animals he’s good with? Very skidish animals (deer, cats, birds rabbits, ect.) because he dose not actively seek out said animals, and they just come to him!

I’ve said this before, ghost loves a good birdwatch, and he’ll lay down. And since he’s a sniper, will not move a muscle, and birds will often come and sit on him, or inspect him, he dosent move. He won’t even pet them. He dose not care! They’re chilling and so is he,

even fish love him. But he fucking hates fish so he makes an effort to be as loud and making as much movement as possible,

And if he’s set up on overwatch in a forest area or any wildlife area for a long time, by the time he has to take the shot, or he is clear to get up, birds. Deer, fucking squirrels have come sat. Slept. He is so chill with them,

once him and price where on overwatch and he saw it happen, price scared it off. Because he tried to pet the bird, and it flew off, :(

Ghost:“Look don’t touch sir,”

Price:“ like you, lieutenant.”

end of january affirmations

im not doing anything wrong and no one is mad at me

there must be a place for me in this world because here i am

my art doesnt suck

instagram is nothing to me

Block people who make bad faith posts about trans women's struggles by saying trans men do not struggle.

Block people who post on trans men's vents by suggesting they don't suffer as profoundly as their sisters.

Block people who try to make you turn against the women and others who make up our family.

Do not allow yourself to become bitter and jealous, protect yourself and you will be protecting our community.

how do you feel about writers who don’t use ai, like chatgpt, to write their work, but to help improve it in some way like grammar, vagueness, etc. i’ve seen writers who do this and wanted to see how you felt.

also, i love your work.

Same thing I'd say to someone who'd ask, "How do you feel about artists who don't use AI to draw, but they use it later on to form the hard parts like hands and hair, and smooth the rendering?"

I'd say you're handicapping yourself in your craft, and you'll never grow as a creator from where you are now.

There should be no stigma about sharing badly written fic, because we all have to write it bad before we can write it well. The process of making mistakes and not noticing them, and writing anyway is how you grow. The process of finally noticing your mistakes, and brainstorming ways to correct them that works for you is how you grow. The process of realizing that now that you're not making mistakes, you have capacity for adding unique greatness is how you grow.

It's a step by step process, and you will never make a great fic until you've made your share of bad ones.

Write it bad.

Do we know how Price came to his hat?

How about Nik gave it to him shortly after they met, because young Price got horribly sunburned on his face and neck, the translucent (and at that time not yet so freckly) fucker. He kept it every since. It's practical! It's only because it's practical, you see. No other reason.

Nik POV: That's my ha- nevermind, I'll never get it back (insert budding feelings accompanied by possessive pride that Price wears some of his)

Fuuuck, I love this so much. I usually have the cigar habit as something Nik gave him, but this is equally as delicious.

Maybe they were conducting an op in the middle east somewhere. It was a dry heat out in the desert so Price didn't notice it as much. He was used to the clammy, uncomfortable heat we get in the UK. To him, that's heat, the kind that makes you soak through your shirt at the back, under your arms, under your damn tits.

The dry desert crept up on him and while he absolutely recognised the importance of maintaining himself properly so that he didn't jeopardise their mission, he had been single-mindedly focused on everyone and everything else besides. He didn't realise he was dehydrated until he started getting dizzy while looking over a map with Mac and Nik.

Mac took one look at him and grunted. "When's the last time ye took a pish?"

Price couldn't fuckin' remember, could he? He looked at his captain stupidly, dry mouth sticky and cloying.

"Fer fuck sake, g'wan back tae the tent, ye dafty. If ah see ye out here before ye've sunk a litre, ah'll skelp ye. Nik, get him outta my sight."

So, Nik walked Price back to the tent they were storing a few crates worth of explosives in and sat him down with a Camelbak full of cold water. Once Price started drinking, he couldn't stop, it was possibly the best thing he had ever tasted in his bloody life. It didn't matter that half of it sloshed down his stubbled chin onto his shirt.

"Ah, ah, take it easy, lieutenant," Nik said, placing one of his big hands over Price's wrist. "You will make yourself sick." He smiled big, unabashed, and Price looked at himself in those mirrored aviators with a faint scowl. It was unreasonable how good-lookin' Nik was in a backwards khaki patrol cap and sunglasses. Shouldn't Russians burn in the heat? They were fifty percent snow, weren't they?

"'m fine," Price sniffed, always a little defensive around Nikolai, and now feeling extra sensitive after getting bollocked in front of him.

He hated that Nik made him feel his age. Twenty-three was young for a lieutenant but it was never usually a problem. People saw his scores, his records, his medals even now, and they forgot his age. But Nik had a way of reminding Price that, while he was looking up swearwords in the French dictionary at school to try and impress Tracy from class 9B2, Nik was already flying Sukhois and learning fifty ways to kill a man.

Nik nodded and they sat in silence for a while. Price's eyes wandered to the tent flap, and he was returning to the map in his mind when Nik's fingers, cool from where they had been holding the water bottle, touched his ears. They felt like shards of ice. "Ah, wossat fer, ya muppet?" He grumbled.

Nik's grin grew a little wider. "Your ears have burned, and the back of your neck."

"Fuck sake, I put factor fifty on this mornin'..." Price traced his fingers from his ear down his neck. The burning stopped at the line of his shemagh, which had offered some protection, even soaked in sweat.

"Da, but you are... hmm, svyetlokozshee, uh.." Nik's eyes flicked back and forth as if reading from an internal dictionary, "ah, fair-skinned."

It was damn impressive how he did that. His file had said eight languages. English was number eight. Mac had said something about mensa international having a file on Nik too. Too intelligent to be slumming it in the desert with the SAS, and yet here he was.

The way Nik said fair-skinned sounded far too fond and Price's skin would be blushing if it wasn't already red. He decided not to examine the reaction too closely. Price touched his ears gingerly, and scrunched his nose. "Great."

"You must look after yourself, lieutenant. You are the most valuable asset here." Nik dropped his pack from his shoulder and began rummaging through. He pulled out a roll of khaki and shoved it into Price's hands. When Price unrolled it, he puffed a laugh.

"A boonie hat, you jossin' me?"

Nik looked at him blankly.

"Oh, uh... Takin' the piss, as in, I'm gonna look like a twat if I wear this."

Nik rolled his shoulders in an 'eh' shrug that made Price want to shove the hat in his mouth. "You will look like a twat if you faint in the heat and the captain has to carry you out under fire."

Price licked the salt from his lips, fixing Nik with a long stare, hating the fact that he was right more than he hated the boonie hat. "Fair," he said, finally. He unrolled it, flattened out the brim, and shoved it on his head, picking up the water bottle for another long drink.

Nik watched him, eyes invisible behind his aviators, but Price was sure he was... admiring. Just felt it. Nik always looked at him in ways like that. Fuck knows why. "Wot?" Price asked, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist.

"Hm, just... an echo of tomorrow."

"You are bloody odd, Nik."

"Da," Nik conceded, slapping his knees before he rolled to his feet. "I will tell the captain you are almost ready. Two hundred and fifty more millilitres to go, such a good boy."

A shiver of something not entirely unpleasant ran down Price's spine, and he growled. "Just for that I'm gonna tip it on the floor."

"No, you will not." Nik didn't even look back as he walked out of the tent.

Price scowled, flashed his middle finger at Nik's back, and drank the last quarter of a litre as petulantly as he could muster. "Fuckin' wanker..."