a watched nut never busts. or something. i dont fucking know what you people find funny anymore. 9/11.

why is this the one

Our Stance On Gen-AI

This year, for the first time, we've had a couple of reports from bidders that the FTH fanworks they received were produced using generative AI. For that reason, we've decided that it's important that we lay out a specific, concrete policy going forward.

Generative AI tools are not welcome here.

Non-exhaustive list of examples:

Participants found to have used generative AI to produce a fanwork, in part or in whole, for their bidder(s) will be permanently banned from participating in future iterations of Fandom Trumps Hate.

Why?

We understand that there can be contentious debate around the use of generative AI, we know individual people have their own reasons for being in favor of it, and we recognize that many people may simply be unaware that these tools come with any negative impacts at all. Regardless, we are firm in our stance on this for the following (non-exhaustive) list of key reasons in no particular order:

negative, unregulated environmental impact

plagiarism and lack of artistic integrity

undermining our community building impact

undermining the value of participating as a creator

In general, we try to be as flexible as we can in our policies to allow for the best experience possible for all Fandom Trumps Hate participants. This, however, is something we are not willing to be flexible on. We realize this may seem unusually rigid, but we ask that you trust we have given this serious consideration and respect that while we are willing to answer clarifying questions, we are not open to debate on this topic.

It is sixteen fucking degrees out (fahrenheit) (a word which apparently tumblr spellcheck thinks is fake?) and yet I am forced to put on my little coat and booties and go out into the cold cruel world at this hour (7 AM hour) because I have a therapist appointment tomorrow and my assignment for this appointment is to go to a coffee shop by myself (she said the coffee shop must be in a mile of my house, and I said there isn't one, and she said fine then five miles, and it turns out there isn't one of those either so I've selected one six miles away) and observe myself and my own reactions with pen and paper and not just scroll my phone

I've selected a coffee shop to do this that I haven't actually been to before (because my favorite coffee shop in town is ruined because the owner swung wildly and illogically pro-Trump after the election) (wild because he's an immigrant and his wife is from Ukraine?) and my selection basis was pretty much: opens before 10 AM (since I still have to work), isn't a Starbucks, and is closest to my house.

And as a bonus the shop is called OMEGA COFFEE.

Update: survived being sentenced to the salt mines (1 hour in a coffee shop) for my sins (having a weird brain)

My takeaway is that having a mentally ill mom combined with being really intensely bullied in middle school really fucks you up. News at eleven.

Also, while I dream of being a person who is Comfortable Being Themselves In Public, my nightmare is being the woman who sat in front of me in a church hoodie and spent the entire hour having loud and deeply personal phone conversations in an extremely public place where other people are trying to read/work/study

This is such a wild story like holy shit dude

The data is here

Stop asking gay couples whos the man and who's the woman. Start asking them which one is howard moon and which one is vince noir

[Survey] Content Management on Archive of Our Own

Carol Zhang, a second year Masters of Digital Arts and Humanities student at the University of British Columbia Okanagan is doing research on Archive of Our Own under the supervision of Dr. Jonathan Cinnamon. This research is specifically examining how users interact with the archive’s tagging system and how their wider Internet usage could impact that. Part of this research is the survey - available on this link - for which Zhang is looking for participants.

The survey is anonymous and it takes 10-15 minutes to fill out. It will be available on the above link until January 20th. Participants must be at least 18 years old. More information about how the responses will be stored can be found in the consent form and if you have any further questions, you can contact Carol Zhang at the email address [email protected].

The results of the research will be available through the university’s thesis archive, cIRcle.

If you are interested in talking about content management tools and your experience navigating the archive and you are eligible, consider contributing to the research by filling out the survey.

Story Time: Get a load of what happened to me at Starbucks today.

There’s a running joke among people who know me personally that I unwittingly go out in public with a sign on my forehead stating “I Am Non-Threatening. Come Talk To Me.” Because if there’s a chance a bizarre conversation with a total stranger is going to happen, I’m typically the person it happens to.

Some context: I have been pretty darn sick this week. (It’s not Coronavirus, don’t worry.) Since the work in my queue for my day job is comprised entirely of audio narration right now, and I currently sound like a waterlogged Demi Moore, I haven’t been able to work these last couple of days. As a result, I’ve been using my down time to knock out as much of Manu’s redesign as possible. Today, to ensure I didn’t spend the day languishing in sinus misery, I medicated the crap out of myself and took Manu to the Starbucks down the block from my son’s day care.

I hit the bathroom, then picked an empty table, but as soon as I sat down with my venti Comfort Tea and started tweaking the inks on my iPad, I felt the eyes of the man next to me looking over my shoulder.

When I looked up, he had his phone out. “I’m sorry,” he said (in a thick accent I couldn’t place geographically), “I don’t want to disturb. I notice you art. You are artist!”

I tried to smile. “Yes, I’m... Well, I’m trying to be,” I croaked.

He leaned in, like he was sharing a secret.

“I am artist, too.”

He stuck out his hand.

I gently took it, grateful for the bathroom trip I just took in which I washed the scourge off of my fingers.

“Can I?” he asked, holding his phone up.

“Take a picture? Uh... sure,” I said. It’s not like he would be able to steal Manu out from under me or anything, I figured. The panel I was tweaking was magnified out to Guam.

“I am artist. Architect and Designer,” he clarified while he steadied his phone over my iPad. “I am Ilker. What is your name?”

“I’m Venessa” I said, trying to be polite. This, I thought warily, is precisely how I get myself into trouble. I’m too damn nice.

“You know, I come to America twenty years ago from Turkey...”

I put down my stylus. This was going to be a while.

“I like Turkey,” he explained. “I like the country and I like the people. But I am artist. I am not... religious man.”

I nodded.

“I told my wife I was going to go to America and she said, “what are you going to do? You don’t have job! You don’t have money! No Visa!” And I said, “I am artist and architect. I will paint and sell my paintings.

“So I come to America alone. To New York City. I sit outside, and I paint. And people, they liked my paintings. They bought them. This one for $30, that one for $50.

“One day, a man comes over to me and he say, “I like your painting. I see you are also architect.” And he gives me his number and asks me to go to meeting at his office. Because he wants to offer me a job. He starts to talk about a building contract.

“I tell him I don’t know anything about contracts. I have no Visa. I am not American citizen. But he says, “That’s okay. I will take care of everything. You will have nothing to worry about.” And this man, he gave me a job. $173,000 a year. And my wife, he gave her a job too. She was project assistant. I bring her and my two daughters over from Turkey.”

“Wow,” I said, not fully believing the veracity of what sounded like a full-on immigration fairy tale.

“Here,” said Ilker, unlocking his phone and opening up his Facebook app. “I show you my work.” He paused and looked up at me. “I am interrupting. You don’t mind?”

At this point, I was invested. I had to see. Because whatever he was about to show me would either prove or disprove this yarn he was spinning. “Please,” I said, gesturing for him to go ahead.

He opened his photos and my jaw dropped. His work... was UNREAL.

“This is building I designed on Madison Ave.... And this one in Chelsea...”

Holy crap. I had just been to Chelsea with my sister last month on a trip to see a broadway show. I had crossed the intersection of the building he was, at this moment, telling me he designed.

He flipped through more buildings. These, he’d designed in Washington, DC. In Bethesda. In Arlington. All beautiful, streamlined, modern structures I had visited and parked my car in front of. He told me he did much of his concept work freehand. That he worked exclusively in natural media. His preferred media was pen, ink, watercolors, and chalks.

Between photos of his wife and daughters, he went on to show me photos from the RUSSIAN EXHIBITION OF HIS ARCHITECTURE ARTWORK.

Y’all, I was stunned. I couldn’t believe the talent I was sitting next to. Scattered among these gloriously rendered images of some of the most beautiful building concepts I’d ever seen were paintings of scenes in Central Park, the National Mall, and nudes from a life-drawing session he attends from time to time.

When he was done flipping through his phone, he looked at me and smiled. “I hope you don’t mind that I interrupt you. I show you all this because what you are doing is very good. And you should be encouraged. To draw is to make beauty.”

I nodded, a lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I managed. “Your work is astonishing. I don’t even know what to say. What is your name again?”

He held out his hand once more. “Ilker Kocahan,” he said. “I am getting more coffee. Can I get you one?”

I looked at my still-full venti cup. “No thank you. But here, please take my card.”

He held my dinky business card like I’d handed him a treasure and thanked me.

Then Ilker got his coffee, and left the coffee shop.

At some point in his ramblings he talked about America as a place of dreams. How he credits this country with helping him rise to the top of his field where he is now able to sell his paintings for $800-$1000 a piece now that he’s retired. My heart ached to hear him talk about that, knowing how our leadership’s positions on immigrants have taken such a dark and horrifying turn.

Imagine the buildings and museums and public places that would never have been if a business man in the park hadn’t lifted up a Turkish painter who spoke little English.

And now that painter was paying it forward on me.

I still feel pretty darn sick. I’ve still got body aches and a nose that has taken the rest of my face hostage.

But today was a really good day. And I just wanted to share it with you in case you are looking for reasons to keep drawing/painting/dancing/writing. It all counts and it is all good.

If you would like to see Ilker Kocohan’s work, please click here.

UPDATE TO THIS STORY! I would have posted this sooner, but quarantine has had the unexpected effect of zapping all my alone-time...

As luck would have it, I saw Ilker one last time before my area received the mandate to start social distancing. I came into the Starbucks to work on the “Simon Is On the Ground” comic while waiting to pick up my kid from day care, and there he was, happily chatting with the Starbucks manager, who gifted him with a Starbucks hat while I ordered my tea.

A week had passed since our first meeting, so I wasn’t sure he’d recognize me. Lo and behold, as I turned the corner, I caught his eye, and he waved at me. This time, I asked if I might sit with him, and he warmly offered the seat beside him.

While I settled in, he told me that his project was being delayed and that he was going to leave the area and fly home before COVID-19 could make it impossible to travel. The hat was for his wife, whose only understanding of Starbucks was that Ilker really liked the coffee.

As one might expect, we immediately fell into another conversation about art, except this time, I eagerly abandoned my work to hear him talk.

And friends, did I ever get a master class.

He pulled up a painting on his phone which he’d sold for $800. It was a life drawing in ink and watercolor of a woman in a demure gesture, barely detailed and colored in but for her rose-tinted lips and the shadow cast across her neck. He said he felt sad that he’d sold it because he really loved how it came out.

“This is no detailed like yours,” he said, comparing his painting to my panel of Simon and Baz. “Mine is simple. But in a few strokes, I can capture the life of the lady.”

He took his napkin, turned it over, and pulled a pen out of his chest pocket. “Look there,” he said, pointing to a man sitting a few tables away. He began to scribble away on the napkin, lines and lines and more lines. “You see,” he murmured as he ran his pen over the napkin, “I can, with speed, capture the man. I don’t have hours to ask him to sit. I must let go of the planning.”

In seconds, the man across the room took shape on the napkin in a series of confident if also messy lines. It was incredible to watch.

I could instantly see what he meant. He had not produced a photorealistic version of this person on the napkin. But he had captured the man’s essence. The aura of a real person sitting contemplatively with his coffee while reading the Washington Post. I could feel the life of the drawing radiate from the paper.

(When he was done, to my horror, he crumpled up the napkin.)

I shyly mentioned that I’ve been working hard on my own gesture drawing, but had a long way to go, so he asked to see my sketchbook.

I mean... is there even a word in the English language to describe the combination of dread and embarrassment that precedes showing an art master your crap-ass sketchbook that no one sees but you? I didn’t know what to do with myself as he sat there and flipped through the pages.

Eventually, he nodded approvingly and said, “Okay! Is good. But this is sketchbook like every other.” He gestured at the page. “Where are you?”

I was lost for how to respond, but lucky for me, he’s a talkative guy seemingly incapable of awkward silences.

“The world needs to see you in the lines,” he explained. “Someone can look at my work and know, ‘that painting is from Ilker Kocahan.’ You need to draw more and more so that when people look at your drawings, they will know: this work is Venessa’s work.” Then he shrugged and said, “And who knows. I will maybe see you in two years at this Starbucks, and by then, your drawings will be truly yours.”

I’ve shared this story with some close friends who took mild offense on my behalf at his observations, but I really think it took sitting there watching him draw to understand exactly what he was talking about.

Ilker Kocahan has no imposter syndrome. He is supremely confident in every possible way where his art is concerned. The lines that flowed from his pen were fueled by his soul, not his brain. I didn’t think artists like him existed anymore until I was sitting there looking over his shoulder while he scribbled a man into existence, like it was nothing. When I asked if he plots out the perspective on his building sketches in advance, he shook his head no and doodled this on my cake pop wrapper while he rambled on about the components he likes to include in his architecture concepts:

(Don’t worry. I kept it.)

So when he talked about “finding me” in my sketches, I really think he could sense—by the light scratch of the pencil, the trace evidence on the paper of my erasing and failed attempts—my own lack of confidence, my second guessing and self-doubt. My desire to be as good as other artists instead of my desire to express myself.

And in that sense, everything he was saying about my sketchbook was correct. He urged me to get off the iPad as often as possible. To sketch with ink, which is riskier because you can’t erase it, and in that way, give myself no choice but to commit to the lines.

The conversation turned to lighter things after that. He’s apparently an extremely talented basketball player who loves hanging out with his wife and kids. His daughters are both designers. He thinks quirky viral videos are the best thing about the internet. (I agreed.) He’s weak for New York pizza.

Eventually, he bought me a refill for my tea and asked if I would meet him again in a couple of days so he could talk to me about my artwork and help me with my sketching. He even added me as a Facebook friend. When I left the Starbucks to pick up Colin, I was so excited and overwhelmed and grateful to the universe for bringing me into his acquaintance, I texted everyone in my family about it.

But as fate would have it, that night, the local government released its mandate regarding social distancing. He’s likely in Belarus right now with his wife.

I won’t lie and say I’m not devastated that I lost the chance to be his student for an afternoon. But the impression these coffee shop chats left on me was profound. I think about it all the time. For one who struggles with feeling like the artist version of Pinocchio waiting around for permission to be a real boy, it makes all the difference in the world to linger in the huge, unstoppable energy of someone who lives without an inner critic.

I hope I get to see him again after the quarantine is over. I’d love to see if I can fulfill Ilker’s prophecy and meet back at that Starbucks in two years with a different sketchbook in tow. One that I can hand over knowing without doubt or trepidation that anyone looking for me in the work need look no further than the bold stroke of my hand.

Taken the last time we chatted:

[UPDATE:] I am absolutely gobsmacked and grateful at the way this post has resonated with so many folks on Tumblr, artists and otherwise. Some have asked whether Ilker and I have kept in touch, and yes, we have! He occasionally messages pictures of building designs he’s working on or happy family photos (which I assume he’s sending en masse to his friends list) and I basically gush in return. I’ll also occasionally drop a line to check in; he knows I’m still working on my inking and sketch work. He remains so very encouraging and kind. He wishes me “happy art days.”

That said, you can imagine how my heart sank when last night he sent a message out to his Facebook friends letting us know he contracted Coronavirus and has been hospitalized. He’s been ill for two weeks now.

I asked for his consent to share this with friends in case it could inspire some good vibes, and he agreed. If you felt moved by his wisdom and kindness in the above posts and feel inclined to send a healing thought his way today, I would be grateful. While I believe his constitution is strong thanks to his being so active, this virus doesn’t discriminate, and the world needs humans like Ilker Kocahan right now. (Or at least, I do.)

Thanks, and I promise to report back with any news. ❤️

As promised, I have an update on Ilker’s condition!

I am happy to report that he is back home from the hospital as of this week and reportedly feeling better. He said he feels extremely lucky and credited his healthy/happy lifestyle for his resilience via text message. I quote: 

“No smoking No Drunk Basketball Good food Family life enjoying And happy character” 

While he was in the hospital he generously texted me photos of little notes he’d scrawled on paper napkins of his vitals (temperature, blood pressure, blood O2 levels) since I had asked him to keep me posted. Of all the notes he sent, this one was the most interesting, as it shows they’ve been making patients sleep in a prone position with some kind of ventilation over the face, presumably to leverage gravity in opening up the lungs?

Anyway, I’m so grateful to everyone who sent well wishes and look forward to passing along those kind messages to him after this. Thank you, thank you for those good vibes.  ❤️

I hope that if and when I ever come down with something scary like COVID, I can handle it with as much grace as this guy right here:

Since this is from 2020 and Ilker is a prominent architect, I looked him up, fearing the worst and hoping for the best.

As luck would have it, his Instagram was near the top of my search results, and it instantly popped up a drawing he did in December 2024! I didn't do a whole lot of digging (mostly I wanted to know he made a full recovery), but he's now splitting his time between NYC and Istanbul.

oh god this is gonna be another sports anime with queer bait huh. sigh

WHAT THE FUCK

Fandom Trumps Hate 2025 Calendar

We're back, folks! FTH is back for be our ninth (!) auction, and there's lots of good work to be done. (What is Fandom Trumps Hate?)

In this post you'll find the calendar for the 2025 auction, along with links to some useful information, including this year's list of supported organizations. (All of these same links can be found in our masthead, but since that's not visible on mobile we wanted to make them easy to find elsewhere.) You'll also find dates for our Crafts Bazaar. (wait, the what? Read more at our 2024 Crafts Bazaar page.)

Here is this year's list of supported organizations. We'll be posting more detailed profiles of each of them over the coming weeks. We also encourage you to look at the Auction FAQ (which has lots of useful information for people thinking about signing up as creators, as well as dedicated sections on bidding and on nonprofit orgs.) If you're raring to go, you can look at our bidding policies.

Lastly, in a couple of weeks we'll be kicking off our newly-revived offscreen activism blog @fthaction. Why not give it a follow?

FTH2025 Auction Calendar

Monday, January 20th: creator signups open for both the auction and the crafts bazaar

Sunday, February 2nd: creator signups close

Friday, February 21st: browsing period begins, crafts bazaar announcement goes live

Tuesday, February 25th, 8am ET: bidding opens

Saturday, March 1st, 8pm ET: auction bidding closes

Monday, March 10th: craft stalls close

Wednesday, March 12: proof of donations due

...and if you're thinking the gap between the end of signups and the beginning of browsing period looks long: we have also noticed this! In order to accommodate some back-end changes that will help the auction run more smoothly, we've given ourselves an extra week to get ourselves set up. We've also got some stuff in the works to occupy that time -- we'll say more about that when the time arrives.

Together, we're going to make sure that there is at least one (1) good thing in the world with the number 2025 attached to it.

holy fuck. Zuck finally went full Elon in public.

Full text of

his threads’ thread:

Holy shit, they already uploaded the changes in threads & instagram community rules (for those who are not familiar with this format, the green-marker text is what they added today, the striked text is what they have removed):

They are EXPLICITLY ALLOWING HATE CONTENT. IN THEIR TERMS OF FUCKING SERVICE.

Below that there’s other section that define things under the category “do not post”:

So hey, you can now go to instagram and compare black people to farm equipment or women to household items!! it’s FULLY COVERED BY THEIR RULES. EXPLICITLY.

@ayeforscotland I’m glad you mention this, because they added this little gem to their “hateful content” page:

Also, some of you in the notes talk about leaving facebook. Let me remind you this doesn’t apply just to Facebook, but also to Threads and Instagram.

TIME TO CREATE BUCKAROOS yes there will be little pieces that you keep seeing and thinking 'this is broken this is wrong' but honestly most of these things fall into two categories 1 they give you flavor and power or 2 nobody even notices. NOW GET OUT THERE AND PROVE LOVE BUILD SOMETHING AMAZING

Oh boy I can't wait to see what kind of posts are in my favorite character's tag! :D

-1 hp

-1 hp

-1 hp

-1 hp

-1 hp

-1 hp

-1 hp

I saw some chat on BlueSky about bridging the fandom divide, which uh, good luck with that, but also, what is the reason for that divide or are there different reasons?

The decade you’re given is the decade to which you’re transported. Your geographic location doesn’t change; only the time period changes. “Equivalent QOL” means a qualify of life that approximates the life you have now and anticipate being able to have in the future.