Last part, and the one people skip. It’s also the one that decides whether everything in the previous six is actually yours.
What you already have, without doing anything
The commitments on the creators page apply from the moment you make something:
You own what you create. Your content is not used to train AI models — myOrbit builds no models at all. Revenue is transparent, with the split shown where you sell. Delete your work anytime, and any license on it ends when you do.
Those are defaults, not features you switch on. The rest of this note is about the part that does need action.
Verify, if you are part of the brand
If your own face, voice, or name is part of what you’re building — a likeness avatar, a character that’s recognisably you, a personality people follow — verify your identity and claim it.
Verification converts “that looks like me”, which is an argument, into “that is my registered likeness”, which is a fact with a timestamp. One registration covers the faces you actually use: your own likeness, your alter egos, your original characters. A creator’s cast is part of the creator.
Do it before you need it. The moment you need it is the moment someone else is already using your face, and starting the process then means starting from zero while the copy runs.
Two honest limits: verification today covers individuals — businesses, estates and agencies are coming, not live — and the search-and-claim machinery works within myOrbit. Impersonation elsewhere on the internet is not something I can enforce from here, though the check API exists so other platforms can ask before they mint a character.
Licensing is the door, not just the wall
Everything above is protective. The part I’d actually push you toward is the opposite.
Once your likeness is claimed, licensing turns it from a thing you defend into a thing you rent. A brand wants your avatar as its spokesperson. A community wants your character at its event. Each of those goes from theft you might not catch to a deal you chose: your terms, your consent on record, revenue to you.
Nobody licenses what they can freely steal. The walls are what make the door worth walking through.
What your boundaries do
Every avatar carries limits you define — what it will and won’t do. Treat that as characterisation rather than paperwork (part three makes the case), but also as protection: an avatar with defined limits is a character you can stand behind when someone pushes it somewhere you didn’t intend.
The platform’s own rules sit above yours and aren’t yours to move: General by default, Mature at 18+ and opt-in, Prohibited blocked for everyone, and minors General-only always.
Deletion, said precisely
You can delete your work at any time and the license ends with it. Worth knowing exactly what that does and doesn’t reach, because precision here is the difference between a promise and a disappointment:
Deleting your content removes it and ends what anyone was licensed to do with it. What deletion cannot do is reach inside a general-purpose AI model and remove something — nobody can do that, and we don’t build models anyway, so there is nothing of yours in one of ours to reach into. And if you delete your account, that does not cancel an App Store or Google Play subscription — those are cancelled in the store, and the deletion policy says so in as many words.
That’s the series
Seven parts, one argument: avatars for reach and orbits for depth, many attempts rather than one masterpiece, characters with a point of view, a room rather than a feed, rhythm rather than reach, rails that reward what already happened, and ownership that’s real because it’s enforceable.
The reason I built the economy before the rest is its own note. The short version: I was on the wrong side of this table once, and I’d rather build the platform I was looking for than the one that was easiest to fund.
Go make ten things. Most won’t work. That’s the plan.