Favourite tma fanfiction?
Oh god you are asking me things... I honestly can't pick a fave, I have reas SO MANY of them, and if they make me feel something, I love them unconditionally.
I like all the Time-Travel-Fix-Its, the Alternate-Universe-Coffe-Shops, the Sickfics (give me that sweet Whump!), the Leitner-Book-Caused-Chaos, I am constantly amazed by the intense creativity this fandom comes up with, I love it!
“tortured soul” 06/07/21 1:40pm
bad girl by devendra banhart making me go crazy
It hurt in a way that well exceeded the physical pain, though that too was an ever-mounting presence that he couldn't quite ignore. He felt a warm wetness seeping through the sleeve of his tunic and dripping down his arm by the time he collapsed in front of the stream, choking on his own shaky sobs.
It was bad, this time.
Which wasn't to say it wasn't always bad. For a practiced martial artist, his father showed little restraint in many stretches of his life, particularly in regards to matters involving his only child. It was something the boy had at one time pointed out to him; and got a back hand to the face as a response. But he'd never taken a real weapon to him before; only fists and reeds.
As carefully as he could with trembling hands and blurry eyes, the boy peeled back his sodden sleeve to try and assess the damage. It was always his left arm, now; father had made a ritual of his discipline that had thusly left the limb a chaotic mess of overlapping lashes, healed, reopened, healed again, and often until they bled. The bladed switch had been used with every intention of leaving him permanently marked; something to remind him of his failures and disgracefulness when the bruises on his ribs and limbs faded.
And it would remind him. Four perfectly spaced lines that gaped violently on skin they painted red, each hooked at the top where the barbed tips of the weapon had snagged in and pulled. They were still bleeding, and deeper than any wound he'd received in the past, but he knew well enough from his studies that no major blood vessels had burst. He'd have to try and stitch them up later perhaps, but right now wasn’t the time for that. He was much more concerned with trying to preserve the silken fabrics that his blood had left stained, as they were, after all, one of the only only remnants of his personal expression that he had left. Father had made certain of this, too. Creativity and the arts, they were not a luxury he’d been allotted. They were a distraction, and a distraction he’d been told time and time again that he hadn’t the time nor talent to pursue. It was best he focus on bettering himself in other ways, the ways he wanted.
He hated that man. He hated his stupid school, he hated that he was expected to follow in his footsteps, he hated all of his other students who so effortlessly surpassed him. He hated the other schools that left them financially drained, he hated the little izakaya down the way that happily took what little they did make so father could drown away any remnants of pleasantness he had left in him in a nightly wash of liquor. He hated the barkeep and he hated the other patrons, he hated that no matter what he did he could never find a place to hide his treasures(and himself) from his father’s frigid scrutiny, he hated his rules and he hated that no amount of discipline could ever erase his drive for something more. He’d tried his best to do what he was told. He hated himself more than anything else.
Stripping off the elegantly stitched florals as best he could without further ruining them, his knees slid in the mud to get closer to the edge of the stream and dip the fabric into it’s cool waters. He scrubbed and scrubbed at the splotched red in his sleeve until some of the stitching started to fray, but even then he could still see a tint of cherry blossom pink where his blood had sunk in, much more vibrant to his own eyes than it was to most. It was difficult to admit defeat, but it was something he would have to do eventually. His flesh still bled, and that in itself did more ill than good in the way of trying to clean the offending fluid from his tunic. He’d only caught sight of the stranger from the corner of his eye when he’d finally given up on saving the fanciful costume, sinking back against the bank with the garment clutched to him protectively to preserve some sort of modesty, even in his distress.
“GoawaypleasegoawaypleasegoawaypleasegoawayPLEASE.” the boy screamed.
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It’s almost like if I wanna read book 4 I have to read book 4
i just took the mbti test thing and and im an intp. what does that mean <3?
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Did y’all have a book you read in school (whether you were 6 or 16 or 20) that really stuck with you?
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picture in picture on firefox is great I just wished the subs followed suit.
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Hi Hunxi, so with the latest danmei discourse going on, lots of fan translators are locking their translations and won’t provide people additional chapters unless fans prove they bought the book. What’s your opinion of this move?
every day people inform me of new danmei discourse and I sigh and shake my head and mutter 天下本无事，庸人自扰之, but actually, this is a topic that is becoming nearer and dearer to my heart day by day because it has ramifications for art/creative industries as a whole
so here's the thing I've been noticing about media, whether it's novels or webnovels, TV series or music albums, and it's that we want the content for free without paying the creators for their work. this is not an unusual sentiment--and if I'm being honest, it's my default setting--but I think in the explosion of free, accessible media and content on the internet, we forget that the stories and media we come to love still cost their creators time, energy, labor, and money
so let's come at this question sideways from a comparable lens: (US) book publishing, and online piracy of ebooks:
this whole discussion reminds me of this article, and more directly, this piracy stunt that Maggie Stiefvater and her brother pulled for the publication of the fourth book in The Raven Cycle series (which is, incidentally, an absolutely gorgeous quartet, I highly recommend). tl;dr, to prove that ebook piracy had a direct and negative effect on book sales, she and her brother made a dummy copy of the fourth and final book and posted it on all the piracy sites they could find on midnight of the publication day
the effects were immediate and undeniable. when people who had intended on pirating the electronic copy of the book could only find the dummy copy, they caved and bought the print copy. meanwhile, the print run for the book had been halved prior to publication because the sales for the third book in the series had suffered so much from--you guessed it--online ebook piracy. the publisher couldn't justify printing so many copies if the sales numbers didn't support it. you want to guess what happened?
the book sold out.
the book sold out of physical copies, and the publishing house frantically ordered another print run, and sales numbers for the series crept back up, enough for the publishing house to buy her second series (incidentally, the second book came out just a month ago), and all of this goes to show that
pirating an artist's work directly hurts the artist
of course, there is nuance here. there are exceptions, industry-specific concerns, region-specific differences. pirating, say, the latest Star Wars movie isn't going to have the same effect on John Boyega as pirating Maggie Stiefvater's book is going to have on Maggie Stiefvater. but I think this case study is important because 1) self-serving bias would have us believe that it's okay if I nab a free copy of something because I'm just one person, and no one's going to miss one person in something as big and abstract as sales numbers, and 2) we feel entitled to the work of creators, plain and simple as that
the relationship between creator and audience is a complicated one--on one hand, the creator cannot thrive (or indeed, economically benefit) without a robust audience; as a result, creators quite literally depend on their audience. On the other hand, the audience, knowing the power of their consumer/viewership, now feels entitled to make demands upon the creator. write faster. publish sooner. cater the storyline to our preferences. give us what we want.
and this relationship is a dynamic one, a constantly shifting balance, all navigated around the trickiness of creative work
but before I go off on a Pat Rothfuss tangent, I'm getting distracted. let's bring this back to danmei, and the unique situation danmei authors + fan translators face
first of all, let's get this straight: many, if not most fan translations are made without express permission of the author
are we getting that? the authors, the original creators of these danmei works, do not authorize fan translations
(I'm fairly confident that there are some legal shenanigans at play here because of the contracts these authors sign with jjwxc, but let's not get into that at the moment)
so when Anglophone readers read fan translations, functionally, they are reading pirated copies of these novels. there. I said it.
but fan translations give danmei authors access to a greater audience! one might argue. if there were no fan translations, these authors wouldn't get exposure to Anglophone audiences at all!
(using the Anglophone sphere as an example here, not necessarily calling it out specifically; replace it with whatever language you’d like)
and how, pray tell, are Anglophone audiences benefiting the original authors? they don't offer comments or compliments to the author below each new update, they don't upvote their stories in the cutthroat competition of rankings on JJWXC, and I doubt that many people are actually braving the frankly quite terrible UI of the JJWXC website to pay for these books that they read and profess to adore. so like. why should danmei authors care about Anglophone fans, if Anglophone fans barely do anything to support them
why, in the name of sanity, should these authors feel grateful for people reading pirated copies of their work
for the record--I am not trying to condemn or criminalize fan translators. I respect fan translators a great deal, for the absolutely astounding amount of work they do, for their role increasing the accessibility of these texts to international audiences, for their willingness to promote and celebrate works that have yet to reach publishing houses in the international/non-Sinophone sphere. which is why I absolutely support fan translators choosing to lock their translations and hold the ground against online book piracy, and thereby protect their authors as best as they can
and proof of purchase is not an unreasonable ask. there are guides for making accounts and navigating jjwxc even if you don't know a lick of Chinese, and these webnovels are abominably cheap (I think I purchased four titles for $17 USD? which, compared to your average hardcover or trade paperback novel... yeah. quite reasonable)
tl;dr I personally don't think we can or should fault fan translators for locking their translations and asking that readers display proof of purchase. honestly I think we should applaud them? but that's just my take on the latest Danmei Discourse (TM) I suppose
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I had an argument with my parents and as the result of it I refuse to talk to them for a while because I fed up. I can not pretend that everything is okay when it is not. That also means I am not able to watch France-Hungary game because they are in TV room. I miss those days that I lived alone. I did not understand the importance of it until now. Now I stuck in a room, can not go outside because I don’t know any person here except my cousin, who is not vaccinated yet, that is why I also am not allowed to meet him as well. I’m trying to keep my shit together, I truly am.
HEY DO YOU ONOW THAT THE OFFICIAL WIKI SPRITE OF FURY WARRIOR CATS HAS A LESBAIN COLLAR
WELL I DO NOW
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6 I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. 7 So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth. 8 He who plants and he who waters are one, and each will receive his wages according to his labor. 9 For we are God’s fellow workers. You are God’s field, God’s building. 10 According to the grace of God given to me, like a skilled master builder I laid a foundation, and someone else is building upon it. Let each one take care how he builds upon it. 11 For no one can lay a foundation other than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ. 12 Now if anyone builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw— 13 each one’s work will become manifest, for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed by fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done. 14 If the work that anyone has built on the foundation survives, he will receive a reward. 15 If anyone’s work is burned up, he will suffer loss, though he himself will be saved, but only as through fire. 16 Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? 17 If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy him. For God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple. 18 Let no one deceive himself. If anyone among you thinks that he is wise in this age, let him become a fool that he may become wise. 19 For the wisdom of this world is folly with God. For it is written, “He catches the wise in their craftiness,” 20 and again, “The Lord knows the thoughts of the wise, that they are futile.” 21 So let no one boast in men. For all things are yours,
1 Corinthians 3:6-21 ESV
has anyone else had the wanikani experience where you kinda just hit a wall....I used to be really good about keeping up with my reviews but I took a long break during the pandemic and now I’m finding it really hard to study again
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Ooh, how about “Can you stay awake for me?” with Obi-wan, Mace, and Yoda? I love their trio dynamic!
“Can you stay awake for me?”
Mace didn’t know what he was expecting. But it certainly wasn’t this.
He and Yoda met them in the landing platform. Padmé had commed when she was within range again to let them know that Senator Organa and Obi-Wan were hurt, and needed medical attention immediately—even after the clone medics onboard had treated them. But still, Mace didn’t expect to see Master Kenobi being carried off the ship in the arms of a clone trooper. His head bobbed loosely against the clone’s breastplate, as if he were cargo to be unloaded from a supply run.
Not the greatest Jedi among us.
And then suddenly everything was happening at once—Bail Organa stumbling as he trailed behind the medics, Padmé grabbing his arm but Organa pulling away so he could catch up to Obi-Wan, as if terrified to leave him alone. Master Yoda murmuring sadly and his own connection with the Force telling him something is wrong something is wrong something is—
“Senator,” Mace said, wanting to reach out and grab Organa by the shoulder but too afraid to hurt him more. “What the hell happened?”
Bali’s eyes were dark and weary. “Exactly, Master Windu—hell happened.”
The procession through the Temple felt eerily like a funeral march. When they reached the Halls of Healing, and Organa had been waved to his own room, the clone medic gently deposited Obi-Wan on a cot and Vokara Che and the others rushed forward, silent and forlorn.
“Clear the room,” she said.
Mace, Yoda, and the clone medics froze.
“Masters,” Master Che said, more sharply this time.
All four heads swiveled to the bed. It was Obi-Wan’s voice.
“Let them stay. Please,” he rasped. He was so frail and fragile, his body barely lifted the sheets. “The light side…radiates off of them. Helps fight the dark.”
“The dark?” Master Che said. She whirled to Yoda and Mace. “Masters, what was the nature of this mission?”
“That information is classified.”
“Nothing is classified when it is relevant to the health and well-being of my patients. Now, Masters, I’ll ask again—what was the nature of this mission?”
Mace and Yoda exchanged a glance. Yoda nodded.
“Master Kenobi and Senator Organa investigated a planet called Zigoola,” he said. “A Sith planet.”
“We don’t know much more than that. But the dark side—“
“Is with him, yes, I feel it. Masters,” she said, then exhaled. “This will take more than medical treatment. I need to probe his mind.”
Mace’s eyebrows went up. “Master Che, I’ll admit I’m no healer. But shouldn’t the priority be Master Kenobi’s physical recovery before mental?”
“If his mind still carries traces of Sith evil,” Vokara Che said, “I cannot use a healing crystal. The darkness will reject it. And Master Kenobi will die.”
And for that, Mace had no argument.
She prepped him for the work. Obi-Wan was conscious, but barely—his eyes were opened but glazed over, his body limp, his face half obscured by blood and bruises so bad Mace was tempted to look away. My dear friend, he thought, what happened to you?
“For this exercise,” Vokara Che said some time later, “he’ll need to be awake. It will take some action on his part as well as mine. Ours.” She looked at Mace and Yoda. “Your resolve and energy will play a part in supporting his, if you are willing.”
“Willing we always are, Master,” Yoda said.
And so she began.
The issue, as it turned out, was not supporting Obi-Wan’s resolve. It was keeping him awake.
“Obi-Wan,” Yoda said. “Stay with us, you must.”
Yoda and Mace met eyes. “No, Master Kenobi. Skywalker isn’t here.”
Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut. “Where?”
“A mission,” Mace said softly, still watching Yoda. “A mission on which you sent him. Remember?”
Vokara Che was levitating now with the healing crystal, and suddenly Obi-Wan cried out. His head dropped back to the pillows.
The only way Mace knew he hadn’t left them was the way Obi-Wan was squeezing his hand.
When his eyes fluttered back open again, he looked lost. “Master?”
“Here, we are. Safe, you are. Protected by the light.”
Obi-Wan’s hand moved suddenly, from under the sheets. It slid across the cot as if searching for something—and then Mace found himself reaching forward too, catching it. Here, we are.
“On Zigoola, there was no light,” Obi-Wan said softly. “I was alone.”
“Alone you are not,” Yoda said. “And never have you been.”
Obi-Wan didn’t answer. His eyes fluttered closed again.
“Obi-Wan,” Mace said. “Can you stay awake for me?”
His head moved just slightly. “So tired.”
“And you can rest soon,” Mace replied. “But right now, Master Che needs you to be alert. So she can help you.”
“I don’t feel well.”
“I know. So stay awake with me,” he said, “and the sooner you’ll start to feel better.”
Master Che’s eyes were closed as she moved the healing crystal. The Force rippled around them all.
When at last Vokara Che set down the healing crystal and opened her eyes, they were all exhausted. The Force dripped with lingering traces of something deep and dark and wholly sinister, and Mace’s heart clenched for the pain his friend must have—and still—endured.
“Now,” Vokara Che said, “he can really heal. Or at least, he can begin to.”
Obi-Wan was reaching out again. Mace and Yoda each found one of his hands. Yoda patted it lightly. And while Obi-Wan seemed to be searching for words, he didn’t find any—his eyes were too watery.
“Rest, Obi-Wan,” Mace said. “And let the healers take care of you.”
He nodded. Wiped a bloody, dirtied hand across his eyes to dry them.
Yoda smiled. “Alone, you never are.”
from these whump prompts
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before 2013 end you should know that you fuck tremendously and i thank you for dtablogging bc it got me to actually start this fic. but alos bad bc i only have 10 chapters left of the game of god bc im. fucking insane. anyway ily marino i owe you my lyfe
THANK YOU SO MUCH im glad i infected you with the brainworms. i do need to catch up to you but once im there i will join you in the madness <3
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Soo... Long time no see ! I came to share with you my last creations. Last christmas [I gave you my heart~ No...] I made book full of illustration for my [Gamer] boyfriend but I never posted it on Tumblr so... let’s do that !
The idea was to take his favorite games and use them to illustrate moments of our lives together !
Cover and level 9 : Ori and the Blind Forest
Level 1 : Animal Crossing New Horizons
Level 2 : Zelda Wind Waker
Level 3 : Street Fighter
Level 4 : Red Dead Redemption II
Level 5 : Nier : Automata
Level 6 : Stardew Valley
Level 7 : The Binding of Isaac
Level 8 : The Witcher III Wild Hunt
The result :
Summury’s traduction :
“Once upon a time, deep in the universe, two little NPCs who were meant to meet.
It is their story that I would tell you in this book, retracing the events of their beautiful history.
May this volume be the first in a long series.”
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i just started watching Bones and i gotta say, the last time i got so frustrated and sad over such obvious chemistry & sexual tension between the main characters was probably in The Mentalist LMAO
Red Flags: Astrologer Style
Be very wary of the astrologer that only talks about Sun signs - as if every Cancer season will always be about "love" because Cancer is an emotional, water sign. If they are not looking at other planetary bodies, they are completely missing the point.
Be wary of the astrologer who always predicts good or always predicts bad - they have an obvious bias that shows that they are not properly connected with the energy of the planets.
Be wary of an astrologer who exclusively talks about Sun sign compatibility - there is so much more to the art of synastry (how people get along) than that.
Be wary of an astrologer who claims that some signs are "good" or "bad". All signs have higher traits and lower traits and each plays a part in the tapestry of life.
Be wary of an astrologer who seems to strongly favors their own Sun sign - they haven't gotten past astrology being "all about them".
Be wary of an astrologer who tries to tell you how you will react to a certain event - free will still exists. We can predict possibilities, not futures.
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I was reminded of just how colossally fucked up the book Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo is just now thanks to my own self! My mind was a little too young upon reading it to absorb such psychological horror, but I somehow did it. And now many years later I need to read more weird insane books that make you go "What the fuck is life?" - So please recommend some to me that fit that overall image if you can? Also Trainspotting + The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and other shit like that tickles my fancy... Fiction and non fiction. All is welcome.
It is time that we said "enough is enough" to those who conflate service with servitude. When pushed too far, we should reach deep into our recipe book for an old classic: by combining a little dash of poise, two splashes of vigor, and a twist of charm, we can and should occasionally say, "f@$k off."
The Fine Art of Telling a Customer to F Off | Food & Wine