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@itsybitsygingie

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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did you ever consider becoming a literary writer rather than a fantasy writer? w
I don't think I ever wanted to be anything more than a storyteller and a writer. Other people can decide where the books get shelved.
@eurphrasieāĀ That felt rude.Ā Since when is fantasy not literature?!
You know, It's kind of fitting that It was Sir Terry Pratchett himself who answered this question in an interview, just going to paste this up real fast:
O: Youāre quite a writer. Youāve a gift for language, youāre a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. Youāre so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?
Pratchett: I had a decent lunch, and Iām feeling quite amiable. Thatās why youāre still alive. I think youād have to explain to me why youāve asked that question.
O: Itās a rather ghettoized genre.
P: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every bookā I think Iāve done twenty in the seriesā since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. Iāve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.
O: Itās certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.
P: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfireā Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized itā Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus. Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldnāt have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrimās Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply nowā a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connectionsā Thatās fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.
Now I donāt know what youād consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I donāt think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliverās Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what youāre saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! Iāve got a serious novel. But you donāt actually have to do that.
(Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself.
Have to say I agree with the man.
It's the casual death threat for me
Rude ass interviewer who also doesnāt know what theyāre talking about: āI mean, youāre obviously a clever man, so why bother with this lowly fantasy drivel.ā
Sir Terry Pratchett: āIāll break you in half like a stick.ā
King Charles and his ⦠consort (abridged version)
Heartbreaking: girl has to get out of bed

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parents be like "your mental illness is so hard to deal with" my brother in christ you are the one who caused it
if psychic Pokemon glow like in the anime when they use their telekinesis or whatever I bet that like at least once a week their trainer sees them glowing with no floating item in sight and have to be like āWHAT ARE YOU FLOATING? WHAT DO YOU HAVEā like when your cat is chewing something you didnāt feed them
This too shall pass (x)
thinking about the time i was struggling to open my water bottle in class, and a girl that i had spoken to maybe 3 times came up to me and went
"let me help you baby"
and then proceeded to struggle to open the bottle
i wouldve fallen in love right then & there ngl
āMean girls all grow up to be nurses!ā
āMean girls all go into social work!ā
āThe mean girl to teacher pipeline!ā
Yāall, these are just pink collar jobs. The reason you think thereās so many āmean girlsā in these fields is because theyāre all like 97% women. Of course some of them are gonna be assholes. Thereās assholes everywhere.
We get it. Your job isnāt like other girlsā jobs. Itās a cool job.
itās true that there are some incredibly cruel people in all of these professions.
itās also true that they all suffer from chronic underpayment, overwork, lack of institutional support, and insane bureaucratic demands that would make them fail the people in their care all the time even if every single one was a saint.
Thatās absolutely missing the point.
While those are all āhelperā professions and they very much are pink collar (and are underpaid, thatās not an incompatible idea), theyāre also ones that involve power over vulnerable peopleās lives. (And Iāve only encountered it as a comparison to, say, male bullies becoming cops, itās not like men arenāt being mentioned here.)
Secretaries/administrative assistants arenāt on that list for a reason. Flight attendants arenāt on that list. Housecleaners arenāt on that list. Receptionists. Customer service representatives. Dental hygienists. The people who style hair or do nails. Thatās not a list of pink collar jobs. Itās specifically (pink collar) positions where if you want to abuse people youāre relatively likely to get away with it.
It can both be true that ānurses who care for disabled people need better payā and ānurses who care for disabled people have a lot of opportunities to abuse their power and thatās something worth talking about.ā
Women arenāt immune from treating people badly because theyāre women, or because women are underpaid. Theyāre sure not immune from specifically seeking out jobs that will allow them to be cruel without any consequences to them, if they get personal satisfaction out of being cruel.
You are trying to shut down a conversation about abuse.

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The eradication of adobe flash dress-up games directly led to the creation of NFT's.
Sure. Iāll incorporate that into my world view
yāall: hereās some alternatives to tumblr in case the site get merked on dec 17th
me:
Lemme tell u guys a story
In my freshman year, my great grandma passed away. She never threw out or sold anything worth keeping if she could help it, having grown up in the Depression, so when she passed, my grandma suddenly inherited a lifetimeās worth of treasured items. She distributed most of them to her kids and grandkids, saved some sentimental items, and donated most of the clothing and trinkets to charity. I got back the stuffed leopard Iād given great-grandma in the hospital; the fur was still as soft as itād been when I bought it. One of the biggest things she had to sort through was jewelry. For a year after my great-grandma died, my grandma was setting out organized rows of costume jewelry on basement tables and chivvying her granddaughters to take what they wanted.
And then, after all the choosing, she snuck me into her room while my cousins picked through wristwatches. On her bed were two small jewelry boxes: an old wooden one, and a cushioned one in white pleather.
āI brought you in here because if I gave these to your cousins, theyād sell it. I donāt want these sold. Do you understand?ā
I understood.
This is the story of the biggest lie my grandma ever told her mom.
Great-grandmaās birthstone was garnet, and she loved the look of the stones, but could never justify paying for some. Her husband worked constantly, and so did she, and new clothes for the kids was more important than jewelry at the time. When my grandma was 16, she saved her first paychecks to buy her mom a garnet ring for Motherās Day; thatās what was in the wooden box. The original receipt, handwritten, was crammed into the lid. Great-grandpa saw that ring and teared up; heād always wanted to get his wife something nice like that, but hadnāt ever had enough money for it. Determined, he vowed to change that. He set aside money for years, slowly, hiding it away in a box in the attic, vowing to buy his wife something she could always wear with her ring.
Time passed, and inflation happened, and he slowly squirreled money away in the hopes that jewelry might get cheaper again sometime. Time passed again, and age had little mercy on him. He got older, typed up a note, and placed in in the box, describing what the money was for; he knew his time was near. Under no circumstances was the money to be spent on anything other than giving his wife a nice gift. The letter read, āOne day, my dear Ruth, youāll have garnet earrings to match that ring.ā Itās what great-grandma had always mourned missing; she had such a nice ring, and no good earrings to go with it.
Well, men donāt live forever, and when great-grandpa passed away, my grandma cleaned out her momās attic as she prepared to move somewhere smaller. Going through boxes of polaroids and paper clips, she stumbled on the box of earrings money, note and all. She stashed it with her coat, and after that day of cleaning, went to the jeweler before her mom could try and spend the money on something too sensible. She came back with the white pleather box; sure enough, still nestled inside that box were two clip-on garnet earrings.
āMom never got her ears pierced, you know. Thatās why it took so long to find a good pair.ā
Once sheād gotten the earrings, grandma presented them to her mom, along with the note. The paper was obviously old and warped by moisture, but it was legible. My great grandma cried happy tears and treasured those earrings more than any other jewelry; the last gift her husband could give her. Decades after the fact, Iād seen her wear them to Christmas parties and worry over them, checking that they stayed on her earlobes.
There was never any note from great-grandpa. Never any box. Never any earring money. My great-grandpa had spent his saved money keeping himself and his wife confortable throughout retirement. To set aside hundreds of dollars, even a bit at a time, for garnet earrings, was never a thought that crossed his mind. My grandma had seen her mom, exhausted, wracked with grief, and lied through her teeth about where sheād gotten the money for those earrings. She faked the note and everything, making sure her mom wouldnāt wonder where the money came from, and never winced at the pinch in her own pockets. And she never told a soul, not even my mom, until great-grandma was safely and thoroughly buried herself.
suzanne collins killing prim after everything katniss did to save her.......... THATS how you write a story about the brutality and futility of war ma'am thats what we call a compelling and fucked up narrative yessums thats storytelling babes!!!!
protect them

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floppy floop
Maki
āIn 1404, King Taejong fell from his horse during a hunting expedition. Embarrassed, looking to his left and right, he commanded, āDo not let the historian find out about this.ā To his disappointment, the historian accompanying the hunting party included these words in the annals, in addition to a description of the kingās fall.ā
LMFAOOOOOO rip to that guy
i thought maybe this was fake, but thereās even a citation!
Taejong Sillok Book 7. 5th year of King Taejongās Reign (1404), February 8.
Happy 618th anniversary of the day King Taejong fell from his horse!
Apparently the recorders were really intense about this. We have a record of King Taejong complaining about a recorder who followed him on a hunt in disguise and another who eavesdropped on him behind a screen. No one was allowed to see the records, even the king (one king did and killed five men based on what was written there, after which they took greater care to ensure it would never happen again), and changing the content or disclosing it was a capital punishment. Even when there were rival political factions trying to influence the writers, they wrote down what was a revision and what wasnāt and kept an original version with no revisions in it.
They also made sure to back up their data. They made four copies of it, then when three copies were lost in the Imrim Wars they decided to make five more copies just in case. One copy was destroyed in a rebellion, another was partially damaged in an invasion, and Japan stole one copy during their occupation and moved it to Tokyo University, where it was mostly destroyed in the Kanto Earthquake (47 books remained and were returned to South Korea in 2006). Now the whole thing is digitized, free on the internet, and translated into modern Korean for all to see.
It took centuries of meticulous recorders, justifiably paranoid copiers, absolutely determined historians, and painstaking infrastructure for this joke to be possible. Happy 618th anniversary to the day King Taejong fell from his horse.