Y'all Ever Just Wanna Cry But You Can't 'cause You Got Too Much Shit To Do?

So I'm thinking about writing a book...

But even if I manage to finish it, I have no idea how to publish it...

Any tips?

There’s a fic on fanfiction(.)net that I’ve kept tabs on for years to see if it’s been updated or not. While I’m no longer even in the fandom it’s written for, it just has one of the greatest storylines I’ve ever read. Last time it was updated was 2011.

The other day, I decided to reread the entire thing and leave a very in-depth review of what I thought of each chapter. I also mentioned how I started reading it when I was 13 and am now 21, but always came back to see if it was ever finished because I loved it so dearly.

Today, said author sent me a private message saying that her analytics showed that the story was still getting views even after all these years, but no one ever bothered to leave reviews other than “update soon!!!”, so she never felt motivated enough to finish it. She said that me reviewing every single chapter with lengthy paragraphs made her cry and meant the world to her. She also mentioned that she felt encouraged to write the two remaining chapters needed to complete the story and that she would send me a message the night before she updates the fic.

I’m literally sobbing. I’m so excited :’)

Please always remember to leave a review when reading fanfiction!!! It means a lot to a writer.

*holds gently*

It's a fanart for @stressed2obsessed's very cool fanfic O Brother! This scene was very wholesome :D

That's how porcupinecones look in my head but I'm not sure if that's exactly how they are described in the fic. And also, I don't remember if they were wearing anything specific in this scene but it's winter so they have jackets.

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

Accurate

fanfic titles be like “we have not touched the stars (nor are we forgiven)” and then you look at the tags & the first one is “anal fisting”

If anyone needs me, I'll be in my chambers studying the sacred texts.

Reblog if you're polyamorous. I'm trying to see something

Stanley Pines is basically holding onto the teenaged version of his brother.

That connection is strong enough that it only took two words to get him to drive all the way up to Oregon and then spend three decades trying to bring Ford back. That kind of dedication, that kind of inextinguishable hope, is astounding, and it is not the behavior of someone who blames Ford for closing the window on him, not at all.

So why, then, does Stan care so much? Because to him, Ford is just about the coolest person to exist. Not just because he's astoundingly smart and capable, but also because he was the only person who really cared about him.

There's a lot of talk about suspected physical abuse in the Pines household for the twins growing up, but I think there was a lot of neglect too. I think Ford and Stan really only had each other as kids. That is an intense connection.

For Ford, that connection terrifies him. Because Ford does not want to be that boy. That boy was scared and that boy got knocked around and had to hide behind his twin. That boy was weak and Stanford Pines is not weak, Stanford Pines is special and important and he's going to show the whole goddamn world.

But for Stan... that connection is the only thing that proves he was worth anything. So if his relationship with Ford isn't salvageable...

then is he worth anything at all?

Any Undertale fans out there? I’ve got a story with your name on it... if you’re interested. I wasn’t originally gonna post this story, like at all. It was something I used as a way to fight writers block. But, after going over it I figured it was fun enough to put out there. If you read it, please leave a comment and tell me what you think!

I fucking love this shit

“I want to speak to a manager,” the middle-aged woman said in her stern I-used-to-be-a-soccer-mom-ten-years-ago voice, looking down at me over the top of her Gucci reading glasses.

A wicked grin split across my face and the gates of Hell opened up behind me, releasing a gust of hot wind that whipped my apron around my body and forced the woman to shield her face. Demons came forth, dancing around in flames with songs of, “She wants to speak to a manager. Did you hear that? She wants to speak to a manager!” before erupting into earsplitting shrieks of laughter, none louder than my own cackling.

I took in the woman’s look of utter horror before my eyes rolled back into my head and I growled,

“I am the manager.”