randomrecsknifedrawer

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

worlds slowest fanfic author tries really really hard

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

someone I follow on the bird app just announced they're starting a very exclusive private fic server because they and a bunch of other people want to talk about how much they love the fics they're reading, and as an author can I just say that a really great place to talk about a fic you love is in the comments for that fic

I understand that people are trying to create safe spaces, but as the number of comments that I get on my fics dwindles with each passing year, knowing these spaces exist where my fics are being discussed, places that I am excluded from, makes me want to write fic LESS

I mean I guess who cares, right, because if I stop writing, there's 10,000 other people that will continue...but if you participate in a fic "book club" server and you say nice things there about a fic you loved, maybe copy and paste that into a comment on AO3?

the only thing fanfic writers are asking for in return for hours of hard work is attention. please don't rob us of the one thing that we hope for when we hit "post"

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

Writing Tips

Punctuating Dialogue

✧

➸ “This is a sentence.”

➸ “This is a sentence with a dialogue tag at the end,” she said.

➸ “This,” he said, “is a sentence split by a dialogue tag.”

➸ “This is a sentence,” she said. “This is a new sentence. New sentences are capitalized.”

➸ “This is a sentence followed by an action.” He stood. “They are separate sentences because he did not speak by standing.”

➸ She said, “Use a comma to introduce dialogue. The quote is capitalized when the dialogue tag is at the beginning.”

➸ “Use a comma when a dialogue tag follows a quote,” he said.

“Unless there is a question mark?” she asked.

“Or an exclamation point!” he answered. “The dialogue tag still remains uncapitalized because it’s not truly the end of the sentence.”

➸ “Periods and commas should be inside closing quotations.”

➸ “Hey!” she shouted, “Sometimes exclamation points are inside quotations.”

However, if it’s not dialogue exclamation points can also be “outside”!

➸ “Does this apply to question marks too?” he asked.

If it’s not dialogue, can question marks be “outside”? (Yes, they can.)

➸ “This applies to dashes too. Inside quotations dashes typically express—“

“Interruption” — but there are situations dashes may be outside.

➸ “You’ll notice that exclamation marks, question marks, and dashes do not have a comma after them. Ellipses don’t have a comma after them either…” she said.

➸ “My teacher said, ‘Use single quotation marks when quoting within dialogue.’”

➸ “Use paragraph breaks to indicate a new speaker,” he said.

“The readers will know it’s someone else speaking.”

➸ “If it’s the same speaker but different paragraph, keep the closing quotation off.

“This shows it’s the same character continuing to speak.”

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

Does anyone have a link to a back-to-basics article about good fanfic practices, like standards of content and chapter length and such (speaking as an old fart who only wrote a couple of shitty one-shots back when lemons were a thing)

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

chapter 2!!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63671488/

“Oh baby.” She wraps her arms around him and softly pets his hair while he cries like a baby in her bosom. "It's alright, let it out baby. Ain't no good keeping it in, ya gotta let it out.”  He cries even harder and she never makes him feel bad for it, not even once. When he finally calms and pulls away she produces a handkerchief and he promptly fills it with snot. “Aw criminy Mz Blake, I ‘bout ruined your hankie. I'm sorry.”

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63671488/

Stan ruins everything, and is swiftly kicked out of the Pines household. Stanford doesn't see him again for ten years. Wait, no. Ten days. Stanford sees him again in ten days, sitting at his desk in homeroom like nothing happened at all. What the hell?

new fic alertttt

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

super simple low-effort ao3 summary methods that are 1000% better and 1000% less annoying than just saying you suck at summaries:

copypaste the first few lines of the fic. u already wrote 'em. let 'em be their own damn hook

if ur feeling fancy & don't mind showing ur hand a bit, copypaste the first few lines of the fic that u feel are esp. Important or Interesting - the ones where u first start getting into the real meat of things

state the main tropes! theyre probably already in ur tags - just say them again - maybe as a full sentence if ur feelin fancy. or with a joke if ur feelin Extra fancy

ask a question. pose a hypothetical. eg what happens if u take [character] and put them in [situation]?

make an equation. [character] + [thing] = [outcome]

just write like a one-sentence summary of what the fuck is going down. just one (1) sentence. doesnt matter if it doesn't cover every important aspect. or if it sounds bland. any summary sentence is gonna be miles better than "idk i suck at summaries"

just...explain the fic like u would to a friend? it doesnt have to be a polished back of the book blurb. it can just be "[pairing] coffee shop au, but like, still with murder, and also i made everyone trans. enjoy"

just stick a meme in there

honestly who cares

just put literally anything but a self deprecating comment in there & ur golden

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

Can I pretty please request that fellow writers cross-post their one shots to ao3?

Tumblr doesn't have a good bookmarking or liking system, and the algorithm WILL eat all these words. They'll be lost eventually to endless scrolling.

Not to mention the HL tags on ao3 have been SPARSE. I've been seeing for months now a decline in new stories being posted. Ao3 is literally designed to archive your work and make it easy for readers to discover months/years later.

Unless a post is viral on here, readers aren't going to find it in a year. Tumblr is difficult to search and meant for fast consumption like every other social media website.

Just food for thought. It isn't all that time consuming posting to ao3. You don't have to put twenty tags if you don't want to. You can lump all your stories into a series. So many possibilities. But at least then it's there!!! More people will see it/can save it for later to read.

*throws confetti and disappears*

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

So. Uh. I needed to warm up my writing brain today since I started drafting the last few chapters of Abandon My Eulogy, and I saw this post by @babyblankyerror, which just. Uh. Made me spiral out of control.

I’ve never written a Timeloop fic before, and for some reason today was the day. This was meant to be. At max. Like. 500 words. And it’s. Uh. Not. It’s over 3000.

I’m putting it under a read more because this fic deals EXPLICITLY with suicide, although not graphically. I think I write it in a sort of? More upbeat manner (this is in no way an angst fic really) but still. Take care of yourselves. Suicide is not the answer, hope is found in the people around you, all those things you’ve heard before.

Peace and Love y’all! <3 <3 <3

(P.s @babyblankyerror when I GET YOU. when I fuckin GET YOU. I am so busy. I have so many other things to write. And you make a prompt that sends me into the deep end? AGAIN?!)

Stanley Pines wakes up on Monday morning, squinting his eyes in the sunlight streaming through the motel room blinds, and decides he's going to kill himself.

Friday. He decides, is as good of a day as any. He's in a backwater town, he'll take the Stanmobile out for one last drive to the middle of the desert, where no one will find him. Or at least, not until he's thoroughly decayed, and by then no one will get back to his poor mother about it. Or Ford. A grifter's death, like he deserves.

There's a certain freedom with which he lives that week. There's no worry about the future when you know it's ending soon.

On Tuesday, Stan goes to the only casino in town that hasn't thrown him out yet, and counts cards the whole day. He “wins” enough that under normal circumstances, he'd be a happy man. But these aren't normal circumstances, and Stan is so tired. He spends most of it on the motel room, but saves some for the rest of the week.

On Wednesday, Stan calls his mom. She's the only one in the family he really talks to anyway, and he likes talking to her. She rambles about the pawn shop, and the jersey weather, and the neighborhood kids who play ding dong ditch at all hours of the night. Stan laughs when it's called for, hums when that's needed, and thoroughly redirects any questions into how he's doing. He plays a part, doesn't act more sappy than usual, doesn't act overly happy either. Acts perfectly normal. He doesn't ask about anyone else in the family, and his mom doesn't bring them up. He realizes as the sun starts to set that he's been talking to her for hours, just like they used to. He says goodbye first, and the only indication to how he's doing is that when he says goodbye, it's a twinge heavier than usual. He says I Love You and his mom says it back.

On Thursday, Stan cleans the Stanmobile. It's quite the task. He removes almost six years of trash, of living-in-his-car junk, and fills the tiny motel trash can at least a dozen times. He makes conversation with the cleaning lady and charms her enough to use the vacuum for a minute. She's very sweet, and she gives him her number. When she walks away, he rips it up and trashes it too, just to make sure she won't be traced back to him at all. He scrubs the outside, and the inside, until it genuinely looks better than when he bought it. He can't do much about the engine problems, or her sticky brakes, but he's proud of this car, and hopefully whoever does find her likes her enough to not trash her too.

On Friday, he wakes up early and thanks the motel owner, pays his fees, all of them, and goes to the grocery store. He spends the rest of his money here, on food. He can't get much, but he doesn't stop himself from getting a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of good whiskey. It's not top shelf, but it's not terrible. He actually pays for everything, for the first time in maybe years. He gets seventy eight cents in change, and gives them to the kid outside, on one of those mechanical ride-on rockets. The kid thanks him with a gap tooth smile, and Stan smiles back.

He drives out as far as the Stanmobile will go, until her gas meter is past empty, and parks. There's absolutely nothing for miles and miles, and as the sun sets Stan can see the sunset melt into a map of stars. He smokes the cigarettes, all but one, and leaves the last one in the box, putting it in the glove compartment. an old habit. He drinks the whiskey, every drop, and gets out of the Stanmobile for the last time. He sits down on the ground in front of her front grill, gets himself comfortable, loads a single bullet into the chamber and then puts the barrel of his revolver in his mouth.

Stanley Pines wakes up on Monday morning, squinting his eyes in the sunlight streaming through the motel room blinds, and decides he's going to kill himself.

He's done this before. He blinks awake, and smacks the sleep taste out of his mouth, confused. The motel alarm clock blinks today's date in blocky numbers, and suddenly the past week hits Stan like a freighter.

He did it. He's absolutely, positively sure he did this already.

The definition of insanity is to do the same things over and over again, expecting different results, and some might call Stan insane.

He lives the week again.

Tuesday, the casino. It's the same dealer who can't seem to understand why Stan keeps winning. He makes more money this time around.

Wednesday, he calls his mom. She talks about the exact same things, and Stan's laughter is more forced this time.

Thursday, Stan cleans his car. He's just as disgusted with himself as he was last week. He still flirts with the cleaning lady.

Friday, he follows the same routine, and when he gets seventy eight cents in change, he feels a little stupid. He still gives it to the kid.

He drives out into the desert, though not as far this time, and when he pulls the trigger this time he cries, just a little.

Stanley Pines wakes up on Monday morning, squinting his eyes in the sunlight streaming through the motel room blinds, and decides he's going to kill himself.

He rolls over in bed, decides, Fuck This, and blows his brains out right there, on the nice motel room bed.

Stanley Pines wakes up on Monday morning, squinting his eyes in the sunlight streaming through the motel room blinds, and decides he's going to kill himself.

Again.

Maybe, he decides, it's a matter of method.

There isn't much in this town he's in. There's no bridge to throw himself off of, no gang to piss off, no gun shop to buy himself a different gun. So Stan goes to the tried and true method of climbing up onto a telephone tower.

He hates heights. Hates them.

He goes as far up as he's willing to go. The only thing he's more afraid of than falling is not falling far enough.

The sky goes dark, and in the very early hours of Tuesday morning, Stan flings himself from the top.

Stanley Pines wakes up on Monday morning, squinting his eyes in the sunlight streaming through the motel room blinds, and decides he's going to kill himself.

“Alright! I’ll fuckin go!” He says to himself as he drags his shoes on. If this is some kind of fucked up drug trip, he’s gonna find himself some help before he actually goes crazy.

He drives to the local clinic, not a hospital because this town is too small, and walks through the doors, more tired than he’s ever been.

He schmoozes on up to the front desk, looks the probably underpaid nurse right in the eye, and says, “I’ve been thinking about killing myself. Can I get some help here?”

Her reaction, if this was any other day, would have been insufferable. She commends him, actually, honestly says “Good Job taking this first step!” Like she was trained to, and very quickly Stan is hurried into a back room.

A doctor walks in and starts asking him too many questions, and when this stuffy man asks “Have you ever acted on these thoughts of suicide?” Stan wants to tell him about his past couple of weeks, just to freak him out.

He doesn’t, because he actually can think some things through, but he does nod. The doctor writes more things down, and tells Stan to follow him.

Stan gets up off the uncomfortable chair, stepping into line, and the moment his foot crosses the doorway, the world goes black.

Stanley Pines wakes up on Monday morning, squinting his eyes in the sunlight streaming through the motel room blinds, and decides he's going to kill himself.

He yells every single swear he’s ever heard, and doesn’t bother to muffle them into a pillow.

“Fine.” He snarls into the open motel room air. “Maybe I’m just not thinking big enough.”

For the first time in a long while, Stan gets out of bed with a solid, thought out plan of what he is going to do that week.

Suicide has always been considered a mortal sin, or whatever, so clearly this whole thing must be some sort of fucked up purgatory. If he can’t kill himself, and he can’t not kill himself, then there’s only one thing left to do.

Try every single method until it sticks. Or until whatever sick God above gives up on whatever lesson this is supposed to teach.

Stan exits the motel room for just a moment that day, just so he can flip off the sky.

—

Stanford Pines wakes up on what he thinks is a Monday morning, facedown on his desk in the study.

His back twinges, just a little, and his glasses are smudged from where they were pressed up against his face. He was up most of the night writing in his journal, particular records of a magical amulet, and he must have fallen asleep while writing. Ford groans as he stretches, determined to make the most of the day.

It’s early, but it’s never too early for coffee.

It’s as beautiful of a day as any, and the perfect weather to go exploring, but as Ford eyes his dwindling cabinets and his straight up empty refrigerator, he realizes he’ll have to actually go into town soon, to restock. Today though, he needs to finish his journal entries, and log more discoveries.

On Tuesday, Ford again puts off going into town. He’ll have to walk, obviously, and he just doesn’t feel like lugging groceries around for a mile when he could instead be doing something productive, so instead he begins the synthesis process of distilling pure pixie dust he gathered last week.

On Wednesday, Ford researches the mythology around the cave systems in Gravity Falls, and plans a future expedition. He eats a can of beans for breakfast and dinner.

On Thursday, he can put it off no longer, and actually ventures into town. He feels a little out of place, but when does he not? He buys as many groceries he can carry, and insures that everything is double bagged for the walk home. The walk home is peaceful, but long, and it’s not the first time that Ford spends it trying to think of better ways to transport himself to and from places. He could get another car, he supposes, but he’s never been the best driver.

On Friday, the gnomes attack. More accurately they rummage through his garbage and then make their way in through a hole in the roof, but the entire afternoon is spent on chasing them out from behind bookshelves and under desks. Ford has to actually smack a few with his broom, and it hisses with such venom that Ford feels a little bad for it. Still, before he goes to bed that night, he double checks every lock in the house to be sure they can’t get in while he sleeps. Ford turns out the light, and slides under the covers, too tired to even read before bed.

Stanford Pines wakes up on what he thinks is a Monday morning, facedown on his desk in the study.

He blinks. Sits up and looks around. It’s Monday again.

Ford looks at the calendar. It’s Monday, and not the Monday after, either. Ford didn’t just sleep and sleepwalk through the entire weekend. It’s Monday again, and he’s very confused.

And a little excited. Time loops are rare.

Immediately he writes down everything he can remember from the past week. What he did, who he spoke to, while it’s fresh in his mind. Nothing immediately jumps out as Timeloop inciting, but it could be anything.

Most likely whatever it is will happen on Friday, but it’s good to be prepared.

On Tuesday, a little harried and very aware of his surroundings, Ford deems it would probably be best to relive his week similar to his last, to best get a feel for the loop's constraints. He continues to distill the pixie dust, and puts off getting groceries.

On Wednesday, he stays home. He still opens the book on Gravity Falls mythology, but mainly he thinks about how much he regrets not going grocery shopping until all he has left to eat are beans. He’s not experienced in cooking enough to get much variety out of them.

On Thursday, his walk into town is exactly the same, and everyone in town and the grocery store seem to be the same too. He doesn’t overhear anyone talk of living the same week over, and everything is in the same place it was when he came before. It’s all normal. So it’s just him being affected by the timeloop it seems.

On Friday, Ford is hyper vigilant. He’s had a good couple of meals, and nothing really of note happens on this particular day, except for his dealings with gnomes. They are technically magical creatures, so it’s not outside of the realm of possibility that they are the ones who cursed him. Timelooped him. Looped him. Whatever. The gnomes don't actually seem to act any different, they say all the same things, they make the same mistakes, choose the same hiding spots, although Ford finds them much faster this time around, and overall this interaction goes much faster, with Ford actually granting them an allowance to go through his trash but only if they do so more carefully, and more quietly. He’s sure he’s solved the Timeloop now, convinced it was just the gnomes.

Stanford Pines wakes up on what he thinks is a Monday morning, facedown on his desk in the study.

It was not the gnomes.

Now he’s annoyed. It’d be one thing, if the Loop was just a day, repeating over and over, but this is an entire week, and it’s starting to grate on Ford’s nerves.

He makes himself a pot of coffee, and drains the entire thing.

This time he’s going grocery shopping sooner.

On Tuesday, with a full cabinet and a fresh page of his journal, Ford researches Timeloops. There isn’t much on them in his personal library, and when he goes to the town library- twice in a week, that's a new record!- there isn’t much there either. Everything he finds relating to folklore or accounts centers on something happening, an action the victim causes or prevents, that causes the day or cycle to repeat. But Ford is sure he hasn’t done much that is truly detrimental to the time stream, or that would cause an entity to rewrite the linear notion of time to give him a chance to fix it. More research is necessary.

On Wednesday, Ford gets a call. He’s in the middle of eating lunch and going through his notes, so his answer to the phone of Hello, This is Stanford Pines is a little jumbled around the food in his mouth.

It’s his mother.

Her voice is quiet, and whispery.

Stanley is dead.

In a motel room. She says, and while Ford cant see her, he knows she is crying. They ran the plates on his car out front. Happened Monday morning. His mother blows her nose, and hesitatingly pushes the last word out. Suicide.

Filbrick was called to identify the body. He’s sure.

On Thursday, Stanley is dead.

On Friday, Stanley is dead.

Stanford Pines wakes up on what he thinks is a Monday morning, facedown on his desk in the study.

The world seems very, very quiet.

Ford cannot make himself stand from his desk. Stanley is dead.

Or. He was dead. He was dead Monday morning, last week.

But he wasn’t, the week before that. His mother would have called. Stanley wasn’t dead the first loop.

Oh.

This is the action Ford needs to prevent.

He stands up.

On Tuesday, Ford doesn’t go grocery shopping. He doesn’t eat breakfast. He doesn’t know where Stan even is, cannot force himself to eat if he doesn’t know how to fix this. He has to. He has to fix this.

On Wednesday, Ford gets a call. He’d been standing on the porch, thinking until his head hurt when he hears it ring. He knows, immediately, who it is going to be.

Suicide. His mother sniffs out. Stan jumped from a service tower. A hundred and twenty feet.

“He’s afraid of heights.” He says. It’s all he seems to be able to spit out. He was. His mother responds, and Ford wonders if she meant it in both ways.

On Thursday, Stanley is dead.

On Friday, Stanley is dead.

Stanford Pines wakes up on what he thinks is a Monday morning, facedown on his desk in the study.

He calls his mother. Her voice is chipper and excited, and even with the pressure of time, Ford cannot tell her to shut up. She rambles about the pawn shop, about the weather back in New Jersey, and her annoyance with the neighborhood kids. She makes a joke about how Stan and Ford used to be like that, and Ford finds his entrance.

He asks if his mother has heard from Stan recently. She asks if he’s asking so they can reconcile.

No, he wants to say. I’m going to stop him from killing himself. And then I’m going to kill him myself for making me worry so much.

He tells her maybe, and gets a phone number for a motel in Albecuque for his trouble. Ford gives the receptionist a description of Stan, and she says he’s not there. But he drove west, if that’s of any help.

Ford scours the maps he has of the US. He writes down the names of towns, businesses and shops nearby Stan may have traveled to. He finds them in the phone book and calls, desperately, with nothing but a vague, age old description to go off of.

Most people don’t recognize Stan, most people recognize his car.

Ford continues this trail for the rest of the week.

He doesn’t get another call from his mother.

Stanford Pines wakes up on what he thinks is a Monday morning, facedown on his desk in the study.

He keeps his head where it is, and screams out every piece of profanity he can remember, most of them learned from Stan in their teenage years.

None of his notes reset with him, he has to remember each place he called, in order to retrace his steps.

He’s going to do it. He’s going to track his brother to the ends of the earth, and when he finally finds him, he’s going to get on a plane to wherever his brother is, and strangle him for all the trouble and grief.

And hug him. Ford is going to hug his brother so hard.

Stanford Pines has a solid, thought out plan now. And he’s never made a plan he didn’t complete. If Atan thinks he can off himself in the middle of nowhere, he’s dead wrong.

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

Gravity Falls Fic Rec

putting the dog to sleep by parsnipit 

Summary: ford can’t stop thinking about old yeller that night, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on their ceiling. he couldn’t do it, he thinks. he couldn’t ever shoot his own dog, no matter what. 

“well,” stanley says pragmatically the next morning, pretending like he doesn’t care as much as ford knows he does, “since he was sufferin’ and all, it was really better for him to be dead, wasn’t it? not much point in being alive if your whole life is terrible and you’re a danger to everybody you ever loved.”

something cold and sharp takes up residence in ford’s stomach. he doesn’t like hearing stanley say stuff like that. he doesn’t like it at all.

“i wouldn’t do it,” ford insists. “no matter what, i wouldn’t. there’s always another way.”

“heh. yeah, i bet you’d find another way, brainiac,” stanley teases, reaching over to muss ford’s hair. ford swats him away. stanley can make fun all he wants—ford still spends all night thinking about cures for rabies.

Word Count: 8,535 - Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationship, Family Bonding, Angst with a Happy Ending

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

Gravity Falls Fic Rec

The Black Shirt by MiniatureGlitterSoul and saisailove

Summary: The first time Ford saw the shirt, he hadn’t realized what he had grabbed.

He was in a hurry to pack his things for college, to finally start living his life, his dreams. Sure, Backupsmore wasn’t the best college, but it was still far from (their) home, far from his (their) father and his (their) room and all the reminders of…

Word Count: 4,356 Chapters 3/3 - Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Angst with a Happy Ending

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

"Why didn't they just communicate?? They're so stupid!" Have you considered that communicating with someone you love and value and don't want to hurt is scary and that vulnerability takes practice and that perfect characters with perfect words make the most boring stories of all

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

All the novels on the drive (this list will be updated):

❗i found most of these online, so i can't guarantee they are correct ❗

google drive

bl - pdf x epub

gl

non thai novels

MEGA - another place where you can find the novels and download them

updated list of the novels - in one word document

requests and suggestions - document where you can add the novels you're looking for and check if someone already asked about them, you should be able to edit there

hopefully all the links are working right, let me know if there's a problem.

if you have any requests or maybe you have some novels and want to share you can always send me a message. if i don't reply to you, i'm not ignoring you, i just wasn't able to find what you're looking for so i keep the asks unanswered so i don't forget and check later and can update you when i find it.

individual novels under the cut:

BL 1:

2gether

A Tale Of A Thousand Stars

Bad Buddy

Bad Guy, My Boss

Be My Favorite

Bed Friend

Blue Kiss

Boss And A Babe

Cooking Crush

Cutie Pie

Cutie Pie Extras

Dangerous Romance

Fish Upon The Sky

Hemp Rope (Between Us) - wattpad

Hidden Agenda

KinnPorsche

Khemjira

Love In The Air: Sky

Love Mechanics

Love Sea

Love Syndrome 1, 2, 3, 4

Love Syndrome Nan and Mac 1, 2

Lovely Writer

Manner Of Death

Middleman's Love

My Only 12%

My School President 1

My School President 2

Never Let Me Go

North: How Much Is Your Love

Not Me

Perfect 10 Liners (Arc x Arm; Faifah x Wine; Yotha x Gun)

Pit Babe

Sotus 1

Sotus 2

Star In My Mind

TharnType 1, 2, 3

The Eclipse

The Effect

The Gap Between Us (My Engineer)

The Last Twilight

Theory of Love

Together With Me

Tonhon Chonlatee

Triage

Two Moons

Unforgotten Night

Until We Meet Again

VegasPete

Vice Versa 1

Vice Versa 2

We Are... - wattpad

Why R U?

GL:

4P

23.5

About Galaxy

Adore Khun Jae Like Crazy

Affair

Apple

Arpo

Ashes Of Our Hearts

Bad Sugar

Be My Baby

Be My Boo

Be My Sugar

Bitter Sweet Toxic

Blank

Built In Love

Buy My Boss

Chain

Chanel No5

Chloe

Cranium

Crush

Dream

Enemies With Benefits

Evil Enemy Defeats Love

Formidable Eyes

FWB With My Boss

GAP 1

GAP 2

GOD 1

GOD 2

Heart Villain

Hello Neighbor

If I Stop Being Stubborn, Will You Love Me

In's Love

Irresistible

Just Friend

Love Senior

Lucky One

Lyrics

Mate

My Pink Love

Obsessed

One Night Stand

Petrichor

Pluto

Poisonous Love

Predict

Promises In The Illusion

Queendom

Reverse 4 You

Reverse With Me

Rhythm 1

Rhythm 2

Rolling In Love

Secret Affair

Sister

Somewhere Somehow 1

Somewhere Somehow 2

Stuck With Me

The Loyal Pin 1

The Loyal Pin 2

The Secret Of Us (TSOU)

The Whale Store

Us

Non Thai Novels:

Addicted 1

Addicted 2

Professional Body Double (My stand In) - online

We Best Love 1

We Best Love 2

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

the question of fic comments is very straightforward actually. readers do not owe writers comments. writers do not owe readers fic. there is no bargain, no transaction, no debt.

fic is a gift. comments are a gift. gifts are exchanged between friends, out of love, not out of obligation.

I write for myself. I post it for others, as a gift, because their joy brings me joy. I read for myself. I comment for the author, as a gift, because their joy brings me joy. perhaps we were not friends before, but we are now, however fleetingly, because we have given each other gifts out of love.

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

pulled an all-nighter and then promptly passed out, i drew this sometime and have no recollection but i think i get what i was going for

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

what the whole "please comment on fic you like, it will encourage more writing" vs. "fic writers shouldn't be writing for engagement and validation" debate fails to really grasp, for me, is that comments shouldn't be boiled down to "engagement and validation" in the first place. by which i mean: comments aren't payment for a service, they are communication and connection. they represent the audience reaching back.

i don't write just for myself. are you kidding me? the point of storytelling, to me, is to present certain narrative arguments and produce or encourage an emotional response to them. That communication is essentially useless if there's no endpoint, no listener. To me, there is no point if I'm not communicating with someone. When I write, I am talking to a reader. If you've read anything I've written, then I was talking TO YOU.

you are well within your right to consume fic as ~content~ and withhold your "payment" out of a sense that the writer should be satisfied at having created anything at all in an unresponsive void. but please be aware that it feels really good when you talk back.

[randomrecsknifedrawer]

Stanley Pines was alright not being able to see that well. He could drive, he could play poker, and he could scam customers—why else would he need to be able to see? It wasn't like he'd needed to see in school, and he could run the Mystery Shack in a blindfold with his hands tied behind his back.

Or; Stanley finally goes to the optometrist, and he doesn't like what he hears.