*writing* Oh wow, they are going to love this. This is by far my best work!
*witty lines* *perfect love making* *fluffy enough to kill us all* *a dash of angst, a smidgen of hurt/comfort*
Oh man. This is it. This will be my legacy! *sweats into fic* *bleeds into fic* *cries into fic* *spends days perfecting the grammar and verbage and sex scenes* *has 15 betas look over it*
Okay. It is finally time to release my baby on the world. Here you go fandom. You're welcome.
Ha, cute. *like* *kudos*
* * *
same fanfic writer:
*writing* Whatever. This is shit, I don't even care right now. A singing squirrel? Sure, let's do it. Haha, cheesy lines that make no sense, sure. Grammatical errors out the wazoo? Why not. No one's going to read this piece of crap anyway, I literally wrote it on a scrap of 1 ply toilet paper with a broken yellow crayon.
OMG THIS IS THE BEST THING YOU HAVE EVER GRANTED US WITH, WHERE HAS THIS BEEN ALL MY LIFE, OMG, I NEED A SEQUEL IMMEDIATELY, PLEASE. WHAT THE. I'M NOT EVEN WORTHY. *kudosrebloglikereccomment*
I DON’T WANT TO WORK ON THIS ANYMORE so here is my version of the mural my Lavellan used to work out some of her issues. She basically attacked her bedroom wall with paint. Not fresco, because she does not have the skill or patience required for that. I’m pretty sure she gets over bad days by working on her family and/or lying on the floor painting foliage. Tiny happy flower, ignore the fact that you don’t know how to convince your boyfriend not to murder everyone you’ve ever known, tiny happy flower, ignore the desire to throw idiots off the battlements, tiny happy flower. Bob Ross therapy did not actually work for her, alas.
You’re gonna have to try a little harder if you wanna scare me. I’ve been an openly gay cop since 1987, so you’re not the first superior officer to threaten me. You know how I’m still standing here? Because I do my job, and I do it right.