intangiblyyourswrites

[intangiblyyourswrites]

There’s a bookstore in my town,

with a dead man’s dream inside.

It’s a labyrinth of crooked bookshelves

with hardly space to pass between them

And stacks of paperbacks

in uneven towers on the floor.

The owner died two years ago

(of cancer, not of Covid)

And his shop’s been sitting locked up

since the December before last.

There’s a bookstore in my town

with a dead man’s dream inside

And twenty years of inventory

in cardboard boxes in the back.

An estate sale company

opened the doors today.

I spent two hours rifling

through books that were a dollar each.

I chose them by their faded spines

and handwritten names on the leafs;

Some had dates inside as old as 1882

and crossed out addresses from when their owners moved from Jersey to New York.

I kept one on atomic theory, published 1921—

hardbound, and navy blue, and vibrating in my hands.

I couldn’t leave it there.

It was vibrating in my hands

With hope and potential

and all the innocence

Of a book written

before there was a bomb.

It felt like something worth protecting

so I took it home.

I’ll probably never read it.

I think it’s too advanced for me.

There’s a bookstore in my town

with a dead man’s dream inside.

It’s closing down for good today

round about four o’ clock.

I stood in a dark corner

where unalphabetized biographies spilled over into children’s books

And tried not to cry

for all the books

About to be forgotten

(It’s 3:15 now).

I’ll wait forty-five minutes.

For authenticity.

There’s no bookstore in my town.

ㅤ

[intangiblyyourswrites]

Celebration Gift Fics! 🎉

Hello friends! I’m shifting gears a bit here and switching from prompts to Fic written for Art! I'd like to celebrate Potato’s recovery (and all of you!) by writing gift fics for some artists in the community, and you can participate by nominating your favorite art! DETAILS:

Nominations are open until March 7th. No anonymous submissions please! (If you would like to remain anonymous to the artist, just let me know. Your secret is safe with me 😎)

I'll select a few pieces to write for and reach out to the artists to determine if they are open to the idea of a short fic based on their art, and if so to tailor the fic to their intent and preferences.

No NSFW art nominations, please :)

If you'd like a fic, you may nominate yourself! 🥰

And that's it! Thanks for playing!

#FicsForArt!2024 <- for all your filtering needs 👍

[intangiblyyourswrites]

Some really nice words from the irreplicable Naomi Novik.

“People wonder why I still write fanfiction.

Part of it is that fanfiction is like being in a community. You’re literally doing it in the context of a fandom community of other people who are all your peers within this one writing universe. But the other piece of it is that it’s just play.

Just the same way some people like to learn to play the piano or guitar. Some people will learn to plink out “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” with one finger. Some people will really get into it and like to do it as a hobby. And then a very tiny number of people devote so much time and energy to it that they can perform as concert pianists professionally. And probably an even smaller number of people actually want to compose their own music.

Those things are all completely valid. If you take your guitar out to the park on the weekends and play Simon and Garfunkel with your friends, people aren’t like, “Why aren’t you at Julliard?! Why aren’t you getting paid?” Because that’s so clearly not the point of it. The point is to enjoy making art. And all of us as human beings like to make things.

But there’s this sense that writing has to be hard work. Probably because it’s so necessary for schoolwork and it’s so emphasized as work that people forget that people start writing for fun.” - Naomi Novik in the 88 Cups of Tea podcast

[intangiblyyourswrites]

What I hate about writing is when I have to write so much before I finally get to the part I actually wanted to write.

[intangiblyyourswrites]

Side Note To Fan Fic Authors

Here’s the thing.

I read a lot of scripts.  A lot.  From professionals to aspiring writers to complete newbies.  Features and pilots.  Specs and treatments.

And 8 times out of 10 the fan fic that I’ve read over the last, oh, 15 years is leagues better than this stuff.  It’s more inspired.  It’s more compelling.  It’s genre bending and creative and heartfelt.  It’s well-paced and intense and funny and sexy and meaningful.  It’s smart and thoughtful and good.  It’s novel-quality.  Better than, sometimes.

Rare is the script I don’t want to put down, but how often have we stayed up until 3am to get to the last chapter of a 100k fic? And it’s not even a fan fic author’s day job.  This is what they do on the side.  In their spare time.  For free.

So my point is, fan fic authors, you’re good.  You’re good writers and great storytellers.  I know it doesn’t always feel like it, especially if you’re one of the authors who’s not a BNF and doesn’t get the notes/hits that a few do.  And  because some people still view fic as “not real writing.” You guys know the shit that gets made into movies.  You’re better than that.  So be better than that.  If writing is what you think want to do, then just know you’re already doing it.   You’ve already started.

And you’re more talented than you might think.

[intangiblyyourswrites]

You hear a soft squeaking coming from a nearby tree stump. When you lean down to take a peek, you find a bat with a torn wing. You take it home, since there are no vets for miles around. Little do you know that it is a vampire bat who is struggling to turn into his human form.

[intangiblyyourswrites]

Your spouse is leading a secret double life as an assassin, trying their best to keep it secret from you. This has never really worked, because, unbeknownst to them, you are actually their handler.

[intangiblyyourswrites]

You’re about to be sacrificed by a cult, but when the demon appears before you, it speaks with the voice of your high school friend and says “Hey man, haven’t seen you in forever!”

[intangiblyyourswrites]

I think that more fanfiction should be written with the aim to tackle the original meaning of hanahaki. Because when the concept of hanahaki disease was originally created, it was intended to be a metaphor for suppressing one’s feelings.

Your feelings are this beautiful garden of flora inside of your chest. When you express how you feel honestly, you allow for it to grow freely. But when you hide how you feel out of fear of rejection, and try to make it smaller and smaller, the flowers become cramped inside of you, until you choke on your own feelings. Every flower you cough up is something you’ve felt, but refused to say.

The whole “dying” thing is intended to be more symbolic especially. You’re killing off bits and pieces of yourself and how you feel, because you’re afraid to express yourself.

It’s not really supposed to be, “The one I love doesn’t love me back, and I’m dying from it.” Rather, it’s more along the lines of, “Repressing your emotions is bad for you, and it’s better and healthier to express them freely, even when it’s scary.”

Which is to say that, one, the cure for the disease should be telling the person that you are in love with how you feel. How the other person feels about the person afflicted should have nothing to do with it, as the trope is meant to be about feeling your emotions unapologetically.

And that, two, it’s not an inherently romantic trope. Obviously, it has romantic applications, but it can be written for any situation where a character is hiding how they truly feel. This can include a refusal to address a specific trauma, a desire to indulge in something that they’re ashamed of, and even really practical things, like wanting to ask one’s boss for a higher position.

Although (as an aromantic person myself) I don’t agree with this conclusion about the trope, this application would also avoid people calling it arophobic. When the thing killing the character is a refusal to be honest with themselves, rather than an unrequited love, it’s on nobody’s hands but their own to save their life.

There are a ton of ways that this interpretation of the hanahaki disease could be applied in new and interesting ways in fanfiction, and I’d love to read what things people could come up with!

[intangiblyyourswrites]

You are human, you have always been human, and you will always be a human. As long as you can keep convincing yourself you are. Something that is ģ̸̰̱̎̇̾͘̕͝͝e̶̛̠̪̗̻̜̱̤̲͖̗͔͊ṫ̸̢̛̗̦̲̯̥͍̲͍̈͜ţ̵͚̠̩͈̏̈́̏̍̑ḯ̸̛̬̰̫̮͇̰̥̦̜̠̞̤̫̜̅͑̀̐͒̃̿̾͑͊͗̕ṋ̶̹̞͔̩̥̖̦̙̻̼̠͇̭̈̑g̶̛̪̳͆̋̔́̉̀͠͝ͅͅ ̷͎̄͋͑̇̀̾͊͊̉̕̚͝ḧ̸͖̤͕̩̰̮̞̞͖̺́́͐a̷

[intangiblyyourswrites]

Offering the dragon marriage into the royal family had been a power play on the king’s part, a way to intimidate the kingdom’s enemies. He had not anticipated the dragon actually accepting the offer.

[intangiblyyourswrites]

Adoring Fans (Finale)

Thread 1 | Thread 2

I can't believe it's been almost two years since the last installment of this! To this day, I'm not sure how the one collab I do with @embyrinitalics, Queen of Whump, is the fluffiest piece I've written to date.

Anyway, without further ado, here's the last part:

—

Zelda honestly was unsure how their stargazing date would go, but it went without a hitch. She took him to the university’s observatory long after closing hours, letting him peek into the telescopes and pointing out the planets and constellations. He was at awe at the Tesla coil as it sparked in purplish hues, spent time reading through the composition of meteorites, and played with the simulations that predicted what would happen if an asteroid hurled towards Hyrule. She tried to keep everything in layman’s terms when he asked questions, but ended up slipping into a couple of tangents when it came to discussing time in relation to light years. He didn’t seem to mind—appeared interested if anything—and Zelda didn’t think he could be any more perfect. 

And even then he managed to prove her wrong.

She was packing up her bags and making sure she had the keys to lock up when he glanced curiously at one of her textbooks. His eyes squinted, head tilting to the side before he pointed at the name printed on the cover of her textbook and said, “Hey, I know him.”

Her world came to a screeching halt.

“You know...Robert C. Kines?”

He looked puzzled at her wide-eyed expression, or maybe at the way she suddenly gripped the edge of the table.

“Well, he likes to go by Robbie, but yeah, he helped with the Divine Beasts Wars series I did two years ago.”

Zelda almost slapped her head for forgetting. Of course they knew each other. She had watched the exclusive behind the scenes.

He continued looking at her curiously, as if gauging her reaction. “Interesting guy, really. Very eccentric.”

It took all of her willpower to not shower him with questions, but he must’ve noticed because he smiled knowingly, “He’ll be on set for The Guardian Project next week. Would you like to meet—”

“Yes!”

So here she is, standing in front of Link’s studio fidgeting with her fingers. There’s a guard out front eyeing her suspiciously, but Link had promised that he would be out to get her soon. She double checks her slate to make sure she is at the right place at the right time and that he did, in fact, message her back three minutes ago.

Finally, the side door pops open and Link is waving her in. She looks nervously at the guard and points to Link, letting him know that she’s expected, before darting towards her date. Because yes, Link has confirmed that this is a date. Zelda profusely thanks her past life for the fortune given to her in this one.

They walk through a couple hallways before the room opens up to one giant set. It looks like some kind of laboratory with several tubes and wires hanging from the ceiling and prosthetic limbs lined up on the side. In the center is a mechanical treatment table with restraints, and the whole “room” is lit in a blue hue. Very little has been released publicly about The Guardian Project except for a brief synopsis: A young boy volunteers for a program that transforms him into the perfect soldier—something part human, part machine. After years of training, of being taken apart and put together again, he’s stationed as the princess’s primary guard in the midst of an ongoing crisis. As their relationship grows, the boy struggles with figuring out who he is and his worth beyond that of a weapon.

Of course, Link will be the star of the film, the boy that undergoes the transformation into a cyborg. That explains a lot about how he’s currently dressed, which Zelda hadn’t had a chance to observe until now. His hair is completely down and his wardrobe is composed primarily of dark clothing. Actually, it's all dark clothing that stretches up his neck, over his fingertips, and covers the entirety of his legs. It fits his physique incredibly well, and perhaps she’s staring too much because Link coughs, forcing her eyes back up to his. She doesn’t miss the tinge of pink on his cheeks.

“We’re about to do a costume fitting, which is why Robbie is here.” He gestures to the back where a small group of people are gathered. “Shall we go join the crew?”

Zelda clears her throat, stamping down her own blush. “Y-Yes. Sorry, you just look so different. I wasn’t expecting it.” She averts her gaze, yet can’t help but take another glance at him. “But it looks good on you.”

If possible, Link turns even more red, but that doesn’t stop him from shooting her toothy grin. He shyly takes one of her hands and leads her forward, allowing their fingers to become loosely intertwined. Ever since they took their first picture together, little moments like these began to pile up. Fingers brushed when she brought him a drink three days ago, shoulders touched as they looked at the stars. This is the boldest they’ve been, and Zelda can’t bring herself to mind in the least.

It doesn’t take her long to spot Dr. Kine’s iconic white and wing-like hair, especially with the bronze goggles he likes to sport. A sudden bout of nerves hit her and she finds herself smoothing out her blouse as if it’ll somehow make her look smarter. Link gives her hand a squeeze before waving as one of the crew members notices them. 

“You’re right on time, Link,” she says, then turns to her and extends an arm, “You must be Zelda! Link can’t stop talking about you.”

Zelda raises a brow in his direction and Link shoots the girl a glare. “Meghyn, that is not—” He glances at Zelda, then covers his face with a hand, causing the last part of his sentence to be muffled, “—always true.”

Meghyn just laughs, giving him a pat on the shoulder and sending a wink at Zelda. “You got a good one, hun!” 

Zelda beams, unable to resist smiling. “I have no doubt about that.”

Her response somehow makes Meghyn laugh even louder, catching the attention of those nearby, including Dr. Kines. He swivels on his heels and stares at them inquisitively.

If Link ever asks her who she was more nervous meeting—him or Dr. Kines—she’d be ashamed to admit that it would be the latter, perhaps even if she were to remove the outlier that was her mood the day Link shot over her counter. To be fair, she was interested in physics prior to Link’s debut, and well, though she wanted to date Link, she wanted to be Dr. Kines. She wanted her day-to-day life to consist of tinkering with machinery, of calculating how the Ancient daggers of the Sheikah are able to create what are essentially black holes when striking an object. Being surrounded by replicas of these techs is an absolute dream come true!

Zelda realizes she’s being spoken about and to only when she sees Dr. Kines approaching. However, instead of shaking her hand, he takes a sidestep and circles her, thumb and index finger on his chin as if he’s examining a specimen.

“Ah,” he starts, and Zelda feels like a popsicle frozen in place, “You must be the same ‘Zelda’ Purah always talks about.”

She thaws instantly. “You know Dr. Anzu?”

“Heh!” He scrunches his nose. “Of course that old hag wouldn’t mention me to you. We were in the same doctoral program.”

“Old hag” is not what she would have described Dr. Anzu as, considering her mentor looked almost as young as she did. While most people with those credentials tend to be older, Zelda always figured Dr. Anzu had been on an advanced academic track. 

As if he reads her thoughts, Dr. Kines snorts. “She’s a brilliant mind. We’re the same age, you know. She doesn’t spend all her time researching old Sheikah tech.”

Zelda has to school her expression before her jaw drops because he must be well into his sixties. She makes a mental note to inquire more about this later.

“Dr. Anzu is the one who encouraged me to pursue my masters and doctorate, and we reference several of your books on a daily basis.” She bows slightly. “It’s an honor to meet you, Dr. Kines.”

“Call me Robbie! I’m not as pretentious as that old hag. Here, let me show you around.” She bites down a grin but when she looks up, Dr. Kines—er, Robbie—is addressing Link. “Mind if I steal your girlfriend?”

Zelda is glad everyone is looking at Link because she swears her cheeks light up like it’s Hylia’s Day. Link coughs, using the pause to give her a quick glance as if asking if she’d like for him to deny it. She answers by mirroring his gesture from earlier: taking his hand and giving it a light squeeze. 

Dear Nayru, the smile he returns is causing her heart palpitations. “She’s all yours, but I want her back before we finish off.”

“Nonsense. I’m sure she’ll be of plenty of help with your costume. Come along, Ms. Bosphoramus.”

She thinks she sees a wink somewhere behind the goggles, but maybe it was just a trick of the light. She’s about to follow when she feels a light tug at her fingers and spins back around, only to see Link staring at her in the way she’s sure is how she looks at him. He brings the back of her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss upon it. 

“I’ll see you in a little bit,” he says, but she’s too breathless to respond. For the nth time, she wonders how she got lucky enough to be where she is now. How did she go from simply being an adoring fan to someone who’s on the receiving end of Link Wilde’s affection? And then, to top it all off, wind up meeting her academic idol? For all her intellect, she can’t fathom how the atoms aligned in such a way to make it all possible.

“Ms. Bosphoramus,” Robbies calls out patiently, and Zelda sheepishly sends Link one last smile before catching up with the scientist. When she reaches him, he gives a knowing look. “Don’t sell yourself short, Ms. Bosphoramus. In my eyes, he’s the lucky one.”

-END-

A/N: As I was writing this, I realized how complicated their relationship is and what obstacles they will need to overcome. It's all tooth-rotting fluff now, but Zelda would want to make a name of herself in her field prior to being known as Link's girlfriend, so they will probably keep their relationship on the down-low for awhile. Then there's the court poet -cough- I mean, Zaeya, who will also make a debut and end up drawing attention to Zelink. Alas, this is not a story I'm willing to write, but something fun to think about.

Huge thanks for everyone who was following this story! It was a nice run and experiment with writing. The alternate POVs worked well in allowing for the differences in our writing styles, I think. I wouldn't mind doing another piece with Embyr one day!

[intangiblyyourswrites]

Last Line Tag

Rules: In a new post, show the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words in the line.

Tagged by @embyrinitalics! Thank you for thinking about me even though I haven't written anything in ages! T_T

Hasn’t thought of his name since she received that last message sent to her slate: We can’t see each other anymore.

This excerpt is from an unintentional sequel to Insomnia that I've been working on—set seven years after they got together and, well, ended up splitting apart.

Tagging @ashleyswrittenwords, @deiliamedlini, @littleredwritinghoodxx! Excited to see what you have in store!

[intangiblyyourswrites]

Jdjsjdbcn LOOK AT THIS BEAUTY!! The lighting, the atmosphere…I’m just ready to dive into this scene!

So stoked for To Whom it May Concern!! 😍

a commission to go with an upcoming fic by @embyrinitalics featuring a younger Zelda reading a private letter belonging to a slightly older Link in Hateno

[intangiblyyourswrites]

I am still mind blown that I have such a gift in the works. 🤯

These two asks from @thirteenthhr and @mrmilktrayman14 don't seem immediately related but they are so it's going in one post! 😆

So I am excited for all my wip babies, but the one that I'm actually able to write words for when I sit down is To Whom it May Concern, which is what Milktray was askinG abOUT SEE IT'S ALL CONNECTED!!

I posted the intro for To Whom it May Concern here! I don't remember what sparked the idea originally, only that I started it back in April 2021 and I wrote it with @intangiblyyourswrites in mind.

I really don't want to give away too much about this one, cuz even though what's happening becomes evident fairly quickly I think it still works best when it unfolds naturally. I will say it takes place during the Age of Burning Fields and Link did not fall at Fort Hateno.

Also I'm not sure I'm loving that title I may choose something else idk

[intangiblyyourswrites]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

We've reached the end at last.

Thank you guys so much for hanging around and listening to my meltdowns throughout this project 😂 You are the greatest.

[intangiblyyourswrites]

Oh. My. God. I am SCREAMING. (Seriously. Hubby looked over and asked if I was okay 😂). THIS IS FOR ME??? I am honored and overwhelmed and THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL THE MELANCHOLY IS JUMPING OUT PAGE. I absolutely adore this and cannot wait for the rest!!!!

To Whom it May Concern??

Oof, this is a heavy one. But I am jazzed about it, so thanks for asking! 😆

I actually started this one for @intangiblyyourswrites (😘), so it is, predictably, angst city. It's so named because the scenes are interspersed with sections from a letter Link has written to someone. I don't want to give too much away, but I think the inconsistencies with canon become clear pretty quickly. 😬

I knew a girl once who was all four seasons rolled into one. Her smile was summer and her hair was fall. Her fair skin was winter and her green eyes were spring. She was my... well. I suppose it doesn't matter what she was to me now. --- Zelda was lying out in the hay fields, soaking up that perfect bit of late morning sunshine that struck the hillside just before noon. It was warm enough that the grass wafted hot and sweet up her nose, but not so warm that it was uncomfortable. It was just right. And there weren’t enough just right moments in the world. The wind raked through the grass, rolling it about in waves, but the spatter of sunbeams that should have hit her eyelids didn’t come, some shadow-casting one or thing not bending in the breeze. She turned, squinting in the sunlight that poured over the shoulder of the figure hovering in her field. She caught a bit of blue eye, the corner of a mouth smirking. “Hello,” he said. She propped herself up on her elbows, pressing a hand to her forehead like an awning. His hair was tied back and sunbleached, gentle crow’s feet and a sliver of straight teeth coming clearer into focus. She didn’t know him. And even if she did, it wouldn’t have made the fact that he was standing there watching her unannounced any less odd. “Hello,” she said, lip quirking. “The sun hits these hills just right in the morning,” he mused, his expression soft. A little curious. “Can I sit with you a while?” Her first inclination was to tell him no, as she wasn’t in the habit of indulging strange men, much less sunbathing with them. But he did have excellent taste in hillsides. She shrugged. “I don’t see why not.” He bowed his head and trudged closer. The grass rustled and crunched as he eased himself down into it, brushing his bangs out of his eyes and plucking a head of grain he had pulled down with him. He balanced his elbows on his knees and pulled at husks and kernels. He had scars on his lip, in his brow, under his eye; they aged him somehow, like chips in an old piece of pottery. “My family used to own land out here,” he said, gesturing with the half-bare spike, “before everything. Some of these very hills. It’s amazing how little has changed.” “That’s Hateno for you,” she smirked wryly. “The most unchanging corner of nowhere you ever saw.” “Well,” he chuckled, “there’s peace in that.” A warm breeze tousled the hillside again, churning the hay and her uncombed hair. She touched it absently and her fingers snagged; she must’ve looked a mess. But she’d hardly been expecting to entertain anyone when she came out to such a lonely place. Not that she cared anyway. Still, her mother’s voice chided her, exasperated and burned into memory: you should always look your best, because you never know when your best should be needed. She banished a frown and shook her tangles over her shoulders and out of sight. Her best certainly wasn’t needed right now.

“So what brings you out this way? We don’t get many visitors.” “Just chasing a bit of the past, I suppose,” he said, pinching an eye shut against the sun. His crow’s feet pulled a little harder. “You’re probably too young for that kind of sentiment.” She shrugged. “I guess I am. I can’t seem to think of anything but getting out of here, going someplace.” “Where would you go?” “Anywhere,” she said, turning her face up to the light and letting the heat burn shapes into her eyes. “Akkala, or Hebra, or Faron. Anywhere but here.” He nodded. “I’ve been those places.” “Have you? I can’t imagine anyone ever escaping Necluda.” “My father was a knight. We traveled a lot.” “The things you must have seen,” she sighed. “I envy you.” His expression changed, brow furrowing and eyes drifting over the landscape, like his spirit was being pulled somewhere else. He looked back down at the bare head of grain in his hands, let the wind whisk it out of his fingers when it blew again. “I have been fortunate,” he murmured. Zelda swallowed a sudden lump, wondering at how he made grateful words sound so hopeless. Wondering at how a single careless remark from her had plunged them somewhere so dark so quickly. She clambered to change the subject. “On a clear night, you can see the glow of the Burn from up here,” she said, her voice too happy. She was overcompensating. “It’s lovely.” He smiled a sad smile, a bit of light returning to his face, to his eyes. “Well, that’s one way of looking at it.”

She bit her cheek. That had been a stupid thing to say to someone his age. Suddenly it was too warm, but surely that was because the sun had gotten so high. She made one final attempt to salvage the good mood, irretrievable as it seemed. “Won’t you come to the house? Lunch will be ready soon, and there’s always room for one more.” His smile broadened again, warmer than the others had been. “No, thank you. I’ve imposed on your hospitality long enough.” And then he stood, just like that, leaving her to sit up after him in the grass. She fidgeted as he let his eyes pass over the hillside, taking it all in one last time, not quite sure she should stand up after him. “It was nice to reminisce,” he said. “Thank you for letting me sit with you.” She nodded, wary of saying anything else that might drive him off. He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a few ambling steps back, the wind whisking down the slope after him and the heads of grain nearly up to his hips. “I’m glad to have met you, miss.” “Zelda,” she corrected him, and his smile warmed a little more. “Zelda,” he said. He turned, and she watched him march down the slope until he was at the edge of her fields, and then until he was out of sight entirely. Until the sun was too hot and her stomach growled at her. It was morose somehow, like she was watching him walk out of one lifetime and into another. Like he had shrugged off some piece of himself and left it behind, with her. It was as disorienting as it was ridiculous. She hadn’t even asked for his name.