intangiblyyourswrites

[intangiblyyourswrites]

oh god please give me more purple prose. every genre book release these days seems to be written by someone who thinks that the function of words is to act as a sort of informative alt text for the comic book or streaming service original series they are clearly picturing in their mind

[intangiblyyourswrites]

— Franz Kafka, Letters to Felice

[intangiblyyourswrites]

— Olivia Gatwood, from "The Lover as a Cult," Life of the Party

[intangiblyyourswrites]

How to write smut ?

(@urfriendlywriter | req by @rbsstuff @yourlocalmerchgirl anyone under the appropriate age, please proceed with caution :') hope this helps guys! )

writing smut depends on each person's writing style but i think there's something so gut-wrenchingly beautiful about smut when it's not very graphic and vivid. like., would this turn on a reader more?

"he kissed her, pulling her body closer to him."

or this?

"His lips felt so familiar it hurt her heart. His breathing had become more strained; his muscles tensed. She let herself sink into his embrace as his hands flattened against her spine. He drew her closer."

(Before proceeding further, these are all "in my opinion" what I think would make it better. Apply parts of the advice you like and neglect the aspects you do not agree with it. Once again I'm not saying you have to follow a certain type of style to write smut! Creative freedom exists for a reason!)

One may like either the top or the bottom one better, but it totally depends on your writing to make it work. Neither is bad, but the second example is more flattering, talking literally. (Here is me an year after writing this post, i think, either is amazing, depending on the context. the type of book you're writing, your writing style and preferences!)

express one's sensory feelings, and the readers will automatically know what's happening.

writing, "her walls clenched against him, her breath hitching with his every thrust" is better than writing, "she was about to cum".

(edit: once again, hi, it's me. Either is amazing depending on ur writing style. Everything at the end is about taste.)

here are some vocabulary you can introduce in your writing:

whimpered, whispered, breathed lightly, stuttered, groaned, grunted, yearned, whined, ached, clenched, coaxed, cried out, heaved, hissed

shivering, shuddering, curling up against one's body, squirming, squirting, touching, teasing, taunting, guiding, kneeling, begging, pining, pinching, grinding,

swallowing, panting, sucking in a sharp breath, thrusting, moving gently, gripped, biting, quivering,

nibbling, tugging, pressing, licking, flicking, sucking, panting, gritting, exhaling in short breaths,

wet kisses, brushing soft kisses across their body (yk where), licking, sucking, teasing, tracing, tickling, bucking hips, forcing one on their knees

holding hips, guiding the one on top, moving aimlessly, mindlessly, sounds they make turn insanely beautiful, sinful to listen to

some adverbs to use: desperately, hurriedly, knowingly, teasingly, tauntingly, aimlessly, shamelessly, breathlessly, passionately, delicately, hungrily

he sighed with pleasure

her skin flushed

he shuddered when her body moved against his

he planted kisses along her jawline

her lips turned red, messy, kissed and flushed.

his hands were on his hair, pulling him.

light touches traveled down his back

words were coiled at his throat, coming out as broken sobs, wanting more

he arched his back, his breath quivering

her legs parted, sinking into the other's body, encircling around their waist.

+ mention the position, how they're being moved around---are they face down, kneeling, or standing, or on top or on bottom--it's really helpful to give a clear picture.

+ use lustful talk, slow seduction, teasing touches, erratic breathing, give the readers all while also giving them nothing. make them yearn but DO NOT PROLONG IT.

sources to refer to for more:

gesture that gets me on my knees !!

(more to comeee, check out my hot or kisses prompts on my master list!)

[intangiblyyourswrites]

WHEN WILL YOU GIVE KALEIDOSCOPE EPILOGUE

HOLY COW WHEN DID YOU SEND THIS MESSAGE???? I literally just saw it. Sorry for the delayed response!

And this is a very good question because I, myself, do not know. I also haven't heard from my beta reader for it in a really long time? I hope she's okay. Also, I recently found out that someone plagiarized my fic on wattpad? Not okay.

Working on getting my writing groove back so who knows! Glad you're still thinking about it. ;D

[intangiblyyourswrites]

Masterpost: How to write a story?

Compilation of writing advice for some aspects of the writing process.

How to motivate myself to write more

How to get rid of writer’s block

Basic Overview: How to write a story

How to outline a story

How to come up with plot

How to create a character

How to make a character unique

How to name your characters (Masterpost)

How to start a story

How to write a prologue

How to write conversation

How to write witty banter

How to write the last line

How to write a summary

How to write a book description

How to write romance

How to write friendships

How to write emotions (Masterpost)

How to write an argument

How to write yelling

How to write anger

How to write betrayal

How to title fanfiction

How to write an unreliable narrator

First Person vs. Third Person POV

How to write character deaths

How to use songs in a fanfiction

How to name fictional things

How to write self-insert fics

How to write multiple points of view

Introducing a group of characters

Large cast of characters interacting in one scene

How to write dual timelines

Redemption arc

Plot twists

Fatal Character Flaws

Good Traits Gone Bad (x)

Slow burn

Explanation posts about writing terms

What is…

AU ideas

Favourite tropes

Tropes of the day

List of Genres

Drabble vs. One-Shot

Advice for writing relationships

Masterpost: how to write relationships + romance

More specific scenarios

How to write a bilingual character

How to write a character with glasses

How to write heterochromia

How to create a villain

Reasons for becoming a villain

How to write a morally grey character

How to write an inferiority complex

How to write a road trip

How to create and write a cult

How to write amnesia

How to write being stabbed

How to write a stratocracy

How to write a heist

How to write the mafia

Criminal past comes to light

Ideas for traumatic experiences

How to create an atmosphere (Masterpost)

How to write a college party

How to write royalty (Masterpost)

Paramilitary Forces/ Militia

Superpowers Masterpost (Hero x Villain)

Inconvenient things a ghost could do

A Queen’s Assassination Plot

Crime Story - Detective’s POV

Evil organization of assassins

Evil wins in the end

Causes for the apocalypse

Last day on earth

Liminal Spaces

Workplace AUs

Signs of co-dependency

What to wear in a desert

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

[intangiblyyourswrites]

don't give up

[intangiblyyourswrites]

Heart on Tattered Sleeves

Raul’s muscles tense, fingers itching to grab the hidden blade at his waist and hurl it at the dark haired man before him. For in the short moment that Rishe is looking down, Arnold Hein had reached out and grasped the end of her pink locks, letting his fingers comb through the ends in a way that can only be described as intimate.

Pairing: Onesided Raul x Rishe

Rating: G

Setting: 7th Time Loop 5th cycle AU in which Rishe goes undercover as a maid to extract information from the infamous Arnold Hein.

Word Count: 1,189

A/N: To my Zelda readers, I’m sorry this is not a LoZ fic but I do highly recommend 7th Time Loop: The Villainess Enjoys a Carefree Life Married to Her Worst Enemy! (light novel and manga primarily; the anime is not as good imo). It has a great cast and a great time travel plot/story. I’m actually not sure if anyone in the 7th Time Loop fandom will find and read this but I wanted to get it out of my brain. Feels good to write again. 🥰

—————

“There’s also the option of obtaining the intelligence from someone who already has it. Even if you can’t become a noble of Galkhein, you can befriend one. This method…often employs female operatives.”

The Galkhein palace is as beautiful as it is domineering. It can be seen looming over the town long before anyone sets foot in the capital itself. Several tall spires jut into the air like spikes on a crown with several winding roads leading up to them from the main gates. Piled high along the perimeter are stones that form a wall as formidable as the emperor himself. As much as he hates to admit it, Siguel’s royal sanctuary pales in comparison both in size and fortification.

But Raul is not here to appreciate the architecture–though he does take note of the greenery and trees with branches that might give just enough height and length to trespass the walls. It is common knowledge among hunters that the brittle clay of the fortress made climbing by hand impossible, but every structure and strategy has their pitfalls or weak points; it is just a matter of finding them.

The knights guarding the gate stiffen as he approaches. While onlookers are plenty, few approach the castle directly, especially those who are not dressed for the occasion, and right now, he is dressed only a step above rags.

“State your purpose,” the one on the left grumbles, fist tightening around his spear. Perhaps Galkhein knights are trained to always be weary, or perhaps the man’s senses told him to be alarmed despite how docile Raul meant to come off.

Red eyes scope the courtyard, counting guards and scanning weapons. “Just here to pick up my sister. She’s a maid here,” he says easily, tipping his pauper hat and settling into his current disguise. There’s an unkept area on the far side of the wall that he can exploit if needed, but he is reserving that for emergencies only. Use too much and it’ll be discovered, and the treasure inside is too valuable to risk. He really should have never agreed to this plan.

The left guard grunts in acknowledgement but otherwise stays silent. At precisely a quarter past noon, he hears familiar footsteps approaching. Her footfalls are deliberate, a soft and steady cadence so that her presence can be heard. Her bright pink hair, the color of flowers, sway in the breeze as she greets the guards she past. Her smile is infectious; causes her to stand out despite the black and white uniform that is supposed to make her blend in.

She pretends that she only notices him when she nears the gates, and he does the same when she waves. “Rishe—“ he starts, but the air suddenly chills and her smile, once merely pleasant, is now radiant.

“Prince Arnold,” she bows, mirth dancing in her eyes, “What brings you here?”

He doesn’t miss her tone of familiarity, nor does he miss the icy glance sent his way by the prince. He bows deeply to avoid further inspection.

A sigh. “I’m here to ask you to bring back one of those auspicious looking fruit when you return. Oliver keeps insisting they are doing me some good.” The prince pauses, and a sense of bloodlust befalls the air. “And who is this? Your keeper?”

If Rishe notices the change in atmosphere, she doesn’t flinch. It takes Raul more effort than he cares to admit to also not react. “This is my adoptive brother!” she exclaims, their rehearsed ruse flowing past her lips with perfect precision. She threads half truths into her lies to make them believable. “The one I told you about. If he hadn’t found me when my parents kicked me out, I’m not sure where I would’ve wound up.”

He feels the appraising look more than he sees it, though the prince’s attention had shifted back to Rishe by the time Raul looks up again. “You were once a noblewoman, isn’t that right?”

Rishe nods and dips with crossed ankles, her curtsy elegant and trained. “Your Highness, I am flattered that you listen to my ramblings.”

Raul’s muscles tense, fingers itching to grab the hidden blade at his waist and hurl it at the dark haired man before him. For in the short moment that Rishe is looking down, Arnold Hein had reached out and grasped the end of her pink locks, letting his fingers comb through the ends in a way that can only be described as intimate.

“A title stripped can be restored.”

Rishe is startled but not alarmed, and Raul now knows with certainty that he will never regret anything as much as allowing her within arms reach of this monster.

“What do you mean—”

“—I’ll let you go now,” said monster interrupts, likely having caught on that Rishe is too pure to catch on to the implications. But Raul hears it, and Arnold Hein was surely counting on that. “Enjoy your outing with your…brother.”

A shiver works its way up his spine. Raul grits his teeth to keep the smile on his lips. The prince smirks and drops his hand; doesn’t even glance towards the gates as he walks away, steps heavy with authority.

Raul hates him. He has always despised Galkhein, but he loathes Arnold Hein.

The gates finally open for Rishe to come out, and she latches onto his arm like a little sister who missed her brother. “I have so much to tell you! They made me the head maid!” she says excitedly. She keeps everything coded while they are still within hearing range of the guards. They trust me. They let me near him.

“That’s wonderful,” he says instead of angrily retorting too near. “I knew no one could outmatch you.”

The truth in his lie is that to him, she has always outshined the rest. Romance is an impossibility in his field, and he never minded because no one was worth his affections. But then she came along, unassuming but full of excellence and curiosity, and the blood that pumped for Siguel began pumping for her. He can never cage her though, refuses to trap her despite being the lead hunter that he is, not when her beauty lies within her freedom. So he keeps his feelings under layers and layers of disguises that there are days even he can’t recognize them.

But the crown prince of Galkhein does not care for that. He sees a free dove and wants to ensnare her, to contain and suppress. Raul has seen how Galkhein wilts even the most vibrant flowers.

“A title stripped can be restored.”

He isn’t sure how much of their ruse the prince suspects or sees through. All he knows, as he listens to the way she covertly gives her report and hears the hint of adoration when she speaks about the man that should be their enemy, is that he needs to somehow pull her from this operation fast. Before she is harmed. Before his heart is torn to shreds.

Before Arnold Hein reinstates her noble status and puts a ring on her finger.

(Before she can accept.)

[intangiblyyourswrites]

THANKS FOR VOTING! And I KNEW some of you rascals would choose the third option. And I appreciate it. 😂

I am grateful that I do not have to go back and edit some scenes. I don’t want to clog up my tumblr with my random ramblings so I made a Bluesky! You can find me at [intangiblyyours.bsky.social]!

Trying to write TP Zelink smut but getting caught up by clothing conventions.

“With a flick of his wrist, they come undone, revealing […] in a white bustier.”

Wait a sec, did bustiers even exist during the renaissance era?

*Searches Google*

Nope. Just corsets. And now I have to change this whole scene. 🙃

Or…HEY GUYS, HOW ABOUT A POLL?

Buttons are also a problem. Like buttons apparently weren’t functional until the 20th century. Do I have functional buttons written at the moment? Why yes, I do.

[intangiblyyourswrites]

Have a fun little prompt:

TP Zelda gets a dog. Link is unimpressed. She calls the dog Link. Chaos ensues.

That's it. That's the prompt.

— Replaced —

“What is that?”

“The latest taxation proposition for Lanayru province.”

“Not that. That.”

The queen set the top page of her report aside, not deigning to glance beneath her desk.

“It’s a dog.”

“Yes. But what is it doing here?”

“It’s mine.”

The captain of the guard waited a beat. She turned another page.

“You got a dog.”

“Yes.”

“May I ask why?”

“Dogs are good companion animals.”

He folded his arms, frowning at it. It laid down and folded its paws, unmoved.

“And why do you need a companion animal?”

“You seem needlessly fixated, Sir Link.”

“You’re avoiding the question, Your Majesty.”

“Why? Does it pose a threat to my security?”

“It’s unlike you.”

“Not so. I’ve always liked dogs. And companion animals can be very soothing.”

“You already have—”

Her eyes met his at the same time his teeth met each other. Her gaze lingered, and he strategically uncrossed his arms. Beneath the desk, the dog sniffed.

She turned another page.

“Did you have something for me?”

He did. He fished the envelope out of his breast pocket and stepped closer to hold it out to her across her workspace. She reached for her letter opener and sliced it neatly down the seam, and he let his eyes drift down near his boots and bared a tooth.

“Thank you,” she said, and leaned back in her chair to read.

It was as polite a dismissal as he was liable to get. He saw himself out, glancing back from the shadow of the door.

The dog looked smug.

⬫⬫⬫⬫

The delegation arriving that afternoon was large, and the staff had been agitated as a cucco swarm seeing to the last minute preparations. Fortunately, the captain had some experience with cuccos, and was adroit enough to stay out of the way as he oversaw the finishing touches on the security measures.

One of the kitchen maids, sheen on her forehead and pink on her cheeks, came out of the dining room with a platter big as a Hylian shield balanced against her shoulder. The frustration on her face melted a bit when she met his eyes, giving way to an exhausted half-smile.

“Hello, Captain,” she said, breathless, and he nodded.

“Miss Tilly.”

“No room for a fourth platter of bouchées,” she sighed, dragging her wrist against her brow. Her eyes sparkled beneath. “These’ll have to go back down.”

“Pity,” he said.

She plucked an hors d'oeuvres from the top of the arrangement and held it out for him.

“Care to lighten my load?”

The pastry hovered between them a moment—unassuming, bite sized, glistening with eggwash—before his fingers finally lifted along with the corners of her mouth.

If anyone knew how to tempt the otherwise impervious captain of the guard, it was the kitchen staff.

He was halfway to biting into it when the queen’s voice, raised, urgent, startled him so badly he pulled it out from under his teeth and whipped his head aside.

“Link, no!”

A blue-eyed shepherd bounded down the hallway like a shot and back up again, twirling a circle by the trailing queen’s skirts and hopping a bit until he pulled a smile out of her. He let his tongue loll out and pranced at her heel as she walked.

The captain’s teeth hadn’t quite found their way back to each other.

“You—” he started, and then closed his mouth at her sudden, innocent attention.

She waited, elegant. He tried again, off kilter.

“You named the dog Link?”

“It’s a heroic name,” she reasoned, fingers feathering the silky top of his head, and Link preened. “Don’t you agree?”

Miss Tilly ducked her head and scurried off, hiding her toothy smile very poorly.

The captain shoved the whole pastry in his mouth and stomped off.

⬫⬫⬫⬫

The queen brought Link to the reception.

He was bouncy and very good at manipulating his eyebrows to swindle the guests out of treats. He was light enough on his dainty paws that he stayed out from under the foot traffic, and small enough that he could slip under tables with ease. The Zora also found him novel and charming, which made absolutely no sense.

His good behavior did not keep the captain from glaring at him whenever they crossed paths.

After dinner the queen stayed up late entertaining and listening to informal presentations of the Zora’s concerns. Link laid at her feet, occasionally offering his chin and ears for scratches. The captain of her guard stood stationed at the far end of the room, where he could keep an eye on all the entrances and wouldn’t eavesdrop.

It was his usual spot at functions like these. But tonight he felt leashed up outside.

When the guests had finally gone to bed, the queen glided towards her chambers, trailed by two shadows. It was a sleepy procession. And as the delegation was staying for the better part of a week, there would be more of them. The dog whined.

“You poor thing,” she murmured, reaching down to stroke his chin. “You haven’t had your supper yet.”

Neither had the captain. But he refrained from whining about it.

They reached her room and the queen went inside. Link followed, nails dragging noisily on the carpet, but stopped wedged in the doorway to look pointedly over his shoulder. The captain felt his hackles raising.

“Was there something else?”

“Nothing else, Your Majesty. Get some rest.”

“You as well,” she nodded, swallowing a yawn. “Come to bed, Link.”

The dog trailed her inside, making a beeline for her mattress.

When the door closed, the captain bristled so hard he felt the need to shake down to his tail.

⬫⬫⬫⬫

The next few days were more of the same: crowded meals that lasted for hours, long walks through the castle grounds speckled with talks, and tired evenings brimming with wine. The queen’s captain and her dog liked each other less and less.

The last morning of the visit, nerves frayed, tension wound tight, Link growled when the captain wandered too close to the queen’s desk, and without thinking the captain bared his teeth.

“Link!” she scolded, and they both flinched, tails tucked.

The envoy met with her one last time for what was sure to be a long negotiation, and the captain took the opportunity to attend to some pressing business.

He snatched the dog by the collar and dragged him, nails scuffing everywhere, to a broom closet, and locked them both in. He changed, and the dog screamed.

“OH GODS! WOLF! WOLF! HELP! SOMEONE HELP!”

“Stop barking! Stop—shut up, shut up!”

Link hesitated from where he had reared back on his haunches, breath puffing and chest fluttering, before he took an uncertain sniff. The whites of his eyes receded a bit, his forepaw meeting the ground and his nose drifting closer as he investigated. And then his eyes—as much as a dog’s eyes can—rolled.

“Oh. It’s you.”

The wolf let his lip curl, and while Link’s ears drooped, he planted his paws and raised himself a little taller, not to be intimidated.

“Let’s have it out,” the captain growled, “before this becomes an issue for her.”

“Well I certainly have nothing to apologize for,” he snuffed. “I’ve been nothing but well behaved!”

“You took a snap at me under her desk this morning.”

“You were asking for it.”

If the captain had a palm to drag across his face, he would’ve. Instead he pinned his ears down and huffed, glowering, “The safety of the queen and her household are my responsibility. You don’t need to like me. I don’t need to like you. But I am going to protect her. So stay out of my way.”

Link snorted. “That’s what she keeps you around for? Protection?”

“At least she has use for me. I can’t fathom why she’s kept you as long as she has.”

“Because I am the best boy. And the goodest boy. And the prettiest boy—”

“All right, shut up, shut up.”

He planted his tail on the ground, trying to think. It swished like an irritated metronome.

Link’s ears perked, head tilting and eyes going horribly wide with realization.

“You’re jealous!”

The wolf sneered. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It all makes sense now. You’ve been unwelcoming from the moment I arrived. And at first I thought, Perhaps he’s one of those unpleasant people who simply doesn’t like dogs—insufferable, yes, but mostly harmless. But it couldn’t be clearer now what this is about: territory.”

“The queen is not territory.”

“But the place beside her throne? At the foot of her bed? Those certainly are, and I’ve never seen you in any of them.”

Link put on his best smug face. The captain entertained thoughts of cleaving his head clean off his shoulders.

“So, what did you do to get yourself ousted?”

“I haven’t been ousted.”

“Fine. Replaced.”

“I haven’t been—!”

“Well you must’ve done something wrong. How else do you explain my arrival? Were you too noisy? Too big? Too intimidating? Do you give subpar cuddles?”

His eyes narrowed. “The queen and I have never cuddled.”

Link looked mortified. “How can you even be a lapdog and not give cuddles?”

“I was never her lapdog! I’m her head of security!”

He hesitated.

“She does… know you’re a dog, yes?”

The wolf huffed again. “Yes, she knows.”

“Because I’ve never seen you like this in front of her before. And we’re mostly inseparable.”

“It’s been a while,” he grumbled.

“But you used to.”

One of his ears went sideways.

“And you liked it.”

Both of his ears went sideways.

Link beamed. “Doesn’t she give just the best scratches?”

“Listen, lapdog,” the wolf snapped, teeth meeting loudly, and Link shrank back against the wall. “The point is we’re stuck working together, and there’s nothing either of us can do about it. Deal with it.”

“You could ask for reassignment.”

He snarled, “Excuse me?”

“You can talk to her,” he explained, reaching with his back paw to scratch an itch. It made his collar twirl. “Tell her things. I envy you that, though I do a fairly good job of getting what I want besides. But you could tell her you don’t want to be her head of security anymore. Tell her you’d rather be a lapdog instead.”

“I don’t want to be her lapdog!”

“You just want to be closer to her.”

The wolf’s ears pinned back and his lips curled. “Why am I even having this conversation with you?”

“Because you locked us in a closet!”

His growl rumbled so low the brooms rattled.

He waited.

So did Link.

Finally, he murmured, “I can’t tell her that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated.”

Link tilted his head at him again.

“Is that common among humans? They can’t say what they want?”

“I’d say so.”

He considered that a moment. Then he glanced up at him, eyebrows quirked.

“I think you’re dense.”

The wolf looked suddenly ravenous, but Link was unbothered.

“You’ve been outside wolfshape for too long, Captain. What do your senses tell you?”

That made him hesitate. He sniffed reflexively. “I don’t follow.”

“She got a dog to keep her company. With blue eyes. She named me after you. And you think you’re the only one who isn’t saying what he wants?” Link did his dog impression of an eye roll again. “Let me out of here. Your stupid might be contagious.”

The wolf blinked at him. “I’m going to let that go.”

“Well you know what else I think—”

The captain shifted, fur and teeth and claws melting back into softer shapes. The dog in the broom closet with him yapped incomprehensibly for another five seconds.

He smirked, “I think I like you better like this.”

⬫⬫⬫⬫

That night, when the door to her boudoir opened, the wrong sort of animal stepped through.

The queen looked up from her book from her seat on the couch. A wolf stared back.

After a beat he set his jaw, crossed the room with purpose, and dropped his snout into her lap.

Her lips twitched. The weight of his head didn’t let up in the slightest; if anything, her hesitation only made him sag harder.

“Link,” she murmured, carefully lifting one hand to trace a slow line from between his eyes to between his ears. “What have you done with my dog?”

I ate him, he thought smugly.

Her fingers dug a little deeper, and he leaned shamelessly into it. Because she gave excellent scratches.

“It’s not really appropriate for me to be overly familiar with my staff,” she mused, fingers sliding down, down, toward that spot behind his jaw. He stretched his neck to help her reach. Her smile turned pensive, and then faded just a little. “And even if I wanted to, that’s a lot of pressure to put on someone. It isn’t easy to say no to the queen.”

That’s sweet, Your Majesty, but I can handle myself.

She smoothed the fur around his ears, as though she’d mussed it. The wolf looked up at her out of fluted blue eyes, waiting. Expectant, more than hesitant. It made a smirk twist at her lips.

“It does get lonely, though,” she admitted. “Which is why I got myself a dog.”

Right. Because you didn’t already have one.

The wolf sniffed. He lifted his head from her lap and circled the couch, calculating, and then leapt onto the cushion beside hers with great care and laid down, tucking his legs so he’d fit. He plopped his head meaningfully on her shoulder.

“I can’t very well get rid of him now,” she argued.

He pushed his nose into her neck, and then wriggled to press in with his chest, encroaching as much as possible.

“Link,” she complained, puffing fur away from her mouth. “You’re too big.”

He only had two shapes to choose from, and wasn’t sure she’d be much happier with the other one. But neither was he about to call off his offensive after he’d come this far.

He shifted in a flurry of shadows. His elbow was planted on the camelback behind her shoulder, his temple planted on his fist. He was still very much in her personal space.

She arched an eyebrow, but made no move to pull away. He tested the waters, drifting closer. Her eyes twinkled, the way only hers could, and the grin that spread over his lips was probably too wolfish.

“I know a ranch in Ordona that would love a shepherd.”

On ao3 | masterlist

[intangiblyyourswrites]

words for your fight scenes

Breathe

draw, expire, heave, inhale, puff, suffocate

Catch

intercept, tackle

Climb

arise, ascension, mount, scale, surface

Cut

amputate, ax/axe, bisect, chisel, cleave, crop, cut up, dent, dissect, engrave, etch, fell, hack, lacerate, mangle, molt, mutilate, notch, peel, scar, scratch, shave, shred, slash, slit, trim, whittle

Dispose

boot, chuck, disposal, dispose of, do away with, elimination, kick out, rejection, scrap, throw away, void

Drop

alight, crash, decline, descent, dive, droop, duck, fall, flop, fumble, go under, keel over, light, percolate, plumb, plunge, sag, settle, sink, slump, stoop, submerge, suspend, thud/thump, tumble, wilt

Hide

ambush, bury, camouflage, conceal, cover, cover-up, cringe, disguise, dissimulate, embed, ensconce, envelop, isolation, lurk, masquerade, palliate, screen, seclusion, sequester, shrink, shut off/shut out, sneak, withhold

Hit

applaud, bang, baste, batter, beat, blindside, boot, buffet, bunt, chip, clash, clip, clout, collide, concussion, crash, cuff, deflect, drive, flail, glance, hammer, jab, jostle, knock, lick, nail, peck, plaudits, pound, punch, rap, scourge, slap, smack, sock, strike, swipe, tap, thud/thump, tip, whack, whip

Hold forcefully

apprehend, cage, clasp, clinch, confinement, constriction, cramp, detain, embrace, enslave, fetters, grasp, gripe, hold, incarcerate, overpower, press, shackle, snatch, strangle, throttle, wrestle

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary.

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary Notes: Fight Scenes (pt. 1) (pt. 2) Word Lists: Fight ⚜ Pain

[intangiblyyourswrites]

Trying to write TP Zelink smut but getting caught up by clothing conventions.

“With a flick of his wrist, they come undone, revealing […] in a white bustier.”

Wait a sec, did bustiers even exist during the renaissance era?

*Searches Google*

Nope. Just corsets. And now I have to change this whole scene. 🙃

Or…HEY GUYS, HOW ABOUT A POLL?

Buttons are also a problem. Like buttons apparently weren’t functional until the 20th century. Do I have functional buttons written at the moment? Why yes, I do.

[intangiblyyourswrites]

Any keyboard enthusiasts around that can tell me what you think is the best tactile feedback for writing? Preferably not loud but doesn’t have to be silent.

Asking specifically for PC but will also take suggestions for keyboard cases for iPads.

[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.