Resources For Describing Emotion

Out of Context Lines

“You’d have what? Disgusted me to death?” “Maybe, but it’s been a long time since I’ve met someone who didn’t know or try to arrest me.” “Why’s everyone calling me little? I’m probably taller than you.”

Fluff would be nice

Since I'm almost to my next milestone; what would y'all want? More prompt lists? And if so, what kind? Smut? Fluff? More Yandere? Let me know!

I feel attacked

yes

spooptober had begun

“This is your daily, friendly reminder to use commas instead of periods during the dialogue of your story,” she said with a smile.

i am about to bestow upon you the secret butter technique. i am sorry, but it is french. i am sorry again, this only works with cow butter. i am certain plant based butters wouldn’t work, and alternative animal butters may or may not work

has this ever been you: you have a nicely steamed vegetable, or maybe you want to make the best butter noodles, but you know that if you put butter on those it’ll just melt and you end with kind of greasy noodles or vegetables? don’t you wish it was instead a luscious buttery glaze?

introducing: beurre monté

you will take a small sauce pan, and begin heating it with 1-2 tablespoons of water (use very little water) and bring it to a hard simmer or boil

turn the heat down slightly, and add Butter. how much? however much you dare. (start with 3-4 tablespoons and go from there)

you are going to either whisk Aggressively or you can pick up the saucepan, still holding it over the heat, and swirl aggressively so the butter is skating around the sides of the pan

done correctly, you will have liquid butter that is still emulsified. you have made Butter Sauce. season it with a little salt, and toss whatever you want in it.

if you’re butter splits, i’m sorry. you didn’t agitate it enough to maintain the emulsion, and now you have melted butter.

you can use this knowledge to make other sauces by swapping out the water for another liquid. white wine becomes beurre blanc. red wine is beurre rogue.

you want to CUM? sweat minced shallot in a tiny bit of butter, add white wine and cook it out until it’s reduced by about half. then whisk butter in hard. a few flecks of minced thyme or fennel frond stirred thru, and you eat that with a nice seared fish? or scallop? or even shrimp? wow. you will Nut

your boxed mac and cheese game can also be elevated by cooking your pasta and making a beurre monté first, tossing your pasta in that and adding the cheese packet. wow. hey; you’ll cum

go forth now with this butter secret

The English: This is our legendary King Arthur. His bravest knight is named Gawain who cut off a green giants head

The French: That’s cool, but what if his coolest knight was FRENCH and practiced INFIDELITY with the QUEEN

The English: That’s not…

The French: His name is Lancelot.

The English: Okay actually that name frickin rules. Proceed.

Hatred is thick, a red fog that clouds judgement, and hot, burning in one’s veins. Hatred is fire, burning and passionate, easily able to swallow you whole if you don’t set it aside. Hatred spreads like wildfire, rousing and loud, the clap of thunder.

Where the cinders and embers that light the fire are impatient and desperate, grabbing at whatever they may find to remain alive, hatred is patient. Hatred is a seed pod, hiding in a stagnant bog, content with discontent and relishing in it, waiting to flower and spread its venom. Hatred is a destructive thing, poisoning the one who harbors it just as it poisons the others surrounding its host.

Yet it is disgustingly sweet, to the point where it is delicious. Hatred, while clouding the mind, gives focus. It sends you on a hunt, after the object that created it. The festering bud, once awakened, sends you on the path of ruin.

Hatred is something demons love to toy with. After all, men are more likely to destroy the things they hate themselves. They won’t find excuses or search for sacrificial lambs, instead opting to take matters into their own hands.

I am far from a demon. The enduring powers in my family, fighting defiantly against the weathering of time, have taken root in me. I have very little in the way of demonic gifts, but I can light a spark. I can smell the budding seeds of hatred in one’s heart, feel the feeble heat on the palms of my hands, and I can stoke the fire.

Small hatred goes a long way.

Deep Water Prompt #3148

The farther back your demonic ancestor lived, the less of their power you had access to. I could do little more than smell hatred, thick, cloying, delicious, which was handy in its own way. 

Not every writer wants to post their work online, however there are positives to doing so. If you seek feedback and advice from readers and writers, you might consider posting a draft or two. Even a few chapters or a poem can be uploaded online to get a little audience feedback.

Here are writing sites I’ve explored along with brief reviews of my experience in using them:

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