Always describing

A young writer (like that's uncommon). I focus on descripitive pieces, so if you want to go somewhere else for a bit, step right up. Just don't get too mad if a few stories slip through.

[writing-prompt-s]

write a story that takes place in the span of one minute.

[describingnarration]

Allow me to tell you the story, dear reader, of a minute of time. It seems like such a short frame in which an activity can unfold, yet so much can occur. The birth of a child, the crown of their head peeking from the warm womb of their mother into the cold, harsh reality we call our world. The death of a man, crossing the street without looking both ways, unknowingly stepping on a patch of ice and faltering just enough for a car to plough through.

I love you, can be said in the period of a minute. In fact, it can be said approximately one hundred times, as per my research which involved setting down a timer and repeating the phrase to the white walls of my empty studio room. I hate you, due to the similar phonetic structure, could also be said for the approximate same amount, though I did not wish to insult my lovely accommodation in a similar way.

However, it must be said now that the minute tale I intend to tell is that of you, dear reader, who sat down and scrolled along to find this text. You were intrigued by the prose or the premise, amused by the references or slightly disquieted by the level of detail included in the scenes of birth and death. Considering the average reading speed of an adult reader is, according to vague internet research, around 300 words per minute, this brief consideration of a minute of your life is about to come to an end. There will be a few brief moments where I will have no control over what you do, and I truly wish you luck out there with whatever you may choose.

You have five seconds, use them well.

[mightytinydragon]

Tiny and Winter love Trick or Treating!

Follow @mightytinydragon to join Tiny on his adventures

[sosuperawesome]

Cupcakes by Samantha Chiu, on Instagram

Follow So Super Awesome on Instagram

[dangeroustoast-blog]

Magnetic ball in magnetic putty

[meshugenist]

me trying to get comfortable in my covers at night

[gendice]

if you’re a writer who only writes the start and end of your fics and then abandon the WIP because you don’t know how to do the middle parts, you are valid 

[real-vampire-bat]

Okay but if I cant do the beginning or the end either?

[gendice]

if you’re a writer who doesn’t know how to do jack shit, you are valid

[corvidobligation]

Can I share with you my method for structure? Because I hated middles too, but now they’re no more difficult for me to plot and write than anything else. And I’m not saying it’s gospel, but you can build some pretty compelling stuff with it.

This is a little 3-act structure, but it breaks it down way further into more manageable pieces, and those pieces have some focus and tent-poles to help you along. (and I’ll be up front and say K.M. Weiland is where this method comes from, not I, and her blog digs much deeper into the method than I can here)

Your first 25% is the beginning, obviously. You set up the premise, the characters, lay the groundwork, foreshadow the ending, About half way through the first act (12%-ish), the protagonist is called to adventure - asked to not only go on a journey or complete a different goal than the one they’re already pursuing (even slow-burn coffee shop aus get this call, it’s called your OTP’s other half makes eyes at them), and in doing so, undergo a shift in themselves. But they probably turn it down, or don’t commit, or in some other way aren’t as invested as they ought to be in what’s really important. They want to pursue Their Thing and the important thing can just go away.

At the 25% mark, you run into the first plot point. At this point, the protagonist can’t turn away even if they wanted to. the antagonistic force - and note I say force, not person, it could be bad weather for all I care - punches your protagonist in the fucking face. one hit knock out. from this point on, we move into act 2.b. and into the reaction phase. your protagonist is trying to figure out what the ever loving fuck what just happened. to go back to the coffee shop au, this is your character getting flat out rejected the first time they ask the LI out and spending the next quarter of the book trying desperately to woo the love interest. but… let’s say his flaw is he’s arrogant. he does it in ways that aggrandise himself without considering what the LI wants. that’s the next quarter sorted out. about half way through this act (let’s say at like, 37%), your antagonistic force makes another move and ups the stakes, but also shows its hand a little bit and provides your protagonist with clues on why shit ain’t working. let’s say the LI is being wooed by someone else, and this rival publically drags your protagonist’s ridiculousness. this is your first pinch point.

then we get to the 50% mark, and the second plot point, midpoint. your protagonist is made aware of how fucking stupid he’s been. the truth punches him in the face. maybe the LI faces tragedy and berates your protagonist for how self-centered they’re being. the LI’s world is turning up-side down, tragedy has struck, god-damn it, and you’re prancing around going me me me? how dare you. how fucking dare you. it’s a chance for the protagonist to look clearly at themselves. and we move into act 2.b., the action phase. the protagonist has knowledge now, tools, and starts to move in the right direction, but he’s trying too hard to have the best of both worlds. he wants to be his old arrogant self but look like a good person, so he does this huge wild acts of kindness that just look like he’s trying to prove how generous he is to literally everyone. like act 2.a., part way through, the antagonistic force flexes again (at like, 63%), but this time, it’s to show what the protagonist has to lose. the protagonist … i don’t know, plans to ask the LI on a date, but, surprise! the LI has been dating the rival this entire time and the protagonist realises how much it hurts. it might be appropriate to let him have some small victory towards the end of the act, but it’s a little evil and gonna make your readers so mad, because,

then, at the 75% mark, we ruin their goddamn life. that’s right, fuckers, we’re moving into the third act and it’s all gone horribly, horribly wrong. the rival proposes and the LI says yes, literally anything, put the nail in the goddamn coffin. it’s over. doneski. fuck you all, thanks for playing, you lose!!! and this is where you really start ramping up the pace and tension. you know that climatic ending you’ve got in your head? time to pull it out and use it. up until the 90% mark, your protagonist weighs up their options, recovers, wrestles with the truth they learned at the midpoint - and decides to commit. they’re gonna be less self-centred, more humble, and using that knowledge, go into the climax and finish this thing up.

(i’m not thinking of a climax for this dumb au i made up on the spot.)

so, in summary:

act 1: set up - i’m happily ignorant

12% - a call to adventure

25% - the first plot point, where your character can’t refuse the call any more

act 2.a.: reaction - what the fuck is going on?

37% - the first pinch point, where the antagonist demonstrates their power and provides the protagonist with a clue

50% - the second plot point/midpoint, where the protagonist figures out the problem

act 2.b.: action - i know what’s going on but i want it all

63% - the second pinch point, where your protagonist realises what they’ve got to lose

75% - they lose everything

act 3: recovery - i know what to do

87% - the protagonist prepares until this point and launches into the climax

98% - resolution for reflection

this isn’t a hard and fast rule, but it is a place for you to start building the structure of your plot, helps to properly pace the plot, and helps with saggy middle syndrome. i hope it helps someone?

[writingisfancylying]

How do you write creepy stories

[writeanapocalae]

Over describe things

Under describe things

Fingers, teeth, and eyes

Short sentences in rapid succession build tension

Single sentence paragraphs build dread

Uncanny valley=things that aren’t normal almost getting it right

Third person limited view

Limited explanations

Rot, mold, damage, age, static, flickering, especially in places it shouldn’t be

Limited sights for your mc -blindness, darkness, fog, refuse

Real consequences

Being alone -the more people there are, the less scary it is

Intimate knowledge, but only on one side

I don’t know I just write scary things but I don’t know what I’m doing.

[incandescent-creativity]

Rule of Thumb: your reader’s imagination will scare them more than anything you could ever write. You don’t have to offer a perfectly concrete explanation for everything at the end. In fact, doing so may detract from your story.

[loafed-beans-deactivated2020082]

[fedkaczynski]

What’s funny is that this actually happened. 

[allamericankindofguy-actual]

I’m unfamiliar with this story please elaborate

[fedkaczynski]

Finnish soldier gets separated from the rest of his unit but he’s the only one carrying the emergency amphetamines for the unit, takes too many and goes on a one man rampage for like 2 weeks straight giving the opposing Soviet soldiers nightmares for decades. Oh and he did it all on skis. 

[ethereal-insight-deactivated201]

Did he survive?

[loafed-beans-deactivated2020082]

Yes, during his methed up 2-3 week rampage he got injured by a land mine, travelled 400km on skis, and only ate pine buds and a Siberian Jay that he caught which he ate raw. When he made it back to Finnish lines he was taken to a hospital where it was found his heart rate was nearly 200 beats per minute and his weight had dropped to 43kg (94.7lbs).

[doctor-roman]

His name was Aimo Koivunen if you want to look him up

[misteryada]

Those are the eyes of a man who has seen god and laughed

[superkat500]

Those are the eyes of a man who saw satan and asked for his number

[haiku-robot]

those are the eyes of a man who saw satan and asked for his number

^Haiku^bot^9. I detect haikus with 5-7-5 format. Sometimes I make mistakes. Being aware that you are true is what makes you a failure. | PayPal | Patreon

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Relationships get so bananas when you start deciphering the other person’s love language.

Like I thought I was just acquaintances with this person because they never told me details about themselves and we just talked movies and writing . But then they made time to have coffee with me and they showed up out of breath because they ran. Like. RAN to be on time for coffee with me?

And I was like “i don’t mind waiting” cause I never want to run

But they said they wanted every minute they could get because I’m so busy usually

Which is when it clicked that I didn’t get how much they considered me a friend because I just straight away didn’t see MY signs of affection in them and went “cool! Casual buds it is.” But now that I’m seeing their signs of affection, I feel a little silly for dismissing them like that even though I felt like we could be best bros.

Anyway, some people show affection through time or intensity or commitment and not vocally. I really have to remember that!

[madammuffins]

Fyi- just in case you didn’t know.

TOUCH got a bro that likes to give high fives? Back slaps? Are they a hugger? Do they not blink an eye at cuddles?

QUALITY TIME this bro will (as op stated) sprint to spend every minute possible with you. Every second that you guys are together is a declaration of affection.

WORDS does your bro tell you how amazing and great and fantastic and wonderful you are all the time? Guess what…?

GIFTS do they buy you coffee? Snacks, energy drinks, spot you at the restaurant? Did that one key chain removed you of them? Ding ding!

ACTS are they always doing things for you? Ie: Nah bro, I got this, I can do that, need me to get anything for you, I can help with…?

PRO TIP - The way people show love is often how they receive love as well.

[gayer-than-you]

I reblogged this recently but it got better and ive been thinking and learning a lot abt love languages so

[thewritersarchive]

This is an ultimate masterlist of many resources that could be helpful for writers. I apologize in advance for any not working links. Check out the ultimate writing resource masterlist here (x) and my “novel” tag here (x).

✑ PLANNING

Outlining & Organizing

For the Architects: The Planning Process

Rough Drafts

How do you plan a novel?

Plot Development: Climax, Resolution, and Your Main Character

Plotting and Planing

I Have An Idea for a Novel! Now What?

Choosing the Best Outline Method

How to Write a Novel: The Snowflake Method

Effectively Outlining Your Plot

Conflict and Character within Story Structure

Outlining Your Plot

Ideas, Plots & Using the Premise Sheets

✑ INSPIRATION

Finding story ideas

Choosing ideas and endings

When a plot isn’t strong enough to make a whole story

Writing a story that’s doomed to suck

How to Finish What You Start: A Five-Step Plan for Writers

Finishing Your Novel

Finish Your Novel

How to Finish Your Novel when You Want to Quit

How To Push Past The Bullshit And Write That Goddamn Novel: A Very Simple No-Fuckery Writing Plan

✑ PLOT

In General

25 Turns, Pivots and Twists to Complicate Your Story

The ABCs (and Ds and Es) of Plot Development

Originality Is Overrated

How to Create a Plot Outline in Eight Easy Steps

Finding Plot: Idea Nets

The Story Goal: Your Key to Creating a Solid Plot Structure

Make your reader root for your main character

Creating Conflict and Sustaining Suspense

Tips for Creating a Compelling Plot

The Thirty-six (plus one) Dramatic Situations

Adding Subplots to a Novel

Weaving Subplots into a Novel

7 Ways to Add Subplots to Your Novel

Crafting a Successful Romance Subplot

How to Improve your Writing: Subplots and Subtext

Understanding the Role of Subplots

How to Use Subtext in your Writing

The Secret Life of Subtext

How to Use Subtext

Beginning

Creating a Process: Getting Your Ideas onto Paper (And into a Story)

Why First Chapters?

Starting with a Bang

In the Beginning

The Beginning of your Novel that isn’t the Beginning of your Novel

A Beginning from the Middle

Starting with a Bang

First Chapters: What To Include @ The Beginning Writer

23 Clichés to Avoid When Beginning Your Story

Start Writing Now

Done Planning. What Now?

Continuing Your Long-Format Story

How to Start a Novel 

100 best first lines from novels

The First Sentence of a Book Report

How To Write A Killer First Sentence To Open Your Book

How to Write the First Sentence of a Book

The Most Important Sentence: How to Write a Killer Opening

Hook Your Reader from the First Sentence: How to Write Great Beginnings

Foreshadowing

Foreshadowing and the Red Hering

Narrative Elements: Foreshadowing

Foreshadowing and Suspense

Foreshadowing Key Details

Writing Fiction: Foreshadowing

The Literary Device of Foreshadowing

All About Foreshadowing in Fiction

Foreshadowing

Flashbacks and Foreshadowing

Foreshadowing — How and Why to Use It In Your Writing

Setting

Four Ways to Bring Settings to Life

Write a Setting for a Book

Writing Dynamic Settings

How To Make Your Setting a Character

Guide for Setting

5 Tips for Writing Better Settings

Building a Novel’s Setting

Ending

A Novel Ending

How to End Your Novel

How to End Your Novel 2

How to End a Novel With a Punch

How to End a Novel

How to Finish a Novel

How to Write The Ending of Your Novel

Keys to Great Endings

3 Things That End A Story Well

Ending a Novel: Five Things to Avoid

Endings that Ruin Your Novel

Closing Time: The Ending

✑ CHARACTER

Names

Behind the Name

Surname Meanings and Origins

Surname Meanings and Origins - A Free Dictionary of Surnames

Common US Surnames & Their Meanings

Last Name Meanings & Origins

Name Generators

Name Playground

Different Types of Characters

Ways To Describe a Personality

Character Traits Meme

Types of Characters

Types of Characters in Fiction

Seven Common Character Types

Six Types of Courageous Characters

Creating Fictional Characters (Masterlist)

Building Fictional Characters

Fiction Writer’s Character Chart

Character Building Workshop

Tips for Characterization

Fiction Writer’s Character Chart

Advantages, Disadvantages and Skills 

Males

Strong Male Characters

The History and Nature of Man Friendships

Friendship for Guys (No Tears!)

‘I Love You, Man’ and the rules of male friendship

Male Friendship

Understanding Male Friendship

Straight male friendship, now with more cuddling

Character Development

P.O.V. And Background

Writing a Character: Questionnaire

10 Days of Character Building

Getting to Know Your Characters

Character Development Exercises

✑ STYLE

Chapters

How Many Chapters is the Right Amount of Chapters?

The Arbitrary Nature of the Chapter

How Long is a Chapter?

How Long Should Novel Chapters Be?

Chapter & Novel Lengths 

Section vs. Scene Breaks

Dialogue 

The Passion of Dialogue

25 Things You Should Know About Dialogue

Dialogue Writing Tips

Punctuation Dialogue

How to Write Believable Dialogue

Writing Dialogue: The Music of Speech

Writing Scenes with Many Characters

It’s Not What They Say …

Top 10 Tips for Writing Dialogue

Speaking of Dialogue

Dialogue Tips

Interrupted Dialogue

Two Tips for Interrupted Dialogue

Show, Don’t Tell (Description)

“Tell” Makes a Great Placeholder

The Literary Merit of the Grilled Cheese Sandwich

Bad Creative Writing Advice

The Ultimate Guide to Writing Better Than You Normally Do

DailyWritingTips: Show, Don’t Tell

GrammarGirl: Show, Don’t Tell

Writing Style: What Is It?

Detail Enhances Your Fiction

Using Sensory Details

Description in Fiction

Using Concrete Detail

Depth Through Perception

Showing Emotions & Feelings

Character Description

Describing Your Characters (by inkfish7 on DeviantArt)

Help with Character Development

Creating Characters that Jump Off the Page

Omitting Character Description

Introducing Your Character(s): DON’T

Character Crafting

Writer’s Relief Blog: “Character Development In Stories And Novels”

Article: How Do You Think Up Your Characters?

5 Character Points You May Be Ignoring

List of colors, hair types and hairstyles

List of words to use in a character’s description 

200 words to describe hair

How to describe hair

Words used to describe the state of people’s hair

How to describe your haircut

Hair color sharts

Four Ways to Reveal Backstory

Words Used to Describe Clothes

Flashbacks

Using Flashbacks in Writing

Flashbacks by All Write

Using Flashback in Fiction

Fatal Backstory

Flashbacks as opening gambit

Don’t Begin at the Beginning

Flashbacks in Books

TVTropes: Flashback

Objects in the Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear: Flashback Techniques in Fiction

3 Tips for Writing Successful Flashbacks

The 5 Rules of Writing Effective Flashbacks

How to Handle Flashbacks In Writing

Flashbacks and Foreshadowing

Reddit Forum: Is a flashback in the first chapter a good idea?

Forum Discussing Flackbacks

P.O.V

You, Me, and XE - Points of View

What’s Your Point of View?

Establishing the Right Point of View: How to Avoid “Stepping Out of Character”

How to Start Writing in the Third Person

The Opposite Gender P.O.V.

LANGUAGE

 How To Say Said

200 Words Instead of Said

Words to Use Instead of Said

A List of Words to Use Instead of Said

Alternatives to “Walk”

60 Synonyms for “Walk”

✑ USEFUL WEBSITES/LINKS

Grammar Monster

Google Scholar

GodChecker

Tip Of My Tounge

Speech Tags

Pixar Story Rules

Written? Kitten!

TED Talks

DarkCopy

Family Echo

Some Words About Word Count

How Long Should My Novel Be?

The Universal Mary Sue Litmus Test

Writer’s “Cheat Sheets”

Last but not least, the most helpful tool for any writer out there is Google!

[emotionalmilkshake]

So so helpful

[melindawrites]

Dunno if I’ve reblogged this.

[a-cure-for-writers-block]

#100 Dialogue Prompts- Angst Edition

“This will be the last time you lie to me.”

“You know it’s not like that.”

“How could you think this wouldn’t hurt me?”

“You’re never going to be the same after this.”

“I just think it’d be best if we never met.”

“I can’t believe you would even think to leave me like this.”

“You never loved me, did you?”

“It didn’t have to be like this, but now you’ve ruined everything.”

“I hope you’re happy.”

“If you had have kept your mouth shut, then he’d still- he’d still be here!”

“What did you want once this was all through? Tell me!”

“Now I have to deal with the consequences of your actions. Thanks, it means a lot.”

“You could’ve- could’ve stayed. You could’ve helped me fix things.”

“I knew she’d never change, she was too stubborn, too similar to me.”

“This isn’t going to be fixed. You’ve ruined this for good now.”

“I hope I’m not put in the same part of hell as you.”

“When did you think you could hurt me again? Today? Tomorrow?”

“You’re back in my life and I want to die again.”

“You only ever brought me pain and I’m sick of it.”

“I hope you got what you wanted.”

“You made me miserable and I still loved you.”

“When you die, I’ll be the first to dance on your grave.”

“Don’t underestimate me, I have more power than you can even comprehend.”

“If only you knew what you’d brought upon yourself.”

“We’re never going to have a happy ending, just remember that.”

“Everytime something goes well, I momentarily forget how much I despise you.”

“Don’t pretend like you’re not happy to see me like this.”

“There is nothing worse than seeing you get what you want.”

“Your mind must be a horrible place.”

“You can cut me, bruise me and skin me alive, but you will not take her from me.”

“How is it that we always end up in this predicament?”

“I want to wipe that grin of your face with my sword, but my mother taught me to play nicely.”

“Did anyone ever tell you how pathetic you are? It’s incredible how low my standards are for you.”

“Ah, well if you want them back alive, I suggest you lay down your own life.”

“Don’t be ‘smart’. The battlefield is no place for Math Scholars.”

“You shouldn’t have come. You can’t be-”

“Stop talking or tomorrow won’t come.”

“Hand me the gun and I’ll kill him myself.”

“I shouldn’t care for your life, but I’m starting to and it’s becoming an inconvenience.”

“If you live to see her, please send my best regards and this box of her father’s ashes.”

“It would’ve been nice to get to know you better, but I’m afraid I don’t care.”

“I can’t help but think you’re a terrible person.”

“Seeing your face has unconventionally made me want to die. I wasn’t quite prepared for this feeling.”

“You could have loved me, I’m quite good at seducing, but you’re actually vile.”

“I hope I see you in a bodybag sometime.”

“Let’s pretend you didn’t cheat on me with my sister and be good people for a few minutes.”

“We should probably stop talking forever.”

“If I hated you anymore, I think I’d probably be crowned as satan’s right-hand man.”

“To say I ‘tolerate you’ is a vast overstatement.”

“You broke her heart and came back for more, you bastard.”

“This isn’t fifth grade, this is a courtroom, you whore.”

“I think you’d be the perfect match for my ex-husband. He loved to sleep with multiple people.”

“I’m not coming home, don’t look for me.”

“Time was always a measurement of this relationship and we finally ran out.”

“Please don’t look at me with such hatred.”

“I could’ve died and you couldn’t have cared less.”

“Just get out. I- I don’t want you hear, just leave.”

“You’re not the same person I married, don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

“I wish you wouldn’t beg for forgiveness, it has the opposite effect of what you want.”

“Don’t hate me for this. You would’ve done the same.”

“This could’ve been the end and you were ready to let me go.”

“You should’ve left me, you could never deserve the person I’ve become.”

“Hate me all you want. I know I’m right.”

“Today you broke my arm, I hope tomorrow it’s not my heart.”

“Nothing can justify this, you’ve ruined him.”

“You live with so much guilt, I hope it drives you mad one of these days.”

“My life was ruined because of one mistake. You were that mistake.”

“You are everything I hate, don’t ever come back.”

“Evil doesn’t come close.”

“Your wrongdoings are becoming your pastimes.”

“I wish you had of just done it for the thrill of it, but now you’re in deep shit.”

“Next time, I won’t be here to salvage your wreckage. This is the last time.”

“You should have ruined me when you had the chance.”

“No one will keep your name alive. Once you’re gone, everything you once stood for disappears too.”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about your life without me.”

“This is always how it ends.”

“Break my heart once more, I dare you.”

“Forget how you loved me once, I mean nothing now.”

“This isn’t Romeo and Juliet, this is real life and I can go on without you.”

“You don’t own me, I don’t belong to you.”

“I should’ve died. That would’ve made you happy.”

“Are we going to carry on like this or are you going to give him back to me.”

“She drowned and he lost his mind.”

“We shouldn’t. You’re married and I’m pregnant.”

“You’ve never been loved, I can tell.”

“Who told you I needed fixing and what made you believe them?”

“You’re almost as far-gone as I am.”

“Maybe it’s best that we don’t go home.”

“Roaming the streets was never safe for her. What makes you think it’s different for you?”

“I think you’re going to ruin me. Am I right?”

“Do you remember our last feud? I wouldn’t want someone to lose their life again, would you?”

“Kiss me quick and leave them be.”

“I hate seeing you so sad. It’s just so dramatic how humans show emotions and being sad is such a boring one.”

“Will you ever forget my number? No? Ah, because you still love me.”

“After the funeral, let’s surrender.”

“What made you think I cared for you?”

“It’ll be fun explaining this to your sister. I hope she likes horror stories.”

“Don’t act as if we’re friends. I know how much you want to slit my throat.”

“Let’s not get angry. Let’s calmly and sensibly take this outside so I can ruin your face.”

“Please ruin yourself for me and I’ll watch in adoration as I fall apart as well.”

// GuYs, i haVE ofFiciaLly hAd toO muCh coFfeE. I never thought this day would come (or night/morning. It’s 2 am lmao), but here we are. I want to sleep, how are you my darlings? xox //

[describingnarration]

Five times Mollymauk Tealeaf was ready for death, and one time he wasn't

He always knew Death would catch up to him

Read it here

[describingnarration]

“I just did some calculations, and I’ve been able to determine that you’re full of shit.”

“What?”

“You heard me. All that big talk about always knowing the perfect angle, the perfect hit, always having a plan… it’s bullshit.”

“Why would you think to bring this up now?”

“Because, Maria, we are tied to a chair. An electrical-chair. Blindfolded. In enemy territory. After following your plan. So, I think that you darling, are full of shit.”

She let out a puff of annoyance at his words. He knew he’d won. Honestly, he couldn’t really do anything else except takes jabs at her. Her fucking plan had backfired, the oh-so-smug expression as she had laid it out back in the hotel must now be turning into a scowl. He wouldn’t know. Because he was blindfolded. And tied. To a chair.

“They should have put a gag on you, you’re unbearable.”

“Well, you know, the prospect of imminent torture does kinda sour my mood.”

“Oh, you poor peule mouillèe, are you afraid of a little shock?”

“You’re not?!”

The lock of the door rattled, a pair of heavy boots walking into the room. Fuck, this was gonna be bad, really, really bad. Ash felt Maria shift behind him.

“Bonjour Marie, ça va?”

“Va te faire foutre Vincent, je sais que tu aimes ça”

A low chuckle rang out. Ash felt the footsteps approach, reaching for Maria, looming… undoing the restraints.

“Merci cherie”

He felt the man approach him, his own shackles being undone. Ash ripped off the blindfold, staring at the short man in front of him, taking in dark hair and hazel eyes, a large smile under a small moustache.

Maria was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Tu dois être Ash, non? C’est un plaisir. Marie m’a dit beaucoup sur toi.”

With a resigned sigh, Ash shook the offered hand prepared to take on the next part of the wonderful plan.

[describingnarration]

A cry of anguish rang out through the loft.

“No!”

Maria bolted upright, shaken out of the lull she had gotten into, absorbed in her tome, snatching a Beretta FS-98 from under the seat. She pounced out of the chair she had been curled up on and bolted down the stairs, springing off and over the last ten to land in a crouch, skidding around the corner to the kitchen, panting, searching for her target, the danger, the reason for the shout of pain.

Nothing.

Nothing except for Ash, standing there in boxer shorts and a large t-shirt, staring at the coffee maker in undisguised terror.

“What…”

He turned around, pointing shakily at the machine.

“Ash, why did you give me a heart attack? Over a coffee maker?”

“Mar it’s… it’s… it’s broken”

“….no”

******************

It should be mentioned that the two were coffee connoisseurs. Perhaps that wasn’t the right word. The two were positive coffee addicts, of the highest standards. They consumed two per morning, plus a few in the evening if they had to stay up late. They only drank, in their home, imported coffee taken from an Italian chain called Vergnano. They were religious about their coffee to milk-and-sugar ratios (one milk, one sugar for Maria, two milk one sugar for Ash). Most importantly, their coffee machine was their unofficial child. It was a Bialetti, Italian again, and it was carefully cleaned and maintained to the highest level. They had gotten it on a trip to the peninsula, and it was a life source for the both of them.

And now it was broken.

The filter had given in after five years of almost continuous use. This wasn’t bad. It wasn’t horrific. It was tragic.

************************

“Maybe, maybe we can repair it?”

“Mar, I’ll plead to being a tech guy, but I’m not an engineer”

“Okay, so we can go to Italy…”

“Really?”

“Or just buy it online.”

“That’s why you’re the tactician, cupcake”

**************

This was torture.

Waiting. Waiting. Still waiting.

Torture. And that wasn’t a word she used lightly, not when she knew what torture felt like.

Still, you try coexisting with another contract killer, while you’re both severely under caffeinated, and probably suffering from withdrawals due to the lack of said caffeine. Exactly – torture. They had thrown knives, smashed three plates and sent the base into lockdown due to a grenade slipping through fingers in the middle of a hissed threat. So now there was a small crater in the living room.

“Why, the fuck, would the package be rerouted through Istanbul?”

“I. Don’t. Know.”

“It says it’s in transit. Does that mean it’s in the US? Or over the ocean?”

“Ash, I have no idea”

“Why is it not here yet?”

“Because the postal service. is. awful.”

It took two weeks to arrive.

Everything went back to normal. Coexistence was placid. They only sometimes thought back to the fortnight with no machine.

They still didn’t speak about it.

[describingnarration]

“We should get a puppy!”

“Seriously?”

“Look at that one, 660 meters, third window from the left”

“Mar, we are not… that’s a cute dog.”

“Right? It’s looks so fluffy! And look at its little nose! Hi buddy!”

“Mar, it can’t see us”

His words reached only the empty wind. Maria seemed entranced by the little dog, which was sleeping on the windowsill of a Budapestian apartment. A dog she could see thanks to her sniper rifle. Which was supposed to be aimed at the hotel room of Vasily Belancu, a local human smuggler. His men had grabbed the wrong girl from the wrong village two weeks prior, and while she had been recovered safely, her uncle had wanted an example to be set. So they had waltzed into Romania, under the guise of siblings, and set upon searching for Belancu, finding him resting in several hotels, and finally settling on hitting him on the one with the biggest windows. No point making it hard for themselves. Except at that moment, Maria was staring at a dog. An adorable, fluffy… Belancu. They were here for Belancu.

Ash turned his binoculars back to the smuggler, and immediately wished he hadn’t. The man closely resembled a mix between Tony Soprano and Steven Seagal. Tall, slick oily black hair trailing all over his body, from his head over his large stomach down to… nope, not following that train of thought. He appeared to be in the middle of an intense call while parading around in his underwear. A garish sight, to say the least.

“Can we get that puppy?”

“Maria, we are not kidnapping someone’s dog. It’s their dog. Who appears to be living in a lovely home. Now, if you don’t mind…”

Before he could finish that train of thought, Maria had reset her sights, breathed out, and pulled the trigger.

“Target down, cranium pierced at a 037 degree angle, confirmed kill.”

She pulled away the stock from her shoulder, head turning to peer at him, a soft smile playing on her lips.

“So can we get a dog?”

Ash sighed.

“How about some fish?”

[describingnarration]

Original story:

What is trust? He asks himself, walking along the plush hotel hallway, soft carpet giving way soundlessly under his loafer covered feet. He turns the concept over and over again in his mind, “I trust you” he had said, hadn’t he, with that soft smile and eager light in his eyes, that arm slung around his shoulders, hand – oh so soft in his own, shaking on it. Hand, pointing authoritatively across a desk, voice raised in a boom, no, in the sun, ruffling his hair boyishly. Trust, he had offered, standing in his doorway with champagne in hand.  

The light of the chandelier reflects dimly off the gold flecked wallpaper, did his ears always ring like this? rolls off his suit covered shoulders garishly as he waits for the elevator to come – they had stood like this after they had pulled it off, grinning tiredly at each other, how long had it taken them, twenty, twenty five straight hours in the end, he remembers the confetti popping and the cheers and then the silent – they were alone - chuckles coming from him as he leaned against the panel, staggering in together, drunken only on euphoria and sleep deprivation.

“I was right to trust you” he had said once inside, sluggishly pushing the button for his floor, gazing at them in the mirror with a lazy smile – he can’t look at that mirror as the papers rustle in his hands, words printed neatly, row upon row upon – “You are…” and he had sighed and thrown up his hands in mock surrender, open, trustful, and had looked right at him and; he’d arrived at his floor.

Onwards, every step, “Just straight down, on the right, easy no?”, God, would he look at him the same way when he opened the door- with trust, trust, he wants to damn that man for making him doubt its very meaning, because when did he offer his trust? When he put his company’s secrets in the hands of a man he barely knew? When they spent hours working, giving their souls to get the project to go through; that fleeting second of contact shared as everyone roared in victory, stillness, quiet comfort? Was trust those hours long after they were done, smiling as he opened his door, “Wait just one second before running off”, leaving him there to sway as he darted inside, how had he been so fast?, and then… holding the bottle, smile never gone, an invite: “Help me celebrate?”

Or later, when he hid them in silence?

The door was closed now. He must be inside – maybe preparing to meet the press, or savouring a few last minutes in bed, always been lazy in the morning.

What is trust? he wonders, And when was it broken?

[describingnarration]

Original story

You walk along the streets of the village, each cobblestone leading you higher and higher towards the Keep. Your armour feels heavy against you, the chest plate hanging off your shoulders by loosened straps, one gauntlet missing, the sole of your boots clinking dimly and joining the symphony of sounds crashing together in the night. They create a broken melody around you, a distorted aria of pain and misery and cries for a healer, a priest, anybody. Ahead the path curves sharply left, rising even steeper as it approaches the steps to the Keep.

There, on that corner, a house burns. You can see what used to remain of it, the thatched roof exposing the beams beneath. In front are the remains of a small garden, a well around the side. You remember your days spent there as a child, waving at the merchants and knights who would pass in front. Some would curtsy, some that held titles like yours would merely wave and smile.

Gods, you wish you didn’t have to do this, tightening the straps of your armour with your un-gloved hand, bloodied knuckles scraping against the top of your helm as you pull it down to cover your face.

You march around the building, looking for survivors, someone to mark for the healers of Renbald who were following you, who you told to wait. You draw your swords, twin hand-and-a-half bastards which turn you into a storm of death in battle, sharp extensions of your will that cut as easily through steel as they do flesh, forged in Skyfire and enchanted by the masters of old. They had been strapped to your sides for close to a decade, a sacred gift from the old King himself when you came of age. A last memory from before you left.

Your feet, although clad in steel, make no sound as you mutter your incantation and so you arrive mutedly at the rear of the edifice, to find only an astounding view of the plains that surround Gradok Hill. You let out a soft sigh, your breath clouding in the cold air of the advancing night, and your gaze wonders across the battlefield you left behind. You loosen once again your armour, the crushing press against your chest relinquishing its protective grip. Pyres dance at the foot of the Hill, but whether they are funeral or victory ones you cannot tell. Despite the chill, you feel sweat drip from your brow and you remove your helm, wiping it with the naked hand and musing upon your reflection.

A jagged line cuts your noble brow and blood cakes your hairline, gaining ground on your dark eyes, inviting you to wipe it away and promising infection if you choose to do so with your stained hands. Lines mar your face lightly, signs you are no longer a youth yet far from your elder years but your eyes, they tell a different story. They are the eyes of the holy monks, the kind found in a wizened monarch,  or dully glimmering from the face of a lifelong beggar. Full of emotion yet empty to those who see them.

A gust of wind carries to you the sound of a lute playing from below, the smell of roasted meat dancing with that of blood and sweat. You remember a different time.

You sat here in your garden, right on the edge of the Hill with him after having snuck away from the royal guards and, most difficultly, your mother. A noble boy and the crown prince, ignorant of the problems that surrounded them. You remember his arm slung around your shoulder like a comfortable blanket, the heat of him as he pointed out landmarks in the distance, going on about some legend or other as you regarded him with a goofy smile. His promise of adventures together, of riding across the plains and up the distant river to meet the Elven folk. How he would beg you, again and again to show him until you relented and produced a small lick of flame from your un-gloved hand, before quickly transforming it into an icicle. Never telling him that you would have done it even if he didn’t ask, only to see him smile. Cloaking both of you in silence so no one could take these moments away from you.

You remember dashing up the stairs to the Keep with him, the same steps now slippery with blood and fluids, strewn with the occasional piece of armour or sword, wailing the silent song of the dead as you ascend. This was what victory looked like in this war that had turned brother on brother, that pushed you to leave him. You almost falter, as the maelstrom of tiredness and guilt and grief which had built for almost a decade threatens to overcome you. General Rieve puts her hand on your shoulder then, a grounding presence and a spur to move on, to lead this column of broken soldiers towards their agonized victory.

You arrive at the great double doors of the Keep, secured hours ago and guarded by your men as you returned to camp to take a tally of your losses. They nod curtly, and once again your armour tightens, but now you slip off your helm and pass it to General Rieve, pushing aside her confused look. You want him to see you. The doors open and there he stands, flanked by more of your soldiers to prevent an escape.

Waiting.

He turns to you, and in his eyes you see yourself, that grief, pain, loss, broken love mirrored in his crystal gaze. The Keep is quiet as you just stare, only the faint sounds of breathing echoing across the hall that once bounced with the laughter of feasts and the grave intonations of Royal decrees. You have no choice but to do this, even though you know he had tried to change things. To undo his father’s mistakes and make amends. That he was young and caught just like you in this vitriolic war with no true winner. You have to. You do. You are their leader, the people’s leader, and it is your duty.

Yet the walls scream at you to stop. They recount every joke, cry, fight, joust, smirk sent to each other during boring lessons, daring escape planned. Embraces and secret vows.

You bow your head to hide your tears, and unsheathe your sword.

Gaze at him again, that quiet acceptance in his eyes. Encouragement to finish this.

Then you step forward to kill your King, and one last look is exchanged.

Forgive me.

I already have, my love.

[describingnarration]

Original story

She was going to kill Clint.

With every inch that she dragged herself along the dark, narrow air vent, the thought compounded in her mind. She knew exactly how to do it too. All it would take was one tweak to an explosive arrow and…

“Have you found him?” came Steve’s voice, slightly muffled through the metal.

“No.” she answered through ground teeth, as she pulled herself forward another few inches, the tip of her right foot slamming against the side of the vent awkwardly. She bit back a curse, trying to keep in mind that there was an audience.

“Okay… well, keep at it!” Steve replied, frustrated amusement coming through in his tone. She could almost picture him, looking up at the ceiling, hands on his hips, brow raised and soft eyes. Those damn eyes. They had talked her into this situation. Steve and his puppy dog eyes and his too-broad-to-fit-in-the-vent shoulders.

It had started like a normal afternoon in their house. Bucky, Laura and Clint had been over for a quiet afternoon, the five of them talking about everything from their assignments to baseball results (Steve talked about baseball, the rest of them listened) while James played with the Barton sisters, baby Nathaniel still relegated to his father’s arms. They had been having a wonderful, relaxed time, until Lila had come running around the corner in a panic.

“He’s gone.”

Cue fifteen minutes of three avengers, a super soldier and a super mother turning the house inside out in search of the toddler, each simultaneously trying to coordinate and cover as much ground as possible. Bucky in particular seemed to have a method, checking corners none of them would have thought about. She’d have to ask him about that later.

It was the echoing coo of delight that tipped them off, seemingly drifting through from the ceiling. Four pairs of eyes swivelled accusingly towards Clint, who had the decency to look at least a little scolded. Laura gave a long suffering sigh.

“I had him for a few hours back at the base, and he was scurrying everywhere…” Clint started.

“So naturally you taught him how to run loose in the vents?” Steve questioned.

It took another five minutes to form a plan of attack. Clint’s kids initially volunteered to go in after James, because of course Clint had raised vent dwelling kids with a strong sense of responsibility, but the idea of sending in more children didn’t sit well with any of them. Looking at the tightness of the metal tunnel, the men all gave her a soft, pitiful look.

Which was how she, Natasha Romanoff, found herself spending what was supposed to be a nice, relaxing afternoon crawling in the airways of her house in search of her SHIELD vent-trained, super-serum inheriting son while the men responsible stood guard at all possible exits, ready to catch him in case he tumbled out. Bucky had the unenviable task of standing twenty feet beneath the grill that led to the garden. He’d looked like they’d asked him to defuse a warhead.

Twisting around a sharp corner, she was finally, finally rewarded with the sight of her son, sitting comfortably at the intersection, looking positively angelic and not like he had caused absolute pandemonium through his escapades. Gotten that from his father, he had. A further series of uncomfortable twists and turns, and both of them tumbled out straight into the arms of one waiting Steve.

Rogers men all had the same damn expression.

++++

Natasha woke up Sunday morning to the sound of drilling. She dragged herself slowly out of bed, padding downstairs and into the kitchen.

There she found James gurgling happily in his high chair, reaching out with his hands as she entered the room. Steve stood, still in his pyjamas, a tool belt slung over his hips and a drill in his hand as he drilled new bolts into the kitchen vent. He turned at her approach, soft eyes and warm smile.

Maybe Clint could live.