Writing Prompt
Writings
Writings
WRITING OBSTACLE
Write a love story without using any dialogue.
Think about how you can drive a clear narrative and develop your characters without anyone speaking.
Writings
It really was love at first sight.
From across the cafe, I saw a handsome man staring at me. In both my mind and my heart, I knew he was the one. My heart fluttered as I met his gazed both of our faces flushing deep shades of pink.
I averted my gaze, shyly smiling. Then I heard footsteps approaching, and then I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was that man.
I blushed profusely as I looked at him, still shyly smiling. He suddenly handed me a bouquet of roses, a grin on his face. I smelled the roses and let out a sigh of content. I looked up at him, my expression one of gratitude. Then he made another sudden (but even more surprising) move:
The man kissed me. On. The. Lips.
Shock filled my body, then pleasure and joy as I kisses backs our lips moving perfectly in sync. I couldn’t believe how good of a kisser he was! But I wasn’t complaining, not at all!
When we finally pulled apart, our breathing heavy, he looked at me, hope in his eyes. I knew that he wanted exactly what I wanted: to continue whatever magical thing we had going.
I nodded, grinning happily.
He hugged me tightly and I quickly reciprocated the gesture. I knew that I would never let go. This really proved that love at first sight was no myth.
Was it the way I looked to him? No, that can’t be it.
It was the way he looked to me. Yes, that seems right.
The name’s Piper; Piper Ann Dame, and I’m in love with a deerfox. That’s right. A damn, scruffy deerfox.
He’s clothed in a fiery coat of orange, amber eyes accompanied by black paws that could be gentle and soft. His antlers stretch out from his skull, like twisting trees of thick oak. At the moment, we’re both sitting under neath one of the trees I compared his antlers too. The strong thing shields us from the afternoon light, which reminds me of his eyes in the bright sun of the morning.
Now, no, he’s not just an ordinary fox—he’s what you would call a faerie—so he does have a human form. I’m not one of those creeps fucking animals after being insane for years, but I don’t want anyone to know about us. You see, faeries have this…reputation in High Mountain. Stealing babies and such.
But what people don’t know is that there are different types of faeries that do different things. My Deerfox, for one, is a shifter, but I didn’t learn this from him—he doesn’t talk, can’t talk from what I see from that scar on his neck—I learned it from my faerie obsessed father. More on that later.
As a virgin female in my society, I am treated like trash. That’s why I choose for Deerfox to visit me in the woods rather than the exposing city. He never speaks, he just touches me instead. Which I am all here for.
His brown head is burrowed into the crook of my neck, his nose blowing warm air that flows down my collarbone into the open part of my tunic. I shiver in delight from it. I grab his one of his hands, my other going to stroke his antlers, and pull him closer so he can touch my waist. His head turns and he stares at me in wide eyes, curious at what I’m trying to do. His leg thumps at my stroking after a moment though, and his eyes roll back.
I let go of his hand with a sigh and just focus of petting him. He does love his pets.
Ah, woe is me. Of course the handsome fae is also a virgin. And an idiot. He’s a goddamn idiot sometimes.
Just look what happened last week while we were gathering berries so I could make a pie.
[+•+•+]
It was a sunny day, not really special, just very, very humid, and Deerfox and I wandered to in search of berries. He seemed confused of what a “fickleberry pie” was, but seemed happy enough to go with it because I seemed happy.
He was following me like a dog—though, aren’t foxes related to dogs in a way?—while I inspected the bushes to find the right berries to pick. All the while, I had gloves on. Remember that crucial part: GLOVES.
Earlier, I had warned Deerfox about sticking his bare hands into a fickleberry bush because they are very dangerous, poisonous, and prickly.
(Now I forgot that Deerfox wasn’t human in that moment, but he’s still an idiot.)
So this dumbass, after watching me pick berries with my (GLOVED) hands, goes ahead and sticks his hands deep into the bush. WHY DEEP INTO THE BUSH?!
We were still for a moment. I frozen in shock, and he as well. Then his hands started to bleed black and I started freaking out and rushing over to him. Deerfox just blinked slowly looking between me and his hand as I rummaged through my bag for bandages, as though he didn’t believe what was happening was real.
I called him a few unladylike names then, grabbing his arm, gloves still on so I didn’t have the poison on me, so I could bandage his hand. But then Deerfox head butted me away—which hurt quite a bit—and licked his head clean. Blood, poison and all.
There was another quiet moment, and I started screaming again. It took Deerfox about two hours to remind me that he wasn’t human by shifting, and a few slaps from me for my mind to calm down.
See, he’s an idiot. An idiot who I love very much.
[+•+•+]
Back to the present, his head is in my lap now and he’s playing with a ladybug he found on a blade of grass. He’s still in his human form, which is awkward for positioning, but we make it happen, and his legs are in the air and swinging.
Ugh…why am I still allowing this? I should be doing something better! Like learning how to sow, or cook something else other than pie! I sigh, than laugh sadly. Deerfox stops his kicking and looks up to me, tilting his head before coming up and licking my cheek. I know he didn’t mean it suggestively, but it still makes my heart race. I pat his head and kiss his cheek. Deerfox gives me a smile, then he goes back to how he was, thrusting his antlers towards my palms. My hands find their way almost automatically.
My heart has been eaten by a fae—an idiotic fae. And I don’t think he has any intention of giving it back.
Not that I want him to.
[+•+•+]
Author’s Note:
_I might make a part two. I like these characters more than I realize. 😅 Thanks for reading and have a wonderful fae—oh! I mean day! _❤️
I try not to smile when I see him. But then he smiles and my whole world melts. I try not to look into his deep brown eyes. But then I see them, and I can’t look away. I try to talk to him. But then he’s surrounded by other girls. I try not to cry. But then I remember that I might have loved him. I try to avoid him in the halls. But everywhere I turn, he’s there. I try to hear what he’s saying to his friends. But when he’s around all I can hear is my heart beating in my chest I try to tell myself to move on But my heart tells me it isn’t just a crush Even though we’ve never spoken. He’s stood up for me Sometimes I wonder If maybe he and I are something The universe created I’ve never been in love But I feel sick around him And it’s the first time that I love being sick So I keep trying I keep dreaming But how long till I stop pretending? He and I are just a moment Don’t forget me, I think as he passes. Cause there’s no way I’ll ever forget you
Grace was acutely aware that every step she took was on ground they had once trodden together. Every pavement, cobblestone, gravel path, shop floor. This was their old stomping ground and every place with imbued with significance in her mind because the memories of his presence hovering over it. Does he think this too as he walks around our little town? It's been eighteen years. He'd probably moved on by now. She was convinced that the mere thought of their romance probably made him wince and cringe. The pain of it. The stupidly of going for someone like her. " And yet, if she was thinking this, surely he must be thinking of her too. Was this a form or telepathy or extreme delusion? It annoyed her when he moved back to the area. I mean, he had every right to but it disturbed her long fought for equilibrium. She'd build high walls around herself to stop her looking the fool ever again. To stop her being hurt. And yet he was, not merely content to conquer the world and have his face and name everywhere but also wanting to come back into her world, with his wife and kids and remind her of the time shared and lost that could never be revisited. Why couldn't he leave her be? And yet, another part of her longed to connect. Just to look into his eyes again, to smile and chat. She knew what the boundary was. They both did, of this she was certain. They both had their 'someone'. But it would soothe her soul to say what she felt needed to be said.
The world was quiet as the two lay in the sand, save for the sound of waves crashing against the shore and ocean wind whistling through the air. The two lovers’ hands were intertwined, holding each other tightly as they stared up into the sky at the sparkling stars.
One’s gaze shifted downwards, towards the soft, gentle, features of the girl she loved. She thought she was unnoticed until a hand reached out and brushed her cheek, thumb gliding over the gaping scar without shuddering or faltering.
Their eyes met and no words were needed. It was what had made them realize just how deep their love was for each other - they never needed words to communicate. Just their eyes.
And the gentle girl’s eyes told a million stories. Scargirl knew that if her love ever wanted to say them aloud, she would listen.
Fingers trace every blemish on her face, which there are plenty of, but Scargirl does not flinch. She’s granted a warm smile that makes her stomach do flips before warm, smooth lips, are pressed to her own chapped ones. If her love cares, she sure doesn’t show it.
She simply keeps smiling, brushing Scargirl’s hair from her face and behind her ears, and Scargirl knows that she will never know something so peaceful.
As I stare into his eyes, I realize I'm in love. Even though it is so frigid out, I feel warmer than ever in his arms. I never believed her when she said it was impossible for me to love him after what Gracie did to me three years ago. Well, here I am the luckiest girl in the world, in Paris, France, with my fiance six months before our wedding. God, I love him more than anything, or at least that's what I want to say. Truth is I know he slaughtered all those powerless people, last year, who meant nothing to him. But somehow I still love him more than anything.
It was as if their whole lives had been leading up to this moment in time. Almost as if they were meant to be all along. Although they had only met hours earlier, it was like they had known each other for years. One more captivated than the other with their charm. I guess you can throw in the old cliche, “it was love at first sight”. They needed each other without even knowing it. It took this one moment for them to finally, after so long, get to experience true love.
Sometimes bonds are stronger than time, Stronger than long distance, Some bonds are simple, Or simply unbreakable, Unshakeable.
Some require little to no words at all, A look is all it takes silence is so comfortable, A look is all it takes, And thoughts can be read.
It’s possible to get so close, You fuse your bodies and souls, You can feel each other’s pain and feel their success, too. That’s the way that it has always been with me and you.
I can never lose you, It would be the end of me. I need you by my side always, You can never run away.
From across the bar his jade eyes pierce my soul deeper than the scotch burns my throat. My heart knew him, but I did not. I throw back another shot. His eyes danced as if he knew every inch of me.
Fresh air calls my name, my nerves call a smoke. He follows, lites me up, takes my hand and I follow. He stops next to a granite black bike. It rumbles to life and with noons hot sun beaming over us we take off into the unknown.
I held onto the back of my seat and press my body into his. The wind sweeps my golden brown hair behind me. The streets of Mexico City are a blur of gray, all that is in focus is him. With the seat vibrating between my legs, his hand clenching my thigh - my head swims.
Where he’s taking me, I don’t care. I lean into him, he smells of leather, salt, tobacco and whiskey. Beads of sweat drip down his neck and I open my mouth for a taste. I close my eyes and drink him in. Warm iron, salty thick blood fills my mouth.
When I open my eyes we are someplace underground. All I smell is wet dirt, moss and him. We stand toe to toe reading each others eyes. Alone at last.
It was just the beginning of the most dangerous love story told.
Rising sunlight shone through the pale curtains, faintly lighting the room in early morning tones and catching the dust motes in the air. It was blessedly warm on Gideon’s bare back, and he heaved a deep and contented breath, turning his head up to see Florence’s sleeping face. Her eyelashes were clear in the light and the veins were visible under the thin skin of her eyelids. Gideon was partly on top of her, one leg between hers, arm around her stomach and his head on her chest, allowing him the sight of the stark line of her jaw and the curve of her throat. Shifting subtlety, he took her hand that rested on the bed, holding it loosely. Her other was in his hair, where it had tangled before she fell asleep. After a squeezing her gently, Gideon eased back to sit. Under the comforter, his leg was still over hers, and he felt when she moved, turning her head to face him and folding one arm over her chest. Florence was lovely in the dawning light, tousled hair and fair, flushed skin and relaxed body, naked save for the blanket covering her hips. Her mouth was kissed red from the previous evening, and tiny little bruises were blooming on her throat from his teeth. The bed clothes around her were disarrayed, the blanket half on the floor and one of the pillows no where to be seen. All those little things suggested more happening last night than what actually did. The intent had been there, but they’d been kneeling on the bed, wrapped up together and both trying to undresses the other, and she had undone his belt and slid it from his dress slacks, he’d been trying to unbutton her dress blindly, and her knee slipped on the edge of the mattress, he’d lost his balance, and Florence was the one who hit the floor. Gideon had made an honest attempt to catch her, but all he managed to do was face plant on the bed with one arm stretched over the side. He imagined they looked like some bastardized mockery of a scene from the Titanic. She had looked up at him, sprawled on her back on the floorboards, khaki dress rumpled, underwear around her knees, her chest all misshapen from both her bra and dress being loosened. Her copper hair was half obscuring her face, and she peered through the strands to meet his gaze silently. He stared back, wide eyed and shirtless, his own long hair a wreck. He was only wearing one sock. He knew this because he could see the match laying beside Florence’s shoulder. His mouth trembled. A swift grin crossed her face before she had lost it laughing, and after that, though they had both lost their clothes completely, sex had been forgotten in favor of a little wrestling and much beating with pillows, an act which Florence said was recompense for getting shoved off the bed. They’d tired after awhile, and discussed writing, of books and music, and what state they’d be in two days from now. Montana it was. They’d realized early on that tours and book signings could be lined up side by side, which meant they could both work, without an issue for either, be travel together. It was a good combination; she didn’t need much for autographing, so he could take up as much space as needed for sound equipment and instruments. The only thing, probably the smallest problem, was that Gideon now got a separate room rather then pile in with his band mates, including his best friend. Despite that, the guys had generously and easily accepted Florence into their wolfish little pack, even reserved, stoic Heidi. She was the keyboardist, sometimes vocalist, and the coolest tempered of the group. She and Florence had not, despite being the only woman amongst all the men, immediately become friends. However, they got on well enough, and sometimes they would decide to bunk together when Gideon missed the guys to much. All in all, it worked shockingly well. Their lives had slotted together so seamlessly that sometimes Gideon expected the anvil to drop, for it to crash, but so far it hadn’t, and Gideon was going to enjoy, and enjoy mornings like this one. A slight nudge at his leg brought his attention to Florence. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t realized she was awake, watching him with a fond expression. He smiled.
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