[fic] Creative Writing
Nov. 5th, 2012 04:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
frea_oTitle: Creative Writing
Word Count: 501
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Fandom: Avengers
Pairings (if any): Clint/Natasha
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc): Spoilers for The Woman in the Crosshairs
Summary: Clint tries to start his next project. Natasha provides no help whatsoever.
“It was a dark and stormy night—except when the lightning flashed, because then it wasn’t dark; it sort of turned the windows into a giant disco ball for a moment—but eventually the thunder and lightning stopped and it settled down to a steady light rain, so then it really was dark, but it would probably be a stretch to call it stormy.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow as Clint finished reading off the page. “Wow. I take it all back. You really suck at writing.”
“The Edgar something or other award I won for A G-Man Goes to War says differently.”
“You don’t even know what the award’s called. Figures.” They were in their typical winding-down-after-work spots; Natasha had stretched across the couch in their quarters, knees up, a copy of Anna Karenina propped open against her thigh. She had an arm behind her head to make it easier to read. Clint sat at the desk. He’d recently switched from the ten cent spiral bound notebooks to a typewriter and though Natasha had rolled her eyes at the acquisition, she found the tapping of the keys more soothing than she let on. Besides, the residence office had soundproofed their walls from the beginning because, as SHIELD’s newest agent Darcy Lewis had put it, “Nobody needs the mental scarring of what you two sound like in coitus.”
Natasha had flicked a paperclip at her friend’s head for that. Because Clint had been teaching her unorthodox marksmanship, she hadn’t missed.
Clint’s shoulders shook right now, a sign that he was laughing. “Relax,” he said, ripping the paper out of the typewriter and balling it up. It sailed into the wastepaper basket without hitting the rim, of course. “I wasn’t actually going to start the book that way. Anybody who so much even starts a scene like that is clearly a hack writer.”
“Clearly.” Natasha returned to the adventures of Anna and Vronsky. “Though, you know, I was reading reviews for The Man Who Was Out of Time in the Times today and…”
Clint swiveled in place. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he said, pointing at her.
“I was going to say that they were really positive. They liked Ste—Wesley, sorry, as a character. Said he seemed like a positive role model, but his flaws made him believable.” She put on her most angelic smile. “It’s almost like he’s a real person.”
“He’s not the Cap.” Clint’s voice was a growl as he turned back around; the tapping grew louder. “He’s nothing like Rogers, dammit.”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”
Clint grumbled. “Some days I miss the times when you were oblivious to what I do.”
“I know you do.” Natasha returned to her book, but she was smiling. “Is Wesley going to get a shield in the next book with a star on it and everything?”
Without looking, she caught up the balled up paper before it could hit her face, and started laughing. After a minute, Clint joined in.
Word Count: 501
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Fandom: Avengers
Pairings (if any): Clint/Natasha
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc): Spoilers for The Woman in the Crosshairs
Summary: Clint tries to start his next project. Natasha provides no help whatsoever.
“It was a dark and stormy night—except when the lightning flashed, because then it wasn’t dark; it sort of turned the windows into a giant disco ball for a moment—but eventually the thunder and lightning stopped and it settled down to a steady light rain, so then it really was dark, but it would probably be a stretch to call it stormy.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow as Clint finished reading off the page. “Wow. I take it all back. You really suck at writing.”
“The Edgar something or other award I won for A G-Man Goes to War says differently.”
“You don’t even know what the award’s called. Figures.” They were in their typical winding-down-after-work spots; Natasha had stretched across the couch in their quarters, knees up, a copy of Anna Karenina propped open against her thigh. She had an arm behind her head to make it easier to read. Clint sat at the desk. He’d recently switched from the ten cent spiral bound notebooks to a typewriter and though Natasha had rolled her eyes at the acquisition, she found the tapping of the keys more soothing than she let on. Besides, the residence office had soundproofed their walls from the beginning because, as SHIELD’s newest agent Darcy Lewis had put it, “Nobody needs the mental scarring of what you two sound like in coitus.”
Natasha had flicked a paperclip at her friend’s head for that. Because Clint had been teaching her unorthodox marksmanship, she hadn’t missed.
Clint’s shoulders shook right now, a sign that he was laughing. “Relax,” he said, ripping the paper out of the typewriter and balling it up. It sailed into the wastepaper basket without hitting the rim, of course. “I wasn’t actually going to start the book that way. Anybody who so much even starts a scene like that is clearly a hack writer.”
“Clearly.” Natasha returned to the adventures of Anna and Vronsky. “Though, you know, I was reading reviews for The Man Who Was Out of Time in the Times today and…”
Clint swiveled in place. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he said, pointing at her.
“I was going to say that they were really positive. They liked Ste—Wesley, sorry, as a character. Said he seemed like a positive role model, but his flaws made him believable.” She put on her most angelic smile. “It’s almost like he’s a real person.”
“He’s not the Cap.” Clint’s voice was a growl as he turned back around; the tapping grew louder. “He’s nothing like Rogers, dammit.”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”
Clint grumbled. “Some days I miss the times when you were oblivious to what I do.”
“I know you do.” Natasha returned to her book, but she was smiling. “Is Wesley going to get a shield in the next book with a star on it and everything?”
Without looking, she caught up the balled up paper before it could hit her face, and started laughing. After a minute, Clint joined in.
