queercatboyrights · 2 years ago
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oohg i have just spent SOO much time writing essays,,,,BUT!!! good news is i am done for now!! so I will absolutely be finishing those oc asks finally
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imaginedxlan · 4 years ago
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Champagne & Shackles; Beta Part Two (Fred Weasley)
a/n: i’m SORRY i’m terrible at time management, school is kicking me ass. i had no idea so many of you had the same affinity for the brothers of the beta fraternity as i do, this is for all my frat rats out there i love you most. this is an ode to my very favorite date party theme: champagne and shackles. in which you and you’re chad or brad of a date are candcuffed together until you finish a massive bottle of champagne between the two of you.
weeks after the infamous beta darty, you can’t seem to pull your thoughts or presence away from the ginger boy who made your heart skip a beat. That is, until you’re invited to the beta champagne and shackled date party.
y/f/n: your friend’s name
warnings: cussing, alcohol, mentions of sex, modern!fred, and also very typical frat boy lingo stolen straight from the mouths of frat boy i associate myself with
disclaimer: while they’re semi-drunk in this they’re still coherent and stable enough to know what they’re doing. nothing that happens in this is coercive or decided under an incapacitated mind. king freddie would never take advantage of a girl like that.
part one
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consumed.
You have been completely consumed with the the thought of a certain red head for weeks now. Since you kissed him goodbye on your front lawn, the image of Fred Weasley has yet to leave your brain. While you’ve been at the same school for almost two years, you’ve seen him more in the few weeks following the beta darty than you have in the 18 months you’ve spent on campus. Lines in coffee shops, the terrace at the union, the corners of the library you’ve inhabited for years. He’s everywhere. Not that you’re complaining.
The grin that plays across his lips every time you catch his eye sends your heart into overdrive. You’ve spent countless nights awake in y/f/n’s bed analysing every text, every snapchat, every story. You replay the day in the beta backyard at least once a day, yearning for the feeling of his touch on your skin. You’ve hardly returned to the brick-faced mansion, however. You’ve of course been invited through Draco and the countless group messages that flood your phone the nights leading up to a beta party, but you want him to invite you. You want him to want you there.
Of course he wants you there. He spends hours in that filthy basement he calls home every weekend searching for you among the dozens of drunk girls, hoping you had decided to turn up this time. But you’re not there.
Y/f/n mentioned date party to you this past weekend. Draco being social chair of the fraternity, he’s been planning the function for weeks. Champagne and Shackles. A fan favorite among every sorority girl throughout the school. Mixing together handcuffs and a massive bottle of champagne would have nearly anyone begging for an invite. You decide not to get your hopes up, constantly reminding yourself that while he is the boy that made you feel like you were the only two people in the world while you were surrounded by hundreds of drunk college boys, he’s still a twenty year old beta boy. It’s hard to stray from the hook up culture that he’s been practically bred into. Nevertheless, there is still a glimmer of hope in you that you’ll be cuffed to him this Saturday night instead of another girl he’s probably found on greek row.
He’s been drafting this text in the notes app of his phone for three days now. He’s changed the wording, the punctuation and the amount of details in his intended invite to you one hundred times now. George and Oliver groan every time he stops their studying or game of Call of Duty to read them the revised text he’s come up with this time.
“My god, Weasley, you’re acting like you’re writing your vows.” Oliver jokes, setting his xbox controller down on the makeshift coffee table in the twins room. “Just send it, you know she’ll say yes.”
But that’s the problem, he doesn’t know that.
“Wood we’ve thrown six times in the past month, she’s come once.” Fred reminds him of the painful fact that it seems like you’re just not that into him. “If I was sure she was gonna say yes I would have done it by now.”
George snatches his twin’s phone from his hands, copying the now final draft of this overly thought out text asking you to his date party. Before Fred can spring up from his bed, George has already got the message pasted into Fred’s text chain with you and hit send, making the color drain from his twin’s face.
“Are you fucking serious, George.” Fred finally reaches his younger brother and tackles him to the ground. “I barely read through it she’s gonna think I’m a fucking weirdo.”
George is able to shake his brother off of him, bursting out laughing with Oliver at Fred’s crazed state. George knew Fred had feelings for you, well practically every who spoke to a drunk him for more that ten minutes knew, but it was still comical to see his twin get so worked up over a girl he hadn’t even slept with yet.
“Fred you’ve been reading the stupid thing for an hour now,” He points out, Oliver nods his head in agreement. “What’s the worst that could happen? Huh? She says no and you ask one of the eight hundred other girls who fawn over you every chance they get. I know you like her Freddie but this isn’t a life or death thing.”
As Fred caught his breath from his outburst, he knew George had a point. He wouldn’t drop dead if you rejected his offer, but it sure help like he would.
hey idk if you’ve heard but our date party is this saturday and i was wondering if you would want to come
Your phone lights up just as you sit down to eat dinner with a couple of your friends. Once you see the name fred weasley next to the notification your heart stops. Taking y/f/n’s hand in yours, you turn the screen so she can read it. Her lips turn up in a grin as she squeezes your hand.
“I told you he would ask you,” She squeals, shaking her shoulders in her little ‘happy dance’ as she likes to put it. “Draco won’t stop talking about how tweaked Weasley’s been over some stupid text. I knew it was about you, I just knew it.”
You laugh at her imitation of her boyfriend, knowing it’s not far off from how he actually sounds. You reread the text probably thirty times, feeling even more giddy over such a simple and honestly not very personal text, but you don’t care. He asked you.
You spend far less time crafting a response than Fred did writing the initial text to you. If what y/f/n said is true and he really mulled over this for days, you may pass out.
i’d love to :)
The love seemed a bit overboard in your opinion, but y/f/n convinced you that it was a perfect response. You didn’t allow yourself to start looking for possible dress options until he really asked you, afraid you might jinx it if you bought a dress prematurely. Now, however, you’re on a time crunch. Someone in the house had to have something you could borrow. That night you try on at least ten dresses, all the girls on your floor flooding your room gushing over the fact that the Fred Weasley is taking you to his date party. He’s someone nearly everyone knows, and if they didn’t they were probably a geed, or lived in sophomore slums.
You finally land on a dark blue, spaghetti strapped sequin dress that clung tight to your curves. While nearly every dress you tried on felt like it might work, this is champagne and shackles after all, you have to dress to impress. Y/f/n won’t stop talking about what Fred will do the minute he sees you in the dress, praying she gets to watch his jaw drop. The two of you stay up late into the night again mushing over the thought of the two of you being swept off your feet by beta boys, the same boys you could hardly think about a month ago without becoming nauseous.
pregames at the house, malfoy and i will come by yours to grab you and y/f/n at 6:30
The text comes in Friday night. You can hardly contain the bubbling feeling in your stomach. As much as you feel like you’re sixteen years old again, you don’t care. You’ve finally joined the ninety percent of girls on greek row in one category, you’re crushing on Fred Weasley.
As the day finally rolls around, Fred is surprisingly back to his calm and collected demeanor. As much as the boys, and to be honest he himself, expected him to be bouncing off the walls over a slew of what if’s regarding the night ahead of him, he was rather calm about it all. He’s one half of the coveted Weasley Twins after all, he has a reputation to uphold.
The same cannot be said for you. As you curl your hair and apply your makeup to perfection, you can’t stop your knee from bouncing under the vanity counter you’re sat in front of. What if he secretly thinks you look bad in your dress? That you look like you tried to hard? As much as y/f/n tried to remind you of the fact that he was the one nervous about asking you, nothing seems to ease your growing anxiety. The hours tick closer to six-thirty and you sit patiently on your bed, completely ready and aimlessly scrolling through your socials to keep your mind off of the fact that in only twenty minutes Fred and Draco would be at your door to take you back to beta. The actual date party would be at one of the satellite houses, the penthouse of a nearby apartment paid for by betas massive budget.
Y/f/n takes your hand and forces you to look at her.
“Y/n,” She begins, now holding both of your hands between hers. “You are the hottest bitch this campus has ever seen. No one, not even Fred Weasley, deserves to be blessed with the absolute vision you are right now, but I guess he’ll have to do.”
You laugh at her attempt to hype you up in ten hopes that the knots in your stomach fade away. They partially do, but part of you is still in shambles over the thought of seeing him. He probably looks like even more of a greek god in a suit. Y/f/n’s phone buzzes with an ever so poetic ‘here’ text from her boyfriend and she gives your hands one more squeeze before dragging you down the staircase of your house. The boys are waiting just beyond the lawn, the same one you kissed Fred on weeks ago. The two of them have their hands in their pockets, looking like they’re deep in conversation, not even noticing that you and y/f/n are standing walking toward them.
He’s wearing a dark gray suit with a white button down with the top three buttons undone. His hair is perfectly messy. You didn’t even think it was possible for him to get any hotter, but here he is.
The boys turn their heads and immediately stop their conversation. The blonde’s face turns up in a smirk as his eyes trail over y/f/n’s body, but Fred is standing perfectly still with his mouth slightly agape as he watches you come closer to him. His cool and collected affect quickly runs out of his body as he watches your dress glitter under the street light.
“Told you.” Y/f/n whispers in your ear before she drops your hand to meet her boyfriend.
Draco greets y/f/n with a kiss and Fred pulls you into a hug. You melt at his touch. Even in the heels you borrowed from y/f/n, he still towers over you, his chin resting on top of your head.
“You look...” Fred trails off, trying to find the words to describe the sight in front of him. Heavenly, goddess like, like he might just skip the date party and get down on one knee. “...incredible.”
You muster up whatever confidence you have in the midst of your imposing anxiety to give him a somewhat composed reply. “You don’t look half bad yourself, Weasley.”
That heart-melting, mind-scrambling smile returns to his lips before the four of you begin walking what to the beta house. Fred keeps his hand on the small of your back the entire walk, desperately trying to keep you close to him.
The ungodly amount of alcohol you consume at the pregame seems to overtake any remaining worries in your body. Fred never leaves your side, as if you’re already cuffed together before you even arrive at the function itself. You talk with George and Oliver again, and meet some of Fred’s other fraternity brothers like Lee Jordan and Theo Nott. They all seem to know who you are before you can even introduce yourself. It would be difficult to not know your face after watching fred gawk over your every instagram post. Any sort of reservations you once held about the beta boys melt away. They may be wildly intimidating to a stranger that passed them on the street, but watching the boys sing along to whatever song is blasting through the speaker while dancing like they’ve just learned to walk shows you that they’re like every other boy you’ve met.
The walk to the penthouse is short, but it seems to take forever to reign everyone in everyone once in a while. Fred is continuously checking up on you, grasping your hand or your waist, making sure you aren’t cold in your dress. The second you make it to the penthouse you’re immediately cuffed to the red haired boy and handed a comically large bottle of champagne and told the rules.
No unshackling until you’ve finished the bottle.
The party is far more cramped than the one in their backyard. You can’t bring yourself to care about the occasionally bumps from someone in the crowd or the growing smell of alcohol around you. You’re completely consumed by the angelic giant dancing with you. Even with the handcuffs, Fred’s fingers are still intertwined with yours as his other hand is holding you close to his body, roaming from your waist to your back and over your ass. Anytime you go to open the bottle you’d been given at the door to continue on feeding the buzzed state you’ve been in since you arrived at the beta house, Fred stops you. He still grabs you drinks from the makeshift bar and pulls you into the ‘shot room’ to send copious amounts of burning liquor down your throat, but the bottle stays off limits.
“You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about you this month, y/n.” Fred hiccups his way through his confession as his lips are pressed close to your ear to make sure you hear every word he says over the loud music. “You do something to me.”
You know whatever you try to say will come out slurred, so you do the next best thing you can think of to tell him that you’re feeling the same way. You wrap your free hand behind his neck to press your lips to his. He immediately pulls you closer into him like he was a dying man grasping onto his only source of oxygen. Again, with your lips tangled in his, you’re suddenly the only two in the room. This moment is one you know will occupy your thoughts until the end of time. Held by the boy you’re completely enamored with as the world seems to stop around you. In every sense of the word, it is perfect.
When you pull away from each other to gasp for air, you move your lips to his ear.
“Why can’t I open the champagne?”
He leans back to look you in the eyes. The colored led lights changing on his face make him somehow even more breathtaking. That same smile appears on his lips before he leans down toward you again.
“I don’t want to finish it,” He yells over the bass of the speaker. “I want you to be stuck with me for as long as possible.”
Without a second thought, you pull your hands together to take the bottle from Fred’s free hand to pop the cork off the top before he can stop you. You bring the freshly opened champagne to your lips and take a swig before offering it over to him. His brows furrow in confusion, wondering if maybe you do want to be unchained from him.
“Freddie, if you think it’s going to take an empty bottle to get rid of me you’re wrong,” You try to shout, even in all the noise he hears you and his chest tightens. “Cuffed or not, I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
He doesn’t reply, he simply takes the bottle from your hand and begins to chugs the fizzy drink, spilling over his face slightly. Watching him fumble over the liquid you know isn’t easy to take in large amounts, you can’t help but laugh at the sight in front of you. The words of Kid Cudi’s Pursuit of Happiness flood yours ears and you pull yourself right back against Fred’s body. He pulls the bottle from his mouth and hands it back to you before bringing his hand to your cheek to meet your lips once again. You’re sure you’re perfectly done hair and makeup is a wreck by now but your mind is continuously pulled back to the impossible reality that you’re kissing Fred Weasley. Of all the girls in the party, on this campus that flock to his side any chance they get, you’re the one that Fred Weasley suddenly became nervous around. The one he spent days wracking his brain to craft the perfect image of himself to.
His hand entangles in your more than likely sweaty hair, keeping you held exactly in place against his body as his hips sway against yours. His lips move from yours to your jaw, placing quick and light kisses across the skin. Something that would under any circumstance feel sexually driven feels lighthearted, pulling numerous giggles from your lips. His hand wanders down to your side and in a swift motion begins to tickle you through you dress. You laugh only become louder as you try to keep from doubling over.
“Fred!” You squeal through the stream of giggles. “Freddie stop!”
When you begin to snort, Fred loses it. He can no longer contain his stoic face he had on when he began to tease you. You’re eventually pulled from the party, Freds hand clasping yours as he discards the empty bottle in some corner of the penthouse and brings you to be unchained from him by the pledges standing by the entrance. Even with the cuffs off your wrists, you’re still chained to him as if you’re forced to be. 
Before you can leave the apartment, Fred’s jacket is shrugged from his shoulders and placed around yours. You pull yours arms through the sleeves that are obviously too long for you. “What a gentleman.”
“Can’t have you catching a cold,” He replies, holding you by your waist as you walk back to the beta house. You’ve never seen it so empty or quiet, no one around with the exception of a few boys studying in their lounge. You return to the bedroom you were in only hours ago, it’s a mess from the pregame but you’re able to make out Fred’s bed from his brothers. Massive movie posters and stolen items from various sororities hanging on the walls around his bed, the Good Will Hunting poster above the bed with the blue comforter being a dead giveaway that it belonged to Fred. He told you it was his favorite one night.
“You don’t have to, but you’re welcome to crash here,” He asks, beginning unbutton his now stained dress shirt, revealing his toned abdomen. It’s a sight you don’t think you’ll ever quite get used to. You stop yourself from nearly drooling and shake yourself back to reality. “You can borrow some clothes, probably be pretty big on you but they’d be better than that dress.”
He already has a tee shirt and boxers held out for you. He’s secretly hoping you’re too tired to walk back to your own house so he can spend a little while longer with you. Taking the clothing from his hands, you begin to slip the straps of your dress down, signalling Fred to immediately turn around to give you some privacy. You mouth a quick oh my god to yourself before continuing the change into the boy’s clothing.
“You can turn around,” You tell him and his eyes meet yours once again. He gives you a quick once over before his lips break out in a smile. “What? What are you so smiley over?”
“I like you in my clothes.”
Immediately your heart begins to hammer in your chest as your cheeks begin to heat up. Exhaustion washes over you, the lack of sleep you got in the past week due to your constant overthinking finally catch up to you. After switching off the lights, he pulls back him dark comforter to let you slip into the warmth of his bed. As soon as your settled you turn on your side to face him. You’re both quiet, wordlessly taking in the sight of each other.
“I like you, y/n. A lot,” He finally breaks the silence. You can’t help but wonder if he’s drunker than he’s let on. He’s not, he knows exactly what he’s saying and means every word. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone before.”
You reach over to trace your finger up his defined cheek bones before resting your palm on the side of his face. His arm is lazily slung over your waist, absentmindedly keeping you close to him. You lean in further, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
“I like you, Freddie, more than you know,” You confess. Your heart has never felt more full, you’re sure this whole month has been a dream and every second you’re terrified to wake up without even knowing Fred Weasley like you do now. “Thank you for taking me tonight.”
He softly chuckles, his hand moving up your body to stroke through your hair. Even in the dark you can see his bright smile, you’re new favorite sight. “I should be the one thanking you,” He tells you. “You have no idea how nervous I was that you wouldn’t come.”
You continue to shift closer to him, trying to expel the practically nonexistent space between the two of you. You nestle your face into the crook of his neck, finding his steady pulse quite calming. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Freddie.”
“I like it when you call me Freddie.”
You hum a response, suddenly becoming too tired to even speak. The warmth of his body radiating against yours mixed with the rhythm of his heartbeat lull you further into a deep sleep. His arms return to being wrapped around your waist, drinking in this moment and silently praying in would last forever. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before whispering, “Goodnight, y/n.”
Hours later George, Lee and Oliver stumble into the room, all with slices of pizza from the late night shop down the street and are met with the sight of you and Fred tangled in the sheets, light snores coming from the red haired boy. They wish they could find something about the moment that they would tease him about later, but they come up short. The image laid out in front of them looks like it was taken straight from a movie.
Needless to say your constant thoughts of the beta boy are soon replaced by his presence anywhere and everywhere you go. You aren’t sure of many things in life, but you’re certain that he was made for you and you for him.
tags:
@justmesadgirl @greyspilot @sunflowerdarlingx
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fanfictionaries · 5 years ago
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Love and Academia Ch. 8 - Texting and Treats
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Pairing: AU Professor!Bucky x OFC
Warnings: Swearing, smut, NSFW/18+ only, mentions of death/violence/suicide, Angst
Author’s note: Flirting? FLIRTING? That is all. 
And as always, I do not currently have a beta reader so please excuse any larger issues. It’s just little ol’ me!
***
One month. One month was all it took for the weather to turn and with it, Emily’s brain to mush. She was tired of staring at spreadsheets. Tired of Excel formulas and mapping software. Tired of literary research. And most importantly, tired of having to see Dr. Barnes’ face. To be fair, things were undeniably better than they had been the first few weeks of the semester. It was honestly a relief not having to act so cold towards him. It left room for more productive things like revisions, classes, and figuring out what the heck was going on with her advisor and his wife. Despite her best efforts, Emily had found herself consumed by the mystery that was Dr. James Buchanan Barnes’ love life.
“Now when we think about the different kinds of life cycles that organisms have, we usually think primarily of the gametic life cycle,” said the man in question from his place at the front of the classroom.
Emily sat in the right most seat, in the front row of the lecture hall casually listening. While this was all information she learned years ago, it was encouraged that teaching assistants attended the lectures that coincided with the labs they taught. That way they could match the content effectively. Glancing around the room, she wanted to laugh at the number of young, freshman girls sat in the front. They probably thought they hit the jackpot. First semester of college and they had possibly the hottest professor they would ever encounter. Emily thought back to her own professors during her time at Montana State. Every last one of them was over fifty and balding. Definitely not something to fantasize about.
“The gametic life cycle is the life cycle of most animals. However, there is also the sporic and zygotic life cycles.” Dr. Barnes turned to write the three life cycle names on the chalk board behind him. Emily’s eyes wandered to his broad shoulders encased by a green flannel shirt tucked into a pair of khaki pants that hugged his perfectly sculpted behind. No. She couldn’t think like that. He was married. This she could not deny by the wedding ring he kept so obviously on his left hand. But hadn’t he pretty much told her that his wife didn’t live with him? Just him and Trixie in that big house.
Trixie. God. She felt so stupid when she found out that Trixie was his dog and not his wife. If she had let herself focus on the moment for any longer than a second, she might come to the conclusion that jealousy had fueled the embarrassment. She expected him to be on a date with his loving wife. Not spending the night walking his dog and coming home to an empty house. But that was not the case. Instead, she chose to conclude that the embarrassment stemmed from the fact that she had made any assumption in the first place. No one liked to be wrong. Right?
Still, none of that answered her burning question. Where was Dr. Barnes’ wife? She had a few theories. Perhaps she hadn’t moved from Brooklyn yet. He had just moved into the area. Couples would move separately sometimes. One moving first and the other coming later when their job allowed. But if that were the case, then why did he look so sad when he mentioned being alone?
“Can anyone tell me what kind of organisms experience a zygotic life cycle?” Dr. Barnes asked, turning back to the class. A plethora of eager hands shot straight up in the air. Smiling in amusement, he called on one of the girls from the front row.
“Yes, Miss Hendrickson.”
“Is it plants, like mosses?” the young girl answered. Emily wanted to laugh. Clearly, she hadn’t done the reading and only raised her hand at the opportunity for Dr. Barnes to call on her.
Maybe he had been sad because he’s a good husband who loves his wife and misses her. Well, if that were true, then he wouldn’t have taken off his wedding ring and almost hooked up with her. Emily’s mind wandered to that night, as it often did. The cool brick digging into her back as he devoured her. The stubble of his beard so deliciously rough. The strength of his hands as he gripped her body tightly.
“Miss Colvert, would you like to enlighten the rest of the class?”
“Huh?” Emily broke from her momentary fantasy to see all eyes on her. Dr. Barnes liked to do this. When no one else knew the answer, he’d call on her. It was like a little test on her basic knowledge of biological concepts.
“It appears no one knows what has a zygotic life cycle. Would you like to give us the answer?” Dr. Barnes elaborated, looking at her expectantly.
“Oh, um. That would be fungi and protists. They’re haploid most of their life cycle and the zygote is the only diploid phase before it undergoes meiosis to produce haploid cells.”
“Very good Miss Colvert—” he smiled at her, a brief flash of brilliantly white teeth “—Now, let’s go ahead and draw out the zygotic life cycle to give everyone a better idea.” Dr. Barnes turned once again towards the board as he continued on with the lecture.
There was always the harsh fact that Dr. Barnes had in fact stopped things that night before they went too far. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe it was just a momentary lapse in judgement. Maybe him and his wife were separated, and he wasn’t ready to fully let go. At the thought, Emily felt her heart leap with excitement. The emotion was quickly followed by a strong wave of guilt. Emily shook her head, trying to clear it of her messy thoughts. This was taking up too much brain space. Space she needed for her thesis.
Whatever the answer was, it didn’t matter. Dr. Barnes was her advisor. There was a clear line that could not be crossed. Therefore, it did not matter. She needed to let the subject go and just move on.
Two days of “moving on”, Emily found herself elbow deep in flour, butter, sugar, and eggs, but no less preoccupied by the thoughts of Dr. Barnes.
“Tell me why we needed to use my kitchen when you have a perfectly good one?” Emily asked Natasha, looking at the disastrous mess around her. Flour covered every surface, including the floor and themselves. Butter wrappers and eggshells sat piled high in the trashcan. Splashes of cookie dough coated countertops and cabinet fronts. And Natasha was planted squarely in front of the oven, watching the fruits of their labor bake.
“Because, you have the most baking supplies out of everyone I know,” said Natasha, never tearing her anxious eyes away from the small glass window. She was a mess. Several pieces of red hair had fallen from her attempted ponytail. Blobs of cookie dough hug from the strands, sticking like large, grotesque, white grub worms. Flour covered all of her clothes and a manic expression covered her face. Oh, she had it bad.
“You know, the cookies aren’t going to bake any faster by you staring at them.”
“I can’t let them burn, Emily. This is important!” exclaimed Natasha, threading her fingers through her sticky hair and pulling at the roots.
“Hey. Hey, hey, hey—” Emily slid off her place on the countertop and crouched down next to Natasha on the floor “—Listen. There are already five dozen perfectly baked snickerdoodles sitting in Tupperware on my dining room table. The world won’t end if this last dozen gets a little dark.”
“But-but—”
“No, no, no. No buts. Besides, you only volunteered to bring two dozen cookies to Steve’s bake sale. Remember?”
“Yea, but I mean, we-we needed—”
“Test batches. Yes. I remember the last five hours very vividly.” Emily cupped her best friend’s face in her hands and stared into her frightened eyes, “Steve is going to love these. Please, breathe.”
Natasha nodded, taking a deep breath, “Okay. Okay, yea you’re right. You’re right. I just need to calm down.”
They both stood, pulling each other into a tight hug before separating and beginning to tidy up the kitchen. As Emily wiped the cabinet fronts with a washrag, she finally felt like Natasha was in the right headspace for her to ask the question that had been on her mind all afternoon.
“Hey so, you and Steve have gotten pretty close the last month and a half, yea?”
“Yea, it’s been so great. You know, I really think that taking it slow was the best idea,” said Natasha as she dumped a dirty bowl in the sink and turned the faucet on.
“And I’m sure he’s probably told you a lot of stuff about him…and his friends…”
“Where is this going Emily?”
“Has he mentioned anything about Dr. Barnes or like…his wife?” The moment the words left her mouth, Emily knew it was a mistake to ask.
“No. Absolutely not. I am not doing this with you Emily,” said Natasha, throwing the kitchen sponge down into the soapy water.
“What?” Emily asked, trying to pretend she hadn’t just asked her best friend for details about her advisor’s marriage.
“Don’t ‘what’ me, Emily Colvert. You know what you’re doing. Actually, no. Do you know what you’re doing?” Natasha leant against the countertop and crossing her arms in front of her.
“I’m trying to get to know my advisor better?”
“No, you’re trying to use my still very new relationship to get dirt on a marriage that doesn’t involve you!”
“You know, you used to be a lot more fun. What happened to fun Nat?”
“She started dating a kindergarten teacher. Now, answer this question Emily: why do you want to know about his wife? I thought we hated this man,” Natasha said, staring skeptically at her.
“We did, but now we might be okay with him…” Emily admitted, unable to look directly at the admittedly terrifying woman that was her best friend.
“Emily, are you sleeping with him? Because if you are, I don’t know whether I should be disappointed or oddly proud.”
“No! I’m not sleeping with him! I’m just curious!”
“Okay, I’m only going to say this once—” Natasha walked towards her “—he is your advisor. The details of his marriage are none of your business. As your therapist—”
“You’re not my therapist—”
“—And your friend, I highly recommend that you keep your curiosity buried. Deep down. You know, where you keep all the shit you probably should talk about. And stop trying to sabotage my relationship with Steve by making me snoop for you.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right,” Emily apologized, guilty for having tried to rope Natasha into her craziness.
“I know you’re going through a lot right now. But, not cool man. Not cool,” said Natasha, her tone lighter as she nudged Emily’s side.
Natasha’s phone buzzed from the counter, subsequently putting an end to their conversation. The smile that spread across her face as she checked her phone told Emily exactly who it was. Steve.
“What does hunky farm boy want now?” Emily asked, turning to the sink and taking over washing the dishes.
“Parent-teacher conferences ended early. He wants make me dinner,” said Natasha, still smiling down at her phone as her thumbs typed away.
“Ooooo dinner at his place. Does this mean you’re finally going to…ya know?” Emily raised her eyebrows suggestively.
“God. I hope so. He’s so hot Emily. I went and visited him at work the other day and he was having a tea party with a couple of the girls in his class during play time. I’ve never wanted to fuck a man in a flower sunhat so badly in my life,” groaned Natasha, burying her face in Emily’s back.
“I can’t even begin to imagine what goes on inside of your bedroom,” Emily said, shaking her head in exasperation as she scrubbed at a spatula.  
“There’s a lot of roleplay and prop use,” mumbled Natasha into Emily’s back.
“Yea, I didn’t need to know that,” said Emily, wriggling away from the tiny red head. “Now, get out of here. Take your cookies and go have sex your very single, very hot kindergarten teacher.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Natasha exclaimed, practically skipping out of the kitchen. Emily heard the faint sounds of Natasha grabbing her stuff and a muffled “Wish me luck!” before her front door slammed shut. Lord have mercy on that man.
She continued to clean the kitchen as she thought about the advice that Nat had given her. Natasha was right. She knew she was right. For all the gripe she gave the woman, she really did give the best advice. But still, she didn’t see any reason why it would be so wrong to get to know the man. As friends of course. Purely as friends. There was nothing wrong with having your advisor as a friend. She was friends with Dr. Erskine. He was married. Why couldn’t she be friends with Dr. Barnes? A little voice somewhere in the back of her mind tried to remind her that she had never been in a situation where she almost slept with Dr. Erskine, but she ignored it. They had agreed to try and have a working relationship. Therefore, everything that had happened was in the past.
Drying the last dish and placing it back into the cupboard, the timer on her phone chimed alerting her that the last batch of cookies was done. She pulled the piping hot, cinnamon-sugar creations from the oven and placed it on the stovetop before turning the alarm off on her phone. The scent of the delicious treats made her mouth water. It was going to be a challenge not eating all of them in one sitting, but at least Natasha only left her with a single batch. Turning out of the kitchen, she found her assumption to be incredibly incorrect. There, sitting on her dining room table, was nearly three dozen cookies. Emily sighed. Apparently, she’d be responsible for finding a home for all the test batches. She could probably pawn a dozen off of on Sam and CeCe. There was always the graduate student lounge. People left food there all the time. Of course, she’d keep half a dozen for herself – there was no way she could resist snickerdoodles.
Suddenly, a self-proclaimed sweets lover popped into her head.
Pulling up the message app on her phone she sighed as she stared at the string of unanswered texts from Clint. He’d been trying to contact her since the day she kicked him out. Emily wanted none of it. Every call she sent straight to voicemail and every text she left on read. She took a moment to glance at the most recent texts.
Clint:
Babe. I swear to you, I didn’t want to go to Goody’s. I wasn’t there with Sharon. It was a lab thing. I found out where we were going when they pulled into the parking lot.
Clint:
Things with Sharon and me are over.
Clint:
How many times do I have to tell you that it meant nothing? It was just a stupid mistake.
Clint:
The least you could do is answer my calls and talk to me like an adult.
Clint:
This is exactly why I did what I did! You’re always so unwilling to open yourself up emotionally to me! I wouldn’t have cheated if my emotional needs were being met.
Clint:
I’m sorry Em. I didn’t mean that.
Clint:
It’s completely my fault. I’m just going crazy without you. I miss you. Please talk to me.
A small part of Emily told her to text him back. He gave her two years of his life. Didn’t she at least owe him the decency to explain himself? A larger part of her scoffed at the thought. No. She gave him two years of her life, and he didn’t even have the decency not to cheat on her. To hell with him and his reasons and opinions.
Pulling up her conversation with Dr. Barnes’, she smiled at his contact name – Brooklyn. She only meant it as a way to tease him about his big city caution, never as an actual nickname. But apparently, he liked it. So, she kept it. Moving back into the kitchen, Emily picked up one of the hot cookies and began to nibble on the edge as she popped herself up onto the counter.
Emily:
Question – do you still happen to have a major sweet tooth?
Absentmindedly, she chewed on the cookie, switching over to Twitter and telling herself that it wasn’t a big deal that she texted him. It was casual. It was just a casual question. She had extra cookies. He probably liked cookies. Normal. Super normal. However, the way her heart leapt in her chest and her phone leapt in her hand made her feel anything but normal.
Brooklyn:
If I didn’t, would I be going to town on the three loaves of banana bread Steve dropped off earlier?
Emily:
Bake sale?
Brooklyn:
Bake sale.
Emily:
Test batches?
Brooklyn:
Yup. He wanted to impress Natasha. How did you know?
Emily:
I just spent the last five hours baking with Nat. We made a lot of test batches.
Brooklyn:
Wow. They were made for each other.
Emily couldn’t agree more. If Steve truly spent the entire afternoon baking multiple loaves of banana bread to impress Natasha, then her best friend might have found the one.
Emily:
So, I’m guess since you already have three loaves of banana bread you probably don’t want any snickerdoodles?
Brooklyn:
I never said that.
She laughed at his quick response.
Brooklyn:
Are they any good?
Emily:
It’s my personal recipe.
Brooklyn:
That doesn’t answer the question.
Emily:
It’s the best cookie you’ll ever have.
Brooklyn:
The best? That’s a pretty strong statement.
Emily:
I wouldn’t make it if it wasn’t true.
Dots appeared on the screen as Dr. Barnes responded. Emily watched, wondering what he could possibly be typing as the seconds ticked by. Finally, they disappeared to be replaced by his response.
Brooklyn:
Do I get to taste your cookie?
Emily choked on the bite of cookie she’d been chewing. Coughing and sputtering, she attempted to dislodge the treat from her throat. When she’d finally managed to avoid certain death, she turned the faucet on beside her and used her hand to scoop water into her mouth. Glancing back down at the phone in her other hand, she stared at the message. Did he mean it to sound that way? To sound so dirty? Heart beating prominently in her ears, she gathered what courage she had and replied.
Emily:
You can have a taste.
Emily:
Of my cookie that is.
Oh god. Way to keep it professional. What had she done?
Brooklyn:
I’m sure your cookie is delicious. When can I have a bite?
Abort. Abort. Things were quickly getting out of hand. She was exchanging sexual innuendos with the man when all she wanted was to get rid of some of her extra baked goods. The way she saw it, Emily had two options: keep the flirting going and see where it went or put a stop to it now. In a panic, she chose the second option.
Emily:
I’ll bring a dozen into the lab tomorrow! I’m sure you’ll like them. Feel free to share them with the other professors as well. G2G! See you in class.
Hitting send, Emily threw her phone face down onto the counter. Shoving the rest of the snickerdoodle into her mouth, she jumped off the counter and walked towards the bathroom. She needed a long, cold shower.
Marvel Taglist: 
@caffiend-queen​
@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​
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agustdef · 5 years ago
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Here & Now - Chapter 11
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Pairing: Yoongi x OC
Genre: Fluff; Chill romance
Word Count: 1,885
Warning: None.
Banner Marker: @dee-ehn​
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The moment the clicking sound started up again I slapped my hand against my table, gaining everyone's attention. My eyes narrowed on Lexi, the reason for my sudden annoyance.
"Click it again, Lexi. Do it," I challenged.
Lexi dropped the pen the moment the words left my mouth. Her eyes went wide as she stared back at me, the rest of her body frozen. When she finally glanced around the others were also glaring at her, all of us tired of her incessant noise making. She took a chunk of her curly do and used it to cover her face, probably out of embarrassment.
Why she was clicking a pen, no one knew. She wasn't even using it, all her edits were being done via her laptop.
"And I think that means it's time for a break," Alex said, breaking the silence.
Everyone finished what they were working on and then there was a series of cracking bones. It sounded horrid, but it felt so good.
My brain felt like mush as I took a moment away from the chapter I was writing, but I knew it wouldn't last for long. It had just been some time since I'd been able to sit in an environment where everyone was working and I felt like trash if I wasn't productive like them. That was the purpose of our monthly meet-ups. Be around people we like and get work done. Any work. Though most were writing and revising things.
"Can I just burn the whole draft and hope that from its ashes a better one will emerge?" Max asked.
Goodness, how I wished that writing worked like that.
"If you manage to figure out which kind of magic allows for that please share with the group," said Spencer, whose voice was muffled by his hands.
Alex, who'd disappeared after announcing break, returned with everyone's chosen beverage. When she sat down my hot chocolate I almost downed half the drink before I felt the burn. I needed the placebo effect it had on me and my energy levels.
"Or you could write it and stop switching to that secret tab for that convention you keep saying you're not going to," Alex said.
Max gasped, hand against their chest in a dramatic fashion. It got a laugh out of everyone. We knew they'd been doing that for weeks now, claiming that they couldn't spend any more money and it was a waste. Yet, if you ever glanced at their screen the webpage would be right there, the mouse hovering over the buy tickets button.
"At least I wasn't switching between my draft and six other tabs, like someone I know." Max's gaze fell on me.
I scoffed, waving them off. "I was working thank you very much. I had some writing stuff to do and then some work stuff came to mind. I am allowed to multi-task."
"You had two docs of writing open and one weird looking program open, which I assume was for music. So, what was the second doc for, Kennie? Do share?" Max leaned in closer as they spoke, trying to peek at my screen.
Using my hand I pushed their face away and then darkened my screen so they couldn't see. "Nothing for any of you to know about. When it's time you'll know. I don't need y'all hyping me up and then I end up getting hyper-focused on it. I'm enjoying the carefree nature of writing it without pressure."
"And you don't want Ara to find out," Lexi added.
"And I don't want Ara to find out. So silence all of you." Even though I spoke to the group my gaze fell on Alex.
Her brow raised as she stared me down. "Why? What did I do?"
"You ratted on me last time when she asked you, don't think I forgot."
Like a fish her mouth opened and closed, her face screwing up as she became flustered by my words. I could even see a hint of red peeking underneath her brown skin.
"I... What? Do you expect me to lie to our precious agent? I could never lie to Ara. She's too precious. I refuse this. This is slander," she managed to choke out.
My eyes narrowed on her, though she no longer met them. She was avoiding them and every time she did look into them she quickly looked away.
Leaning in close I made sure she was looking directly at my face. "You sold me out for food."
Again she didn't seem to know what to say, but then she just shrugged. Dropping all attempts to make herself seem pure.
Lexi, Max, and Spencer just watched us and laughed. And then we all just sat in silence for a while, no one interacting unless to show someone a thing on their phone or to ask a random question that just popped into their head.
It was nice.
"I start work again tomorrow," Spencer huffed.
In the corner of my eye, I saw Lexi suddenly sit up. "Didn't your vacation just start?"
He shook his head. "It's already been a week, they go by so quickly. I feel like I just started to relax."
"The one time I got to take a two-week vacation was glorious. I miss working at that company," Max said, joining in on the vacation sadness.
"What are vacations?" Alex asked.
"Seconded," I said.
Without having to look up I knew they were all staring me down.
Max smacked their lips. "Um, ma'am you take them frequently. What do you mean?"
I rolled my eyes and turned my head towards the group. "Ma'am, I haven't had one in months. A few off days do not count."
They were silent and then Max gasped, looking at me with wide eyes. "Wait. Was your birthday the last vacation you had?"
Nodding my head I sat back and released a deep sigh. I didn't mind my constant working, because I had a flexible schedule and off days, but when I sat and thought about it a vacation would have been awesome.
"You need to get it together," Spencer said, while the others hummed in agreement.
Before we could go any further though my phone rang and though the immediate urge was to silence it, the ringer belonged to Marcus. So, sighing I picked it up and answered.
"Hello?"
"Hey. Sorry, Ken, I know now is supposed to be your creative outlet time or whatever it is you called that thing," Marcus rushed out.
"It's fine. We're on a break. What's up?"
"I know we aren't meeting for another round of offer eliminations for a few days, but I wanted to let you know that I got another revised contract for Def Jam, though they haven't made many changes." He didn't sound too enthused about it.
"Okay, just email it to me and I look over it again. I feel like I know what they gave in on and what they're going to ignore."
He sighed. "You're probably thinking the right things."
A small laugh escaped me. I'd shed some of my stress over the decision and found amusement in the way some of the labels were handling my acquirement. Most had no problem giving into my major concerns, but some of them just refused to budge; which made things easier.
"Was that it?" I asked just as my laptop notified me he'd sent it.
"Yeah. Wait, no. Did you finish going over the BigHit contract? I know it was a shock, but I'd prefer we get back to them sooner rather than later. I know I said we have time, but not that much time. It would be best to get it to them quickly so they can give it back."
For a second I froze. I'd had the contract for well over a week and for the last few days had been avoiding it. I couldn't explain why, but I chalked it up to the fear of change and left it at that.
"I..." I paused, chewing on my lip. "I, um finished it two days ago."
"Really?" Marcus asked, sounding shocked.
"Yeah."
There was a brief moment of silence and then I could hear him release a deep exhale. The man knew how to read me. "What's wrong with it?"
I glanced around the coffee shop, avoiding the eyes of my friends who were engaged in their own conversations. Looking at one of them always made me want to spill my guts out and I needn't do that.
But life didn't work how we wanted and Alex raised her brow at me as she stared into my soul and I broke.
I pushed back a stray strand of hair from an attempt at a braided crown and sighed.
"Nothing. Nothing is wrong with it. Well, okay. There are things wrong with it, but they're small things. Most of it is great and some of it beyond what I would ask in respects to my pay and control over projects outside of the company. Like too good. Like someone has been relaying some of my issues with the other offers to their legal team, and I've only complained to you, Hals, Yoongi with Joon in the room and my mother. And I wouldn't put it past 3 of those people. Or they're magic," I rambled.
"Or, perhaps - going to pitch a wild idea here so be ready - they see your worth and would appreciate working with you," Marcus reasoned.
I knew I was being a tad outlandish with that second claim, but my mind sometimes worked in weird things. Especially things that felt too good to be true and the offer was peak too good to be true.
"Send me the revisions and I'll look them over. And if you want we can go over it together before I send it in. You know I want you to make the best choices for you and if talking it through is necessary we can. I don't want you overthinking and regretting choices later."
Marcus was annoying as hell, but a freaking angel. He knew me well enough to know that sometimes I needed to be coddled. But he also knew when I needed a kick in the ass and how to do it while keeping things professional. Honestly, his professional agent side differed greatly from his personal life chaoticness.
Taking a deep breath I nodded. "Uh, do you have time tomorrow? I should be less weird then and we can do the usual quick run-through before you send it off."
"Yeah. Just email me the attachment and give me time before 2:00 pm for us to meet."
"Okay. Thank you, Marcus. I'll get that right over to you."
"Later," he said and hung up.
Without wasting time I pulled it together, got the email ready, checked my calendar and told him an 11:00 am meeting would work before sending it off.
I went to put down my phone and rejoin the group talking, but then it vibrated. The lock screen showed it was a message from Yoongi in the group chat with Joon.
Why are there pictures of my hands in here? Is this normal? Do you two have this fetish too?
I laughed so hard I snorted.
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drchee5e · 6 years ago
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An Unexpected Morning
Another oneshot that got way too long and I’m still not sure I like it that much lol.
This is dedicated to the best proof readers and writing buddies @hotccup and @chiefhiccstrid :) Especially as they came up with the title haha Thanks guys! Wouldn't have the confidence to post this stuff without you <3
So here we go, a modern au this time... don’t think I’m very good at them but hope you enjoy!
‘Come on Haddock, what are you waiting for?’
The nagging voice in Hiccups head hadn’t stopped pestering him all day. He checked his reflection again for the tenth time since he’d been finished in the bathroom. Sighing heavily, he slipped his hand into his left pocket, fingers curling round the small box that resided inside his jeans and had been since this morning. 
He had it all figured out: They both had the weekend off together, they’d go out for dinner, come back home, watch a movie cuddled up on their sofa and Hiccup would ask her. So why hadn’t he done it yet?
Trying and failing to neaten his hair before he opened the bathroom door, he walked back out through the hallway and into their living room. Astrid was curled up on her side of the sofa, hot chocolate in hand, her eyes focusing intently on the Avengers: Infinity War playing on the TV. They’d just bought it today. 
As he approached the sofa, she glanced up and smiled at him. That smile. He didn’t think he’s ever tire of seeing her smile. He smiled back before plonking himself down next to her and barely a moment later, she’d moved and snuggled herself into his side, his right arm curling round her shoulder whilst she clutched his jumper in her hands and laid her head on his shoulder. He kissed the crown of her head before starting to watch the movie again. 
This is what he lived for. These times when, for a short while, no one else in the world mattered, apart from the beautiful woman who was currently trying to nestle herself in his jumper. How did he get so lucky again? 
Oh yeah. He fell on top of her. Literally. 
A small laugh that escaped his lips roused her from her concentration on the tv screen.
She looked at him a little confused, “what’s so funny?”  
He looked at her still laughing a little. “Nothing.” He chuckled. “I was just thinking about the day me met.” 
She joined him as a small laugh of her own left her lips. “That’s gotta be in the record books for ‘first meetings’.” She finished still grinning. 
“Hey! It was an accident. I was trying to make up extra time revising for finals that week.” He shot back still grinning. 
“And you just had to walk right into me, causing me to spill my drink and for you to fall on top of me.” She said in a mock accusing tone, though fighting a smile. 
He laughed, “Yeah, I’m clumsy I know.” He looked down at her and grinned before saying. “Guess you could say I fell pretty hard for you.” 
A snort escaped her before she elbowed him lightly. Well, lightly in Astrid terms. “Oh my God, you and your corny puns seriously.” She said laughing at him a little, before settling back down into his side and returning her attention back to watching Thor’s arrival in Wakanda. “I don’t know how I put up with you sometimes.” 
“Aw you love me.” He said, still grinning at her. 
She turned her head back up to look at him. A smile lighting her face, as she spoke. “Yeah.” She said softly. “I do.” His voice failed him as it often did for Hiccup in these moments, so he instead settled on smiling like an idiot in love, before he slowly leaned towards her, his eyes flickering down to her lips, as he tilted his head slightly.
The smile on her lips remained, as she too leaned in. He closed the space between them. Their lips meeting in a gentle kiss that left his heart racing and brain turning to mush as they always did when he kissed her. He pulled away far too soon for her liking, lips barely an inch apart. “I love you.” He whispered softly gazing intently at her eyes that were locked with his.
Before he could say anything else, she pressed her lips to his again in a kiss that made his heart soar. He could stay like this forever. Her free hand that wasn’t still clutching his jumper, rose to the nape of his neck before sliding her fingers through his hair. Sighing at the feeling of her lips on his, he raised his own hand to cradle her face, his thumb gently stroking her cheek. 
After what seemed like an eternity, they pulled away. Both breathless from the kiss as their foreheads came to rest against each other, eyes still closed. The movie still playing almost completely forgotten. 
Hiccups thoughts drew briefly to the weight still in his jeans before he pushed it aside. He’d ask tomorrow. There was something about this moment that was so utterly perfect that he didn’t want to risk ruining it. His eyes fluttered open to find her gazing at him with an expression filled with pure love. 
“Why don’t we head to bed, Milady?” He suggested and kissed her forehead. 
A yawn escaped her lips. “Yeah I guess you’re right.” She turned to grab the remote from the coffee table. Only just managing to turn the TV off before her feet were swept off the floor. She shrieked as Hiccup cheekily scooped her up bridle style and carried her to their bedroom. Her arms instinctively moving to hold onto his neck as he laughed at her.
“Haddock! Put me down right now! Or I swear you’ll wake up with another moustache on your face!” 
He laughed harder at the memory of Astrid having drawn a moustache on his face during the night, after he’d teased her about her cooking skills one evening. 
Since her threat landed on deaf ears she resolved herself to being carried. Though a grin was fighting its way onto face without her consent.
Once in their bedroom he set her down on their bed before grinning mischievously and heading into the little shower room attached to the room to clean his teeth and get ready for bed. 
As he disappeared behind the door, she couldn’t help the happy sigh leave her lips. Despite his annoying behaviour sometimes, she loved that dork more than anything, and hoped that they could spend the rest of their lives teasing and laughing with each other. 
She got dressed into her pyjamas and undid her braid before he left the bathroom and she too went to clean her teeth. But not before shooting him a playful glare as she passed him. 
Once she finished, she returned to the room, finding him already in his nightclothes and getting under the covers. He slept in a pair of his pyjama shorts, as the weather was still fairly warm. 
She climbed in under the blankets and quickly found herself cocooned in his warmth. His arm coming to rest around her waist as he left a light kiss on the top of her head. 
“Night, Babe.” A happy sigh left her as she snuggled into him and her pillow. 
“Goodnight, Milady.” He breathed softly. 
As Astrid soon fell asleep, Hiccup was left with his thoughts, still niggling at him. His mind drifted once again to the small box, which was now sitting inside his bedside draw. Trying his best not to disturb her, he leaned back and managed to open the draw and grab the box, before moving back and popping the lid open. 
He stared at the blue Safire ring that sat inside. Part of him wondered if he was ever to find the courage to ask her. His gaze moved towards her. A content and happy expression on her face as she snuggled into him. Her head nestled in the crook of his neck as her left arm draped over waist. His eyes wandered to her hand, where the ring would be if he could just muster up the confidence to ask her. 
An idea suddenly filled his thoughts. He gently took the ring out of its residents and very slowly, slipped it on her ring finger. She stirred slightly but otherwise didn’t react. A smile slowly made its way onto his face. As he looked back to gaze at her face fondly. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against her forehead before he too succumbed to sleep. 
Astrid had never been a morning person. Though neither was Hiccup, so that usually meant both of them would quite easily sleep in on their days off together.  
She blinked her eyes open as became aware of her surroundings and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. 
“Ouch.” 
She cursed quietly, still conscious of Hiccup still fast asleep cuddled up next to her. 
She went to look at what the offending spikey thing was that had almost stabbed her in the eye, but all once her eyes focussed she could only stare. 
‘What?’ 
Her mind was slowly coming to its senses and realising she had a ring on her left hand. 
Her eyes widened increasingly as she wriggled her other arm free to touch the new weight on her hand. She couldn’t breathe. Her gaze moved to the still KO Hiccup, sleeping soundly and found herself being unable to hold back some tears that were threatening to fall. Was this actually what she thought it was? 
Before her mind could process anything else, Hiccup stirred slightly and she couldn’t hold back any longer. She leant forward until her face was hovering just above his. He began to wake up, blinking blearily up at her, still half asleep. She skipped the ‘Good Morning’ and instead kissed the tip of his nose lightly and then his lips, before she brought his hand to the side of her face and held it against her cheek. After a moment his eyes focussed and then widened when he saw her left hand that was holding his palm to her face. 
“Is this?” She started almost timidly. 
He swallowed and found his voice. “It’s whatever you want it to be.” 
She smiled so brightly he thought she could rival the sun. “Though you know,” she began slightly playfully, “I can’t actually give you an answer if you don’t ask me.”
A small laugh escaped him, before he gazed at her, getting lost in her eyes as he spoke. 
“Will you marry me, Astrid?”
She dreamt of what she’d feel like when someone asked her this. And now she knew that nothing compared to what she felt. 
A half sob, half laugh left her lips before she crushed her lips to his. Pouring all her love for him into the kiss. A small gasp escaped him before he kissed her back with all the love and passion he could muster. She pulled back breathlessly, gingerly resting her forehead against his and brushing her lips with his as she finally answered his question. 
“Yes.”
End. 
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yaidenpart-blog · 6 years ago
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Handwriting Vs Typing
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In this day and age, it’s common practice to write your stories on the computer. Some eccentrics let their 19. century author self-run free by using a typewriter for the Aesthetic, but, in general, most people toe the line. And then, well, we have the rare breed of writers who handwrite. Rumor has it they’re extinct, but daring folks have been known to spot one or two in the wild, building shelters from old notepaper and gnawing at ink cartridges to survive.
….and I used to be one of them.
For years, I swore to handwriting and honestly, I still kind of do. In spite of having switched over to typing, I feel handwriting at one stage in your drafting can be very beneficial to your process. But whether to go through with it completely is a more difficult decision.
And seeing as I’m familiar with both sides of the coin, I’ll aid you in making a personally beneficial choice.
So let’s figure out if handwriting is for you.
Pro’s of Handwriting
Imagine, you’re at your desk and need to write an idea down quickly. You could turn your laptop on, or grab a napkin and scribble in two seconds flat without having to open an app first. Physically move things around when outlining, quickly add arrow and colors, and easily look at several pieces of paper at the same time while writing. It’s simply said a more organic and immediate affair.
And so is revising by hand. There is a reason why many editors still demand printed copies of your manuscripts, I’ve noticed a certain screen blindness overcomes you when you’ve stared at a document for ten hours straight, blurring every paragraph into mush. The distance between the keyboard and the letters appearing on the screen leaves an artificial aftertaste like fake grape juice sticking to the roof of your mouth.
Handwriting not only strikes a more natural connection to your brain but also motivates extremely. Once you filled a notebook up you can hold milestones in your fingers, trace every physical accomplishment you’ve made. Even if the notebook fills up to the brim when you’re only at the half point mark of your story – kind of turning the victory stale as you grope for the next notebook to continue – it still serves as a way to keep track of your project that’s more physical and satisfying than a digital word count.
Speaking of word counts, this brings us to our most crucial point: deleting.
Or more, compulsive deleting and ‘editing’ while in the trenches of writing your first draft, the unspoken bane of all writers. Editing as you go is a terrible life choice for most people, and I thank past me every day for choosing to write by hand so I didn’t have to deal with that burden as a newbie on top of everything else. Basically, editing as you go will prevent you from achieving the peak of your productiveness by trapping you in a vicious cycle of editing and deleting which at the end of the day won’t have gotten you any further along the path of completing your story. However, writing by hand makes it more difficult for this cycle to lure you into its clutches. The only way for you to delete sections in by scratching them out or by drawing crazy mind maps with arrows along the page borders. And this forces you to silence your perfectionist urges and get the draft on paper in one go instead of editing every single line to death and never finishing anything.
Another viable reason to consider switching to handwriting could be your health, many people suffer from carpal tunnel or other issues like eye strain through working on a computer. And there is absolutely no shame in putting your health first.
Cons
Now after waxing poetic about writing by hand for 400 words, it’s time to reveal the big con which prompted me to jump ship after years of dedicated handwriting. It is-
-Dramatic Pause-
Having to write your draft two times when you want it as a digital file.
Which turned into a problem because redoing things unnecessarily like this grew to too much of a strain on my hands, even if it was just writing the story twice. Though I’m aware most people probably won’t encounter this particular problem. So the only thing left to take into consideration for you, my friendo, is the time extensiveness inherited to becoming an ink cartridge gnawer. If you’re especially inpatient having to spend time on retyping your story might not be a compromise you’re willing to make.
One of the pros previously mentioned is actually a con in disguise. The limited line editing capability of handwriting turns into a disadvantage when your issues don’t lie with perfectionism but with underwriting. I like to go back and forth on the page, adding content to paragraphs I’ve written before while simultaneously slapping on new sentences. This method is less accomplishable on paper and leads to underwritten stories being, well, extremely underwritten. At least until they’re through a few edit rounds on the computer, sweat lining your brow as revision evolves into a Herculean effort without your consent.
If you’re an underwriter typing is a blessing preventing you from having to go through hell later on in revision. But does typing have actual cons as well? Probably. Hopefully. Or this post will end on a pretty weak note.
Typing and all that Jazz
The pros of typing are obvious, modern world wouldn’t get by without someone happily tipping away on a keyboard or screen.
I personally changed my process from manual to working on a tablet for several reasons, including the flat screen being the closest to paper I could find while keeping the advantage of not having to transcribe my writing to a digital format.
But for you handwriting might be very well worth it. It does have many benefits, and typing could just annoy you enough to try.
The cons of typing include but are not limited to Enablement of Perfectionism™, as we talked about before in the pros of handwriting. Typing enables by tempting us into editing and editing, backspacing and deleting whole chunks of our work instead of continuing to actually write, giving off the illusion of productivity which later on reveals itself to be hollow when it turns out you only managed to write 50 words in five hours.
So if you struggle with that syndrome, I seriously recommend handwriting, it might sound painful at first not to edit, but constant perfectionism while drafting will be the true fatal foe that’ll stop you from attaining your goals.
Otherwise, pros of typing are the instant gratification of showing someone your work per google docs or other means, as well as the high working speed you’re able to reach. As well as the fact that computers are an all constant, making it easy to sneak a bit of writing in while at work without being forced into rewriting it at home to add it to your original project file. The cons and pros of both methods kind of tangle and interplay with each other, at the end it’s a purely personal decision which you choose, but I hope this post gave you some thought chew about which way is actually best suited to your workflow.
Pretty unsatisfying conclusion, huh? No straightforward answer saying what’s best for everyone. But that’s life folks, everything is all confusing subjectivity and grey areas and then you die.
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kittehrant · 6 years ago
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I really hope there isn’t anything due tomorrow other than what we finished in class because my brain is honestly complete mush. I tried to take like an hour nap earlier and it did help some, just made me sort of checked out.
I’m trying to revise my Fantastic Beast Fanfiction “Monsters” on FF.net and AOO right now so that the first chapter doesn’t such so much now that I’m sort of getting the feel of all the characters together.
it’s hard to do with a mushy brain though.
Otherwise, I feel good. Today was my first day off work for the rest of this month and I can breath a bit of a sigh of relief with it. I went to Target with my mom and spent some time with her. Ended up finding a nice reading chair that they bought me for Christmas. 
I didn’t really sleep last night because I drank so much damn caffeine. It didn’t even cross my mind that tea had some much caffeine but I should have known, I drink it in place of coffee sometimes. I woke up at like 4 in the morning feeling like I was having a heart attack. And I hadn’t fallen asleep till 2. Then I didn’t really get back to sleep till around 530.
My neck hurts, I guess I should take something for it and maybe go to bed soon so I can get back on a -normal- sleep schedule.
Tomorrow I’m hoping that I’ll be able to come home after school and just have this whole apartment to myself. I read an article today on the four needed factors for a restoring vacation.1. relaxation 2. mastery 3. control and 4. detachment from work and other stressors.
Relaxation, I guess I did that today with watching TV and napping. Mastery I’ve been working on writing that fanfiction out and making it nice. Control, that’s a big part and something I complain about very often between living at Alex’s and my parent’s house, I’m sort of subjected to the will of everyone else ALL of the time. Here, alone, I have that control. I can choose how I spend my mental, physical, and emotional energy, though it is a bit lonely.
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