#library card yippee

[doobydoobydoowau]

libby my love

[realbacchus]

Giving myself zero time to process wind and truth, immediately starting the sunlit man because my library card has it for the next 5 days 🤡

[lewkwoodnco]

omg hi you said you were opening requests for lockwood in general and not just songfics so i was wondering if you could write one where lockwood gets hurt in a mission trying to protect reader (they’re dating) and when they get back to portland row she gets mad at him and they have a really bad argument that ends up with the reader saying she doesn’t love him anymore (shes lying) and wants to leave lockwood and co !! (if it’s possible for you to end it on a happy note it would be amazing but if it’s hard to write there’s no pressure)

only love can hurt like this - Lockwood x Reader

Psst I now have a taglist! yippee!

A/N: okay SO I know the title is from a song but it’s nottt a song fic and gosh this made me realise what a crutch music has been in my writing 😭 if any of y’all have more non-songfic requests I would rlly appreciate it 🙏the beginning's a lil fluffy hehe, inspired by this post! P.S. condolences for shadow and bone </3, wc 4.7k She was in the kitchen when George and Lockwood returned from their case, dusty and exhausted, and fixed up some tea for them. George took his tea up to his room with a mumbled thanks and Lockwood pressed a distracted kiss to her temple as he pulled out the biscuit tin. She made a calculatedly casual remark about going down to the basement to help Lucy sort out their storage, at which he rolled his eyes and pulled her into the chair next to his.

But that was about an hour ago, and now she could hear the tired flipping of pages and stacking of files from the library, where he was buckling down to fight the growing pile of paperwork on his desk. He's facing away from her when she steps in, and from the looks of it, the paperwork seems to be winning.

"I know you wouldn't want to make a fuss..."

He stiffens, and when he turns there's an incredulous tilt to his eyebrows and the ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. She keeps a hand over the candle's flame as she walks in balancing a card and cupcake on her palm.

"How did you find out?"

"I badgered Barnes for your birth certificate. Took me months."

"That can't be legal."

"Don't think he minded much in the end. Anyway, the card was like a pound and the cupcake is a gift from Arif so you can't refuse either of them."

He smiles despite himself, glancing through the card with a bemused interest, red glitter coating his fingertips.

"Well, I didn't know I was your 'precious sweetheart.'"

"Oh, shut up. It was that or a condolences card."

"Hmm, this card really is the gift that keeps giving. 'To my dearest darling...'"

"Maybe I should have had a look through."

"...blah blah blah 'perfect day for my adorable sweetheart -'"

"What on earth kind of a shop is Arif keeping?"

"'Happy birthday handsome'?"

"I think we're done with the card!" She snatches it from him and stuffs it under the large stack of papers on his desk, face burning, but it still takes him a while to laugh it out of the system. It's an endearing sight to see him so carefree, if exhausted, and even after months of dating she watches him shyly through her eyelashes. His haggard face makes it easy to see him as far more than only a year older, but for now it's enough that he's laughing and alive.

"First and last time I trust Arif's judgement on birthday cards."

That sets him off again, though he has the decency to try and choke it down, but even his suppressed amusement is infectious enough to make her lips twitch. She hadn't realised what a stirring experience it would be to watch him celebrate another year alive. He looks like he wants to say something, but she's not sure she can bear it.

"Y/-"

"Shh, just blow the candle out. Wait! You have to make a wish."

He sighs dramatically, but acquiesces, briefly muttering invisible words under his breath with closed eyes before blowing out the candle. She tries to match the fluttering of his lips to words but nothing quite fits, and she half wonders if he's spouting incomprehensible gibberish just to appease her. It isn't until he pulls out the candle and jabs her with it that she realises she was staring.

"You want to know what I wished for?"

"It's killing me."

"I -"

"No! You can't tell me or it won't come true."

"Y/N, it's a candle in a cupcake."

"I'm not putting up with any of your cynicism on your birthday." She thinks about the overly zealous card, and the crumbling cupcake that would be gone in a few minutes. "Should have gotten you a gift. At least a small one."

"This is perfect. Really."

"Still. Could have scrounged up a keychain, or a mug."

"What, from the kitchen? My kitchen?"

"You know me so well."

"Well," he leans back in his chair, almost superficially nonchalant. "I suppose there is one gift you could give me."

"Anything."

"What's it going to take for you to read the card out loud?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That day had a sluggish quality which made it feel like years had passed by the time they set out for their job at sprawling, if ancient, mansion on the outskirts of London. Looking up at the giant house that nearly completely blocked out the setting sun, relief over knowing where the haunting was centralised washed over her; she wasn't quite in the mood to be running up and down impractically ornate flights of stairs.

The neighbours had reported seeing a ghostly figure drifting aimlessly in one of the open-air courtyards, and occasionally it would appear on the balcony directly above the courtyard, climbing over the railing before vanishing into thin air. Lockwood and George were stationed at the courtyard, Lucy at the stairs, and she on the balcony.

She stepped onto the balcony hesitantly, eyeing a thin, jagged crack running through the stone. The house was too cavernous to be considered flimsy but some of the crumbling walls made her feel as though one good thump would bring the whole place crashing down. She started to unzip her duffel bag when an ear-splitting scream ran through the courtyard.

She jumped, her ear prickling unpleasantly. It was as though the visitor had been standing right next to her, but as her heart rate came down, she realised she wasn't even feeling chilly. She peered down, where George was squinting up at her, Lockwood already with one foot out of their chains. She shook her head, trying to muster a thumbs-up with her fumbling hands, but he was already walking towards the stairs briskly.

She wasn't sure how long it took him to reach her, but it definitely felt longer than it should have. The adrenaline from the scream had made her especially nervy, with a sickly fog of paranoia settling over her mind. Those trees seemed too lush, too dense, dark green leaves quivering under the whims of some invisible wind. She tried to think about the cupcake, and Lockwood's face when he first saw it, and it was enough to stop the balcony from dissolving under her fingertips.

But when he reached her, hair tousled, his grip on her shoulder just a little too strong to be entirely comfortable, she saw a very different version of Lockwood. His lips were moving but there was something rampant in his eyes, something that gave her pause. She glanced at the monstrous night sky, which seemed to threaten to swallow them whole, and then at the inky black heat in Lockwood’s eyes, and she suddenly felt overwhelmed by them both.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Wha - hm?"

"Are you hurt?"

“No, I’m fine. You didn't need to come up here."

His hand slipped from her shoulder, sliding down to her hand, which he stared at as if he couldn't quite understand it.

"Are you okay?"

He looked up, the furrow in his brows dissolving, though he didn't seem ready to let go of her hand yet. “Hm? Oh, yes, I'm fine. It's just...I...I could have sworn..."

“Breathe, Lockwood. You look like you’re stretched thin.”

"I'm fine," he repeated, but it's somehow more hollow than the last. Part of him turned to leave, but something made him stop. He opened his mouth, then closed it again as if he thought better of whatever he was about to say. The burning in her chest grew.

"You feel it too, don't you?"

He exhaled wearily. "He's playing tricks on us. Maybe Luce should join you here -"

"No, it's best she stay halfway. It'll be fine; we can see each other."

He nodded stiffly, before finally walking away with considerable effort. The balcony somehow felt more alive as Lockwood left, the trees rustling louder than they should as the air around her seemed to contract. It unsettled her.

Eventually the visitor made his appearance, and though her Sight wasn't the best it helped calm her nerves to have something solid to watch out for. He was in the courtyard, dodging Lockwood's salt bombs while trying to fly at George, who was desperately looking for the source. There was only so much help she could give as any flares she threw from her height were only going to hit George or Lockwood rather than the visitor, so she focused on hunting for loose panels or hidden latches in the balcony and the walls of the house from which it protruded.

When she walked back to the railing, she felt a stab of panic at the blanket of grey mist that obscured her vision of the courtyard. She gripped the railing, trying to calm down. She could still hear them, but given what Lockwood had said about the visitor playing tricks, she wasn't sure how much faith she could place in any of her senses. A crash sounded, as if one of the weaker walls had caved in, making her wince. She put her hand on her rapier, steeling herself to make the trip downstairs.

Another crash sounded, but this one seemed to resonate through the mansion's skeleton. There was an awful grinding sound and she felt the floor beneath her feet tilt. She clutched what she could reach of the balcony's doorframe, hanging on by her fingertips, not daring to even breathe as she desperately tried to plant her slippery soles onto the marble floor. Her palms were sweating, and her grip was slipping. She closed her eyes, fed up with the hallucinations, and braced herself for the fall.

Instead of the swooping sensation of falling, she feels strong fingers closing around her wrist. She opened her eyes to the sight of Lockwood pulling her to the safety with a badly scratched cheek, but otherwise unhurt. It makes her want to sob with relief, but she settles for scrabbling for his palm with numb fingers. She leans against the doorframe, reveling in the solid wall pressing against her back, though her relief was short-lived.

The visitor shrieked much closer now, startling her as she turned to watch it hurtling towards them, obsessively staring at the chalice in Lockwood's hand. The growing pit in her stomach swells as she rifles through her belt with increasing agitation, panic stabbing her in the eye with every empty pocket. Lockwood twisted his hand out of her relaxed grip, and in that split second she realised what he was about to do. He took a final step onto what was left of the balcony, and the whole structure came crashing down.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Among the roar of the rubble, she picked out what she thought was the sickening crunch of bones, and it took everything in her to fly down the stairs instead of jumping after him. Lucy was already there with George talking on a phone nearby, and their faces paled when they only saw her coming down the stairs. The three of them frantically started shifting through the rubble, yanking at the larger pieces together. She couldn't see the visitor as the dust settled, which saved her the trouble of ripping it to shreds, limb by limb.

She heard a familiar cough coming from under one of the pieces, and with strength she hadn't known that she possessed, she pulls the piece away to reveal a dusty, battered Lockwood. George and Lucy aren't far behind, quickly freeing him from the mountain of debris. This time she does cry out in relief, pressing her fingers into the skull behind his ears insistently, shaking from the blessing that it was to see him alive and breathing. He winces, and her grip on his head tightens reflexively.

"What? What hurts?"

"Your screaming, right now."

As the DEPRAC vans pulled up, George filled out the necessary paperwork on behalf of Lockwood, who was impatiently letting the paramedics check only for broken bones. As the relief of finding him alive faded, all that was left was a smarting irritation. Lockwood would forever and always remain addicted to playing the hero, she knew that, but it didn't piss her off any less, especially when he put his life on the line for it.

Once Lockwood finally managed to shrug off the last exceptionally persistent paramedic, the four of them trudged over to one of the cabs DEPRAC had flagged down for them.

"Hang on - what about the source?"

George turned and she followed his gaze to the team of DEPRAC officers delicately draping an iron net over the rubble.

"Given that it was the balcony itself, I think it's been taken care of."

As they settle into the cab, Lockwood carefully scans her face which is still as inscrutable as it was ten minutes ago. She relents, but only a little, giving his hand a light squeeze. She closes her eyes and leans her head on his shoulder, whispering quietly.

"I wish you'd let them look over you properly."

"M'alright. I can deal with a few scrapes myself. Fractures, not so much."

George's tired voice floats from the front seat.

"You better not have a concussion, idiot."

She feels him still next to her, and suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. Why couldn't he let the paramedics do their job properly? Why did he have to be so stubborn?

She thinks about a night from long ago, before they were dating and before she learnt how to bully him into taking care of himself. They had just come home from a case, and he was sitting in his room in a curious manner: staring at the wall without even realising his door was ajar, or that he was still fully clothed. The patches of skin peeking out from under his clothes were littered with scratches and cuts, but nothing major enough to warrant first aid, save for the bruise on the side of his face. She paused at his door, watching him, and wondered if he knew she was even there.

“No library?”

“Not tonight.”

She didn’t like the way he was speaking. The response wasn’t immediate, as if it had taken him a while to detangle himself from his absorbing thoughts. The tone of his voice was as cordial as always, but there was some kind of agency missing, as if he were in a trance, and it unnerved her. And yet, something tethered her to him, some desire to protect him from some violence brewing close at hand.

“You should really get some ointment on that.”

“I know.”

But he made no movement to do so, and she felt awkward leaving him alone. That was how she ended up sitting next to Lockwood on his bed as the sun started to peek in. There was a misty tinge to the first strains of light, and Lockwood looked so pale she wondered if he was fully solid. She had watched his fragile and ambivalent spirit restlessly pace in the room for the past few hours, while his corporeal form withered lifelessly, but she didn’t understand him any better.

She slipped her fingers in his own, mildly frowning, as if trying to hold on to an increasingly amorphous Lockwood. His fingers reflexively tightened around hers before relaxing just as quickly, his first movement in hours, though his face remained impasssive. His hand remained relaxed, but when she didn't pull her hand away, he allowed his thumb to rest on hers. She had felt some kind of tension then, between the part of him that wanted to drift away and the part of her holding onto him for dear life. But now, the Lockwood sitting opposite her at the kitchen table was slipping through her fingers like sand.

"Y/N, about those conflicting jobs in Hackney - do you want to split up or should I cancel?"

"I don't know, Luce. Why don't you ask Lockwood? Since he seems to always know best."

Lockwood frowns, briefly looking away from the torch George was shining into his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She ignores him, muttering under her breath.

"God forbid someone ask him to try to stay alive."

"Will you cut it out?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, which one of us has a head injury again?"

"I'm fine."

"How dare you lie to my face?"

George clicks the torch off, hastily moving to another corner of the kitchen, while Lucy's weary drifting slows down. Lockwood still looks peeved, but there's a hint of bewilderment on his face. She sighs irritably, pressing her eyelids.

"What I mean is...you don't look fine."

"It's only a bump. Not even a concussion - George checked."

"At least let me ice it for a bit."

"Don't fuss. I'm fine. Just sit and have your tea."

I’m begging you to let me help you, she wants to say. But she doesn't, because she's tired and angry and still very much scared, so she's in no mood for tea. He glances at her face when she continued to stand, and his jaw set when he sees she's in the mood to pick a fight.

"It's like you don't even think you did anything wrong." Do you know how much that terrifies me?

"I was only doing my job as your...employer, landlord, boyfriend...one of them."

"Why must everything be so complicated with you?”

"Fine. I'm sorry I didn't want to watch you break your neck."

And I didn't want to watch the life leave your eyes. "Oh, but yours is fair game?"

He doesn't respond, and it's almost as though she can see the invisible barriers he's putting up between them. She feels a brief stab of panic that she mistakes for anger.

Don't shut me out. "And now the silent treatment! God, you're such a child."

He stops drinking his tea entirely, and it doesn't give her the satisfaction she thought it would. Between the exhaustion from the case and the frustration over the brick wall that was Lockwood, her tongue gets the better of her and she sees red.

"Sometimes I wonder how I ever loved you."

The activity in the kitchen grinds to a halt for a few, terribly long seconds, before George walks out, Lucy not-so-subtlely following him with their tea. The anger on Lockwood's face evaporates, leaving an irritatingly smooth expression of mild surprise. She Silence suspends on the precariously thin string connecting them. He waits, but she doesn't backtrack. She turns away, unable to bear the look on his face.

"I'm...I'm sorry you feel that way."

"I've been thinking about leaving for a while."

"...leave...Portland Row? And go where?"

"I don't know. Anywhere's better than here." Anywhere I don't have to see you make stupid, reckless decisions because of me. Anywhere I don't have to look at you nursing fractures in barely-healed bones. Anywhere I don't have to watch you dither for peace you can never quite seem to reach.

He doesn't say anything, and she's not sure if there's anything he could say. She leaves the kitchen, dragging her feet up to their shared room. She empties the contents of her drawers and closet into a bag as if on autopilot, as she hid in some dark corner of her mind, waiting, begging for some force of God to tell her to stop. Her bags get packed, she gets undressed, and it is only after she turns out the light that she lets herself grieve the life she's leaving behind.

She's looking out of the window when the door swings open, warm light from the hallway spilling into the dark, illuminating her barren nightstand. He pauses at the threshold but she remains completely still, and after a moment or two he steps in, closing the door behind him. He shuffles about, getting ready for bed in the dark, and doesn't look at her face even when climbing into bed. She wants to tell him to try to get some sleep, but she isn't sure if it's her place, so the words remain unsaid.

He was so close she could just...extend her arm...brush her fingers on his back...clumsily soothe the unfettered demons which came out at night. There's a heady oppressiveness to the dark which weighs her down, not as cool and fluid as it normally is, waxing and waning around their shifting bodies and burning skin. The moonlight reflected on the pale patch of skin above the collar of his t-shirt, skin which looked like liquid glass. Close. She was so close to this delicate, temporal force which wrought a religious kind of faith from her hopelessly melancholic soul.

What a misery it was to love.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She wakes up to the sun streaming over the rumpled sheets of the empty bed. She sits up, the house significantly quieter than it usually is at this time of morning. In the kitchen, George is standing by the toaster and Lucy's pulling out the sugar bowl, making tea. Lockwood's sitting stiffly in his chair, and he looks much more whole in the daylight, though oddly fragile with the protection of his suit stripped away. Their eyes instinctively meet when she walks in, after which they avoid each other's gaze until much later.

She gently takes her mug from Lucy, brushing off her protests with a distracted pat on her hand. The emptiness from last night hasn't faded, and she puts together a cup of tea and collects 2 pieces of toast mechanically.

Without thinking, she swaps the mug Lucy's placed in front of Lockwood with her own, only realising what she's done when she feels three pairs of eyes on her, her own eyes fixed on the mug in front of him. She clears her throat awkwardly.

"Lockwood doesn't take sugar with his tea."

Lucy probably mumbles an apology, but she isn't entirely sure given how all she can think about is how close his fingers are to hers. She wills her hand to let go of the mug, and it takes a moment to reluctantly cooperate.

"Thank you."

Lucy takes advantage of her pause to place her mug next to his, so she hesitantly takes her seat next to him. She picks up a piece of toast and starts buttering it while Lockwood talks in an unfamiliar voice.

"So...any plans on where you're going?"

"I've got an aunt in Brixton. Might stay there for a while, until I sort out something more permanent."

He gives a half-nod, as if he hasn't bothered to listen to her words too closely. "Well, you're more than welcome to...stay, at least for a while. If you'd like."

"I...don't think that's a good idea."

"I see."

She can't bear the way his face falls before he attempts an unconvincing smile. It makes her heart ache. Even though they're sitting close enough to have their knees occasionally brush, here in this grimly-lit, transparent kitchen, she's never felt more disconnected from Lockwood. She wants to reach out, slip her fingers in his, btu all of a sudden she's paralysed by doubt and she doesn't know how. She slips the buttered toast into his plate. His lips quirk into a faint cursory smile, but it's gone as soon as he turns back to his plate, a vaguely miserable twist to his pallid lips. They eat in silence, and it's the hardest breakfast she's had to endure at Portland Row.

In another life I’m easier to love. I’m less complicated, less convoluted, less given to bursts of self-destructive/violent tendencies.

Afterwards, she gets dressed, but she cant bring herself to leave just yet, so she sits on the bed vacantly, looking up when he . He pauses at the door, looking at where his fingers delicately rest on the doorframe, the same way they always rested on her shoulder when he wanted to dip his head to whisper something into her ear, as if compelled by some unrecognised desire to hold her close. She steels her face but her eyes desperately drink him in, all of his rough edges and limp shadows, the hazy outline of his body. He holds out an envelope.

"What's this?"

"Your paycheck. The last one." He adds in the later bit almost as an afterthought, and it's almost enough to make her stay. She slips it into her bag, choosing not to point out how he had just given out their most recent paychecks just last week.

"I know I can't change your mind, so...thank you for...everything."

He glances at the birthday card on his nightstand, and any regret she had over buying the card instantly evaporates. At least she managed to somehow get out how she felt once upon a time.

"You'll get another next year."

"Don't think George shares my love for cheesy birthday cards quite like you do."

"Do you think I'm making a horrible mistake?"

"Y/N..."

She wants to feel the comforting weight of his hand in hers, wants to lean against him weakly and have him tell her everything would be alright. But her bags were packed, her dresser as bare as her heart, and she can't help but feel as though she would never be happy again.

"Humour me. Please."

He sighs, but relents.

"Up till yesterday I thought George didn't love me quite like you did, so, frankly...I don't know what to think."

"So...you want me to leave?"

"I didn't say that."

"So you want me to stay?"

"I didn't say that either."

"You make me…so scared, Lockwood. And...sometimes...I don’t think you realise it.”

He moves from where he's leaning against the doorway to sit next to her. She leans her head against his shoulder. He lets her.

"You and I both know I won't be around for long. I just want to keep you safe while I'm still here."

"You don't honestly believe that. Right?"

"It's...hard to say. Some days I feel normal. Mostly. Some days I feel like no amount of candles, eyelashes or wishbones can keep me from an early grave. I don't want you around to see it. I put you through so much, Y/N. I can't say you won't be better off without me."

"What about you?"

He smiles bittersweetly. "You're too...kind to see it now, but one day you'll realise that...it's what I deserve."

A silence fills the room, until she breaks it by violently chucking the envelope at his face.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He gasps and splutters incoherently, still in shock from her attemoted assault.

"It's 'what you deserve'? What you deserve is a good knock on the head!"

"Fine, I'm sorry!"

"Don't ever let me catch you thinking like that again!"

"I won't!"

"What's it going to take to get it into your thick skull? I love you!"

"Okay!"

"I mean it!"

"I get it."

"And don't you forget it!"

"I won't." He wraps his arms around her, and she squeezes his torso aggressively, muttering increasingly extreme threats darkly under her breath. It's a sobering moment to hold each other as a new day blooms outside their window. "I won't."

They pull apart, but she still leans against him, and in that moment it's a dream to be sitting there, pressed impossibly close together, listening to each other breathe.

"I want to take evening walks with you. I want to watch you iron your ties on sleepy Sunday afternoons. I want to lose to you in chess. I want to manhandle you into celebrating your birthdays. I want to rub away the crease between your eyebrows whenever you’re thinking too hard."

Her hand drops from his waist to his wrist.

"Damn it, Lockwood. I want to hold your hand. I want to love you."

He interlocks his fings into hers, distractedly running his thumb over hers.

“Let me help you. Please.”

”I don’t think I know how.”

She tightens her arms around him again, overwhelmed by the burdens stretching out in front of them. Nothing was easy, not even this. Not even him.

"Just...hold on."

"I'm holding on. I'm holding on...to you. I'm holding on...for you."

TAGLIST: @mitskiswift99 @dangelnleif

[bloodcoveredgf]

just got my first ever id in the mail today and its a michigan id since i just moved here a few months ago to live with my boyfriend and i immediately used it for the first time to get a library card in our town and checked out lord of the flies and frankenstein. yippee 😁

[ivy-saurs]

YIPPEE i can get a library card at the library near my work even though i don't live in the same borough :D now this is an epic gamer moment...

[nancypullen]

Checking In

It's been a wonderful few days here on the Pullen spread. Matt has been in town and he's always such good company. We've had a lot of laughs, eaten too much holiday food, and just enjoyed being together. The Edgewater gang went down to Tennessee for Turkey Day, but I've had two calls from our Little Miss and have seen loads of pictures - they're having a ball. They'll be home on Sunday, Matt will fly out this evening, and we'll all brace ourselves for Christmas. We're getting decorated, my cards have arrived, and I'm ready to start wrapping gifts. The mister and I may wander into D.C. and visit the Christmas market, or we may opt to go to Baltimore's Inner Harbor - they do a big German Christmas village with loads of vendors (and German food!). Chestertown, on our side of the bridge, will have their Dickens Christmas festival the first weekend of December. We'll definitely give that a go. Doesn't look like we'll lack for Christmas cheer. I've volunteered to work the Friends of the Library booth at the Ridgley Christmas shindig, we'll see if they plug me into the schedule. I think that's on the 9th. It's tiiiiime!

In other news....I GOT A JOB! The Caroline County Library looked past my pink fluff (and maybe my age) and offered me a position! Yippee! I'll start January 16th, so come on over and see the nice granny at the library, she'll help you with anything you need. I never thought I'd be starting a new job at age 60, but I truly think it's going to be good for me in many ways. I can't just rot in this house. When the offer was made and salary and start date settled, I was reminded that this was, of course, pending a clean background check. Why is it, that even when you know you haven't had so much as a speeding ticket in decades, you wonder if you'll pass the background check? No one has lived a more vanilla life than I have, but what if they uncover that I skipped school in 1980 and egged a rival high school? I'll bet the people doing my background check weren't even born in 1980. What's the statute of limitations of egging? I may also have knowledge of several toilet papering incidents. That's it, I'm sunk.

Moving right along. I've got several artsy projects going. It looks like a glitter factory exploded in my craft room and that makes me happy. Look at these little chests (don't look at my mess).

Those are going to be tooth fairy boxes! My grandgirl and my sister's grandson are about the same age, both in kindergarten and nearing the snaggletooth stage of life. I''ll touch up the paint on these, glue in a little cushion, and place a little scroll inside printed with a poem I wrote for them: The Tooth Fairy Riding a moonbeam, she enters our land With glittering wings and a pouch in her hand Searching for treasure, a fairy's delight, a child's lost tooth, shiny and white. Upon finding a tooth that pleases her eyes, she leaves that lucky child a surprise So take care of your teeth, do your best When one is lost, use this chest Close your eyes, drift and dream She'll soon arrive on a silver moonbeam When you wake, look inside And see what treats a fairy hides

Okay, it's rough, but it'll work for little kids. It's all about the magic, folks. Make as much magic as you can for as long as you can. If it includes glitter, even better. Okie dokie, time for me to get busy around here. There are decorations to hang, things to sparkle, and cookies to eat. I hope you're doing something fun today, too. Whether that means shopping with the crowds or watching Hallmark movies and drinking hot cocoa, do it! Let's make a pact to send 2023 on its way in a cloud of merriment and happiness. The world is insane, bad news blares at us all day, so do everything you can to make your little corner of the world sweet. Sending you love and lots of holiday cheer. Sprinkle it all over! Stay safe, stay well, stay jolly. XOXO, Nancy

[faithdeans]

I HAD A COUPLE BAD DAYS BUT TODAY I WENT TO THE LIBRARY AND I GOT SOME ENVIRONMENTAL STUFF BOOKS !!!! My library card didn’t work but the librarian managed to revive the original card instead of giving me a new one which yippee because 1) dub for the environment and 2) it has an epic froggy on it I will remember to send u a pic. Love the froggy card. I also had the bath that I felt too bad to have over the weekend today!!!! I’ve been really good to myself and I’m very proud :) tomorrow I’m going to get to college early to do some catch up work when it’s still quiet and I can just have the lamp and the fairy lights in my tutor room on when it’s just me so no sensory overload :)))) I also have a free coffee in greggs hehehehe I always feel bad when I ask for my really complicated coffee but it’s how I like it so it’s okay

my son that's fantastic!!! i am so so proud of you! i hope you enjoy your free greggs tomorrow!!! <3333

[inkling0121]

YIPPEE!!! My sister is taking me to the library here in the college town to get a library card! Theyre also having an event where they sell some worn out books and cds for cheap prices so Im excited about that

I wanna check out so many books to support this library

[kurtcore]

got my alumnus library card yippee

[pk-heart]

I love to fuck around in the library so much yet I only got a library card today yippee now I can also actually engage in services

[kaleidoscopiccc]

yippee :3

"AND THAT IS WHY NOT EVERYONE SHOULD HAVE A LIBRARY CARD!!!!!!!!" -ocean, ride the cylone

"grow up heather, bulimia is so '87" -heather chandler, heathers

"do you... love me too?" "excuse me?" -kagami and adrien, miraculous ladybug

"she was perfectly human in every way, the person i always wanted to be... anyway- so then i cursed her" -focalors, genshin impact

"did you just call me a... sweet potato?" -luz, the owl house

(bonus: "they see me cat walkin, they hatin" -cat noir, miraculous ladybug)

@@that-f-cked-up-bitch :3

toff starts a tag game

reblog with a quote from your fav character from atleast 5 fandoms that you’re in/used to be in!!

ok mine:

”your fingers might not be so burnt if you cooked with an air fryer!” -frye onaga (splatoon)

“you ever think about runnin in pictures? buy a ticket, they let anyone in!” -albert dasilva (newsies)

“now, what the heck happened around here? oh right- my doing!” -caine (tadc)

“what happened to you that made you hate fun?” -serafine savoy (lackadaisy)

“the romantic tension is so palpable… how can you guys even concentrate??” pavitr prabhakar (atsv)

hey guys 😏 @the-woild-is-y-erster @sluttylittlenewsboy @ftm-megamind @newsiesfixation @itsgrapes-exe @newsiesreference and anyone else that wants to join!!

[littlemisslol-fic]

Summary: In a world populated by Soulmates— people drawn together by wordless music connecting them to their destined other half— Varian is an anomaly. He is Songless, someone without a Soulmate of his own. He makes due with the cards dealt to him, used to being the castle oddity by now, but when an interesting blond takes up residence in the castle, he can't help but be drawn to him.

Hugo, on the other hand, is horrified to find that not only is his Soulmate a palace brat, but that Varian doesn't hear him back— meaning Hugo is trapped in a one-sided bond. When presented with a horrible choice between completing the theft Donella had sent him to do, or taking a frightening step into vulnerability, Hugo finds himself at an impasse he just might not be able to charm his way out of.

And then politics get involved.

Notes: hahah they meet!!

Happy wednesday everyone!! Thanks so much for reading!! The reception to chapter one was amazing-- I really appreciate all the kind words/kudos/bookmarks/etc!! I honestly LOVE writing Varigo so much, I feel very in my element writing them being ABSOLUTELY RUDE to each other, it's so much fun!!

Chapter Two: Green Finch and Linnet Bird

The library is kind of really boring.

In terms of jobs, Hugo’s had worse. Sure, he’s also had better, but he’s willing to work with it. He’s only been in Corona for about a week, but it’s been blessedly uneventful. The librarian, a elderly coot named Sir Bagley— the very man Hugo had seen sleeping under the table on his first day— is mostly content to ignore him. So long as the books get stacked in the right spot, Hugo might as well be one of the cobwebs.

The library is mostly abandoned in the wake of Varian’s birthday. It seems the castle occupants aren’t much for reading, if Hugo’s observations are to be believed. He spots the queen, occasionally, the princess every few days. He wouldn’t have taken her for much of a reader, but the constant cycle of books she carries in and out certainly would say otherwise.

The only other constant patron is one Hugo could have done without.

Varian drifts through the shelves at random, like a particularly grouchy ghost. Hugo nearly snarls every time he sees the shorter teenager, upset as the Song filters louder the closer Varian gets. It’s the same kind of music as always, generally soft with the occasional spike of joy or irritation. Lately, however, it’s been strangely melancholy, drifting sadly between Hugo’s thoughts. He hates it. His Song chosen is supposed to be someone that is the same kind of broken as he is: not Varian, who looks at Hugo like he’s gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

Fucking uppity priss—

But the uppity priss is their most consistent patron, meaning he’s around. A lot. Yippee.

Hugo scowls as he shelves another book, shoving it as roughly as he can into its place on the shelf. He only just hears the large oak doors creak open on the far end of the library, so caught up in his thoughts as he is. The Song is gentle today, but loud, meaning—

“Good morning, Sir Bagley.”

Shit.

The old man behind the desk, actually awake for once, perks up when he sees Hugo’s least favorite person. “Ah,” he says, large, brown eyes blinking behind coke bottle glasses, “the royal alchemist returns once more! How are you, Varian?”

The alchemist in question smiles politely, setting down a book on the counter. “Well, thanks.” His tone drifts, blue eyes already scanning the shelves. “You don’t by chance have any of Demanitus’ old works on the sulfur pits up north? I’ve been looking into it, supposedly he was able to use the heat for—“

Varian’s voice drifts off as Hugo moves deeper into the shelves. Maker help him, that stupid tugging feeling in his chest has started up again. He’s so close to punching a hole in the wall at this rate; or maybe just punching Varian in his smug little face, get the Song to shut up that way.

Hugo huffs. Assaulting a castle employee isn’t exactly a good plan, not if he wants to find the vault. That’s what he needs to focus on. Not the Song, not Varian; he’s got to think of the money. Donella won’t exactly take it kindly if he screws this up, not after all the work she put into getting him an in. The royal No-Song can hit the backburner for now, Hugo’s got bigger fish to fry. He scoffs. Shelves another book.

The Song perks up a little. Hugo can’t help but let out a sigh, his shoulders dropping. Like it or not, he’s soothed by the evening out of tone and melody. He chances a peek out to the main library, sees Varian has acquired his book and has taken up residence in one of the large wingback chairs next to the fire. How he seems to want heat, despite the agony of the blazing summer sun outside, Hugo doesn’t know. Probably just as frigid on the inside as he is on the out, the blond thinks to himself with a snicker.

He looks down to the next book, and drifts back into the depths of the library. Hugo scoots through the mystery section, then fantasy, finally arriving in romance and shelving the book as quickly as he can. If there’s one thing he’s definitely not interested right now, it’s that. He shakes his head, casually powerwalking out of that section of the library like it’s on fire.

He spends another hour doing that, slowly working down the stacks until there’s basically nothing left. Eventually Hugo feels it’s safe enough to chance a walk through the main center. Varian’s moved, since Hugo last saw him, instead occupying a large table all to himself. He has his head propped up with a hand to the forehead, his elbow balanced on the table. He’s obviously struggling with whatever notes he’s scratching in his journal. It’s almost comical, how angry he looks at the unassuming little book. The Song drifts a little louder, fast and frustrated; it sets Hugo on edge.

Something must snap at that moment. Varian pushes himself up from the desk with a barely contained growl, rubbing his temples and stalking off to the other side of the library. Hugo watches him go, eyes drifting down a little. Hm, at least his supposed Soulmate’s got a nice ass. Hugo snickers to himself again, knowing exactly how that prissy No-Song would respond to a thought like that.

Varian’s left his work unattended, not exactly irregular, but this is the first time that Hugo’s ever seen him abandon something in frustration. Even Hugo has heard of the famed alchemist of Corona— surely whatever it is that has Varian throwing a tantrum is enough of a conundrum that Hugo just has to get a look at it. And, to boot, if he can solve it before Varian can, wouldn’t that just be hilarious?

Before he can talk himself out of it, his traitorous feet are carrying him across the open space, eventually leading him right next to Varian’s table. Hugo leans over, unable to help the spike of curiosity. He just catches sight of some admittedly complicated looking blueprints before a hand slaps down over the notes and blocks his view. The Song screeches with irritation.

“Can I help you?” Varian looks up at him with barely contained contempt. Hugo lets a smile creep across his face, sitting on the table. Varian puffs up at that, obviously upset at the casualness; Hugo will take it as a win.

“Nah,” Hugo says, picking up a note and scanning it. Hm. It’s a recipe of some kind, for fuel? Hugo’s annoyed enough to admit that he’s a little stumped. “Just thought you looked ready to throw something out the window. Do you need some help, sweetheart?”

The paper’s yanked from his hand roughly. The Song goes shrieky in his ear. Hugo doesn’t even flinch, tilting his head to meet Varian’s beet-red face head on. “No,” Varian scoffs, “thank you…”

“Hugo.” The blond shoots him another wink, just to be an ass. Like it or not, Varian’s already an easy target for getting riled up. Sure enough Varian’s arms cross, a sneer working its way across a freckled face. “And are you sure? Seemed to be getting a little frustrating.”

To Hugo’s surprise, the shorter teenager puffs out his chest, stepping into Hugo’s space like he’s not nearly a head shorter. It’s not a very successful intimidation tactic, but it does make that strange tugging in Hugo’s chest spark to life. He shoves it back down with a twitch of his fingers.

“I’m fine.” Varian’s eyes flash with irritation. “And this is intricate alchemy— not exactly the type of material you pick up as a hobbyist. If you tried, you’d end up losing a few fingers.”

Oh. Oh ho, so that’s how he wants to play it, hm?

“Really? Because it seems like even a master alchemist is having an issue. Maybe it’s time to go back to baking soda volcanoes for a bit.”

Varian looks ready to smack him, which is infinitely funny coming from such a small frame. Hugo leans forward, just enough that he can balance a hand on the table and settle into a slight slouch. He feels his face pull into a smirk, brow arched and challenging. C’mon, try me.

Everyone else in Corona has since proved to lack teeth; at least Varian seems able to keep up with Hugo’s brand of antagonism. Not that it means anything, of course, despite how the Song tug, tug, tugs on the space just under his heart.

Varian begins to open his mouth, surely to snap something back, when they’re interrupted by a creaking voice.

“Gentlemen,” Sir Bagley says, standing on the other side of the table. He towers over them both, even from the distance. Hugo feels himself start to shrink under the unimpressed look the old man fixes them with. “If we could keep our voices down, that would be most amicable. Thank you.”

Hugo keeps his pose, even when the old man slowly toddles away. Varian, on the other hand, slouches down to nearly half the size he was just a second ago, picking at his gloves.

“S—sorry, sir,” he says, stumbling over the words. Hugo can’t help but snort; that’s all it takes, huh? Varian rounds on him again, pointing a finger into Hugo’s face. The blond rolls his eyes, even as Varian whispers furiously at him. “Thanks a lot! Now he’s going to be annoyed with us for at least a week!” When Hugo switches to inspecting his nails, Varian’s tone only gets more intense. “He holds grudges, you know?!”

“Whatever, goggles.” Hugo rolls his eyes, finally raising a hand of his own to push Varian’s finger out of his face. “Thanks. I’m sure I’ll live.”

Varian shakes his head. He rubs at his temples again, before electing to gather up his papers and pens in a messy armful. “I’m going to go work somewhere more quiet,” he grumbles. “It wasn’t a pleasure. Go bother someone else.”

Hugo smirks. He lets Varian pass, even as the Song grows dim in his thoughts. It almost hurts, but he ignores it. Part of him wants to watch Varian go, because damn what a view, but also his boss is literally right there. Hugo can’t see it going well. He hears the door slam as Varian leaves, and begins to shuffle along the length of the table. Back to business—

A crinkling noise, from under his foot.

Hugo peeks down, seeing a lone piece of paper abandoned on the ground. He dips low, snagging it and bringing it to face height. It’s one of Varian’s notes, there’s no mistaking the chicken scratch now that he’s seen it, but a majority of it is scratched out. Hugo tilts his head, eyes scanning down to the only thing left not scrubbed out: a lone formula, circled and covered in question marks. Hugo’s eyes squint behind his glasses, quickly running the math in his head.

The blond slowly sits down at the table, plucking up a stray pen that Varian had left behind, and a spare sheet of paper. He bites at his lip, feeling the gears in his brain start to turn. If he’s not wrong then…

Yep. Hugo double checks the math, running through his calculations one more time. The new, balanced formula is scribbled in his own handwriting on the fresh sheet of paper. Just a hobbyist, my ass, Hugo thinks smugly. Varian may be infamous as the brightest bulb in their generation, but even the best can be beaten. Surely if Hugo had the same opportunities, he’d end up just as revered.

Hugo scoffs, putting the papers together and standing from the desk. No point getting bitter about it. Besides, he’s discovered his real passion: stealing ill-gotten gains from the social elites. Now that is a career worth having. He chuckles, folding the papers together and tucking them away in his pocket. Good to know that the current shit he’s been through since the start of this whole deal in Corona hasn’t dulled his senses, anyways. He’s still got it.

Below that smugness, the Song continues on, whimsical as it floats through his mind. Song or no, Soulmate or no, he’s still the best.

And that’s all that matters.

————— ♪ —————

Varian eventually comes back for his stupid paper. He arches his brow when Hugo pulls it out of his pocket, grabbing it, and the balanced reaction Hugo had done for him.

“Did… you do this?” Varian asks him, eyes scanning the calculations.

“Sure,” Hugo shrugs like it’s nothing. “You missed a couple extra calculations, that’s why it wasn’t working.”

Varian reads over the math again. It’s right. Hugo knows it is. He expects another scoff, some kind of scowl, from Varian; he can’t help but feel surprised when Varian instead lets out a little laugh.

“I knew it was something stupid like that.” He shakes his head before looking up to meet Hugo’s eye. “Well. Thank you, I guess.”

Hugo blinks at the words. He hadn’t expected Varian to swallow his pride that easily, if at all. “I— no problem.” He winces at the stutter. Varian’s small smile melts back into the carefully neutral expression he usually wears.

“Now, stop touching my stuff.”

There it is.

Hugo laughs, offering a half-assed salute. “Sure, sweetcheeks,” he says. Varian huffs out an annoyed breath, turning tail and leaving again. This time he doesn’t slam the door, instead opting to close it softly.

This time, Hugo watches him go.

—————♪—————

Corona Castle is a whole new world after midnight.

Hugo’s never been one to shy away from later hours. Donella’s always labeled him a night owl, always more energetic as the sun began to die out and the cool blue moon took its place. Hugo would attribute it to a lifetime of thieving. And pinching. And stealing.

In a career like his, you get used to operating when everyone else has long since turned in for the night. You get used to muffled yawns and feeling the exhaustion that digs deep in the bones; you learn to love it, to thrive in it. Hugo knows this.

This late, the Song is usually nearly silent—but not fully. There’s still the slightest tune that would filter through, when Varian is sound asleep. Not tonight, however. He can still hear him, clear as he would if it were noon. Somewhere, that little shit is awake. Hugo’s still not sure how he feels about his supposed Soulmate, but since he’s always connected at the hip to either the princess or her husband, at least he makes for a great warning system.

Hugo drifts through the hallways soundlessly. The night is peaceful, perfectly still. Hugo feels like a wraith, slowly working lower and lower into the castle. Eventually he gets close to the servant’s area in the basement level, a labyrinth of tunnels and rooms that house the actual hard workers of the castle; the ones who bust their asses keeping the noble class fed and comfortable. If there is an entrance to the vaults, it will be down there, tucked away and hidden from prying eyes. Hugo dips into a shadowed alcove, starting to piece together the mental map he’s been working on.

“Now,” he murmurs to himself. “If I were a well-guarded vault entrance… where would I be?”

Unfortunately, there’s a lot of castle to cover. His internship only lasts six months, ending just after the Day of Hearts, meaning he has a very limited window before he’s effectively kicked out and has to head back home, with or without the jewels. So… no pressure.

Hugo purses his lips, trying to think his way through this. Systematically, it would make sense to start at the northernmost point of the castle and work east to west, until he hits the southmost end. Then, down a floor and start again. It’ll be a pain in the ass, but it’s better than running around without direction.

The Song begins to get a little louder in the back of his head. He shakes it, cursing quietly. Hugo leaves his little alcove, creeping down the hallway and poking his head into the doors. It’s mostly storage, some sitting rooms, the odd broom closet. Fucking fascinating.

It goes like this for nearly half an hour. Hugo hadn’t thought it at the start, but Corona Castle only looks small; her roots run deep, nearly half of the structure embedded into the bedrock of the island. It’s decidedly colder down here too, a mixture of proximity to the water, depth, and lack of sunlight adding an inescapable chill to the stone. Hugo flexes his fingers to chase away the cold feeling, shaking them out as he reaches the end of one of the halls.

He winces when the Song spikes, in tone and volume. It’s so loud down here, meaning…

Varian’s nearby.

There’s a larger, ornate door at the end of the hall. Definitely one of the sitting rooms. He nearly passes it by when he hears voices. Shit.

He should move. Should leave, while he can. If Varian’s in there, then surely so is the princess, or some other part of the nobility Hugo’s out to rob, but the tugging in his chest is too much to ignore. Before he can think better he’s sneaking close to the door, ducking behind a decorative suit of armor just as the voices start to pick up in volume. The Song begins to screech in his ear.

“—isn’t right!” Ah. There’s the princess. She sounds furious.

There’s an awkward pause, before a deep, male voice starts up.

“We don’t have much of a choice—” oh, shit, that’s the King, “—by complying with the Socrians’ demands, we buy ourselves enough time to protect our borders. We’ll have access to more men, more resources.”

“So we just give them what they want without debate? Let them walk all over us?”

“Sunshine—” Fitzherbert is here too? “—I don’t like it either. But it’s not our choice.”

“How is this a choice?! Mom, you agree with me, right?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“We all have to make sacrifices—”

Rapunzel cuts off the queen with a frustrated noise. “None of you are with me on this? Really?”

The Song in Hugo’s head goes shrill with nerves, before a fifth voice begins to speak.

“Rapunzel… it’s okay.” Varian’s voice… damn, he sounds close to tears. Hugo feels a sudden tug, he only just stops himself from moving toward the door. Fuck, he’s an idiot.

“It’s not,” Rapunzel spits. Hugo can hear her pacing. “It’s not, I can’t believe all of you are just going to roll over and let them take whatever they want.”

“It’s a deal, Rapunzel,” Varian mutters. He sounds a little more put together. Frustrated, even. “A trade. We scratch their backs, they scratch ours. Everyone wins.”

“This isn’t winning—”

“Isn’t it?” Varian sounds frosty. Even more so than he had when Hugo was actively bothering him. The Song shudders. “We know what happens if we don’t have enough units to defend ourselves. We’re a trade kingdom, Rapunzel, our most experienced guards are Stan, Pete, and an ex-criminal.”

“Hey—”

You know what I mean, Eugene. I gave you all a run for your money, and I had extremely limited resources. If this goes south, we don’t have the sheer manpower to deal with it. But the Socrians won’t just give aid out of the goodness of their hearts. We have to offer something in return.”

“Then we offer— I don’t know, more gold, different trade route access. Just not that.”

“That is the only thing they were willing to negotiate for. They were allied with Saporia, of course they’re not going to give support to Corona without a little grease in the gears.”

Rapunzel huffs. Hugo hears something fwumph, like someone just dropped onto a couch or chair.

“I’m not going to stop trying,” Rapunzel says. A silence, oppressive enough that even Hugo can feel it, takes over the room behind the door. There’s so much tension—what the hell is even going on?

The Song settles into something melancholy.

“You’ll have to,” Varian says. “They gave us time. We’ve used it.”

“We can ask for more—”

“No, we can’t.”

“We can’t just sit by and let them—”

“Do you think I want this?!” Varian’s voice goes sharp, and the Song goes with it. “Do you think this is the best option to me? Rapunzel, trust me, if there was anything else—”

“I…”

“—Because there isn’t.” Varian huffs out a bitter laugh. “I have been trying to out-think this for a year, we are out of options.”

“Varian.”

“Rapunzel.”

The air goes cold.

Fitzherbert chuckles awkwardly. “Okay, kids, c’mon,” he wheedles, “no need to get upset.”

“How can I not?!” Rapunzel snaps. “This isn’t right, you all know that!”

“But it’s the only chance we have!”

The air stills when Varian shouts. Hugo can hear him huff for breath, even behind the door; the Song screams in his ears. There isn’t so much as a shuffle from the room. The Song flips with a swoop that makes Hugo feel ill, his grip on the wall goes tight. In the creases of his thoughts, it begins to settle into something almost of a lament. Hugo only just has time to vanish into the shadows before footsteps start to make for the door.

He presses back just as Varian wrenches the door open. Light spills into the hallway, stark against the shade. Hugo shrinks into the darkness, hoping beyond hope that he won’t get caught— if he gets arrested, Donella’s sure to kill him. Varian slams the door behind him, chest heaving. The voices continue within, louder now, everyone in the room shouting to be heard over each other.

Varian pauses in the hall, breathing heavily, for what feels like hours. Hugo winces when the Song only seems to get more chaotic, rattling around his skull. Varian’s spine tenses, gloved hands clench into fists; Hugo winces when the shorter teenager lets out a loud yell, whipping a crumpled piece of paper against the wall. He huffs for breath again, this time the gasps are cut off by…

Oh.

Varian sniffles, roughly wiping at his face. Hugo just catches the glint of tears in his eyes, the firelight reflecting off the dampness on his cheeks.

“Fuck,” Varian hisses. His hands shake. The Song wails, and Hugo feels glued to the spot. Varian shuffles his feet, a slow buildup before he’s suddenly sprinting away, vanishing around the corner in a flurry of footsteps. The shouting inside the room goes quiet, before the door snaps open again.

“Varian?” the princess calls, already bolting down the hall after her brother. “Varian, come back! I’m sorry!”

The door’s barely had time to swing shut before she’s gone, following Varian deeper into the castle.

Hugo pauses.

The room has broken its stupor, the voices picking up after the two’s departure. He can hear the king and queen arguing quietly, something about upholding a deal—

But Hugo can’t risk waiting any more. He’s already gotten too close; he’s pushing his luck sticking around with so many people nearby. Varian almost saw him, if Rapunzel had even bothered to look around she surely would have. Hugo forces his stuck legs to move, to get him the hell out of there before he winds up stuck in the dungeons to rot.

The halls of the castle are a blur as he takes the opposite direction from Varian and Rapunzel. Soon enough he feels confident in slowing down, letting himself breathe. He leans against the wall, huffing for breath and trying to calm his racing heart.

All the while, the Song in his Soul screams.

—————♪—————

It’s another few days before anything of note happens. Hugo tries not to let the Song get to him, the constant dramatic wailing Varian projects more than enough to set Hugo’s teeth on edge. He hasn’t heard Varian this upset since they were younger teenagers, when for a full year he’d sent Hugo nothing but anguish.

The blond tries not to let it get to him. Varian looks fine whenever he shows up in the library; he’s still got all four limbs, which Hugo always counts as a win. He’s used to worrying about food, about shelter, about survival; he has trouble imagining what a palace brat has to complain about.

Varian acts just as hostile as usual, refusing to be distracted from his work. Hugo doesn’t let it get to him. He doesn’t.

Varian vanishes eventually, back into whatever pit he hides in when he’s not in the library. Hugo works his internship, stacks the books, tries not to make direct eye contact with Sir Bagley, lest he be drawn into one of the man’s hour-long rants about paper quality or some other inane shit.

And he doesn’t let it get to him.

He’s so busy not letting it get to him, in fact, that he doesn’t realize the princess is following him until she scares the shit out of him.

He’s stacking books. Again. It’s so much fun. He barely registers the pitter-patter of feet behind him until he turns around and comes face-to-too-close-face with Rapunzel herself.

“Hugo!” she crows, the second their eyes meet. Hugo lets out a very manly screech, thank you, and nearly drops his armful of novels.

“Holy shit, what?!” he snaps, before immediately regretting it. Yes, perfect, let’s just curse at the fucking princess, great idea—

“Just the man I wanted to see!” She doesn’t seem to give a shit. Nice. “I have something for you to do.”

Oh hell no. “Sorry,” he holds up the books in his hands, “No-can-do, I’m booked until at least next week.” He can’t be getting too close to the nobles here. He’s supposed to be flying under the radar, drifting along below their notice until it’s time to strike. It’s one thing to jokingly antagonize Varian every once and a while, it’s another to be on a name basis with the bloody princess. Hugo keeps his face steady, praying for her to go away.

Rapunzel purses her lips, drumming her fingers on her arm. “I’m sure Sir Bagley won’t mind—”

“No, I’m really sure he would—”

“—Seeing as I saw him asleep under the desk again.”

Ah. Shit.

Hugo winces, Rapunzel smiles; she knows she’s got him in a box, here.

“Varian was telling me about you,” she says, like that makes any of this better. Fucking Varian. “He said that you helped solve a formula that was giving him trouble.”

Seven hells Hugo’s in so much trouble.

“Well, I— uh, I wouldn’t say solved, just kind of… helped.”

It’s like pulling teeth, having to reel in the ego. He wants to rub it in her face that he’s just as good as her fancy royal engineer, that Hugo is better than them, but he can’t; keeping a low profile is already getting difficult as it is.

Rapunzel’s smile only widens. “Hm,” is all she says, tapping her chin with a finger. “In that case, could you follow me? Like I said, I think I have something you can help with.”

Hugo clears his throat roughly. He’s caught. He knows it. She knows it. But he’s going to do his best to worm out of it if he can, even if it means playing her game for the time being.

“Lead the way,” he mutters.

She smiles, waving for Hugo to follow her. He does, chancing a glance behind the library desk where, just as expected, Sir Bagley is fast asleep. Old bastard. Hugo scoffs, following the princess out the door and into the halls.

Rapunzel leads him further down into the belly of the castle, eventually coming to a large door in the stone walls. They’re still high enough that there’s windows, though they’re nowhere near as big and grand as the ones a few stories up. From behind the door comes a series of banging noises, metal on metal. Like someone’s hammering a bolt into place.

For a second, Hugo thinks of Donella.

Rapunzel swings the door open without knocking, jerking her chin to Hugo in a silent request. He follows her in, blinking at the room beyond.

It’s… well it’s fucking beautiful.

It’s a large space, filled to the brim with machines of every size and shape. They litter the area, all in various states of completion; to the left, a huge row of tables are covered in beakers and flasks, some of them perched over Bunsen burners and glowing every kind of colour imaginable. Large windows line the upper walls, sending sunlight drifting down into the space and keeping it bright. It’s everything Hugo had ever wanted as a kid…

But it comes with one caveat.

Varian, perched on top of the ladder, slams his hammer into one of the bolts, sending it home with one precise hit. He runs his hand over it, inspecting, before smiling. He looks up from his work and sees Rapunzel, lifting his goggles and starting to wave; Hugo can tell the exact second Varian spots him with the way those freckled cheeks screw up in a frown.

“No,” he says flatly. “Nope. Get him out of my lab.”

“Aw, Varian,” Rapunzel coos, only to be cut off as Varian puts his goggles back on.

“I said no bullshit in my lab, that includes him.”

Rapunzel purses her lips, arching a brow and setting her hands on her hips. Hugo can see how Varian rolls his eyes from across the room.

“I thought it might be fun—” Rapunzel starts, ignoring Varian’s groan.

“Sun, give me strength.”

“—if you had someone else around! Don’t you think two heads are better than one?”

Varian grumbles something, probably a curse if the way Rapunzel’s expression twitches. “I think I need quiet,” Varian complains, “so I can focus. Not babysitting.”

He slides down the ladder, his hands and feet gripping the outside of it, so he nearly drops down to the floor. Hugo scoffs, ignoring Varian in lieu of turning to face the princess.

“Not to be a downer, but I already have a job,” he says to her, like that means anything to him. Maker help him, Donella’s going to murder him for being conspicuous enough to draw the attention of not only one, but two of the castle occupants. Hugo grits his teeth; his stupid goddamn ego, getting him in shit again—

“Oh, no, that’s the best part!” Rapunzel claps her hands together, smiling wide. “I spoke to Sir Bagley, he says he’d be happy to let us borrow you for the rest of your contract.”

Ah. Shit.

“No, really,” think, asshole, think, “I appreciate the offer, but… uh… I’m allergic to—” he glances around, sees that Varian’s pet has rolled over, “—raccoons!”

Varian finally arrives, leaning back against a worktable. “Really?” he asks, crossing his arms and raising a brow. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Oh sweetheart, I’m not joking,” Hugo forces a smile onto his face, even as the Song snaps in irritation at the nickname, “it’s the dander, stuffs me right up.” He even feigns a sneeze, before side-eying the princess. Rapunzel doesn’t seem to be buying it.

“We can get you an allergy tonic,” she grins.

Varian scoffs, pushing himself until he’s fully sitting on the table. Hugo notes, with a distracted sense of humor, that his legs swing, too short to reach the ground.

“I don’t need an assistant,” Varian says flatly, “and I don’t want an assistant. Put him back where he came from, Rapunzel. He may have solved one formula, but I doubt he’d be able to keep up.”

Well, hey—

“Too late!” Rapunzel sing-songs, “I already got the approval! It’s either him or Lance.”

Hugo has to repress a flinch when the Song goes sharp.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Varian hisses. He leans forward at the waist, scowling and shoving a finger in Rapunzel’s face. She only smiles, obviously amused.

“Oh, I already have,” she says, pleased with herself. “You’re all by yourself down here, this is for your own good. You need more company!”

“I have Ruddiger—”

“Company that can talk. And you know things are going to get busier. You might need the extra hands.”

Varian pauses, before dropping his finger. “He’s still going to get in my way, I’m too busy down here; adding another person is just going to make things more complicated.”

Hugo can’t help it, he scoffs. Uppity prick. It’s definitely the wrong move— Varian’s head snaps to him before Hugo can so much as blink.

“Can I help you?” he snaps.

“No, no, carry on,” Hugo snickers, “since you’re so threatened by the idea of me. It’s cute.”

The Song ramps up again, a crescendo of offense and embarrassment. Hugo keeps his face carefully smug, especially as Varian hops off the table and gets just a pinch too close.

“Listen, I know you think you’re funny—”

“I do, thank you.”

“—But I don’t want an assistant. And I don’t need one, either. I’m not going to babysit you.”

Hugo feels his fingers twitch. “Oh, really?” he asks, leaning forward and making his height a little more pronounced. “Corona’s great royal engineer is nervous to get shown up in his own lab, is that it? Worried I’ll have to solve more basic math for you?” He regrets it for a second, his big stupid mouth picking fights, but admittedly watching Varian go cherry red is a fun all its own, so he leans closer. “Are you scared, goggles?”

Varian puffs up like a pissed off cat. Freckled cheeks screw up into a scowl, baby blue eyes narrow into a glare. It’s not threatening in the slightest.

“You know what?” he spits, “Fine, we can see how long you last in my neck of the woods. It’s a bit more intense than stacking books all day, but hey, if you think you can handle it…”

“Oh, I know I can.” Shit, wait, this isn’t part of the plan.

Varian leans back, a challenging air to his glare. “Fine.” He turns to Rapunzel, who looks a little more nervous now that she’s seen them in the same room. Varian isn’t going to let her off the hook, though. “We’ll see how long he lasts.” The shorter teen laughs then, something with a mean edge.

The princess winces but slaps a smile on her face either way. Hugo can almost admire her dedication. If he wasn’t the one getting thrown under the bus.

“Great!” she gives them a double thumbs up, backing away. “You two have fun, but play nice!” She hits the doorframe, standing awkwardly. When neither of them moves, she slumps a bit. “Just give it a try, you might have fun! And make a new friend!”

Hugo hits her with a flat stare. Just out of the corner of his eye, he sees Varian do the same. She sighs, throwing her hands up. “Just don’t kill each other,” she pleads.

“No promises,” Varian says bluntly. Hugo can’t help but snort, slouching on the same table Varian is. The Song flickers with amusement, before settling back into the usual flinty irritation. Rapunzel winks, vanishing out the door with a casual wave.

There’s a beat of silence, the two of them sitting side by side on the table. As if to make a point, Hugo lets his feet sit flat on the floor while Varian’s swing. It’s awkward to say the least; Varian goes statue still for a second more, before hopping down and shaking his head.

“Alright,” he says, “alright. I can’t believe you convinced me to do this. Why am I doing this, I didn’t agree—”

He keeps muttering, turning on his heel and leaving the table behind. Hugo watches him go, tilting his head as Varian hits the center of the room. The shorter teen spins again, pointing toward different sections of the lab.

“Chemicals,” he starts to list, moving his hand with each label. “Welding supplies. Raw materials. Drafting tables. Alchemical instruments…” he trails off, before pointing to where a large pillow, and a few other little bits and bobs are. “…Ruddiger’s corner.”

Sure enough it’s got a bunch of blankets, what looks like a cat tree, and a small plate with apple slices lovingly arranged on top. Cute. The raccoon in question flips over on his pillow, yawning widely. Beady eyes fix on Hugo for a moment before Ruddiger lets out a sigh, falling asleep once more.

Hugo settles back on the table, taking note of everything. This is a… wrench, in the works. But he can make it work, right? So, he’s stuck with the annoying bastard that supposedlythe Song wants for him; at least this way he can keep his alchemy skills sharp, and his mechanical skills even sharper. This can work, with a little bit of effort.

“So,” he starts, watching as Varian begins to climb back up the ladder. “What are we working on?”

“I,” Varian starts, “am working on an adaptation of something I made a few years ago. It’s an early warning system.”

“It looks like a chicken.” Hugo smiles when Varian glares at him. The smirk holds, until Varian rolls his eyes. The Song trills in amusement, in stark contrast to the grumpy look on Varian’s face.

“It was an… unwelcome redesign,” he says. “It’s fine like this, but I want it to be ready if something happens.”

Hugo scoffs. “Right, like Corona needs early warnings.”

Varian pauses, mid swing on his hammer. “What does that mean?” he asks, looking honestly curious. Hugo leans his head back, focusing on Varian upside down.

“Corona’s notorious for never bothering with outside politics.” He shrugs, playing it off. “You’re all too caught up in your own drama to bother with the nitty-gritty of everyone else.” Even Koto, a place rampant with crime and inside corruption, coups, and civil unrest every waking hour, paid more attention to the other members of the Seven Kingdoms than Corona did.

Oddly enough, all Varian replies with is a humorless chuckle. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he mutters, swinging his hammer down a little harder than necessary. Hugo’s reminded of the conversation he’d overheard, of deals and running out of time. The nosy bastard in him wants to ask. The smart bastard in him knows better.

“Either way,” Hugo flips around, focusing ahead. “It looks like a chicken.”

Varian, oddly enough, snorts. He leans back a bit, focusing on it. “Yeah,” he sighs, “it does.”

Hugo wants to say something else. To hear the Song trill again, to feel it swell. He hates that he wants it.

Instead he flops into a chair, kicks his feet up on a table. Varian scoffs. An easy silence takes over the lab, only broken up by the methodical beat of Varian’s hammer, in tune with the rhythm in Hugo’s skull.

For a second, the Song settles into something warm and comforting.

For just a second, Hugo lets himself be content.

[silkentragedies]

A boyfriend sounds good, but…

Non idol! Jung Wooyoung x fem! Reader

3.1k words, Highly suggestive at best, making out, FLUFF, E2L vibes, College AU

Warnings: Mentions of STDs, making out. ( This is so self-indulgent it’s horrible lmao- also, not explicit at all.)

This piece of fiction does not reflect the actions of the real-life Jung Wooyoung. Not meant for minors. 

College was supposed to be late night parties and hurried submissions, overdosing on caffeine and woefully unedited essay compilations. College was supposed to be hellish hangovers and greasy weekend brunches in bed, helter-skelter running to part-time jobs and missing classes with snoozed alarms.

You got all of that, of course, but you also got one thing you didn’t ask for, in fact, wished beyond wishes that it wouldn’t happen but of course, your guardian angel was up to some mischief: You got yourself an archenemy.

Jung fucking Wooyoung.

It all started off small, of course; bumping into each other rather violently in the hallways on orientation day ended with your coffee on the floor. Minor detail- his phone had also dropped on the floor.

You apologized profusely- he seemed like an upperclassman with his leather jacket, slim but solid build, a head of double-toned hair and oh were those tattoos peeking out of his collar- no point in causing a ruckus on the first day. You even offered to pay for the damage. 

And then he opened his mouth. 

“Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

The sheer annoyance in his tone rubbed you the wrong way- obviously you had to respond, you weren’t the only one at fault- 

“Sorry, but you weren’t watching where you were going either. So don’t tout the blame to me-”

“Oh, whatever, just keep your money. I can get it fixed myself.”

The audacity of this bi-

“Good for you then, because my offer is off the table now, pretty boy.” 

A smirk curled up his lip- “You think I’m pretty?”

“About as pretty as a skunk, especially with that hair.”

You had to tamp down the urge to childishly stick your tongue out at his bemused, mildly annoyed expression before walking past him.

 Lamenting the loss of your morning coffee, you hurried your way to the orientation venue. At Least he was an upperclassman. Thankfully you wouldn’t have to deal with him-

“Did you see that hot guy in the leather jacket and that black-blonde hair ?”

Fuck’s sake. 

“His name’s Jung Wooyoung and apparently all the upperclassmen already have an eye on him. He’s in our major so we really lucked out, hot guys-wise.”

Fuck’s sake.

Surely you could just avoid him and pretend he didn’t exist?

But no.

Jung fucking Wooyoung turned out to be the apple of the campus’ eye in a matter of 2 weeks. He was as new to the university as the rest of you and yet, managed to look more put together, cooler than the rest of you still struggling to figure out class numbers and professor names.

He was the upperclassmen darling- people drooled over him, wanted to befriend him, and invite him to all the big parties…

and fuck- even the teachers were already wrapped around his infuriating pinky finger. They allowed him to waltz into class 25 minutes late, smile his infuriating innocent smile and chill in the back row, scot fucking free.

A month in, he’d gotten into the Dance Club too-  cementing his legendary status in the university. It was unheard of, after all, for a freshman to get into the unattainable Dance Club in his first attempt. 

You happened to visit one of the club’s performances one weekend and even you couldn’t ignore the sheer talent he radiated. It only infuriated you more to watch Wooyoung hog the stage’s spotlight with almost no effort- all perfect lines, sharp and clean movements…

It’s fine, you could still ignore his existence

But no.

Another thing about Jung Wooyoung- he found sick pleasure in annoying the living daylights out of you. 

It was so juvenile, so high-school, so immature of him- sticking gum in your hair, snapping your bra strap, kicking the back of your chair, striking up nonsense debates with you in class…

And then he had the nerve to laugh in your face when you glared at him with hellfire in your eyes because you were too polite to lash out in front of a professor.

Of course, you exhibited no such restraint outside the classroom.

“You vs Woo” was a commonplace explanation for the commotions that blazed up in the campus courtyard every other day. You were like wolves, the way you snarled at each other, not hesitating to slash at each other with as many cutting words as you could find. 

This went on for months, an entire semester marred by an enmity that seemed to stem from nothing- until one day, mister Jung Wooyoung really fucked up.

“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? FACE ME, YOU COWARDLY WORM!” Your angry yelling and thudding on the door had Wooyoung’s roommates Yeosang and… Choi San? running to open the door to their shared dorm room. 

You barged into Wooyoung’s room, unplugging the game he was playing. “What the fuck-”

“You dirty fucking bastard. You shameless shitstain of a fucking human being-” 

Slap. Wooyoung reeled back. In all this time, you’d never actually hit out at him physically. It had always been words. Maybe this time he crossed a line?

“You told Changbin I had a fucking STD. THE GALL OF YOU-” You lashed out at him with every few words, pushing Wooyoung further back against the back wall of his room. 

“How fucking dare you make assumptions about me like that. you lowlife scumbag.” You snarled in his face, now having him trapped between you and the wall.

You were smaller than him by quite a bit- it was almost amusing to see Wooyoung cowering in front of you, lowkey terrified of what you’d throw at him next. 

“Okay okay, fuck, I’m sorry!” He burst out finally, cutting you right across your angry rant. “I didn’t mean it like that!! I swear, I didn’t even know you were the one he was talking about. And I only told him to be safe from STDs, not that anybody had one.”

“What makes you think I’ll believe you, Jung,” You screeched. “You’ve always been a dick in general to me. I wouldn’t put it past you to say something like that and lie to my face about it.”

You back away, almost disgusted at being so close to him, “Seriously, dude. Get fucked.” Flipping him off before leaving, you turn around to look at him still standing where you’d backed him up to, an evil glint in your eye.

“It will be so fucking unfortunate if somebody told the campus gossip blog you had erectile dysfunction and your hookups were all fake.”

\

Safe to say, Wooyoung never made digs at your sexual activity again.

Neither did he have much sexual activity of his own for a while. Not that there was much sexual activity in your case either.

Maybe it was that exact…starvation that led Wooyoung to behave the way he did.

What was juvenile teasing became more… flirtatious?

Oh gods, what the fucking fuck is going on-

Suddenly, it wasn’t gum in your hair, it was soft whispers against your ear, breath warm against your cheek

It wasn’t kicking the back of your chair, it was leaning in front of you to fistbump Lee Felix on the other side of you until you could smell his intoxicating chocolate-honey-sweat scent.

He’d taken to taking his leather jacket off and sitting through classes (he still turned up late for) in a muscle t shirt that showed off his toned arms- 

All of his movements now seemed to be designed to tease the crawling under your skin you hadn’t been able to quench recently-

Not that you were a serial hookup kinda person, but you’d been fairly sexually active until semester exams and Wooyoung’s rumors had brought around quite a dry spell for you.

It was like every action of his sparked something wildfire hot in your head, tension stringing your senses into overdrive- were you imagining it?

Wooyoung was having some troubles with said crawling under-skin himself. 

Since when did you wear skinny jeans like that to class? Did you always have such a pretty neck, just waiting to get marked up? Did you always have that sway to your hips when you walked out of class?

The forced abstinence was doing bad things to him. 

It did rather amuse him, however, when he could see your breath catch a little from his murmurings in your ear, or squirm in your seat when he spoke to Felix before the professor arrived. It was the little things, truly. 

You still fought like a cat and dog though- there was no way the two of you would ever let on that your scope of noticing each other had gone beyond annoyance and rivalry a while ago. 

//

“Fuck no. I’m not doing this fucking project with you. It’s worth half the fucking grade and you’re a numbskull when it comes to this subject.”

“Like I want to deal with you anymore than I have to, sweetheart. You’re pretentious enough in class as it is.” 

Fate really loved playing the cliche card with you- of course you got paired up with Wooyoung for one of your semester projects. 

No, it definitely wasn’t the teacher that saw you two glaring more at each other more than the whiteboard and decided to take matters into her own hands.

Of fucking course the teacher refused to allow switching of partners or individual grading- it had to be a team effort or you’d both fail the subject. As a team. Yippee-ki fucking yay.

So you two ended up in the library at 11 p.m, two nights before your first check point review, having procrastinated the fuck out of working together until the last possible minute.

Amidst cursing at each other and cups of ramen and iced americano, the two of you found yourself stuck with each other and attempting to build the basis of an acceptable report to present. 

Surprisingly enough, Wooyoung wasn’t entirely a lost cause when it came to the subject. He actually made sizable contributions to the report. He even got you some coffee on his break, despite the jibes and taunts you threw at him about going soft- you were the type to hold a grudge.

You were both wandering down the shelves in the library, looking for more references when Wooyoung decided to open his big mouth again.

“You do realize that shitty rumor you put out didn’t really mess with my prospects, right?” Wooyoung was so full of shit. “If anything, I’d be worried about you, sweetheart.”

There it was again. Sweetheart. Another of those taunting things that just riled you up in all the wrong(right) ways. It was like he knew everything you would go weak for and then shamelessly exploited them all.

“Unlike you, Wooyoung, I don’t need people to stroke my ego…or anything else. I can get myself going just fine.”

“If you did know how to stroke anybody’s anything, sweetheart, you wouldn’t have trouble getting some.”

Ohhh, so he wants to play some games!!! Okay then-

You reached out to flick at his ponytail, ever-so slightly enamoured by how well he pulled off the double-toned look.

“Like you know anything about how to please in bed, babe.” 

It was unfair how much that nickname falling from your lips affected Wooyoung. Some…not very appropriate thoughts had already taken root in his brain and you running your mouth was not helping at all. 

“Good enough for them to beg, sweetheart.” 

A soft crow of laughter escaped you as you turned to fully face him, the both of you standing between the Greek Architecture and Geography sections.

“You sure you weren’t the one doing the begging?” 

“Oh, really now?”

You really should’ve thought through what was leaving your mouth 

Because now you were wedged between the shelves and Wooyoung’s (unfairly) toned body, his arms caging you in with that signature shit-eating grin on his face as he leaned closer to you- 

The tension was almost atrocious now, suffocating you when it had only previously nudged at you. You could feel it settle under your skin, in your veins, fingers itching to reach out and pull him closer 

But you kept your hands braced against the shelves- you would not give him the satisfaction of making the first move yourself…right? 

Fuck, you really wanted to though- 

It had be the late hour leaving you with lesser inhibitions than normal or possibly the pent up horny in your system or maybe the questionable direction your conversation was headed in

There was no other plausible reason for your arch nemesis’ lips to look that inviting

It must’ve been the way your attention flitted from his eyes to his lips that gave you away, a momentary lapse of self-control before you looked away, off to some point behind his shoulders-

And he smirk only widens

“You know, nobody really visits this corner of the library.”

“Your point?”

Both your voices were whispers now, your bodies close enough to touch but not quite, Wooyoung’s face a few inches away from yours and holding your gaze 

(He had honey flecks in those dark eyes, 7 on one side and 4 on the other, like gold leaf in coffee)

“We could easily find out who begs for who…”

He still hadn’t touched you yet, his hands placed on the shelf on either side of you- you could move out from the space if you so wished-

Despite the tension between the both of you, it seemed like… like he was waiting for you to make the first move, voice your consent, act on it 

How considerate, you thought to yourself as you let your sight wander to either side, checking for people 

Surprising you found Jung Wooyoung’s one possible redeeming quality like this, mind hazy and barely restraining yourself from kissing the living daylights out of him- 

Oh well, fuck it

A soft sound left Wooyoung as you curled your hand around the back of his neck and pulled his face to yours, lips meeting in a soft, hesitant kiss

How dare he be a good kisser too?

One hand reached up to cup your cheek and you instinctively tilted your head into the warmth of his palm as the kiss deepened

Unfair that he could take your breath away so effortlessly

There was nothing hesitant about the way Jung wooyoung kissed you back

Lips pressing more persistently against yours, teeth grazing your lower lip and pulling slightly before diving in again, hand now curled around the back of your neck

His other hand caressed your side and gripped your hips as he pressed you gently against the shelves, your arm slipping down to clutch at the front of his shirt as his body molded all too perfectly against yours

You could feel him everywhere

Everywhere 

From the way his lips had begun to land messy kisses against your jaw and neck, the hand on your hip tightening and slipping under your shirt to clutch at soft skin, hips flush against yours 

You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from Wooyoung, your head spinning at the intoxicating feeling he brought with him 

The sensation of his mouth against your neck was almost euphoric, your head lolling back against the books and leaving you to pull your lower lip between your teeth, an almost futile feeling bid to keep silent, you’re still in public

Somehow your hands wound up in his hair, pulling the double-toned strands as his head dipped lower, a quiet groan from Wooyoung your only pointer that he liked it

So this is why he was so sure of himself, your mind temporarily blanking when Wooyoung’s teeth pulled against the sensitive skin, biting and sucking gently

A choked, uneven sound escaped your mouth when he pushed you harder against the shelves, hand reaching lower to squeeze your butt-

A smirk lit up his eyes as he straightened up to look at the line of red- blue blooming across your neck, then at you, cheeks warm and still biting your lip, looking resolutely away from his gaze

“Weren’t we supposed to be working on the project?” 

This little buzzkill.

//

You didn’t work on the project that night

You spent it in Wooyoung’s bedroom, getting railed within an inch of your life.

Not without the lack of the both of you being absolutely unable to keep your hands off each other on the way there 

Between the library and his dorm, you pulled or got pulled into shady alleys and corners for ‘another taste’ 

“Never again.” You warned him when he dropped you off at your dorm, you looking windswept from the wind of course and his hoodie up because of the cold not because his neck was more purple than tan-

Lies.

Your daytime dynamic remained the same 

But now with added benefits- 

He got to corner you after class, feel you up until you were gasping his name and then leave you hanging 

You got to make brazen moves under the table in the library whenever he got too snarky for his own good

He could ask nicely, you learnt. Broken groans and choked-up sounds would escape him when you ran your nails over his skin, soft and sharp and wanting and unyielding as you kissed your way down his body

Down his neck, over his chest, the hard planes of his stomach 

He would plead for more when you sucked him off, bucking his hips closer to you everytime you slowed down or stopped

Find him at the right time, though and he could just as easily return the favour

He would tease you relentlessly, hands ghosting everywhere dangerous and then pulling away just to watch you squirm and make grabby hands at him, a frown marring your kiss- swollen lips 

Leave conspicuous marks too high up on your neck for you to cover, dark enough for a day or two that even makeup left shadows

Spending a long, long time between your legs only to get up and start dressing, claiming to be late for class

Quickies were your religion at this point 

Janitors closets locked and hand covering your mouth to muffle your moans before a dance competition, empty bedrooms in frat parties with one of you getting pushed onto the bed

It was an infernal coupon from hell : Find one archrival, get a fuck buddy free of cost!

Of course, there were side effects

“Did you just walk out of that empty classroom with Jung Wooyoung? After class hours?” “We were studying for the midterms!!”

“Uh.. Wooyoung, who was that leaving the dorm building? at 1 in the morning?” “uh yEAH WE WERE DOING THE PROJECT YEAH.”

Yeah, a boyfriend sounds nice but an archenemy you can make out with in secret sounds ravishingly pleasing-

When the boy in question is a certain young man with double toned hair with a penchant for leather jackets and out-of-line snark, you couldn’t agree more.

Yes, this is a revamp and repost from my main account xD. Like I said, this was self indulgence to the peak 😩 I'm a tad whipped for snarky boy Jung Wooyoung 😀

Do lemme know what you think ^_^. xoxo, A💕

Possibly interested parties: @aliceu​ @whiteprincessofnohr​

(drop me an ask to be added or removed! )

[themanicgalaxy]

SPN 6X18 Frontierland

I'm sorry, what the FUCk?

ooo good old fashioned showdown

DEAN?

what

oh that's a FUN OPENING CREDIT THOUGH

48 hours and 150 years later ahahaha

see no one talks about this but it looks fun so I'm scared

ah yes using Samuel's old library

ooo old photos

ah yes Research

phoenix

aww Sam laughed at Dean's quip

oh my god Samuel Colt's journal

aww DEAN'S SO EXCITED

"get your own"

"we'll star trek IV this bitch" SIR YOU'RE SUCH A NERD

OH MY GOD WHY DOES HE KNOW IT SO WELL

not Cas??

ah he sent a PA

please do not be weird about it

goddammit

no you are not his friend

yeah their relationship with Cas is kinda :(

aw Cas is here

"um about your plan" sHAHHA

"a series of partial differential equations" AHAHAHA

yeah ok fine a ticking time clock that's standard

DEAN IS SO EXCITED

oh my god he does have a fetish

HE had a crush on clint eastwood

DEAN IS HAVING SO MUCH FUN

THIS IS SO CUTE

that zoom in on the clock makes me sad Something's gonna happen

what the hell is happening to cas

ok so I catch up and then we go to the iconic man who would be king

tell me what happened

"you know what that is" *sam begins to bitch* "-Authenticity"

he's SO HAPPY

Sam actually doesn't do well when he's thrust into something else, Dean does. Dean wants escape, Sam wants control

ah

ah jeez

aw Sammy Colt

aw he was so happy about his blanket

HE INTRODUCES HIMSELF AS CLINT EASTWOOD

WALKER TEXAS RANGER

SADFIAHSDFAPSI AHAAHAHAHH

AHAHAAHAHAHAHAAHAH

AHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA

MAN JUST WANTS TO PLAY OUT HIS FANTASIES

Spaghetti westerns were made in fucking italy dean of course they're not accurate

Sam smiling is also nice to see

the beauty standards were a lil bit different back then mate

that implication is Creepy

the sarsaparilla as a joke went the wrong way huh

...he's in a charred husk?

ah of course, monsters exist back then too

ah the person who got hanged

so more than just to set the tone, was also a part of the plot

"I love posse" AHAHAHAH

"make that into a t shirt"

very clever guys

AHAHA GO RIDE HORSES

ah yes left side

"that poor horse" AHAHAH

OO THE NICE SHOT

ah the horse knows

what makes a pheonix

what did he do?

WHY DID SHE GO STRAIGHT TO MURDER

HE KILLED HER?

oh no not the angel wing death shots

like those are so cool but Cas :(

noooo CASSS

AW CAS HAS HUMAN FRIENDS HE CAN GO TO

HE JUST COLLAPSES INTO BOBBY :((((

...dEan

Black trencoat

Dean

DEAN

here you get to be sheriff now

o H h h that's the opening scene

ah shti the dmeons

and devil's gate

mans had NO chill

he was so proud of that hat shot

I liked that hat shot

he's so excited

ahaha gank didn't exist as a slang term back then

Dean convinces the other bit of bait

oh my god and hunter doesn't exist as a term either

HIS PHONE AS PROOF OF 2011 OH

damn Sam just STRAIGHT up plays the future card

"there's no getting out" oop

"oh, that gun" heh

oh he's lying

heh Sam DEDUCED the demons :)

ah a soul

I LOVE BOBBY

ope there's the ghost

Iron?

ah he was going for his wife

and he killed his wife

man didn't die because monster

"so I gotta kill you" come on Dean have you learned nothing

"whoa I should have seen that coming"

aw Bobby

the SHOTS AHAHAAH

ABSOLUTELY NO HESITATION

YEAHHH

yes it's a problem it romanticizes violence I don't care

"yippee kay yay mother-"

no

GODDAMMIT

both Bobby and Cas are EXHAUSTED

COME THRUUU SAMUELLLLL

HOLY SHITTTT

they're all so sad and then it's the burnt up phone

thingamajig

THEY GOT IT

OH MY GOD

AHAHAHAAH

SOULONOSCOPY

this was GREAT ok

1. BOTH DEAN AND SAM GOT THEIR LITTLE MOMENTS. Dean with the iron and the human connections, Sam with the sulfur. Also, their difference to being in the past. Sam wanted to get the job done, he wasn't happy, but he impressed Samuel Colt with his hunting ability. He played up from the future, he was business first, and he wants out of hunting only when he's in control. Meanwhile Dean will take escape readily each time it's presented to him(maybe because he feels as though it's the only way out, and he doesn't know how to voluntarily leave?). He also 100% immerses himself into Not Hunting(first chance of escape), while Sam has slowly drifted into "I'm a hunter, no way out, this is my life now"

2. also kinda in the same vein, both of them had their moments, and both of them got to be a lil embarrassed. Not a lot, mostly a positive for both of them, but they got a lil bit of the other.

3. Cas having a support system for Whatever he did (please tell me what that is soon), being humans not connected to the conflict is so good. Especially Bobby, who just kinda...takes it and helps him and it's very nice. I wish we got a bit more of that, it would be a soldi way to keep Cas in story.

4. Dean is like. A grade A nerd. the man ONLY Communicates in forms of media. It's honestly absolutely adorable. Like boy he was SO Excited, he went all in, it was so cute and know, because of parasocial bonds, I was happy cuz he was happy, yk?

also it's nice having someone be allowed to be excited about something

5. also the cinnamon topography? was very nice this episode

6. that Colt thing at the end made me so happy, he was such a cool and complex old retired hunter man

[nancypullen]

Soggy Solstice

Good thing I didn’t pan to celebrate the summer solstice by dancing nekkid in a meadow or anything because it rained all day.  I’m not complaining about that one bit because we really needed the rain.  It was a lovely, steady, restful rain - more than a drizzle less than a deluge.  I know the gardens were slurping up the water. It almost seems like the very best way to welcome summer, by helping green things flourish. I like it. Because it was a rainy day, I spent most of my time inside.  I did do a little porch sittin’ with a good book for a while, but most of my time was in the house.  B-O-R-I-N-G. All of that time on my hands and I didn’t get a whole lot done. I puttered. I did make a pot of vegetable soup, did one load of laundry, tidied a bit...and then wasted the day. Oh wait! It wasn’t all wasted - I did a physical therapy session!  My insurance offers telehealth PT so I thought I’d take advantage of it for my issues.  I signed up, filled out a long form with my ailments, then had a phone call with a physical therapist who set up my program, and they shipped me a kit.  Inside the kit was a tablet, some motion sensors that I strap on my chest and my hips, and chargers for all of it.  Today was my first session and it was great, I could feel the difference, but....I can’t keep the damn cat from batting at the screen and moving me on to the next exercise.  Phoebe was fascinated with the lady on the screen and no matter where I moved it the floor the counter, whatever, she was right there.

This...  

looked like this most of the time.

I guess I’ll have to do it in a bedroom with the door locked.  Still, it felt great and if it works I’ll be very happy.  Even better, my insurance considers this preventative for chronic pain management so it’s FREE.  Yippee! Just wait, I’ll be as good as new in no time. Look for me on the streets.

When I tidied up today I wondered if anyone else keeps a basket of reading glasses by their bed.

I don’t wear prescription glasses, but my old lady eyes do get tired by the end of the day.  I read in bed so I have a wardrobe of cheap eyeglasses nearby. The last time I had my peepers checked the doctor sort of rolled his eyes at that, but didn’t scold me.  I’m terrified of needing glasses. They’re expensive and I know I’d sit on them, drop them, or lose them.  I mean, I guess the idea is to keep them on your face so none of that happens, but I’m not taking any chances. I’ll keep buying cute specs at Target and Amazon until I can’t anymore.

I’ll tell you what I did see - some cute crafts at Artisans on the Choptank last week. I was on sort of a scouting mission to see if anyone was selling wares similar to what I make.  Nope.  The next event is in mid-September so I might give it a whirl.  It’s a really cool chance for local makers to show and sell their stuff.  It’s down by the water at Wharves of the Choptank Visitor Center and there’s usually live music and a couple food trucks.  I really liked what I saw there -  a nice variety and all of it really interesting and well-made.  I met a super fun lady who had a booth and we chatted a lot.  I wanted to take her home with me, but she probably just wanted to make a sale.  She did.  I bought a keychain made of wood beads and a tassel. The disk it what sold it for me.

Yeah, I’m too old for an Eminem joke but it still makes me giggle. I think the fact that I have a loyalty tag for my local grocery and my library card on that keychain makes me a total gangsta.

They see me rollin’. They hatin’.

My jokes aren’t even current. How old is that song?  Fifteen, twenty? Yikes. It’s time for me to go upstairs and take a bath.  I’ll grab a pair of my basket glasses and read a good book.  I picked up two at the library yesterday, so I have high hopes.

Take care of yourselves, sweethearts. Do something that’s good for your soul every day, even if it’s just for ten minutes. Those minutes add up. I read poetry. Sometimes I come across a poem that hits right in the heart and I think about it all day. For you it might be turning your face to the sunshine, taking a dance break, or making a quick sketch of something.  Okay, sure, it could also be exercise,  a quick ten minutes walk used to revive me mid-afternoon at work.  Sometimes just a lap around the building is enough to recharge.  You get the idea - take care of yourself, body and spirit.   Off to a bubble bath I’ll see you soon. Stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy

[technewsapk-blog]

Latest Technology News, Mobile Phones

Vidmate apk latest version download This relative newcomer, in the past known as FreeDrive, is a piece of IMDb, the Internet Movie Database, which is claimed by Amazon. As such, IMDb TV is Amazon's method for  offering promotion upheld motion picture gushing autonomous of Amazon Prime. What's more, it's not restricted to films; there are TV demonstrates accessible too. Sadly, there's a truly significant survey confinement.

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