#the fiddliness people always bring up

[anditendshowyoudexpect]

finally had my first proper SotM session with the easiest characters a few days ago, most definitely overlooked some stuff and did something wrong, but who cares, anything goes with solo play and i had a blast

at this rate i think all character combos from the two huge boxes will last me a lifetime, and there's no point in getting more, right? RIGHT?

[oopsimbug]

in which… y/n is stubborn, and harry is still an asshole

a.k.a. regency harry pt. 2

a/n: gah… i literally dont know what to say… how about: oh my god i am so sorry for taking so long! school, two jobs, a lack of inspiration and literally hating my own writing made sure i was unable to post for an entire YEAR AND FIVE MONTHS!!!! i DEEPLY apologise. i hope this is alright? let me know what you think! and yes, there WILL be a third part, hopefully out before the earth is enveloped by the sun?

pairing: regency era! harry styles x reader, enemies to lovers

summary: again, think little women, but with you instead of jo and harry instead of laurie… but harry is an asshole… a RELENTLESS asshole

warnings: harry is still a GIANT ass, all enemies no lovers, lots of really mean things said to each other, they literally truly hate one another like i have my work cut out for me trying to redeem this couple :’)

word count: 10.8k (smaller than my first chapter, but god did i struggle getting over the 9k mark… i literally hate myself)

read part one here!!

Money…

It was what made the world spin around. 

Unfortunately, the L/ns did not have as much of it as they used to. 

This was why, when their mother needed money to visit their father, who fell very ill, Y/n set out to find a job.

Replacing her mother at her job in the nurse's office wasn’t going to work- she was horrible with sitting still for too long. Besides, her hands were far too shaky to hold silly little fiddly needles. No, there was no chance she would do that. 

She could try to get a job at a shop- a bakery possibly? But no, she had little patience for old people, who were always either very interesting and passionate, which she loved, or very snooty and cold, which she despised with every cell of her being- and unfortunately, the majority of customers were the elderly, who shopped when they had nothing else to do during the day, and they were predominantly of the latter kind. 

Y/n was positively puzzled- stupendously stumped and magnificently muddled. She knew she was talented, but what job would she fulfill that would be of use and make a substantial pay? She pondered that all morning as she completed her chores- tending to the animals and picking up more wood. Once inside, she stoked the fire, made two cups of tea and sat at the dining table. 

“Saf!” she called to her sister upstairs. “Bring your packet and come to the table- it’s 9:30!”

At the age of 13, girls were forced to graduate school. Ma and Y/n, who didn’t believe this was enough of an education, devised a plan- once graduated, the L/n girls would do tutoring sessions with Y/n, who was passionate and proficient in all areas of English, which was what the girls would require the most to function in the world. She would also help with arithmetic- though it was not her strong point, she was confident in the skills they would probably need. Safia was under the tutoring of Y/n, as would Ula the next year. 

As she waited for the pitter-patter of Saf’s feet down the stairs, she thought to herself. Unfortunately, all natural thoughts seemed to lead in the same direction lately- all pertaining to a certain tall and lanky individual with brown hair. She was not moping, that was for sure- Y/n did not mope. She was not even upset about him choosing a different woman over her- that was a fleeting insecure thought held only in the heat of the moment that night. No, she was mad. Furious, in fact. How dare he- how dare he?! He strung her along, purposefully got her hopes up for the mere sake of making fun of her- he embarrassed her and then had the utter gall to smirk and wink about it afterwards! Y/n always had a temper, but this was anger on a whole different level. This was searing, hot, burning, blood-red vexation. Her hands began to ball into fists- she wanted to hit something, break something, hurt him and only him. 

However, before she could fantasise about all the ways she would cause him pain, she felt a soft arm on her shoulder. She must’ve been caught in a trance, unable to hear her sister come down the stairs and call her name once she reached the bottom and found Y/n unresponsive, as Safia’s face held deep concern, eyebrows knit together as she repeated her question. 

“Are you okay, Y/n?” her tentative and soft voice carefully asked, placing a hand on her forehead to check her temperature, ever the sweetheart. “You’re not feeling ill, are you? I know Liz was rid of her sickness a few weeks ago, but it may have lingered around the house.”

She smiled up at her younger sister, who moved her hand to feel her cheek, after finding no suspiciously hot temperature on her forehead. She shook her head and let out a small laugh, all of the rage for him leaving her thoughts. 

“I’m okay Saf… just thinking…” she replied honestly. She was just thinking… thinking of how she would pelt that damned boy with logs of firewood. Or maybe she should let Flynn at him- she had already told the Clydesdale of what had happened. Maybe he could stomp him down till he quivered and shook with fear, begging both of them for forgiv-

“Thinking about what?” Her sister’s voice pulled her out of her reverie once again.

Y/n looked up at her face, smiled brightly, pulled out the adjacent chair and patted it lovingly, before replying with a jolly tone.

“Nothing that you should worry about… Now, are you ready to venture into the world of Hedda Gabler?”

Her sister smiled sweetly before sitting down, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Of course I am!”

“Great! Because today, we are going to be analysing gender and how it influences power within our passage!” Y/n was always so excited to teach her about the books, poems and plays that she liked- there was no way she would teach her sister boring and dull theory, or pieces that only reflected a man’s perspective. No, she had an opportunity to open her sister’s mind and hopefully make a lasting impact on it- one that encouraged her to pursue her dreams without needing the opinion or permission from a man. And she wasn’t going to waste it. 

“Now, open to our bookmarked page, and let’s begin…”

*****

After finishing classes, Y/n got dressed and ran out the door before her sisters could follow her, unable to take all of them to the village on Flynn, and not wanting to upset anyone. She buckled the saddle into place and hopped on before riding the path all the way to town. After tying Flynn up with hay and water, she straightened out her dress and apron and began walking, dodging men who gave her glances of annoyance for her slightly messy loose hair, mussed on the fast journey on the Clydesdale. She had bigger things to worry about, despite what Liz would say…

She was picking up some lemons from the market, which Ula insisted on getting, convinced that they were necessary to her social status in her school, where pickled lemons were the talk of the town. While the need for lemons didn’t sound dire to Y/n, Liz benevolently gifted her extra loose change, justifying it with something about “knowing what it was like to not fit with others at school”. And while Y/n didn’t believe money like five whole dollars should go to waste on lemons, she still searched the shelves intently, looking for some that weren’t too costly. While leaning forward, she walked through an aisle, scouring the lowest shelf for them, unaware of the person she was about to bump into. Curse her clumsiness! 

She walked right into the unsuspecting person before standing to full height, apologies spilling out of her rapidly as she helped the older lady regain balance. Y/n had never seen her before- an older woman, around her own mother’s age, with brown hair that was greying from the roots and forest green eyes that twinkled, reminding her all too much of a certain boy, but she pushed those thoughts away. She also looked of money, with her elegant dress, shoes and shiny jewels.

Y/n began spilling out apologies as it was her own fault for the collision, and the kind lady forgave her each time with a “That’s all right, my dear”, with calming energy radiating from her. Once the two women had settled they let out breathy chuckles at the incident. Beginning to move back to her search for cheap citrus was halted, however, when Y/n noticed the woman seemingly struggling to find what she was looking for. Y/n observed covertly as the lady would gingerly pick up a bottle of what looked to be cologne, look at the label for a few seconds, squint as if to make out what it was saying, before putting it back nervously and repeating with the next. 

Y/n noted that when she would “read”, her eyes didn’t stop to comprehend the words. She needed help, and Y/n was not one to shy away from that fact. 

“Hello,” Y/n began. 

The lady smiled sweetly as she replied, her green eyes twinkling with curiosity.

“Hello, love.” she gently replied. 

Y/n wanted to help without seeming patronising, so she was careful with her words. “So, what brings you here, Ma’am?”

She looks around, then down at the glass bottle in her hand before looking back at Y/n. She fumbles and hesitates as she answers.

“Oh- well- I am looking for this shoe polish, but… I seem to be having a bit of trouble…”. She went beet red before she whispered in a meek and quiet squeak only fairies could hear. Fairies or those who had experience with shy sweethearts as Y/n had with her Saf. 

“You-“ she slightly huffed a bitter laugh through her nose. “You probably can already tell, but… I can’t read…” she confessed, thoroughly embarrassed.

If Y/n wanted to help the woman before, her holding cologne that would most certainly tarnish leather while shopping for shoe polish convinced her utterly and completely. She did not hesitate- not even for a beat, determined to show that there was nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing at all! 

“I can help you! I never use shoe polish- my shoes are always getting muddy anyways, and it would only be a pain to scrub them for nothing, so I don’t have any suggestions in mind, but if you have an idea of the type of polish you wanted, I could help you out!” She dropped personal anecdotes into the conversation, as she often did when conversing with strangers, finding it easier to comfort others to relax around her when they knew she was an open book.

“Oh thank you, my darling! I am looking for a dark brown and black coloured polish that would work best for making leather loafers shiny.” 

And with that, Y/n began her search, starting with going to the correct section, before beginning to scan the tiers of the shelves carefully, looking for what the lady wanted. The woman followed her and began a friendly conversation with her as she searched. 

“My nephew needs new polish for his shoes. I would have told him to do it himself, but he’s out of town, you see. Went out of town, about a week’s trip away. I couldn’t send my maid either- I wished for her to take some time off while there were less people in the house, you see. So here I arrived, figuring I could just find it myself. Ah, how foolish.” She then sighed once more after simmering in laughter for a bit, looking wistfully at another tin she could not decipher the contents of. 

Y/n found the two tins of shoe polish, holding them out to her while responding firmly. “Ma’am, you are not foolish at all. At least you tried! And look, here you are helping your nephew who’s out of town, after letting your helpers take a break! That’s not foolish, that’s compassionate,”.

The lady smiled warmly, the wrinkles next to her eyes crinkling and creasing beautifully as she did. “Oh, darling, you are very sweet for using your gift to help those who cannot. Thank you!” She lightly squeezed Y/n’s cheek playfully before walking to the counter, Y/n following after her before placing the tins on the table for the cashier to process. 

“You are very welcome Ma’am.” The lady began to pull open the small embroidered coin purse she had in her slightly wrinkled yet sturdy hands, fishing for a coin before dropping it into Y/n’s palm and winking. 

Y/n’s eyes went wide as she attempted to hand the coin back. 

“Ma’am, I couldn’t possibly. I was just trying to be of service, truly. Please take your money.” 

But the woman was not having a lick of it. Her face grew stern, her eyes fiery as she quickly snapped back. “Don’t you dare try to give that back, it’s yours!”

Y/n reluctantly smiled and nodded gratefully before walking back to the shelves to continue her search for lemons as the gentle tinkle of the doorbell indicated the sweet lady’s exit. She could not stop thinking about her, however. Why was it that men were taught to read and write and build and farm, but women were only taught how to be good mothers and wives? That woman could learn to read- anyone could, really. All she needed was a teacher… 

Suddenly, Y/n had an idea. One that caused her to drop everything she was doing and run out the door to look for the woman. Teaching! Y/n could teach the woman and in return, get a bit of money! After looking around, she found her walking down the cobbled street, seconds from entering a very expensive and fancy carriage. 

“WAIT MA’AM!” Y/n cried, weaving past the people and carts on the busy street as she ran to her. The lady’s ears perked and she looked back, locked eyes with Y/n and froze with concern, allowing the younger girl to catch up. 

“Yes, my dear?” She asked, once Y/n had caught up and was attempting to catch her breath. After a few deep, embarrassingly wheezy breaths, Y/n finally calmed herself down enough to respond. 

“Icouldteachyou-”, she said exasperated all in one sentence before punctuating it with a heaving breath. After taking a lungful or two of air, she clarified to the poor confused woman.

“Ma’am, I could teach you how to read! If you would like!”

The woman’s eyes opened wider in astonishment before her face brightened with a radiant smile. “You would teach me?” She asked, almost flabbergasted.

“Yes, of course!” Y/n responds, enthusiastically. “I am currently teaching my sisters how to read, so I know how to do it! I could help you too if you would like!”

The woman’s warm and grateful smile shone brighter than the sun. And Y/n’s heart stuttered with excitement when she asked to exchange addresses for further communication. 

This was it… she was finally going to help her family.

******

It was four days later when the L/n residence received two letters, both with express stamps on them, signaling their importance. One was a letter from their father, which the girls were keen to read immediately, but waited for their mother to come home so they could unveil it together. The other, however, was mysteriously addressed to and only to Y/n. How peculiar! 

“Y/n you must open it in front of us- what if it is a secret admirer hoping to eagerly profess their love to you!” Ula whined. Liz shook her head and looked at the youngest girl. 

“If Y/n wants to keep this to herself, she exercises her right to do so”. Liz’ eyes drift to Y/n’s slowly as she continues. “…However…”, before finally running and springing onto her. “You MUST tell us if it is!” 

Y/n rolled her eyes at her sisters, despite Liz’s best attempts to put an end to the “unladylike” and “brash” behaviour. “Come on, there is no way it will be a boy… have you ever even seen me with one? I would run circles around them in every sense before their tiny minds could even get a singular word out!” 

Y/n, though thoroughly believing in her statement that yes, she probably could outshine any boy in the town, also- in the back of her mind- registered that yes, maybe she was overcompensating and exaggerating just the smallest bit in order to shield her heart, still sore from the events of Tilly Hughes’ ball and that wicked boy. Her sisters chuckled at her musing as she made herself comfortable on the sofa chair next to the fire, all three of her sisters huddling behind her in order to get a good view of the elegantly folded and wax-sealed letter that Y/n began to tear open. Once the pristine paper was unfolded, she stood up and began to pace as she read- her sisters giggling and breathing over her shoulder was doing no good, and she needed to focus. It read:

Before Y/n could process the words written on the paper, Liz narrated the letter to Saf and Ula- the latter began to squeal mercilessly, while Liz grinned from ear to ear, pores radiating with pride for her sister. 

*******

The house was astonishing. It was grand, it was elegant, it was pristine.

Above all, it was capital!

The trek down the natural and lush path of trees and fields was all a ruse- Y/n knew Ms Ophelia was a rich woman, but she but any preconceived notion of what her house may look like while trekking the trail was completely, utterly, jaw droppingly decimated. Once reaching the end of the driveway (walking ever so slowly to take the majesty in), Y/n and Flynn were met with pristine hedges that bordered the entire property. Two large white marble columns with oil lamps attached signaled the beginning of the courtyard. In between them, was a large opening where Y/n could see the greenest grass she had ever witnessed, a center hedge path, and behind it, Ms Ophelia’s grand home. Y/n’s mouth was hung open as she approached the large, stark white building, with its covered entrance, wide expanse and huge windows. 

It was a stretch for it to even be called a house. It was a mansion- a manor. Y/n resolved that there must be a plethora of family members that justified the sheer volume of space there was to occupy. She stepped off of Flynn, held the end of his reign, and walked through the grassy courtyard and to the front door. She would have taken Flynn to the stables, not wanting her first introduction to her well-paying student to be interrupted by the attention-hungry Clydesdale, however, the house was so grand she could not even begin to wonder where the hell the stables could be. Instead, she smoothed the light wrinkles out of the frock that Ula picked for her, slightly disgruntled when remembered the lack of a waistcoat she had on. She attempted to fix and flattened the now slightly frizzy hair that Liz had spent almost an entire hour to style, mussed a tad due to the breeze created while riding Flynn, before taking a deep breath in... and rang the doorbell.

She heard some muffled clattering, before hurried footsteps approached, growing louder and louder before they reached the mahogany door, pulled open to reveal a positively ecstatic Ms Ophelia- her brown hair pulled back with a hair pin, but similar in frizziness to Y/n. Her eyes squinting with her warm closed lip smile, the green irises truly dazzling with excitement. She was dressed in a simple yet elegant green and white silk dress, her chest adorned with a single thin gold necklace threaded through a small locket. 

"Y/n!!! So nice to see you!” The lady took Y/n and Flynn in with a charming smile, cooing at the latter before stepping forward to give the Clydesdale a stroke down his white blaze and a scratch on his chin, causing him to preen, closing his eyes a soft huff of pleasure. She then looked to Y/n. “Please, my farmhand Thomas will take this handsome boy to the stables out back."

She looked past Y/n to the front garden and called to the man Y/n hadn't noticed had been planting flowers. He had shiny blonde hair, short from the sides while the top was long and messy, slightly damp with sweat. He pushed the golden mess out of his face and smoothed it back, revealing a bit of dirt on the sun-kissed skin of his forehead. Descending down, there were thick eyebrows, hazel brown eyes squinting in the glare of the sun, a strong nose, and full lips that were pursed and curved into a sweet and friendly smile. He stood, brushed himself off, approached Y/n, and wordlessly took Flynn with a charming smile, nodding to her before walking around to the side of the house. After losing sight of him, Y/n looked back to Ms Ophelia, who opened the door and gestured Y/n in. 

"Please do come in!" As Y/n stepped through the threshold of the house, Ms Ophelia continued. 

"I was just about to make myself a cup of tea- I warmed up enough water for the both of us. How do you take it?" The older woman began walking, Y/n trailing behind her as they entered the beautiful eggshell white kitchen with purple accents.

"Oh, well if it isn't a bother, I take one sugar and only a bit of milk" Y/n watched as the woman poured the boiling tea into the two mugs. 

"Huh!" Ms O looked at Y/n funny, before looking down at the cups she was working on. "Me too! Just enough milk to make it a very dark brown?"

Y/n’s eyes begin to light up incredulously. "Yeah! That's right! My sisters all think that I never put enough in!" 

"My nephew does too!" 

The women looked at each other and smiled- they both knew there was some sort of connection that brought the two of them together, and that they would be kindred spirits. 

*******

The lesson went swimmingly, as agreed by both Y/n and Ms Ophelia (sorry- just Ophelia, the older woman had been very adamant about that). They had sat and begun with the alphabet, and while Ophelia was quite bashful when Y/n corrected her, they knew that with time, they would become more comfortable. Eventually, despite her consistent imploring that she stay for dinner, Y/n insisted she must go home. 

"But my nephew will be home soon! He is such a charming, well articulated boy! Loves reading and the such- You two would get along so delightfully!" She clapped her hands eagerly at the thought, however, Y/n, softly stroking a saddled Flynn- thanks to Thomas, who wordlessly passed her the reins before walking off- looked at her new student and friend with a soft smile. 

"I'm sure anyone who grew up around you would be a wonderful friend, Ophelia, however I really must get home. My family will be expecting me soon."

Once goodbyes had been exchanged, they agreed to meet once again in a few days. And with that, Y/n mounted Flynn and began to ride the now dusky ride home. She may have dawdled a little- the sun was still so warm, and the breeze was beautiful. Flynn moved at a comfy pace as she appreciated the beauty of the world around her. 

However, that beauty was soon not in her focus when Y/n noticed someone riding towards her in the distance. She continued her pace, and as the figure approached, ready to return a polite nod if they were to greet her. As the figure continued on further, she squinted and began to make out a mop of brown hair, and a black blob of a coat, before all too quickly she recognised those sharp green eyes and the nose and those stupidly plush lips as he trotted closer and closer and god- oh no…

Y/n began to feel her stomach drop.

"Well well well! Look who it is!" That snide voice, that blasted smirk that taunted her. 

It was her arch nemesis.

His horse slowed down while she did nothing to stop Flynn, walking completely past him without even acknowledging him- her eyes forward and steely. She thought she had escaped him but she heard footsteps coming closer, however, and soon, Y/n was walking side by side with none other than Harry Styles. 

"What's with the cold shoulder, sweetheart? Have I done something to upset you?" He taunted in a teasing tone. 

"I am not your sweetheart, and don't you have a party to crash, loverboy?" She rolled her eyes and kept moving forward, him keeping an identical pace beside her.

"Ooft, take it easy darling, you’re going to hurt my. Large. Throbbing. Swollen. Red. Hot. Heart!" He punctuated each word with a beat, and Y/n's face became hot; she began to scrunch the sweaty leather reigns harder into her palms at the obvious innuendo. Harry saw this and grinned wickedly for getting to her, a malicious giggle even seeping out of him- he enjoyed this. He enjoyed relishing in her awkwardness. Once his giggles calmed, he shook his head and continued. "What are you doing out so late anyways? Meeting up with a secret lover?" 

Y/n couldn't even dignify that with a response, and merely scoffed and rolled her eyes again at the preposterous accusation. He noticed and continued.

"Hey, you scoff at that now, but who knows. It seems to be the quiet, pure ones that surprise me the most. The most proper girls always turn out to be the dirtiest. So, no- I don't think it's out of this world for a little thing like you to be getting your hands or mouth sullen for a bit of pleasure. Did you see the way you trembled for me the night we met? And the way you cried when I was paying attention to that little French girl? Don't lie, you were charmed, and seeing me with someone else broke your fragile. Little. Heart." 

He was unbelievable for bringing that up again… Y/n felt her rage boiling now. She responded bitterly and slowly. "Please, you are so full of yourself…. And of course you would know all about women and their sexuality, now wouldn't you"

"Hard to scorn someone for being likeable, isn't it, Grumpy?"

Y/n had to stop her horse fully and glare at the idiot. She looked deep into his eyes, calmed down and began to smile. She was in complete and utter disbelief. She shook her head and giggled a peal of bitter laughter. Harry’s face darkened in irritation. 

“What’s so funny, huh?”

Y/n’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as her giggles quelled. "It's funny that you think you are likable, Harry. You see, there is a difference between being desirable, and being easy. And it’s only the thoughtless ones like you who seem to be incapable at telling the difference. Not a thought behind those eyes, is there?... I wouldn't be surprised if you'd thought with your cock so much that your brain had atrophied due to the lack of use. You're not likeable, Harry Styles... you're just a plaything for widows and repressed virgins who wish to piss off their fathers to use and discard. And I cannot help but feel sorry for you for being the only one who cannot see that."

If she was not mistaken, Y/n believed she saw a bit of surprise and possibly even hurt in his eyes before they hardened, their playfulness completely drained. She did not think she was going to say that at all, and in any other situation, she would have thought that to be such a mean thing to say... But she had been sitting on that for far too long, and he had pushed her over with the teasing and the cockiness. She had had enough. Harry Styles needed to be brought down a peg or two.

They stared each other down fiercely, neither wanting to stand down. Then, he quickly shot at her. "You are nothing but a poor virgin with a gabby mouth that you wish was stuffed with my cock." he spat with nothing but poisoned malice.

Ouch… He was trying to catch her off guard, an attempt to garner some pride back, and while it immediately hurt Y/n, the wound of embarrassment growing in her heart, she knew she could not let him win. She quickly locked and loaded, before pulling the trigger without thinking. 

"And you are nothing but a dirty harlot who wastes his privilege of manhood on being a tart to women who don't even want him." she spat back at him. 

Targets acquired and shots fired, the two needed to go home and lick their wounds, crudely bandage their bullet holes and hope the sharp pain of the words spoken were only a temporary detriment to their own health, but an everlasting hellscape to each other. Both wanted to see the other in pain. Both wanted to win.

So with that, Harry made a big show about rearing his ashy grey horse up and around, before both of them spurred their horses forward into a gallop and away from the other- both carrying furrowed eyebrows, slightly hurt feelings (that they would never admit to), and a newfound degree of ire for each other…

He won’t get away with this.

********

Once tacking up Flynn, Y/n stomped her way to the house, still unbelievably enraged by the verbal warfare engaged with that brunette ass. She knew she wanted some alone time to calm down, but once entering her cosy home, she was bombarded with questions from her sisters- mainly Ula.

“Was the house big?!”

“What kind of dress was Ophelia wearing?!”

“How many servants did she have?!”

“Did she have lots of paintings on the walls?!”

“Any handsome sons?!”

“Did she tell you if she’s been to any exotic places like France or Switzerland?!”

“How was your day, Y/n?”

The last question was asked, of course, by her angelic sister Safia. Y/n lovingly rolled her eyes at the incessant questions from Ula and answered Saf’s tenderly. “My day was alright Saf, thank you for asking.”

“That’s good- I wished hard on all the dandelions I could find outside that you would come home safe and sound.” Y/n’s heart melted- she walked over to the younger girl and kissed her forehead with so much love and passion.

Ula observed the tenderness of the exchange and rolled her eyes. “Safia is perfect”, she taunted with a roll of her eyes before returning to her previous exercise of pulling up on the septum of her apparently “hideous” small aquiline nose to shape it into a more button nose, which she believed to be more elegant. Y/n looked back at Saf and whispered lovingly in her ear.

“Never stop wishing for the people you love the most, okay Saf?” Y/n gave her one more kiss before moving to the youngest sister with the most spunk besides Y/n herself. She gently swatted her hand away from her nose before lovingly stroking the bridge as she pulled Ula in for a hug from behind.

“And you, little missy! Stop trifling with the features your parents so lovingly passed to you. That nose isn’t a curse, it’s a gift. Treat it as one.” She kissed Ula’s head too before heading further into the house to greet her older sister and her mother. But as they had dinner, Y/n could not stop thinking about how much she hated Harry… little did she know, however, that her older sister Liz observed her suspiciously throughout the night.

Once in their room, hair and teeth brushed, dressed in their respective pyjamas- Liz’s a dainty white nightgown akin to the one Harry so scandalously described, and Y/n’s a mismatched patchwork buttoned set that Ma had made out of Y/n’s old clothes that she was too big to fit into, yet could bear to part with. Tucked into their beds, Liz turned to face Y/n and began.

“If Ms Ophelia was so very nice, what is the problem?”

Y/n turned to face her with furrowed brows. “What problem? There is no problem”

Liz rolled her eyes and shot back. “Yeah yeah, I don’t believe that for a second, Y/n. You can fool Ula- which isn’t saying much, but you can't fool me, so why don't we pretend like I tirelessly needled it out of you and you skip to the bit where you tell me what’s wrong”

Y/n sighed a long, hard, tired and frustrated sigh, before ultimately giving in. “I ran into a sworn enemy on the ride back home today…”

Liz shot up, eyes wide and mouth agape.“Who?!?”

“Harry Styles.”

Elizabeth stared incredulously at her sister, propped her pillows so she was sitting up, and began needling Y/n for more information. “What did he say? What did he do? Why is he your enemy?”

Y/n sighed. There was no way she was going to get to sleep until she told Liz everything. So she began…“You know of his reputation, yes?”

Y/n’s older sister gasped again. “Y/n… don’t tell me… he… with you?”

Y/n immediately understood what she was insinuating. “NO! No way! Never! Not in a million years! You know I hate everything to do with boys. I cannot believe you would think that of me!”

Liz sighed and sunk into herself in relief. “Thank god! I didn’t think you would but… unfortunately his reputation is quite… damning to say the least. Why, it was only last week he was with Amelie… did you see the way he returned her to the group? He didn’t even bother to wipe her lipstick from his lips! What a brute!”

Y/n brought her blanket up even closer to her face until only her eyes were visible, and mumbled her confession. “I know… I told him exactly so today…”

The older sister slowly started at her, tone changing completely to one low and testing. “What...That he is a brute?”

“Yes of course!” Y/n immediately shot back, exasperated.

Her sister stared at her with her mouth agape and eyebrows intensely furrowed. “...WHY?! Haven’t you heard of his family?!?” At Y/n’s confused face and shaking head, Liz took a deep breath and began. His father lives all the way in New York… Ma told me it was because he was absolutely dreadful to his wife and Harry all the time. Kept money from them, abused them, hit them- so much so that eventually they had to run away from him when he was only 10. They fled to a safe place- some cottage in the middle of nowhere? But get this- once there, his mother contracted scarlet fever and passed away. He had to walk all by himself to the nearest village to call for help- by the time medical assistance arrived, his mother was long gone. And with no other relatives bar his wicked father, he was left in the care of his devilishly deviant, yet disgustingly rich aunt.”

Y/n went completely silent. She didn’t know any of this… Of course this was deeply traumatic and saddening- but Y/n could not help it- her stubbornness was a curse, not a gift. And the curse would not allow even a tale so sorrowful allow Harry a free pass. 

“Liz- of course this is deeply tragic and traumatic- however, circumstances can only explain actions. They don’t justify them. What has happened to Harry should mean that he spends his time helping women, not putting them down… which, I guess he does by pleasuring them, but God I wish he wasn’t so smug and pompous about it… He was so- well, not nice, but normal and cheeky and charming, when we first met- it was like a switch flicked in his head and that man no longer exists”

“Of course- if he is as cruel as you say, I 100% agree. Although he has a right to hold trauma, it does not change the fact that he is but a wicked man”

The girls sit in silence for a second, contemplating. Then, ever the know it all, Liz jumped right back into her Styles Family History Lesson, giving Y/n the run down. 

“But anyways, his aunt is apparently a very influential figure! She’s rich beyond belief, and could probably control this entire town with the pulling of some strings and some money, which she most definitely has! Do not fool around with them, Y/n… especially not Harry…” Elizabeth brought her hands up to her temples to sate her sudden headache, a frequent occurrence when having to feel stressed for Y/n whenever she inevitably threw herself into apparently unacceptable situations, such as whistling in public or not wearing gloves, and had no apparent regard for the consequences. 

“What am I to do then?! He is my sworn enemy- if I see him in my general vicinity, my whole body and soul tells me to rip him to shreds! How am I supposed to see him at balls, and on random walks back home, and NOT rip my hair out of my head?!” Y/n complained with a whiny tone.

“Avoid him! Completely and utterly avoid him”

Y/n harrumphed. “...Fine…”

“Good idea- I know… plus… you know what they say.” A lilt of cheekiness entered the previously stern tone. 

“What?”

A wide smile grew on Y/n’s older sister’s face, unable to hide her amusement. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Who knows- maybe he just fancies you? You know… like likes you” 

Y/n immediately threw a spare pillow at her sister’s head and groaned, before burying her hot face under the covers, completely and utterly embarrassed. Elizabeth dodged the stray pillow as she laughed raucously at how annoyed her sister became. 

Y/n shook her head vehemently. “Never in a million years, Liz…”

Never in a million years…

*********

“Make sure you avoid making the “Z” look like the number “three”. Remember, small angled curl, then draaaaaag down to make a bigger and longer angled curl. Other than that, Ophelia, I must inform you that unfortunately my work may as well be over… because these have to be some of the best cursive letters I have ever seen- I know that I have only ever taught my younger sisters, but I am nothing short of confident that you are the fastest learner I have ever had, ever!” 

Ophelia put her hand up to her chest and let out an exasperated breathy laugh that combined a giggle and a sigh of relief. “Stop it Y/n… you nearly gave me a heart attack! Anyways, it’s not that great.” She emphatically waved her hand as if to physically shoo the thought away. “I believe that as long as I am able to write and read, who cares about the blasted handwriting. As long as it is- at the very least- legible, I don't mind a thing.”

Y/n could not emphasise this enough: she loved Ophelia. She was sweet, funny, sarcastic, naughty and brash enough to understand all of Y/n’s jokes as simply that- jokes with no malice. Y/n admired her face thoroughly in amazed silence. Ophelia glanced at her and continued. “Now, would you like a cup of tea before you go?”

Y/n was shaken out of her trance and began to pack up her books as she responded. “No, thank you. I'm okay- I really should get going though. The wind is picking up and as much as I would love to stay and chat, I don’t really think being cold and wet is how my mother wants me to return home!”

Y/n bids Ophelia farewell from inside the house before going out back to meet Flynn at the stables. However, she sees another figure tending to him, and as she arrives closer, she notices not Thomas’ blonde messy hair- but instead a soft brown colour. 

Jesus Christ, this guy will just not leave her alone, will he?!

Y/n is about three feet away when the figure finally turns, and she is once again met with the cheeky smirk of Mr Harlot Styles. He looks her up and down carefully, making her insides all squirmy under his inspection- she hated the way he made her feel so uncomfortable in her own skin. Once finding her eyes, he began. 

“Grumpy…”

“Harlot… Leave Flynn alone. He doesn’t like jaded asses.” Y/n crossed her hands over her chest and stood with a cold hard stare.

“Flynn? Pretty name.” Harry looked at Flynn and continued. “Does the angry little lady dump her frivolous complaints and girly problems onto your poor back, my friend?” Harry looked back to Y/n and continued. “ And hey, he might hate jaded asses, but apparently, he loves temper tantrum-throwing toddlers if he’s your horse.” 

If she didn’t know how horrible of a person he was, she would classify the way he was scratching Flynn’s chin as lovingly- but Harry wasn’t loving, and he certainly wasn’t capable of loving. He was a beast. Just another man who thought Y/n spent her hours with her equine companion complaining as if juvenile… and what the hell are “girly problems”?! 

Harry chimed in again, breaking her out of her frustrated train of thought. “Huh! Would you look at that, Grumpy- your jaded ass-hating “noble” steed’s loyalty can unfortunately be bought by absolute strangers!”

He smirks up at her as he pulls a sugar cube from his pocket and holds it out to Flynn, who eagerly licks it up, jutting his snout into Harry’s hand to spur some more pats out of him. Y/n let out an angry huff. “Greedy traitor…” she mumbled under her breath to her horse, before taking a deep breath and got straight to the main issue, not wanting to spend any longer talking to him than she had to. 

“What are you doing here? Are you stalking me?”

“God, I was just wondering when I would be in your lovely company again- you know- should I call a doctor for your hysteria? Because it is you, girly, who is consistently following me. I would be surprised due to your incessant reminders that you hate me, but I’m not. Your infatuation with me seeps through your shoddy disguise completely. Face it, Grumpy… you’re obsessed with me.” 

Y/n wanted to slap him so hard. Or at least shoot back some equally damning response, but Liz’s words echo in her ears to simply ignore him. So she simply comes closer, walking to the opposite side of Flynn and begins strapping her bag to Flynn’s side saddle pouch. 

“Your silence is deafening, Grumpy… Is this it? Are you finally admitting that you have been just another precious little schoolgirl obsessed with me this whole time? I bet you would look out your window and pray to every shooting star that floated by that you would see me again. Did you giggle with your little friends while braiding each other's hair about how much you want me? I bet you squirm under your covers in a little pure white virginal nightgown dreaming about my fingers and my tongue and my cock. I bet you're stupidly in love with me, huh Grumpy?”

Y/n hated the way he would describe typically feminine stereotypes with such condescension. She hated being treated like a little girl. Throwing Liz’s advice completely out the window, she couldn’t help but mumble under her breath- just a little something to hurt him. “What would you know about love, Daddy’s boy?…” 

If Y/n looked up from the saddle pouch she was working on, she would see Harry’s eyes blown wide with surprise. He looked so vulnerable- almost childlike- as if her comment transported him back to his father’s house. Before she noticed his silence, though, he schooled his face and began to round the horse, his eyes darkening. “And what would you know about anything? You’re just a pathetic little girl. You act as if you have experience with the world, as if you will be anything more than a boring old housewife, but you never will be…”

Y/n stared daggers into Harry as he stalked closer and closer until he was less than a foot away from her, their outerwear brushing against each other. If he simply wrapped his arms around her waist, their bodies would be flush against one another completely. Y/n had never felt so degraded. She was just another girl to him. She was just another girl to all other men. Her biggest fear was being forgotten- for her loving family- her creative sisters and amazing mother- to be forgotten… For all of the amazing women that she encountered at balls to be forgotten. To be married off and treated as property. 

Harry continues on his poisonous tirade in an unwavering cold and calm voice, striking the deepest of Y/n’s insecurities and fears with pinpoint accuracy. “You look down on my hobby of pleasuring married women, but what you don’t understand is that when you are unhappily married off within the next few years, you will be writing letters to me, begging me to relieve you. You will wish I wanted you… You will wish your husband wanted you… You will wish any man wanted you… You will wish you were special… But you're not.”

Y/n held her breath as his hands raised up from his sides, ringed fingers lightly trailing over her skirts, her waist, her arms, her shoulders. Higher and higher, they softly glided over the fabric of her puff sleeves, before reaching her face, and cupping her cheeks. Harry’s eyes slowly flitted back and forth between Y/n’s eyes and her lips. His brows furrowed and his mouth slightly opened, before lifting his right thumb to slowly pull down at her bottom lip... 

…then release the pressure created with his hold, watching- almost studying, its fullness intensely as it bounced back into place. Voice now barely above a whisper, rumbly and deep, he continues.

“You’re just another silly little girl who will be nothing but a wife someday.”

Harry’s hands moved from her cheeks to her neck, cupping her head, thumbs delicately tracing circles on the skin behind her ears, sending shivers up her spine. 

What was this? And why was it sending Y/n’s knees wobbly? She needs to snap out of it- remember her anger for him. All of her interactions with him, even this one, were merely strategies to throw her off- to dominate her. And she would not allow that.

So as Harry moved his hand to cup her neck, leaning in closer, she opened her mouth, ready to dismiss all logic and decimate the animal standing before her, attempting to kiss her just to intimidate her. Fuck everything- fuck him, fuck Liz’s advice, fuck men and their incessant need for girls to be prim and proper. Fuck all of them.

About to fire her biggest blow, all while he leaned closer and closer, his lips ever so close to touching hers, they were suddenly halted in their tracks by someone calling her name.

“Y/n!...” the voice was urgent but far away. Both Harry and Y/n looked out of the stable to see Ophelia running towards them. Y/n and Harry looked at each other and took a big step away from their close proximity as Ophelia finally reached the stables and held her hand on a wooden panel as she caught her breath, panting heavily. 

“Th-Thank-” A wheezy heave interjected her sentence. “GOD”. Another heave. “You hadn’t left yet!” She stood up straight and wiped the light sweat from her forehead with her wrist before straightening her back and walking closer to her. She raised her right hand, which held a small handkerchief, tied into a lovely little package. 

“I packed some hedgehog slice for you in case you get a little hungry on the way home!” She sighed exasperated, before looking between Y/n and Harry. 

Y/n’s heart melted a little- she came bounding all the way down just to give her a little snack? She was the sweetest woman in the world! And now Y/n was going to see her in action against the intruder to her property that was Harry Styles… Y/n was ready to see some ire and some spit hurled at him once she explained exactly what Harry had said about her and all womankind, really.

But that is not what happened.

Not at all.

Ophelia smiled warmly at Harry before looking at Y/n. “Ahh, I see you have already met my nephew, Harry!”

What. The. Hell?

Harry looked smug as anything as Ophelia continued. “He is the lovely, well articulated bookworm I was telling you about the other day!” 

Y/n gritted out a very hesitant “Nice to meet you…” as he looked at her, full of ego.

Harry then opened his mouth, presumably to tell his aunt about the intrusion that was Y/n’s presence on their land, but Ophelia quickly shut him up too. 

“And Harry, this is the bright and wonderful tutor and friend I was telling you about! Y/n is teaching me how to read and write!” 

Harry’s mouth shut immediately. It was Y/n’s turn to smirk smugly as he gritted out an “A pleasure to meet you” back. The two stared at each other steely, as if they were in a stand-off of the mind, all while Ophelia unknowingly watched on with a large smile. 

“I am sure you too will be fast friends! Don’t you agree?” Ophelia had so much hope in her voice. The two grit their teeth, not wanting to make a scene or displease the sweet Ophelia-

“Certainly…”, they manage to comment, in unison.

And after Ophelia hugs Y/n goodbye one more time, before turning and leaving, Harry tails after her, but not before giving a final glance back to Y/n. He smirked, the smile filled with boyish playfulness, but Y/n saw his eyes- those blasted green eyes clouded with taunt. He was challenging her. To what exactly- she didn’t know. To see who could hurt each other the most? To see who would win in the overall war between the two? Or was it just a smirk at her begrudging fate? That she would have to put up with him now because although Ophelia is a sweet woman, Y/n’s connection to her will never trump Harry’s- he’s her nephew. 

As Y/n saddled her was going to have to do what she wanted to the least in order to maintain both a professional and personal relationship with Ophelia, who she admired both as a student and as a friend…

She was going to have to be civil with Harry.

**********

Y/n believed wholeheartedly that it was punishment enough; that she was forced into both proximity and (at least) faux politeness with her sworn enemy- but evidently, fate had more to give. And damn, could it pack a punch!

It was almost silly that she hadn’t thought the universe had been through with her… When Y/n made the one-hour trip to Ophelia’s house, she just had to not bring her large, rainproof jacket. She just had to decide not to put Flynn’s horseshoes on, which would prevent him from slipping and sliding in the wet mud… Why would she do any of that?! It was perfectly sunny, and even a little bit warm on that Friday morning…

But no… of course, the moment she begins to wrap up her lesson with Ophelia and ride home- where she would tuck into a well-deserved late lunch and spend some time with sisters- of course it is only two days after she has discovered that her student raised and lived with her sworn enemy- it is then and only then that she finds herself stuck at their house, as a giant thunderstorm magically appears and begins raining hellish hail and pouring water from the sky. 

“Y/n, there is no way I am letting you ride home in this weather! That simply will not happen under my roof. I will send an urgent telegram to your mother to let her know you are safe and warm, but you are staying over for the night and that is final.”

There was no arguing with Ophelia. So no more than five minutes later, Y/n was being escorted through the maze that was her student’s mansion, and to a guest room she would be occupying for the night. She was sprawled on the giant, fluffy bed when she felt her skin crawl at a particular thought- though he had not appeared during her lesson, Y/n knew that Harry was somewhere in the house- Ophelia said so herself, as they walked to her room. What if they bumped into one another? 

“Harry is somewhere around here- I am sure that you two will be the bestest of friends- you have so much in common!”

Y/n had to awkwardly laugh and smile at that, agreeing as politely as possible so as to not arouse any suspicion- however, Ophelia seemed to take this for genuine interest though and began doubling down. 

“Hey, why wait until dinner- I can call him now!? Maybe Harry can give you a tour of the house- the gardens, the gallery, the library! Give me two seconds and let me go fetch him-” 

Y/n had never had such a visceral reaction in her life when she shouted a clear and desperate “NO!”... It took her a few seconds to recollect her thoughts before she attempted to save face; she halfheartedly dismissed the idea with a feeble excuse that she didn’t want to impose, and that she and Harry would have plenty of time to chat at dinner. Despite the suspicious glint in Ophelia’s eye, she did not press any further and left her to rest and unpack as she went to have a bath and take a relaxing nap before supper. 

Thus bringing us back to Y/n- sprawled on her bed, deciding that she would not leave the room until supper. There was no way she would risk bumping into Harry while wandering around his house. What if he had another sultry guest for the evening?! What if he shooed her off as if she was nothing but a fly?! Heaven knows he had done all of that before- and all on the same night! She began rummaging through her bag to retrieve her book, content on sitting down and reading as she waited for dinner, but as she rummaged, it dawned on her… 

Her novels, her personal pens and paper? All of them were either at home or in Flynn’s side saddle pouch, hanging in the stables- she had been carrying her personal books and papers for the past few lessons but found the weight quite heavy, and all for very little payoff- she rarely got a moment to read when she was in the middle of a very interactive, collaborative lesson. The reality of her situation collapsed on her as she brought her hands up to her face and let a frustrated groan into them- she was going to be stuck here in this room with no entertainment for the next four hours - Ophelia was occupied, her books and pens were with Flynn, and there were no reading materials in the beautiful yet empty chest of drawers and side tables of the elegant guest room.

There was no way she could sit quietly like this… She began to get cabin feverish already. She needed to get out… 

Harry wouldn’t be strolling about his own house, right? It was 2:30 pm on a Friday- surely there must be some work he had to complete? Y/n resolved that there was no way she would be able to continue to live if she didn’t have something to stimulate her mind, and the thought of passing up an opportunity to explore the various forms of entertainment in Ophelia’s vast house seems daft, even verging on sinful… 

So, with a deep breath, Y/n stretched her arms above her head, took a deep breath, and lifted herself off of the plush linen-covered mattress. She ever so slowly opened the heavy, beautifully intricate mahogany door and peeked out of the minuscule crack she created. 

Left, right, left again, right again. 

The coast seemed to be clear- she opened the door wider so that she could stick her whole head out of it. She looked left, right, left again, right again. You could say that she was maybe overreacting by being so very cautious, but she would rather not run into Harry and be forced to return to her room before she had acquired some entertainment and had a good look around the place.

Once she was completely sure that the coast was clear, she stepped out, gently closed the door behind her, and, with her hands behind her back, began to stroll the hallways curiously. Soon, her fascination with the grandeur of the mansion quelled her alertness and she found herself enamoured by the architecture as she walked down the hallways. 

She wished she could dip her head into every room she saw, but she wasn’t that daft- that would be one surefire way to overstep her welcome, especially when she was essentially stuck until the storm cleared up. 

She continued slinking around in a manner similar to Fennec’s- she took a right, and found herself walking down a hallway she would guess was near the back of the house, as the large windows to her left illuminated her pathway and showcased a beautiful array of pruned trees along a cobblestone path, with steps that led down to a beautiful, large pond filled with greenery. There was a small path that also winded around the pond and ventured into a beautiful, lush green forest. The rain pattered so beautifully onto the glass, creating beautiful shadows on the otherwise dim hallway. The house truly was magnificent. 

Once reaching the end of the hallway, Y/n was greeted with two very tall and wide arched wooden doors. She hoped and prayed she wasn’t about to walk into a personal room, before pushing in to peek at the contents. 

A large expanse of beautiful oak shelves befell her- filled to the brim with books. Books upon books upon books! Nestled so tenderly, they were wrapped in beautiful leather casings. 

Bingo! The infamous library!

Though there was a main seating area in the middle of the room- with comfy juniper green couches that looked a dream to rest upon, there were also many bay windows and little reading nooks to curl up in. Tucked into the corner was a desk, a chair and a reading lamp. In fact, there were lamps all around the room, however, most of the light came from the warm roaring fire that blazed in the fireplace. Y/n could imagine sitting in front of the fire on a pillow, a soft throw around her and a mug of tea between her crossed legs as she read Dickens. 

Y/n wove through each shelf, looking at all the amazing titles there were. There was everything here! Shakespeare and Dickens were classics, to be expected in most regal libraries, but looking closer, Y/n found Bronte and Austen too! Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Hans Christen Anderson’s fairy tales. This place had every book Y/n had ever read or wished to read! 

But something lingered in the back of Y/n’s mind…

If Ophelia cannot read, whose library is this? Who has so tenderly placed every book in alphabetical order, as well as sorted them by genre? Who has spent their time tediously gluing library cards to the inside of the back cover of seemingly every book, and has jotted down when they have been borrowed? Why would anyone ever do that, considering that most of them are read by assumedly the same person, judging by the ever so similar font and pen used to log the date of when the book was picked up and when it was finished?

Before she could finish her thought, the door suddenly opened. Y/n immediately cringed at the situation she was in- she could be caught snooping by Ophelia, oh how mortifying! As the heavy footsteps walked closer and closer to where she was, she weaved through shelves, attempting to find a spot to hide. She tiptoed through before flattening herself against a shelf at the end of the room, far from where the footsteps were heard. The unknown person’s gait was too heavy to be Ophelia’s and- 

Damn! 

If it was not Ophelia, there was only one other person it could be… 

She took a deep, silent breath before creeping her way to the edge of the bookshelf. She went to take a peek and see where the British bastard was, however, when she took one more step and stuck her head out, she was met with his body no more than five inches from hers. 

“AHH!”

“Shit!”

The pair jumped and shrieked for a quick second, not expecting the other to be so damn close. Y/n looked up to see Harry looked down at her with surprise and confusion. Her gaze panned down to his hands, noticing him carrying a brown leather bound book- it was smaller and very worn in. It looked beaten and bruised, like it had been read thousands of times. She couldn't see a title at all, but it wouldn’t matter- the moment he followed her eyes, Harry shoved the book behind his back. Her gaze snapped back up quickly enough to watch vulnerability flash in his eyes, before they set in his usual hardened gaze, infected with scorn.

He barked. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

This wasn’t nonchalant Harry- this wasn't a Harry that was prepared for her attacks. This wasn’t the Harry that used his suave and unaffected demeanour to torment Y/n as he coolly fired shot after shot at her soul. No, this was a more frantic Harry- a more aggressive, threatened Harry. 

“I didn’t know you were going to be here!” Y/n explained, her brows furrowing and taking on a defensive tone, hands flying emphatically. 

Harry did not reply at all. The pair stared at each other sharply. It was as if they were having a battle telepathically, staring deep into one another’s unwavering, unblinking eyes, lips pressed shut into little frowns, brows knit, each daring the other to say something more. To poke the bear more. To continue the fight. They stared and they stared until Harry looked her up and down, shaking his head and scoffing, before walking further into the library. 

He seceded first! HA! She won! 

This victory wasn't savoured for long, however- she soon realised how foolish she would look just standing there in Harry’s dust. She didn’t look back to see which way he went and she didn't care- she kicked her body into motion and strode out the front door. Once she was out, however, she pathetically scurried her way back to her room, mortified. Once through the door, she slammed it shut and laid back against the cool wood. She took a couple deep breaths in the safety of the guest room. Now alone, she was able to regain her ability to think.

Harry was holding a book in his hands, before shoving it behind his back? Was he… bashful? What book would have made Harry feel embarrassed?

Further, if it wasn’t Ophelia’s library, there realistically is only one other person it could belong to…

Y/n shook the idea from her head immediately. It definitely couldn’t be Harry’s- not only was he too brutish to read for leisure, but also, the books there were too beautiful, too tenderly cared for- many filled with little annotations. No, Harry could not treat a human decently, let alone a book. He wouldn’t know how! The one in his hand, however. Her heart just couldn’t let that go… 

Maybe that was his? The small, beaten and bruised book. What kind of text would prompt Harry to read it over and over and over again. What words moved him so much that he felt embarrassed to show Y/n. Ofcourse, this was probably for the best- realistically, the pair should both provide as little information of their identities to each other as possible. Less ammunition that way. 

But Y/n, head against the downy pillow filled to the brim with the softest stuffing, lulled by the gentle nose of the lavender oil spritzed on top of the sheets, could not help but innocently wonder if Harry had a favourite book. She always wanted someone to share her love of reading- a simple friend that she could rant and rave to other than her sisters who, despite not possessing the same fire and passion as Y/n when it came to literature, attempted their hardest to understand her speeches and monologues of theory. 

It was not a question- Harry could never be that friend to Y/n…

But God, did Y/n wish that stopped her from imagining a version of him that could be.

[garbinge]

JUICE + SHY GN!READER HEADCANON

First ever headcanon, and this really pushed me out of my comfort zone! Juice is a character that I'm still learning and shy characters are always a little tough for me in these universes. Honestly would love anyone else to drop in any additional thoughts because this one really got me thinking through so many scenarios on how things would play out with these two :) Headcanon is under the cut!

FIRST MEETING: 

Juice isn’t exactly the most outspoken or outgoing either, so the process from meeting you to dating you takes time. Slow burn for suuuuuure. 

I think it’d start out with Juice being more shy than the reader for sure but your shyness is what draws him to you. You’re also not exactly jumping out of your seat to talk to him either, but to you, you’re just ignoring him while Juice is being shy to you. 

You’re the opposite of his life right now. The club is rowdy and chaotic and you were calm and observant. 

There’s tons of stolen glances whenever he gets the chance when you’re around. His eyes jump away in seconds the minute you catch him looking at you. Whether it’s peeking over his laptop, or fully staring at you when he catches you downtown. 

Those glances would eventually turn to awkward smiles, the occasional wave or head nod.

When he gets the nerve to actually come and talk to you, there’s a lot of fumbling on his words until he realizes you’re just as nervous as him and it somehow makes him feel a little less nervous.

Just enough that in some fiddly way he manages to ask you out and you agree. 

The first date is a lot of him asking you questions because you’re still very reserved. A lot of what are your favorite things; food, movies, places to go, where  do you work, do you like it. Just trying to learn more about you.

He goes off on a lot of tangents about tech, it’s what he knows and loves so it just comes easy to him. You take it all in, every word, picking up on the details in what he’s saying and what he’s not. 

You definitely bring things up that he’s said earlier and it drives him mad. Someone who pays attention to the things he’s saying? That’s new. 

Somewhere along the conversation you mentioned something about your car and he eagerly offered to fix it for you at TM which ultimately solidified your second date. 

It’s obvious you’re a fish out of water at Teller-Morrow. Your voice is comparable to a mouse in comparison to all the guys, club and mechanics combined. 

While trying to explain to Chucky and then Piney that one of the guys said they could help you out, Juice appears with the biggest grin on his face when he sees you and offers you an energetic “hey” and it completely melts you. 

You sit next to him while he tinkers with your car, him mostly taking up a lot of the conversation but you’re chiming in here or there a little bit more than on the first date. Everything around you kind of fades away in those moments, you’re just enjoying the time passing with Juice. 

When you get home that night, you break something else on your car, purposely, so you can bring it back the next day. Too nervous to just ask him to hang out on your own. 

After he catches on, you’ve brought your car in 3 times in one week,  he decides to blurt it out. Do you wanna be my girlfriend? And he’s immediately mortified by the prepubescent way of asking you to be his but in your eyes it's perfect. It’s direct and leaves no room for misinterpretation. BEGINNING OF YOUR RELATIONSHIP: 

Then, things are a bit different once your relationship is a bit more established. You both geek out together, and you feel a bit more comfortable coming out of your shell around him. 

He definitely becomes protective over you, knowing how fragile he can be because of his sensitive side and how people are eager to take advantage of that, the thought that someone could be like that with you makes him want to follow you around like a guard dog. 

He's constantly stare at you, lovingly + adoring but also curiously, just picking up on the things you do and why. But now, instead of looking away when you catch his eyes, he just smiles, maybe lightly touches your face, places a soft kiss on your lips, still smiling through each interaction.

But the real kicker is when he tells you he wants you to come hang out at the clubhouse and meet the guys. 

Now, he’s not an idiot, he knows that they can be a lot and you aren’t a very extroverted person, but he reassures you a lot that they’ll love you and you’ll have a good time. He also lets you know he’d never let anything happen to you. And once the guys meet you, neither will they.

When you show up, you’re feeling exactly how you felt when you first met Juice. Flighty eyes, absorbing the environment, taking in everything. 

The commotion of the group by the pool table and then the group by the bar was starting to make your stomach turn. 

Juice spots you immediately and is by your side within seconds and never leaves it. One, because he wants to keep his word of being there and two, he feels so happy just to have you here with his family. 

The guys tease Juice more than they tease you, and when anyone gets a little too pushy before you’re able to even feel uncomfortable Juice is handling it. 

OVER TIME: 

I think he’d be able to anticipate your needs and vice versa. 

When he comes home from a rough day, you’re there to pick up the pieces and he lets you. 

There’s toons of physical affection behind closed doors. Cuddling, all types of kisses, very sweet and passionate love. 

In public and in front of the club, it’s not as prominent but there’s definitely arms wrapped around you, sitting in between his legs, casual pecks on the cheek and fingers intertwined. 

He’d also trust your opinion on things because when you are at the clubhouse you’re not looking to fuck-around. You’re taking in everything and it gives you a really unique perspective on situations. 

He’d take you on so many long rides and road trips because he knows the quiet of the rides are your favorite.

He’d leave breakfast for you when he had early mornings and you’d leave dinner for him on those late night runs. 

Juice would use his skills to make your life easier, just like when you first met. Fixing your car, your computer, making sure you were upgrading all your software, getting you things that you didn’t even realized existed that just made every aspect of your life easier. 

Ultimately, I think a shy partner is exactly what Juice needs, someone who understands him, and is patient with him. They both would be able to respect and love each other because they see each other. There's so much understanding because they get one another, their quirks, their preferences, their mannerisms.

Dividers by @cafekitsune ❤ // Requested by anon ❤ 💀SOA Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989  (Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

[oddygaul]

Avatar: The Way of Water

You know, not that I have any particular faith that this series will make anything of it, but The Way of Water actually raises some interesting questions about the way consciousness and the transfer of self work in the Avatar universe.

My first watch, I treated Recom Quaritch as just an excuse to bring back the most charismatic antagonist the series had – that he was more or less the same one-dimensional character as before, with a quick handwave for how his return was possible. But they’re honestly doing more than that with his writing. This isn’t Quaritch back from the dead with a new lease on life; his “I am not that man” speech to Spider is not a shirking of responsibility, and his iconic skull crushing scene is not an uncaring show of stoicism. 

Recom Quaritch is terrified. 

When he sees Neytiri’s arrows, he is experiencing primal fear. When he sees Spider, left behind alone on an alien world, he regrets the callousness of his former self. He sees where Quaritch’s bravado led him, sees what the end result of his mistakes was, and decides to firmly reject that he’s the same person as the original. He has Quaritch’s memories in his mind, but he doesn’t feel they belong to him. When he crushes Quaritch’s skull, it represents a refusal to honor the man the RDA assumes him to be: Recom Quaritch is his own man, and he will make his own choices about his future.

I always appreciate it when sci-fi takes this approach towards ‘revival’ via a backed-up consciousness. A lot of my favorites explore its implications – the Culture books, for example, dive deep into the drawbacks of a backup-based system – but all too often, they’re glossed over and treated as a magical solution to death and danger.

I don’t care how thorough and precise your backup is, unless there’s some instantaneous, streaming consciousness-transferring device, if you die and your backup is placed in a new body, that is NOT you. Sure, to everyone else, it might as well be: as far as they can tell, you look and act the same as you always have. But YOU, your stream of consciousness, your awareness, the ongoing perception of the world that defines your life – that has ended, and no amount of backups can bring that back. It only makes sense that the revived’s sense of personhood might be drastically different.

It’s an interesting pivot, because the original Avatar sorta takes for granted the functionally seamless transfer of consciousness used in the Avatar system. Via the link unit, one’s mind can be ping-ponged back and forth between a human and Na’vi body as much as you want, in real-time, with only the sensation of waking up from a nap to show anything changed. Jake’s permanent transfer into his Na’vi body at the end works the same way, just using a big tree instead of the science tube: he simply closes his eyes as a human, and wakes up in his new body like nothing ever happened. The societal implications of this technology are staggering – people could functionally live forever by growing new bodies and instantly transferring over, for example – but it's used only as a plot contrivance.

That is to say, the first Avatar is fully disinterested in exploring the potential nuance of these ideas, and much more focused on really hammering home its comparisons between technology and the natural world; they want you to be thinking about the contrast between the Na’vi queues and the human link units, not some fiddly philosophical quandary. Still, now that The Way of Water has raised these questions, it would be cool if the future sequels – maybe the one set on Earth? – dig a little more into the horror inherent in recreating the minds of the dead.

Being in this headspace for this watch also made me realize how fucked it is to have an Avatar after the human it’s based on has died. In The Way of Water, we see Grace’s Avatar body, and it’s… well, it’s still there. It’s alive, submerged, and kicking… just with no mind inside, empty, a bespoke vessel made for one soul that just doesn’t exist anymore. Brutal.

—

Other thoughts:

The first Avatar relies on its adventure setpieces – Jake’s first bond with the ikran, the montages of running through Pandora by night – more than its action setpieces, which themselves are like, aight. Way of Water’s action, by contrast, legit kicks fucking ass start to finish. Consider:

-the slow-mo train derailing -the Metkayina ducking in and out of the water to avoid gunfire then leaping out to spear RDA chumps -the speedboats, crab mechs, and assault subs, all of which are infinitely more fun than Avatar’s clunky mechs, and the spectacular flips they do as they bounce across the surface of the ocean to explode on nearby rocks -the big whale doing straight-up Action Hero shit -Neytiri shooting a guy through another guy

Seriously, it’s killer. As someone that considers themselves fairly weary of fight scenes these days – so much of it is just noise with no art – I remain impressed after a rewatch.

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

As the clock struck eleven, India turned to the mound of dishes and sighed.  Really, it wouldn’t take that long to clean up, but it was always her least favourite part of the job.  It would help if they had a larger kitchen, or even a larger house, as it was the bowls and pans always started spilling out onto the side tables in the hall before the sun even set in summer.  But the dead-watchers had always lived in this hut off the side of the cemetery, so she supposed there was no point in agitating. 

Once the graveyard had been full of caretakers.  There had been cemetery watchmen to ward off graverobbing, there had been ritual mourners, flower layers, gardeners.  But traditions often lose their importance, and only the most important survive.  Hence why India’s vigil might, centuries ago, have been a lively affair with friends winking lights out in the dark.  Now, instead, she worked alone, whisking, sifting, beating, measuring.  She took a swipe of batter from the pan to test it.  Not quite thin enough.  She added a dash of milk. 

Marnie, the eldest sister, was the caretaker of the bodies.  She washed them, tidied them, dressed and arranged them.  She made sure the dead were comfortable and the living as well.  It was Marnie who sat on their overstuffed sofa in the living room and held the hands of mourners, and it was Marnie who ventured furthest and most often into the village, sharing gentle words with everyone she passed.  The kitchen in Marnie’s hands was full of warm, hearty, lasting meals, things to bring to the mourning, casseroles and stews and chillis that would last for days in households that had no life in them to cook.  She had tried to copy India’s more esoteric creations, her pastry palaces and mounds of profiteroles, her towering meringues, but found them too fiddly. 

India, on the other hand, loved her most fiddly work, it took up time she liked to see taken up and there was a deep satisfaction to it, a calmness that descended as she balanced sugared flowers on top of towering woven strands.  She wondered now as she plunged her hands into the hot water how they managed to place things so delicately still even as callouses grew from the endless scrubbing at the end of the night. 

Jona, the middle sister, handled the affairs.  She rarely spoke to the living beyond getting them to sign, to choose, to take or hand over.  She had a head for numbers and a hand for penmanship, and very little of a tongue.  Still, she was respected in town at least, it wasn’t work anyone wanted to do but it was work that had to be done. 

Eleven forty.  Perfect timing.  India gave the counters one last wipe then began her finishing touches, taking the last few goods out of the oven or the cold box, arranging them on plates, turning them around and around until she found the best angle.  Last few garnishes and there, she was finished.  She hummed quietly to herself as she extinguished the lights and danced up the stairs, just ahead of the slow grey mist beginning to curl in under the door. 

No one was sure why India worked as she did.  No one was sure why there was a baker among the dead-watchers, why there had always been a baker among the dead-watchers, why the house was always, must always be filled with three.  A strange thing, they mumbled among themselves.  Still, her confections that Marnie sometimes sold were delicious, so they couldn’t complain.  Most people only caught glimpses of her during the day, early in the morning tidying up inexplicably empty plates, probably, they assumed, left overs from dinner the night before, or in the afternoon tying an apron around her waist, or in the in-between times when she just seemed to skip around the house, flashing here and there, hardly visible among her two more solid, meaningful sisters.  A strange third to keep indeed.  But there must have been a reason.  Only the most important traditions survive, after all.   

[natalyabby]

~ 𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 // 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑜𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓈 🌹💕🎶🫶🏼

Recently, an odd and somewhat unexpected source of artistic inspiration for me has been reading up on news and local events. Being observant of the social & political landscape around me in my day to day. I'm not the kind to create overtly political music, so I don't mean it in that way exactly...

It's more that, being attuned to the current climate is opening my eyes as to how immensely needed passionate, inspiring, beautiful, hopeful, or just generally expressive music/art is right now. Just how necessary myself and every artist out there truly is. How there is not only a vague desire, but a genuine NEED for artists & their art.

I forget that outside of my own personal echo-chamber of media (as you can imagine, I consume a lot of aesthetic, artistic, philosophical and spiritual media/content) the world can seem very grey, pessimistic and incredibly in need of music, art & colour.

Scrolling through accounts that I follow, it's easy for me to feel like 'eh, everything has already been done; there's so many people doing better than me, it's oversaturated, etc', but in reality when I step outside of that bubble, dedicated artists & musicians are a shining few and play a profound role in adding vibrancy & beauty in all forms to our world.

I feel like throughout my life I've always known my instinctive role (whether I manage to get paid for it or not) is that of an artist. That's it. Doesn't matter if I make art every day or every few months- whether any given piece I create ends up technically good or bad- it's just that being an artist is inherent to my nature.

Whilst I've known this about myself, I've often felt a little apathetic about how much other people will really care; questioning how important my art truly is when there's soo many great artists out there already doing amazing things. Why my art when there's so much greatness already out there?

I guess it's also that a lot of artists sort of (whether inadvertently or directly), get the message that art is just some fiddly diddly, frivolous hobby they do in some rando shed in their free time and while is admirable, doesn't have impact in 'the real world', which couldn't be further from the truth.

We are taught that to be an artist and to consume art is some almost hedonistic 'side quest' in the game of life, rather than a deeply meaningful and 'legitimate' thing.

I'm beginning to see how while indeed, there are many artists around; every single artist really does have a unique message they're called to deliver to people, and art/music isn't just something pretty to look at or play in the background. It deeply influences people in ways that simple words cannot. Art is beyond necessary and influential in our world even if for many, its influence operates on an unconscious level. I'm so grateful that as an artist, I have this opportunity to not only communicate, but bring people into my world- or a world 🌏🥀🌙

[outworldletters]

Horn Over Heels For You! | Arataki Itto x Reader

Pairing: Arataki Itto x Reader

Summary: Arataki Itto did not let you leave for Sumeru Akademiya without declaring his love for you. Still, you left for your studies, leaving him wondering if you would still have a space for him in your life after growing so much and meeting new, interesting people - people who are less rough around the edges.

After all, what does he bring to a relationship besides a big heart and a loud mouth?

Word Count: 1.2k

Morning, Sunshine!

Are you reading this just as you wake? Or getting ready to hit the sack? Either way, you light up my world, so I'm gonna kick off these letter thingies like this! Darkness ain't a thing when you're on my mind!

Aww, I got kinda sappy. But shhh, keep it on the down-low, alright? I am a total tough cookie. A badass oni-cookie!

I'm gonna write to you every day when you're away. So, if this ever bugs you, you better keep me closer.

Look, the thing is, I know you want to paint instead of burying your pretty face in books. So, I thought, maybe I could paint your beautiful smile in a way only this Oni-king can? So, what do ya say? Do you want to hear a story?

There was once a tarantula, living alone and minding her business in a dark corner.

If you were a little critter, what do you think you would be? You look all soft and fluffy like a moth, and strong and fierce like a big ol' tarantula. Yeah, I know, it's weird. They're both bugs, but you remind me of a mix of both.

What?! But tarantulas are beautiful and elegant! And it's not all about looks. They're calm and quiet like you, but will attack if threatened. And... Yeah, I think it's still a compliment. 

I'm my own sorta of spider, ain't I? I weave words into a web that catches a cutie like you! 

I'm sorry, that was bad. Hahaha.

Anyway! I was telling you a story.

The little tarantula was a pretty tough girl, but sometimes even the best of us wish we had someone to talk to and share our troubles. So, this little spider decided to give herself a little challenge: she'd use her skills to make two gifts, and then offer them to the first person she met.

The first gift was a fluffy blanket of her finest silk, soft as soft can be... and the other was the most fiddly poison.

Well, the first person that met little Miss Tarantula took the bait of the soft, fluffy blanket, thinking it was the greatest gift ever given. So, he went back to her cozy corner, tucked herself into the blanket and was lulled to sleep, never to wake up…

But, the second person to meet up with her... chose the bite. And even if it made them sweat and shake and want to scream, it cured them all of their woes and worries. They could finally live free, free of all fear and pain.

The point is, sometimes what appears as the greatest thing ever isn't really what you need; what you need isn't always what it looks like. It's about making a choice between what looks like the most comforting, perfect thing in the world, or picking something scary but necessary to move forward.

It's about knowing what you really need and making that call, not settling for something just because it looks safe. I get that, y'know? I get it, Sunshine.

I am not angry or sad because you left.

You didn't want to make that choice... But you did, didn't you? You took the bite. I know you're worried about whether we made the right call. But I have no doubts.

I'm proud of ya. You're brave, for leaving everything you know and choosing to honor your Vision. 

Listen, the distance is hard on both of us, no doubt about it. But you, me, us? We got this. There ain't nothing keeping us apart. Not when our bond is this strong. 

After all, if you were not strong enough to take the bite, you would never choose to date me either. So I am glad this is who you are.

It ain't everyone's jam to date an Oni, y'know? But it's the rough parts of me that make you laugh and get excited, isn't it? Like the first time you met me and I showed you my collection of beetles, and they started crawling all over you. But anyways, I'm rambling.

The thing is, the tarantula from that story? Yeah, I don’t like her a bit.

That little spider was trying to trick that second person into showing trust, right? That's why she did that whole “bite or blanket” routine. It was almost like she cared about what people thought more than making her own choices.

You and I, we choose to be vulnerable to each other, no matter what. I'm never afraid to admit my fears or to tell you when I'm feeling hurt or upset. And you can always tell me what's bothering you, so we can work together and figure it out. Right?

I gotta tell ya, I was scared, too, when I knew you had to leave. I was worried sick that once you got settled with your new studies, you'd forget all about me.

It's just my paranoia, y'know? It's the thought that I'll wake up one day, and you'll suddenly tell me about a more attractive, more... polished guy you met at school. And... that you wouldn't want to be with the guy with the horns and the fangs after all.

Even just writing about it makes me sick to my stomach, it's just-

Do you think I'm too rough around the edges for you? Am I holding you back?

I mean, you're a smart person going off to a big school and learning so much, and what do I bring to the table? A big heart? A loud mouth? It just feels like there's something inside you that needs much more than what I can offer.

I am not like that tarantula at all. That's cuz I'm me. I don't need to try to trick people or test them to make them take a bite from me. What you see is what you get from me.

And what I offer you is love, Sunshine. A love you wouldn't have to look hard to find. I wouldn't try to trick ya into showing you my affection. I can be rough, or I can be gentle, but it's always honest.

All your quirks, your insecurities, your talents, I would love every bit of it. And I would do my best to keep your chin up when you're feeling down. I wanna be the one you come to with good news, and the one who comforts you when you're feeling lonely. And most of all, I want to make you smile.

You're gonna do great. You'll make new friends and make all these dreams of yours come true. You'll keep growing, learning, taking the risks you want to take. If it ever gets tough, remember, I'm right here. I'll be your comfort cushion, your warm blanket. I'll be whatever you need, right? Just tell me, and I'll be there, okay?

I guess in the end, it's just about showing your heart, no tricks or tests, no tests or traps... Just being honest and loving, huh? Heh, and it ain't so complicated after all. But hey, if you'll allow it, please accept this gift.

The softest blanket ever: my strong arms!

You can always count on me. Even if I'm far away, it's so easy to make it feel like I'm holding you in my arms all over again.

Just remember... I will never, ever let you walk alone.

Arataki “horns over heels for you” Itto

[avelera]

hello! just dropping in to say I’m loving all your wonderful fics :) CLWM gives me such a feeling of..comfort?? with being butch & bisexual that i so rarely experience while reading & it’s been such a gift. the recent chapter made me wanna stand up & scream “yes!! that’s exactly what it feels like to be bi!!” their gender doesn’t change how u feel about a person u love just the.. shape of that attraction? if that makes sense? & I cant listen to never let me go without getting super emotional about GS, lol! anyways. ur fics have made many a gloomy day much brighter thank u for writing them :)

Thank you so much!! 😭 Definitely, “Come live with me” is a VERY bisexual story at its heart. It’s about Hob falling (deeper) in love with Dream (and vice versa) while navigating loving Dream in private as a man loving a man and in public as a man loving a “woman”, at least in the eyes of society. It brings with it a raft of complexity in that respect, sometimes I truly wrestle with even how to label everything that’s happening with Dream in terms of his sexuality, gender identity, and what pronouns to use, given he is a magical shapeshifter and an anthropomorphic personification and his exact experience can’t and never will be perfectly mirrored in the real world (is he bi? Pan? Genderqueer? Cis or trans male? He’s certainly living a trans male experience in public as Morfea but even that is complicated by the shapeshifting making all of it temporary for him, even as I see him as an entity with a stronger and preferred sense of having a predominantly male self as his choice of identity and pronouns, which Hob respects and indeed prefers, given it’s how he’s known and been in love with Dream the longest, and because as far as he can tell, it’s Dream’s preferred identity that he chooses when not under duress).

Whereas Hob, our POV character is in my mind, VERY comfortable in his gender and sexuality, having had plenty of time to truly experiment with it over the centuries, and as such firmly identifies as cis male and bisexual. He is so comfortable in his gender that he’s curious to experiment with having a “woman’s” body in the Dreaming just to see what it’s like but he is genuinely nervous about getting stuck that way because he’s happy and comfortable as he is, while also aware of the fact that not everyone is. (Language gets a little fiddly here, particularly given the fantasy elements, and I’m typing on my phone so forgive me for any terminology slippage and understand every use of “male/female, man/woman” is meant to be trans inclusive).

But yes, anyway! It’s meant to be a very gender/trans/sexuality positive fic and the deeper we go into how Hob and Dream live together and fall in love in this complex situation of being in a “het” marriage in public but being far more complex in private but shading towards m/m when given the choice, the more I’ve been sort of thinking about these elements and trying to bring that positivity to the foreground, like making sure there is also a trans male human character (John) as a reminder that the life Dream is living ISN’T just a fantasy this WAS a lived experience in the 1800s too, (“we have always been here” re: the queer experience) and making sure that it’s clear that John’s story is a happy one with no hidden “gotcha”s. And I think some of the importance of that for me IS as a bisexual cis woman (leaning somewhat towards “non practicing” cis woman/butch myself as well!) and exploring without necessarily answering what it’s like to love someone as much as Hob does Dream, both as a man and as a woman? It’s been a lovely experience and idea to explore so I’m always so pleased when people enjoy! Thank you!

[miloscat]

[Review] Subnautica: Below Zero (PS5)

A really COOL expansquel.

I liked the original Subnautica a lot, an expansive underwater survival exploration game. This standalone expansion/sequel is a bit tighter and more focused, with a smaller map and more of a storyline. A new polar setting on the same planet brings with it a new set of fauna and flora, both docile and dangerous, as well as new temperature management mechanics. The big sub is gone, but there’s new tricks, tools, vehicles, and features to keep things fresh while you investigate the biomes and mysteries of planet 4546B, the activity of ancient aliens, and the machinations of more recent humans.

The first game has a hapless protagonist, simply caught up in the events of a crash; I liked that this time around Robin has more of a personal stake and motivation for coming to the planet by choice, to investigate the suspicious death of her sister. Threads from the first game are followed up on, you meet other living people, and even make a personal connection to the enigmatic alien race who left so many structures behind. It makes the experience more involving than Subnautica’s passive story, although it does lack something of the urgency of the first game’s unfolding scenario and progressive events.

Among the new biomes with their hauntingly beautiful alien seascapes and deadly dangers is an expanded above-ground area. The new hoverbike vehicle helps you traverse a tundra zone while being menaced by croco-bears and giant death worms. This is where keeping warm is especially important, with new items to mitigate the always-imminent hypothermia, although when you’re equipped with knowledge and the right tools it’s pretty easy to stay warm. It’s also not an issue at all underwater, so there’s a clear split for when you ever need to worry about it; this could have been integrated better honestly.

The game also has many user-friendly additions: above ground there’s frequent plants, geysers, and caves to warm you, and underwater there’s new fish, plants, and even rock formations that can refill your air. And with only a few crashed ship parts to delve into, I rarely found myself in the desperate straits the first game imposed on me; I think I only died once! There’s a tension here between being a rock-hard survival challenge and a more accessible adventure game, with this game leaning more to the latter while the first was closer to the former. Which game you prefer will depend on on your own views on this dichotomy.

Both are still very similar though. This is clearly a follow-up to what the first game was doing—just with some tweaks and additions—and it’s a very successful one at that. I even ran into the same problem that I did on my Subnautica playthrough, where I missed stumbling on a very important location and went through the entire rest of the game without advancing a prominent quest line! This is the downside to an open-ended and non-linear structure. Thankfully after completing the main quest the dev tools unlocked and I was able to warp anywhere to check out what I’d missed. Finally, although the controls are still a bit fiddly on console, on a technical level this is more stable than my experience with the original game, with only one instance where the world tiles didn’t load which lead to losing half an hour of progress. Save often, people!

[morningcattime]

To be more specific, K-On is about being a young woman with undiagnosed ADHD, being told you're non-functional because of it, connecting other people like you who have the same struggles, and finding your own way to excel.

Ritsu, the drummer, is the classic hyperactive-impulsive type. She loves drums because they're energetic and don't require the fiddly finger stuff that guitars and keyboards do. She's the most likely one to confidently make bad decisions. She often takes charge, cajoling Mio into starting the band and taking the lead with saving the Light Music Club, but she struggles with the details of leadership and forgets to follow through on important things. She often struggles to sit still and can't resist playing pranks Mio. She's full of energy and keeps the band moving, even though her energy is often poorly directed, and her friends are there to help provide the direction she needs.

Mugi, the keyboardist, is firmly in the inattentive type camp. She's spacy, often in her own world, not great at priorities. She's forgetful and easy to sidetrack with things like snacks, new experiences, or being super gay. But she's probably the most competent of the group at music, and has the ability to handle little details that others can't, like bringing snacks and setting up travel arrangements. They're not guaranteed to be important details, but they are details! She's motivated most by being with her friends and being a part of things. But if it were entirely up to her, they'd probably just spend every afternoon practice session having tea and snacks and talking, not out of any dislike of music, but just because she'd get sidetracked. "Oh dear, is practice time over again already? Time sure flies when you're having fun!"

Yui, the guitarist, is the "lazy" one, who never found anything in school that engaged her. But once she accidentally joins the Light Music Club and discovers music, she hyperfixates on it, spending all of her time playing with her guitar to the exclusion of everything else. She's still spacy, forgetful, and unorganized, but with this one thing that energizes her, she becomes... well, I can't say "focused" per se, but devoted. Passionate. While she doesn't display hyperactive traits to the same degree as Ritsu, they're still noticeably there. She often makes the same types of bad impulsive decisions, though maybe with less enthusiasm than Ritsu, and has some fidgety tendencies. I'd pigeonhole her as combined type, leaning toward inattentive.

Then there's Mio, the bass player, the ostensibly normal, functional member of the band, who often finds herself acting as the voice of responsibility. Whereas Yui and Ritsu are content to act immature and youthful, Mio feels a pressure to act like a respectable young lady. In the first season especially, she's the one who reminds the rest of the band that practice time is actually for practice, who keeps them vaguely aware of timetables and events, and helps Ritsu and Yui hit their grade targets to keep the club together. She's not daydreamy like Mugi or impulsive like Ritsu, but she is easy to derail with distractions and although she manages to function, she never seems to find it effortless. She has a lot more in common with the other girls that she would prefer. Perhaps because of this, she's constantly anxious about the next obligation and always trying harder than anyone, often frustrated that no one else takes things as seriously as she does. I read her as the case of masked inattentive type ADHD, what people who don't have insight into her internal life might call a "mild" case because hey, she can do the work, right? She can find ways to cover up what she considers to be broken about herself and function in a neurotypical world, but she relies on anxiety and force of will to hold herself together, and even from a young age, it's clearly taking a toll.

Their advisor, Sawako, is a proper and responsible young woman, not unlike Mio. Having just returned to the school to teach after college, she's well liked by her students and respected by the other teachers. But she harbors a dark secret: she doesn't know when to dial it back. Her respectable facade is a reaction to being rejected for her over the top wild phase in high school, which was itself a reaction to being rejected for being too tame and respectable. She's desperate to have her students like her and think she's cool. She's prone to sudden impulsive decisions and emotional outbursts when she thinks that she's going to be disliked or when she thinks she can get approval. She's a classic study in rejection-sensitive dysphoria, a common comorbidity with ADHD. It's sometimes believed to be a result of being treated like there's something fundamentally wrong with you from a young age, and when you have ADHD and are always being told that you're just not applying yourself or trying hard enough, it's easy to feel that way.

K-On is secretly about ADHD.

Please don't say, "you are lazy" Because truthfully, I'm crazy! 'Cause even swans, you know Flutter their legs where they can't be seen I'm true to my instincts, though I accept I'll be constantly ridiculed I got a bright future, after all... Which is why I'll take a rest sometimes

"Don't Say Lazy" from K-On!

Written by Shouko Oomori

Composed by Hiroyuki Maezawa

Arranged by Shigeo Komori

Performed by Sakurakou K-On Bu

Aki Toyosaki as Yui Hirasawa

Youko Hikasa as Mio Akiyama

Satomi Satou as Ritsu Tainaka

Minako Kotobuki as Tsumugi Kotobuki

Translation by Rizuchan

[maddiewritesstucky]

getting off (on a technicality)

Pairing: Personal Trainer Steve / Bucky with the Good Hair

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word count: 4.5k

Tags: First date, bad flirting, exercise-based innuendo, a good dose of secondhand embarrassment, athletic screwing, top Steve / bottom Bucky

For @buckyandthejets, who’s a sucker for some awkward flirting, and is no stranger to a horny crisis 😉

A big fat thanks for the beta by @kalee60, whose notes helped fix up all the annoyances I couldn’t pinpoint myself, and love as always to my constant hype woman and cheer reader @howdoyousleep3 💗

We don’t fuck on the first date. 

Bucky swishes the cocktail in his mouth from cheek to cheek, and swishes the mantra around his lust-addled brain; a kind of mental mouthwash for impure thoughts. 

Titty McBiceps is sitting across the table, animatedly responding to the question Bucky just asked him about his day job, but all Bucky can hear is the screaming of the guy’s shirt seams — they can’t be more than a few ‘unintentional’ flexes away from busting entirely. 

“…and my buddy Sam was already in training to be a physiotherapist, and we’d always kinda dreamed of going into business together, so me becoming a personal trainer just made a lot of sense, ya know?” 

Bucky nods dumbly. He tries to wrench his gaze up from the nipples high-beaming through that too-tight shirt, but his eyes just won’t budge. “Yeah, that’s great...gotta love what you do...” 

He has no idea if the response is even remotely in keeping with what the guy—‘Steve’— had just said. It’s shameful as hell, Bucky knows that, but they’ve been here for forty-five minutes at this point, and Bucky’s been in crisis for forty-four of them. 

Steve looks exactly like his dating profile had advertised, with one glaring exception—the sheer size of him. Apparently mass doesn’t translate to the small screen, because instead of getting your average beach muscle gym-bro like Bucky had been expecting, he’d instead been met with what has to be 200lbs of build-you-a-house, carry-you-up-a-mountain, wrestle-a-bear-and-win whole ass man, and it’s short circuiting Bucky’s delicate brain.

And he’s not hiding it particularly well, if the way Steve’s smirking at him when Bucky pulls himself together enough to actually look at his face is anything to go by.

“Absolutely,” Steve grins, a little too knowing. He leans forward to rest his forearms against the table, folding them in a way that makes every muscle north of his ribs pop. “And what about you, Bucky? Do you love what you do?”

Oh, but Bucky does like the way his name sounds in Steve’s mouth...and he’s definitely not imagining the suggestive lilt Steve adds to it...

“Uh, I guess?” Bucky wraps his hands around his glass, grounding himself to the condensation beading down it. “Working at the record store is cool, mostly. A lot of my job is the retail and restocking side of things, but I get to listen to music all day. And sometimes people bring in old school record players for repairs, and I’m the one who fixes them up. That’s my favorite part.”  

“Wow, that’s delicate work,” Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, impressed. His stare turns pointed as he lifts his beer bottle to his lips and smiles around a lazy sip. “You must be good with your hands.” 

Bucky bleats out a laugh that’s awkward and squeaky and weird as hell. “Ha! Yup, yeah, it sure is...fiddly…” 

This is embarrassing. Bucky’s usually good at this, he’s great at this — first dates are his jam, because he knows who he is and what he’s about, and he’s entirely comfortable in his boundaries. 

Or at least, he was, prior to experiencing the physical revelation that is Personal Trainer Steve. Now he’s being forced to reevaluate his own rules, and he was not prepared for this kind of introspection today. 

“You know, I always wished I could be good at something like that,” Steve sighs, “but these things are made more for brute strength than finesse, unfortunately.” 

He holds up his hands and wiggles his fingers, clearly attempting self-deprecation, but all Bucky can think about is how much space just one of those digits would take up inside him. 

“Well, that must be useful for your job though?” Bucky offers, trying to derail his own deeply inappropriate train of thought. “I mean you need to be able to handle all that hard equipment…”

Steve arches a brow, and Bucky jumps to salvage the god awful sentence that just left his mouth.

“Like, I just mean, you obviously lift a lot of weights…you need to be able to grip them, and your hands are really big so they’re probably good for…that…for the weights.”

Steve nods slowly, clearly amused. “There is some weight lifting involved, yes.” 

He’s staring at Bucky like he’s seeing right through him, and apparently Bucky’s brain interprets that as ‘explain yourself more’, because suddenly his lips are moving and more sounds are coming out, before he’s even had a chance to vet them for substance. 

“And all the other stuff too! I know personal trainers don’t just lift weights, I mean you’re clearly not skipping leg day, your thighs are ridiculous. Not that I was looking at them, they’re just—I saw them, in your jeans. ‘Cause your jeans are tight.”

Jesus actual Christ.

Why isn’t someone stopping him? Why isn’t some higher power intervening and saving him from himself? In the movies this is always the part where the waiter shows up and the lovably bumbling protagonist is saved from their own awkwardness, but suddenly it’s like there’s not a single fucking employee in this entire establishment.

And Steve—Steve is just grinning like this is the most glorious train wreck he’s ever seen; leaning back in his chair with arms folded over that outrageous chest, enjoying Bucky’s spectacular nosedive into full blown idiocy.

Bucky takes a swig of his drink, wincing as an ice cube hits him square in the tooth. 

He can save this. He just needs to ask a question that will shift the focus onto Steve, and allow himself to sit there in merciful silence. 

“Um…so do you have a favorite…exercise?”

…Of all the questions that could have bubbled up in his moment of crisis, when he’s trying to focus less on the mental image of Steve working up a sweat, that’s what comes out of his mouth. 

Steve, the bastard, actually answers.   

“I like squats,” he says easily, because of course he does. “Bench press, running…Me and my friends started a beach volleyball team recently, too. Nothing competitive, just playing for fun on the weekends.” 

“Beach volleyball, that’s…” straight out of my spank bank fantasies, “That’s fun.”

“Yeah, I like being outside, I like the sun. And it just feels good to move, you know? Get some endorphins going.” 

He’s smiling guilelessly at Bucky, like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. 

The smile Bucky attempts in return probably reeks of the mental breakdown he’s about to have. “Mhmm. Definitely. Good to move.”

“How about you?” Steve asks. “Into any sports?” 

Does wrestling my inner whore count as a sport?

“Uh, I played baseball in high school and throughout college, but I don’t get to play a whole lot anymore. I still like it though...my buddies and I have a tradition of playing at the 4th of July barbeque we have every year, I always look forward to that.” 

“Baseball, huh?” Steve’s eyes spark something heated. “I always had kinda a thing for baseball players.” 

Oh god. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, that uniform?” Steve whistles low, holding Bucky’s gaze as he circles his thumb and forefinger around the neck of his beer bottle and strokes them downwards. “...We all got our fantasies, right?” 

God fucking damnit. 

Does it count as a second date if Bucky excuses himself to the bathroom, and then comes back? Like if he says he’s going to the bathroom, but then physically leaves the building, and comes back in? That counts as meeting up with Steve a second time, right?  

“I need to use the restroom,” he blurts out, catching his foot on the table leg and stumbling in his haste to stand.

Steve shoots a hand out to try and steady him, and Bucky squawks hideously in his attempt to laugh it off. 

“Be right back!” 

He waits until he’s turned away from the table and is a few steps out of earshot before he tacks on a “bye Steve, see you on our second date,” under his breath, just to make it official.

He double checks that Steve isn’t watching as he takes a turn toward the exit, and steps out into the crisp night air. His car is sitting right there in the parking lot, and he seriously considers getting in it and taking it for a spin around the block just to make this whole thing airtight, but he settles for walking a lap around the building. 

He also takes off his sweater, and shakes his hair loose from its bun before he heads back in. This is a whole new date, after all. He can’t wear the exact same thing as last time.

Steve spots him as he’s walking back to the table, and his face does a whole lot of something that makes Bucky’s stomach flip. 

“Hi,” Bucky says a little breathlessly. He drapes his sweater over the back of his chair and resettles into his seat, hoping he’s not as pink in the cheeks as he feels.

“Hey…wow, your hair…”

Steve’s eyeing him appreciatively, and Bucky’s hand automatically goes to toy with the soft waves hanging down around his collarbone. 

“Oh, this, yeah...I get a headache if I wear it up for too long, so…” 

It’s not even a lie, as such, Bucky reasons with himself. Just because he wasn’t getting a headache this time, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have later if he’d left it up.

“Looks good like this.” Steve makes absolutely no move to conceal the want in his gaze as he stares at Bucky, at his face and his hair; eyes dragging down to Bucky’s chest and the well-fitting shirt he’s wearing. 

“So you got any other plans tonight? After this, I mean?” he asks.

Bucky stops himself just shy of saying ‘doing you, hopefully.’

“Nope, free all night. You?”

Steve shakes his head. “Just this.” He chews on his bottom lip, seeming to consider something for a moment. 

“Getting kinda crowded in here, now,” he muses, glancing around the bar before looking back at Bucky. “What are your thoughts on taking a walk? There’s a coffee place down by the pier...” 

Third date, even more respectable.

Bucky nods, managing a shrug that almost looks halfway casual. “Sure. Lead the way.” 

 It’s a nice night out; a warm spring breeze rolling in, and that easy end-of-week feel in the air, but Bucky has never been so strung out in his life. 

One, because he’s decided that he’s successfully skirted his own Rules of Sexual Engagement, and can therefore fuck Steve with impunity, and two…Steve is walking close enough that Bucky can not only feel the warmth radiating off that outrageous body, but he can smell him, and sweet god he smells good. 

And not in any kind of way that comes in a bottle, either. He just smells like a guy, in the sort of way that Bucky thinks people are probably talking about when they mention pheromones, because it’s lighting up something in his brain that screams ‘virile mate!’ no matter how questionable the biology of that is.

And Bucky’s pretty sure he’s not the only one feeling it, if the way Steve keeps glancing at him is anything to go by. 

“So, do you live close by?” Bucky tries to keep his tone light and casual; that of someone just making conversation, and not someone doing mental math on whose bed will be closer at  crucial moment. 

“I do...we’re actually gonna walk right past my place,” Steve gestures vaguely up ahead in the direction they’re walking. “The gym’s just up on the next corner, and I live in the apartment above it.” 

Bingo.

“Oh yeah? Is it just you up there, or...?” 

“Just me,” Steve nods. “Whole place to myself.” 

Bucky tries to stifle the victorious grin that wants to break out, but only half succeeds. 

This really couldn’t have worked out any better if he’d planned it all himself. 

“Well, your commute must be a bitch,” he deadpans. 

Steve plays into it with a dramatic sigh. “Oh, you got no idea. An entire flight of stairs, at that time of the morning?” He shakes his head. “I’ve thought about just sleeping in the stairwell, to cut down on transit time, but you start making sacrifices like that, and where does it stop, y’know?” 

Steve slows as they reach the end of the block, coming to a stop in front of the frosted glass window of the gym. 

“This is it,” he turns to face Bucky and tucks his hands into his pockets, standing at an easy rest that very much says ‘your move.’

Bucky’s not about to let the opportunity go to waste. “So this is where the magic happens, huh? Gonna give me the tour?” 

“Is that your way of asking to take a look at all my ‘hard equipment’?” Steve doesn’t miss a beat, grinning wolfishly as he fishes his keys out of his pocket, and Bucky’s cheeks go up in flames all over again. 

Mercifully, he’s saved from having to come up with any kind of response by Steve unlocking the door and letting them into the building, ushering Bucky inside with a sweep of his hand and an ‘after you.’

It looks much like every other gym Bucky’s ever been in (or walked past, as is more the case), although he supposes they’re all the same - a big open space, dotted with daunting machines that Bucky wouldn’t have the first clue how to use, racks of free weights, mirrors everywhere...

He has to shake his head a few times to clear the mental images that pop up of Steve going about his days here, draping his body over weight benches, picking up impossible-looking dumbbells, stretching out his tired muscles...all whilst wearing indecently tiny shorts, and absolutely nothing else…

“I, ah...thought gyms were usually still open at this hour?” Bucky asks, just to occupy his mouth before it can spit out something like ‘please take off your shirt and go lift those weights over there.’ 

Steve shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it onto the small reception desk by the front door. 

“We have a couple of late nights a week, but until we get more staff on board, we can’t swing it to stay open late every night. We’ll get there.” 

There’s an easy confidence to the way he smiles, the way he carries himself in general. It’s deeply appealing, even if he didn’t already have just about everything else going for him, too. 

Bucky gravitates over to the artful arrangement of staff photos on the wall, each with the employee’s credentials and areas of expertise listed below. He takes a moment to look over the pictures of Steve’s workmates—an unreasonably attractive group of people—before he zeroes in on Steve’s profile.

“Cardio and strength training,” he reads aloud from Steve’s listed skill set, casting an appraising glance over his shoulder. “Never would have guessed that.” 

“If you knew me six years ago, you wouldn’t have,” Steve laughs good-naturedly. “I was a hundred pounds of asthmatic, immuno-compromised twink for the first eighteen years of my life. Wasn’t until I finally got the right medical intervention to get my body functioning right that I could start thinking about trying to get in any kind of shape.”

“That’s kinda hard to imagine,” Bucky turns to face him, taking in the impossibly broad and imposing planes of Steve’s body, and trying to visualize it all on a significantly shrunken scale.

Steve smiles wanly. “Well unfortunately for me, there’s photographic evidence plastered all over the walls at my ma’s house.”

“Is that what made you want to be a personal trainer? Not the embarrassing photos, just the whole...” Bucky waves a hand in gesture at Steve’s body, “…transformation…thing.” 

“I guess it gave me an appreciation for my body, and all the things it was finally capable of, yeah,” Steve nods thoughtfully. “I knew the joy of finally being well, being strong. I  wanted to help other people find that, too.” 

Bucky was already planning on getting extremely carnal with this guy tonight, but this little glimpse of compassion and outward-focus wraps a nice ribbon around the entire thing. 

Time to put the moves on, Bucky decides. Third Date Bucky, engage. 

“Well, I gotta say Steve, you do make it look appealing.” He starts wandering a lazy circuit around the room, tossing a playful look Steve’s way. “So tell me, if I were to become a member of your gym here, what could I expect from the experience?” 

Steve’s lips tick up at the corners. He makes his way over to a pull-up bar, and stretches up to curl a loose grip around it. “Well that really depends...what is it you’re hoping to achieve?” 

There’s a glint in his eye that Bucky very much likes; an edge to his grin that’s a little bit of taunt, and a whole lot of suggestion. 

A strip of his belly is showing where the hem of his shirt has ridden up, and Bucky has never wanted to lick another person so badly in his life. 

“I think I wanna work on my cardio…” 

He rakes his stare blatantly down the line of Steve’s body, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. He’s never much seen the point in playing it subtle once he’s made up his mind about getting under someone, and he’s not about to start now. Not when Steve’s standing right there, looking like that; eyeing Bucky up like he’s ready to swallow him whole. 

“Well then you’ve come to the right guy,” Steve rumbles. “I can definitely think of a few ways to get your heart rate up.” 

Oh, fuck yeah. 

“Such as…?” Bucky closes the distance between them, stepping into Steve’s space close enough that he has to tip his chin up a little to meet his gaze. 

“Well, there’s your conventional methods...HIIT workouts, spin classes, running,” Steve cocks his head as he looks him up and down, considering. “But you don’t strike me as the conventional type.” 

“What would you suggest, then?” 

Jesus, Bucky’s hands are physically itching to get at Steve’s skin, his mouth watering at the mere idea of getting any part of Steve on his tongue. His dick’s been hard for what feels like an eternity at this point, and he’s not sure how much more foreplay he can realistically take. 

If Steve doesn’t drive this circle jerk of innuendo home soon and dick him the fuck down, Bucky might actually combust.

Luckily for him, Steve seems to have reached his limit, too.

“In my professional opinion?” Steve swipes his tongue out along his very suckable, sittable bottom lip; pinning Bucky with a look that leaves no room for misinterpretation. “…I say we start with you on top, and take it from there.”

 “Oh, fuck...oh, fuck…” 

Bucky’s hands are gripped so hard around the slats of Steve’s headboard, he’s sure he’s gonna wake up with splinters.

Steve’s stamina is just plain stupid, no one needs this kind of cardio. He’s had Bucky at the edge three times already, only to pull back and switch up their positions, driving him out of his mind in yet another new and highly athletic way. 

He’s bent Bucky into shapes he didn’t even realize the human body could make; thrown him around and swallowed him down and eaten him out until Bucky just about saw God, and Bucky would be sobbing big fat slutty tears of joy if it wouldn’t make him look like an absolute lunatic.

He does have some pride. He’ll go home and cry about it in the shower later like a normal person.

“Fuck, you look good like this,” Steve rasps, gazing down at him rapt. 

Bucky almost laughs. He most definitely does not look good, that much he’s sure of. He’s sweating like hell, flushed to high heaven, hair all over the place…He was definitely drooling at one point there, and a few tears may have escaped when Steve was doing that one thing with his tongue... 

Steve’s looking at him like he means it, though, and he’s certainly touching him like he means it; hungry hands stroking and squeezing and groping at any part of Bucky he can reach. He’s rearranging Bucky’s limbs to get at him closer, screw in deeper, and he’s moaning the most incredible sounds, which Bucky would ask to record as his own personal audio porn if he were a bolder man.

It’s all a hell of an ego boost, truth be told. 

“You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen,” Bucky groans. It sounds dumb as hell, and he knows it, but Steve’s elicited all manner of inhuman sounds and faces from him tonight and he’s still balls deep in him regardless, so Bucky figures there’s not much that’s gonna shake him at this point.

Steve laughs softly. “Back at you.” 

He’s beaming a full on, eye-crinkly smile that hits almost as hard as the dick rearranging Bucky’s insides. He’s also, at long last, beginning to sound a little out of breath himself, and it’s strangely reassuring — Bucky was beginning to question whether he was actually going to make it out of this alive.  

“You getting close?” Steve pants. 

Bucky nods; a messy, desperate flop of his head. “Yeah, fuck...” 

Steve tucks an arm under Bucky’s back and rolls them both, pulling Bucky on top of him. There’s a moment of quiet dread where Bucky thinks he’s going to have to admit out loud that his spine has been reduced to jello, and he’s in no shape to be given responsibility for anyone’s orgasm right now—especially his own—but that’s not what Steve’s doing here. 

He doesn’t even let Bucky sit up; just holds him there trapped flat against that ridiculous chest and drives his hips up into Bucky, harnessing the glorious power of his thighs in a way Bucky will feel in his dreams until the day he dies.

Incidentally, the position also has Bucky’s dick rubbing most agreeably against Steve’s abs, and the light dusting of fuzz that Bucky’s face got very well acquainted with earlier. It’s truly the frosting on the climax cake. 

“Oh, shit, that’s…I’m gonna…” 

“Yeah, let it happen,” Steve’s hands slip to his lower back, holding him impossibly close as he thrusts impossibly deep, and Bucky submits to the orgasm he’s been waiting all night for.

He feels it all over, right down to the arches of his feet. It’s so intense, he can’t even bring himself to care about the utterly stupid sound he squawks into the crook of Steve’s neck, or the weird way his body spasms as he comes all over both of their stomachs.  

“So good, you’re so good, Bucky,” Steve groans, and fuck, if Bucky could come all over again... 

Steve’s breathing ratchets up to a shallow, sharp inhale, and the pistoning of his hips stutters as he comes with a gasp; his body drawing tense and his arms closing tight around Bucky’s slumped, spent frame.

“Holy shit,” he sighs shakily when the peak of it has ebbed. 

“Seconded.”

Bucky feels like he’s going to need a week to recover from this. And that’s just physically speaking — mentally, he may never come back from this. How do you have sex this good, and then ever be satisfied with anything else?

He may not even be able to touch himself again. 

“You okay?” Steve loosens his grip, but he doesn’t remove his touch completely, so Bucky doesn’t go far. He shifts sideways until his weight is only half sprawled over Steve, and nods against Steve’s chest. 

“I think so,” he slurs. “Ask me in two days...isn’t that when that delayed-muscle-whatever sets in?” 

“Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness?” Steve huffs a would-be laugh. “Don’t worry, I happen to know a great physiotherapist.”

“Right, and when he asks about the cause of injury, I can just tell him his coworker fucked me to within an inch of my physical limits.” 

Steve flops onto his side, shuffling down until he’s face to sex-flushed face with Bucky. “I wasn’t gonna say anything, but this is actually all just a ploy to get more business. I bring you back here, entice you with my equipment, and then exert you just enough that you require the help of my colleague…”

“Oh, you’re slick,” Bucky smiles, “this is a tidy little scam you got going here.”

“Mhmm.”

Steve looks pretty damn happy, taking a moment to just let his gaze wander over Bucky’s face, before his expression shutters a little and his cheeks color up. 

“Actually, if I can be honest here for a sec…I don’t usually...do…this.”

“Oh, do not even try it with the ‘I’ve never fucked a dude’ spiel. That was not the performance of an amateur, and I won’t buy it.” 

“No, asshole,” Steve laughs. “I meant, I don’t usually do this on the first date.” 

Bucky blinks. “You…really?”

“Yeah, I kind of…shit, this is gonna make me sound insane, but…I kind of reasoned to myself that if we moved to a second location, after the bar, that would count as a second date, and then we could...you know...”

Steve’s wincing like he knows exactly how it sounds, and Bucky has to sink his bottom teeth into his lip to keep from outright cackling at the entire situation. He knows he could put Steve out of his misery here, or at least give his embarrassment some company. 

But, on the other hand…

“Yeah…that is a little bit insane,” he nods, but he softens it with a grin and an affectionate caress of Steve’s arm. “But hey, it worked out pretty well for me, so...whatever you gotta do.” 

...Bucky never claimed to be a good person.

Steve heaves a relieved sigh; smiling that whole-face, sunlight smile that Bucky thinks he could very much get used to. 

“You wanna stay over?” Steve offers. “It’s pretty late now.”

“Mm, I dunno...are you gonna wake up at ass o’clock to work out in the morning?” 

The feigned indecision is entirely undercut by the fact that Bucky yawns twice in the process of getting the sentence out, and is already rearranging the pillow beneath his head. 

Steve scoffs incredulously. “After tonight? Not a chance.” 

“Well in that case, yes. I will stay.” 

Steve uses a wad of tissues to clean the worst of the mess off them both, and drops back against the mattress with a happy sigh.

“I had fun tonight,” he turns his head to grin sleepily at Bucky. “We should go on a third date some time.” 

Bucky snorts. “Sure, how’s breakfast sound? Meet you in the kitchen in eight hours.” 

“Perfect.” 

Steve turns off his bedside lamp and drags the covers up over them both, swatting a hand out to pat Bucky on the thigh. “Night, Bucky.”

“‘Night, Steve,” Bucky hums, See you on our fourth date. 

[slugtranslation-hypmic]

congratulations on your bachelors degree slug! can you give us tips on managing the workload and how you were able to talk to your counsellors about early grad? i’m a freshman in college and hope to transfer for junior year and finish then :)

Thank you very much for the congratulations! Put under a cut for length.

Your school will likely have a much different process than mine. I apologize; I will be a bit vague about the details, but a huge part of why my university worked so well for me as opposed to other schools (which I really struggled with) is because it was almost entirely self-paced. Because of that, if I wanted to take a year's worth of courses in a single semester, I could, provided I showed I could handle it. It wasn't a complex process. In your case, you will probably have a lot more graduation requirements and fiddly things to deal with, so bringing it up to a counselor now and making a roadmap towards graduation is a very smart idea. Be really careful! You don't want to end up in a time crunch due to perquisites, fall-only/spring-only classes, etc. If you're outside of the US, this may not apply (but still, please talk to the counselor), but plan ahead to take summer classes too. You'll probably not be able to do a lot of internships, extracurricular activities, or other fun/enriching things. Is the trade-off worth it? Maybe. In my case, I was paying for most of my tuition, so only paying 2 years of tuition vs 4 was a huge motivator for me. I was also working full-time and otherwise not living the typical college student life, so I already didn't give a shit about missing out on the social aspects of college. For some people, though, that's a big deal breaker.

In terms of managing the workload, again, your situation is probably going to be different. I've been lucky to have a lot of flexibility; when I was working full-time, my workday started in the afternoon and ran all evening, and when I was doing contract translation work, that could be done literally whenever. Likewise, my classwork could be done almost whenever, so I was able to shift things around as needed. My school also didn't have a lot of busywork since it emphasized self-management; it was on me to figure out how much I had to do in order to pass exams and complete projects to the necessary standards. With that being said, some general tips for time and workload management:

Plan out your time in advance with flexible scheduling. If you've been around for a while, you may remember how I always put up monthly translation calendars with daily translation goals. I almost never did the day's goal on the day itself (just because I kept moving things around as I responded to other workloads likewise shifting) but I always made sure everything was done before the deadline, aka the month's end. Flexibility is fantastic if you can have it! It allows you to absorb sudden shocks (accidents, unexpected new work coming in, illness, etc.). But if you're dealing with 12 hours of work in a day when you're only awake 16 - 18 hours, it's vital to have a game plan to know how you're going to fit that all in. Calendars, daily task lists, etc are all good tools to do this. I'd be happy to show some of mine if they're wanted.

Learn your peak hours of productivity and use them to their fullest extent. For me, I am most active in the morning (usually 5 am - 1 pm or so) so I try to shift all my hardest, most energy-consuming tasks to those time slots. Other people are most active in the evening or afternoon and should commit to those as their peak productivity hours.

Use wait times productively. Since my disability prevents me from driving, I use public transit a lot which is often sloooooow and boooooring - but I can use that to my advantage! During the unpleasant six months of my junior semester where I was averaging about 80 working hours a week (two jobs + a year's worth of classes in six months - and then there was Hypmic and housework and shit to contend with of course), the overwhelming majority of my coursework was done on the train to and from work. Before that, I printed light novel pages or grabbed Hypmic screenshots to translate during those commutes. Nowadays, on days when I know I need to run errands, I bring my self-studying textbooks with me and pencil in working on those during that timeslot. Outside of public transit, there are lots of other situations when you may lose chunks of time waiting - waiting for a ride, at a doctor's office waiting room, etc. Plan ahead, and if you find yourself in a situation where you're wasting time on your phone or whatever, know that that's a good time to spend a few minutes studying from a textbook, doing flashcards, finishing a worksheet, etc.

Budget downtime for yourself. Energy is a resource as much as time is. If you're working yourself into a crash state on a consistent basis, you're likely to burn out. Most people schedule themselves at least one day off a week to allow themselves time to relax and have fun. I... do not for a variety of reasons, but I'm very much an exception to the rule and not the rule itself. Please plan time to recharge. Having a certain time to "clock out" at the end of each day is also a wise idea.

Be diligent in taking care of yourself physically. Your body can't work at 100% capacity constantly, especially if you aren't taking care of yourself. Be mindful of getting enough rest, even if that means setting a strict bedtime. Make sure you're eating enough, at whatever times are appropriate for you, and with balanced nutrition. If you have the time, exercise is also vital.

Learn how your brain works best and go with it. What works for one person you know may not work for you. If you're not sure how to begin with this, try different strategies out and reflect as you go on what is effective and what isn't. Tweak things as needed until you feel comfortable and like you're working with yourself instead of actively fighting against yourself.

I think I'm making it sound more stressful than it is, but graduating early or otherwise managing large workloads isn't usually an easy process for anyone. I think of it as a battle I have with myself to be the very best that I can be each day, which requires a lot of discipline, training, and mindfulness of my thought processes. I don't always win this fight, but I take note of what didn't work and then try again the next day and the next to do better. Best of luck to you in your education!

[zykamiliah]

The foreshadowing of Mastermind Parker

I remember I was a bit surprised watching s5 final scene where Parker essentially takes the mastermind role (probably because I wasn't paying attention). Since then every time I rewatch I'm unconsciously trying to find clues, not in s5, where there's even an episode about it (The Broken Wing) but in earlier seasons.

The Nigerian Job: There's this scene at the beginning where she asks Nate how does he know how many guards are there, and he tells him to count the haircuts. Parker responds with "I would have miss that."

And it seems small, but I think it's interesting to note that she's the one always learning these little things from Nate. If you compare it to, say, Hardison trying to figure out in The Real Fake Car Job how Nate knew everything would happen like it did, it tells you how they perceive the mastermind role: Parker sees Nate as someone who can teach her skills she doesn't know, while Hardison sees the Mastermind as someone all-knowing that controls everything, and has perfectly effective and intricate plans for everything, like a puppet master.  When in reality you can tell Nate improvises things most of the time, even if he does have back up plans to fall back into.

The Bank Shot Job: Parker explains to Hardison how easy it's to rob a bank like that, displaying in her plans something that Nate teachs Hardison in The Gold Job: the best plans are simple and effective.

Parker: It's embarrassing. Everyone knows you don't rob a bank without an exit strategy. These two deserve to get caught. 42 seconds.

Hardison: What?

Parker: To rob this bank. One security guard who has never fired his gun before, 2 closed-circuit cameras outside, 1 inside, and a Glen-Reader safe built in the 50's whose default combination is the birth date of the manager's wife! Get in, get out, 42 seconds.

Hardison: Seriously?

This also ties with something she says later to Hardison in s2.

The Bean Town Bailor Job:

Parker: I think people are like locks. Really complicated and frustrating. But you can't force them. You have to take time and be fiddly.

Hardison: Fiddly?

Parker: You learn to be patient, and just wait until you hear the...

(the lock opens and the door swings wide)

As a thief, she has to be able to unravel complex locks and security mechanisms all the time. Nate's great at getting inside the bad guys' heads and bringing them to their undoing. (As an aside, I like the fact that the show let us know that Sophie was perfectly capable of leading the cons if she wanted to, because she's also great at manipulating people).

And if she applies the locks=people thing to the plans she makes, it's not unexpected that planning a con and planning a theft would be quite similar to her.

Another point: as a thief pre-Leverage, she was always at more risk, not because she wasn't capable of defending herself, but probably because she had to avoid security guards and the like, and because she wasn't the best at social interaction at the time. Where Sophie would make the mark open the door, Eliot would barrel through any barrier and make himself an exit and Hardison would simply hack something, or not be in a place where he could be caught.

Parker would have had to make contingency plans every time she went to steal something. It's also because she's great at improvising, and adapting, which she hones over the years working with the team.

The Three-Car Monte Job:

Nate: First Boston Independent, State Street Branch of the Boston Bank, Commonwealth Loan and Securities. Now...

Parker: First independent's got a Glenn-Reeder alarm system, series f-900. Two guards in the front, (laughs) one guard in the back. Cameras record, not monitored. Daily turnover, $2 million. State Street, mostly commercial papers and loans, but they do have bearer bonds in a basement lockdown room. Just takes a key and a retina scanner. Commonwealth (laughs) they-their alarm system's a holdover from the '70s, But (chuckles) But it's...

(everyone is looking at Parker, making her feel uncomfortable)

Parker: What? What do you guys do on your weekends?

She plans/analyses how to rob banks on her weekends, as a hobby. It's like Nate and Sophie's past-time being  solving murder mysteries. Parker loves that kind of thing and she's great at it.

The Rashomon Job: She's the one that gets closer to stealing the dagger, and only loses it because she accidentally drops it and someone (cofsophiecof) took her duffle bag by mistake.

(Transcripts taken from here)

This feels like a rather incomplete post without any useful conclusion lol But my point is, or what I was trying to prove to myself at least, is that from the begining Parker was the best candidate to the mastermind role. 

[ghaniblue]

I was tagged by @academicdisasterfic Thank you. Tag games are so fun. It's always so interesting to see what people answer.

✨ Drarry Tag Game! ✨ Answer any questions you’d like and ignore the rest!

When did you get into Drarry and why? Which Drarry fic hooked you?

I'm gonna take these two together because this is a three-pronged answer because I have been in and out of Drarry for mumbly mumbly years. They used to be my rebound ship when I was between fandoms.

So on the 17th of January 2005: I was reading chapter 6 of Transfiguration by Resonant, after resisting Drarry for about a year because I was all about Remus/Sirius. Book!Harry annoyed me and I wanted to yeet Draco into the sun. I changed my tune because fic gave me older Drarry. I still can't really go younger than 8th year.

My next return to Drarry was in February 2012. Just to show you how my opinions changed. I quote from LJ: "I am still all about Draco. I love that miserable wretch." This is the first Drarry fic I bookmarked in 2012 on my pinboard: Choices of the Heart by Naadi. One of the stories from this period that still haunts me is Railway Lands by Maelipstick (beware massive Draco angst monster). At this point Drarry had become something comfortable to return to. It was like revisiting an old friend and seeing what they've been up to. I could reread old favourites and discover new gems.

Which brings me to last year in March (1 year anniversary!). The culprit without a doubt is Grounds for Divorce by tepre. There was no hope for me after that. Instead of a rebound fandom Drarry became it. I think what struck me was how different Drarry felt, or maybe I felt different I don't know. But GfD had Harry with Egyptian ancestry! My god! I hadn't been around for that shift and it floored me. I loved it.

Top three favourite Drarry fics:

This is terrible. If you had asked me last year I would be able to pin it down to three, maybe four, but now...

Grounds for Divorce by @tepre - a magnificent fever dream of a fic, Egypt makes me weak in the knees

What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym - bursting with character and wit, dialogue to die for

Spot number three is hard. I can't decide between three fics so have them all.

Foundations verse by saras_girl - comfort fic, probably the only established relationship fic I revisit constantly

The Price We Pay for Wings by Frayach - for tearing my heart out and making me sob like a baby every time

Licurici by @lou-isfake - for making me go Charlie my beloved all over the place (shut up, triad with Drarry counts)

Why can’t you quit them?

I think because there is such a wide field of where to go with them: they can cause utter destruction but also heal each other. They are both interesting characters in their own right. There are unending possibilities. After all these years people are still writing Drarry in canon (adjacent) settings instead of flinging them out into AU land. That is mind boggling.

Would you rather be friends with Harry or Draco?

Harry, definitely. But I think I would actually be friends with fandom Draco. Harry is work, Draco I could poke fun at.

Disarm by Smashing Pumpkins - because of the Drarry vid Disarm by obsessive24 and because...

Who breaks your heart more often?

God Harry. Give the boy a hug.

Ideal career for Harry? For Draco?

I like it when Harry gets to do something with his hands, something concrete and tangible, build something. Or teach. I tend to start him as an Auror in my fics, but make him quit because ugh.

Draco I usually give something fiddly and detail oriented to do: potions, curse breaker, researcher etc. I also like him with an artistic bend.

Favourite non-Drarry HP character?

Probably Remus and Luna.

If you had to pick one, enemies to lovers or (enemies to) friends to lovers?

Enemies to lovers! No question. I am perfectly happy reading friends to lovers when the canon relationship is not-friends, though. Both I cannot do. I cannot ship best friends at all ever. Has never happened.

Would you rather read a fic that made you laugh or one that made you cry?

Both? Angst with a happy ending or hurt/comfort. If forced, I'd rather read heavy angst than humour.

Three songs that scream Drarry to you (feel free to include the Drarry-est lyrics!):

I'm not a very musically oriented person. I have no idea. I could give you three songs I imprinted on because of Drarry. Does that count?

I used to be a little boy

So old in my shoes

And what I choose is my choice

What′s a boy supposed to do?

The killer in me is the killer in you, my love

Human by Daisy Gray - my werewolf!Harry fic is named Human because of this song. It informed a lot of the emotion of the fic.

I mean, honestly. (watch the vid btw!)

Another question I'm bad at. I don't really have ones. I have favourite books but not really favourite authors.

The Sea and the Rhythm by Iron & Wine - I almost named my dad!Draco and fudge maker!Harry in Cornwall fic The Sea and the Salty Breeze.

Favourite authors outside of fic?

I had a phase around 17-18 when I read everything by Gustave Flaubert. Frank Herbert wrote my favourite books of all time, the Dune series, but I don't like his other books. Maybe Alexander Volkov who wrote my favourite childhood books: the Magic Land series.

Who hasn't been tagged yet? I don't know! @nv-md, @m0srael, @3lvendork, @corvuscrowned, @crazybutgood, @skeptiquewrites, @amywaterwings, @callmegri

[raineydaywrites]

"Looks good on you." and blupjeans ??

Sorry for how terribly late this response is but here you go!!

Lup found herself staring at her own reflection in the mirror again. She'd been doing that an awful lot lately, and she couldn't- or wouldn't- quite articulate why.

"Hey," Barry said, gruffly, coming back from the bathroom to stand beside her and wrap his arms around her. Lup watched his reflection nuzzle into her neck in the mirror until she squirmed, ticklish, away from his kisses. "It looks good on you."

"What, a ratty old t-shirt and sweatpants?" Lup laughed. "I mean, you're not wrong, I'm hot as hell in anything, but this isn't exactly my Most Look Ever, ya know?"

Barry chuckled and nuzzled his nose into her neck again. "Ridiculous. Untrue. You're the hottest t-shirt and sweatpants wearer I've ever seen. You could wear pajamas for the rest of your life and make it work."

Lup turned in his arms to face him now, gazing up at him with soft, affectionate eyes.

"Yeah, babe, I know! I'm not doubting my sexiness, just asking what brought this on," she said lightly.

Barry's face turned more serious suddenly, and Lup regretted asking, knowing that she'd just shot her own attempt at changing the subject before Barry could bring Feelings into their discussion.

"I wasn't really talking about the outfit," he murmured.

"I know," Lup whispered, leaning into his chest.

Her hands moved down her own body, softly caressing the bump at her middle where her stomach was steadily growing rounder and firmer, giving their baby a place to live. Ever since she'd started showing, her reflection kept catching her gaze oddly. It wasn't a bad odd, exactly, but her mind couldn't stop sending error messages saying this wasn't what she looked like and something was off.

"I wanted this. I always wanted this. Why does it feel so weird?" Lup asked, desperate.

"I think pregnancy just feels weird for a lot of people. Your body is different than you're used to. That's not a bad thing, it just takes some getting used to," Barry shrugged. "And for us? I mean, think about it, Loopy. We were basically exactly the same for 100 years. Never aging, never changing all that much. We all got used to being a certain way. 'Course it's gonna feel weird to be different."

Lup shrugged, but the corners of her lips twitched slightly upward.

“You always know what to say,” she sighed, leaning her head affectionately into Barry’s chest.

“Uh, sorry, have you met me?” Barry chucked, and Lup could feel the rumble of it in his chest. “I’m not exactly Mr. Eloquent, hon.”

“To me,” Lup clarified. “You always know what to say to me.”

“Oh.” It was a whisper, accompanied by a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I mean, uh, pretty sure that took a bit of practice too.”

“Nah. You got me, from day one. I wouldn’t’a said anything back then, but it’s true.”

“You got me from the start too.”

They held each other a moment longer, okay with the silence.

“Oh!” Barry burst, pulling back. “Almost forgot. Taako finished those clothes you wanted him to modify.”

“Hell yeah!” Lup cheered. Taako had been working on transmuting her regular clothes to maternity clothes, but it was fiddly work and she hadn’t realized how soon she’d need it.

“He said they were back in the closet if you wanna check it out,” Barry said, and Lup was already moving to do so.

She pulled out the first thing she saw, a little purple dress, and slipped it on, breath hitching slightly in concern over how it would fit. It wasn’t like Taako had known what her measurements were going to be ahead of time, after all.

But the dress settled nicely over her bump, fitting close but not too tight, and she beamed over at her husband.

“How do I look?” she asked, twirling slightly, completely pleased with herself for the first time in a little while.

“Amazing,” Barry breathed it with the same awe he always did, and Lup couldn’t help but move to kiss him.

“Right back atcha, babe.”

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

More things I like about No More Jockeys, now that I’m on episode seven of the second set (really a continuation of this post, but I can’t just keep adding to that one forever so I’m starting a new one):

- Alex getting genuinely exasperated with Tim for forgetting the order of turns. Alex expressing this exasperation through passive-aggressive sarcastic comments, making it sounds like he wants to just call him a fucking moron but is trying to not be too much of a dick about it.

- The previous point aside, the rise of Tim Key in set 2. Deciding to start occasionally thinking about words before he says them and things like that. Tripping people up on categories that sound obscure but have a surprising numbers of ways to fall into them, or names that are bait for failed challenges. Making up for not seeming to have the memorization or focus skills of the other two by bringing more creativity.

- I think one of my favourite parts of the whole game is when someone says something wrong and you can see one or both of the other two notice, but try to pretend they haven’t until the turn is complete, so they won’t change their answer before anyone has a chance to challenge it. And sometimes when both people notice, you can see them try to communicate with each other about it without letting on. It’s really funny, and just interesting to watch.

Alex is weirdly much better at this when it was Mark’s mistake than when it was Tim’s mistake – it seems that he’s just not very good at hiding his natural exasperation with Tim Key when he does things wrong. When Mark fucks up, there’s a sort of subtle change in Alex’s facial expression. When Tim fucks up, there’s an incredulous “What the fuck is wrong with you?” look on Alex’s face. Mark, unlike every other aspect of the game (and just contrary to how life works generally), appears to be better at this when drunk than when sober. When he’s drunk he’s always a bit giggly so you don’t notice a big difference when he reacts to something, but when he sober he’s focused most of the time, and it really stands out when he catches a mistake and reacts to it at first before covering his mouth and trying to stop. After the initial reaction his strategy for not giving anything further away is normally to just not look anywhere near the camera, which is actually a more obvious tell than if he just looked straight on and raised his eyebrows. Tim doesn’t challenge much, and when he does see a reason for challenging he’ll usually just mention it immediately, but a few times I have seen him wait for a turn to end and then challenge after giving away no signs that he was planning it, so when he wants to I think he has the best poker face of the three of them.

- Love the quirk of saying, “I don’t mind that,” instead of something stronger, whenever there’s a reasonably good joke or point. I don’t try to steal all my speech patterns from comedians off the computer, but I know that picking up language quirks when I hear them a lot is something I do subconsciously. I mean, it’s something everyone does a fair bit, but I’ve been told I do it a lot (probably for reasons that are vaguely related to autism in some way), and while the process itself isn’t conscious, sometimes I can see when it’s going to happen. I feel like that one is going to start cropping up in my own speech; I’m just getting so used to hearing it and it sounds so natural.

- I’ve started reading the comments more and people are still accusing Mark of cheating. Aside from that one time, I don’t think he is. He’s just very, to use a Watsonian word, fiddly. I also feel the need to clarify what I said earlier about respecting him for it, and say obviously I wouldn’t respect someone who cheated at anything that was in any way real. And if he were doing it all the time, which he definitely isn’t, then even then I’d say it’s taking the fun out of this game. What I respect is someone who, in one particular high-stakes moment (high stakes in the sense that Alex would have won the whole set on that turn if they’d lost the challenge, but not really high stakes in that none of this is a real thing), I’m pretty sure got so into a Zoom parlour game that he was Googling on his phone just off camera.

Also, any advantage he may have ever gained by Googling once or twice is undercut by the fact that I think he’s the most lenient of the three in backing down on challenges even when he’s right. He’s fairly aggressive at issuing challenges, but then he’ll let the others override him.

- I genuinely enjoy, not even for the comedy but just because it’s interesting to watch, the mind games of issuing challenges they know they’re likely to lose just to mess with the others and throw them off. Strategizing like that is something I and most people I know have done in actual sports competitions, challenging a referee’s call even if you’re not sure you’ll turn out to be right, just because it interrupts the match and can stop the other side’s momentum and make them worry for a bit. I love watching it apply to this.

- Alex dropped the suits fast after the first set, which I find funny. Trying at first to maintain his schtick as the guy who wears suits all the time, but then pandemic life kept going on and he stopped bothering.

- In the episode I’m watching now, Tim Key just suggested they should do an episode of this while they’re all on drugs. He said that like it was a joke or would be some sort of novelty, which is funny because alcohol is a drug and they are all on it in just about every episode. As far as I can tell, on the tipsy-drunk-hammered scale, Tim and Alex are normally at least tipsy, and Tim has had a few where he’s been properly drunk by the end of it. I think I’ve only seen Alex play while properly drunk a couple of times, though you can tell when he’s approaching the border between “tipsy” and “drunk” because his exasperation with Tim gets more pronounced. Mark has shown up to a few episodes absolutely hammered before the game even started, and while that’s clearly a bad thing for his mental and physical health, it is impressive that he can play a memory game fairly well even at that level of impairment. Obviously he’s better when sober, but he’s not as bad as he should be when hammered. It’s a testament to his intelligence that he can be slurring his words and still pick someone up on a category that was mentioned ages ago in real time. For the rest of the episodes, Mark goes back and forth between getting drunk throughout the game, and trying to take it seriously and do the whole thing sober. Anyway, the point is that I’m not sure in what world we haven’t seen them play this game while all on drugs.

- I realize this isn’t the prevailing view of the dynamic, but I overall see Alex Horne as the one of the three of them who can keep it together the best. A somewhat reasonable middle ground between Tim Key being very aggressive while not remembering what’s going on, and Mark working really hard to remember everything but getting very concerned about every aspect of it. Alex seems to be able to just… think about the words and the people he knows exist and say them in an order that makes some kind of sense. Like a normal person. Unless Tim starts fucking with him and he has a breakdown.