#my head and ears are going voom voom voom

[mimsiical]

whew i am having a real Bad Time with the new covid booster side effects, my heaad is swimming and i feel. weird

[whirlybirbs]

               (   another gif by @unearthlydust​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours. 

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

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“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that… as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it’s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.  

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

                                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦  

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both  wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

[bapyess1r]

Sunny Daze

WARNINGS: cursing, flirting

Pairings: Sam x OC, Rafe x OC

Chapter 2

Sam’s POV

I woke up with a headache and creaky joints. As I sat up from my bed, I took a deep breath enjoying the air that wasn’t of the prison variety. There was a beautiful view of Italy outside my open window and I couldn’t have been more enthusiastic for the day ahead. I stood from my bed, stretching my arms and rolling my shoulders to loosen up as I gathered my things to go shower. As I passed through the living room, I noticed the little woman from last night curled up on the couch, using her jacket as a pillow, still clad in last night's clothing. With curiosity and stealth, I made my way over to peek at her from the other side of the doorway. I stared down at her tanned skin, freckles peppered across her cheeks and down her pointed nose, her eyes big and lush with thick lashes, her lips rounded and stained a deep pink; Her hair short, dark, and pin curled. Her thin arms wrapped around her curvy but small frame as she snores lightly. She really was quite beautiful. She looked something like a 1920’s starlet. I could feel a light pang in my chest and it spooked the hell outta me, so I pushed on down the hallway to shower. I realized I sort of stuck my foot in it last night with her. Like Sully, she just wants to protect my little brother, which I guess I should be grateful for.

After a phenomenal shower, I wrapped my towel around my waist and headed back to my room to change. As I passed the common area, I stopped in my tracks. Sunny stood in the corner of the kitchenette, fixing herself a cup of coffee. At the sound of my footsteps, she turned to lock eyes with me, giving my body a once over with a smirk before taking her mug and pack of cigarettes outside. I watched as her hips swing side to side with each dainty step she took and I could feel my ears heating up. I couldn’t help but stare at her fantastic backside as she leaned against the railing with an amused grin. Just then, I heard a door behind me open. Victor took his morning hobble to receive a coffee himself when he saw me. “Jesus, kid! Put some clothes on!” He exclaimed and Sunny turned her upper half to look at me.

“Aye! You should be so lucky as to witness a spectacle of a body such as this!” I joked as Sunny cracked a smile and turned to light her cigarette. Sully on the other hand just grunted and waved me off. Prison dimmed my sense of modesty greatly. If they saw it, they just saw it. No skin off my back.

With a chuckle, I continued on to my room to get dressed. I had to look somewhat nice, going in undercover as we scouted the area around the estate as tourists. The plan Nathan came up with was for Sully and himself to go look by the front end and Sunny and I on a boat across the water, checking out the back to the best of our abilities. I figured since we’d be spending the day together that I should apologize. I knew I was in a heap of trouble and in all honesty could use all the stable help I could get. When I left to go fix myself a cup of coffee like the rest of my “roommates”, I looked around for Sunny but she wasn’t there. “She’s in the shower.” Sully mumbled, opening up the morning newspaper.

“Can you even read that thing, Sullivan?” I chuckled, grabbing a mug from the shelf.

“For the most part. My Italian’s a bit rusty.” He replied, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“Well alright then. Where’s Nathan at?” I asked.

“If I know him, he’s probably still asleep.” He licked the tip of his thumb and turned a page of the newspaper as I stopped pouring my coffee.

“Christ, I’m gonna go wake him up.” I groaned in annoyance as I hurried myself to his room.

I barged into Nate’s room clapping my hands and making all the noise I possibly could. “Let’s go, little brother! Time to get up! Up, up, up!” I said sitting on his bed and shaking him. “You’re gonna sleep the whole day away, Nathan. Get up! We got shit to do today!” I was rather enthusiastic this morning. He groaned loudly, pinching the sand from the corners of his eyes.

“Alright, alright! I’m up! Jesus…” he groaned. I left the room with a satisfied grin as he sat up.

“And don’t you dare fall back asleep, Nathan, you hear me?” I nagged, looking in his direction.

“Yeah, Yeah…” he grumbled.

As I turned to leave, I felt myself bump into something and I put my hands out to catch whatever it was. In my hands were the small damp shoulders of Sunny, head and body wrapped in towels. I let out a sigh of relief and embarrassment. “Oh…. hey…” I said, a lump began to form in my throat.

“Howdy…” She said making an innocent face at me as she clutched her clothes to her chest. My chest began to swell as I rubbed my neck.

“Listen… about last night… I’m sorry I came off that way.” I mumbled, staring into her round brown eyes.

“It’s alright. I understand. You can’t afford to fuck this up.” She responded and I shot her a small smile, nodding. After a few seconds, I noticed I was staring for too long and decided to abort.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” I said with a cough before pushing by her. I could hear a sweet giggle of amusement behind me as I left followed by a “Natey, I’m using your room to change.”

He only mumbled in response and I watched her move by him and close the door. Today with her was certainly going to be interesting.

By the time everyone had showered and gotten dressed, we three men sat in the common area… waiting on Sunny. “How long is this girl gonna take? Jesus!” I voiced, standing up to light a cigarette and stand in the balcony doorway.

“Beats me.” Nate said sipping his second cup of coffee.

“She’s a beautiful woman, Sam. Beauty like that takes time.” Sully said simply. I groaned as I took a drag of my cig, blowing the smoke outside.

“Beauty could be speedier!” I shouted in the direction of Nate’s room. After a few more minutes of waiting, I could hear the door opening. “Thank fucking Christ! Let’s get this show on the…… o-on the road…” When she emerged from the room, she was dressed casually in a fitted light green dress with heels to match. Her hair seemed a little longer than I when I saw her last night. She had a fair bit of makeup; her eyes shining with eyeshadow and liner to make her eyes stand out. I felt like if I stared any harder, my eyeballs might fall out of my sockets. ‘Va-va-voom…’ I thought as I admired the curves of her body in silence. I took a quick drag of my cigarette to cover the fact that I was choking on my own words as she sauntered by me to dig through one of her rather large bags.

“You look great, kid.” Sully complimented. She turned her head to give him a sweet smile before looking at Nathan, half asleep in his seat with a cup of coffee in his hands.

“Nate-o! Wakey wakey, baby! We gotta go. Do you guys remember the plan?” She asked, pulling a big purse from the bag and putting her belongings as well as a widescreen electronic.

“What’s that for?” I asked. I’d never seen anything like it. The way technology had grown in my absence was ridiculous. I didn’t even try to pretend to understand most of it.

“Well, it’s a tablet. I figured that if we got close enough by boat, I could hack their computer files and find a digital blueprint of the area. Y’all take one each.” She dug into her bag once more and pulled out a small plastic bag filled with small ear pieces, holding them out for each of us to grab. I picked up the small grey bud and pressed it into my ear. “With these we should be able to hear each other even across the water.” She gave each of us a small black box to put in our pockets as a receiver and she did a bit of typing on her tablet.

Sunny dispersed the electronics and made sure they were all working before we left. Going down the stairs we ran over the plan again. She and I were basically undercover as a couple. ‘This should be fun…’ I thought as we reached the front doors of the hotel, splitting off into pairs as we agreed. I walked ahead of her, swinging my keys around on my finger and adjusting my sunglasses. The clicking sound of her heels trying to keep up with me was adorable. I smiled to myself when she caught up and put a hand on my arm. “Slow down, dammit!” She whined, her Texan accent as thick as ever. I did as she asked and slowed my roll. “Where’s your car?” She asked me.

“Nate told me to rent a vehicle. Didn’t say it had to be a car.” I smirked as we approached the beautiful red bike I chose. I could hear her huffing behind me as I hopped on and prepared the bike, pulling out a small white helmet for her. “What?” I sighed in a moment of annoyance.

“Had I known we were taking a bike, I would’ve put on pants.” She mumbled, snatching the helmet and putting it on loosely, hiking up her skirt to sit behind me on the bike. I chuckled as she wrapped her arms around my waist.

“Hold on tight.” I told her with a devious grin.

‘Stop flirting and get a move on will ya?!’ I heard Sullivan shout through the coms. I heard her grunt as I started up the bike and we headed into the city.

We saw the sights of Italy as I maneuvered us through crowds and traffic jams. I was feeling pretty damn good right now. I was free. Wind blowing through my hair, a beautiful girl on my bike, and I was riding through one of the most beautiful cities in the world. When we reached our destination, I parked right up by a wall and lifted Sunny off of the bike. Which was very easy because she was so small. She hung the helmet on the handle of the bike and adjusted her skirt and hair before following me into the square. “I thought we were supposed to be a ‘couple’. You’re walkin’ too damn fast.” She nagged.

“I’m really not. You’re just short.” I replied looking at her. ‘Sam… just play nice.’ I heard Nate say.

“Yeah! Be nice to me!” She said, raising a brow at me, crossing her arms and tapping her tiny foot impatiently. I scoffed and rolled my eyes before offering my arm.

“C’mon, honey.” I called, my voice dripping in sarcasm. She strutted towards me and looped a dainty hand around my forearm. I felt a surge of electricity as she touched me and sighed. You’d think I’d be used to the touch of a woman by now.

‘You think you guys can get along for a few hours before you kill each other?’ Nathan asked.

“I’ll behave.” Sunny said, glancing about our surroundings and putting on a pair of black framed cat eye sunglasses.

‘It’s not you I’m worried about, Sunny…’ I made a face knowing Nathan couldn’t see as I heard Sullivan laughing heartily, making her smile. And it was a damn pretty one at that. I ran my fingers through my hair and scoffed.

“Don’t worry about me, little brother. My acting is absolutely top notch.” I bragged, looking at Sunny’s skin glowing in the sun. I wasn’t sure just how much acting I’d be doing however…

“We’ll see.” She cooed, running away from me for a moment to look at the coins in the fountain.

I smiled watching her in this setting. The sun bouncing off of her every curve, her hair shining brown in the light. It was like a dream or something. Somehow she was tough as nails and yet still such a sweetheart. I pulled a cigarette and lit it to calm myself as I watched her explore the area a little bit. I trailed behind her a few feet, giving her space to roam; ping pong from place to place and dance around to the street musicians. Where I fucked up is when I let her get a glimpse at the Italian boutique. I stayed as far away from that thing as possible but Sunny just had to go in. She stood at the racks outside of the shop, browsing through clothes and I watched as she reacted to each piece of clothing with a gentle smile on my face. I threw my head back a moment, enjoying the sun, listening to Nate and Sully’s casual conversation on the other end, and checked my surroundings when my heart stopped. I noticed a familiar face. Not a pleasant one either. He was there… hair slicked back, surrounded by two bodyguards, with an amused shit eating grin on his face, his sights settling on Sunny. “Shit.” I swore, briefly forgetting I could be heard.

‘What is it, kid?’ I heard Victor say.

‘What happened?’ I heard Sunny’s twang come through.

“It’s Rafe.” I began.

‘Shit…’ I heard my little brother curse.

“Sunny, don’t look up unless he comes to you, you hear me?” I said with urgency, turning my back.

‘Distract him, Sunny. He’s never met you before. Sam: you get lost. Now.’ Nate barked orders over the coms and the adrenaline began to surge. I made myself scarce, jumping randomly into the bushes nearby.

“I can’t leave. Someone has to look out for Sunny!”

‘Sunny can take care of herself.’ I heard her say under her breath.

“Sweetheart, you don’t know Rafe like we do…” I tried to get her to understand just how dangerous Rafe Adler was.

‘I can handle myself, Sam. If I’m gonna do this, I need it quiet on coms.’ Sunny snapped and the coms went silent. I stared across the street in the bushes, watching her as she continued to browse the clothing, holding up a dress, and he approached her…

Sunny’s POV

I skimmed through the clothing rack, my heart racing at the thought of having to flirt with several people in my ear. ‘God this is embarrassing…’ I thought, pushing my sunglasses to the top of my head. I looked up a moment to meet with a pair of intense green eyes. He wore his hair cut close on the sides with the top gelled back off of his model-like face. His chest was swollen with muscle beneath his fitted black collared shirt. Him being this attractive made flirting with him easier. I bat my eyelashes at him before looking back at the rack “bashfully”. When I looked up again he shot me a million dollar smile, faint dimples decorating his cheeks. ‘What in the sam hell….’ I thought. He was ridiculously good looking. I sent a smile back, playing coy and holding his gaze as I wandered into the boutique.

Inside the store were several dresses and suits. I still didn’t have anything to wear for the auction so I decided to actually browse around. I followed the racks all around the store before my eyes landed on a black lace sleeve. I pulled the short black dress, checking to make sure it was my size and getting excited when it actually was. When I turned and startled myself as I bumped into someone. A hand rested on the small of my back as to keep my from tripping over my heels and I grabbed hold of a surprisingly impressive bicep. “Woah there! Are you okay? You’d better be careful walking around here. It’s kind of a tight fit…” he said, gesturing to the narrowness of the walkways in the store. ‘Holy shit… Rafe Adler….’ I thought, slightly panicking but I had to calm down. I had a job to do and I was damn sure gonna get it done. I began to bat my lashes again and let my fingers linger on his arm a little longer. He tensed up under my touch.

“I suppose they are, huh? I’m sorry, I should’ve been more careful.” I said fidgeting with my fingers. He placed a hand on his chest and smiled.

“I’m just relieved you’re okay. I hope you don’t mind if I ask your name?” He asked, reaching out a hand to me.

“Sunny Spurrs…” I purred as I placed mine in his, lowering my voice to make my accent less harsh.

“Rafe Adler. It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you…” he smirked, kissing the back of my hand with a pair of velvety smooth lips. I could hear Nathan fake a gag on the other end of coms and I giggled. Rafe was buying it. “That’s a lovely accent you have there. Southern?”

“Texas.” I smirked as I walked over to the full length mirror to hold the dress up to my body, imagining how it would look on me. “Have you ever been?”

“Never had a reason to but… I think I just found my excuse.” He answered, slickly running his eyes up and down my backside as he leaned against a nearby rack. I straightened my posture to let him get a good look and blushed when we locked eyes in the mirror. “Might I ask what a southern belle like you is doing out here in Italy?”

“Isn’t it obvious?! I’m on vacation.” I whispered to him, passing by him to look at some jewelry. He followed.

“By yourself?” He questioned.

“I don’t need someone else with me to enjoy a vacation. I’m a big girl, Mr. Adler, and I can handle myself.” I told him as I let my fingers ghost over a beautiful pair of earrings.

“I actually believe you.” He chuckled. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind a bit of company this weekend? I uh… know a few restaurants in the area with an impeccable selection of wines. And the food here is amazing.”

“I don’t think I have that kind of money, Mr. Adler.” I said looking over my shoulder.

“Please, call me Rafe.” He seemed a bit nervous. “I wouldn’t mind treating a beautiful girl like you.” He told me with a dashing smile. I heard Sam mocking him in my ears.

‘Jesus. Talk about trying too hard.’ He said and all I could do was smile and ignore him.

“Hmm… I don’t know…”

“Need some convincing, huh?” He laughed and I shrugged. “Would you like to wear that dress somewhere nice?”

“What did you have in mind?” I asked inching closer to him, propping myself against the same rack as him, placing a hand on my hip. I dared myself to stare him right in the eyes and his gaze softened into something young and boyish.

“There’s a business party I have to attend in a few days. And auction. I’d be honored to have a dazzling woman like yourself as my date.” He asked.

‘Fuck-’ I heard Sam swear.

‘Say yes!’ Nathan shouted over him and I bit my lip as I gazed over Rafe’s face.

“Will there be…. champagne at this function?” I asked.

“As much as you can drink. I’m sure you’ll need it, holding conversations with those stuffy old rich people. But at least I’d be around...” He joked. I laughed to make him feel like he was funny and nodded.

‘Snooze!’ I heard Sam add. Once again I ignored him.

“That sounds really, Rafe. I'd love to join you.” I smiled walking with him to the cash register to pay for my dress and earrings.

“129 euros, ma’am.” The cashier told me and I began to dig into my purse but Rafe stopped me, placing a hand on my back.

“Please. Allow me.” He said, pulling out his wallet and paying for my things. I was taken aback. No one had ever offered to pay anything for me before. Especially not this much.

“Oh, bless your heart! You didn’t have to do that.” I said dramatically. Shit, it was money I didn’t have to spend.

“It’s no problem! Honestly, I really don’t mind.” He said as the cashier folded the dress neatly and placed it in a colorful paper bag for me. Rafe lifted the bag with a single finger and held it in my direction for me to take. “Grazie.” He said to the cashier. With an intrigued smile, I took it from him and we walked out of the store. I gave him the name of a random hotel within walking distance from the one we stayed at and pushed a curl behind my ear.

“I’ll have my driver pick you up. 7pm on Saturday?”

“7pm on Saturday.” I nodded with a smile.

“I’ll look forward to it, Sunny…” he said, swiftly picking up my hand and kissing it again before walking away with his bodyguards nearby. I waited until he was out of sight to speak again and turned on my heels to head down the opposite direction of the street.

“Coast is clear. Let’s get our asses to that boat.” I said.

‘This is not good. Not good at all.’ I heard Sam say in the earbud. I slowed my pace to give him a chance to catch up to me.

‘No it’s not good, it’s great! Because now we have Rafe distracted.’ Sully said.

“I don’t think I’m an acceptable distraction to keep him from getting his hands on that cross, Sully.” I said as I stopped on a bridge, overlooking the water. I leaned over the railing and began to light myself a cigarette. Appearing from the traffic of people was Sam, his hands tucked in his pockets with a cigarette between his lips as well. He moved up next to me, slickly putting a long arm around me. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

‘You’ll distract him long enough for us to get in and out quickly.’ Nathan added.

“I guess…” I said rubbing the back of my neck.

I noticed Sam staring at me, boring holes into the side of my head. “Can I help you, Samuel?” I groaned in slight annoyance.

“You weren’t really fallin’ for that were you?” He asked with a chuckle. It surprised me. If anything I detected a hint of jealousy in his voice. I smiled.

“Why? You jealous?” I called him on it. He snorted and turned his gaze to the calming waters.

“Of the trust fund baby? Never. I just can’t believe he was bold enough to use those corny lines.” He said, taking a drag of his cigarette as I smoked mine.

“What- you think you could do any better?” I smirked. He raised a brow and gave a half nod. I turned to face him, one ankle crossed behind the other with a hand on my hip and a flirtatiously curious expression, waiting.

“What now?” He laughed. I could see a tint of pink spread across his cheekbones.

“Well?... Get on with it!” I egged on with an amused smirk. He scratched his jaw trying to contain his smile of embarrassment.

‘Oh this should be good.’ I heard Sully say and my smile grew bigger while Sam shifted his feet and inched closer to me, towering over me greatly.

“Hi… my name is Sam Drake and you.. are… gorgeous…” he spoke in a lower tone to me; Taking in a deep breath as his eyes admired my body. I shook my head with a laugh and picked up my bag.

“Cute.” I smirked, turning to walk away from him. He hurried to stand in front of me, flicking his cigarette away and shoving his hands in his pockets. Something had changed in the way he looked at me. Suddenly I was entranced by his bright hazel eyes.

“Does cute get me a drink or two with you?” He smiled. There was an annoyingly swept up feeling in my chest and I crossed my arms hoping the pressure would get rid of it.

“Maybe.” I responded with a chuckle.

“Then I’m cute as hell…” he told me roughly, inching his face closer to mine. I felt my lips part a bit as my heart skipped. I was ashamed to say that it actually worked on me. But I wouldn’t let him know that. With a nervous chuckle, I pulled my shades down and fixed my hair.

“We have work to do.” I said pushing by him with a smirk.

‘Better luck next time, kid.’ Sully said.

“Meh. Not my best work but it was worth a shot.” I heard him say as he followed behind me. Working with this man was going to be a lot harder than I thought.

[nerdishfeels]

Victory at a cost

| Dedicated to @magic-in-every-book |

It's been a while since I played the mass effect trilogy, so it was nice to revisit the characters, especially my favourite OTP!

Hope you like it 😊

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

It was unusually quiet at the Purgatory Bar. 

A place known for its never-ending purple, pink and blue neon lights, buzzing conversations amongst species and that one asari conquering the dance floor, was now monochrome and resembled the atmosphere of that found in funerals.

The ground floor was packed with all kinds of species: Turians, Asari, Quarians, Salarians, Humans…

They all stood still like soldiers, surrounding the Normandy Crew. 

The floor was shrouded in near darkness, save for a single spotlight on a woman’s body, lying motionless on the table before them. 

The woman slept peacefully, unaware of the solemn, downcast faces that surrounded her. 

Her once shattered armour was replaced with a new, glossy black. The insignia, “N7″, shone brightly on her chest. Her helmet sat beside her head, along with a framed photo of herself in military attire. 

Garrus sat alone at the island bar, his back facing the crowd, a glass of hard liquor in his hand.

Joker, who stood at the head of the table, cleared his throat. 

“Thank you all for coming. We are gathered her today to celebrate the loss of a legend. The bringer of Peace and Prosperity to our galaxy. Our Commander Shepard.”

Joker cleared his throat again and pulled his cap down over his eyes. 

“Commander Shepard started off as a soldier, who earned her rank honourably. A sworn duty to the Citadel, became a life-long purpose to unite and prevent the extinction of all species.”

“The Normandy always felt like home, not just because I was its pilot, but because Shepard brought us altogether. She made us a family.”

“They say that a Captain dies with their ship. Even without her presence, we felt the Normandy die without her.”

“It will never…” Joker trailed off. He made an indistinguishable sound. 

EDI patted his shoulder. 

“…be the same without her,”  she finished. 

Joker nodded with appreciation. 

“Shepard put everyone before herself till the very end,” Liara chipped in. 

“She gave me a chance to live,” Grunt added. 

“Hell, she had the balls to cure the Genophage,” Wrex said with a laugh. 

“Commander Shepard accomplished what my people could not; Defeating the Reapers. The souls of my fellow Protheans can finally rest in peace,” Javik said. 

“She knew how much my name and reputation meant to me. It is because of her that I wear my name proudly. Tali’ Zorah Vas Normandy,” Tali praised. 

“Shepard had every right to turn us away. But for the greater good, she put aside her differences and brought us on board. And I'm thankful that she did,” Miranda added. Jacob nodded beside her.

“She was a great leader and a close friend,” Kaiden said. 

Joker regained his composure and spoke,

“The Legend of Commander Shepard will never be forgotten. It will be translated into ballads and sang by the worst, drunken voices imaginable-”

“And if Joker is done polishing Shepard’s ass, maybe she’d like to raise a toast and get this party started!” Jack smirked.

On cue, Shepard opened her eyes. She sat up with a wide grin. 

“Way to rain on my parade, Jack.” Shepard laughed.

A chorus of laughter followed. 

Garrus spun around, a smirk on his face. 

“I totally thought I was going to blow my speech,” Joker blurted, his words slurred by his laugh. 

“I told you I would have made a great actor in those space operas.”

EDI stared at Joker. 

“So, you were not on the verge of tears?” She questioned. 

Guilt coloured Joker’s cheeks. 

“I mean, I was, when I got into it, but…”

EDI turned away from Joker. 

Wrex laughed, smacking Joker on the shoulder. 

Shepard stood up on the table. She noticed Avina watching them from the balcony of the top floor. She pointed at her wrist. 

Shepard ignored her. 

Garrus walked over to Shepard and handed her a drink. Shepard’s eyes skimmed the crowd.

“Thank you for your warm words at my retirement party. Before I let you disappear and have fun, I wanted to commemorate the service of my friend, Captain Anderson. He was no stranger to pain, but that didn’t stop him from completing his duty. He may not have been the best drinking partner, but he was certainly the best captain to have by my side. He will be dearly missed.”

“To Anderson!” Shepard cheered, raising her glass. 

“To Anderson!” The crowd cheered before gulping down their drinks. 

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

Having stripped out of her armour, Shepard returned to the bar, to find it in full swing. 

The techno-music was on full blast and the dance floor was now swarming with dancing bodies. 

Shepard grinned, as she saw Joker and EDI dancing awkwardly, whilst not too far away, Jack was throwing moves that attracted a lot of attention.

The rest of the crew were scattered elsewhere; Wrex and Grunt sandwiched in-between four eager ladies on one of the couches, Samara and Javik engaged in a conversation on the top floor and Cortez and Kaiden arm-wrestling, whilst others placed their bets (more were placed on Cortez).

Distracted, Shepard missed Garrus walking towards her. 

Garrus let out a long whistle. 

“Va Va Voom,” he teased. 

Shepard glanced down at her outfit. 

The thin straps intertwined into an X-shape, leaving her shoulders and sculpted arms bare. The black, velvet dress moulded over her curves, stopping mid-thigh to expose her legs.

“You know you already get first class seats to this,”  Shepard teased back, signalling her body. 

“And yet, I want to do a standing ovation, whenever I see you,” Garrus flirted. 

He held her hand and guided her to the seat beside his, far away from the blaring music.

“You always have so much to say, but you didn’t join in with the others?”

“What I wanted to say, was for your ears only,” Garrus said. 

Shepard blushed. 

He turned to the bartender and ordered them drinks. 

“So, how does it feel to retire early?” Garrus asked.

“Like losing an arm, but I’ll live. You?”

Garrus shrugged. 

“I didn’t expect to feel so light. I love my job, but I guess it was time to settle.”

The bartender placed two sturdy glasses in front of them. 

Shepard took a swig of hers. 

“Do you remember what I told you before we fought the Reapers?” Garrus suddenly asked. 

Shepard smiled. “Of course.”

“You told me that I would never be alone…You know when you were… when we didn’t find any sign of you, it was a dark time for me. It felt like my whole world was consumed by a terrifying black hole.” Garrus spoke carefully, as though keeping the emotion out of his voice. 

Shepard placed her hand on his. 

“I remember wishing I had gone to Heaven before you did. At least you wouldn’t have been alone.”

Garrus finished his drink down in one gulp. 

Shepard held both his hands on her lap, making him swivel to face her. 

“You know, when I had to make that choice, I thought of the future you dreamed for us. I could see it so perfectly in my head. Both of us relaxing on a warm, tropical planet, you showing off your lithe arms and legs in your palm tree-styled shirt and shorts-"

Garrus laughed. 

“Even if I didn’t live to see that day, I knew I would shape our heaven that way. But it turns out there were no vacancies for us.”

Shepard scooted forward, tracing her hand on his scar. 

“I meant it when I said there was no Shepard without Vakarian. I’ve never believed in fate, but you were my calling. Biology can’t manufacture what we have. Pure and unfiltered love.”

Garrus grinned. 

“I thought saving the galaxy would be the most fulfilling, but waking up in the morning and seeing you by my side, is far more rewarding.”

Shepard leaned in, bringing her lips to his. 

As they kissed, Garrus held Shepard’s hand and slipped something onto her finger. 

He gently pulled apart and kissed her hand. 

“By the power invested in me, I now pronounce us as Turian husband and Human wife.”

Shepard held back a gasp. She gazed at the engraved band on her ring finger.

The band was thin and ebony black. On top, stood a small, glistening diamond, in the center of an infinity symbol.

“Garrus… it’s beautiful,” Shepard whispered. 

“The boys and I went searching for a ring before the battle of the Reapers. After getting Javik’s unpopular opinions on the origins of the rings, I decided I wanted one made from scratch. The band was made from a part of our armours combined. I wanted this ring to signify that our love is eternal and unlike any other.”

Shepard shook her head in amazement. 

“Garrus… I don’t know what to say…”

Garrus pressed his forehead against hers and planted her hand on his chest. 

“Just say yes. I don’t think my heart can take any more agony.”

Shepard smiled widely. 

“Did you even need to ask?” 

Shepard cupped his cheek in her hand and kissed him. 

Garrus wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. 

“Let’s make some new memories tonight. How about a little tango to celebrate?” Garrus whispered on her lips. 

Shepard instinctively retreated.

“Oh no…” She protested. 

But Garrus had already dragged her onto the dance floor before she could finish her sentence. 

As they swayed, their smiles resembled those on everyone’s faces. The happiness in the Purgatory bar was contagious, creating a rippling effect into the wide galaxy.

For now, a legend has hung up their helmet and suit.

Until next time, when a new hero rises. 

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Unloved Siblings (Part 1)

Author’s note: H-OOOOLY crap, this took a lot. I’m pretty sure I went over this at least ten times, so enjoy this peek into the land where Lucaja was born!

Summary: Lucaja breaks in two.

Here’s the fics leading up to this one;  Tear Down the Wall,  Of Confrontation and Comfort.

Without further ado, let’s go!

...

             “The Eternity Crystal’s calling…” Cush murmured, barely loud enough to hear.

           The ball of spikes sat up and listened, trying to decipher what kind of signal the crystal was sending out. Though he had been the first born into his land, he was the slowest learner out of the rest. Cush was the Pain Monster. Specifically, physical pain. He was a porcupine-like creature with thick, black spikes sprouting along the spine of his deep red body. In contrary to his threatening body, his face was one of a tender mouse; large, fluffy ears, black eyes glistening and pointy nose constantly twitching. His long tail had the equivalent of a mace on the end of it which he liked to swing around whenever he was feeling playful.

 His tiny limbs stretched and the spikes along his spine bumped into each other as he arched his back, spiky tail lashing with excitement.

             “M-Mentora! Wake up! There’s a new manifestation monster!” Cush’s squeaky voice called into the cave behind him which housed his two friends alongside himself.

             “What are you yakking about? We hardly ever get rest, Cush!” Mentora slithered out of the cave, her three eyes droopy and her tail sagging as her head was barely kept upright on her snake-like body.  

             Mentora was the Mental Instability Monster. Though she was the last born thus far of the three, she had more brain capacity, and therefore knew substantially more than the other two. She took the form of a large snake with a lioness head, complete with a strangely feminine-looking mane along with two horns that sprouted peacefully from her head. She had three eyes that glowed white like the rest of her body, and had little swirly patterns in her retinas that constantly rotated. She threw her head back and yawned as Pascal crawled out of the cave alongside her.

             Pascal was the Emotional Turmoil Monster. The single eye on his otherwise blank face changed color with how he was feeling like a mood ring. The fuzzy rainbow fur along his long neck came to an abrupt end when it met his shoulders with feathers sprouting from the rest of the base of his body instead. The feathers had their own mood-ring fix, but would only turn the color of his eye if Pascal felt that emotion very strongly. Four, glass-like wings sprouted along his lengthy spine, and sat peacefully on his back. His six, grey, dragon-like legs moved in sync like clockwork machinery as his short, stumped tail twitched with curiosity.

             “A new… manifestation?” He asked shyly, his eye turning an orangish-yellow.

             “Yeah… actually you’re right Cush, that is the call for a new creature… but how could that be? I was only born a few millennia ago… what element could we be missing?” Mentora raised her eyebrows as she cocked her head to the side.

             “Let’s go find out!” Cush started to run despite the difficulty with his short legs, so happy that he had identified the call correctly with the other two in tow.

             The Eternity Crystal glowed a brilliant combination of colors- some not even known to humans- as its vibrations were sent through the ground and air, the soft voom of its call echoing along mountain where it stood. The three approached it carefully, and like all the other times a creature had been born, the crystal momentarily cracked open, booting a small form out into the light.

             “Is it a… puppy?” Cush guessed, his round ears twitching.

             “Not entirely… It looks like it has two faces…” Pascal murmured worriedly as his eye turned a light shade of purple.

             Mentora stayed silent, watching and analyzing as the tiny figure tried to get to its feet, its two pairs of eyes blinking open to show one pair pink and the other purple, much like the creature’s fur…

             “Why is it having such a hard time standing up?” The Pain Monster questioned as the three observed the small figure trying to get up and failing multiple times.

             “Because it has too many limbs! Look!” Pascal exclaimed, using one of his clear, glass-like wings to point at the small creature as his eye flashed a bright, blinding red and yellow design.

             It was true; the new manifestation had two sets of four legs on either side of its body, as well as two sets of wings and two tails.

             “It probably doesn’t even know what’s right-side-up right now…” Mentora commented thoughtfully, sniffing the small form as it tried to decide which set of eyes would be gazing upside-down.

             “Hey! Pink side! Try to stand up!” Cush called enthusiastically, trying to give the monster an easier solution.

             Hearing this, the pink side finally took initiative and stood “right-side-up” while the purple was stuck on the bottom.

             And that is how it stayed for most of Lucaja’s life. Debaja barley got any affection, just because she wasn’t very well-liked, unlike her sister, Lucia. Debaja was seen by most as too rough for a comfort monster. The other three had been surprised that Lucaja wasn’t actually a manifestation monster like the rest of them. She was, instead, a comfort monster to help balance out the damage caused by the others; whenever creatures couldn’t deal with them on their own. However, she could only be summoned at night, and only if either an individual was alone, or was with a group that was equally as tired as they were. This gave her the name of Sleep Deprivation Monster; the soft spot in the group.

 It had been a thousand millennia, and, after giving it some though, Debaja finally decided to confront her sister. She was sick of being the unfavored one- she was literally dying from it! She had to talk to Lucia.

             …

             “Look, it’s not my fault!” Cush heard a high-pitched voice cry from inside his head. His eyes widened at the harshness in the tone as he looked around to see if he could find the two-faced monster.  

             Lucaja, since her jaw was interlocked between two different heads, could only speak in telepathy. She usually tried to keep her sentences as minimal as possible, since Mentora had told her that if she tried to have a full-blown conversation with a real being, it would make their head literally explode. But in the Land of the Infinite, Lucaja didn’t have to limit her diction.

             “No, it’s not, but you could at least help! I’ve been starving forever now! Don’t you think you could give me a little attention?” Debaja’s voice hissed back and the weak crack in her voice echoed as Cush whined.

             “But I can’t waste my energy, Debaja. I have to be there for those who need me-”

             “I NEED YOU!” Cush covered his head and whimpered at the screeching cry… it had been so loud his ears were ringing from the inside. The Pain Monster was about to call the others for help when a familiar form slithered past.

             “Mentora?”

             “Cush, come.”

             “What about Pascal?”

             “I SAID COME! NOW!” The urgency in the Mental Instability Monster’s tone threw the porcupine-like creature off his bum and onto his legs, desperately trying to keep up with the smooth, swift form as his ears rang louder.

             The scene both of them were met with when they reached the top of the hill was appalling, to say the least.

             Lucaja had slit into her two relative parts. Lucia and Debaja now had their own separate bodies. Lucia had a pink, full-grown, healthy-looking body, smooth skin shining in the sunlight as the fur on certain parts of her body grew thick and luscious, her bright pink feathers filed neatly. Her form was an eye-spitting comparison to Debaja’s who’s bones were showing through her skin as her pink eyes were sunk into her skull. Her skin and fur were patchy and uneven, and her feathers were bent all the wrong ways; some were even falling off, making her look more dead than alive.

             “Why can’t you be there for me?! Even just a little?!” Debaja spat and wheezed as Lucia recoiled.

             Strangely, with their forms separated, they could now use their own jaws, and didn’t need telepathy.

             “Why can’t you just drop it? Thousand millennia go by, and SUDDENLY you say you’ve needed me this whole time??” The pink side stood her ground and grinded her teeth, tail lashing. “If this is really a big deal, why is it popping up JUST now?? That’s not how you handle big problems, Debaja!”

             “Then you must understand how hard this is for me!” The purple side sobbed out and clutched her chest, her heartbeat terrifyingly visible through her skin. “You get all the attention and love! Sure, you share, but I need some directly! With how much you love giving to our patients, can’t you give some directly to me??”

             “Quit being so selfish! Come on, let’s just get back together and go back to the way things were! You feed off of my achievements. If we fuse back together, you’ll feel better! Please, you look so frail… let’s just stop this!” Lucia took a step forward, purple gaze softening as she tried to calm her sister down. Everything had been going so perfect, why did Debaja have to throw a big fit now?

             “NO!” Debaja screeched and turned around, whole body shaking as she refused to look at her twin. “If I really mean so little to you… then I’m going somewhere else! You can deal with the imbalance on your own! Like I have!”

             Lucia stood in shock as she watched her sister stagger and disappear into another realm. Her eyes narrowed to slits and her breathing became uneven. She suddenly realized two of her friends staring from the hill behind her.

             “W-what are you looking at?!” She shouted defensively as Cush took a few fearful steps back. “What are you even doing here?!”

             “Lucia, your thoughts aren’t flowing correctly, your head is in a whirlpool of insecurity and destabilization. Why else do you think I’m here?” Mentora hissed, her aura glowing brighter with Lucia’s growing panic.

             “N-no! I’m fine! Sh-she’s fine!” The pink half trembled as the Mental Instability Monster slithered closer, her three, swirly eyes narrowed in anger as her lip twitched into a snarl.

             “L-Lucia… what did you do?” Cush tentatively called from the top of the hill, too scared to get any closer.

             A stake went through the pink side’s heart. Cush had never talked to her like that.

             “I-I’m not the bad guy here!” She shouted angrily, causing the cute porcupine creature to hide behind the edge of the hill, gentle whining being heard from the other side. “I’m not the bad guy! I’m not!”

             “Oh, and who is? Debaja?” Mentora spat as her snake tail lashed back and forth.

             It was no secret that Mentora cared for Debaja more than Lucia. Lucia was the easy option most people chose, whenever Lucaja had to comfort someone. A shoulder to cry on, a smile on her lips, Lucia was the positive reinforcement that everyone preferred. Yet Mentora knew more than anyone else that Debaja was the more efficient choice. Yes, she also comforted her patients, but she also gave them a good slap of reality. Lucia makes her subjects dependent on her and others, hardly giving them anything real to stabilize their soul; while Debaja teaches the person to rely on themselves, and deal with reality on their own; only then would they be strong enough to find true happiness. But you see- most people don’t like to hear that. That’s why the purple side was almost never chosen. Making her suffer while her sister got all the spoils of laughter or comfort that rose from the patient.

             “Wh-where’s Pascal?” Lucia finally broke the silence, not daring to look into Mentora’s three enraged eyes.

             “Probably with Debaja.” The Mental Instability Monster replied coldly before slithering away to comfort Cush, leaving the pink half to think over what she had done…

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In a warning that will dismay dad and mom, Emily Clarkson lambasts social media trickery – Daily Mail

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Two footage, facet by facet, of a younger girl in a crimson floral bikini. She seems to be completely happy and vibrant in each, but there are apparent variations.

For a begin, within the second she is a completely totally different form — she has that magical (or legendary?) ‘perfect’ determine that is each slimmed down and pumped up. Her breasts have gone va-va-voom. Her midriff has the trace of a six-pack.

Other adjustments are extra refined. The enamel are whiter, nostril neater, eyes greater, hair longer. If you have been proven solely the second image, you’d wrestle to identify all of the alterations that have been made.

‘That’s the purpose,’ says Emily Clarkson, Instagram influencer, celeb daughter, self-confessed social media addict — and the girl within the crimson bikini. 

Emily Clarkson, 26, (pictured) is explaining to me how she has ‘improved’ a collection of her personal selfies, utilizing a number of the many common apps and filter choices obtainable to a technology of younger social media customers

‘When you start down this route, the changes are subtle. You’re simply eliminating a spot or the luggage underneath your eyes. You’re seeing what you’d appear to be with crimson hair, or blonde hair. It’s innocent. It’s enjoyable. But you then’re on a slippery slope.’

Emily, 26, is explaining to me how she has ‘improved’ a collection of her personal selfies, utilizing a number of the many common apps and filter choices obtainable to a technology of younger social media customers who wish to tweak images of themselves earlier than sharing them with their on-line pals.

If you have got kids, significantly teenage women, you will in all probability concentrate on such filters. You might even use them your self. Some add bunny ears or cat whiskers, sprinkle the display screen with hearts or flowers or flip the topic’s head into a frog. Adorable!

But altering the form of your nostril or determine is simply as easy. With a click on or two, even the least tech-savvy younger girl can change her mousy locks with cascading blonde tresses, add inches to her chest and subtract them from her thighs in seconds.

Take FaceApp, which gives one of many greatest picks of filter choices. ‘Hollywood’, as an illustration, will provide you with a new face utilizing pre-programmed enhancements that clean pores and skin, add lipstick and provide you with cheekbones.

Instant magnificence. Or a laptop’s thought of magnificence, not less than.

Instagram additionally has constructed-in filter choices, so a easy swipe will give your selfie an immediate improve.

Instant makeover: Trickery shortly alters Emily’s options in her selfie

Which is all nicely and good in the event you’re merely having enjoyable. But it’s much less innocent in the event you’re a 14-year-outdated lady scrolling via an countless listing of seemingly excellent pictures of celebrities and your personal friends.

Airbrushing is nothing new, in fact. But this on-faucet trendy equal, used relentlessly by the selfie technology, creates new prospects — and new issues.

‘If you already feel you’re not ok, then in fact you’re going to make use of all of the filters on your self. But you then get to the purpose the place nobody dares to indicate any actual pores and skin,’ says Emily.

‘Some of the features on these apps may seem harmless — but not when kids use them to change everything about how they look. Some girls simply won’t put up a image except it has been via a entire sequence of filters. It’s fairly terrifying — and it’s getting worse.

‘My worry is that a generation of girls will grow up without having a single picture of themselves looking as they actually do.’

She provides: ‘What brought it home to me was seeing pictures of missing girls. You know when a child goes missing, the family give a picture to the police to help find them. I’ve seen a few now the place they’ve bunny ears or freckles on them, which suggests these households haven’t any pictures of their daughters that haven’t been via a filter. I discover that so unhappy.’

Supportive: Emily with dad Jeremy

A current survey by Girlguiding discovered that a third of women and younger ladies will not put up selfies on-line with out utilizing a filter to vary their look.

Of the 1,473 respondents, who have been aged between 11 and 21, no fewer than 39 per cent mentioned they felt upset that they couldn’t look the identical in actual life as they did on-line. Even those that make their residing from social media say this has gone too far.

In July, the make-up artist and mannequin Sasha Pallari expressed concern when a magnificence model reposted filtered pictures.

Is that false promoting, if the aim of the photographs is to showcase the make-up in them? It is a gray space, however Pallari is now working with the Advertising Standards Authority to attempt to tighten the foundations on such practices.

Thanks to her, the hashtag #filterdrop was born and there are rising requires social media platforms to be compelled by legislation to alert customers to using filters.

In the Commons, Tory MP and GP Dr Luke Evans has proposed adjustments to the legislation that would require advertisers to declare using filters, having seen for himself the impact such pictures can have on folks’s psychological well being.

‘We know how damaging this is,’ he says, ‘as you’re warping folks’s perspective of actuality, whether or not that’s slimming down for ladies or bulking up for males.’

Now Emily, a longtime campaigner for extra realism on social media websites, has joined the fray.

Her Instagram profile is stuffed with images that proudly present her unretouched — spots, abdomen rolls and the occasional smattering of cellulite included. A video of her cavorting around her backyard in a bikini would, she admits, in all probability have been deleted by many younger ladies due to the (gasp) wobbling flesh on view.

Yet Emily is much from obese. She is a measurement 10. But in a sea of excellent poses and punctiliously curated pictures on Instagram, her footage do stand out.

‘I’ve been referred to as courageous for placing these pictures on the market. Brave! For a measurement 10 girl to be placing footage of herself on-line. That reveals how warped issues are,’ she says. ‘The message we are sending to young girls is that to look like me is not OK.’

Although Emily’s technology shouldn’t be the primary to be drip-fed pictures of unattainable magnificence, what has modified up to now few years, she says, is that airbrushed fakes aren’t simply on journal covers.

‘When I used to be in my teenagers, I desperately needed to appear to be one of many Pussycat Dolls. Now I realise the photographs of these women have been almost certainly airbrushed.

‘But as of late, youngsters aren’t simply seeing excellent pictures of celebrities or influencers. They are seeing their pals look wonderful. And if everybody else on social media is trying wonderful due to filters, you don’t wish to be the one one not utilizing them.

‘It has become the norm — and the technology has grown so sophisticated, even people who know what to look for can’t inform what’s actual and what’s filtered.

‘My generation were bombarded with unrealistic ideals of beauty. But this is much worse because it’s all over the place and we gained’t see the total results of the influence on youngsters for years. It’s in all probability too late for a lot of this technology.’

Although Emily’s technology shouldn’t be the primary to be drip-fed pictures of unattainable magnificence, what has modified up to now few years, she says, is that airbrushed fakes aren’t simply on journal covers

She provides that, sadly, she has few footage of her personal teenage years: ‘I destroyed them because I hated my body.’

Emily’s is a compelling voice: she is sufficiently old to have acquired expertise (and sense) however younger sufficient to be accustomed to a world many older folks discover baffling.

‘I don’t assume a lot of fogeys have the faintest thought what’s taking place on some social-media platforms,’ she says. ‘Instagram isn’t even the worst. Parents aren’t on TikTok. I believe they’d be horrified.’

Perhaps being outspoken is in her genes. Emily’s father is Jeremy Clarkson, the star of Top Gear and The Grand Tour.

Over the previous few years, his daughter — Emily’s mom is his second spouse, Frances Cain — has been gaining her personal following, albeit one very totally different from her dad’s fanbase. They are chalk and cheese. He is eternally ranting about woke millennials and hates Greta Thunberg, whereas Emily thinks the younger environmentalist is to be worshipped.

‘What can I say? I’m a vegetarian feminist. We are about as far aside as we will be — however we additionally respect one another and he has been very supportive. Both my dad and mom are.’ As is her fiancé Alex Andrew, who was once within the boyband Taken. They have been collectively since 2013. ‘Sometimes I cringe a bit and think of him when I put up a video of me looking — well, like I look. But he’s not bothered in any respect.’

She says her dad and mom didn’t know filters have been a difficulty till she began posting movies on the topic. ‘My dad watched one along with his pals and mentioned, “Holy s**t! We had no idea”,’ she says.

‘This is a new world. I heard one thing the opposite day that sums it up.

‘Someone mentioned that if we have been creating a new society, we’d put the necessities in first to maintain everybody protected — police, healthcare, faculties. But social media is the brand new society and we didn’t do any of that — we despatched the youngsters in first. Now it’s Lord Of The Flies. It’s unpoliced. This filter stuff is loopy and we should begin sorting it out.’

Emily additionally shares her father’s writing abilities and in her early 20s began a weblog which, in 2014, led to a ebook deal. She was hailed as a voice of her technology — and physique picture was a recurring theme.

Although her childhood was completely happy and privileged, she struggled with ‘not feeling good enough in my body’. She was by no means fats however by no means skinny sufficient, both.

‘I hated my body. So many of us did. I think of all the holidays, all the summers I spent covering my body, hating it, being ashamed.’

She describes it as ‘pure luck’ that, regardless of this, she by no means developed an consuming dysfunction.

It didn’t assist that, due to her well-known dad, her determine was on present to the entire world.

At the age of 17, she and Jeremy have been photographed stepping into a automobile and the net trolls piled in with savage feedback.

‘That was my introduction to maturity — folks saying “you are fat. You are disgusting. You should go and kill yourself”. At that age you’re so susceptible.’

Looking again now, she sees her self-loathing because the product of a ‘messed-up’ society.

‘Every magazine cover told us we had to be thin, and showed us how, sent the message that my worth as a girl depended on what size I was. No wonder I felt I wasn’t ok. But I wasn’t the issue.’

She says that in a means, social media saved her by giving her a platform and a hyperlink with others who felt the identical. Posting unretouched pictures of her physique made her admire it extra.

But inevitably, it additionally made her nonetheless extra of a goal for trolls.

Did her dad and mom not inform her to get off social media, I ask, and take up, say, accounting?

‘Yes. Quite a lot of older folks do. But even when I have been a physician or a lawyer, the identical points would apply.

‘I converse to folks with “proper jobs” and even when they simply dip out and in of social media, they’re seeing issues that mess with their heads. If you observe celebrities just like the Kardashians, you’re seeing pictures of “perfection”. It’s all over the place. That’s why it’s so necessary to get a grip on this world.

‘Parents will be fairly dismissive, telling their kids “just ignore it” or “get off social media” however that’s not an choice.’

Thanks to her rising profile, Emily was invited to participate within the actuality present Love Island.

‘I turned it down,’ she says, ‘because I knew how much grief I would get from the trolls.’

Love Island stars maintain nice sway on social media too, in fact.

‘God love them. They are so young and some of them are so surgically enhanced,’ says Emily. ‘But on social media their images are flying around and you don’t know what’s surgical procedure, what’s weight loss program and what’s filters.

‘What is the message going to the kids who see those images? I know what it is. It’s, “I am not good enough”.’

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[kittenwritesstuff]

Sympathy for the Devil

Fandom: FOX Lucifer Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x reader Genres: fluff Words: 1.870 Summary: Reader takes Lucifer to the beach. He doesn’t like the idea at first, but grows to enjoy it - requested by Anonymous

„In the land of God and Monsters, I was an Angel-„

“Uh, no, that would be me!” Lucifer’s cheerful voice rings from behind you as his hands comes to land on your hips, pressing you lightly against his chest. Much to your disappointment, he’s already dressed in his suit.

You pout as you reach to turn down radio’s volume, quitting singing along with it.

“I made you coffee,” you announce, pointing to a cup with steamy, dark liquid and Lucifer hums in response, taking it. His other hand, however, stays on your hip.

“I gotta dash. Detective called, we’ve got a case.”

“But you remember our plans for today?”

“I do, how could I not?” he jests, a tiny hint of revulsion in his voice and you turn around to face him with a quirked brow.

“Lucifer, why does a beach appears so uninviting to you?”

“Because of the sand. And I can’t wear a suit while I’m there, so…”

“But baby…” you murmur seductively and Lucifer’s eyes light up with lust. You smirk and lean in, your lips now pressed against his ear. “I bought a very new, very red and very sexy bikini. Maze shouted ‘va-va-voom!’ when she saw me in it.”

“Maze saw you first?” he asks sounding offended and you roll your eyes.

“She helped me choose the best one.”

“Well, in that case… I can’t wait to see you in that red piece. At least I’ll have a beautiful view during that rather miserable event which is a dinner on a beach.”

“You make it sound as a punishment of sorts.”

“It is! I lost a bet! It never happened and now I must suffer a horrible penalty! Oh, how unhappy I am, how broken shall I be afterwards!”

“Get your perky ass out of here before I lose my temper,” you say coldly, although jokingly as you push him away from you, ignoring his attempt at kissing your lips. but Lucifer is persistent and eventually he grasps your shoulders and pulls you close, planting a sweet kiss on your lips.

You smile widely, waving your hand to usher him to leave.

“Go, Chloe will be mad if you’re late again.”

“I’ll tell my sweetheart kept me in bed, unable to let me go,” he teases, winking at you as he swaggers towards the front door.

“Be ready at 5, hot shot!”

“I sure will, baby!” and with that, he closes the door behind himself, leaving you with a goofy grin and fuzzy feeling in your stomach.

It wasn’t always like that. You hated Lucifer’s guts when you were introduced to him. You were a witness of a murder and Chloe Decker arrived, followed by an overly joyful man in a black suit. She said he was her partner and you grimaced, visibly mocking him as he told you his name. It sounded stupid to you and the fact that Lucifer tried to hit on you and, later on, asked directly about your sex life, you were sure that there was no, even tiniest, amount of sympathy for him in you.

It changed drastically when Lucifer turned out to be the one solving the case before Chloe and arriving to save you from being murdered. You were in so much shock that you agreed on going for a coffee with him the next day, surprised by how clever and kind he could actually be.

And after that one coffee, you went for another, and another and then a dinner, which lead to being now in a regular, very happy and very satisfying relationship with mister Morningstar. You never imagined him to be a man to settle for one lady but time proved that Lucifer needed stability and love and you were gladly giving him both, and much more.

What you couldn’t always stand was the fact that you rarely saw him not wearing a suit. Well, apart from times where you, yourself, threw that pricey-looking thing on the floor of your bedroom, Lucifer always wore it. He looked sharp and ridiculously handsome in it, but you wanted to make him relax, to stop being Lucifer – Chloe’s partner and the owner of Lux and be Lucifer – your boyfriend, foolish and sometimes too handsy.

You’re done with your breakfast and when you look at the clock, it’s almost 8 AM. Humming to the song that’s currently playing in the radio, you pack your bag and head to work, making a mental list of what you should prepare for an afternoon with your boyfriend.

______

“I should hire you as one of my demons. You’re awfully persuasive,” Lucifer remarks in his usual teasing manner as you hand him a basket with your dinner. You hoist a bag with sunscreen, two blankets and towels onto your shoulder as you lock the door to your apartment.

“You’ll love it, babe, I promise,” you plant a wet kiss on his cheek as you take his hand, leading him to your car. Your grin grows wider and brighter with every passing second. You’re excited, you can’t hide it and despite how much Lucifer hated the idea of going to the beach, seeing your elated behavior makes it a thud more bearable. He loved seeing you happy and smiling.

He also loves seeing you in a short black dress, loose but flowing around your figure in a way that accentuates your lovely curves. He can see the strings of your bikini peaking out of the dress on the back of your neck and it makes fondness and adoration tickle within him. You’re beautiful, more beautiful than any girl he’s ever seen.

You drag him to the car, almost running to driver’s seat as Lucifer sits in passenger’s. He smoothes his white, loose shirt and you watch for a moment as the material stretches a bit lower, exposing his torso. Damn, what a great idea it was! You have to admit that in that shirt and beige linen pants he looks ever better than in a suit and you bite on your bottom lip, focusing your attention on the road.

You arrive within minutes and once your car is parked, you cheer loudly and jump out of the vehicle, much to Lucifer’s amusement. He’ll bear it, if it means making you happy.

“Come on, come on, you can go faster!” you usher him as you dart onto the sand, hastily taking off your sandals.

“Oh, you shout it very often, Y/N, you know I can,” he replies, grimacing as his bare feet touch the heated sand. You give him a stern look as you pull him by his hand, scanning the place to find a decent spot.

“I packed a book for you, in case you got bored.”

“I intend to keep my eye on you the entire time, my sweetheart. Don’t want any other man to stare at you for too long.”

“Is my little devil getting jealous?” you tease after you finally find a spot and reach to your bag to take out the blankets. You spread them and lay your bag there.

“I only wish them to know that you’re mine,” Lucifer explains innocently as he places the basket with food carefully and sits down, watching as you tug on the hem of your dress, wiggling your ass playfully.

“Oh, they will, I assure you,” you wink at him before you pull your dress up and over your head, pleased with yourself when you hear Lucifer’s gasp. You toss the garment aside.

“Do you like it?” you ask, a flirtatious smirk appearing on your face as you catch Lucifer’s spell-bounded gaze.

“Are you kidding me? I love it! Are those little horns there?” he points at the material covering your right breast and you nod, turning around to show him what’s printed on the back of the panties.

“No way! You’ve got a tail, baby girl!”      

You say nothing, instead you wiggle your bum again, grinning when you hear him giggle.

“Y/N, you little minx!” he calls fondly and in next second you feel strong arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you on the blanket. You erupt into a fit of giggles, unable to contain your mirth as Lucifer starts peppering your skin with sweet smooches, adding a loud “mwah!” every now and then.

He only ceases when you punch his biceps and tell that the two of you draw too much attention. Then, as per your request, he covers your skin with a sunscreen, of course not able to stop himself from pinching lightly your buttocks. He even goes to swim with you for a bit, but, just as he said, most of the time Lucifer simply watches you – as you swim, as you sunbathe, as you steal the book from him and read it for some time.

As the evening starts to approach, you suggest going home and Lucifer eagerly approves of your plan, having eaten most of the food. You drive quickly – to be frank, you can’t wait to wash the sand off of your body and weird places it got into and when you step into your flat, announcing that you’re going to take a shower, Lucifer obviously joins you, glad to help you get rid of the dirt.

Not that you mind – he seemed to enjoy himself and he voices it, in between fervent kisses, going as far as suggesting that you should go there more often.

Delighted, both of you leave now steamy bathroom – you take your phone, about to order a pizza and Lucifer takes his, to call Chloe and see if there’s any new lead. Just as he unlocks his cellphone, an indignant expression appears on his face and you come to his side, glancing curiously at the screen.

You start cackling almost immediately.

There’s a photo of the two of you – you’re sprawled on the blankets with Lucifer hovering over you, your digits in various weird angles. It’s captioned “didn’t know you were into public sex :P”

Next one is sent shortly after first – you’re laying on your stomach, your head resting on your folded arms. You’re eyes are closed, but Lucifer’s are wide open and fixed on you with adoration gleaming in them. This one has a caption saying “lovey-dovey Luci” with a heart-eyes emoji.

Lucifer growls and you decide it’s time to take the phone from him. You do so and he sits on your bed, shaking his head.

“I’ll kill that little demon,” he states matter-of-factly and you cackle.

“No, you won’t. You’ll say nothing, because I love those pics and am now sending them to myself. And I changed your homescreen. Maze got a nice shot of me in that suit.”

“Kudos for Maze, I suppose.”

“So, don’t be grumpy, my candy man,” you sit next to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and bringing him for a kiss. He pulls away seconds later, only to look at you, his pupils dilated, desire taking over his eyes and body.

“What am I going to do with you now, Y/N?”

You grin innocently, although your gaze tells him exactly what you want.

“I’m naked, Lucifer, you know what to do with me.”  

[kartiavelino]

See the Best Golden Globes Dresses of All-Time

Trae Patton/NBC/NBCU Photograph Financial institution by way of Getty Photographs Prepare as a result of the 2019 purple carpet season is nearly right here!  On Sunday, award season commences with the Golden Globes 2019, and what meaning—epic, stop-and-stare purple carpet vogue. Golden Globes regulars like Nicole Kidman, Amy Adams and Regina King are certain to proceed their year-over-year vogue streak of awing appears to be like. Nonetheless, this yr, Constance Wu and SZA, who acquired their first nominations, will seem on the carpet in statement-making vogue. It is going to be an vogue occasion you do not need to miss. As the anticipation will increase, we’re revisiting previous years and getting extra enthusiastic about what’s to come back. Final yr, the overwhelming majority of celebrities wore black in help of the Time’s Up motion, an initiative to struggle sexual harassment, assault and inequality throughout all industries. It was a “black sea of luxurious labels.” Nonetheless ,figuring out that everybody would put on the identical hue, celebs stepped out of the field in phrases of cloth selection, gown silhouettes and equipment (See: Diane Kruger‘s sheer cape). The end result was epic. Whereas 2018 was completely different from earlier years, we have by no means been disenchanted by the annual occasion’s purple carpet vogue. Awing robes, stunning luggage, sneakers that may make Carrie Bradshaw scramble from her bank card—this award present reveals the Hollywood glamour that everybody loves. Put together to be mesmerized by the finest Golden Globes appears to be like of all time beneath! Frazer Harrison/Getty Photographs Gal Gadot In Tom Ford, the Marvel Girl actress was a sight to see, sporting a ruched gown and cropped tuxedo jacket at the 2018 Golden Globes. David Fisher/REX/Shutterstock Penelope Cruz Penelope introduced glam to the 2018 Golden Globes purple carpet with an lace and embellished robe from Ralph & Russo. Frederick M. Brown/Getty Photographs Angelina Jolie The Maleficent star stuns in a Atelier Versace black gown below a sheer layer with feather-trimmed cuffs for the 2018 award present. Article continues beneath Frazer Harrison/Getty Photographs Octavia Spencer The Form of Water actress is a shining star on the 2018 carpet, due to an embellished black gown from Tadashi Shoji. REX/Shutterstock Reese Witherspoon The Huge Little Lies star and producer shined brilliant in a sunny, strapless Versace robe at the 2017 Golden Globes. The lower neckline completely complemented the thigh-high slit.  Rob Latour/REX/Shutterstock Tracee Ellis Ross Not solely did the Blackish star win a spot on the finest dressed listing in her gorgeous, sparkly Zuhair Murad calf-length gown, however she received the evening profitable Best Efficiency by an Actress in a Tv Sequence, Musical or Comedy.  Article continues beneath Frazer Harrison/Getty Photographs Lily Collins It was a modern-day princess second at the 2017 award present. The actress was adorned in Zuhair Murad Couture, that includes romantic, rose-hued lace.  Frazer Harrison/Getty Photographs Jessica Biel It was a show-stopping second for Justin Timberlake‘s different half, who arrived on the 2017 purple carpet sporting a plunging, embellished Elie Saab robe, which is a change from the star’s typical type.  Jim Smeal/REX/Shutterstock Evan Rachel Wooden The Westworld star proved you needn’t put on a glam robe to make the Best Dressed listing. Her mens-inspired Altuzarra ensemble, seen at the 2017 Globes, was tailor-made to perfection.  Article continues beneath John Shearer/Invision/AP Naomi Watts The blonde magnificence made mouths drop at the 2015 Golden Globes on this gorgeous Gucci robe accessorized by an attention-grabbing serpent necklace. Jason Merritt/Getty Photographs Jessica Alba From the 2013 Golden Globes purple carpet, we daresay that is coral Oscar de la Renta robe paired with blinding Harry Winston jewels is Jessica’s most good look to this point. Jason Merritt/Getty Photographs Angelina Jolie Inexperienced goddess! Angelina’s Swarovski crystal embroidered Atelier Versace robe made for an iconic second at the 2011 Golden Globes. Article continues beneath Frazer Harrison/Getty Photographs Diane Kruger The Bridge actress was a complete winner on this sleeveless, silver Emily Wickstead gown at the 2015 Golden Globes. Jason Merritt/Getty Photographs Lupita Nyong’o Ahhh. Lupita’s caped red-orange Calvin Klein design landed a prime spot on the Golden Globe’s 2014 best-dressed listing. Jason Merritt/Getty Photographs Anne Hathaway All the time one to go for class, Anne evokes a severe vogue second sporting a snowy Chanel Couture column robe with delicate crystal particulars at the 2013 Golden Globes. Article continues beneath Jason Merritt/Getty Photographs Sofia Vergara Discuss va-va voom! No stranger to the if-you’ve-got-it-flaunt-it method to dressing, the bombshell performed up her covetable curves in a form-fitting strapless Vera Wang robe at the 2012 Golden Globes. Except for completely hugging each curve on her physique in the proper place, the gown helped steadiness the star’s hourglass determine with its fabulously flared mermaid tail.  Jason Merritt/Getty Photographs Emma Stone Beautiful! She’s not afraid to play with daring colours on this peachy Calvin Klein quantity at the 2011 present. Jeff Vespa/WireImage Keira Knightley In a phrase: Angelic. Keira is breathtaking again at the 2006 awards present sporting a fragile Valentino gown with classic Cartier earrings.  Article continues beneath Jason Merritt/Getty Photographs Zooey Deschanel Inexperienced goddess! Angelina’s Swarovski crystal embroidered Atelier Versace robe made for an iconic second at the 2011 Golden Globes. Steve Granitz/Getty Photographs Eva Mendes The star was manner forward of the winter white pattern on this gorgeous strapless Dior robe at the 2009 Golden Globe Awards. The gown’ in any other case simple silhouette stood out due to the distinctive folded bustle at the waistline, which added an sudden wow issue. A turquoise Van Cleef & Arpels assertion necklace—and the actress’ completely tanned pores and skin!—popped completely in opposition to the gown.  Jason Merritt/Getty Photographs Kate Hudson Additionally at the 2013 present, the actress masters edge and class in the type of this Alexander McQueen design. Article continues beneath Jason Merritt/Getty Photographs Angelina Jolie For the 2012 Golden Globes, the star embraced a high-fashion look from Atelier Versace with a one-shoulder gown with a purple accent alongside the neckline.  Frazer Harrison/Getty Photographs Penelope Cruz No quantity of rain may put a damper on the Spanish stunner’s have a look at the soggy 2010 Golden Globes. Intricate detailing like a bead-embellished neckline and a tiered lace fishtail added attractive visible curiosity to her robe. She accessorized with Chopard diamonds—and a fab umbrella.  Jason Merritt/Getty Photographs Anne Hathaway The globes weren’t the solely issues that have been golden at the 2011 award present! The Les Misérables star glittered in a stunning Armani Privé Fall 2010 robe bedecked with shiny Swarovski crystals.  Article continues beneath Jason Merritt/Getty Photographs Emily Blunt With its fantastically blush shade and delicate tulle overlay, the star’s darling Dolce & Gabbana robe wowed us with its whimsically romantic design. She complemented her fabulously female look with filigreed Lorraine Schwartz cuffs.  Jason Merritt/Getty Photographs Eva Longoria In a nod to old-school Hollywood glamour, the petite actress opted for a classically stylish type with a red-hot Reem Acra strapless with a mermaid tail. A scalloped sweetheart neckline added a contemporary twist to her have a look at the 2009 award present.  Jason Merritt/Getty Photographs Olivia Wilde The star turned heads in a chocolate brown princess gown by Marchesa embellished with dazzling gold sequins at the 2011 Golden Globe awards. She well styled her hair in an informal down ‘do to steadiness out her dramatic gown.  Article continues beneath Jason Merritt/Getty Photographs Emma Stone The red-headed magnificence added edge to her two-tone Lanvin robe by cinching it with an attention-grabbing eagle belt at the 2012 Golden Globes.  https://www.eonline.com/news/1000989/see-the-best-golden-globes-dresses-of-all-time?cmpid=rss-000000-rssfeed-365-lifestyle&utm_source=eonline&utm_medium=rssfeeds&utm_campaign=rss_lifestyle The post See the Best Golden Globes Dresses of All-Time appeared first on My style by Kartia. https://www.kartiavelino.com/2019/01/see-the-best-golden-globes-dresses-of-all-time.html

[kriterium3-blog]

Asus a73b Battery  all-laptopbattery.com

Despite the novel name, VAVA's Voom speaker has gotten quite a bit of buzz on both YouTube and Amazon.Since its release last November, reviewers on Amazon have praised the Voom's sound quality, specifically the bass response. That bass comes courtesy of the speaker's large-for-its-size subwoofer.All of the Voom's controls are on top of the unit, including its power, Bluetooth pairing, and play/pause button. There's also an EQ button that lets you cycle through "normal", "party", and "surround" modes. Party mode adds even more bass into the mix, while surround mode simulates a surround-sound experience with the Voom's three speaker and two passive radiator system.One reviewer mentioned that you can pair multiple devices with the Voom simultaneously, so switching between streaming music from your phone and a movie's soundtrack from your laptop won't require you to sync every time. Those with NFC-enabled devices can also pair with the speaker that way.

VAVA pegs the battery life of the Voom at 10 hours, and reviewers have mentioned getting around that much juice out of it, less if they choose to charge a device through the USB port on the back of the speaker. For charging, you can plug the speaker into the wall, or charge over micro USB. Charging through an outlet will be substantially faster, but having the ability to recharge the Voom over micro USB is a nice touch.Ultimately you'll have to trust your ears, but for under $100, the VAVA Voom seems like a solid choice for a Bluetooth speaker, delivering good sound with a couple of neat extras. Best of all, if you like your Voom and something happens to it, it's backed by a lifetime warranty.Disclosure: This post is brought to you by Business Insider's Insider Picks team. We aim to highlight products and services you might find interesting, and if you buy them, we get a small share of the revenue from the sale from our commerce partners, including Amazon. Jeff Bezos, CEO of Amazon, is an investor in Business Insider through his personal investment company Bezos Expeditions. We frequently receive products free of charge from manufacturers to test. This does not drive our decision as to whether or not a product is featured or recommended. We operate independently from our advertising sales team. We welcome your feedback.

While the Surface Pro 4 is an iterative update to the Surface Pro 3, the Book is an entirely new machine. It's a laptop but with tablet qualities, such as a large touch screen. Apple hasn't been wresting on its hardware laurels, however. The company introduced a brand new iPad Pro back in September and has recently updated both the MacBook Air and Pro with new internals, placing them at the front of the market. Both companies are vying for similar customers: those who want the flexibility of a light-weight device (such as a tablet or ultra-thin PC) with the power of a larger machine. All models have exceptional battery life — 10 hours or more — but in other areas they vary wildly. It seems pretty clear that 2017 is going to be the year that Amazon's Alexa virtual assistant really begins to hit its stride, going from a fast-growing niche product to a mainstream must-have.While Microsoft and especially Google have made their competitive strategies clear — even Samsung and Baidu have started to make rumbles in the market — there's one elephant that, notably, isn't in the room yet: Apple, the most valuable company in the world and a notorious latecomer to any new product category.

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While Apple recently built Siri into the Apple TV, the company is said to be working on a direct competitor to the Amazon Echo — one that would apparently be more advanced than anything we've seen, down to a possible facial-recognition camera so it knows who's talking. That device, if and when it comes out, would bring Apple's 5-year-old Siri assistant head-to-head with Alexa.And the clock is ticking. Every Alexa-compatible Echo speaker, lightbulb, thermostat, refrigerator, and car that people buy today they probably won't replace for many years, meaning the critical market for early adopters is already self-selecting outside of whatever Apple has up its sleeve.Meanwhile, Wall Street is worried as ever that Apple is falling way behind as computing moves past the touch screen and into augmented reality, virtual reality, and yeah, artificially intelligent voice-powered assistants like the Echo. It doesn't help that sales of Apple's all-important iPhone are showing signs of sagging.But when Apple introduced its AirPods wireless earphones in September, it also took the lid off of the W1 chip, a little technology for improving Bluetooth audio that lays the groundwork for Apple's next big thing. It's already here, and it's going to make a big splash in the months and years to come.

The W1 chip is Apple's new technology for making Bluetooth a lot more user-friendly. It debuted on the AirPods ($159) and the Beats Solo3 Wireless ($299) headphones, both available now.In many ways, the AirPods, Beats Solo3, and other W1 devices are standard Bluetooth headsets. They'll work with any Android phone, Windows PC, or Blackberry you might happen to have lying around, the same way Bluetooth gadgetry always has.But the magic happens when you're using a W1 headset with an iPhone, iPad, Apple Watch, or Mac.First, you turn it on next to your unlocked iPhone or iPad. Second, you click "connect." Now they're automatically paired with any other Apple gadget that's signed in to your iCloud account. Switching from iPhone to Mac and back takes a click.Apple's W1 confers other benefits, too. When you're using it with an Apple gadget, the chip grants tremendous range — with the Beats Solo3, I was able to vacuum my entire small house with my phone charging in the bedroom without losing audio. Better yet, W1 uses some kind of magic optimization technique to greatly extend battery life.The next W1 device we know about is the long-delayed BeatsX fitness earbuds. Going into 2017, expect a lot more W1-powered headphones to hit the market, most — if not all — manufactured by Apple and its Beats subsidiary.

The W1 does something crucial for Apple right off the bat: It provides something cool, different, and convenient in a way that requires you to own all kinds of Apple gadgetry. Not only has the W1's it-just-works experience swayed me from considering an Android phone, it also caused me to spend considerably more time on my Mac after a year and a half on Microsoft's Windows 10.It means Apple has something that no Android phone — or Windows laptop, for that matter — can match. It also opens the door for a world where people are always wearing their headphones, with Apple's Siri only a tap away.This, in turn, means that Apple's competitor to the omnipresent Alexa is hiding in plain sight — in the iPhones and iPads that more than a billion people own and in the wireless headphones that Apple is so keen to push. In other words, the W1 brings together all the pieces of the Apple puzzle, from Siri to Beats to the iPhone, in a way that hasn't been done before.There are hurdles ahead, though. Siri can handle basic tasks just fine, but because Apple has been so cautious with its nascent smart-home strategy, it's not as great a hub for home appliances and the like as Amazon's Alexa ecosystem. Still, Siri boasts compatibility with high-profile apps like Uber, Venmo, Skype, and your phone's messages app so it can read you your texts.

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And as a nice bonus for Apple, Siri currently can control only the Apple Music streaming service and your downloaded music. In a weird way, the push toward voice controls seems likely to have a nice spillover effect for Apple's subscription services as people look for the best and easiest integrations with their new setups. I'm going to call my shot right here based on these factors: Apple's Echo competitor, whenever it arrives, won't have Siri built in, but rather will use Bluetooth and the W1 chip to connect directly to your iPhone and call Siri from there. It would look like the Amazon Echo or Google Home but use the W1's insane range to link to your phone from anywhere in your house. This would accomplish Apple's goal of requiring you to have an iPhone to use its best stuff.Looking further ahead, if Apple is indeed working on augmented reality, as everyone thinks it is, Siri could be your holographic assistant, with your W1-enabled headphones acting as the way you talk to it. After all, if you're going to hold a conversation with imaginary computer people, you wouldn't want to type your answers.

And, hey, if you want to get really weird with it, Apple's long-rumored, not-soon-to-be-released car would be a great vehicle (pun intended) to get W1 going in the car.The iPhone, iPad, new Macs, and Apple TV look great, but it's a different case when you look at the new line of accessories the company launched in 2015.First, there was the new Magic Mouse 2, which was announced in October. The charging port was placed on the bottom of the mouse. That makes it essentially useless when you're charging it.For a company that rarely sacrifices function for form, this was a bizarre choice. And the pundits on Twitter didn't let up: Then there's the new Apple Pencil, the optional $99 Stylus that works with the big-screen iPad Pro. It looks fine on its own, but things get really weird when you charge it by plugging it directly into the iPad's Lightning port. PCMag's Sascha Segan said that plugging in the Pencil directly into the iPad Pro feels "a little precarious; the Pencil sticks out of your iPad Pro in a way that feels like it might break off."

And if you don't want your iPad Pro look like some sort of medieval weapon while you're charging your Apple Pencil, you're forced to use another questionable design choice. The iPad Pro also comes with a tiny, easy-to-lose dongle that'll let you plug the Pencil into the wall just like the iPhone. Bizarre.The Pencil wasn't the only problem with the iPad Pro though. There was also the Smart Keyboard, which costs $179 and got pretty poor reviews. It's unattractive and doesn't let you prop your iPad up at different angles. It's also a pain to type on. Apple may be pitching the iPad Pro as a replacement for your laptop, but that's impossible to do with such a poorly designed keyboard.Finally, Apple unveiled a whole new wave of criticism with the launch of the iPhone 6s Smart Battery Case. The case has a built-in battery and gives your iPhone a few extra hours of juice.

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MIA: This is a white country, you dont have to spell it out to me

Maya Arulpragasam is bringing dancehall, hip-hop and grime to this years Meltdown. Is the outspoken British Sri Lankan the best argument for positive cultural appropriation?

The Guardian said that you couldnt shag to my record. As conversational openers go, MIAs beats the banal niceties of, say, Hello, how are you doing?. Its no surprise that she charges straight into a chat about why her last album was considered too confrontational for the bedroom by this paper. Its an icebreaker moulded to MIAs very own design: abrasive, compelling, underpinned by sex. Yeah, she finally concedes with a grin when I suggest we move past it, you cant have it all, can you?

Its a theme she warms up to when we talk about her edition of Meltdown at the Southbank Centre, which were ostensibly here to discuss. Usually, I wouldnt do something like this, she says, slouched under an oversized khaki coat dress. [But the organisers] were like: Hey, you can do whatever you want. Still, putting on the South Banks annual festival, curated in previous years by the likes of David Bowie, David Byrne and Patti Smith, has turned out to be a fairly arduous affair for MIA who says she doesnt do computers at the moment.

They didnt tell me it was nine days long. I thought it was a weekend. And then all my lists were, like, Well, this person wont be in London and that person is doing Glastonbury. Organising festivals is actually really complicated, she stresses. It wasnt just about dreaming something and then it appeared. Programming literally means, like, programming.

For all that Maya Arulpragasam didnt quite know what she was letting herself in for, one suspects the Southbank Centre didnt either; logistics aside, the mornings photoshoot has already been met with some flapping from the press officer made nervous by MIA climbing on the roof without safety clearance. Still, her lineup dancehall, Brooklyn hip-hop, depressive Swedish rap and Nigerian grime is perhaps the most underground the festival has seen in its 24 years. How much is she expecting to shake up its comfortable concert halls, cafe bars and conference-room spaces?

Click here to watch the video for last years Go Off.

When I was a teenager in London, I would just get a Travelcard and go somewhere, explore the city and go to weird places, she says. I would never judge the place, like, This is middle class and white. This is a white country, you dont have to spell it out to me, but there wasnt ever a limit on where I could go or what I could do.

A long, elliptical digression on London then and now follows, which takes in the optimistic multiculturalism of the 90s, Tamil house parties, empire and British identity. Its the bento box of an MIA interview: individually contained ideas that dont obviously bleed into one another and yet, overall, make a collective sense if youre prepared to go with it. Thats the key thing about MIA: you have to be willing to go with her to properly get her. Given that she still looks and sounds like a beautiful, bratty, art-school upstart and is prone to labyrinthine tangents, its easy to portray her as inarticulate or unhinged. But MIAs intelligence is instinctive rather than intellectual, and fuelled by the political.

The Mehrabian maxim that reckons that only 7% of communication is verbal is one that might best be proven by the transcript of a chat with MIA removed of all tone, attitude, context and body language. Take, for instance, her explanation of why only the future remains relevant:

As humans, we dont use our past and our history to work out the importance of what our role is in the present, she says. And if you cant use the past to define your present, then it should not be an element that holds back the future. Greece is a perfect example. More than Britain, they were brought to their knees, and not a single white country thought about saving them. And it was part of their heritage. Its where their mythology comes from or their concept of capitalism and democracy comes from. Nobody cared, everybody cared about the modern. Right?

Kim Kardashian is actually more powerful than Greece. She has more money than the whole of Greece, she continues. Therefore, thats where the power lies. If you then define it that way, then you kind of just have to live with that. And maybe whats happening in modern society: that if youre going to judge it by that, then other countries are gonna come in and define the future.

In print, its a statement that seems lacking in logic and coherence. In the moment, Im fairly sure Im able to follow her and we go on to consider how and where this future is being defined (for the record: You cant ignore the fact that China is going to be doing their thing in the next 50 years) and how Arulpragasam believes the immigration issue has become a red herring covering up a truth that can explain the American and British swing to conservative populism.

With Brexit, the idea was to get away from Europe and reinvent our identity, she says. And really, that identity was going to be American, but then they gave us Trump! So, everyone now is like, Oh shit, what is Britain? Are we going to rewind back to the 1800s? We cant. Its too late for that. So, going forward, we need a charismatic leader who then va va vooms the British identity. And we dont have that either.

People thinking that Im a bitch is totally unwarranted … MIA. Photograph: Stephanie Sian Smith/The Guide

The prime minister has called a snap election on the day we meet. Does MIA have any faith in our political system? Or in the left?

Everyone keeps going, Corbyn cant do this, but its, like, well, who else is there? she says. If people just left him alone to actually do the job and actually gave him some support, maybe hed be different. Treating him with so much contempt fighting that takes all his energy. How the fuck do you expect him to do interesting things? In any case insists the estranged daughter of a Tamil revolutionary, politicians are people who couldnt get jobs somewhere else.

MIAs politics, unwieldy and unslick though they may be, have often made her an easy target for tedious sneering in the press; the most insistent narrative is that, like Banksy, shes big on arch, subversive statement but lacks substance. Or that she is a hypocrite for making herself the poster girl for the worlds most marginalised people. And yet, shes one of the best pop stars Britain has ever produced. For all the ear-clanging experimentation of her five albums, MIA has always kept a sleeve full of pop bangers Bucky Done Gun, Paper Planes, Bad Girls, Finally that have sounded like little that came before or since her. Even if she didnt have the tunes, here is an art-school refugee Sri Lankan single mother with a visual aesthetic co-opted by everyone from Vetements to Versace who was born into political rebellion and revels in controversy. Gleefully gauche and carefree, MIA is the best argument for when cultural appropriation works. Bland singer-songstress beloved of Radio 2 playlists she isnt. So how much has the criticism bothered her?

People thinking that Im a bitch is totally unwarranted because Im not, she ays. I just had to fight for shit, and I still do. I just dont care any more. I dont know. She stops and starts. What I deal with as an artist, the media, the public persona, its a walk in the fucking park, compared to how confusing the universe really fucking is. Theres so much beauty in it and theres so much mystery, theres so much confusing shit in it. That is way more interesting to think about than why, like, Patricia hates me. You know what I mean? I laugh. Its like, Who the fuck is Patricia? and How can Patricia say this shit about me?. It just does not matter to me at all.As it is, she says shes most preoccupied with how to be a functioning grown up, an adult and a mother to an eight-year-old son (whose father Benjamin Bronfman is son to the billionaire heir of the Seagram fortune) born into immense privilege.

When the war came to an end in Sri Lanka in 2009, it actually did affect me, she explains. Everyone was, like, What the fuck does she know? Shes, like, a pop star, but that was my life. It was 50% of who I was, it was my identity. I didnt know what to do with myself. So I had a kid. Its the year the cause died, but the year my personal cause my son was born. And then, OK, I have to figure out what to do in very small parameters: I have a son, how is he going to see his grandma, am I going to make it there on Saturday? Can I make sure that I dont mess up his head by being depressed about certain things?

She struggles to reconcile her upbringing poor and living in Sri Lanka for her childhood to poor and living on a council estate in Mitcham, south London, in her adolescence with her sons. Im not very straightforward as an immigrant. That whole My kids would never see the pain that I saw; Im not like that. Im totally up for reintroducing him to the pain. I dont have any qualms about that. Her problems havent changed, she says, because of money or better circumstances. Whether Im in a mansion or a council flat, I would feel the same anxiety waking up going: I need to write this thing in a scrapbook, wheres my notepad? I would still have all those problems. I might still overcook the fish fingers. Those things are not going to magically transform because your house has changed. At the beginning I thought that money couldve saved my family. Very quickly I realised that money is not the thing.

Her conflict in wanting to being huge and commercial versus credible and ahead of the curve has been a persistent tension threaded through MIAs career. When I got into the music game, it was never an option to shut up and make lots of money. she says. To be a huge pop star, I would have to be, like, Yes, I think bombing Afghanistan was a great idea, I love our democracy and what it has achieved. I love the American flag and Im going to make a jumpsuit out of it. I just think it was important to have all of those Arab Springs, and its great and lets drink Coca-Cola. I had to do that, and do it all in a thong. Could I have done that if it meant that my mum had the nicest house in Chiswick by the river?

Click here to se the video for MIAs Bad Girls.

Does she worry about money now? If youre preaching living within your means, you have to, to some extent. But I also know that if youre someone in society that speaks out about injustice or political issues, one of the things that happens is that you get economically punished, 100%. I take that hit all the time.

The most recent, obvious example was MIA being forced to quit her headline slot at Afropunk last year, following a contentious quote in which she asked in an interview why Beyonc and Kendrick Lamar might not discuss why Muslim lives matter or Syrian lives matter. I dont regret [raising the issue], she says, with triumphant chutzpah. You saw how bad it was. And the Muslim ban didnt happen just with Trump, it was already happening under Obama. But you couldnt say that about him, you couldnt say that he introduced the Muslim ban, or banned seven different countries, or was already monitoring people, or dropped more bombs than Trump has. In truth, Obamas administration did identify the seven countries on Trumps list for additional screening measures, but it didnt bar their nationals. Shes already skipped ahead. The quantity of damage cant be quantified right now, she insists. Well have to wait the four years. After eight years of Obama, we kind of knew [his failings], but we just werent allowed to say them because he was so great. He was better than any person in Hollywood that I wouldve watched. He was really likable and just had loads of swag. That doesnt mean that you have to deny the truth, though.

This (and much more) comes moments after she tells me she has no time for opinions these days. She claims she doesnt read the news any more and that her primary sources for information are customers at the local kebab shop, taxi drivers and then sort of figuring it out. What about the state of the world? MIAs moment as an agitprop pop activist has never seemed more potent. Politics? I have no time for these things because Im so stuck in the zone. Ive become a hermit. [Meltdown] is actually giving me the chance to actually go out and meet people again. Ive gone for weeks without talking to a person, I do that happily. I tell her I dont believe her, as I suspect it would be a recipe for her to go fully barmy.

Im actually quite an extreme person, so I dont see that as madness. I see that as, like, solitude, doing a phase of solitude is not that bad. After declaring her fifth album AIM to be her final one, shes also trying to find new ways to channel her creativity. Im trying to write a film. I havent stepped into it yet because I want it to be good. Once you hit the start button you cant really stop it. She has, she tells me, the added complication of ADD to contend with. When was that diagnosed? I just have it. Dont even need diagnosis, its a waste of time, its a waste of the NHS. In truly blithe MIA style, she adds: Its just when you have too many ideas and not enough ways to get them out.

MIAs Meltdown is at the Southbank Centre, SE1, 9-18 June

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MIA: This is a white country, you dont have to spell it out to me

Maya Arulpragasam is bringing dancehall, hip-hop and grime to this years Meltdown. Is the outspoken British Sri Lankan the best argument for positive cultural appropriation?

The Guardian said that you couldnt shag to my record. As conversational openers go, MIAs beats the banal niceties of, say, Hello, how are you doing?. Its no surprise that she charges straight into a chat about why her last album was considered too confrontational for the bedroom by this paper. Its an icebreaker moulded to MIAs very own design: abrasive, compelling, underpinned by sex. Yeah, she finally concedes with a grin when I suggest we move past it, you cant have it all, can you?

Its a theme she warms up to when we talk about her edition of Meltdown at the Southbank Centre, which were ostensibly here to discuss. Usually, I wouldnt do something like this, she says, slouched under an oversized khaki coat dress. [But the organisers] were like: Hey, you can do whatever you want. Still, putting on the South Banks annual festival, curated in previous years by the likes of David Bowie, David Byrne and Patti Smith, has turned out to be a fairly arduous affair for MIA who says she doesnt do computers at the moment.

They didnt tell me it was nine days long. I thought it was a weekend. And then all my lists were, like, Well, this person wont be in London and that person is doing Glastonbury. Organising festivals is actually really complicated, she stresses. It wasnt just about dreaming something and then it appeared. Programming literally means, like, programming.

For all that Maya Arulpragasam didnt quite know what she was letting herself in for, one suspects the Southbank Centre didnt either; logistics aside, the mornings photoshoot has already been met with some flapping from the press officer made nervous by MIA climbing on the roof without safety clearance. Still, her lineup dancehall, Brooklyn hip-hop, depressive Swedish rap and Nigerian grime is perhaps the most underground the festival has seen in its 24 years. How much is she expecting to shake up its comfortable concert halls, cafe bars and conference-room spaces?

Click here to watch the video for last years Go Off.

When I was a teenager in London, I would just get a Travelcard and go somewhere, explore the city and go to weird places, she says. I would never judge the place, like, This is middle class and white. This is a white country, you dont have to spell it out to me, but there wasnt ever a limit on where I could go or what I could do.

A long, elliptical digression on London then and now follows, which takes in the optimistic multiculturalism of the 90s, Tamil house parties, empire and British identity. Its the bento box of an MIA interview: individually contained ideas that dont obviously bleed into one another and yet, overall, make a collective sense if youre prepared to go with it. Thats the key thing about MIA: you have to be willing to go with her to properly get her. Given that she still looks and sounds like a beautiful, bratty, art-school upstart and is prone to labyrinthine tangents, its easy to portray her as inarticulate or unhinged. But MIAs intelligence is instinctive rather than intellectual, and fuelled by the political.

The Mehrabian maxim that reckons that only 7% of communication is verbal is one that might best be proven by the transcript of a chat with MIA removed of all tone, attitude, context and body language. Take, for instance, her explanation of why only the future remains relevant:

As humans, we dont use our past and our history to work out the importance of what our role is in the present, she says. And if you cant use the past to define your present, then it should not be an element that holds back the future. Greece is a perfect example. More than Britain, they were brought to their knees, and not a single white country thought about saving them. And it was part of their heritage. Its where their mythology comes from or their concept of capitalism and democracy comes from. Nobody cared, everybody cared about the modern. Right?

Kim Kardashian is actually more powerful than Greece. She has more money than the whole of Greece, she continues. Therefore, thats where the power lies. If you then define it that way, then you kind of just have to live with that. And maybe whats happening in modern society: that if youre going to judge it by that, then other countries are gonna come in and define the future.

In print, its a statement that seems lacking in logic and coherence. In the moment, Im fairly sure Im able to follow her and we go on to consider how and where this future is being defined (for the record: You cant ignore the fact that China is going to be doing their thing in the next 50 years) and how Arulpragasam believes the immigration issue has become a red herring covering up a truth that can explain the American and British swing to conservative populism.

With Brexit, the idea was to get away from Europe and reinvent our identity, she says. And really, that identity was going to be American, but then they gave us Trump! So, everyone now is like, Oh shit, what is Britain? Are we going to rewind back to the 1800s? We cant. Its too late for that. So, going forward, we need a charismatic leader who then va va vooms the British identity. And we dont have that either.

People thinking that Im a bitch is totally unwarranted … MIA. Photograph: Stephanie Sian Smith/The Guide

The prime minister has called a snap election on the day we meet. Does MIA have any faith in our political system? Or in the left?

Everyone keeps going, Corbyn cant do this, but its, like, well, who else is there? she says. If people just left him alone to actually do the job and actually gave him some support, maybe hed be different. Treating him with so much contempt fighting that takes all his energy. How the fuck do you expect him to do interesting things? In any case insists the estranged daughter of a Tamil revolutionary, politicians are people who couldnt get jobs somewhere else.

MIAs politics, unwieldy and unslick though they may be, have often made her an easy target for tedious sneering in the press; the most insistent narrative is that, like Banksy, shes big on arch, subversive statement but lacks substance. Or that she is a hypocrite for making herself the poster girl for the worlds most marginalised people. And yet, shes one of the best pop stars Britain has ever produced. For all the ear-clanging experimentation of her five albums, MIA has always kept a sleeve full of pop bangers Bucky Done Gun, Paper Planes, Bad Girls, Finally that have sounded like little that came before or since her. Even if she didnt have the tunes, here is an art-school refugee Sri Lankan single mother with a visual aesthetic co-opted by everyone from Vetements to Versace who was born into political rebellion and revels in controversy. Gleefully gauche and carefree, MIA is the best argument for when cultural appropriation works. Bland singer-songstress beloved of Radio 2 playlists she isnt. So how much has the criticism bothered her?

People thinking that Im a bitch is totally unwarranted because Im not, she ays. I just had to fight for shit, and I still do. I just dont care any more. I dont know. She stops and starts. What I deal with as an artist, the media, the public persona, its a walk in the fucking park, compared to how confusing the universe really fucking is. Theres so much beauty in it and theres so much mystery, theres so much confusing shit in it. That is way more interesting to think about than why, like, Patricia hates me. You know what I mean? I laugh. Its like, Who the fuck is Patricia? and How can Patricia say this shit about me?. It just does not matter to me at all.As it is, she says shes most preoccupied with how to be a functioning grown up, an adult and a mother to an eight-year-old son (whose father Benjamin Bronfman is son to the billionaire heir of the Seagram fortune) born into immense privilege.

When the war came to an end in Sri Lanka in 2009, it actually did affect me, she explains. Everyone was, like, What the fuck does she know? Shes, like, a pop star, but that was my life. It was 50% of who I was, it was my identity. I didnt know what to do with myself. So I had a kid. Its the year the cause died, but the year my personal cause my son was born. And then, OK, I have to figure out what to do in very small parameters: I have a son, how is he going to see his grandma, am I going to make it there on Saturday? Can I make sure that I dont mess up his head by being depressed about certain things?

She struggles to reconcile her upbringing poor and living in Sri Lanka for her childhood to poor and living on a council estate in Mitcham, south London, in her adolescence with her sons. Im not very straightforward as an immigrant. That whole My kids would never see the pain that I saw; Im not like that. Im totally up for reintroducing him to the pain. I dont have any qualms about that. Her problems havent changed, she says, because of money or better circumstances. Whether Im in a mansion or a council flat, I would feel the same anxiety waking up going: I need to write this thing in a scrapbook, wheres my notepad? I would still have all those problems. I might still overcook the fish fingers. Those things are not going to magically transform because your house has changed. At the beginning I thought that money couldve saved my family. Very quickly I realised that money is not the thing.

Her conflict in wanting to being huge and commercial versus credible and ahead of the curve has been a persistent tension threaded through MIAs career. When I got into the music game, it was never an option to shut up and make lots of money. she says. To be a huge pop star, I would have to be, like, Yes, I think bombing Afghanistan was a great idea, I love our democracy and what it has achieved. I love the American flag and Im going to make a jumpsuit out of it. I just think it was important to have all of those Arab Springs, and its great and lets drink Coca-Cola. I had to do that, and do it all in a thong. Could I have done that if it meant that my mum had the nicest house in Chiswick by the river?

Click here to se the video for MIAs Bad Girls.

Does she worry about money now? If youre preaching living within your means, you have to, to some extent. But I also know that if youre someone in society that speaks out about injustice or political issues, one of the things that happens is that you get economically punished, 100%. I take that hit all the time.

The most recent, obvious example was MIA being forced to quit her headline slot at Afropunk last year, following a contentious quote in which she asked in an interview why Beyonc and Kendrick Lamar might not discuss why Muslim lives matter or Syrian lives matter. I dont regret [raising the issue], she says, with triumphant chutzpah. You saw how bad it was. And the Muslim ban didnt happen just with Trump, it was already happening under Obama. But you couldnt say that about him, you couldnt say that he introduced the Muslim ban, or banned seven different countries, or was already monitoring people, or dropped more bombs than Trump has. In truth, Obamas administration did identify the seven countries on Trumps list for additional screening measures, but it didnt bar their nationals. Shes already skipped ahead. The quantity of damage cant be quantified right now, she insists. Well have to wait the four years. After eight years of Obama, we kind of knew [his failings], but we just werent allowed to say them because he was so great. He was better than any person in Hollywood that I wouldve watched. He was really likable and just had loads of swag. That doesnt mean that you have to deny the truth, though.

This (and much more) comes moments after she tells me she has no time for opinions these days. She claims she doesnt read the news any more and that her primary sources for information are customers at the local kebab shop, taxi drivers and then sort of figuring it out. What about the state of the world? MIAs moment as an agitprop pop activist has never seemed more potent. Politics? I have no time for these things because Im so stuck in the zone. Ive become a hermit. [Meltdown] is actually giving me the chance to actually go out and meet people again. Ive gone for weeks without talking to a person, I do that happily. I tell her I dont believe her, as I suspect it would be a recipe for her to go fully barmy.

Im actually quite an extreme person, so I dont see that as madness. I see that as, like, solitude, doing a phase of solitude is not that bad. After declaring her fifth album AIM to be her final one, shes also trying to find new ways to channel her creativity. Im trying to write a film. I havent stepped into it yet because I want it to be good. Once you hit the start button you cant really stop it. She has, she tells me, the added complication of ADD to contend with. When was that diagnosed? I just have it. Dont even need diagnosis, its a waste of time, its a waste of the NHS. In truly blithe MIA style, she adds: Its just when you have too many ideas and not enough ways to get them out.

MIAs Meltdown is at the Southbank Centre, SE1, 9-18 June

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