#really values wash's opinion on stuff and she feels confident knowing that she can look to him

[tvckerwash]

hmmm I'm thinking about wash's stance on the training accident and I think it would be so funny if he gave maine a lecture about it afterwards

[suntrastar]

abstract: chapter 1

chapter 2!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word count: 7k (i am insane i know this!! you can also find this fic on ao3 !!)

Author’s note: hello! attempting to upload a fic on here for the first time ever! do i understand this website’s format. perhaps not. but am i going to try? perhaps yes! anyways hope you all like it :) likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!!! umm idk how this works if you wanna follow me you can?? do follows exist on tumblr dot com i think they do. hope they do. love you all. this is a long chapter buckle up (BUCKle up lmao i am not funny)!! enjoy ;o

“Hey, can you come look at this?”

You teach three classes a week- Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. The latter two are enjoyable in their own right, but Mondays are definitely your favorite. Instead of teaching kids, who are funny and creative but so messy, and so loud, you get to teach adults. People your own age or usually older, putting you in a position of authority, valuing your opinion, wanting you to come look at things.

It’s a delightful power trip.

You turn away from the window to see who’s speaking.

It’s Steve.

Of course it’s Steve, your star student, staring at you with a worn, weary intensity, wiping a paintbrush on a paper towel. He’s already pushed his sheet of paper across the table, bumpy with water and watercolor paint, cream-colored edges starting to curl. He leans away from it, reclining in a seat that’s adult-sized but dwarfed by his frame, looking so forlorn, like the paper just abandoned him, moved to the opposite side of the table by itself.

You stifle a laugh.

“Sure,” you say, and make your way over to his table.

Steve fidgets in his seat as you look at his painting. You try to keep your jaw in check.

It drops anyway.

As always, it’s beautiful. He’s painted a sky, swirling with purples and pinks, and careful clouds, flickering in and out between layers of paint, elegant and pale yellow-orange. And the sun- it’s off-center, and you’re sure it was unintentional, but that adds to the effect, because it’s hot red, and dazzling, and slowly seeping into the still-wet sky. Tendrils of red like real sunbeams, pushing through the clouds like a real sunset.

You don’t know why Steve even takes this class. Half the time, you feel like he should be the one teaching.

“It’s gorgeous,” you say eventually, once your words come back to you. “I love how you painted the sun- the red, oh my god. You’re seriously a natural.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and you push the paper back towards him. He looks down at it, still tense, brow furrowed, and you almost laugh again, until he looks back up at you. “I wanted to know what you thought about it.”

Power trip.

“I love it,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, which he hesitantly returns. You might be laying it on a little thick, but Steve still looks distressed, and you genuinely like the guy enough to try to help him.

When he walked in with his friend for the first class, you were floored. People like Steve don’t attend classes like this- classes like this are attended by regular people. Not people that walk like dancers, all grace and light steps, not people that are extraordinarily jacked, with jutting shoulders and rippling muscles, not people that have a weirdly authoritarian air around them, like a politician, but less shrewd.

Still, you welcomed them and made awkward small-talk and tried not to stare at their arms and hoped you came across as a somewhat decent person. It’s your first time teaching adults, you explained, and Steve gave you a smile so sincere and reassured you that you would do great, boosting your confidence to the point where you actually did.

Steve is lovely. He’s passionate about art and has a good eye, a better eye than you, really, and he always tries so hard with whatever he does, and he’s funny in a dorky way, and completely unaware of it. He always wears a baseball hat and tucks his shirts into his pants and called you ma’am once, and looked so surprised when you burst out laughing and told him to call you by your first name. With him, two classes have flown by, and now, during the third, he’s warmed up to you enough to talk to you like a friend.

The friend he brings with him, though?

A total douchebag.

The night to Steve’s day, the rain to his sunshine. It’s obvious that Steve brings him along as some sort of moral support, to make himself look less out of place, which is fine, except the guy always treats you like you’ve perpetually offended him.

And maybe you have, maybe one time you did something that’s worthy of his eternal dislike, but you wouldn’t know what it is, because he’s never brought it up, because he barely fucking talks.

You don’t think he’s a naturally quiet guy. He definitely looks like he has a lot to say, but no matter what, he only ever talks in single-syllable bursts, quiet enough that half the time you miss what he’s saying.

He doesn’t ignore you, either- he listens to everything you say and lets his judgement flicker over his face- which is way worse. A glare is a slight misstep, a shake of his head means that you’ve just said something that he finds stupid, a scowl is a catastrophe.

You don’t even know his name. He’s never introduced himself, and always writes his name in a shaky, illegible scrawl on the sign-in sheet, and by now you don’t care enough to look it up.

Still, you’re nice to him, polite. It’s okay if he doesn’t like you. You don’t need to be liked- being noticed is enough.

You shift away from Steve to his friend, sitting next to him at the table. He’s staring at you in a way that you can only describe as violent, and you flinch, and then plaster your smile back on.

“How’s it going?” You ask, expecting no response, stealing a glance at his paper. He’s painted the entire sheet a watered-down blue, and you want to congratulate him, for actually participating this time, but you don’t say anything. “The watercolors working out for you?”

Your heart goes out to the poor paintbrush in his hand. It’s barely been used, is steadily dripping water, and is being throttled in his gloved grip. He always wears one glove- it’s weird, but you’re not going to pry.

He catches you looking and a whole myriad of emotion plays over his face; irritation and shame, a creased brow and a scowl. You have the feeling that you’ve taken a massive overstep, even though you haven’t said anything else, even though you’re not looking at his hand anymore, just at him.

His hair hangs over his eyes, glossy and carelessly wavy, which you would find pretty, maybe, if he wasn’t looking at you the way he is. Like you’ve just done something terrible.

“Sure,” he says, and that’s it.

Even when you turn away, he’s glaring.

You hate it, so you pretend it’s not happening.

Steve gives you a sympathetic glance before you head back. You wave it off.

“Shonna,” you call, to the fiftysomething woman hunched over her painting a few tables down, “how’re the flowers looking?”

***

Thirty minutes before your fourth Monday class starts, you arrive at the studio to find Rina washing paintbrushes in the sink.

“Hey,” you call.

She turns to you and gives you a surprised grin. “Oh, hey! You’re here early- come help with these brushes.”

You set your bag on the counter by the wall and join her at the sink. You’ve known Rina for ages- ever since you were roommates in college. The class before yours is taught before, some advanced painting thing that she is extremely overqualified to teach.

She’s kind of famous. And kind of self-absorbed, and a little bit pretentious, but maybe that’s just what happens when you’re as successful in your field as she is. No matter what it is, you can’t complain- she’s the one that helped get you this job in the first place.

“A couple of people in my class like to get here early, so I just try to arrive before them,” you say. She passes you a clean paintbrush. You reach around her and tear off a paper towel from the dispenser. “Did you dye your hair? It looks so pretty.”

“Yes!” She shakes her head, letting her hair sway. Last time you met her, she had dyed it pink. Now it’s mahogany red, straight and sleek and falling just past her shoulders. She looks a little unreal. “How’s your class going? Are the people okay?”

“Yeah, most of them are pretty nice.”

She passes you another paintbrush to dry. You consider bringing up Steve’s friend, but decide against it.

“That’s good- and you’re welcome, by the way. But okay, listen. Do you remember that one guy I told you about a while back, Dustin? So yesterday I was just sitting at home, and then he texted me…”

With the formalities out of the way, she launches into a story about someone you definitely don’t remember. Still, you humor her, listen to what she has to say, chime in at the right parts and say “really?” and “no way!” too many times. The minutes tick by.

When all of the brushes are washed and dried, you take them, since you’re going to be the one using them next, and start setting up for the class. Rina walks away and grabs her stuff from the counter. She lingers by the doorway, door already propped open, aimlessly scrolling through something on her phone, hesitant to leave for a reason you don’t know. Maybe she has more to say- if that’s even, like, possible.

You set the brushes in a container at the center table, and head over to the shelves on the far wall to pull out more supplies. Unfortunately, today’s class is revolving around watercolor again. It’s drudgery, such a boring medium- dull, unsaturated, painstaking when it comes to detail. You bring out a stack of paper, the least-depressing palettes, and then mason jars for holding water.

You’re setting the last jar on the table when Rina shrieks.

It startles you, making your hand slip.

The jar wobbles over the edge of the table and then falls, shattering into cloudy glass pieces at your feet.

“Shit,” you curse, and look over at her. “Rina, what the hell?”

Standing across from her in the doorway, having arrived early for class as usual, are Steve and his friends, two shades more flustered than usual. Rina is gawking at them.

Okay, they’re attractive, but not that attractive.

Not shriek-worthy attractive.

You sigh loudly and carefully step over the glass, making your way over to them. “Hi, Steve,” you say, and he jolts, like a scared cat. He’s blushing, stepping back into the hallway, hands awkwardly dangling at his sides. His friend is staring at Rina like he’s about to murder her, and you’re staring at him like you’re about to ask him to pass you the broom behind the door.

Because you are.

“Sorry about… that. There’s a broom behind the door, could you pass it to me?”

He opens his mouth to say something, and you are desperate to hear him, even if he’s only going to utter a simple yes, but Rina buts in.

“You did not just ask the Winter Soldier to pass you a broom.”

Who?

“Girl, what?”

All three of you turn to her, cornering back into the wall. She looks even more unreal, eyes blown wide, red creeping up her neck, giving her hair a run for its money, still gawking. You resist the urge to reach out and pull her chin back up, to close her mouth.

She alternates between looking at Steve and at…  

“That’s the Winter Soldier,” she says slowly, like she’s trying to convince herself, or you, and then steps closer to Steve, who instinctively takes a step back. He’s fully in the hallway, now. “And you’re Captain America.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. He stays silent, and you feel bad for him, that’s all you can feel, really- you are confused beyond reason, halfway convinced that Rina is losing her shit, still awaiting the broom, still awaiting Steve’s friend’s words, racking your brain for any image of Captain America or the Winter Soldier that you might have- and coming up completely empty.

You don’t watch the news, like, ever.

Little details float back to you. Steve’s dressing sense, his manners, his muscles…

The baseball caps that both of them are always wearing...

His friend’s glove…

Oh, fuck.

“Are you?” You ask dumbly. The question is meant for both of them, but you only look at one of them while speaking. A glare meets you back- a slight misstep.

You can’t even see your feet, in this situation. You’re walking blind.

Steve crosses his arms and looks at you sternly. He doesn’t look angry, but as close as he can get. “Yes,” he says, completely guarded and unfriendly and not lovely at all. “I thought you knew that.”

You are so stupid- how did you not know that?

“I didn’t,” you say, and you don’t sound convincing at all. Not much fazes you, but you are absolutely, positively fazed right now, and starting to spiral out. “I had no idea- I thought you guys could have been, like, bodyguards, or something, not actual Avengers, oh my god. I’m so sorry, shit, thank you for your service?”

You’re going to end it all- this is so embarrassing.

Steve’s mouth twitches. Rina is scarlet-faced. The Winter Soldier, god, looks so tense, like he might shatter, too, into silent, grumpy pieces all over the floor.

“You’re welcome,” Steve says, and marginally relaxes. He stays in the hallway, the Winter Soldier by the door- you should have paid more attention in your tenth grade history class, what is the guy’s name?

Rina peels herself off the wall, and you start to get nervous. There’s a painful silence, with lots of staring, where you’re still trying to coax a few rational thoughts out of your brain, and only coming up with one- Rina needs to leave.  

You try to tell her that with your eyes, with a pointed look, but you’re not great at this whole communication-through-expressions thing, so she doesn’t get the hint, or does and just ignores it.

“So, let me get this straight,” she says, tearing the silence like a plastic seal, voice starting to rise, from wonder to excitement, from painless curiosity to danger, “there’s two Avengers taking your class? And you didn’t even recognize them?”

“Nope,” you say, looking away, at a stain on the wall, at the distant glass shards still unswept away on the floor.

“That’s…”

She trails off before she has the chance to call you stupid, because the Winter Soldier gives her a pointed look of his own. Low brows and dark eyelashes, blazing blue eyes- she has no choice but to listen. Your staring was irritating, but his is intimidating.

She scampers away, mumbling something you can’t catch and brushing against Steve as she leaves.

This whole thing is so unprofessional, but at least you can breathe again-

“Here,” the Winter Soldier says, and a broom handle comes into your view.

Just one word, but you’ll take it with open arms. You take the broom from him, give an unreturned, unfamiliarly sheepish smile and head back to the broken glass on the floor.

The broken glass is swept up and tossed in the trash. You avoid looking at the doorway, focusing on other useless tasks instead. Rearranging the supplies on the table, fiddling with the window blinds, chatting with the rest of the class attendees as they start to file in.

Then the class starts and you’re swept back into your demonstration, talking and teaching and showing off different techniques that can be done with different types of brushes. You only look in their direction once, right after showing off some technique you barely remember from art school with a fan brush- they sit at their table near the back, Steve paying attention as usual, his friend silently reacting, as usual.

So they decided to stay- that’s good. Great, even.

Until the next part of the class starts, when everyone gets to work on their own paintings, when you have to stop talking.

You mill around the room, searching for a conversation to join in on or a comment to make, but find none. Then you take a sheet of paper and hopelessly try to draw- search for a distraction and a spark up of an idea, something, anything, and come up completely empty. It’s just...

How famous are they? Like, A-list celebrity famous? Are they offended that you didn’t recognize them- should you start treating them differently? You don’t keep up with this stuff. You have an impossibly long list of other things to worry about- you don’t have the time to worry about this stuff. The Avengers aren’t something you think about ever, because why should you?

If you opened any newspaper or magazine you would find something about them- a charity gala they attended, some recent threat they neutralized, the latest gossip surrounding their personal lives. But those lives are so far detached from your own that you’ve never bothered to look.

You simply don’t care. You’re not a native New Yorker- it’s not like these people are your hometown heroes, that you grew up idolizing them. They save the world time and time again and society is forever indebted to them and all of that, but what are you supposed to do about it?

And most importantly, what is the Winter Soldier’s fucking name?

Enough of this chaos goes on in your mind to make your head hurt. Fuck it, you decide- you’ll face it. You straighten your shoulders as you stand, trying your best to look purposeful as you walk to their table, like you have reason to go over there. Yeah, they’re strong. Genetically enhanced and all of that, and they’re important: they’re Avengers.

But they’re taking your class.

You slide into the chair across from the Soldier without taking the time to gauge their reactions.

“Do other people here know?” You ask.

Steve startles, eyes widening, and then considers the question while swirling his brush in green paint. He’s working on a landscape today, you think. “Shonna might,” he says, not rudely. “But nobody else.”

So maybe not that famous. Or maybe the people here are just like you and don’t care.

But it still doesn’t make sense. “Then why did you think that I knew?”

“Because you talk a lot,” Steve says, like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“Well, yeah, that’s part of the job-”

Steve cuts you off, and fuck, you hate getting interrupted. But he’s smiling, and you can’t bring yourself to get upset over it. “You talk a lot to us.”

Us?  

More like to him.

You take it in stride, don’t let your confidence slip. You’ve purposely angled your head away, and you know the Winter Soldier is staring at you- you can feel it on your cheek, on your shoulder, on every nerve in your face. You don’t look back at him. This revelation hasn’t made him any less unpleasant.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s just as obvious, “because you’re a nice guy, Steve.”

Steve raises his eyebrows so high that they disappear under the brim of his hat. You smile at him as nicely as you can, sugar-sweet, until he can’t take anymore and drops his gaze back to his painting. You turn back to the nameless man across from you.

Winter Soldier.

“Hi,” you say, only to him, and prop your elbows up on the table, resting your face in your hands. “I love the little pattern you have going on with your painting.”

It’s random splotches of black paint- calling it a pattern is an exaggeration. But you carry on.

“This is probably a bad time to ask, and it’s kind of a dumb question, but, like, what’s your name?”

He just barely raises an eyebrow, allowing for a fraction of surprise, before schooling his expression back into his usual mix of anger and boredom, a casual glare and slight frown. For a moment, you wonder what he looks like when he’s happy.

“You don’t know his name?” Steve is in disbelief, and then he winces, and you think he’s been kicked under the table. Abruptly, you laugh.

It rings out. A few people turn and stare, but you brush it all off with another smile.

He’s still staring. You don’t mind it.

The paintbrush in his hand is suddenly unsteady.

“My name is Bucky,” he says, slowly and loudly enough for you to make out the sound of his voice, for the first time ever.

He is definitely bothered by you asking, his mouth drawn tight, and you can’t even take the time to appreciate how cutesy his name is compared to his demeanor, because oh hell. It’s going to be difficult to keep up this whole dislike thing, if his voice sounds like this, low and rough and gritty like sandpaper, pleasantly grating over you and your skin…

You have to consciously remind yourself to keep on smiling.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Things should feel different, but they don’t. Nobody really reacts- everything resumes as normal. Steve focuses on his panting, adding delicate brushstrokes to the branches of a tree. You linger for a moment, and then get up from the table and flutter off to someone else.

For every class, you wear this kitschy apron, paint-stained, with strings tied in a hasty bow against your back that Bucky always aches to even out. Someone tells you something, and you respond eagerly, fully phased out of the past incident.

He stares until he realizes he’s staring, and then drops his eyes back down to his paper.

Steve wanted to attend this class for a number of reasons- he was bored and wanted something to occupy his time, he wanted to revisit an old hobby, he wanted to learn from you- some hip, emerging artist he’s a fan of, whose work he’s been following for a while now, who is seriously talented, although you have yet to prove it. He wanted to go do something separated from the events of his regular life.

So much wanting. Bucky wants to know why you’re so indifferent.

He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that you didn’t know his name, or that you didn’t flinch or gasp or accuse him of something, or pointedly look at his left arm. Should he be thankful? Steve is clearly thankful, already loosening up, freed of any lasting tension.

Bucky just feels wary. You’re unsettling.

You come back over to their table one more time. The sleeves of your shirt are pushed up, and there’s a smear of something dark on your forearm, ink or paint. On one wrist you’re wearing a  bracelet made of braided leather. On the other you wear a bulky digital watch.

Practical.

“Everything okay?” You ask, as if something not okay could potentially have happened, in your forty-five minute absence.

Steve fixes you with a friendly smile. Bucky can’t ever bring himself to do the same.

“Yep,” Steve says, and you nod your head, clearly relieved.

“Great!” You glance at him for a spare second, and turn away again.

Everyone he knows is so guarded, walls built high and doors barred shut. Except for you, if Bucky can say that he knows you, the perky art instructor, Steve’s favorite artist. You’re confident and flippant, and that should be a bad pairing, but somehow you can carry yourself within it just fine. Always purposeful in the space you occupy, not reacting to the knowledge of his and Steve’s major, momentous identities.

Bucky wonders, idly, as he blots water over what you so generously called a pattern, why you didn’t.

It’s not like he wants you to acknowledge it, wants you to call him a war criminal or a Rusisan spy. He just wants you to-

He doesn’t know.

The class goes on. An older couple sitting a few tables away have caught your attention, chattering on and on about their personal lives.They have a pet cat that their landlord doesn’t know about, and when they retire they want to move to the seaside in Italy, and in May their son is going to graduate high school.

“High school?” You gasp, loud for no reason. “I hated high school.”

Before the class ends, you take your position at the front of the studio, and talk some more. He knows it’s part of your job, but you are excessive.

There’s an art exhibition going on at some museum, and one of the featured artists is an acquaintance of yours, and on Saturday the admission fee is discounted, and if anybody is interested, you have a stack of flyers on the center table. And you hope that everyone has a good week.

You look at Bucky while finishing up your little monologue, giving a half-smile that’s for the whole class, but seemingly only directed at him. He blinks slowly, and when he opens his eyes again, you’re looking somewhere else.

***

“Morning, pal, you ready to go?”

Steve gives him a hopeful smile as he peels an orange.

Bucky’s hair is still wet from his shower, dripping water onto his shirt. It’s early, too early to go anywhere. He doesn’t even know why he’s awake- usually after his wake-of-dawn runs, he falls back asleep, or lies down and just stares at his ceiling, thinking, until he grows restless enough to get up and do something. But today, the restlessness came much sooner, so he got up much sooner, and it might already be a mistake.

He takes a seat at the kitchen island, next to Sam, trying to think of something that Steve might have had planned for today, and coming up completely empty. “Go where?”

Steve looks hurt, for a brief second. “The exhibition at the museum, remember?”

Oh.

That.

“I’m not going to that,” Bucky says, harshly enough for it to be dropped.

Steve does not drop it. “Hey, come on. Just look at it.”

From his back pocket, Steve pulls out a flyer, one of the flyers you had out on Monday, folded up in a neat square- when did Steve pick one of those up? He holds it out, and Bucky, wishing he was asleep again, takes it.

He unfolds it, and the words are written in tiny letters, and the few photos on the paper are in color but too grainy to make out, and it gives him a slight headache, but he pretends to look it over. Sam leans into him to see it, loudly crunching cereal in Bucky’s ear.

“Looks cool, Rogers,” Sam says, and Steve grins, and now Bucky is the bad guy in the situation, for not wanting to go, even though Sam isn’t going either.

Bucky passes the flyer back without reading a single word.

“I’m not going,” he says, again.

But Steve is relentless. He sets the orange peels aside and gives him a look, and Bucky can already feel his resolve starting to crumble, and it’s kind of pathetic, really. Does he not understand that Bucky is already doing as much as he can?

“Why not?”

He picks the easiest answer.

“I don’t want to.”

Steve’s brow furrows as he splits the orange into two, giving half to Bucky. Sam slurps the milk from his cereal bowl.

They’re all blissfully silent.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve says suddenly, almost begging. “I really want to see it.”

“I don’t-” He falters, he’s losing the battle. “How many people are there gonna be?”

Steve lights up. Bucky tries to stay indignant, tries to keep his face twisted in dislike, but it’s difficult with Steve. He’s always so full of optimism, has so much of it that it spills out through the seams, rubs off onto whoever’s closest.

“Not that many,” Steve says, like a promise, shaking his head. “That’s why we should go now.”

“Will she be there?”

Sam perks up.

Steve frowns. “No? Or wait, maybe. It’s a public place- I don’t know. She could be.”

It’s miles off from the answer he wants, but again, for Steve, he’ll take it. Bucky ignores Sam leaning across the counter like an idiot and asking “who’s she?” and eats his orange slices in silence.

***

Huge, bulbous heads, and beady little eyes. The limbs are long and wavy and contorted in the weirdest positions, seas of arms and legs and joints, women twisted over each other in gnarled embraces, a man with his arms twirling over and over again around his own torso. And the colors- a complete eclectic mess of everything- blue, red, yellow, green, purple. Everything.

You walk through the museum floor one, two, three times. The paintings on display are unsettling and ugly, and you’re on the verge of tears.

They’re gorgeous. Pain thrown on a canvas, told through canvas. It’s overwhelming- you’re overwhelmed, and you can’t do anything else about it. The museum just opened and there’s barely any people around- you can wallow in your sadness as much as you want to, for now.

Or maybe you’ll wallow in your frustration, instead.

This… you want to create like this.  

But you don’t have it.  

It being an impossible, nearly unattainable type of pain, or misery or anger or any other emotion so strong and visceral that you could translate it into something like this, something that evokes something else from other people. From an audience.

You might have had something like that once, but that’s all too far behind you now. Forgettable. What you need right now is an idea, a spark of inspiration, a single coherent thought. A confirmation that you aren��t completely lost.

You wander back to a painting in a far corner, all alone in a small alcove. A red woman, with her head nestled in green grass and legs wrapping around the sun, quite literally head over heels for it. Her mouth is wide open, gaping, calling, wailing, maybe. She has a hooked nose and a mole on one of her arms, and her white dress has fallen down to pool on the grass, and her legs are lithe and unshaven, prickly like the grass, just like the yellow spikes of the sun, drawn almost comically.

How do you even- how do you even come up with things like this?

By living an interesting life, probably. Through not being boring.

You stay there for a while. Long enough that more people start to file in, pretentious art students wearing all black, eccentric people with awesome haircuts, tourists. They peer over your shoulders, awkwardly, waiting for you to move. When you don’t, they leave you to be, giving you a rude look or two that you pay no mind to. There’s space on either side of you, if they’re so desperate to see. Sidling up right against you is kind of weird, but you’ll excuse it, for this painting.

Eventually, you realize that you should probably get going.

You’ve been standing so long that your legs are starting to ache, and there’s countless other Saturday errands you have to run- doing your laundry, buying groceries, calling up your mom- boring Saturday things to do.

You leave the red woman, regrettably. The fabric of your sleeve comes back dry when you wipe your eyes, even though you feel fully washed away, feel like you’re floating as you drift over to the elevator.

The doors slide open and a few people file out, and then it’s empty, thankfully. You step inside, press the button for the ground floor, wait for the doors to fully close-

“Wait,” a voice calls.

You’re not rude- you press the button to hold open the door.

When it fully opens, Steve steps inside, followed by Bucky.

You’re still out of it. You don’t even realize who they are, not until the doors have slid shut and the floor jolts as the elevator starts its descent and they’ve been staring at you for a solid five seconds.

“Oh, hi,” you say, after too much silence. You need to get yourself together. “You guys came!”

Put a little pep in your step! And more joy in your voice- nobody wants to listen to someone so drained.

Steve shrugs. “I wanted to see it.”

Bucky just smolders, clearly saying with his silence, “I didn’t.”

“Did you like it?”

Steve considers your question. The elevator stops at another floor and the doors slide open, but there’s nobody waiting to step inside. You wait for Steve to gather his words together, sure that he’s trying to come up with a nice way to voice whatever he’s thinking, which is definitely not nice. There’s no way that he liked the art, not one chance.

“It was… intriguing,” he says, at last. Neither of them are wearing hats today, because the museum doesn’t allow it. Even in this artificial light, his hair shines, golden-blond. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you say, without wasting a second. “The one of the red woman- it’s probably the best thing I’ve seen all year.”

“It’s only January,” Bucky grumbles.

His voice shocks you, sends an ice-cold jolt up your spine that you definitely dislike.

Steve turns to him, peering over your shoulder, surprised and disappointed. The two of them have a silent conversation with their eyes and you stand in the midst of it, waiting for the goosebumps to settle back down, waiting for the chill to go away.

It’s difficult- he clearly doesn’t like you, either- and even if he has his own troubling little backstory, which you don’t care enough about to google, it’s not justified.

But…

It almost makes his aggression... amusing.

“It is January,” you say politely, dismissing him. “Great observation.”

The elevator reaches the ground floor and the doors side open. You exit in step with Steve, with Bucky right on your heels.

You all stand around in the museum lobby, a wide hallway down from the giftshop and a small cafe.

“Are you headed out?” Steve asks. He puts his hands in his pockets, feet planted wide.

Bucky crosses his arms. He’s wearing all black. If it were anyone else, you would make a joke- he could almost pass off as a pretentious art student, if the outlines of his body weren’t so visible through his clothes, all taut muscle and sharp angles. His hair curls over his shoulders, prettier than anything you’ve seen on any girl.

These guys are Avengers, you think, and proceed to push the thought away.

They look so… un-Avenger-y.

“Um.” You press a hand against your forehead, trying to formulate a response. Chores suddenly seem miles away, the last thing you should be doing. You have all of Sunday to complete them, anyway.

“I was going to get something to eat from the cafe first,” you say, nodding over in its direction. “You guys wanna join me?”

You don't know why you look at Bucky when you say it

“Sure!” Steve says, all cheery, still standing alongside you. He smiles and his teeth are pearly white.

Of course his teeth are pearly white. Dentists everywhere are probably cowering, clutching their little metal instruments for dear life.

Then he hesitates, and turns to Bucky. “If you have nothing else to do, I mean.”

Bucky pauses. You and Steve both stare him down.

“They have these raspberry-almond muffins that are to die for,” you say, like it’ll convince him.

He rolls his eyes. Bored and still gorgeous- if only.

“I’m free,” he says, and you don’t know why he looks at you when he says it.

You pay the bored teenager working the cash register with cash. He gives you your change, and when he turns away to prepare your order, you shove half of the bills and all of your coins into the tip jar.

Bucky sits at the farthest table with Steve. His knees can barely fit underneath it, and the tabletop is sticky, and he’s now willingly spending more time here, and with no disguise there is no way that he isn’t going to be recognized by someone, and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t fully booked it yet.

Because…

He doesn’t know.

Maybe because you’re not asking for anything from him, aren’t minding that he’s sullen or unapproachable or anything else- his presence seems to be enough for you, which is bothersome, and at the same time, mildly exciting.

“Are you having fun?” Steve asks, while you smile at the teenager handing you plates of muffins, little glasses of some milky-espresso-coffee drink.

“What do you think?” Bucky asks, while you start your journey back to the table, and Steve opens his mouth to respond, already bothered, and Bucky’s already guilty, but then Steve hops up to help you carry everything back.

You sit down laughing. Steve is laughing, too. The corners of your eyes crease and he can see all of your teeth, and you look at him for a split second, and then turn away before he can get a read on your expression.

He sits in silence, while you and Steve trade jokes and stories and easy banter, talking about art and local politics and all types of things he can’t bring himself to care about, things that Steve is relishing in. You’re witty, apparently, or at least quick enough to get a few quick laughs out of Steve, and Bucky would never say it, he’s barely thinking it, but he appreciates you for it.

And the muffin isn’t quite to die for, but it’s okay.

During a lull in the conversation, you break your attention away from Steve and turn back to Bucky. You look concerned, almost, still smiling but without showing all of your teeth, leaning towards him like you’re about to tell him a secret.

“I never apologized for before,” you say, and Bucky immediately sits up on edge.

Even Steve goes wary, eyes narrowing.

You suddenly give a long, weary sigh, and press a hand against the back of your neck, like whatever you’re about to say is going to be so tedious. “For my friend flipping out when she saw you guys- she’s literally crazy, she’s always doing too much- but on her behalf, I’m sorry.”

The silence following afterwards is deafening.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, after a long moment, while you’re still looking at Bucky- your eyes make his skin itch, and he doesn’t say anything else. “She’s not the worst that we’ve gotten.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, great,” you say, and you slump back in your seat, looking away, back to your half-eaten muffin. You pick off an almond from the top and eat it. “Glad we got that out of the way. I just thought it would be weird if I didn’t say anything.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, so polite, even though you’ve done nothing to deserve his thanks. “Have you known her for a long time?”

“Yes, oh my god,” you say, and readjust yourself in your chair again, accidentally bumping your knee against Bucky’s, but not apologizing for it. He glances underneath the table, at your entire bare knee, visible through a rip in your jeans. “Rina- her name is Rina- was my college roommate for a while.”

“You went to college?” Steve asks.

“I have an art degree,” you say dryly, “which was… an okay decision, I guess. Sometimes I think I should have just dropped out and done, like, stand-up or something.”

You clearly don’t want to discuss it, leaving the last part as some sort of rhetorical joke. Steve takes the hint and nods, already closing the chapter, and you take a sip from your little glass, finally silent. The foam on the top of the drink sticks to your mouth until you lick it off. Bucky replies to it anyway.

“Why stand-up?”

You turn to him so fast that he almost misses you faltering, and give him a dazzling smile. He thinks of your bare knee under the table, and tries not to sweat. “Because I’m funny, Bucky.”

He doesn’t like how his name sounds when you say it. “Tell me a joke.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, and clasp your hands together. Steve is watching, rapt at attention. “Let me think real quick- oh, I have one. Which beverage has a black belt in karate?”

Bucky waits.

You wait, expecting something from him.

It’s Steve that has to say, “I don’t know, which beverage?”

“Fruit punch,” you say, exaggerating the last part, and Bucky just keeps on waiting.

Steve cracks a small smile.

“Let me tell you another,” you say. “What type of phone does a piece of fruit carry?”

Steve takes a few wild guesses. He’s enjoying this, and you are too, both of you feeding off of each other. “A phone-fruit. A fruit-phone. A frone?”

You shake your head. “A blackberry.”

Bucky doesn’t tell you that he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“Tough crowd,” you say, when he doesn’t react. “Don’t worry, I have more. Where do you go on red and stop on green?”

“Where?’ Steve asks, waiting, leaning forward in anticipation.

“When you’re eating a watermelon!”

It is not funny, it’s painfully unfunny, and maybe that’s why you and Steve burst out laughing. Bucky steals a glance at your watch, since he doesn’t wear one of his own. It’s nearing noon- how has so much time passed? Why is he still even here when he doesn’t even like you?

“Why are all of them about fruit?”

You look at him like his question is the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. “What food is the best listener?”

Bucky just sits. All the foam in his little espresso thing has dissolved, having been left untouched. He doesn’t like the taste of coffee- too bitter, and caffeine doesn’t work on him, anyway. Maybe he should drink it, because you paid for it, and because you didn’t make a comment about old-fashioned manners or chivalry when Steve offered to at first, just shrugged and got in line.

He knows that you won’t care.

The drink sits on its own, glass beading with condensation.

“Corn is the best listener,” you say, without waiting for Steve to throw his questions or guesses at you, without waiting for Bucky to spit out another sentence. “Because it’s all ears.”

“That wasn’t funny,” he says, and glares at the spot beside your head.

You nod sympathetically, and he thinks again of the rips in your jeans. “I know. But it was about a vegetable.”

Oh.

You stare at him straight-faced, crossing your arms over your chest. Steve does the same, and then he realizes- the two of you are a bunch of kids, punks, juveniles- mocking his stature, pretending to be serious, somehow not offending him.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says. “You’re…”

He can��t even help it. He looks back at you  and his face works on its own. He gives a single, dry chuckle, but he’s smiling, and dragging his hand over his face, scrubbing it off just as fast, but you still see it, and smile back and gently nudge his knee again underneath the table, and then turn back away again, and he’s still staring at your hair while you take big bite out of your to-die-for raspberry-almond muffin, already back in conversation with Steve.

[excitedlysuffering]

Can you do that headcanon collection thing for Kiba please? Thank you very much

I’m so sorry for the wait I’m really struggling with inspiration rn like I have all the words but I just can’t write?? Anyways I hope you like nonnie❤️✨

Kiba Headcanons Collection

What He Looks For In An S/O~

Someone who appreciates animals. Of course, dogs are his favorites, but he doesn’t hate animals at all, not even cats.

Someone wild who knows how to have a good time, just like Kiba. He won’t enjoy dating a square, just being honest.

He wants a woman who’s not afraid to stand on her own two; the Inuzuka clan is primarily a matriarchy, meaning he’s used to strong-willed women.

He’s going to need an emotionally open person, he pretty much wears his heart out on his sleeve, so Kiba needs someone who can articulate their feelings.

He’s a possessive person, it’s in his nature, so a patient s/o would suit him best.

The saying ‘she’s beauty, she’s grace, she’ll kick you in the face’ is literally everything he’d ever want.

I can see him with someone smaller than him just because he has a thing for size differences.

He loves confidence and would swoon if his s/o took charge sometimes, in daily life, and in the bedroom.

Kiba is big on physical affection, so someone with the same love for touch is preferable.

Kiba leaves constant hickeys and you can’t convince me otherwise, so they’d best be used to it.

Akamaru has to like you. Period.

Relationship With Kiba Stuff~

This boy loves HARD, like with his whole heart, and he’s not afraid to show it either.

He’ll love taking you out on adventurous outdoorsy dates, usually, Akamaru will come with but every once in a while it might be the two of you.

He likes games and challenges. I could definitely see him turning a treasure hunt into a date.

He actually loves going on missions with you (there’s nothing sexier than watching his girl kick ass) and will let you do your thing without unnecessary worrying.

He’s not huge on giving gifts all the time, but he does enjoy treating you to nice places and dates.

He has the nose of a dog. So he can smell your… week before you even know it’s there.

“Hey, (Y/N)... I, uh, thought you could use this!” *shoves snacks, a heating pad, ice cream, and a teddy bear in your arms*

He’s not the greatest at picking up on moods, but once he figures it out he’ll be all over it.

You’re probably good friends with Hana and Tsume, which Kiba appreciates, even though he hates sharing you.

He definitely takes you to see the dogs and the puppies, especially when one is just born.

He’s unashamedly sensitive like just love him, please.

How To Annoy/Lose Him~

First of all, if Akamaru and you don’t get along. Akamaru was there from birth so, you know, if he doesn’t like you, sorry hun.

It’s one thing to be appropriately possessive, like not letting girls walk all over you to your man, but he does have female friends and he does not want to be caged.

If you’re not family-oriented. The Inuzuka clan is very much a pack family and everyone is very close.

Don’t ignore him or neglect him, he will be hurt.

Kiba enjoys playful banter, but he also knows where the line is and he expects you to as well

Being a genuinely rude person. Okay, yes, Kiba has anger management issues, but he’s not a mean person.

Not having compassion/empathy for others. It’ll disturb him, I promise.

Arrogance and vanity. Kiba knows he’s the shit alright, but he’s not a total jerk about it, and he expects the same from you.

Soft Kiba Things~

He’s actually pretty good at remembering things like important dates (thanks to his trusty calendar) so you’ll be hard-pressed to find him forgetting things like birthdays or anniversaries.

He has a dog plush toy that he will give to you when he’s off on missions. But when you’re off on missions, he’ll use your pillow since it smells like you.

He’s a huge cuddler and the position doesn’t matter as long as he’s close to you. (makes an adorable little spoon btw)

He definitely has a secret photo album/box full of candids, drawings from Sai, and little things that reminded him of you (i.e. a pretty flower, a quote, or a trinket) but he’d rather die than let it be found, it would ruin his bad-boy persona.

I feel like Kiba would like to feed you every once in a while. Like not in a weird, fetish way (iykyk) but a romantic thing that was rare?

He would love to train with you, like wow that’s my s/o and they’re so strong?

Kiba genuinely melts inside when he sees you and Akamaru interact. Like that’s his life long companion and the love of his life being friends? Woah.

He’s touch starved but for no reason at all except for the fact that he loves physical affection so please give him all the cuddles.

Random Kiba Facts~

His love languages are physical touch/quality time.

He’s not scared of thunderstorms in a traditional way, but just like dogs, the sounds and lightning are overstimulating and he’ll usually spend it with ear canceling headphones and in the basement.

Since everyone has a unique natural smell (he really liked yours) he’ll most likely complain if you wear heavily scented perfumes/body wash.

He knows he’s not naturally responsible so he creates detailed lists and schedules for himself.

Kiba has a perfectly working bed, but he always ended up on the floor so that’s where he sleeps now.

Contrary to popular belief, he likes to go as vampires for Halloween (he says he’s a werewolf 364 days of the year let him have one day) because of his fangs and ‘drop-dead beauty’ (his words).

He radiates heat like a furnace but somehow still finds a way to be cold at night?

Kiba has a good singing voice. It’s deep and melodious and no one can tell me differently.

He’s alright at regular cooking but amazing at gathering spices because he can smell the combinations and stuff so he’ll help you season things, but that’s about it.

He’s a huge overthinker please help him

Little Things~

Favorite:

Place to kiss: The space where your neck meets your shoulder, something about it just really riles him up.

Way to hug: He loves lifting you up so your legs wrap around his waist. He loves holding you and being able to kiss your neck.

Thing to do with you: He loves hiking or going on long walks, especially at sunset or sunrise.

Cuddle position: He actually loves to lay on your chest and listen to your heartbeat with your arms wrapped around him.

Type of date: Basically anything that includes physical activity or adventure.

This or That:

More of a spring person, a lot of new puppies are born then and the weather is finally nice again.

Morning kind of guy, he loves to go go go and his activities usually require daylight.

He likes to cook, even if he’s not that good at it. He’ll enjoy helping you in the kitchen.

Rarely reads for any reason. Don’t read to him either, he’ll be super bored.

Conflict Happenings~

The two of you will probably have more stupid ‘I’m right, you’re wrong’ type arguments, more than real fights tbh.

That is not to say that Kiba won’t participate in a fight. Cause he will.

The both of you are probably screaming so loudly no one knows what anyone is saying it’s just loud.

You getting mad will turn him on tbh (and vice versa too tbh)

Depending on how bad the fight is, he might just start making out with you or yell at you more for distracting him with your hotness.

You’ll be hard-pressed to make him back down during a fight if he’s truly heated, so pick your battles wisely hun.

He really can be sensitive, especially since he will value your opinion so much, so be careful with your words.

In general, he’s not really focused on hurting your feelings, more on winning the argument.

Will probably storm off for a while to calm down, but he is always back before the day is over.

The two of you are used to having fights like that, so a big cuddle session is in order when it’s all said and done.

Modern Kiba~

He’s definitely the sexy bad boy you couldn’t bring home to mother and he both owns and rocks his persona.

He secretly (not so secretly) likes dogs more than his peers, even if he is usually very social.

He’s the one who always manages to bring alcohol to the parties.

I could see him on a football or soccer team, and being really good too.

He’s charismatic, funny, good looking, street smart, and has all the It Man™ qualities and I know he’s the captain/president of some club or team.

He’s not naturally super smart but his mother ingrained good habits into him so he’s generally pretty good at studying, probably still has a tutor though.

He’s a very subtle F-boy, has a few girls he does regularly that don’t know about each other and that’s that.

He probably has a part-time job at a shelter, since he’s not big on working.

Always at parties and is always the center of attention. Everyone loves him.

The red fangs were a result of him being absolutely hammered yet everyone seemed to find them incredibly hot.

He’s a loyal friend, but he also won’t hesitate to cut you off if you wrong him (he liked his dog better anyway)

He’s so messy it’s up to his roommate to keep him in shape, and thankfully it’s Shino, who somehow manages to keep it a decently tidy living space.

Has the worst hangovers ever but still never learns??

He’s the wild friend that spices up everyone’s life and knows that you need his craziness.

Bite me, Kiba, plz

[himbowelsh]

Would you be willing at all to do a similar thing to the BoB boys falling in love for the Pacific boys? Or if that’s too much maybe just Leckies crew? Please and thank you if you do! ✨✌🏻🥳🦖🍰🎉🤸🏼‍♀️🍺🍆🦷🦞🌈🗿

of course!!  i love all of these boys, so getting to write any headcanons for them is a treat and privilege  (and how could i say no to all those emojis?)

Robert Leckie

more confident than he has any right to be.

umm, excuse you sir, the wedding ring isn’t on their finger yet, hold your goddamn horse

bob is vocal about his affection.  actually, he’s kind of a loudmouth about it; when he’s in love, all his friends get to hear about it.  his diary gets to hear about it.  his dog gets to hear about it, and he’s pretty sure hoosier jr couldn’t care less.   if someone’s willing to listen, bob’s gonna wax poetic.

the louder he proclaims his love, the more real it feels to him...  concrete, like the next torrential rainstorm or wicked nightmare isn’t going to wash it away.   bob’s confidence isn’t a front  ---  he’s really just like that  ---  but there’s more underneath than meets the eye.

he likes to dedicate his writing to them.  while he eventually grows out of the love poems phase  (the smartest choice of his literary career)  his love interest remains his muse.   he’ll bounce his ideas off of them, seek out their opinions on the things he’s written...  yes, he’s hungry for their attention, but knowing that they’ll be reading gives him the motivation to write better.

he’ll rarely admit his feelings outright, always dancing around it in smirks and sly double-entendres.   is he talking about how great the filet mignon at this restaurant is, or that he wants to get married soon? knowing him, both, and that’s exactly what he wants to leave them wondering.

Runner Conley

runner in love is very earnest.  he doesn’t feel the need to brag  ---  sure, his friends can tell just by looking at him, but how he feels for the person he cares about is their business alone.   

still, he can’t help talking about them.   they’re on his mind so much that he’ll just bring them up out of the blue  ---   his crush said this, his crush thinks that, this reminds him of the time he and his crush did blah-blah-blah...  he completely gives himself away.    his friends will take the piss out of him, but runner legit doesn’t even notice he’s doing it; he can’t stop.

he is right there with the favors.  they need a ride somewhere?  they need something picked up at the store?  just tell him, and he’ll do it, no questions asked.  he gets things done in record time.  (meanwhile, leckie asked to borrow his can opener two weeks ago, and runner still hasn’t gotten around to it. the preference is clear.)

loves to just spend time with them.  he’ll ask to hang out all the time, inventing excuses just to spend time together.  being in their space, enjoying their presence, is the best part about being in love for him.

Hoosier Smith

hoosier’s love is measured in tolerance.   if he’s willing to spend time around somebody, he likes 'em. if he’ll spend the whole day with 'em, he’s head-over-heels.

lowkey, no one would be able to tell hoosier’s falling in love.  he plays his emotions close to his chest, and doesn’t analyze them too much.  yeah, he’s caught feelings, but no sense making a big deal out of it.  they’ll probably go away on their own.

except they don’t, and the more they grow, the easier hoosier finds it is to be around them.  he’s not taxed by their presence, and hardly ever annoyed with them; it’s easy to banter with them, and when they laugh at his quips he feels all warm inside.  it’s weird.  he’s not sure he likes it.  but damn him if he wants it to end.

the day he finds himself eager to hang out with them...  he knows he’s done for.

hoosier is much more relaxed around the person he loves. all his blunt edges have softened; he’s a little gentler with them, a little fonder.  he’s not loud about it at all, but as soon as his partner picks up on it, his love becomes obvious.

Chuckler Juergens

he has absolutely no filter, and there is no way he can hold these emotions in.  when chuckler is in love, it’s like a golden retriever with a crush.

everything they do is amazing in his eyes.  he has to actively work to recognize their flaws; for a while, he definitely wears rose-tinted glasses when it comes to his love interest.  he just loves so sincerely, with his whole body, that holding it in threatens to overwhelm him. 

that said, he doesn’t rush into love.  it builds up slowly in him.  he can’t really say he loves someone until he’s known them for a while.  by then, they’re pretty comfortable around each other, and on a level of intimacy that he doesn’t feel shy admitting it when he’s certain.  (he also wouldn’t have luck hiding it if he tried; to all his friends, chuckler’s pretty transparent.)

he laughs at all their jokes, and would go miles out of his way for them if they just asked for it.  his smile is always broader around them, painfully genuine.  chuckler’s a social guy, so he loves being out in crowds, but around the person he loves he loves it when it’s just the two of them.

he needs his partner to say “i love you” first, but he’ll say everything but.  “you look amazing today,”; “no one dance like as you,”; “i could spend every night like this with you”.    he’s confessed his feelings a dozen times over before the word “love” ever passes between them.

Sid Phillips

sid genuinely enjoys falling in love.  it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience, right?  (for most people  ---  his aunt janine has fallen in love four times and counting, but if she were the gold standard for romance, she’d still be invited to the phillips family christmases.)

he kind of becomes...  not oblivious to everything else, but his mind is very clearly in another place.  he’s not as sensitive to his other friends’ feelings; he drops plans without much notice because he’d rather be with the person he loves.  sid falling in love becomes self-absorbed without realizing it, and would have to be snapped out of it by a well intentioned  (very annoyed)  friend.

with his partner, however, he’s tender.  sid is a very good listener, empathetic and kind; he’s open about his feelings from the start, valuing communication in a relationship, and nothing makes him grin harder than hearing his partner feels the same way.

sid is a gentleman  ---  he’s eager to help them out with anything they need.  he’s very conscientious of his partner’s feelings, careful not to overstep boundaries.  he wouldn’t do anything, even kiss, unless his partner gave him plenty of encouragement.

Eugene Sledge

eugene does not all in love easily.  it takes him a long time to ease into it.  he doesn’t tumble head-over-heels, so much as cautiously inch down the mountain, taking frequent breaks to have a snack and psyche himself up.

somehow, he’s quieter around the person he loves.  it’s noticeable because he wasn’t always like this.  eugene as a friend is quite different to eugene as a lover, more tentative and tender in all the ways that count.  he gets...  not shy, really, but more reserved around them.  he doesn’t want to let his feelings show, so the casual banter and easy dynamic they used to have grows stiff and uncomfortable.  he’ll jump through hoops to avoid hanging out alone with them.

why is he doing this?  god help him, even he’s not sure.

if anyone confronts him about it, he’ll get mad.  of course he’s not treating them any differently!  this is how he’s always been, he’s fine  ---   but just as quickly as he flares up for his own sake, he’ll get even more riled over any slight to his loved one.  being in love awakes a defensiveness eugene never realized he had.  suddenly, he’d do anything for his partner’s sake.

it takes a while for eugene to come to terms with his feelings, and trust himself enough to love.  hopefully his partner’s patient  ---  and straightforward about their feelings, because eugene’s probably going to need a push.

Snafu Shelton

his crush starts finding weird gifts hidden around their house, and no, they have no clue how they got there.  

merriell’s not a romantic, okay?  he doesn’t know how all that wooing-and-courting works, but he gets the general idea.  nothing romantic about coming up to someone and saying outright   ‘your hair looks like it’d be cozy to wear as a sweater, when you smile i want to touch your teeth, this feels like love’.  like.  it’s all true, but that doesn’t mean he can say it.

frankly, he’s still cursing himself for falling in love in the first place, because merriell did not sign up for all this mushy-gushy feeling stuff.  

some people just...  aren’t meant to fall in love, and he’s one of them.  not love that feels like this, that feels...  so real.  it scares him.   he doesn’t know what to do about it.

he’s a weak man, though.  it’s not like he can just stay away.  merriell can’t help but want to be around them constantly, looking over their shoulder and watching out for them; he’s fascinated by them, and it only grows more obvious as the feelings continue to swell in his chest.

so, he sneaks tiny gifts  ---  things he finds or things he likes, things that make him think of them  ---  in their stuff, and watches raptly when they find it.  no, he’s not gonna confess to leaving them there.  it’s just...  nice to watch.

he stares at them for a long time  ---  not unusual for him, to be fair  ---  but when they look up, he looks away immediately.  very out of character, and honestly more unnerving than if he just kept staring.

able to carry on like normal, unless the topic of romance is brought up at all.  then he gets ornery and annoyed, especially if his love interest talks about any past romantic relationships.  he’s possessive in love, especially because he’s not sure where he stands in the other person’s affections.  merriell hates the idea of them with anyone else, but can’t really believe they’d want to be with him.

RV Burgin

well, next to the hot messes that are sledge and snafu, burgie’s a disney prince.

literally, he goes so far out of his way to not make the person he loves uncomfortable.  he’s a gentleman to his core.  the idea of caring for someone who doesn’t feel the same way stings  ---   but even worse is the idea that he could be forcing affection on someone who doesn’t want it.

because of this, he might keep it all a bit too much to himself.  he won’t come out and say it, and will be notably more hesitant around them.  no casual touches  ---   if he accidentally does, he’ll draw back like he’s been burned.  if his friends  (re:  snafu and leyden)  say anything perverted around them, he’ll quickly steer the conversation away.

still, it would be impossible to think he isn’t interested.  sometimes he can’t help staring at his love interest, eyes warm in admiration...  and when they catch him, he holds their gaze for a moment, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face, before looking away.

oh yeah, he’s a goner.

when he does let his feelings slip out, it’s always quick and sincere.   “you’re the strongest person i know,” he says once, while trying to encourage them in his typical burgie way;   “i admire you very much.”   he gives compliments without meaning to, or even realizing how he’s selling himself out.  he’s just so besotted that he can’t help it.

Jay De L'Eau

he gets nervous, he gets clumsy, and he gets giggly.  this is a horrible combination.

he once knocked over an entire candle, set a curtain on fire, and was desperately trying to laugh it off while stomping the flames out...  all because he crush complimented him.

jay wants to look cool in front of his love interest, but he’s decidedly not.  poor boy hasn’t got a chance.   there isn’t a suave bone in his body, and no one knows this as well as jay.

so, he becomes earnest instead.  he’s always on hand to do favors for them, always willing to help out whenever he needs it  ---  jay could be corralled into doing couple’s yoga with little resistance, just because his love interest wants to.

this extreme generosity can get exhausting after a while  ---  he really has to figure out how to rein it in  ---   but if it shows how much he appreciates them?  and if it means he gets to spend extra time with them?  yeah, jay doesn’t regret a thing.

Bill Leyden

he’s being???  nice??  leyden’s being nice??

his friends check him for a fever.  they worry he’s been lobotomized.  clearly he’s been abducted by aliens and replaced with a pod person!

leyden is a prickly bastard in general...  but when he’s falling in love, the entire world is puppydogs and rainbows, and he’ll sing showtunes to the heavens.

he’s just so much happier when he’s falling in love.  it’s hard not to spread that happiness around.  he has way more patience for his friends’ bullshit, and is eager to listen to their problems and offer his  (still very leyden-esque)  advice.

god forbid when his love interest’s actually present.  leyden doesn’t have eyes for anyone else; it’s all about them, and he’s a goddamn prince to them.  peeling fruit for them, laughing at all their jokes, making cow-eyes...  he turns into the person he’d be disgusted by in any other circumstance.

Andrew Haldane

it’s all about the emotional intimacy, boys.

andy could never truly fall in love with someone until he already knows them very well; he has to be comfortable with them, to have an easy rapport.  understanding each other is the first step to winning his heart.

he definitely gets a sparkle around them, though.  he just looks brighter, younger, less burdened by his many responsibilities.  maybe it’s because he knows he can share them with his partner...  but andy feels so much lighter when he’s with them.

he’s very generous with his praise. when they do something well, he lets them know it; the last thing he’d want is for them not to understand how much he appreciates them, how valuable they are to him, how glad he is to have them close...

absolutely overthinks it.  he’ll turn his feelings over and over in his head for ages, trying to process them before admitting anything out loud?  is this real?  is this plausible?  are they both in the right place in life to be in love?  do they really love him back?  he’s not an indecisive man, but he puts so much thought into this that eventually, a friend like hillbilly would need to shake him a bit, and tell him to just go for it.

Hillbilly Jones

he’s not going to say it outright.  he’d rather eat a live squid than do something that dumb.   when hillbilly feels himself falling for someone, he grips a railing all the way down.

anything they need, he’s there to do.  his affection reveals itself through how quick he is to help the person he likes.  loyalty drives his urge to make their life easier.  if they need some repairs done around the house, or some errands taken care of, he’ll offer to do them without a second thought.   “not a problem,”  he replies with a tiny smile when they worry he’s going to too much trouble.   after all, he wouldn’t do it for just anyone.

master of wordless communication.  his love interest doesn’t need to hear things outright from him, because they become well-acquainted with all of hillbilly’s various (extremely sarcastic)  faces.  he loves this easy communication.

he’ll talk them up to anyone who needs to hear it.  hillbilly does not take kindly to his partner being disparaged, under any circumstances.  it’s not overprotectiveness, he’ll insist to himself  ---  the protection is completely warranted, and he’s not ashamed to punch someone if his partner’s good name is on the line.

John Basilone

he gets all the points for persistence.  

john’s greatest virtue is his determination.  no matter what the world throws at him, or how many ways it tries to kill him, he’s going to keep going until he physically cannot anymore.

and...  not gonna lie, there are moments when he sees his love interest smile, and it feels like he’s been shot through the chest.  he’s got to stop, just to catch his breath, because they sweep the ground out from under his feet. 

the first time it happens, he knows he’s in love.  yeah, he knew he liked them already, but...  like and love are different things.  he likes his mama’s panna cotta, but he’s not going to marry it.

when john’s falling for someone, it’s important to him that they know it.  no beating around the bush for him; if they don’t feel the same way, they can respond however they like, but they’ve at least got to know.

he misses no opportunity to make his admiration clear.  if they do something impressive, he’s the loudest voice on the sidelines cheering them on;  if it’s their birthday or a holiday, he hands his gift to them personally, with that irrepressible charming grin.  

john is very confident in love, but he’s also very optimistic.  it’s not that he’s never been rejected before, or can’t take it...   he just genuinely doesn’t believe his heart can break.

[rvb-is-gay]

ok so now that the final episode of rvb0 is out for everyone, lets get into some discussion about it! please note that post isnt a topic of debate but rather just my personal thoughts about everything, so dont go arguing in the replies

(fair warning ahead of time for any fans, this is mostly criticism and negative feelings about it, so keep scrolling if you dont wanna read it)

When RVB0 was first announced, I remember everyone was first upset that the Reds and Blues weren't in it, including me. But now that I've watched the whole thing, I can say with confidence that my only issue with RVB0 isn't the lack of the Reds and Blues, but rather everything. the dialogue, some of the animation, the characters, the delivery, the pacing, the ridiculous amount of clichés, etc. I don't dislike RVB0 just because there's no Reds and Blues. I dislike it because I just found the entirety of it bad.

When I first started watching it, I went in with an open mind that maybe this season could actually be really good. I’d also be lying if I said that there wasn't a single scene that I liked. There were actually a few, but they still didn't make up for just the overall badness of the season. But please note that I don't blame the voice actors for any of this or even just Torrian Crawford for the season coming out a giant mess. Many people worked for this season and always had the opportunity to improve or change things but didn't. But anyways, let’s get into some of the criticisms I have for this season.

1. Smaller and more opinion oriented criticisms

This isn’t really criticism or anything important, but rather just a few things I found a bit weird to me personally.

First, the term “ragtag team of misfits” was used to describe Shatter Squad (and was even actually said out loud by One in the last episode, which sounded just so cliché and dumb in my opinion). I don't think this describes them at all?? Everyone has, at the very least, decent relationships with each other (save for One and East who were competitive with each other (which I also fucking hate in RVB that all the girl characters are always competitive with each other)), but that still doesn't really fit the term ragtag) and they all fight very well. I think ragtag fits the Reds and Blues more than it does Shatter Squad; they're bad at fighting, they argue and fight all the time, they're idiots, and that's why we love them. If they had just stuck with “a team of misfits”, that would've made more sense, but again, this is more of a personal opinion than genuine criticism.

Second, I don’t really like the aesthetics this season had. Everything felt a bit too neon and bright and then some stuff just felt like it came straight out of World of Warcraft or something. It didn’t really feel like RVB.

Third, my feelings about Carolina constantly calling Wash David can be summed up by what Michael said in the first episode of Halo 4 LASO: “Now we’re just gonna throw his name around all willy nilly. It used to be a secret.” When someone is called by their real name in RVB or just any story in general where everyone goes by code names, it’s usually a big deal and indicates something serious. Carolina wore out Wash’s name the first time she said it and it just got more and more irritating from then on out and lost its value.

Fourth, who was the blue and purple soldier in the first teaser we got? Was that One? Did they decide to change her armour colour? I don’t know, I just randomly remembered that and thought it was weird but I guess it must’ve just been a colour change.

Now, onto the more serious criticism.

2. Animation and dialogue

The second thing I wanna talk about is the animation. Don't get me wrong, the fighting animation is probably the best compared to everything else and it was pretty good to watch, but the talking and idle animations and gestures were..... kinda yikes. I know that it could be chalked up to “well we’re not used to seeing animated gestures since all of RVB usually has everyone just holding their gun and using the regular Halo models” but there were still some pretty bad parts.

Take the scene from Encounter at 3:26 as an example (I uploaded the scene to YT to put here, but obviously it was blocked for copyright):

This scene is probably one of the worst when it comes to not only the animations, but the dialogue, pacing, and delivery. When I first saw this, I honestly laughed. Here's a list of my problems with this scene and what made it so laughable:

The overexaggerated hand gestures. I get that because everyone's in armour and a helmet, it can be hard to show expression, but this feels like a bit much. Especially when One says “what? You’re pulling us off the mission? You cant do that!” I think that one scene in season 15 when Grif stays behind on Iris while everyone leaves and it slowly zooms in on Simmons’ visor somehow does a lot better at expressing feelings than this.

East immediately making the connection between Axel and Zero feels weird. I don't know if its just me who feels this way, but I think it should've been a little bit longer before she immediately is just like “you know Zero don't you”

Axel saying “I... I do... I did”  also sounds weird and like he was trying a bit too hard to sound dramatic. I don't really know how to describe it its just such a weird delivery of the line.

The way they all immediately start yelling at each other.

One saying “Axe, I trusted you” right after saying “tell us the truth”. Girl, you gave him no opportunity to explain and just immediately jumped to not trusting him anymore. Speaking of which, I don't think this was ever really mentioned again and had no meaning or importance to it.

The echoing of “I trusted you” also feels cliché to me, but this is more of a minor thing.

I think this one comment on one of the episodes on the RT site that says the dialogue “seemed acted rather than natural. It didn't really sound like how people normally talk, more how actors talk in plays” is how I feel about all of the dialogue in RVB0.

3. The villains

Zero and Diesel both felt like they didn't really have any motivation at all for being villains. Phase is probably the best when it comes to this. She was essentially abused by her father as a child and forced to undergo being experimented on. This is an actual good and understandable motivation.

Diesel we know basically nothing about, and then on the other hand, all Zero wants is power. But for what? Why? I can understand that power is a pretty common thing for people to want, but it still kind of felt like there wasn't really anything there.

Some previous good villains in RVB include:

Temple: Temple witnessed his best friend be brutally murdered right in front of him by 2 soldiers who didn't give a shit and just left him to die, especially right after he told him he was having a baby. Of course it’s understandable that he has a hatred of Freelancers after this. Any normal person would.

Felix: Felix was probably the best villain of all of RVB, to be honest (right beside the Director). He was just somehow so likeable and had so much personality, despite being an asshole. His ultimate motivation was money and being rich, which is another thing I can understand; the more money you have, the more you can essentially do whatever you want and live in luxury. I mean, even so many people in real life do horrible things just for money. I don't even have to give examples for this. Felix in general is also just a psychopath.

The Director: The whole reason the Director did what he did was because he lost the person he loved most in the world: his wife. He was willing to do literally anything to bring her back, leading to all of his actions in the Project Freelancer saga. You can find many examples of movie/TV/book/etc characters/villains seeking vengeance as a result of loss of a loved one and grief. Despite being a horrible person, the Director actually managed to be a villain you could even sympathize with, making him even better.

Sharkface: Although a bit of a more minor villain, similar to Temple, Sharkface is a villain because he wants revenge on the people that killed his team, the people he considered to be the only family he’s ever had.

4. Tucker & the swords

The fourth thing I wanna talk about is the whole thing with Tucker and the swords. I always found it kinda weird how both Tuckers sword and now Locus’ sword in the chorus trilogy were the same, but then in RVB0, Zero’s sword looks and acts completely different, but that might just be a little nitpick of mine.

As for Tucker, it was so good to see him. Although I don’t know if it was just me, but he seemed a little OOC. What I didn't like about seeing Tucker again was that he did literally nothing the entire episode. He was useless. He said “I can fight” at one point but then all he does during the battle is get held at knife point, run away, and then get stabbed and have his sword taken. Tucker isn't an amazing fighter, but he’s definitely a lot more capable than just this. We’ve seen him in action many times and I just feel like he could've done a bit more. It almost feels like he was purposefully nerfed and tossed aside just to advance the plot.

Another thing that I and probably a lot of people are upset about is the fact that Tucker might not even own his sword anymore?? When East stabbed him, he apparently died and the sword was rebound to Phase, but it wasn't very clear that this was the case. Although the beginning of the next episode starts with hospital beeps and a flatline, I don't think it was still really clear enough that Tucker actually died long enough for Phase to reclaim the sword because I saw a handful of people confused in the comments and, like me, even thought it was just bad writing at first and that the writers completely forgot about the rules of the sword established over several prior seasons.

When in the hospital, Wash tells Tucker that he almost died. Although I actually liked this scene because it was nice to see wash and tucker bantering again, I think it could've been made better and made the plot clearer if instead of saying he almost died, Wash said something along the lines of “Tucker, you died. Your heart stopped, but they were able to bring you back thanks to their advanced medical tech” and then in response Tucker freaks out because that means his sword will now work for Phase and now they know how urgent the situation is.

I really really hate that Phase just has Tucker’s sword now and nothing is even said about it. If Tucker was to give his sword away to someone, I think many people would prefer that it was at least someone close to him, like Junior for example, but instead it goes to a random girl he hardly knows.

5. Pacing

The fifth thing I wanna talk about is the pacing. This season was definitely a lot shorter than normal and I think that’s one of the things that really prevented it from being good. The entire story just feels rushed and while I understand that it can be really difficult to build a good story and characters in such a short time, I think there’s still ways you can do it without it feeling like there’s so much missing. I think the long intros and outros are also responsible for less time and maybe they should’ve considered cutting them to give more actual episode time. Here’s a few things that were poorly done as a result of bad pacing:

The final battle against Zero: The whole battle just somehow felt like a typical video game boss battle that ends super quickly to me. Shatter Squad didn’t even defeat Zero, he just up and got disintegrated or whatever from Black Lotus.

Shatter Squad giving up on their mission: After receiving the silly deep voice filtered message from Zero, everyone on Shatter Squad just immediately gives up on finding him.

One’s speech: One’s speech wasn’t awful or anything and I didn’t really have any problems with the speech itself, but rather just how quickly the team went from “we can’t do it.. it’s over..” to “you’re right! I’m in! Let’s go get them!” Compare this to Doc and Sarge’s speech to the Reds and Blues after Church and Carolina leave in season 10 episode 20. It just felt a lot more genuine (this is probably because the Reds and Blues had a lot more time to be developed, though) and was only given after some time passed rather than 2 seconds later. The scene and context also transitioned well into it and at first, nobody was on board with what Doc was saying, which is more realistic in my opinion. People’s minds won’t just instantly change, they’re still gonna think about it and maybe have a few doubts at first.

Phase and West: During their fight, West talked a lot about how he regrets giving Phase away to Starlight, that he won’t hurt her, and is even willing to die for her. Their scene together ends with Phase punching him in the head and then leaving to join the others and nothing else about them is mentioned. We don’t know if Phase forgave him or not, we don’t know how West feels, etc.

Tucker’s sword: Phase still has Tucker’s sword and like the scenario with West, nothing about it is mentioned. We don’t know what she’s going to do with it, if she’s going to keep it, if Tucker’s gonna do anything about it, etc.

6. Clichés

Clichés aren’t inherently bad and can be really impactful and good if done right. But when it comes to RVB0, it’s jampacked with clichés that aren’t good. Here are a few examples:

Everyone gives up until a speech is given: All of the points for this are the same as above, but I wanted to include this scene as a cliché as well.

Every female character is competitive with each other: RVB falls into this a lot, like I mentioned earlier. It happens again with East and One, although luckily they seem to resolve it, but not until literally the end of the season.

West’s fit about East: All of the lines and delivery in this scene were just atrocious and cheesy. I think West’s dialogue just could’ve been a bit more original, but instead we’re given this boring predictable “I won’t lay a hand on her. I promised her. I promised her mother. I promised she’d be safe” spiel that has no emotion to it in his voice.

The whole “I got this, you go ahead” thing: This isn’t like a super cliché thing, but I found it pretty interesting how it happens twice in the same episode.

I think this is pretty much all I can think of at the moment. If I think of anything else, I’ll add onto this. Overall, I think RVB0 would’ve done a lot better as just an RVB spinoff so that it could have more episodes and seasons dedicated to developing characters and a good plot. I’m really disappointed with this season and I hope whatever comes next is better than what RVB0 was. I hope the team that worked on it can learn a few things that come from the good and valid constructive criticism given to them. And if I had to pick, I think I’d say Raymond was my favourite out of all the new characters. He just felt the most relatable and realistic to me.

[draculaurennn]

1; jun 50; cress, 29; luc 43; pad 2-; fuu 10; siona

—Super detailed questions about your OCs— jun-ki — 1 ;; what’s their full name? why was that chosen? does it mean anything? Jun-ki’s full birth name is Tsutsumi Junko. She was born on the border of the Tokyo-Kanagawa prefecture and spent most of her childhood in Tokyo’s better hospitals. Most kids in her class, when she got to see them, just called her Jun. Jun-ki was a name assigned to her by the Fujiwara Technologies Oni-ki project, which she unwittingly paid her way into around the age of eighteen. Her full assigned name was Type-05 Jun-ki, following the four others who were built in her specific hybrid bio-tech format (depending on their degree of human degredation.) One was developed for each of the grand demons said to have been tamed by Fujiwara no Chikata, and each were designed with combat prowess and technique in consideration with that. Jun-ki’s was actually the only one to have no pre-existing oni, but she was not going to be the last in this project line. 

However, she abandoned the project by literally breaking her way out of headquarters before her complete redevelopment was complete. For some time, she operated under the online handle of Sxrapper Midori, and typically does not disclose either her project name, and even less so her birth name. She has, however, chosen to continue using Jun-ki as her identifying name. She feels it best represents her now, both herself and her reality. For Jun-ki, it represents her current state of degredation, a human beyond repair with an almost fully obsolete robotics system operating inside of her. It’s put together with scraps and junk, all of which she painstakingly harvested and reworked to continue powering her Fuji-tech without support from the company or its project. It represents her strength, as a berserker and front-line combatant, an ironically demon-like strength in her small, once-fragile body. Keeping it speaks to some semblance of her self-loathing and self-respect, all at once.

cressida — 50 ;; if they could only take one bag of stuff somewhere with them: what would they pack? what do they consider their essentials? Cressida is a very materialistic girl, so this is definitely a hard question. She values her intelligence and her appearance above all, and which she values more is not really clear. If she has them, immediate essentials for her bag are rouge and a kohl tin. Keeping her unruly curls under control is also important, and difficult without supplies. Secondary to those are a mother-of-pearl comb, pressed rose oil, and some herby hair powder. Those would probably be the most immediate options if the apothic suite of personal hygiene is not available to her (and, as Inquisitrix, it has often not been).

In terms of fashion, she’s not so vain that she feels she has to pack a different dress for every event of the day, thank the gods. In an immediate need to move, Cressida is fine with a change of clothes and something else to sleep in, as long as she’s given some opportunity to wash things. Otherwise, she does prefer two or three outfits. A hat is also an essential need, partly for fashion, but mostly to protect her very fair skin. (Luckily, if there’s no bag space, this can just go straight on her head.)

 The other bag essentials for Cressida are a journal, an entertaining book to read, a dagger, and a non-functional compass. Journaling helps her organize her thoughts for the day and plan her next steps, so often it looks like some bizarre mix between a diary, a day planner, and a to-do list. For books, she usually prefers novels of the picaresque sort, but she is prone to rereading the Black Fox tales over and over. Extra weapons as a given, the most unusual piece in her bag is of sentimental value, and she has done well to not lose it after sixteen years. It was her father’s nautical compass, which she’d stolen from his quarters to play with the night he passed away. She was lucky to have kept it in her pocket, though it was waterlogged when she finally got herself to shore, and no longer works. She keeps it in her travel bags for safe keeping, but if she isn’t sure her bag will be safe on its own, then it’s always removed and placed into her pocket instead.

lucid — 29 ;; what do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? do they tease them? or get very over protective? It could depend on the fear, but more than likely, a fear is something Lucid will keep to herself unless discussed with the person who possesses it. Somewhat frosty though she may appear, it has never been in her nature to hurt others or belittle them for the way they feel. That being said, she isn’t always the most tactful lady, and her attempts to address a problem (if the fear is really that critical) can often come off as hurtful or insensitive. Her other short-coming is her occasional inability to understand exactly what the fear or problem may be, which has led to accidental dismissal or downplay of the severity. But regardless of her fumbling ways, Lucid’s care and concern for others who would confide that information in her has always been with their best intentions at heart, and she would take the information to her grave if it was asked of her. Her nature is to protect and nurture first, and her determination to maintain love and trust for her companions can outweigh the value of her own life, at times.

padrika — 43 ;; are they religious? what do they think of religion? what do they think of religious people? what do they think of non religious people? Padrika’s family was religious. Her parents were casual worshippers of Verna, but she didn’t really live long enough to fully understand the concepts of religion or to make an executive decision on her beliefs. In Litwin, they had very little in the way of organized religion save for what drifted over from the Skelligan collections, but there was a small cult formation following the usurping ruler’s enthusiasm for Padrika’s visions, which was off-putting for her. It was never a fully developed religious practice, or anything, but idea of people putting such fantastic veneration in visions that were, in her opinion, just mystifying and unclear dreams from no one was scary. Most popular in this perception was Freya, goddess of clairvoyants, speaking words of conquest and glory through this unassuming water-being. Less common was her connection to Melusine, as a fellow siren (even if that was also incorrect.)

Unsurprisingly, religion tends to make her uneasy. She never, knowingly, lived with less erratic devotions. Litwin was a clutter in major part due to her own presence, which has caused Padrika to recoil from the concepts of greater beings out of fear. She wants no grand destiny, no great mission or job that she must fulfill for a greater god who hand-picked her for what she represented. She also doesn’t know if that means that divinity and monstrosity are something that are codependent or mutually exclusive. How do you explain a divine monster? Where is the line for goddess and a child who drowned in a mire?

All of that said, she doesn’t necessarily use that as a judge against others, nor does she fault people for having beliefs - Padrika also thinks that having no beliefs is a belief, and admittedly, she herself does believe there must be some strong presence in natural phenomenon. The greater questions of it are ones she just doesn’t feel keen on answering, or having an opinion on. Whether or not others do may be something that makes her wary, but it does not always define their character, and she can look past differences. A belief in something is not the only thing about others that makes them them. 

fuu — 20 ;; do they like musicals? music in general? what do they do when they’re favourite song comes? Fuu likes music to what she considers a normal extent. She was classically trained in piano as a child at her parents’ insistence, but her interest in that was passable since she didn’t find it engaging, and when she took up swim, she managed to weasel out of those lessons all together. She’s spent money on high-tech buds that actually work under water, and likes to listen to her favourites while she studies, works out, cleans, or is on her commute. (She’s also been known to put in earphones to avoid conversations she’s not engaged in or to deliberately ignore someone out of annoyance, boredom, or complete disagreement.) She isn’t the liveliest person in a lot of ways, and that extends to her musical enjoyment, though, but if the song is one she really enjoys, Fuu doesn’t mind turning the volume up over a speaker or tapping the piece out with her fingers. 

Despite that, her interest in musicals is practically non-existant.  Besides her struggle to sit through films, she finds the insertion of musical numbers in a narrative actually erases the tone the film was setting and breaks a greater immersion for her. They’re just jarring and almost upsetting, even if she understands most people don’t perceive them that way. She watches them at the behest of friends or if, for some reason, they’re assigned for an arts course, but otherwise will not pick one up or go see one of her own volition. 

siona — 10 ;; do they like children? do children like them? do they have or want any children? what would they be like as a parent? or as a godparent/babysitter/ect? Siona loves children, but most children don’t like her. She tends to find children charmingly curious, thought-provoking, and squeezable. However, Siona is often perceived as one of two things by children - a fairy or a monster, and depending on the local perception of fairies, both can be bad things. In Castle Town she was very uncomfortably received by local children (and adults, but that’s par for the course at this point), though in Vazaar, many of the little girls thought her small stature and pale hair meant she was just a sickly Gerudo sister. 

Siona has never personally given children much thought. The circumstances floating around her existence have been a little more pressing and dire, and trying to lead a life of some sense of normalcy hasn’t been at the forefront of her imagination. But if asked, she’d certainly be agreeable, and Siona’s cautiously optimistic, adventurous, but ironically grounded disposition makes her a very loving and communicative mother-figure. Alongside that, her protective nature is counterbalanced by her indecisiveness, allowing her child to explore and experience while still receiving guidance when asked or needed.

[spiderfan22]

DAY THREE HUNDRED AND FORTY-SEVEN - 11/24/19

“CHARLIE, OR HOW MEN TALK ABOUT WOMEN” by DJS

So I put more work into this one. Hope it shows. Special thanks to the podcast Slow Burn for the inspiration.

_____________

(November 1995. Late night, White House cafeteria. The place is empty and mostly dark. Bill Clinton, 42nd President of the United States, sits eating a cold slice of cheese pizza, washing it down with a can of Pepsi, the rest of the pizza along with a file on the table next to him. He is alone. Enter Dick Morris, political advisor.)

Clinton: Well if it ain’t “Charlie”. Back from the wars.

Dick: Mister President.

Clinton: (taps file with greasy pizza finger) So camping, huh? They want me to go camping, ‘stead of play golf. Think golf is too what, snooty or something? “How I spent my summer vacation” —

Dick: Mister President, you asked me to put the poll in the field.

Clinton: But I like golfing, it relaxes me. Don’t got a handicap for shit, but—

Dick: Well then, you’ll just have to wait, won’t you sir? I mean, plenty of time after you leave office.

Clinton: Oh, in that case only next year—

Dick: Come on, now don't. You know you’re gonna win re-election—  

Clinton: Think so, do ya? After I just got my ass handed to me in the midterms?  

Dick: A setback.

Clinton: More’n a setback, Dick. That son of a bitch Gingrich is calling it a mandate on my policies, that I just got my BUTT SPANKED by the American people! You know a Republican hasn’t been Speaker of the House since the fifties? Now what is that?!

Dick: I’m a Republican.

Clinton: And you’d make a shitty speaker of the house, don’t get my started.

Dick: Go camping, Mister President. Show ‘em what a down to earth guy you are.

Clinton: Mosquitoes biting the hell out of your arms and ankles. And you can never get the damn tent put up right, takes half the damn day.

Dick: Think the Secret Service could help with that.

Clinton: (re pizza) You want a piece of this? It’s cold but—

Dick: No thank you sir, I already ate.

Clinton: (big bite) “Already ate...” What are you counting calories now? You on Weight Watchers? It’s called a midnight snack, it DOESN’T COUNT. Just go jogging like I do. (Wipes his mouth with a napkin. Pause)

Dick: So what’s going on, sir?

Clinton: What do you mean? Nothing.

Dick: Okay.

Clinton: Nothing. Just hungry.

Dick: Sure you’re not tired?

Clinton: ‘Course I’m tired, it’s one AM.

Dick: I know the hour, sir, but it’s the only time you seem to wanna meet with me. I tell ya, it makes a guy feel kind of special, sneaking him in, “under the cover of darkness” and whatnot. Though paradoxically one might come to the conclusion you’re embarrassed of me.  

Clinton: Don’t inflate yourself, Dick. You know it’s just ‘cause George and those guys don’t like me consulting with you. But can I help it if we’re old friends, that I VALUE your opinion? That a DISSENTING VOICE every now and then might actually be a GOOD thing?

Dick: Aww, sir. Well that warms my heart to hear you say that, bastard stepchild that I am. (Beat) So you really don’t wanna let me in on what’s going on?

Clinton: Jesus, I already said, nothing! Why do you gotta keep hounding me?

Dick: Well, a couple reasons sir. One you don’t like wasting people’s time, so if there was nothing else, you’d just tell me to go on home and call it a night—

Clinton: Christ, go home, who’s stopping ya?

Dick: (continuing over) --which I’d be more than obliged to do, only the second thing is, I know you of course.

Clinton: What do you mean you KNOW me? Like you can read my mind? Get out of here!  

Dick: My mistake then, Mister President. Goodnight, sir. (Turns to leave)

Clinton: WAIT, DICK.

Dick: (pause) Yes sir?

Clinton: No, just...hold on a minute.

Dick: Will do.  

(He waits. Silence. Clinton sips his Pepsi. Then)

Clinton: Something...something happened.  

Dick: When?

Clinton: Today. Tonight.

Dick: Oh yeah?

Clinton: Yeah, I—I met someone.

Dick: Girl? (Clinton nods) Who is she?

Clinton: She’s uh...well I guess you’d call her an intern.

Dick: In the White House?

Clinton: Of course in the White House! What do you think?

Dick: I don’t know, sir. You get around.

Clinton: (a small chuckle) Heh, yeah, spose I do. (Pause) Anyway.

Dick: So, an intern. Where’d you meet?

Clinton: Leon’s office, she’s working out of Leon’s office—for the moment. Ever since the damn shutdown, you know, with the regular staff being furloughed and all—you know?

Dick: I know.

Clinton: Well there’s been an influx of em. Unpaid.

Dick: Free labor.

Clinton: Lots, yeah. Most of them young...just graduated college. (Pause) But men and women, you know?  

Dick: What’s her name?

Clinton: (pause) I don’t know if I want to tell you that yet.

Dick: Then tell me what happened.

Clinton: Well, I went in there, to see Leon, you know, for something, and I don’t know if she noticed me first or I noticed her, but she’s just standing there, this young girl. So I introduced myself.  

Dick: As if such a thing was necessary.

Clinton: Well, yeah but, you know, for formality’s sake... (Dick nods) So I asked if this was her first day, and she said no, she had started earlier in the week, but it was all still pretty new, you know? Just real sweet. I asked where she was from.

Dick: Small talk.

Clinton: Chit-chat, yeah. Getting to know you stuff.

Dick: Then what?

Clinton: Then...that was it. I went back to the Oval. (Pause) Till later.

Dick: Later?

Clinton: Little bit later, yeah. I found an excuse to pop back in. Leon was I don’t know where, in a meeting or something.

Dick: Makes sense.  

Clinton: She was doing some filing, just standing by a file cabinet. Round the corner from the door, so you couldn’t see from the hallway...unless you stuck head all the way in.

Dick: Convenient.  

Clinton: So I go over to her, you know? Ask how she’s doing, how her first week is going, anyone giving her any trouble. She says no, in fact everyone’s been real nice, maybe a little stressed with the shutdown, she’s knows that’s, that we’ve all got that on our minds, and how we can end it, but overall still very welcoming despite that.  

Dick: A very personable young woman it sounds like.

Clinton: Complimentary, too. She said how it was just so exciting to be around such important people, with an important job to do. (Pause) Then she, she did this thing. I don’t even know how to describe it. She kind of gave me a look, this playful look like DID I WANT TO SEE SOMETHING, and I must have given her a look back like a smile or something that said SURE, I CAN PLAY ALONG. So with this same playful bordering-on-mischievous little kind of smile of hers, she pulled up her shirt, her blouse, you know...and wouldn’t you believe it but she HAD ON THIS THONG, Dick—I mean sticking right up out her skirt, so you could see it. Black, this black string thong, you know, like from Frederick’s of Hollywood, Victoria’s Secret, one of them catalogues. And you know I been around, seen my fair share of...what’s out there. I’m not an easy man to surprise...that way. But to be so direct about it, so confident—to come right TO THE POINT...hell, I think I mighta even blushed, Dick. (Pause)

Dick: Wow. If I may say, sir—

Clinton: But it wasn’t over yet.

Dick: It wasn’t?

Clinton: No, I—I excused myself, after thanking her, and maybe we would bump into each other again later. If she was working late. None of this was planned, you see.

Dick: Yes, sir.

Clinton: And well, you know, you never know what the rest of the day is gonna look like, but just as it happens later that night I’m coming down the hall and she’s coming the other way and as we get closer to each other I sort of motion her to this office no one’s in, it’s dark and we duck in and I, I close the door and the first thing I ask is, you know, if she likes me, which I already have a pretty good feeling about, but she confirms it, looking up at me she says she’s had a crush on me for a long time, she thinks I’m really handsome, from seeing me on TV and, and likes my suits, and I say how I know we just met but I have a feeling I could like her too, that I liked her right off, and I ask if I can kiss her, and she says yes. So we kiss. (Pause) We kissed. And it was very sweet, and very innocent, and I would even use the word chaste to describe it, like we were teenagers or something and this was our first date—which I guess, you know, it was.

Dick: Sounds like quite a night, sir.

Clinton: Haven’t gotten to the best part.

Dick: Oh? Well...

Clinton: We meet up again later. No pretense anymore. It’s late, everyone’s gone home by now—I mean, Betty’s still there but [what’s she gonna do?]—so I invite her to my private office. And it’s like it’s just us alone together in this whole big building. It seems so small and quiet. And she looks up at me—big eyes, glassy, maybe she was crying, I don’t know. But before I can think about it...  

(He trails off. Long pause)

Dick: Well, that’s some story, Mister President.

Clinton: I know. I know. What am I gonna do, Dick? I can’t keep seeing this girl! But I want to!

Dick: ‘Course you want to. You’re only a man.

Clinton: She gave me her number.

Dick: Stands to reason.

Clinton: I don’t know, maybe if things were going better with Hillary—

Dick: The question is how much do you trust your security detail. Because IF—and this is a big if—but IF you were going to continue to see this girl, it would really fall under their purview. They’d be your first line of defense.

Clinton: You’re talking about actually having an affair?

Dick: Why not? Your hero JFK did it.

Clinton: But that was a different time! And even then he barely got away with it; everybody knew! And besides haven’t we had enough problems, enough scandals already, what with Travel Gate and White Water, and Vince Foster going and killing himself over nothing!—and that bastard Ken Starr breathing down my neck!  

Dick: All good points, sir.

Clinton: I can’t, Dick, there’s no way. It would be putting too much in jeopardy. And with the election next year—  

Dick: Say no more.

(Silence)

Clinton: It would be nice though, wouldn’t it? Like a breath of fresh air.  

Dick: We can’t always get what we want.

Clinton: Rolling Stones.  

Dick: Yes sir.

Clinton: Mick Jagger. You know I met him once?  

Dick: No sir, I didn’t.

Clinton: Yeah, back during the campaign, at a stop in Chicago I think. They were on tour. Now there’s a guy who could get any woman he wants, and not have to worry a lick. (Shaking his head) Rock stars, boy.

Dick: You know, politicians have their groupies too, sir. I think we can agree this is a bullet best dodged.  

Clinton: No. No. That’s just it. This was the real thing.

(Beat)

Dick: Go camping, Mister President.

Clinton: Yeah. (Pause) Yeah. Thank you, Dick. For everything, the advice and— (Holds up file) These numbers. You’re a good friend.

Dick: My pleasure, sir, anytime. And it’s “Charlie” remember?  

Clinton: “Charlie” right. Heh.  

Dick: I mean, cool codename, might as well use it.

Clinton: Yeah.

Dick: Well, goodnight, sir.  

Clinton: G’night. (Dick starts to exit) Hey Dick, fore you go—the Secret Service. They get you in and out pretty easy, right? No questions?

Dick: Sir?  

(Pause)

Clinton: I’m just asking.

[my-wayward-son]

2 months on T-------------------> 7 months on T

I’m late with this post.  Again.  Because I’m doing really shitty.  Again.

First, let me address the obvious: yes, I’ve lost weight. (Well, if you wanna get technical, I weigh the exact same thing as when I started, which I probably shouldn’t).  But beyond that, I don’t want to talk about it.  That change is probably 25% due to testosterone and the tendency it has to aid in the development of lean muscle, and 75% due to other factors.

All the previous changes I’ve noted in these posts are still happening/happening more, such as still more body hair growing/thickening.  There’s really nothing new to report, except that I pass better when I have on glasses and teenage boy clothes (as opposed to professional clothes), but still get a lot of gender neutral and she/her designations mixed in with the he/hims.  

I had a dream last night about correcting my dad (his typical naming convention for me is Laura, I mean, Laur, she, I mean, Laur...) . So he’s trying when he’s in front of me, but it’s obvious he isn’t trying when he’s talking to my mom without me present.  I’m torn between being upset about it and letting it go.  My dad was diagnosed with Aspergers as an adult and he struggles with shifting his perspective.  This is something else I don’t want to talk about, but just know that my far-from-NT-yet-decidedly-allistic ass has a hard time reconciling it.

But anyhow, the transition is going great, and I have no reason to be upset about anything, but I’m upset about everything, and the rest is going under the cut because it’s going to be full of triggers (suicide and ED stuff).

For my whole life I never understood why anyone would want one of those dolls that you can customize to look exactly like you.  My thought was always, ‘what’s so special about me?  I kind of suck.’  I thought so little of myself and my live, even as a little kid, that I would rather pick the princess or the American Girl or whatever with the most interesting story and change myself to match.  Like I’d beg my mom for an outfit the same color as the character’s, or wear sunglasses with the lenses popped out, or only style my hair the same way as the character in order to adapt into that character.  

Of course all those phases were just that, phases.  They were highly tied to the media I consumed, and as I aged, that media changed.  So I was always editing myself to match my current obsession.  I never gave thought to what I was actually like, deep inside.  Like it didn’t matter what my actual personality was.  I hardly even thought about it until the end of high school, and then a series of traumas knocked me down a few pegs, and that sense of self didn’t come back to the surface until mid 2017.

In mid 2017, I went to a 2-week dance convention.  At that time I was living as female, had basically given up on the idea of transitioning, and was just trying to push through as a painfully shy 24-year-old who worked full time and danced part time with a local ballet company.  At the convention, I studied various styles of dance, realized I was extremely untrained in every field but ballet, and spent the entire thing on the verge of tears because I was with students over 10 years my junior in most of the classes.  It was an “all ages” program, but literally all the other adults were in professional level classes for all styles.  I was only in the professional level class for ballet.  I couldn’t wait for the convention to end.  I hated every second of it.  I had a chronic foot injury that made dancing painful (but not dangerous), but I’d always pushed through it because I loved it.  Now I could barely stand to go to class, even back with my regular company.  So I made arrangements to retire. 

I retired from professional dance in May 2018 and had foot surgery in June 2018.  I could dance again, if I wanted to, but I’m not ready yet.  Eventually I might go back as a recreational adult dancer, just taking class from time to time.  But I don’t know.  

I still love ballet, but as of a year ago, ballet was the one thing hanging over me that I hated.  I hated the obligation; I hated the way it tore up my body; I hated the way it made me exhausted and ate up all my spare time. However, I was damn productive.  I wrote so many fics and drew so many pictures, and I went to therapy at least every other week, and sometimes to PT.  I was at the studio approximately 20 hours a week, on top of working 40 hours a week.  But I guess I was so busy and tied to my obligations that I quite literally couldn’t fall apart.  

My uncle died (suicide, marking the 4th attempt and 2nd success in my family) and my granddad died (heart condition), so I had good reason to fall apart.  I was freaked out and sad for a while, but I was also fine.  I was a robot.  When I look back, I realize that the last time I was happy was prior to the 4th of July 2017.  I call that the “Wonder Woman Moment.”  I did a photo shoot for a ballet personal training/nutrition service that dressed me up in WW-esque dancewear.  We blasted Patty Smythe and had a ball.  Even though it was a really feminine thing, it was so much fun, and I had no worries.  It was July 1st 2017.  Before my uncle died, and before my granddad died and before I went to the dance convention.  That’s my last happy memory.

After unpacking some acute issues with grief and anxiety, my therapist started talking to me about my issues with gender ID.  By November 2017 I was thinking about transitioning (I had thought about it before, but never felt it was feasible).  By December, I’d decided it felt right.  I sought out a doctor in January 2018 and had my first appointment in February.  I told my mom on Superbowl Sunday.  Then a month later at my Oscar party, she basically washed her hands of me.

I love film crit and the Academy Awards almost as much as I love fanfiction and ballet and coffee and all the other good things.  I’ve been on the edge of my seat waiting for the 2019 noms to drop.  I know a few of them just from the grapevine, but I haven’t looked them up yet.  I’m still working from my early prediction spreadsheet, even though the actual noms are just a few clicks away.  I’m scared of the feelings that’s going to bring up.

One year ago, all I could think about was getting through the next 6 months and reaching a series of milestones: my company’s production of Alice in Wonderland.  Moving to a new apartment.  My company’s production of Water for Chocolate (an original contemporary ballet choreographed on me and 14 other dancers).  Starting testosterone.  Retiring from ballet.  Foot surgery.  I thought my life would be so much better.

And in a way, it is.  I have the confidence to do random shit, like walk into Autozone and talk to the workers about what is wrong with my car, then help them fix it.  A year ago, I would have panic attacks over things like that.  But a year ago, my mom loved me.  A year ago, I thought I’d have my current job forever.  A year ago, I thought once I got on T, my eating disorder behaviors would go away.

I’ve gained personal confidence, but lost so much else.  Lost my family.  Gained a new one, but still, I lost my relationship with my biological mother and father.  Lost my job satisfaction, which makes me worry that at some point I will have to interview for a new job and integrate with a new company, which is frightening in the extreme.  T has changed my body shape in the way I like, but it’s not magic.  I’m still afraid of eating, and stress doesn’t help.  I’ve also had health complications that add pressure and make me feel run down.  Some is my own damn fault (Hi, I’m Laur and I abuse OTC medications like a rebellious teenager, which is apparently not advisable when also on several prescriptions).  Some is a fluke.  But feeling like shit while also mentally feeling like shit has destroyed me.  I hate my life.  I hate everything.  I don’t see the value in anything.   

I know there’s a Spider-Man: Far from Home trailer out there.  I haven’t seen it.  I don’t know what to expect.  I want to see it.  But I also don’t want time to move forward.  I like the MCU as it is (I like it pre-Infinity War, actually, but nobody asked me, so I won’t belabor you with my opinion).

And that’s a good metaphor for my life right now.  It’s a mess.  I can’t picture anything far in the future, so the light from my proverbial headlights is dim and dull.  I’m afraid of moving forward, so my tires are spinning in place, kicking up mud and dust.   I’m incapable of shifting side to side, so when I do roll ahead a few inches, I hit every obstacle in the path.  If I just changed the lightbulbs, twiddled the steering wheel, took a breath and let myself move, I’d probably be fine.  But somehow that seems like the most impossible choice.  

I could slam the car into one of the cave walls, triggering a rockslide and killing myself.  If I did that, I know it would hurt a lot of people in my life, but it would also fulfill all of my hopes and dreams.   Peace.  Calmness.  Stillness.  Not having to deal with a world that insists on moving forward with the passage of time.  

The most compelling reason is that I can’t find a reason not to.  I wish I was an undergraduate student again, because I want to get a degree in philosophy.  I don’t know why living is so highly valued.  I can’t figure out what makes this “will to live” the correct way of thinking and the desire to die the wrong way of thinking.  Right and wrong are subjective.  They don’t exist, really.  There is not value behind things and thoughts and actions.  They just are.  What’s to say that a lack of serotonin or whatever in a depressed brain is really not normal?  The non-depressed brain may have an excess.  Normal is relative.  Averages don’t mean correct.  Just because most people in the class chose answer B doesn’t mean that it is the right answer to the question.  Just because most Americans are a little overweight doesn’t mean that that’s the healthiest body type.  

Sometimes I really want to try to get well and forge ahead and get my life together.  Sometimes I want to say fuck it and take all the pills in the house and lay down and drift away.  I can’t decide which is better because neither is better, they both are just choices.  I can’t use other people’s reasoning to back up either one, for they are slanted for reasons I cannot understand.  They have a bias toward life.  I have to choose what I really want most, and I just don’t know.  I truly don’t.  My wants and desires-the deep ones in the core of my being- have been so long ignored, given up for what a character would do, or what my mom would do, that as an adult, I hardly know how to access the decision-making skills that most children have already mastered.  I’m a fucking goldfish; when I’m upset, I’m only upset, and I’ve always been upset.  When I’m happy, I’m only happy and I’ve always been happy.  I don’t know how to take a step back and see both at the same time.  I can’t hold contradictory truths at once.  I’m not wise.  I’m set up to fail because there are cracks in my foundation.

As long as I continue to not decide, I don’t take action.  I’m stuck in a holding pattern of “I don’t know,” and “what’s going to get me through the next 5 minutes,” and “just fuck it all, it doesn’t matter.”  

I’ve never, ever, in my life imagined myself as an elderly person.  I’ve thought of myself as a middle-aged adult, but never past 40 or so.  Sometimes I see myself as a woman, sometimes as a man, sometimes an NB person.  But that’s not what matters.  I don’t see myself living to old age.  Mortality is comfort.  The fact that this life doesn’t go on forever is one thing that honestly makes it seem ok to keep living.  But by definition, it also makes it seem like a good choice to die when things go wrong.  Because I will in the end.  

I see my life as a project, and I’ve always had this dilemma with projects: if I make a mistake, what point is too ruined to salvage?  What factors make it more worthwhile to backtrack and fix the mistakes vs. just throwing it away.  Fixing the mistakes shoes dedication and perseverance, but it’s frustrating.  Hot.  Angry.  Uncomfortable.  Embarrassing to show youthful ineptitude to the world.  Throwing it away is quick.  Easy.  Zen.  Brings immediate cool relief with grace and style.  But it’s selfish.  So fucking selfish.  

If you’ve read this far, please proceed to pour water into your ears and shake vigorously.  This was not meant to be imprinted on your brain.  This is for me to sort out my thoughts, which are, and shall always be, unable to be ordered.

[criminallyimaginative]

Time To Fess Up

Request: for the anon who asked for a “Reid x reader where they are both in the BAU and are in love with each other but haven’t confessed. Reader thinks Reid is in love with Maeve (or someone else, totally up to you) so starts to distance herself and then Spencer confronts her and they both give this romantic, fluffy confession.”

A/N: Ok wow. This one has been sitting in the inbox for quite awhile and I feel bad about that. Finals really burnt me out and then I feel into the worse writing slump that I’ve ever had, but I’m happy to have finished this one and hopefully the slump might be ending! Anyways, this one is probably a smidgen more angsty than I intended for it to be, but it’s cute and fluffy at the end I promise! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: honestly other than some angst and maybe one curse word, there’s nothing to warn you about

Word Count: 2.5k

Rating: PG

“No! It has nothing to do with that,” Spencer laughed, resting the phone between his shoulder and head, trying to do his paperwork while continuing his conversation. You sighed in frustration and stirred more coffee into your coffee.  You’d joined the BAU team almost two years ago and had immediately clicked with all of the team members, particularly Spencer. Friendship had led to inevitable feelings for you, but there was one problem. You’d fallen into the friend-zone. This was breaking your heart. (Not Spencer being happy of course, that was the only good thing that had come out of all of this situation.) It was the cause of that happiness that was the source of your loathing. Maeve. Spencer had confided in you about her months ago, when you’d noticed him disappearing four hours a few times a week. You know what, it was fine when she was some disembodied voice on a telephone, but when she became a real person who the team had worked their asses off to bring back from an abduction alive it was your worst nightmare. That was when you’d realized he was in love with her. 

“(Y/N)!”, JJ said waving a hand in front of your face. You snapped out of the trance you hadn’t realized you’d fallen into and shook your head. 

“What’s up, Jayje?” you asked plastering a fake smile on your face. 

“Just bringing you more of those transfer forms that you were asking for,” she replied placing the stack of paperwork on your desk. “So, you’re really doing this huh?” she commented, leaning against her chair. 

“I’ll call you back,” Spencer said quickly hanging up the phone. 

“What’s going?” he asked leaning forward to gain you and JJ’s attention. 

“(Y/N)’s-”

“Late for meeting Morgan at the gym, so you’ll have to excuse me,” you said cutting her off as you stood up. “Not a word,” you muttered in her ear. “Have a nice day, JJ. Reid,” you replied curtly before making a b-line for the elevator. Spencer flinched at the short tone you had used with him and glanced at the stack of papers on your desk. 

“JJ, what was that about?” 

“(Y/N) asked me not to say,” she mumbled, smoothing out her skirt and collected the finished report from the last case that was sitting on your desk. 

“I’m not talking about this transfer or whatever it is you two are doing,” he said, crossing over to her, “I’m talking about why she has been giving me the cold shoulder.”

“Spence she’s not-”

“Please don’t lie to me,” he pleaded, “I just want to know what awful thing I did to make my best friend hate me.”

“Best friend or girl you are secretly in love with?” JJ asked before she could stop herself. “That’s not fair,” Spencer snapped, looking down. 

“Well, my question is still valid although you seem to have found someone who sparks your interest more these days”

“Maeve is just a friend. How many times do I have to say that?”

“A friend who you can’t go one day without talking to for at least an hour?”  

“I value her opinion.”

“There used to be someone else’s opinion you valued above everyone’s and she’s not going to be around much longer,” JJ hinted, subtly trying to clue him in without explicitly telling him. 

“JJ, what are you talking about?”

“Spence, I love you. You know I do, but this is something that you are going to have figure out for yourself or you are going to lose one of the best things that ever happened to you,” she replied, before walking back to her office leaving Spencer standing in the middle of the bullpen more confused than when the conversation started.

“Hey there Pretty Girl,” Morgan called as you strolled into the gym.

“Hey hot stuff, sorry I’m late. I had to discuss something with JJ and then change,” you explained, dropping your gym bag by the door. You’d swapped your usual work attire for a loose tank top, cropped yoga pants, and your Nikes. 

“Not a problem, I’ve got the whole afternoon open,” he replied, leaning against the wall. You laughed and stretched your arms over your head. Other than Spencer, you considered Morgan to be your best friend. “So you gonna tell me what this is really about?”

“Time for a little brush up on hand to hand. The last case was a little too close for comfort,” you lied. In reality, you were looking for an outlet to take out some aggression. 

“Uh huh,” Morgan muttered, clearly unconvinced. 

“Ready? Go,” you said lunging for him in an attempt to derail his train of thought. Derek knew you too well and simply side stepped. You turned on a dime and swung your leg toward his knees. He caught your foot in his hand and shoved you backward. You and Derek had been sparring together since you joined the team, and in that time you’d only beaten him once. In your current distracted state, you had no chance of winning. You steadied yourself and kicked again, this time swinging your leg up to strike his face. 

“So you asking for a transfer has nothing to do with Reid hanging around Maeve?” His question made you freeze up, foot stopping right next to his face, instead of following through. 

“What?” you demanded, still frozen. 

“Your ‘oh so secret transfer’, does it or does it not have something to do with Reid,” he asked, pushing your foot down to the ground. 

“How do you know about that?”

“Did you really think Penelope wouldn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t think she would see it until it was too late,” you grumbled, crossing your arms.

“How long has Hotch been sitting on that paperwork?”

“The first part, a week. I just turned in the rest of it earlier and I guarantee he’s going to hold it as long as he can or until I force him to file it. He’s not happy about this.”

“I don’t blame him. The team is losing a damn good agent and profiler,” Derek replied. 

“The team will be fine,” you insisted, grabbing your bag from where you’d dropped it, “Don’t try to talk me out of this, I’ve already made up my mind.”

“(Y/N), no one wants you to go but we want you to be happy,” he said walking over to you. “I’m just questioning whether or not this will make you happy.”

“I’m happy. It’s just time for a change,” you said slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I have to go.”

“In more ways than one it would seem,” Derek replied, tugging you into his arms, “if you do this, I’m gonna miss you, Pretty girl.”

“I’ll miss you too,” you told him sincerely squeezing his muscular form, “but there is no if. I’m doing this.” You strode out of the gym, shoulders only slumping slightly as you questioned your decision. You sprinted to your car and drove like mad to get home. You were desperate to shake that little seed of doubt that Derek had planted in your mind about your decision before it had time to take root. “Oreo,” you called to your kitty as you opened your apartment door, “I’m sorry I’m late. Are you hungry?” you spoke as you passed through the entry but froze. Spencer was sitting on your couch with your cat curled up in his lap, just purring away. A bowl of popcorn and two beers had been casually placed on your coffee table, while Doctor Who played in the background. “Um, Spence?” you muttered, mentally kicking yourself for giving him the spare key to your apartment. The sound of your voice finally caused him to look up from the book. 

“Oh (Y/N), hi,” he said closing the book and setting it on the back of the couch. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, dropping your gym bag and purse on the ground before heading to the kitchen to start dinner for yourself. 

“Well, I thought since we have the day off tomorrow, maybe we could do movie night?” he asked glancing over at you.

“Movie night?” you snorted, “We only do that when one of us is upset.” You shifted your weight from foot to foot as you filled a pan with water, and you could feel him staring at you. “I’m fine.”

“Clearly you’re not,” he insisted, getting up and walking to the kitchen much to Oreo’s chagrin. She pouted as she hopped up on the counter and sat by her food bowl. You shook your head at her before filling the bowl. “You’re upset about something, there’s talk of some kind of transfer, and on top of all that you’re avoiding me.”

“I am not,” you mumbled, setting the pot down on the cooktop, “I’m just working some stuff out.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s what?”

“C’mon (Y/N), I know you. You don’t do anything without getting other people’s opinions.”

“Spencer, you are the smartest person I know. So why don’t you use that big genius brain of yours, to put all that information together and figure out why I wouldn’t tell anyone,” you said turning to face him. He scrunched his eyebrows up together and you watched as the realization washed over his face.

“You’re leaving?”

“Probably,” you muttered, grabbing a box of spaghetti out of the pantry.

“Why? When? Where?” he asked, trying to deal with the new information. 

“Sex crimes,” you replied, breaking the spaghetti over the pot, “Remember Hotch leant me to them a month ago. Before I left, Agent Tyler told me if I ever was done with BAU there’d be a job open for me in his department and I’ve decided it’s time to move on.”

“But why? I don’t understand. You were happy until like a month ago,” he said, running a hand through his hair. 

“A lot can change in a month,” you mumbled, reaching over and smoothing a hand over Oreo’s fur.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t do that,” Spencer groaned, snatching your hand, “Don’t shut me out when I’m just trying to understand-”

“Well, this is one thing you can understand,” you insisted. 

“Then explain it to me.”

“Not possible.”

“Why? You just said that I’m the smartest person you know.”

“Spencer, please. I am trying not to hurt you.”

“You’re already hurting me by shutting me out, so just say it!”

“I’m in love with you, damn it,” you shouted, tearing your hand away from him and wrapping both arms around yourself. Spencer froze and just stared at you. There was no way that those words had come out of your mouth, no way. Right?

“What did you say?” he asked hesitantly. 

“I’m in love with you,” you repeated still hugging yourself, “and watching you fall in love with someone else is slowly killing me. I can’t do it anymore. You wanted to know, so there it is laid out plain as day. I know it’s my own fault for falling in love with my best friend who could never possibly into me that way, but I did and now that’s something that I’m going to have to deal with. I’m-” you were trying to explain but were abruptly cut off when Spencer took your face in his hands and pressed your lips together. It was your turn to freeze be confused. You settled into the kiss after a few seconds and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I don’t understand,” you muttered as you both pulled away to get some air. 

“Well, I thought that would have cleared some things up,”  Spencer chuckled, pressing his lips against your forehead, “but I didn’t just come here to have movie night. I came here to tell you something that I should’ve told you a long time ago, and now that you’ve expressed a positive sentiment about me this will go much more smoothly for me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, to put it plainly, a few of our coworkers knocked some sense into me in regards to feeling but JJ really hit the nail on the head. She made it obvious that I was being a coward. I was content to watch the girl that had dazzled me and ensnared my heart from the moment I met her go about her life and make connections with other people without ever stepping up and going after what I wanted. Her. I did a lot of thinking this afternoon, and I realized that she was right. I had sat by and watched you live life, date other people, have fun, while I sat on the sidelines content that if I couldn’t be with you the way I wanted to be that I could still be in your life. I could live with that, but what I can’t do is be without you in my life. You make me a better person, inspire me to do things I never would’ve dreamed of doing, listen to me when I ramble or blurt out facts, and so many other wonderful things. I’m in love with you (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I am whole heartedly and undeniably in love with you. So, here I am laying my heart out for you and hoping that, if you’ll have me, you’d be willing to hold onto that heart even though you’ve already had it for quite some time,” he replied, holding you close, smoothing a hand over your cheek and wiping away a tear that had fallen from you eye. You were speechless the confession was so beautiful. Without a second thought, you crashed your lips into his and tangled a hand in his hair. He responded immediately, arms tightening around your waist. “I’m hoping that’s a yes,” he chuckled as you parted again. 

“Well duh,” you giggled and tried to stop the happy tears from running down your face as you brushed the hair away from his face. “I’m sorry I’m crying, I’m just really happy.”

“Happy tears are good.”

“I thought you and Maeve were-”

“Ah yes, that. When it first started, I think she and I were both actually considering a relationship of the romantic variety but we both realized that we were trying to replace other people who we were actually in love with,” he explained. 

“Well, I- oh crap.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I guess I should call Hotch to see if I can cancel that transfer.”

“I think you’re safe.”

“Why’s that?”

“I think Hotch hasn’t actually filed the forms yet. Penelope was snooping through the files on his computer when she found the email.”

“Well, everythign seems to have worked itself out,” you chirped happily, “and seeing as you’re here, still want to do movie night?”

“Absolutely, but first. These are for you,” Spencer said producing a bouquet of flowers from the sleeve of his cardigan. 

“How did you do that?” you laughed, taking the flowers and setting them in the vase on the counter. 

“A magician never reveals his secrets.”

“How on earth did I get so lucky to have you in my life?”

“I ask myself that question every single day,” Spencer admitted and kissed you again. 

[vincentbuckles]

Weekend reading: I shopped til I dropped

What caught my eye this week.

I would have had this post to you much earlier on Friday, but for consumerism. You see I got totally distracted trying to get the best out of my new Sage Barista Express:

Real life: Messy.

Having done a barista training course a few years ago, I improbably fancied myself as pretty hot stuff with a coffee grinder.

I’ve enjoyed flat whites knocked out by a friend on this well-reviewed model many times, too.

But it turns out I didn’t know my friend as well as I thought I did!

I’ve discovered he’s great at making coffee – but perhaps more shockingly that he’s modest about it. (What other talents does he boast, I now wonder? Or rather does he not boast?)

Seriously, I know it takes a while to get the hang of DIY espressos on new kit, so I’m not too perturbed. It’s only eaten a couple of hours so far, and that includes washing the bits and bobs, figuring out how it fitted together, and collecting beans I spilled on the floor.

No, the other reason why I fell behind was because as soon this new toy finally arrived from Amazon, I went out for a three-hour hike around West London.

Did you sign for it, sir?

You see I’ve been in all week waiting for deliveries – and it drives me crazy.

I’m on edge all-day, until the deliveries do (or don’t) arrive.

A laid-back friend who doesn’t understand my hair-trigger control freak personality asked me what the big deal was.

“Imagine waiting all day to be slapped in the face,” I said. “You don’t know when it’s coming, but you will be slapped in the face. That’s me waiting for the door buzzer.”

It’s not even that I can’t do the social interaction bit. It’s worse: I usually talk the delivery person’s ear off. (A common failing among those of us who work from home.)

Rather it’s the waiting and uncertainty that kills me – and the unexpected and unscheduled state change.

Years before the Millennials I kept my mobile on silent always, for the same reason.

A totally unexpected phone call to my mobile feels like being tapped on the shoulder by a suddenly apparating supernatural nosy neighbour. I hate it.

Now at this point you’re either nodding along (a very few of you) or you’re aghast with incomprehension. Which is fine.

(I’ve said before when explaining why I invest actively and nearly everyone reading shouldn’t that I’m wired differently. I didn’t say it was easy!)

Economy class

Anyway, the reason I’m sharing these asides – and the rare from real-life picture above – is to give a quick update on my embrace of consumerism.

The story so far: You’ll remember I bought a flat, I still haven’t written up why, and I set about spending some of my 20-odd years of winnings (well, savings and winnings) to make it fancy.

This got off to a good start. I’ve always loved nice furnishings and so on – from afar. But by the middle of the hot summer I was bored of spending money.

I’d lost enthusiasm, I’d lost my girlfriend (she said she didn’t like my sudden interiors obsession, but perhaps she just didn’t like the sofa I finally selected?), and I’d lost (/spent) more money traded for matter than I’d spent on things in the previous two decades combined.

I didn’t even go crazy! It’s just that living like a graduate student even as your earnings multiply is pretty low-rent.

For most of that long era I used to opine to my more normally spendy friends that buying stuff only produced problems. Which in my experience was almost always true.

Stuff didn’t work, or you had to upgrade something else, or it broke, or you felt guilty, or you had to wait in for days to get it delivered, or you were worried it’d get nicked when finally you did get hold of it – or any one of a dozen other woes that people who buy stuff all the time think is just the way the world is.

Only two things hit the spot for me without fail when I splashed the cash. Black cabs – which I almost never took, and felt so luxurious in those pre-Uber days – and the first beer with two poppadoms and all the sauces and other gubbins.

Obviously I did a gazillion other things over the decades. I didn’t just taxi around London from curry house to curry house! And often it was money well spent.

But never reliably so.

Well, this whole flat buying and furnishing thing has proven my younger self right.

Through the keyhole

Don’t get me wrong. It’s coming along. It looks beautiful, to me if not my ex. I feel lucky to live among all these things I chose in my still-new flat, even knowing luck is only part of it.

But, oh! I guess I secretly thought the universe would notice The Investor Is Finally Throwing Money At The Problem and the rules would change. But they haven’t.

Stuff comes broken. Trades people don’t show up. Some of them are great, but some are – well – yet to find their true calling. Deliveries don’t arrive. I made a final push to finish my flat before Christmas, and caned the Black Friday offers. But only three of the seven resultant purchases that were scheduled for delivery have actually made it here so far. A new record of rubbishness.

Coffee machines are harder to use than you expected. Analine leather sofas stain if you sneeze near them. Complete automatic watering systems require add-ons to water completely. Your boiler is already up for a service – and that’ll be £100+ with VAT please.

I feel sometimes like Robinson Crusoe, finally back on the mainland after a long sabbatical away catching fresh fish with his hands and brushing his teeth with a fragrant root. I can confirm 2018 has a lot of gorgeous stuff on offer – but as we all know it comes at a price and doesn’t really solve anything.

Still happy I did it, but pleased I’m mostly buying things that will last.

Once I’m done the hedonic treadmill is going back into storage!

Note: Yes, it’s an expensive coffee machine (though one of the cheaper good ones). I’ve always liked a few quality things in life, I’ve just tended to get them cheaply. I saved about half my income for 20 years, so while the Frugal Police are welcome to give me a caution, keep in mind that I wrote the (racier) pages of the book you’re throwing at me. And beware Buffett’s Folly…

From Monevator

From the archive-ator: Death, infirmity, and investing – Monevator

News

Note: Some links are Google search results – in PC/desktop view you can click to read the piece without being a paid subscriber. Try privacy/incognito mode to avoid cookies. Consider subscribing if you read them a lot!1

Here’s how much fund managers are paid [to lose to the market] – Institutional Investor

Houses prices down on fundamentals not Brexit, research suggests – ThisIsMoney

Property slump could cut number of affordable homes built by 25% – Guardian

UK migration: Fewer EU arrivals, but overall figure stays the same – BBC

Do you live in one of the happiest places in the UK? – ThisIsMoney

The inheritance tax mess, where richest pay a lower percentage rate – Simon Lambert

Products and services

UK rail fares to rise 3.1% in January – Guardian

Shawbrook tops table with a 1.65% one-year cash ISA rate – ThisIsMoney

Ratesetter will pay you £100 [and me a bonus] if you invest £1,000 for a year – Ratesetter

New breed of elite dating apps for wealthy singletons [Search result] – FT

Comment and opinion

How to own all tomorrow’s winning stocks – The Evidence-based Investor

John Bogle needn’t worry about index fund dominance – Pragmatic Capitalism

The proliferation of indices isn’t all it appears – Abnormal Returns

In praise of old jobs – Young (Mrs) FIGuy

Spend more: The most ignored piece of financial advice [Search result] – FT

How to retire forever on a big stash [US taxes/insurance] – Mr Money Mustache

FIRE Day! – Retirement Investing Today

You would not have invested with Warren Buffett – Behavioural Value Investor

Anti-FIRE: The YOLO train wreck edition – Simple Living in Somerset

Juggling six-figure margin debt [Don’t try this at home!] – Fire V London

The top 20 personal finance questions answered – Guardian

Morningstar gets into the finance-meets-food-pyramid game – Morningstar

Five things parenting and (active) investing share – The Value Perspective

What can we do about over-confidence? – Behavioural Investor

An attempt at estimating the true ‘global market portfolio’, including all the unlisted assets in the world [Research] – Alpha Architect

Brexit

Government finally admits UK will be worse off under all Brexits – New York Times

Leave voters statistically much likelier to believe conspiracy theories – Guardian

A Daily Mail EU scare story debunked [Again, people believe this crap] – Tom Pride

The French village that fears for its British community – BBC

Romania has lost 16% of its population to rest of EU in a decade – MSW via Twitter

Brexit TV Debate: A former Remainer will argue for her Brexit deal, a closet Leaver for a better deal or Remain. What a time to be alive! – BBC

I’d like to Exit from these homegrown cretins. Where do I vote? – BBC

Kindle book bargains

Why You? 101 Interview Questions You’ll Never Fear Again by James Reed – £1.99 on Kindle

Thank You for Being Late: An Optimist’s Guide to Thriving in the Age of Accelerations by Thomas L. Friedman – £1.99 on Kindle

The Spider Network: The Wild Story of a Maths Genius and One of the Greatest Scams in Financial History by David Enrich – £1.99 on Kindle

Tiny Budget Cooking: Saving Money Never Tasted So Good by Limahl Asmall – £1.09 on Kindle

Off our beat

Internet: The end of the beginning [Video/Presentation] – Benedict Evans

Watch how just a few self-driving cars prevent traffic jams [Graphics] – Science

Nike and Boeing are paying sci-fi writers to predict their futures – Medium

Woman who names daughter ‘Abcde’ is upset when someone finds it funny – ABC News

A man actually ticked the US Visa form ‘Are You A Terrorist?’ box – via Twitter

Maps showing how we’re divided by more than Brexit [Funny, old-ish] – Ink Tank

And finally…

“Why should we look to the past in order to prepare for the future? Because there is nowhere else to look.” – James Burke, Connections

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Weekend reading: I shopped til I dropped published first on https://justinbetreviews.weebly.com/

[scarletkate1881]

Coming Down - Chapter Three

A/N: If you’re reading, THANK YOU! And don’t be a stranger, send some requests if you want. I just want friends.

Promise

To say I’d become rusty may be a huge understatement, after only twenty minutes of basic training in the Danger Room I’m out of breath and have a stitch in my right side. Sweaty and panting, I watch as my fellow teammates whiz by me; Colossus charging full speed toward the “Sentinel” while Kurt pops up here, there and everywhere. Thankfully, Gambit was nowhere to be seen, I wonder if he’d just skipped or if he just didn’t have to practice alongside the rest of the team.

It’s not like I just sat on my ass while I was away, I did go running most days when I could be bothered, maybe I should have joined a boxing class or something.

“Rogue, I know you’ve just came back, but we can’t have anyone here lacking; get it together!” Cyclops shouted from the other side of the room before turning on his optic blasts and propelling a flying Sentinel into the ceiling before it came crashing back down.

“I know,” I muttered, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hear me, but I did try to get back into the action.

Gaining control of my powers had come with other perks; the powers I’d absorbed I could call upon, at least the ones that I’d had the most exposure to, like Wolverine’s and Magneto’s. So, channeling the old bucket head himself, I pulled his abilities to the front of my mind.

It. Felt. Amazing. Just to feel the metal around me, it made the hairs on my arms and on the back of my neck stand up, while also giving me chills. The fact that I could tear this room in two filtered through my mind, and I’m not sure that those thoughts could be solely blamed on Magneto.

I scoured the room, looking for who needed the help most. My eyes landed on Jubilee, who still wasn’t allowed to go out on proper missions as Summers didn’t think she was ready.

Easily, I lifted myself into the air, going higher and higher until I was eye-level with the thirty-foot Sentinel; it’s focus was on the small girl who was throwing harmless firecrackers at it. So, I raised my hands and extended the power to grasp the metal giant.

“Might want to move, Jubes!” I called down, I didn’t look to see if she heeded my advice, I kept my eyes on the robot as I concentrated on stripping away it’s iron shell from its face; it was easy, like pulling down wallpaper. I got the sudden instinct to clench my fists, so I did.

The thirty-foot metal monster crumpled like it was nothing but paper; the yells and bangs behind me stopped as the ball of jagged iron fell to the ground with a loud crash. As I lowered myself to the ground I could feel their eyes on me and hear the whispering.

I took a deep breath as I worked on pushing Magneto back into his cell before I turned around and faced them with a smile on my face. “If Sinister’s anything like this, I think we’re in with a chance,” Keep smiling, stay confident, you totally meant to do that. I moved some of my white fringe back behind my ear. “I might just be this team’s lucky charm.”

“That was awesome!” Bobby exclaimed with a wide smile on his face; Scott and Jean didn’t seem to share this opinion if their worried looks were anything to go by.

“And that brings a close to this session, go clean up everybody, same time tomorrow.” Scott instructed, his eyes still on me, so I knew he probably want me to stay behind.

It took a few minutes for everyone to filter out and for the simulation to shut down, so we were just standing in a bare metal dome room. So, I was left facing Summers and Grey, the main team leaders.

“Rogue, I get that you want to help, but using those types of powers could go wrong; we don’t know how much hold you have over them, they could easily spiral out of control which may cause more harm that good.” Scott spoke slowly, as if he was talking to a child, while I may have been doing work on my social skills, one thing I didn’t even bother trying to change was my quick temper, that would take too much work.

“Don’t you think that’s the reason why Mystique and Xavier wanted me back here? Because I have all of these powers? To maybe give you guys a slight advantage? I’m practically a one-woman army here!”

“That’s really not a good thing, Rogue, remember what happened before when you absorbed too much? Maybe it’s the same if you keep calling up those psyches, if you keep using them they may take over.” Jean, as always, trying to be the calm voice of reason with a soothing smile.

“Fine, I’ll just rely on being a leech and knocking people out, without giving them a taste of their own medicine, sure, that’s just great.” I muttered as I turned and stalked out of the Danger Room, not waiting to hear either of their responses.

After a blissful shower, I ventured down to the common room, not really wanting to just sit in my temporary room in silence. I was surprised to see only Kurt, Jubilee and Rahne sitting around; then again, I guess now that most of the occupants are in their twenties and have a lot more freedom than they did when they were teenagers, they’d be out doing other stuff, rather than just sitting around watching TV or playing video games.

Maybe it was because this place didn’t house as many people as it used to; from dinner last night, I’d heard talk that Sam, Amara and Ray had left, they stayed in contact with some people here, but they were either back with their families or doing their own thing. I wasn’t too sure about Jamie or Sunspot. And those were just the people I knew during my time here, I knew from Logan that for the first two years after I left, there had been an influx of mutant children passing through the doors of Xavier’s, yet none had remained after the school was shut down, not that I could really blame them.

Jubes and Rahne were busy reading celeb trash magazines and gossiping, while Kurt was raptly watching some cartoon, from what I could gather in the couple of seconds I was taking in the scene, it was about a grandfather and grandson going through portals.

“Hey Rogue, what you did in training was awesome!” Jubilee exclaimed when she noticed me in the doorway.

“It’s too bad Cyke and Grey didn’t think so,” I muttered as I sat next to Kurt on the couch, he barely even acknowledged me, too captivated with the TV.

“They’re both stressed out, you know, with the whole Sinister thing and the wedding,” Rahne said almost absentmindedly while flipped through her magazine with a bored expression.

“Scott and Jean are getting married?” I wasn’t sure if the cold feeling that washed over me was from the jealousy that Scott and Jean were really in love, even though I thought my infatuation with Scott was over, or maybe it was due to the fact that yet again, Jean was getting everything that I always wanted but never could get, and I don’t mean Scott; just anybody who would love you enough to want to marry you.

“Oh yeah, they’ve been engaged for about three years, though, Jean kept putting it off but this time they’ve really started to get everything together; she’s even got her dress sorted, I’m not much of a fan of it, I preferred another one she tried, but apparently, she values Kitty’s opinion more than mine, but you know, whatever.” Jubilee ended bitterly.

“So, they’ve set a date?”

“Oh yeah, October 12th, so save the date!”

I restrained myself from making the point that I probably wouldn’t get an invite, and even if I did, I wouldn’t really want to go; hopefully, I’ll be out from here by then. Instead, I turned my attention to my fuzzy blueberry of a brother.

“Kurt, don’t suppose you want to do something? I feel like I’m gonna go crazy if I just sit and stare at a wall.”

“We can play pool?” Kurt offered, finally ungluing his eyes from the television set with a hopeful expression; I guess it wasn’t really that common for me to actively want to do something social and it must have taken him by surprise.

“Sure, just don’t raise the stakes too high; wouldn’t want to swindle you out of your comic book collection.”

I jinxed myself, that’s the only explanation that I could think of after the third game Kurt beat me at. Pool had always been my game! Mainly down to the number of hours I used to play it alone; when I was a child, Mystique used to visit this friend of hers and because they were talking business, I’d have to find something to do; it was a big house however most of the rooms were sparsely furnished, but there was a room with just a pool table, I’d play for hours, normally having to stand on a beer crate to be able to reach the table. I’d even been able to score me some food money in California by betting against drunks in grimy dive bars.

“Since I am clearly the king of the table, I deserve a reward,” Kurt proclaimed with a victorious, goofy smile.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have much to offer, would you take seven dollars?” While it may have sounded like I was joking, it was the truth, I’d spent most of my money just getting here.

Kurt pretended to consider my offer for a moment. “As tempting as that is, I’d prefer something else. I want you to do something for me.”

I visibly braced myself, expecting him to ask me to get revenge for him against Bobby for something stupid or maybe something more demeaning. “And that would be?”

“I want you to make me a promise; that you’re not just going to disappear when this is over, if you need to get away, please tell me and stay in contact,” he took a pause, but before I could respond he started again. “I’d also like you to give Mystique a chance – “

“Now hold on a moment,” I interjected, but he carried on.

“I know you don’t trust her and knowing what I know, I don’t blame you, but I’d like to think you trust me, so when I say that I believe that she has changed, that she does want to be part of our lives in a positive way, that you’ll accept it.”

There was only a couple of seconds of silence, but it felt like hours. Kurt was staring at me with pleading eyes; I sighed loudly, I really must have changed in the years I’d been away from here, because in the past his puppy eyes never worked.

“You asked for a reward, not two,”

“I won three games, so really, I still have another one to claim, but don’t worry, I think I’ve asked enough for one day, I’ll just wait for the right time for my last one. But please, Rogue, she wants us to be a proper family.”

A proper family? And what in the world is one of those? Are we gonna have dinner together and talk about our day? Go on vacation and play board games? My face must have given away my thoughts, as I saw Kurt’s shoulders slump and he lowered his gaze to the ground.

“I understand, I know – “

“I’ll try, but I can’t promise you more than that. I’ll spend time with Mystique with you, but if she thinks we’re gonna go on shopping trips and have girlie days out, then she’s got another thing coming.”

“No, no, that’s enough for me,” Kurt’s smile was like nothing I’d ever seen before, he was practically glowing. “Can I – uh – can I hug you?”

I didn’t even have to think about it, I set down the pool cue I’d been leaning on and walk around the table to him; he didn’t waste any time in enveloping me in an almost bone crushing hug.

When we parted he looked serious again. “I want you to say that you promise.”

“I already did,” I argued lightly, he just raised his eyebrow and waited. “Fine, I promise won’t disappear and I promise I’ll try to get along with Mystique as long as you’re in the same room.”

“Danke, Schwester. And now, my stomach is telling me it’s time to eat.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to pinky promise, just to solidify this agreement?”

Again, Kurt pretended to think about my offer. “No, I think I’ll trust you this time.”

I let myself smile as he bamfed off in search for food. Kurt trusting me is all well and good, but I couldn’t whole heartedly say that I could stick to my promise, mostly because I don’t believe that Mystique has changed, I wondered if she gave him the same speech she did with me and he was foolish enough to believe it.

Shaking my head, I set about setting the table back up, even though I was usually the only one considerate enough to think about the next person wanting to play. As I did, a thought popped up in my head; if I was about to accept Mystique back in my life, I should probably reconnect with Irene; I still thought of her as my mother, even though she knew what Mystique wanted from me and didn’t try to help me, she was still the one who gave me the most love and affection.

Back for only two days and already I’ve thrown myself into a tangle; it was sure to drain me, I was already fully aware of that being the case when I decided to come back here, this place had a really good way of making people face up to their problems. Makes me remember why I left in the first place.

[sentrava]

Introducing Tru by Hilton, a Fun New Option for Business Travelers

SVV and I are frequent road trippers. In fact, in the past year alone, we’ve spent more than 150 nights in hotels and short-term rentals, the majority for business travel, but some also for leisure. I’d be confident saying we know our stuff when it comes to what we’re looking for in the perfect business hotel, which is why I’m pretty excited about the new Tru by Hilton hotels.

This post is sponsored by Tru by Hilton. All opinions are my own.

The Tru by Hilton hotel model has slimmed down the overall costs for the business traveler by eliminating things that many itinerant nomads don’t appreciate anyway. It’s subtle, definitely, and the buildings are still gorgeous but fractionalizing expenses associated with things like room size, a restaurant/bar component or a concierge/valet service makes all the difference for us as consumers. You won’t believe the pricing difference between Tru by Hilton and a competitive brand in terms of value.

Why do I love this new concept?

It’s affordable. As a small business owner, I’m footing the bill for a lot of my expenses. And if a client isn’t paying, and I’m traveling for a work project, I’m probably not going to shell out $300 for a hotel I’m just in for a few hours a night. Tru by Hilton’s rooms range from $99 to $139 a night, which is right in my sweet spot, price-wise. (Note: Pricing varies per market.)

It offers plenty of freebies. Nothing annoys me more than having to pay for Wi-Fi when I travel; luckily, this isn’t the case with Tru by Hilton. It’s got free Internet with remote printing, as well as a complimentary coffee, tea and hot chocolate bar, plus a lavish breakfast spread with everything from donuts to bagels—and plenty of toppings.

It has awesomely designed social spaces. When I’m staying in a hotel, I’m really just in my room to sleep and shower; I get antsy stuck in my room, particularly when traveling alone. As someone who loves to work out of cafes, I like that the Tru by Hilton brand offers me a coffee shop experience without ever leaving my hotel (or having to buy a coffee every hour to justify my presence!). And the lobby is 2,880 square feet—that’s bigger than our stately old Victorian house!—so we had plenty of room to spread out and get comfortable.

The rooms feel like being in an urban boutique hotel. While I may have been 20 miles from downtown Atlanta, the modern design of my room made me feel as if I were staying right in the heart of the city. I’ve always been one who gravitates to cute boutique hotels, and Tru by Hilton felt like just that—without the hefty price point.

Tru by Hilton’s got game. And games, too! Encouraging guests to socialize is one of the brand’s pillars, so there’s a pool table, giant ConnectFour and other board games, all backed by a fun, splashy mural (and you know I love me a good mural).

The gym is baller. I’m always training for something, but I’m usually not one to utilize a hotel gym as quite frankly, many of them just don’t have what I need. Then I met this gym. Not only does it have hand weights, kettlebells, stability balls, bands, yoga mats, cardio machines, the works, but it also has customizable workouts available through a tablet mounted on the wall.

There’s a local touch. Tru by Hilton may be nationwide, but it’s got that local feel thanks to the Tru-ly Local Wall outside of the elevator bank where guests and staff add their suggestions (we added ours, too!). As a frequent Yelper who’s always looking for the best local recs, I love that I didn’t even have to turn to my phone to hunt down the best places to eat and drink in McDonough.

There’s a market on site. The first thing SVV and I usually do upon arrival is search for a beer, and the Eat. & Sip. market had both local and domestic beers on offer, in addition to wine and gourmet snacks aplenty—and it’s open 24/7 with a connected interface that syncs directly to your cellphone.

What can you expect from the rooms?

They’re on the cozier side. The rooms at Tru by Hilton are designed similarly to a hotel room in New York City or San Francisco: They maximize storage with clever alternatives like TV shelving, an open closet and panels, but take out all the unnecessary spaces and features to make the rooms more budget-friendly for guests.

They’ve got plenty of outlets and USB ports, including at your bedside. It irks me not being able to charge my legion of electronics while I sleep, so I love when new hotel builds include plenty of places to recharge.

They’ve got sass. I’m always keeping an eye out for clever branding, and I am in love with the personal details Tru by Hilton uses throughout its rooms, common spaces and, in particular, bathrooms.

They’ve got all the amenities you could need. I never travel with shampoo, conditioner, body wash or a hair dryer, so I’m grateful for a hotel that covers all these essentials for me. And because we’re Hilton Honors members, we also got a complimentary goodie bag of snacks and bottled water upon check-in (only valid for certain levels of membership).

What we did in McDonough:

The first Tru by Hilton location to break ground was in McDonough, Georgia, not far from the Atlanta airport. While there are now more than a dozen opening and/or in the works, we visited the first location, which happened to be at the exact exit where we attended a wedding earlier this year. Through a combination of feedback on the suggestion wall and tips from friends, we had an action-packed weekend without much downtime at all.

We ate dinner on the historic square. McDonough has a darling square that’s flanked by local businesses and reminds me a lot of our own historic squares in Tennessee. We met our friend Trish for dinner at Pastamax, a beloved local trio of restaurants. She told us about so many other local points of interest, such as Atlanta Motor Speedway where her husband works, that we have a huge list for our next visit.

We found the craft beer scene. We wound up at Taco Mac for dinner the second night, thanks to the suggestion wall, and our server was so knowledgeable about beer that she let us sample an array of Georgia’s finest brews. Then, she went one step further and told us that one of the breweries was just five miles down the road, so after dinner, we headed to Jailhouse Brewing Company, where there happened to be a special event going on: a huge musical fundraiser with a band member from Collective Soul playing that evening. It was the perfect way to get a taste of the local scene, and the beer was so delicious, I brought a six-pack (and a T-shirt) back home with me.

We stocked up our wardrobes. Winter is coming, and we’re not prepared. Luckily, Tanger Outlets is just 10 minutes down the interstate from Tru by Hilton, so we found a lot of great deals at all our favorite factory stores: Banana Republic, Gap, J. Crew, Loft, Columbia and more. I am always on the lookout for a good bargain.

We headed into Atlanta and did a bit of mural-chasing. The Tru by Hilton McDonough is 30 minutes south of Atlanta, so we spent one afternoon at Ponce City Market and along the Beltline exploring Atlanta’s street art scene. There’s so much to do in the ATL, though, that you could honestly stay at this hotel a full week and just barely scratch the surface.

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While, true, this hotel may target business travelers, we found it a great place for a leisure stay, as well—and met several other travelers returning from vacation and using the Tru by Hilton as a stopover for the night.

What’s the most important thing you look for in a hotel when traveling for business?

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