#Zoom Video Conference

[telecrafte-solutions]

Step into the future of seamless communication with Zoom Video Conference Solutions. Unleash the full power of virtual collaboration through high-definition video and audio quality, user-friendly interfaces, and a plethora of features catering to diverse needs.

[memenewsdotcom]

Zoom employees back to office

[xcalable24]

Cisco Webex Room Bar1

[authorsbroadcast]

Zoom Conference and Seminar Video Editing

For this client we edit their full (usually 60 minute) conference and seminar videos then produce a summary, teaser or video trailer to feature the highlights of that particular presentation. Typically recorded via Zoom our objective is to tighten it up by deleting extraneous material or anomalies that may have occurred during the live session. These can be technical glitches interruptions or…

[creaturepower]

God i wish i was normal

[endofthelinegang]

terms and conditions (apply)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  bob reynolds  x  stark!fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  you storm back into Avengers Tower when Valentina de Fontaine dares to relaunch the team—with Bob Reynolds, the unstable Sentry, at its core. Old secrets, god-like power, and a name that still echoes through the halls collide in a confrontation that could tear everything apart—again.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ none besides bad words

You didn’t knock.

You kicked open the reinforced side entrance of Avengers Tower like you owned the place—and technically, part of you still did. The guards didn’t even have time to react. Two shouted, one reached for his comm, and the last instinctively stepped back when your eyes locked on him with that signature Stark glare that could curdle milk. You were a storm in designer boots and a vintage Stark Industries jacket. You felt vintage walking in and seeing things being torn apart and redone. 

“Where is she?” you barked standing in the middle of the entry way. “Where the hell is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine?” You looked around as all eyes made contact with you, no one sure how or when they should speak. Your eyebrows raised as you finally picked one person to hone in on. Clearly an intern, not dressed in the same attire as everyone else, looking at you like you were the most amazing thing to step into this place, and breathing so heavy 

The nervous intern muttered something about the 40th floor, and you were already moving—your heels a steady clack-clack-clack of fury across polished glass floors. The elevator doors tried to close politely. You shoved them open and punched the panel like it owed you money. By the time you reached the conference floor, you were practically vibrating.

Valentina turned at the sound of your footsteps. She was standing just outside the boardroom with her arms folded, talking to a man you didn’t recognize. Her eyes narrowed the moment she saw you.

“Not now,” she said coldly, turning back to talk to the man that was staring at you in horror. 

“Too damn bad,” you snapped, storming toward her shooeing away the man that she was talking to.. “You don’t get to relaunch the Avengers without telling me. What the hell are you doing?”

Valentina sighed and turned back toward the glass doors. “I don’t have time for one of your little episodes, sweetheart.”

“Oh, you don’t have time?” You followed her, voice sharp as broken glass. “That’s rich, considering you just revived a ticking time bomb and called it a team. You think Bob Reynolds is a good idea? Are you out of your mind?” You pulled one of your many devices from your pocket and began to pull up his file that included The Void and the idea of The Sentry as the only time the world had seen that was in the mountains. 

Valentina kept walking, ignoring you. You followed her into the long hallway that led toward the upper-level strategy rooms.

“I’m not here for permission,” she said without looking at you, pictures and videos of Robert Reynolds surrounded the two of you as you kept up with her more than furious. Yes all of them were a bad idea, but they at least knew what they were doing. This new guy was seriously going to be an issue. 

“You should be,” you growled. “Because I know what happens when people start playing gods again. You can put a fresh coat of paint on this place, call it a new era, but this is the same old Tower, the same old risks, and you’re walking around like you’re not dragging the entire world back into a void—literally.”

That stopped her. She did not know that anyone had yet connected Bob and The Void. Then she saw the file you were building around her head and  Valentina turned, her expression flat and unreadable. “You done?”

You stared at her, seething. “If it’s so safe, if you’re so sure of this, then explain this.”

You hit buttons on the flat screen to zoom in on the video. The panel lit up: chaos. A newsreel — from before the Tower fell the first time. Footage of the Void, wild and unfathomable, rippling through air like a tear in reality itself. Streets swallowed. Sky blackened. Heroes screaming in the comms. Tony’s voice, briefly, trying to redirect the fight before the feed cuts out.

Valentina didn’t blink. She simply sighed and started walking again, “We’ve accounted for that.”

You scoffed. “You don’t account for a black hole wearing a man’s skin. You bury it.”

Valentina’s voice dropped, razor-sharp. “You don’t get to lecture me. You vanished when Tony died. You let the tower rot. Now we’re rebuilding it with people who show up.”

The blow landed. You had truly been MIA, you mostly spent time with Morgan teaching her things, and helping out your mother. Valentina had reached out to you previously to help her with projects in Malaysia to which you declined.  You stiffened. Then you smiled bitterly. “You really think Reynolds is gonna stay Reynolds?”

“I think Bob deserves a chance. Just like your father did.” You inhaled sharply, before you could say anything the double doors to the strategy room opened. Voices echoed—low, measured. You could hear the faint whir of holograms booting up. The meeting had begun.

“Fine,” you muttered. “Let’s meet your new golden boys.”

Valentina’s voice cut the air like a scalpel as she stood staring at you putting her hands on the door, “Don’t go in there.”

You turned slowly. “Watch me.”

“This briefing is classified,” she said, now fully stepping in front of the doors like she actually thought she could stop you.

“That’s cute,” you snapped. “You think I haven’t had full access to every inch of this place since I was old enough to spell ‘repulsor.’ Classified doesn’t mean jack when my last name’s still on the damn tower.”

“(Y/N), I’m warning you.” She tried pulling one of her classic faces as a warning, that maybe a little flash of her possible power would ward you off. 

“Oh please. What are you going to do? Threaten to uninvite me to the apocalypse you just reignited?” You pushed past her.

The double doors flew open before she could reach for your arm, and the room full of mismatched government-chosen Avengers froze mid-brief. They looked like an HR violation waiting to happen.

Your voice cut through them as you slammed your hands down onto the table, “Which one of you geniuses is gonna stand in the way of me talking to Mr. Reynolds?”

Confused glances bounced around the room like startled birds. Bucky Barnes was leaning back in a chair with his arms folded, a half-eaten protein bar forgotten in his hand. He stared at you like you’d just crashed a funeral with a flamethrower.

“Who the hell—” the one nearest to you, the agent with the misshappen shield whispered looking around the table. 

Bucky squinted. “...Stark.”

A pause. That landed. Now the attention was sharper—measured. Heavy with names they couldn’t say out loud. All of them were just staring at you unsure of what to say, other than Alexei who was genuinely just confused. 

Bob Reynolds straightened slowly from where he sat near the end of the long, curved table. His hands, folded neatly just a moment before, opened like he wanted to surrender before the war even started. Your eyes locked with his. Unflinching. There was no way you were letting him sit through this meeting like some hero.

You jabbed a finger toward the door behind you, Val had walked away from the doors with a phone up to her ear. “Come with me.”

He blinked taking in a big deep breath. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Now, Reynolds.” You spoke over him not really caring what all he had to say.

The air shifted. Awkward silence blanketed the room. Bob looked to Bucky considering he was the only one brave enough to point you out, not to mention the only one who knew who you were. He didn’t say a word—just pressed her lips together and sighed. Then Bob looked back at you.

And you didn’t move. You weren’t bluffing. You weren’t going to leave. He saw it in your stance, in your eyes, in the electric coil of tension behind your expression like you were two seconds from dragging him out by the collar if he hesitated.

Bob rose from his seat and walk around to where you took your hands off the table patting them off of John Walker’s back before holding the door open for Mr. Reynolds to walk out of.  Everyone watched him leave with you like he was being taken to his own execution. Which—honestly—wasn’t that far from the truth.

The walk to his quarters was silent. Uncomfortably so. The corridor stretched long and sterile, fluorescent lights humming softly overhead. His footsteps were muted, measured — each step echoing faintly against the polished floor. He led the way, careful to keep his gaze fixed somewhere ahead, but every few seconds, a flicker of tension made him glance back at you, as if you might vanish—or worse, explode—between steps. His jaw clenched tightly, lips pressed thin.

When you stepped inside the room the government had decided was good enough for Bob Reynolds, a bitter laugh threatened to escape. It was a sterile prison masquerading as accommodation: walls washed in cold white, the kind of lighting that felt more interrogative than comforting. The bed was untouched—linen pristine, corners sharp—like a shrine that no one dared disturb. No personal touches softened the space. No photos smiled back at you from the nightstand. Not even a half-empty glass of water perched on its surface.

He hovered near the desk, awkward and unsure, fiddling nervously with the hem of his sleeve. His movements were small, controlled, like a man carefully trying to keep the weight of the world from bursting free through his skin. Shoulders hunched in a protective arc.

You crossed your arms, the silence thick between you.

He turned slowly, eyes hesitant, voice low. “You can sit if you want.”

You didn’t. You stayed rooted, standing tall.

Bob’s gaze flicked to the chair—then back to you—before he lowered himself stiffly onto it, as if sitting too quickly might trigger some catastrophic event. The chair creaked under his weight, breaking the stillness like a single gunshot in an empty hall.

Your eyes swept the room again. This wasn’t a room. It was a holding cell dressed up with throw pillows. Stainless steel walls closed in coldly. A lone, thin bed with sheets pulled tight. An armchair that had never cradled a living soul. The light was harsh, unforgiving, casting shadows sharp enough to slice through the tension.

“I didn’t think anyone would come,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, swallowed almost entirely by the silence.

“You think I had a choice?” Your words cut sharp, voice cracking the quiet like a whip. You crossed your arms and stared him down. 

He tilted his head, surprised by the fire in your tone. You gestured at the stark walls, your voice rising. “You do realize people died, right? That you blacked out Manhattan. No tech, no backup generators, no communications. For six hours. Do you even know what that did to hospital patients? To air traffic? To kids stuck in elevators?!”

Bob flinched, shoulders jerking slightly, hands clenching tighter until his knuckles blanched.

“They’re calling it a freak grid failure on the news,” you pressed, voice sharp with accusation. “But I’ve seen the files. That wasn’t a blackout. That was you. The Void.” You had not told anyone but you had accessed what records you were given access to when she first invited you to the projects and kept up with them, you knew this would happen. 

His breath hitched audibly. His gaze fell hard to the floor, as if it might somehow carry the weight of his shame. He looked dead, like he wasn’t even breathing as he shifted his weight around in his chair. You didn’t relent.

“You turned the most alive city on Earth into a tomb. And now they’ve put you in a cape. Put you on a team. And I’m supposed to trust that decision?” You could tell that no one had given him the second degree about this, that no one had even really achknowdlged to him directly what had happened. 

“I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered, voice thin, fragile. 

“Then say no,” you snapped, eyes blazing, head shaking. 

“I did,” Bob whispered back, barely audible. “They said it was already done.”

You paused. Just a beat. He looked up then—and for the first time, you truly saw him. His face was stripped bare of anger or defense. Instead, it was raw and scared. Not the kind of fear someone shows when cornered, but the kind that lives beneath the surface—held tight, pressed down, like a powder keg waiting for a spark.

“I told Valentina I wasn’t ready to be involved,” he said, voice trembling slightly. “I told her what it felt like… after New York. What I saw in my head. How quiet it was. How good it felt.”

Your breath caught. The words hung in the air, fragile and impossible.

“You’re saying it felt good?” you repeated, disbelief thick in your voice leaning forward to look at him a little better and to show him that this shit was no joke.

He shook his head quickly, eyes darting away like he feared your judgment. “Not happy. Not good good. Just… right. Like the universe was finally quiet enough for me to breathe.”

You said nothing. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing visibly. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. But the second it did, everything stopped hurting.”

Suddenly, your voice broke the tension. “I blipped,” you said, steady despite the tremble beneath your skin. “Five years. Gone in a snap. One second I’m walking beside Happy talking about new safety features in the Iron Man suit that should help my dad stay alive, in fact I wasn’t even sure where he was, and then... dust.”

His posture changed again, this time more to face you fully rather than turn away.

“I came back to a world where my best friend—my dad—was dead. My mom had a daughter I’d never met. A five-year-old who barely knew who I was. Everyone else moved on. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t even get to be there when he died.” You blinked hard, staring at Bob like he owed you an explanation.

“Tony Stark died saving the universe, and now you’re sitting here in his tower, part of the team that’s replacing the one he built.” You hit him hard again with your words watching as he nodded his head. 

His face crumpled, tight lines folding across his forehead and around his mouth. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Neither did I.”  Another beat. The silence stretched taut.

You fixed him with a hard look, arms crossed tighter. His eyes were too bright—unnatural blue, sharp like shards of carved light trapped inside a man who barely contained them.

“I saw your father on TV,” he said suddenly, voice quieter, softer. “After Sokovia. After Titan. At the compound with Steve Rogers, back when they tried to make peace. I remember thinking he looked like someone who didn’t know what silence felt like.”

You said nothing, the weight of that statement sinking into the space between you. You untangled your arms and looked at the plain wall nearest your head. 

“I’m sorry he’s gone,” Bob added, voice genuine, careful. Not pity, but understanding. Like he knew what it was to lose someone the world expected to be invincible.

Your throat tightened. You blinked slow, heavy.

“Yeah,” you finally said. “It is.” 

Bob looked like he wanted to step forward, maybe reach out, but he stayed rooted. Instead, his fingers gripped the desk, digging in like if he let go he might simply disappear.

“I didn’t want to be an Avenger,” he admitted. “I wanted help.”

You tilted your head, skeptical, but he was being honest, you could tell this guy really was not sure of what any of this menat.  “So you thought signing up for Valentina’s pet death squad would help you get that?”

“She said the team could give me structure. Control. That they’d watch me.” He shrugged his shoulders just repeating what information he had been fed. 

“That’s not help. That’s a cage.” You whispered gritting your teeth thinking about how she could do this to someone in the first place and then trap them again. 

Bob’s mouth twitched, a flicker of agreement struggling to surface but trapped.

“You walked into the Avengers Tower five minutes after blacking out half of New York,” you said, voice low but unyielding. “That’s not rehabilitation. That’s PR cleanup.”

His jaw flexed, silent. Then, finally, a breath: “I didn’t feel human after it happened.”

Your gaze locked with his. This time, he didn’t look away.

“I thought maybe if I wore the suit,” he continued quietly, “if I stood next to real heroes, I might be able to be one.”

“You’re not your suit,” you said coldly, you felt like your mom. You remembered all of the arguments they had about that exact sentence. It felt thick in your mouth and spitting it out at this stranger felt almost painful. 

“I know. But you came in here today and now I feel like maybe I am a mistake that needs fixing.” His voice rose, not in a way that would be argumentative but in a way that gave confidence. 

“You say that like it’s a compliment.” You scoffed and gave him a side smile. 

“It is.”  You stared. The tension tightening up your spine like a coil.

“So?” You weren’t sure where this was going, but he was suddenly standing. 

“I want you to stay because you’re the only one smart enough not to lie to me.” Your face snapped into shock and your stomach twisted.

“I’ve spent every day since New York waking up and wondering if I’m still me,” he confessed, voice breaking. “Or if the Void’s just pretending.” 

Your heart hammered in your chest. He shifted half a step forward.

“I look around and all I see are people trying to contain me, or use me. Not understand me. You came in here, told me I was dangerous, and didn’t sugarcoat a damn thing.” He exhaled slowly, almost like relief. “You’re the first person who made me feel like I might still have a choice.”

You turned away, fingers dragging slowly down your face. “God. I must be out of my mind.” 

“You’re not,” Bob said gently, voice steady like a lifeline. “You’re just the only one here who still believes in consequences.”

You looked back at him. He looked fragile—nothing to do with size—but like a man holding back a hurricane with bare hands. If he were being honest and you were the only person willing to actually help him then you couldn’t leave. You knew enough to be asked to create him you just hadn’t been stupid enough to fall for it and it was not her asking this time. It was him. The patient. The test subject. 

“I’m not your friend,” you warned.

“I don’t need a friend,” he said quietly. “I need someone who doesn’t flinch.”

Silence hung heavy again he really wanted this, and he was not going to take no for an answer. 

Then—finally—you sighed.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But this isn’t a team-up. I’m not getting a badge, and I’m not wearing a damn vest.” You were being serious, this was not a mess you wanted attached to your name. You were already going over how to create something that could stop him and you hadn’t even told Valentina of your sudden cooperation. 

“You don’t have to.” He sighed a breath of relief hearing that you were in agreement. 

“I’m here to make sure you don’t wipe out another city.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket and started texting Valentina letting her know a few important things, like the lab you would need and the room you would like to occupy. 

“That’s all I want too.” Your eyes narrowed, sharp and watchful.

“If I even sense that thing in your head pushing out, I pull the plug. Hard.” You opened his door again and dialed another number your little helpers that needed to start moving your equipment and stuff around. 

Bob nodded slowly. “Understood.”

You took one last look.For the first time, he wasn’t fidgeting. Just still. Watching you like the first sliver of light in a sky that’s been black too long.

[lovemewednesdays]

sag-aftra press conference.

In case you missed it, SAG-AFTRA just finished up a press conference where they talked to union members and the press about what's up.

Here are the big things (that I remember):

The deadline extension from June 30 to July 12 was made in good faith on SAG-AFTRA's part. They thought the AMPTP would utilize the extra time to come to the table with a fair deal. They did not. It is suspected that they wanted the extension to have more time to promote their summer blockbusters.

The studios wanted to be able to have AI scans of background actors. These actors would be paid once, and then the studios would be able to keep the actors' likeness, use the data for eternity without the actors' consent, and never pay them again. Keep in mind that only two percent of SAG-AFTRA members are big names. This proposal would've affected the other ninety-eight percent of members, many of whom are living paycheck to paycheck at the moment.

The AMPTP tried to turn union membership against Fran Drescher (current union president) by circulating a picture of her "living it up" in Italy with Kim Kardashian. This was a work obligation on Drescher's part. She's a brand ambassador for a fashion line, and whenever she wasn't on set, she was working with the negotiation committee via Zoom and text.

The video that was sent out to union members on June 28, in which they were told that the negotiations were going well, was filmed before the negotiations got to the core issues – AI, residuals, etc.

The AMPTP's deal was "disrespectful and egregious."

The other labor unions in the industry stand in solidarity with each other.

Fran Drescher called the AMPTP's plan to wait out the WGA until they were homeless "unnecessary evil."

While SAG-AFTRA is open to returning to the negotiating table at any time, leadership was signaled that the AMPTP was not interested; they believe the strike could last for a while.

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #11

It's an innocent ("please," Jason sneers, "there's nothing innocent about a plagiaristic propaganda machine encouraging minors to dance for sick ol' pervs while it spews misogynistic hate speech.'"

"okay, boomer,"

"the fuck did you just call me, replacement?") TikTok, one of those ones that kind of simmers in the background for a few weeks until someone with a decent enough following posts it on the Platform Formerly Known as Twitter and from there it seriously catches traction, blowing up until Tim knocks on Bruce's office door, phone in hand. Damian stands behind him, arms crossed and clearly simmering.

Bruce, fresh off a series of zoom conferences, raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, so you haven't seen it," Tim decides, striding forward.

Bruce's eyebrow jumps a smidge higher, on the edge of concern, as Tim thrusts his phone into his grasp.

"So," he begins, reaching over to refresh the mobile page "there's a video that's been making the rounds on Twitter and—well you should probably see it," He sighs over Damian's scoff as he clicks through the pop-up asking him to sign in or join TikTok, and presses "Watch Again", unmuting the video.

🎶 "Doo, badoo-badoo-badoo Badoo-badoo-badoo-badoo,"🎶 an upbeat background song hums as someone, presumably a student, films a school hallway with their phone. They walk past students talking near their lockers, some of whom flash peace signs and silly grins as the camera swings their way before continuing on.

But the main point Bruce gets stuck on is the all lowercase white text at the center of the screen that an automated woman's voice awkwardly narrates:

"when you go to school with bruce wayne's other long lost lovechild"

The student filming comes up behind a much taller student who faces away from him, in conversation with a black haired pale teenaged girl. She spots the cameraman and shoots him a confused, disgruntled look, saying something to the boy who then turns around.

Bruce quietly observes as the camera zooms in on a boy around Tim's page, possibly older. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a strong jaw, he raises an eyebrow at the one filming, looking beyond the camera, pitch black hair with blue undertones falling into his blue eyes. The camera momentarily zooms too far into those eyes then abruptly pulls back as he quirks a puzzled smile at the viewer, mouthing out an easily understandable "hi?".

The TikTok ends and seamlessly transitions to a person balancing their cat on an exercise ball with minimal success and this time Bruce presses the Watch Again button. The heart on the right side claims 750k likes.

Damian scoffs, louder, as it ends. "Clearly it is a hoax, but it has been popular among my classmates."

"The board hasn't made much noise about it—" Tim starts.

"And they won't," Bruce says, lifting his eyes from his phone. "Wayne Industries doesn't give statements on videos like these, no matter how viral they become. I've been getting lovechild claims since before I adopted Dick."

Which Tim knows, which is why his insistence on showing Bruce this one raises his hackles. He pins Tim down with a stare and despite Tim's perfected PR mask, he can see Tim is unsettled.

"B...he really, really looks like you." Tim admits. Damian scoffs for a third time and Tim shoots him a glare, "I get it, you don't see it, but you haven't seen the pictures of Bruce when he was younger."

"I don't need to!" Damian says angrily. "You're all being ridiculous!"

"All?" Bruce asks. Tim shifts awkwardly. "The family group chat has been talking," he says.

"I see," Bruce says. Because he does. Many claim Damian to be his doppelganger, but the boy actually favors Talia not just in skin tone but in the shape and color of his eyes, as well as the soft slope of her mouth and ears. Whether those features will sharpen once he goes through puberty is anyone's guess.

But this young man has Bruce's eyes. Martha's eyes.

That night they have a suspiciously full house for dinner, with even Jason dropping in, but no one says anything until Barbara wheels in for dessert, carrying a manila folder on her lap.

"What?" she says, when everyone stares. "Dick told me it was crème brûlée today!"

Bruce extends a hand wordlessly, and Barbara sheepishly hands the folder over.

"Bruce," she says, before he can open it, "I wouldn't have looked into this normally, but,"

"Just say it," Jason says, leaning back in his chair. "Take away the gray hairs, the receding hairline, and the wrinkles and the kid's a dead match."

"Take it back, Todd," Damian growls, "Father has a very full head of hair!"

"Not to mention a failed track record at keeping it in his pants, Exhibit A," Jason continues, pointing a fork at Damian, "oh wait," he says gleefully, "kid is definitely 18, so I guess that would make you Exhibit B!"

The table erupts, cutlery tinkling as Damian gets a knee up on the table to hurl himself at a cackling Todd, Dick jumping up to grab him as the others lean out of the way—

"Ahem!" Everyone stops cold as Alfred stands in the doorway, porcelain ramekins of crème brûlée stacked perfectly on a silver tray. Under his gaze, everyone sits back down, Damian and Jason both quietly uttering a "Sorry Alfie/Alfred," as they straighten up.

Bruce is oblivious to the chaos, Barbara biting her lip beside him as he stares blankly inside the folder at the printed copy of an adoption certificate.

Two days and several million likes later, another TikTok goes viral from the same user. Caught in the moment as whoever is filming runs up to the group, the same young man is chatting with a blonde in a red letterman jacket, a partially formed crowd around them. Even with one leg still in the cafeteria table, he towers over everyone.

"—sh. Look, we're all possibly Bruce Wayne's son!" the boy snarks. He has his hands out, palms up as if he's making a great point, and as he looks around he catches sight of the cameraman and his smirk drops.

"Ah Mac, c'mon dude not again—" and the TikTok ends.

[telecrafte-solutions]

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[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ CONSUME (richgirl!yn | chaewon x reader )

❀ ͘ ⴰ previous chapters | richgirl ⭢ that girl (she’s delicious) ⭢ idon’t smoke ⭢ pretty when you cry ⭢ homesick ⭢ super rich kids ⭢ girl, so confusing

— BONUNS CHAPTER | the dark sides of the moon family

JUNE 21st 1994

“On June 21st today at exactly 3:14 am Moon Minjun son of Moon Joonho was found unconscious in the road. The 18 year old has been rushed immediately to urgent care and is reported to be okay, but this has us all wondering how and why was he found in this state?”

In the heavy silence of the room, the camera lingered on minjun's face, his expression tense as he glanced between his father and mother. his father scanned the documents in front of him, offering no reaction, while his mother placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, a hint of worry in her eyes..

a reporter finally broke the silence. "Minjun, can you explain why you were found in such a state?"

minjun cleared his throat, shifting in his seat with a forced composure. "I was... out with other young professionals in similar family businesses," he began, his tone carefully measured. "and, well, I believe someone may have slipped something into my drink."

gasps rippled through the crowd as reporters exchanged looks of shock. he nodded slowly, letting the words sink in before adding, "I have my suspicions about who it could be, but I won't be disclosing that in this press conference."

he kept his face neutral, holding the lie in place with an almost practiced precision. but behind the mask, the truth remained locked away, hidden from the prying eyes of the public.

the real reason was overworking and exhaustion and maybe a little bit of over drinking, but nobody would know the conditions of the family.

the headlines were off the rails two weeks later.

KIM SUBIN UPCOMING LEADER OF K.I IS NOW IN CUSTODY FOR SPIKING MOON MINJUN’S DRINK WHICH LEAD TO HIM BEING FOUND IN THE ROAD

poor subin.

FEBRUARY 14th 2014

“On february 14th five members of the Moon family held their monthly conference. The youngest that we know as 12 year old yn was sitting in between her two older brothers while Their father was talking. From what we could see from the video Moon Yeonjin gestured for yn to get a water bottle for her brothers which the she complied to but she didn’t get far after completing collapsing after two steps. An insider reported that the cause was due to lack of food and fluids, which makes us wonder why a 12 year old girl is lacking those nutrients.”

the camera zoomed in on yn’s gaze that nervously swept across the rows of reporters and journalists in front of her as her family stood solemnly behind her. she cleared her throat, mentally rehearsing the words she had been given, each syllable feeling heavier than the last. for some in the audience, this scene was painfully familiar.

a reporter leaned forward, his voice laced with concern. "How are you feeling today, YN? Have you eaten well?"

a faint smile broke through her nerves, and she replied softly, "yes, I've been okay. I had a big breakfast." Her answer brought a ripple of fond laughter from the crowd, a brief moment of levity that softened the tension.

"can you tell us if there's a reason why you weren't able to meet your basic needs?" he continued, a hint of sympathy in his tone.

yn’s heart raced, the weight of her words pressing down on her. "I had been sick the week before," she began, keeping her voice steady. "I didn’t have an appetite and couldn’t keep anything down. I was still recovering during the conference."

the lie words left her lips smoothly, a perfectly crafted explanation. she didn’t dare look back at her family, praying her carefully delivered answer was enough to satisfy the room’s prying eyes.

and make her family proud.

DECEMBER 23rd 2018

“On December 23rd the every single person apart of the Moon family was called into an emergency press conference regarding the business but the business was the last thing on peoples minds after seeing the terrifying look of the family.

People described them as sick looking and pale. The family has never looked like this before in public which is causing a lot of worries onto why every single Moon in the room looks like this, take a look at the video.”

the cameron zoomed in on minjun who looked rather pale his eyes steady on the papers in front of him, the room had an scary silence to it.

the camera went into to zoom in on every single member of the families face, all of them draped in chanel, they all talked normally and acted normally but looked unusual, like a tim burton animation.

they looked sick.

when the camera finally landed on yn, she looked directly into the lens, her eyes hollow, her gaze unsettlingly steady. it was the killing shot of the whole video, an unspoken message from the youngest member of the family, leaving viewers to wonder what unspeakable truth lay beneath the moon family’s facade

[xcalable24]

Cisco CS-DESKPRO-K9 Webex Desk Pro Video Conference Equipment

[mandoalorian]

under his claim [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: After a heated confrontation with Ethan, Bucky can’t hold back any longer. His possessive instincts take over when he returns to the safe house. Bucky makes it clear that you are his—now and forever.

Word Count: 6590

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content, employer x employee, p in v, rough sex, fingering, choking, biting, possessive!bucky, he's needy and jealous and desperate idk what to tell you, mentions of torture, canon-typical plot devices

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

Bucky walked into his Manhattan office, rubbing a hand over his tired face. Last night had left him on edge—Ethan had been all over his girl, and the worst part? She didn’t even notice. It gnawed at him, the way Ethan spoke to her, the way he looked at her.

The glow of his laptop screen cast sharp shadows over his face as he clicked through the Hydra files he and Sam had dug up. His next press conference was later today, and he needed to be ready. He had to keep the momentum going, to keep the world watching, and lucky for him, Sam and Joaquin had found even more intel for him to go through. As the files popped up on the screen, Bucky held his breath, apprehending some serious damage.

It was video signals, closed circuit televison transmisons from the base in Russia. They had been monitoring you. The video was grainy and fuzzy but Bucky could recognise your face anywhere; and his heart dropped when he saw what they were doing. He spend through the footage, his heart pounding against his ribcage. You hadn’t spoken to him about what had happened to you while you were held in captivity, and now Bucky was about to find out.

For hours at a time you were kept in isolation, deprived of food and water. Then, periodically, soldiers and men in white lab coats would come in. He watched you getting tortured, his blood running cold, and be injected with— what was that? Bucky zoomed in on the video footage but again, it was so unclear what they were putting in you. Unable to watch anymore, Bucky slammed the lid to his laptop shut, his fist balled and his fingernails pressing crescents into his skin. 

Then, a voice rippled through the room, cutting the tension like a knife.

"Oh, good. You’re here."

Bucky turned toward the doorway, his jaw clenching as he saw Ethan leaning against the frame, as smug as ever.

As Ethan sauntered into his office, Bucky’s irritation turned into something sharper. 

"You lost?" Bucky asked, sliding out of his chair and approaching Ethan. Ethan walked past Bucky and leaned against the mahogany wood desk, suspiciously close to Bucky’s laptop and all of the intel. Bucky closed the door behind Ethan with a deliberate click.

Ethan turned, all smooth confidence and charm, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Not at all. I was actually hoping to see your girl,” Ethan looked around the empty office, his eyebrows quirked. “Nice photo.” He acknowledged, picking up the framed picture of you that Bucky kept on his desk. 

Bucky’s jaw ticked. His fingers curled against the edge of the desk, the metal plates in his vibranium arm shifting with a quiet whirr.

"You got business with her, you go through me."

Ethan tilted his head. "That so?" He took a slow step closer, clearly unbothered by the shift in Bucky’s stance. "I wasn’t aware she needed a bodyguard."

"She doesn’t," Bucky bit out. "But I don’t like people sniffing around where they don’t belong."

Ethan let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "You got all that serum pumping through your veins and you think I’m a threat? I’m no more than a mere politician,” He stepped even closer, and for the first time, there was something calculating in his eyes. "You know, Barnes, most people are afraid of you. They see you and think of the assassin. The Winter Soldier."

Bucky’s fingers flexed, the vibranium plates shifting again. "You got a point, or are you just wasting my time?"

Ethan smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. "I’m saying… I’m not afraid of you." He let the words hang in the air before continuing, tone almost taunting. "And I think that bothers you. That I don’t look at you the way the rest of the world does."

Bucky’s expression darkened. "No, what bothers me is that you’re standing here, acting like you belong."

A silence filled the room before Ethan let out a chuckle.

"Relax, Barnes." Ethan smirked, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive suit. “I just came because I wanted to follow up on last night. Your girl’s got real potential. People in the political space are starting to take notice of her. She’s smart, well-spoken, and ambitious—exactly the kind of fresh face the country could use. So, I thought I’d offer her some guidance."

Bucky scoffed, pushing himself off his chair, standing taller. "Guidance? That what we’re calling it now?" His voice was low, dangerous.

Ethan’s smirk didn’t waver. "It’s not personal, Barnes. It’s business. She’s going places, whether you like it or not."

Bucky took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Yeah? And where exactly do you think you're taking her?"

Ethan met his stare head-on. "Somewhere bigger than just being ‘Bucky Barnes’ girlfriend.’"

Bucky’s jaw flexed. He had fought wars, taken down Hydra, survived things no man should—yet this? This smug, power-hungry politician thought he could take her from him?

He let out a dark chuckle. "You think you’re smart, don’t you?"

"I know I am," Ethan said smoothly. "And I know you see it too. You might have the brawn but I have the brain. She could be something bigger. Something more. She deserves it. Doesn’t she?"

Bucky’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he smiled—a slow, calculated grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

"She deserves everything," Bucky agreed, his voice steel. "But don’t get it twisted, Ethan. She’s not some pawn in your little power play."

Ethan tilted his head. "Who said anything about a power play?"

Bucky stepped in closer, so close Ethan could probably feel the weight of him. "I know men like you. I’ve seen them before, back in my day and now. You think charm and ambition can take you anywhere. That all it takes is a couple of smooth words to get what you want.” His voice dropped to a quiet threat. "But listen to me real carefully, because I don’t repeat myself. Whatever little game you’re playing? It ends now. You so much as breathe wrong around her, and I won’t be so polite next time."

Ethan raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, no need to get possessive, Soldier. Just looking out for her future. Can you say the same?"

Bucky’s fists curled at his sides. "I don’t need to prove a damn thing to you,” Bucky took a slow step forward, towering over him, his voice lowering to a dangerous rumble. “So this is the last time I’ll tell you. Stay the hell away from her."

The plates in his vibranium arm flexed again, catching the light—just enough of a reminder of his strength, his power. Ethan noticed, but he didn’t back down.

"I’ll see her soon," Ethan replied instead, giving Bucky a knowing look before walking past him, out the door.

Bucky’s hands curled into fists.

Bucky sat down at his desk, exhaling through his nose as he rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering irritation from his run-in with Ethan. His vibranium fingers tapped against the wood, the flex of the plates a silent testament to his frustration.

He could tell Ethan was playing a long game. The guy wasn’t just some strategist—he was dangerous in a different way. The kind of man who worked his way into places he shouldn’t be. And right now, Ethan was setting his sights on you.

Bucky clenched his jaw.

No. That wasn’t happening.

Reaching for his phone, he opened your chat. He didn’t bring up Ethan. He didn’t mention the confrontation.

Instead, he smirked slightly, fingers typing out something much more important.

Bucky: Be ready for me when I get home. Bucky: I want you waiting for me just the way I like. Bucky: Think you can do that, sweetheart?

He leaned back in his chair, watching the three little dots appear on the screen.

You were typing.

And just like that, the irritation in his chest melted into something far more satisfying.

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Bucky arrived at the warehouse feeling a little on edge. Between Ethan, last night’s dinner, and the gut-wrenching footage he had forced himself to watch, his patience was running thin. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, greeted immediately by the sight of Sam and Joaquin, who were hunched over a monitor.

Sam looked up and grinned. “Well, well, if it isn’t the future Time Magazine: Person of the Year.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I’m leaving.”

“C’mon, man, we’re just getting started.” Joaquin leaned back in his chair, smirking. “How’s the world’s new favourite heartthrob handling the fame? You sign up for Instagram yet?”

Bucky glared. “No.”

Sam let out a dramatic sigh. “Shame. You’d be killing it. Thirst edits. Fan cams. Maybe even a few questionable Tumblr stories—”

Bucky shot him a sharp yet unknowing look, almost in warning, and Sam knew better than to keep pushing. He’d felt Bucky’s charged energy immediately upon entering the room. 

“Alright, alright.” Sam held his hands up in a joking surrender. “But real talk, you been acting weird. What’s up?”

Joaquin’s grin faded. “Yeah, man. Did something happen?”

Deep down, Joaquin and Sam both cared for Bucky so much, even if they enjoyed having their fair share of fun. And Bucky appreciated them both in spite of it all. Sam Wilson and Joaquin Torres were two of the best things that had ever happened to James Barnes. 

Bucky hesitated, apprehensive of Sam’s question, then ran a hand through his hair. “It’s that new guy. Ethan Holloway.”

Joaquin’s eyebrows shot up. “Who?”

“Some political strategist,” Bucky muttered with an eye roll. “He’s apparently Tara’s replacement.”

Sam and Joaquin exchanged a glance.

“So let me get this straight,” Sam said slowly. “Tara—the woman who literally tried to ruin you—handpicked her own replacement?”

“Suspicious,” Joaquin agreed.

Bucky exhaled. “Not quite; Tara was hired by Ross and so I can only assume Ethan was hired by Ross too. Tara hasn’t been seen since Russia, she’s off the grid. And now this guy just shows up….” Bucky sighes, running a hand over his face. “And he’s getting too close to Y/N.”

Again, Joaquin and Sam share a glance.

“Ohhh,” Joaquin said knowingly.

Bucky shot him a pointed look, immediately recognising how he sounded. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure, sure.” Joaquin smirked. “So you don’t mind if she—?”

“I mind,” Bucky snapped before he could stop himself. The mere thought of Ethan putting his hands anywhere near you made Bucky sick to his core. 

Sam burst out laughing.

Joaquin whistled. “Damn. You got it bad, man. You and that girlfriend of yours—”

Bucky scowled. “She’s not my girlfriend.” He interjected.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“She’s not.” Bucky crossed his arms. “She hasn’t said anything. I haven’t said anything. It’s not official.”

“So make it official.” Joaquin leaned forward. “What’s stopping you?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. The truth was, he didn’t know. He’d certainly thought about it. If this was 1943, he’d ask you out on dances and on dates to jazz bars and maybe the fair if you were up to it. He’d ask your father before asking you; if it would be acceptable to begin a courtship, hell, he probably would have married you by now. But it was a different time and Bucky had no experience with navigating this new reality he was faced with. 

Maybe it was the weight of everything happening—the campaign, Hydra, Ross, the goddamn world watching him. Maybe it was the nagging feeling that he wasn’t enough for you, not after everything he’d done. He was so afraid of endangering you even more.

Sam studied him for a moment, then shook his head. “Look, man. I know for you, life has felt painstakingly long, but you and I both know, life is short, especially when you aren’t getting frozen in time for seventy years. You want her? Go get her. Before some pretty-boy politician beats you to it.”

And that was enough. Bucky clenched his jaw. “Ethan’s not gonna beat me to anything.”

“That’s the spirit,” Joaquin grinned, pumping his fist in the air and almost cheering for the Congressman.

Before Bucky could retort, the warehouse door swung open.

None other than Dr. Bruce Banner walked in, adjusting his glasses. His white shirt stretched over his chest and his skin was tinged green, and he was big. Not Hulk big, but big enough. Bucky noted that his hair was greying and it made him realise it had been years since he had last seen Bruce. 

Joaquin’s grin dropped off his face in a sudden, almost disturbed reaction. “What the…”

“Alright, what’s the emergency? Because I was in the middle of something very important.” Bruce said, pulling out a small, creaky chair and daring to sit in it. 

Sam smirked. “What, a science experiment?”

Bruce deadpanned. “No. Yoga.”

Joaquin blinked. “Mr Banner… I mean— Doctor, I uh— you’re green. You know you’re green, right?” Bucky and Sam were unable to hide their smirks as Joaquin nervously stumbled over his words. 

“Oh yeah! What do you think? We’re calling it “Smart Hulk”. It’s not super convenient, no, but the ladies love it.” Bruce cheesed, flexing his bicep. “I’ve been trying to find a way to phase between being my normal self and the Hulk— and uh, let’s just say it’s still a work in progress.”

The three men sat in silence as they watched Bruce adjust himself at the table, the flimsy chair legs scraping against the floor.

 “Uh, anyways,” Bucky ignored him, changed the subject and reached into his pocket, pulled out a flash drive, and tossed it onto the table. “We called you here because we need your help. You need to see this.”

Sam plugged it into the monitor, and the grainy black-and-white surviellance footage began playing. Bruce frowned as the footage flickered—a cold, sterile Hydra lab, a metal chair bolted to the floor. And in that chair…

You.

You were strapped down, struggling against the restraints. The screen flickered, and a man in a lab coat appeared, holding a syringe filled with a dark, viscous liquid.

Bucky’s hands clenched into fists. “I saw this earlier today, from Sam’s intel.”

Bruce’s eyes darkened as he watched. The needle pierced your skin. The liquid drained into your veins. Your body jerked violently against the chair. The scientist jotted something down on a clipboard.

The video cut off.

Bruce exhaled. “Jesus.”

Joaquin swallowed hard. “That was… messed up.”

Bucky stayed silent, staring at the floor.

Bruce adjusted his glasses, thinking. “I recognise that serum.”

Bucky’s head snapped up. “What?”

Bruce nodded slowly. “It’s not the super soldier serum. It’s something else. Something Hydra was working on towards the end, right before they went underground.”

Sam frowned. “What does it do?”

Bruce hesitated. “I don’t know. But I can find out.”

Bucky met his gaze. “Do it.”

Bruce nodded. “I’ll start running tests. But if Hydra experimented on her, there could be side effects. Physical. Mental. We need to keep an eye on her.”

Bucky’s stomach churned. He had spent so much time trying to keep you safe. And yet, there were still things he didn’t know.

Bruce gathered his things. “I’ll be in touch.”

As soon as the door shut behind him, Sam turned to Bucky. “Alright. So now what? Should we expose the footage during the press meeting?”

Bucky exhaled. “No,” his jaw tightened. “We don’t know what it is and if the people see that she’s been injected with something, it’s just going to make them fear her. I know what it’s like to be feared and I don’t want that for her. We have enough here right now, and we’re gonna just take it day by day until Bruce gets back with more information.”

“Sam and I are gonna grab some lunch if you want to join us,” Joaquin offered.

Bucky offered the pilot a small smile. “Thanks, but I have to get home to my girl.”

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The air in the safehouse was thick with the scent of old books, paper, and the faintest trace of his cologne. You rolled your shoulders back, adjusting your stance as you stood in the centre of the room, watching Yelena stretch lazily like a cat. She had a smug look on her face, already two steps ahead of you, even in her relaxed state.

“So…” Yelena started, hands on her hips, her short, shaggy, blonde braid swinging over her shoulder. “You and Bucky, huh? You still loooove him?” She drew the word out teasingly.

Your eyes widened slightly. “What?” You recalled the conversation you had with Yelena the other day when you were wating for the Late Late Show to start and regretted your admission if it meant she was going to continue joking about it.

“Oh, don’t play dumb. I am very perceptive.” She tapped the side of her head. “And I have eyes. And ears. And an internet connection.”

You groaned. “You’re still looking at that stuff?”

Yelena smirked and rolled her shoulders. “Listen, I’m not judging. It’s just… amusing. Watching you two dance around each other like characters in some overly dramatic slow-burn novel.”

You pointed at her. “Are you gonna train me, or just roast my love life?”

“Both,” she said, grinning before lunging at you.

You barely had time to react before she swiped at you, forcing you to dodge. You managed to pivot to the side, but Yelena was fast—too fast. Her foot hooked behind your ankle, and in a blink, you were flat on your back.

“Oof—”

“Sloppy,” she said, standing over you. “If I was an enemy, you’d already be dead. Again.”

You groaned as she offered a hand, yanking you back to your feet with ease.

“Come on, where’s that fire? That rage? Imagine I am Tara,” she taunted, taking a step back into a fighting stance. “Or worse—imagine I am Bucky, denying you hot, steamy, passionate—”

You swung before she could finish.

Yelena blocked your punch effortlessly, laughing. “There it is! You do have a spine.”

Rolling your eyes, you exhaled, trying to focus. The next time she lunged, you reacted faster, sidestepping and slamming your forearm against hers to deflect her attack. Yelena grinned, clearly enjoying herself as she kept up the pressure, forcing you to stay on your toes.

For the next fifteen minutes, she tested you—over and over again. You blocked, ducked, and countered where you could, but she still knocked you on your ass more times than you’d like to admit.

“Better,” she finally said, offering you a bottle of water. You took it, gulping down a few mouthfuls.

“So…” she started again, wiggling her brows.

You sighed. “What now?”

“What does Bucky do with those metal fingers?”

You choked on your water, coughing as she cackled, slapping your back.

“Oh, please, I see the way he looks at you. Like a lovesick puppy who just wants to—”

“Yelena!”

She laughed harder, putting her hands up. “Okay, okay, fine. No more teasing. For now.”

You shook your head, ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck.

“Alright, back to business. Do you want to keep getting your ass kicked, or do you actually want to learn something?” Yelena asked.

You took a deep breath and rolled your shoulders. “Let’s go again.”

Her grin was wicked. “That’s the spirit.”

You wiped sweat from your forehead, panting slightly as you steadied yourself. Yelena was grinning at you like she had all the time in the world, barely even winded. Unfair.

"Not bad, солнышко," she said, stretching her arms over her head. "You lasted longer than I expected. Still got your ass handed to you, though."

You groaned, shaking out your sore limbs. "Gee, thanks for the encouragement."

"Anytime." She smirked. "But, hey, at least you’ll be prepared for when Bucky starts another pissing contest with Ethan."

You shot her a look. "That’s not happening."

Yelena snorted. "You’re adorable when you lie to yourself."

Before you could argue, your phone buzzed on the desk. You grabbed it, glancing at the screen—your stomach flipping at the sight of Bucky’s name.

Bucky: Be ready for me when I get home tonight, sweetheart.

A shiver ran down your spine. It was simple, straightforward, and yet… so him.

Yelena peeked over your shoulder before you could hide the screen.

"Ohhh," she drawled, smirking. "Now that is interesting."

"Mind your business," you muttered, fingers flying over the keyboard as you typed back.

You: That depends… ready for what, exactly?

His response came almost instantly.

Bucky: Wouldn’t you like to know?

You bit your lip, warmth spreading through your chest.

Yelena groaned. "Ugh, you two are disgusting. If you don’t make things official soon, I’m going to vomit."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile creeping onto your lips.

“Shut up and help me stretch.”

Yelena just laughed.

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As you waited for Bucky, your nerves fluttered. You knew tonight was going to be different. You'd spent the afternoon preparing, trying to sort out your thoughts, your feelings. The weight of everything between you two—his jealousy, the tension, the unspoken emotions—had built up to a breaking point. You could feel the shift as you slipped into the lingerie you had carefully chosen, the delicate fabric clinging to your skin, making you feel both vulnerable and powerful at the same time. It wasn’t just about attraction. It was about more.

You had never felt more certain about how you wanted this to go. Tonight, everything would change.

When the door creaked open, you heard the familiar sound of his boots on the floor, his presence filling the room before you even saw him. Bucky stood there, eyes locking with yours, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

"You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?" His voice was rough, low, and filled with hunger. His cock was already hard, pressing against his slacks.

You just smiled, letting him drink in the sight of you, and as the silence stretched, the tension between you both became palpable. His eyes darkened, his chest rising and falling more rapidly as he stepped closer. You lay back on your elbows, legs spread, displaying your whole body to the Congressman.

"You know, I didn’t think I’d be able to get through the day after everything that’s happened," he murmured, his hand brushing his cheek. "But now that I’m here… I can’t think about anything except you."

You sat up on the bed, drawing him toward you with a single touch on his jacket. “Oh, rough day?” you replied softly, your voice almost a whisper. You could feel his restraint slipping. Bucky wasn’t used to this kind of vulnerability, but with you, it felt different. He let go of the walls he’d built for so long, and it was raw.

He didn’t waste another second. His lips captured yours in a kiss that was all fire and desperation. His hands roamed over your body, as though he was reacquainting himself with every inch of you, mapping out your curves and memorizing the feel of your skin beneath his touch. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tensed as if he was holding back—trying to keep his emotions in check. But you knew better. You could feel how badly he wanted you, how much he longed for this moment, for something real amidst the chaos.

“Bucky,” you whispered softly between kisses, your hands gliding over his chest. “Are you okay?”

He paused, his lips brushing against yours, forehead resting against yours as his breath came heavy. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that you rarely saw, and it made your heart ache. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know how to be with someone, not like this. Not after everything I’ve done.”

You cupped his face gently, looking into his eyes with all the sincerity you could muster. “You don���t have to be perfect, Bucky. I just want you. All of you. The past, the present, everything.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, his fingers tightening on your waist as if pulling you even closer, as if you could somehow close the gap between the walls he had built. When his eyes opened again, they were filled with a quiet intensity.

“You make me feel like... I don’t have to hide anymore,” he said, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip. “Like maybe I can be someone I’m not afraid to be. Someone you can be proud of.”

“I’m already proud of you, Bucky,” you replied softly, your voice filled with certainty. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“I’m not good with words,” he said quietly, his lips grazing over your cheek as he moved closer. “But I know what I want. And I want you. I don’t care about anything else. I just want you by my side. Every day. No more hiding.”

You felt your heart race at his words, your chest tightening with a mixture of love and excitement. This was everything you had been hoping for, and more.

“Bucky...” you whispered, your hands drifting up to his neck, pulling him closer. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” He paused, looking at you with a level of intensity that made your pulse quicken. “I want you to be my girlfriend. Officially. No more running from this, from us. I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

The words hung between you, powerful and undeniable. A part of you had always known this was coming, but hearing it from him—the man who had been through so much, the man who had fought his own demons—felt like the most beautiful thing in the world.

You smiled softly, your heart overflowing with emotion. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice steady and full of warmth. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

A slow, relieved smile spread across his face, and he kissed you again, his lips hungry but tender. He deepened the kiss, his hands roaming once more as if he couldn’t get enough of you. But this time, it wasn’t about just the physical—this was about finally breaking through all the walls, finally opening up to the possibility of something real, something lasting.

Bucky’s hands were everywhere, his body so close to yours that you could feel the heat radiating off him. Every inch of him was pressed against you, and you could feel the steady, powerful beat of his heart through his chest. His breath was shallow, his lips moving feverishly against yours as he deepened the kiss, as though he couldn’t hold back any longer. His every movement was deliberate, a reminder that he was in control, yet there was a tenderness in his touch that you couldn’t ignore.

You could feel the subtle flex of his muscles as he moved, the heat of his body seeping into yours, and the unmistakable press of his hardness against your thigh. He shifted slightly, his broad frame pressing even further into you, and you could feel the weight of his desire, unmistakable and all-encompassing.

His lips left yours, trailing down your jaw and then to your neck. As he kissed you there, you could feel the warm, faintest traces of his stubble against your skin. You gasped as his lips moved lower, his breath hot against your throat. He kissed you with urgency, a possessiveness in every action, his fingers digging into your skin as though marking you as his. You couldn’t help but arch into him, your hands slipping to his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt. He was all around you, overwhelming you with his presence, his need for you undeniable. When his teeth gently grazed the sensitive skin on your neck, you shuddered, the sensation sending a bolt of desire straight to your already wet core. His hands moved, sliding down to your hips, pulling you closer so that you could feel every inch of his body pressed intimately against yours. His lips returned to yours, kissing you with a desperation that made your pulse quicken. The connection between you felt deeper now, more intense, as though you could feel the weight of every unspoken word he had yet to say.

“You’re mine,” he whispered between kisses, his voice rough with longing as his hands moved to your waist, fingertips brushing over the soft fabric of your clothes before sliding underneath. His touch was possessive, his grip tightening as he pulled you impossibly closer. “I’m not letting you go,” he muttered, his breath coming in shallow bursts against your skin. “I’m never letting anyone have you.”

"I’m not going anywhere," you whispered, your voice full of conviction. "I’m here. With you. Always."

You could feel his hardness, unmistakable and pressing against you with each subtle shift of his body. It was impossible to ignore, the heat of it searing through your clothes, and you couldn’t help but moan softly into his mouth as you pressed closer. You could feel the thickness of him, each movement only serving to heighten the anticipation that hung in the air between you both. Your walls clenched around nothing as his hand cupped your breast, squeezing it playfully. 

You gasped, the sensation making your body heat up with need, and your hands moved instinctively to his chest, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way his heart raced just like yours. But it wasn’t enough; it was never enough when it came to him. You wanted more. You needed more.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, voice strained as his eyes searched yours. There was a flicker of vulnerability behind the raw intensity, but it was quickly replaced with something darker. “Because I’m not going to be able to stop once we start.”

You met his gaze, and in that moment, you saw nothing but truth in his eyes—the certainty, the longing, the need. You knew then, more than ever, that you were both standing on the edge, ready to fall together.

“I’m sure,” you breathed, your voice trembling with the weight of the moment. “I want this. I want you.”

That was all the confirmation Bucky needed. His hands moved to your hips, lifting you effortlessly, his lips crashing against yours again, more desperately this time. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his hands trembling slightly as he held you, as if he was trying to imprint this moment onto his very soul.

His body pressed harder against yours, the weight of him feeling almost suffocating in the best possible way. “I’ve wanted to do this all day.” He hummed into admittance. 

You could feel the tension in him, the way he was holding himself back—just barely. He was trying so hard to maintain some control, but you could feel the raw power that was just waiting to explode. You could feel how badly he wanted this, needed this. And you weren’t about to stop him. You didn’t want him to stop.

“Fuck doll, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

His hands slid lower, his fingers brushing against the waistband of your underwear, and that small, subtle movement made your breath hitch. You could feel how hard he was against you, his need undeniable, his restraint slipping more with every passing second. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and hungry, as if asking permission, but you didn’t need words to know what he wanted.

You nodded, breathless, and before you knew it, his hands were pulling at your clothes, the urgency in his movements matching the desperation in his eyes.

“You’re mine,” Bucky growled, his lips finding your neck again as he pulled you closer. His fingers traced the line of your collarbone, moving lower until they found the waistband of your pants. He tugged at them, pulling them off you slowly, as though savoring each moment, each part of you that was being revealed.

You were exposed, vulnerable, and yet, in that moment, you felt powerful, empowered by his desire for you, by the way he couldn’t seem to get enough. His lips left your skin, and for a brief second, he pulled back, eyes locking with yours, searching for something—maybe reassurance, maybe just confirmation that you wanted this too.

His fingers brushed against your slick core, teasing you for just a moment, feeling the heat that radiated from you, but then he pulled away just enough to look down at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice low, filled with that dark, raw hunger that made your pulse race.

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning from the intensity of it all. He was making you feel like you were his whole world, but in the best way. “I want you, Bucky. I want all of you.”

He didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, pressing into you with one swift, controlled movement, and you gasped as he filled you. The sensation was overwhelming, making your head spin as he held you close, buried deep inside you. You could feel every inch of him, and your body reacted instinctively, pulling him closer, urging him deeper.

Bucky’s groan was low and guttural as he began to move, his pace steady but intense. He was determined, his hands gripping your hips as he guided you both, the room echoing with the sounds of your bodies coming together, each movement a mix of passion and need.

He was relentless, and so were you. Every time he thrust into you, you felt the world shift, your body responding to him, pulling him in even deeper, wanting more.

Bucky’s lips found your neck again, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed, nipped, and marked you in a way that made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. He was losing himself in you, and you were losing yourself in him.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his voice ragged as he held you tightly, the rhythm of his movements growing faster, harder. “Think Ethan could fuck you like this?”

Your stomach coiled into a knot at the mention of Ethan’s name; you knew he got Bucky all bothered, but you hadn’t realised it was this bad. You loved possessive Bucky, and your body loved it too. You clamped down on his cock, fingernails scratching at his shoulders. “Mm, no,” you managed to choke out.

“Think he could make you cum like I do?” Bucky quizzed between heavy breaths.

“N-no, no one can make me cum like you do,” you barely manage to get out the words when Bucky brings his hand to the column of your neck, squeezing it. The action startles you but only turns you on even more. 

Bucky’s rhythm became more frantic, his movements hard and possessive, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His grip on your body tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, leaving marks where his hands had been. He was claiming you in every way possible—physically, emotionally—and you felt yourself surrendering to him completely.

“My good girl,” Bucky’s whispering chants were like he was saying a prayer under his breath; like he was worshipping his God needlessly and desperately. 

Each thrust sent shockwaves through your body, every inch of him hitting just the right spot, making you see stars. You could barely breathe, your body shuddering with the force of your desire. You needed him just as much as he needed you, and the way he moved—so controlled, so determined—made your pulse race even faster.

“Bucky...!” Your voice was strained, the words barely leaving your lips as your body responded to him, pushing against him, begging for more.

“Shh...” he whispered against your ear, his breath hot and heavy as he continued to move inside you.

His lips were on you again, kissing you with urgency, as if every moment apart from you was too long. You kissed him back with equal hunger, your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. You felt the heat of his body pressing into yours, the feeling of his chest against yours, his heartbeat syncing with yours. Bucky groaned against your lips as he pushed into you harder, his breath ragged and deep. He couldn’t stop, didn’t want to. The way you felt around him was intoxicating, and he was lost in it. Lost in you.

You moved against him, riding him in sync with his thrusts, your body craving the pleasure he was giving you. Your hands found his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you held on, feeling the overwhelming need for him growing stronger.

“You feel so damn good,” Bucky growled, his voice rough, as his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach flutter. “Can’t get enough of you.”

Your eyes fluttered closed at his words, but you pulled him down for another kiss, your lips desperate against his, as if you couldn’t breathe without him. His hand slid between you, finding your clit and rubbing in time with his thrusts, making your entire body tense, your breath catching in your throat.

You gasped, your fingers digging into his back as you finally reached your peak, the waves of pleasure crashing over you, pulling you under. Bucky’s name escaped your lips in a breathless cry, and the sound of it drove him wild. He followed you, his thrusts turning erratic, and with one final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his body shaking as he released, the tension in his muscles unraveling.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing heavily, the weight of the moment settling between you. His face was pressed into your neck, his breath warm against your skin, as he held you tightly, not wanting to let go.

You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the soft strands as you let out a contented sigh. “That was... amazing,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from the passion.

Bucky’s lips curled into a smile, though his eyes remained closed for a moment, savouring the aftermath. He kissed your neck gently, his lips lingering on your skin. “You’re mine now. Don’t forget that.”

His grip on you tightened, and his lips found yours in a soft, lingering kiss, a promise of more to come. You could feel his possessiveness, but also his tenderness, a reminder that despite everything that had happened, despite the chaos of the world around you, you both belonged to each other now.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @sunday-bug @bunnyfella @lktunes12-blog @bellamoret @mrsnikstan @greatenthusiasttidalwave @pancake-05 @theylovethesky @avengersfan25 @nydubs @abitofblues @ferretferretferret @helen-2003 @notreallythatlost @opheliagreenaway @flowerluvr @calzone-d @lil-riddle-kiddle @nameless-ken @ladyvenera @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @josis-teacup @marissa8208

[madridfangirl]

So near, yet so far

(Jude bellingham blurb. Some fighting, some fluff, some missing each other.)

‘Stop being a baby & pick up the phone.’

Jude searched for his phone blindly when it pinged, while lying face down on a pillow, saw the message from his girlfriend, then put the phone away on the side-table.

She had sent that message after four missed calls throughout. He knew she had seen him online and would have understood that he was avoiding her on purpose.

Good, he wanted her to realise that. After everything she put him through.

The phone rang again, disturbing his sulky mood. He didn’t even look up this time.

‘Fine. Remember this the next time I don’t pick up your call.’

In this department, Jude could dish it out but absolutely could not take it himself. He always went nuts when she even remotely avoided him, following her around like a lost puppy. In fact, their whole fight had started from this.

Ananya was having a super tough day at work yeaterday. She was roped in on a deal last minute and the Managing Directors of their team had to pitch next afternoon. Which meant it was all hands on deck for the whole team. All day and most of that night.

That same day, Jude had a fantastic session at training, scoring bangers for fun, nutmegging teammates like child’s play. Especially Cama - he’d never let the boy live it down. For all his snake like agility, Jude had still managed to nutmeg that silky smooth footballer. And had even secured the video of it, which he had immediately sent to Ananya, along with a few others with his shooting.

Later, Carlo had called him to the side and praised him for his sharpness. He even invited him to accompany Carlo for the next pre-match press conference. It was a big Champions league away night, which meant it was a high-profile presser that Jude was being entrusted with.

It had been a great day overall. Plus he was having a great hair day as well, & took a couple of selfies in the gym (shirtless, sweaty, just what she liked) which had immediately made their way to her inbox as well.

She was supposed to get off work sooner today, given her MDs were due to travel the next day. He had no idea the pitch had to completely be overhauled at the last minute and that she was dying at work while he was having a gala time.

When he didn’t get any response even when he got home in the afternoon, he started to wonder if something was off. If he had missed some important day or did something or said something he wasn’t supposed to. But he couldn’t think of any such thing.

‘Hey, just checking in, all good?’

One hour went by. No response. 

‘I’m home, what time will you get here? Italian is good tonight?’

This was a harmless enough message, or so he thought. 

‘Talk later.’

That was all she had time & energy to type back.

Food was the last thing on her mind when she saw his message. She was surviving on two apples and 5 cups of coffee all day and would probably have to pull an all-nighter by the looks of it, on a day when she was supposed to get done by 6 pm. An anomaly. A massive anomaly in her line of work. But Satan was intent on ruining her happiness. 

Her team was cooped up in the conference room while her MD was on a zoom call from his mansion on the outskirts of the city, spelling out 1000 changes to the formatting while sipping a glass of red wine. 

One day, she’ll get there too. But till then, she had no choice but to slog her ass off. Like the rest of her team.

In the middle of that, her phone kept buzzing. She just put it on silent and threw it in her bag. Her plans for the evening all but forgotten. 

It was 6:30 pm already, and Jude figured she would have left by now. So he made the cardinal sin of calling her, twice. 

‘Are you ok?’

Still no response. 

‘Are you mad at me?’

He started to get worried now. And called Roma. Who was also in the room with Ananya, as frazzled as her friend, as knee deep in work as the rest of them. 

Her phone was on silent too. The executive director absolutely hated any sounds when they were all cooped up together like this.

30 mins later, they finally got up for a pee break, first in over 5 hours. Ananya and Roma rushed to the loo with their bags, looking at their phones at the same time.

5 missed calls, 15 messages between the two of them. All from Jude.

Ananya was furious. She was actually hangry, which made her even more irritated with this. Even her family knew not to bother her when she was having a tough day at work, just one message was enough for them to know she’d be out of reach for a while. Jude knew that too, but still had bombarded the both of them. And what in god’s name was he doing calling Roma? It just made her look stupid in front of her friend. She didn’t like people calling her friends to check in on her, a pet peeve since childhood.

But this boy just didn’t understand.

The said boy happened to call again just then.

‘Yes?’

‘Oh hey - finally. Where were you?’

‘On Mars.’

‘Huh?’

‘Where do you think I could be, Jude? Obviously I’m working.’

‘But, I thought you were getting free early today.’

‘Yeah, not happening.’

‘When you will get done?’

‘No idea. Not anytime soon.’

‘But…we had the whole evening planned, food is also on its way.’

‘Let me go say that to my MD and maybe he’ll let me go’

The crankiness and sarcasm in her voice was increasing with every passing second. And Jude couldn’t help but wonder if it was anything more than work that was causing that.

‘Ok gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow?’

Wait what? So she was seriously not coming home all night?

‘We are travelling for the match tomorrow.’

‘After than then.’

‘International break. This was the last night before I’m on the road for 12 days.’

‘After that then.’

Her voice was curt and her attention was elsewhere, like she was barely even listening to him anymore.

‘Are we good? You’re not mad at me for something?’

‘Oh for the love of god not everything is about you. I’m dying here. DYING. You’re not important right now. I told you I was busy, so pls try to understand.’

Jude was silent. She hadn’t said she was busy. She just said talk later. How was he supposed to decipher this is what she meant? How could she be cross with him for this?

‘Bye now. See you when I see you next.’

‘Bye.’

He stared at his phone long after, and at the screen where a game of FIFA was loaded, waiting for her. The food was on it way too, which he called to cancel immediately.

It was next evening. He was in the team hotel after a long flight. But still, 24 hours later also he was in a pissy mood. 

Ananya had worked all night, came back in the morning, slept for a few hours and was back in office now, on standby while the MD meeting was going on in London.

She finally got some time to focus on her irritated boyfriend, who she was trying to reach for the last 2 hours, and finally sent this message to get his attention.

Silent treatment was beyond his coping ability, they both knew that perfectly well.

‘Sure - be more mean to make up for being mean earlier.’

‘I wasn’t mean to you. I was just busy.’

‘Yeah right.’

‘Jude - I didn’t sleep all night. Didn’t have a proper meal in 24 hours. So of course I was on edge.’

‘You said I wasn’t important to you.’

‘Not important in that moment.’

‘Same thing.’

‘Big difference.’

‘Even after everything you’re still talking to me like this.’

‘How else should I talk?’

‘Like you want to make it up to me?’

‘Make it up to you?’

‘Yes. Massively.’

‘I should make it up to you coz my work is sucking the living life out of me right now? Sure, that makes sense.’

‘You forgot yesterday was the last day we had together in almost 2 weeks.’

‘It was not in my control. What could I have done?’

‘Could have felt bad for not being with me? Like I was feeling bad? Five seconds for that was too much to ask for?’

That made her take a pause. She was still learning to cope with the mad pressure that came on sprints like these, and didn’t always react in the most even-tempered way. Could she have taken a minute to talk to him softly and explain the situation? Possibly yes. But she was still leaning the ropes and all the first-year associates were as frazzled as her. Heck she only had 1 minute for a pee break, which is when she spoke to him. Why couldn’t he understand that pressure, when she understood his work pressures and how the weight of the whole world was on his shoulders at times?

‘You needed to be here to understand what it was like.’

‘Darling - I know what professional stress is.’

‘It’s different for you.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You are Jude fucking Bellingham.’

‘And don’t you think that means 100x pressure?’

‘No. Because you’re not some first year associate who is expected to work 16 hours a day, 6 days a week with near-perfect output.’

She could hear him breathing heavily at the other end. But he didn’t say anything, neither did she.

This was one of those moments where their crazy schedules got to them. As did the high-pressure of their jobs. For no particular fault of either of them. They were both fiercely ambitious, and driven in their careers. Which meant personal life suffered at times.

Ananya always wondered till what point would this be sustainable. If he’d turn around one fine day and would want more from her. That more was not in her control to give. Unless she sacrifices her dreams.

‘We’re going in circles.’

He broke the eerie silence. Another thing he wasn’t too fond of. Awkward pauses made him uncomfortable.

‘Yes we are.’

‘Did you manage to get some rest?’

‘Slept for a few hours. You?’

Jude was a sound sleeper otherwise but for the life of him could not sleep on a plane well. 

‘A little bit.’

‘Match is day after right? You should get some rest.’

‘Yeah, will crash soon.’

He didn’t want to sleep before talking to her. But he absolutely didn’t want to be the one making the call.

‘The presser was nice.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Could have smiled a bit more. Your fan pages were waiting for classic Jude happy face.’

‘Nothing to smile about in my life.’

‘Stop being dramatic.’

‘Stop being mean. And stop being so far away.’

The sincerity & longing in his voice melted her on the spot.

‘Babyyy.’

He immediately felt lighter.

‘What I wouldn’t give to hold you right now.’

Sleeping without her being next to him just wasn’t the same anymore. He slept better now when she was in his arms.

‘Me too sweetheart, me too.’

She could use a Jude hug too. Desperately. And a nice, long, peaceful sleep. But no relationship was perfect, this was something they just had to deal with.

‘Say something nice.’

‘I love you my dashing boy.’

‘More.’

‘So cute. So sweet. So sexy.’

‘More.’

‘One of the best players in the world.’

‘One of the best?’

‘Yes. The best midfielder though.’

Jude didn’t push further, knowing this was the best he’d get. She wouldn’t lie when it came to football. Not even to him or for him. This was enough for now.

‘Missing you.’

‘Me too, babu.’

Jude loved it when she used this particular Hindi word of endearment for him, which was the equivalent of baby. She often used many such words when they were snuggled together & she was cooing to him, explaining the meaning of each of them. He understood quite a few by now.

‘I can’t sleep. What do I do?’

‘Keep talking to me. And hug a pillow.’

‘Way ahead of you.’

They both hugged pillows while sleeping now, when they were not next to each other.

‘Now tell me about yesterday.’

Excitement seeped back into his drowsy voice, but the exhaustion was evident. Midway through, he started slurring some words and a few minutes later he was almost asleep, while still mumbling things to her.

‘Honey, put the phone down, turn off the light & get some rest, yeah?’

‘Yeah, ok.’

He mumbled, already near crashing.

‘Sweet dreams.’

‘Mmmm will dream of you, beautiful.’

With that, the phone dropped from his hand, while the lights were still on and the TV was on mute. But it didn’t matter. He got what he needed, so did she.

...........................................................

Wanted to do a realistic comfort fic, for all the madness happening around us.

Hope you liked it! Wrote this in 2 hours so not edited properly.

[rayjideguia]

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[andy-15-07]

Hello! Will you write a paulmescalxactress fic where Paul is on an interview/meeting and his daughter come in and wants to be in the video?!

When Family Steals the Spotlight

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1927 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Paul Mescal Masterlist

Paul’s voice resonated with a calm confidence as he answered the interviewer’s latest question from the sleek, modern conference room. You sat beside him, your hand warm and reassuring on his arm, sharing quiet smiles as the camera captured his thoughtful expressions. The room buzzed with quiet professionalism—a backdrop of subtle lighting, neatly arranged chairs, and the gentle hum of equipment in use. Today’s interview was important; it wasn’t just about Paul’s latest project but also a rare opportunity to show a glimpse of the man behind the headlines.

“So, Paul,” the interviewer began, leaning forward with genuine curiosity, “what do you think has been the most transformative experience in your career so far?”

Paul’s eyes softened as he glanced at you before he answered. “I’d say every experience has its own place, but recently, balancing work and family has shown me a whole new perspective. It reminds me that no matter how high-profile our projects are, it’s the moments at home that ground me.”

A brief smile played on your lips as you exchanged a look with him—a silent acknowledgment of the life you both cherished. Just then, as the camera zoomed in to capture the sincerity in Paul’s eyes, the conference room door swung open unexpectedly.

“Daddy!” a small, gleeful voice rang out, and before anyone could react, a little girl with bright, inquisitive eyes and wild, curly hair darted into the frame. She wore a pastel jacket and clutched a small stuffed bear tightly against her chest.

Paul’s eyes widened, a mix of surprise and delight flooding his expression. “Lila!” he exclaimed, his tone shifting from professional to tender as he reached out. The interviewer paused, clearly taken aback but intrigued by the sudden interruption.

Lila bounced on her toes, her voice exuberant and determined. “I want to be in the video, Daddy! Please, let me be in the video!” she chirped, waving her arms excitedly as if she were on a mission.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your eyes sparkling as you watched the heartwarming scene unfold. “She certainly knows how to make an entrance,” you whispered to Paul, who was now leaning down to gather his daughter into a gentle hug.

The interviewer, recovering from the surprise, smiled warmly. “Well, it looks like we have a special guest. How about we take a short break so little Lila can have her moment?” he suggested, his tone friendly and accommodating.

Paul looked over his shoulder, his eyes meeting yours with a silent question, and you nodded encouragingly. “Of course,” you said softly, leaning in to add, “Family comes first.”

With a graceful chuckle, Paul addressed the camera, “I’m really sorry about that interruption, but I think it’s important you get to see the other side of my life, the one that means the world to me.” He patted Lila’s head affectionately. “This is Lila, my little star.”

Lila grinned, her cheeks dimpled with excitement. “Hi everyone! I’m Lila! I wanna say hi to all the people watching!” she announced in a loud, cheerful voice, her words tumbling over each other with the exuberance only a child could muster.

The interviewer’s smile broadened as he adjusted his microphone slightly. “Well, hello, Lila. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Do you know why Daddy is here today?” he asked, engaging her in a tone that was both playful and kind.

Lila’s eyes sparkled as she nodded vigorously. “Because Daddy makes movies and he’s super cool!” she declared, then paused, tilting her head as if pondering something important. “But I want to make movies too, Daddy! Can I make a movie with you?” she asked, looking up at him with hopeful intensity.

Paul’s laughter, warm and full of love, filled the room. “Maybe one day, kiddo. Maybe you’ll be the director or the star. But for now, how about you tell everyone one of your big ideas?” he said, his voice soft yet encouraging.

You listened, admiring the effortless bond they shared. “Lila, darling, why don’t you tell them what movie you’d like to make?” you prompted, your tone both playful and tender.

Lila’s little face lit up as she thought for a moment. “I want to make a movie about magic and adventures, where people can fly and talk to animals! And there’s a princess who saves the day!” she explained, her words tumbling out in an excited rush.

The interviewer clapped his hands together, clearly charmed by the impromptu performance. “That sounds absolutely fantastic, Lila. I can see you’re very creative! Paul, does your little director inspire you?” he asked, glancing at Paul with a twinkle in his eye.

Paul’s gaze softened as he looked at his daughter, then back to the camera. “Absolutely. Every day, she reminds me that there’s a world of wonder and possibility, even in the smallest moments. In fact,” he said, his tone playful, “she’s my biggest muse.”

You reached over and squeezed his hand, proud of the warmth and authenticity that shone through in his every word. “We all have a little muse inside us, don’t we?” you added, smiling at Lila, who now seemed to consider that notion with the seriousness only a child can manage.

Lila nodded earnestly. “I’m always your muse, Daddy!” she declared, and Paul’s smile widened into one that was as radiant as the morning sun. “Thank you, Lila,” he said softly, pulling her close as he whispered something in her ear that made her giggle.

After a moment of playful banter, the interviewer leaned forward, clearly eager to get back to the original subject. “Shall we resume, then?” he asked. “Paul, you were telling us about balancing your career and family.”

Paul straightened up slightly, still holding Lila’s hand as she reluctantly let go, her eyes still bright with excitement. “Yes,” he continued, “I was saying that every day is a balancing act. My work is a huge part of who I am, but it’s moments like these that truly define me—reminding me of the simple joys of life.” His voice carried a sincere warmth that resonated even with the unexpected twist of the interview.

Lila, not quite ready to step aside, interjected in her most authoritative tone, “Daddy, can I ask a question too?” she said, glancing between her father and the interviewer. The room fell into a brief, amused silence as everyone recognized the earnest determination in her small voice.

The interviewer, chuckling, nodded. “Of course, Lila. What would you like to ask?” he replied, directing his attention to the little girl.

Lila stepped forward, her posture surprisingly confident for her age. “Why do grown-ups always have to work so much? And can I work with Daddy when I grow up?” she asked, her voice both curious and candid.

Paul exchanged a fond look with you before answering, “Work is important, sweetheart, because it lets us do the things we love. But it’s also important to take time to enjoy life, to play, and to dream. And yes, you can work with me when you grow up, if that’s what you want.” His answer was tender, yet carried the wisdom of a man who had seen the highs and lows of a busy life.

The interviewer smiled broadly, clearly moved by the candidness of the exchange. “That’s a wonderful perspective, Paul. And Lila, you have a bright future ahead of you—full of dreams, adventures, and maybe even a bit of movie magic,” he said, eliciting another round of delighted giggles from the little one.

You leaned in close to Paul as the conversation resumed its rhythm. “It’s these unscripted moments that make life so beautiful,” you whispered, your eyes reflecting the pride and love you felt for both of them.

Paul nodded, his gaze lingering on you before returning to the camera. “Absolutely. I believe that every day holds a little magic if we just allow ourselves to embrace it—whether it’s a heartfelt conversation during an interview or an unexpected interruption from someone you love.”

The camera captured every nuance of the moment—the spontaneous laughter, the loving glances, and the gentle interplay between professional poise and familial warmth. The interviewer wrapped up the segment with a remark that acknowledged the delightful disruption. “Thank you, Paul—and thank you, Lila, for reminding us all that sometimes the best parts of life are the unplanned, joyful moments.”

As the filming concluded, the atmosphere in the room shifted to one of relaxed contentment. Paul set aside his papers and walked over to where Lila was now playfully chasing you around the room. “I think she just might have stolen the show today,” he murmured, his voice soft with amusement and affection.

You laughed, reaching out to ruffle Lila’s hair. “It seems she’s already a natural on camera,” you replied. “Maybe we should consider making a short film just with her in it.”

Lila’s eyes widened with excitement at the suggestion. “Really? Can we make a movie about flying, magic, and adventures? With a princess, and animals that talk?” she asked breathlessly, her imagination clearly set alight by the prospect.

Paul knelt down to her level, smiling. “Anything is possible, sweetheart. We can create a world where every dream comes true,” he said, his voice filled with the promise of endless possibilities.

The interviewer’s earlier professionalism had given way to a more personal connection by now, and even as the crew began to pack up, a few lingering cameras captured moments of laughter, hugs, and whispered plans for future projects. One crew member remarked softly, “You two make such a lovely family. It’s inspiring to see that balance between work and life.”

Paul smiled, his eyes warm and grateful. “It’s not always easy,” he admitted, “but it’s moments like these that remind me why I do what I do. The love, the laughter, the unexpected joy—it all fuels my passion for storytelling.”

As the room gradually emptied, you and Paul found a quiet moment to stand together by the door. “I’m so glad she came in today,” you said softly, leaning against him. “It was a reminder that sometimes life has a way of surprising us in the best possible ways.”

Paul wrapped an arm around your shoulders, his gaze lingering on the spot where Lila had danced into view. “She’s a constant reminder of everything that matters,” he said, his voice gentle. “Her energy, her creativity—they inspire me to keep pushing forward, to make every day count.”

Outside, the late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the building, and you both stepped into the cool air, your hearts light and filled with a renewed sense of purpose. “Maybe we should celebrate with a little family picnic,” you suggested, your eyes twinkling with anticipation.

Paul grinned. “I think that sounds perfect. Let’s go home, grab some sandwiches, and enjoy the rest of the day—just us and our little star,” he said.

As you walked together down the corridor, hand in hand, the lingering echoes of the interview—filled with laughter, unexpected interruptions, and heartfelt dialogue—reminded you that the best stories in life are often the ones that aren’t planned at all. In that unguarded moment, you realized that love, family, and the willingness to embrace life’s delightful surprises were the true ingredients of happiness.

And as you both stepped out into the fading light of the day, you knew that no matter how many interviews, meetings, or camera flashes came your way, it was these unspoken moments—the ones filled with genuine connection and boundless love—that would always remain at the heart of your story.

[splatsvilles-fashionista]

A quick look at the Splatoon 3 Version 9.3 changes!

(credit to Lewyn4k on bluesky!)

I'm a bit late with this one, all the Splatubers have already gotten their patch note explanation videos out, but this is a really interesting patch so I wanted to go through it and give my thoughts!

Let's start with the Main Weapon changes:

Sploosh, Splattershot Jr., Aerospray and Dapple Dualies have all had their shot velocity increased by 3%, which confers a slight range increase as well (because if your bullets travel faster they get further before they start to drop!). I don't think this solves any of these weapons' most pressing issues, but let's not look that gift horse in the mouth. Gift seahorse?

N-ZAP is now a little bit more accurate and moves a little bit faster while shooting, which makes it in line with the Mini Splatling in terms of strafe speed. Keep in mind that this value is multiplicative with Tacticooler, since it maxes out your Run Speed, so Zap's gonna be really zooming now!

Nova's had its' jump RNG decreased by 33%, which is a big change numerically, but I don't think it amounts to very much. Nova's still incredibly inaccurate as a baseline needs to hit five shots to kill, so t his doesn't do anything real for it, I think.

Big Swig's vertical flick hitbox is now slightly bigger. For some reason it used to have a more narrow vertical flick than the other Rollers, but this change should likely but it more in line with the rest.

Painbrush's delay between swings has been reduced by about 2 frames, which is a small but not insignificant change. While Painbrush can two-shot, it's much more likely to splat in three or even four shots due to its damage falloff, and with this buff those will now be 6 and 8 frames faster, respectively. This buff also means that painbrush paints better, too!

Mini and Heavy Splatling both had their charge time reduced by 2 frames for the first ring and 3 frames for the second for a total of a 5 frame faster full charge. Mini now gets a full charge in 27 frames (less than half a second!) while Heavy gets a full charge in 72. Additionally Heavy had its firing duration increased by 11%, which means it fires for roughly two and two thirds of a second. Some nice changes for weapons that were honestly pretty good already!

Splat Dualies' bullets are now a bit bigger making them easier to hit. This does not increase their paint or anything like that, and it does not affect your shots fired while sitting after a dodge roll. This is actually a reversion of a nerf they got in late Splatoon 2! Splat Dualies were already really good with a stellar kit in the form of Suction Bomb/Crab Tank, and I don't think this moves the needle much, but hey, can't complain!

Recycled Brella gets a paint buff and a 14% ink efficiency buff. "Slightly" is doing a lot of work here, because the actual increase is somewhere in the ballpark of 27%! Recycled paint was mediocre on a good day, so it's well deserved. The ink efficiency buff also means that it gets two more shots on a full tank, which combined with the painting buff means it might just get a decent amount of Specials, of which it has two pretty good to pick from. All in all a big win for Recycling fans!

Snipewriter gets its' second paint nerf, and while they didn't put a number here datamining's shown that it roughly translates to a 5% paint decrease. Not nothing, but it'll probably be fine, though this is not the only nerf the pen is getting this patch as we'll see in a bit.

And for the final Main Weapon change of the patch it's Decavitator's turn on the chopping block, the dash slash now takes 2 more frames to start, going from 8 to 10 frames, while its paint's been reduced by 12%.

I actually really quite like these changes because while I like Decav a lot it's always been a bit overtuned, and these nerfs reduce some of those aspects while still retaining the most fun and interesting aspects of the weapon, the big hitbox and high damage. This is a very good approach, I'd say.

There's no Sub Weapon changes this patch (boo! buff angle shooter and toxic mist already!) so before we continue to Special changes let's take a look at the points for Special changes:

Snipewriter joins Squeezer and Sloshing Machine in the 220p club, and S-BLAST is paying the price for its recent competitive popularity, having risen in usage quite a lot after the Ranged Blaster nerfs last year. Not much else to note here, I think.

So now, let's talk about Special Weapons, and this is where the juice is this patch.

Ultra Stamp had its thrown mode damage numbers changed around quite a lot, having its instant splat radius massively increased while its outer splash damage radius had its damage doubled. To show you what this means in practice, well...

If Ultra Stamp would paint your feet with its explosion, you get evaporated. This is a big buff, making thrown Ultra Stamps a genuine threat that you need to be on the lookout for facing a weapon that has one.

So is Ultra Stamp as bad as Trizooka now? I don't think so, and it's for a couple of reasons. For one Ultra stamp takes more time to activate and throw than it takes to get your first Trizooka shot out, making it easier to react to. It also can't arc around obstacles the way Trizooka bullets can with their weird spiraling trajectory. Also, you only get one shot, when you've thrown your hammer it's all you get. And the final nail in the Trizooka comparison is that, well...

Trizooka gets a major nerf this patch, essentially getting the reverse change of Ultra Stamp. Roughly the outer half of the splash radius was changed to deal 35 damage from 53, so the person using it has to be pretty precise to get meaningful damage onto people now. They also decreased the duration from 6 seconds to 5.5 seconds, so you've gotta get those shots out fast!

And finally, Triple Splashdown paints 11% more. This change is a help in Splat Zones in particular, as Triple Splashdown actually painted surprisingly little given the three explosions, but now it'll paint enough to flip some zones on its own with no Special Power Up. It's not as good for this as Reefslider since you have to actually be in the zone as you start the Special, but utility is utility!

While we're all done with weapon changes, there's still some Stage changes, specifically to Tri-Color Turf War stages specifically:

To demonstrate the layout changes, here are some images courtesy of diamcreeper24 on twitter and Inkipedia. Old layout on left, new on right:

These stages, Bluefin in particular, were some of most imbalanced in terms of attacker/defender win/loss ratio, hence why they got changes.

And that's the patch! Overall I like the changes, but I do hope that in the future we see a bigger focus on buffing weaker Subs and Specials, as the biggest problem a lot of weapons have is not that their Mains are weak, but that they are hard to justify because of bad Subs and Specials. That said the Ultra Stamp change is a good start, here's hoping for something similarly drastic for Wave Breaker,