#and confirmation of new coverage

[wildpiercy-art]

Posting a rare WIP because I'm not really digging how I textured Junior, but it was too late to stop once I realized it was way too dense. But on the other hand I love the underlying sketch and Whirl especially. I'm not sure I want to finish it, so I'm putting it up now to show what I have while I work on something else and see how I feel about it then.

[thienvaldram]

The Doctor's Timeline (v14)

v1-v13 were somewhere else

Not Authorial Confirmation of Anything done as speculation only

(Full res version)

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Close Coverage // Chapter 1

a/n: new series because writer's block.... pazzi au where they didn't play at UConn together, rivals-to-lovers slow burn, that's all i got.

wc: 4k

warnings: none

**** Chapter 1: Rival Energy ****

Azzi

Azzi Fudd didn’t miss. That was kind of her thing.

Three hours into her off-day workout and she was still landing clean, net-snapping jumpers at a pace that would satisfy even her most obsessive tendencies.

Until the notification came in.

Her phone buzzed on the scorer’s table. Once. Again. The third time, she grabbed it between sets and checked.

Nike Campaign: “RISE ABOVE” Confirmed Pairing: Paige Bueckers

Azzi stared at the screen like it had personally insulted her. Her thumb hovered over the message. She didn’t open it.

She didn’t need to. It was already seared into the backs of her eyelids.

She tossed her phone on the bench, a little more dramatically than she’d intended. The gym lights hummed above her—bright, sterile, unforgiving. Azzi took a sip of water, set the bottle down, and headed back onto the court, rolling her shoulders like that would do anything to loosen the tension threading through her entire back. 

But the next jumper clanged off the back iron. A second rattled out. She reset her stance. Shoulders squared, feet planted, form perfect—but her rhythm was gone.

“You good?” Aaliyah’s voice drifted in from the bench by the wall. She’d finished her own lift forty minutes ago and had since taken up residence scrolling through TikTok like her job wasn’t also in two days. “You never miss that many unless someone dies or you read a bad article.”

Azzi glared. “I don’t read articles.”

“That sounds fake,” Aaliyah said, without looking up. “But okay.”

Azzi stared at the floor. Then the ball. Then her phone.

She walked over and picked it back up. Opened the message.

From: MJ (Agent) Confirmed: Nike wants to move forward with the Rise Above collab. They’ve already looped in Paige. It’s one shoot. Two-day travel. You’d have creative approval. You in?

The thing about Azzi was she didn’t lose control. Of her body. Of her game. Of her narrative. She’d learned early that when you were the daughter of a college coach, the miracle comeback kid, the number one recruit in the country, you didn’t get the luxury of being unbothered. You had to curate it. Every quote, every repost, every ounce of emotion held behind your teeth like a mouthguard.

This? This was the opposite of control.

“You sure you’re okay?” Aaliyah asked again, peeking over her phone now. “You’ve been staring into space like you’re about to get drafted into the Hunger Games.”

With the ball still under her arm, she walked back toward the baseline, phone in hand.

She sank one more shot from just off the court—clean, effortless—then scooped up her towel from the bench without looking at Aaliyah.

“I need to take a call,” she said, already heading toward the locker room.

****

Azzi sat in her chair, one foot on the ground, one propped against the locker in front of her. The screen flickered, then filled with MJ’s face—cheerfully lit and already talking before Azzi could say hello.

“Look who finally decided to read her email,” MJ said, eyes bright and smug, like she knew Azzi had opened the campaign details in the middle of a workout and then thrown her phone across the gym.

Azzi sat back, arms crossed. “You could’ve led with the part where I’d be paired with Paige Bueckers.”

MJ blinked. “Wow. Full government name already.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. “You could’ve led with that a week ago, when you first brought the idea up.”

MJ shrugged, too casual. “I was easing you in.”

Azzi’s jaw flexed. “You buried it.”

“Strategically,” MJ said, like that made it better. “I knew if I said her name first, you’d say no before I finished the sentence.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“Too late.”

Azzi didn’t roll her eyes—she had self-control—but it was close.

MJ leaned forward like they were about to negotiate nuclear peace. “Let me frame this for you. Nike. High-visibility campaign. They’re calling it Rise Above—focuses on athletes who’ve navigated pressure, competition, comeback stories.”

“Sounds vague and marketable.”

“Exactly. They want you and Paige. Together. One shoot. Two days. You’ll have full creative input.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Mostly because she was trying to keep her pulse from climbing. Also because MJ had a talent for making things sound simple when they were anything but.

“And Paige already said yes,” she said finally, voice flat.

“First one to sign on,” MJ confirmed. “She’s in. She’s excited.”

Of course she was. Paige thrived in front of a camera. Her comfort zone was half photo op, half mic’d-up highlight reel. Meanwhile, Azzi had spent most of the past five years perfecting how to say as little as possible while still being quotable.

“Is it a rivalry campaign?”

“No,” MJ said. Then paused. “...But the undertone is there. That’s why it works. You two are already a story. This just gives you the pen.”

Azzi arched a brow. “Nike’s giving me the pen?”

MJ smirked. “Fine. Nike’s giving you a marker. It’s thick, it’s permanent, and they might crop half of it out in post. But it’s still your line.”

Azzi stared at the corner of her screen, where her own face sat still and unreadable. She looked calm. She was not calm.

“Why now?” she asked. “Why us?”

MJ didn’t miss a beat. “Because your names still come up together. Because people want to see what it looks like when two generational talents share a frame instead of a box score.”

Azzi almost laughed. Almost.

MJ leaned in, just slightly. “You’ve spent years letting the narrative happen to you. This is a chance to shape it. On your terms. Clean slate, new season, full creative say. It’s not just a photo shoot—it’s leverage.”

Azzi didn’t respond, but her fingers tapped once against her knee. Quiet. Measured. Like her brain was running the math.

MJ saw it and smiled. “You don’t have to like the setup. But you do know how to control the outcome. That’s kind of your thing, right?”

Azzi didn’t answer. But something about the word control stuck. Caught against the wrong part of her memory.

She thought about that day in sophomore year, the shoulder bump and the half-smile and how she’d spent weeks afterward wondering if she’d hallucinated the entire moment.

She also thought about every time a headline had reduced her to Paige’s opposite. The foil. The serious one. The not-as-flashy, not-as-likable, not-quite-Paige.

Maybe this was the only way to shake it. To face it head-on. Let them see them side by side—on her terms this time. Not as someone’s shadow. Not as the afterthought.

She didn’t need to prove anything to Paige. But maybe she needed to prove something to the people who kept acting like they were only ever one story.

Azzi pressed two fingers against her temple. “Just one shoot?”

“One. No media blitz, no interviews, no team-up TikToks unless you want them.”

“Hard pass.”

MJ grinned. “Noted.”

Azzi hesitated, then said it like ripping off a bandage: “Don’t give her my number.”

There was a pause. A smile tugged at MJ’s mouth. “Yeah, so...she already asked for it.”

Azzi’s stomach did something inconvenient. “You didn’t give it to her.”

“I didn’t. Yet.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Don’t.”

“Copy that.”

MJ sat back, clearly trying not to look too smug. “So...we’re good? I can tell Nike you’re in?”

Azzi looked away. She should say no. It would be easier. Cleaner. But part of her knew this kind of exposure didn’t come around often—not with creative control, not on this scale. It wasn’t about the pairing. It was about the platform. And maybe, finally, the chance to define herself before someone else did.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m in.”

She ended the call before MJ could say anything else.

Azzi stayed seated on the locker room bench long after the screen went dark. Her phone hung loosely in her hand, the light from it fading into black.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, jaw set. In the mirror across from her, she didn’t look rattled. She looked locked in. But her fingers kept twitching against her thigh.

She opened her camera roll, scrolled with purpose until she found it—a USA Basketball team photo from the summer after junior year. Paige was in the middle, of course, all brightness and white teeth, one arm slung around a teammate’s shoulder like she owned the moment. Azzi stood on the edge of the frame. No one else would notice, but she remembered the timing—how Paige had been laughing with the photographer, how Azzi had hesitated before stepping in.

She stared at the photo for exactly five seconds. Then she locked her phone again and stood.

Her jaw relaxed. Just a fraction.

Control, reset, rebuild. Back to the court.

****

Azzi stepped back onto the court, towel slung around her neck, jaw tight. She moved like her joints were over-tuned—nothing lazy, nothing loose. Which, for her, usually meant she was seconds from snapping a resistance band in half just for the release.

She picked up the ball and bounced it once. The sound echoed—loud, uneven. She adjusted her grip. Shot.

Clang.

It wasn’t an ugly miss. Just wrong. The kind of miss that made you question how it had gone wrong.

She rebounded quickly. Tried again. Front rim.

“Okay,” she muttered, more to herself than anything.

Reset. Form. Follow-through. Perfect.

But not clean. It felt forced. Like her own body was reminding her that technically correct didn’t mean in control.

She exhaled through her nose and walked to half court, ball under one arm. Closed her eyes like she could reset her nervous system with a breath and a pivot.

She didn’t get shaken. That wasn’t her thing.

The gym hadn’t changed. Unfortunately.

Aaliyah was still on the bench, half-scrolling, half-sprawled like someone who had mastered the art of being unbothered. Must’ve been nice.

She looked up. “So... MJ?”

Azzi gave a single nod. Crisp. Contained.

She didn’t owe details. She owed movement. So she kept moving and started dribbling, mostly so her hands would stay busy.

“No details?” Aaliyah prompted. “No hint of world domination?”

Azzi took a jumper. Swish. Good. Sharp. A little too fast out of her hands.

“You sure you’re okay?” Aaliyah asked, tone edging from casual to curious. “You’ve got that... tight thing happening in your shoulders. Your ‘I’m not mad, but I definitely want to slam a medicine ball through the wall’ look.”

Azzi kept her eyes on the rebound. Let it come back to her chest like it meant nothing.

Tension? She didn’t do tension. She did execution. She did results.

So why did it feel like her lungs were holding a press conference she hadn’t authorized?

Aaliyah waited a beat. Then tried again. “So... what was the call?”

Azzi took her time. Rebounded. Shot again.

“Campaign,” she said finally. One word. Meant to be the end of it.

“Campaign,” Aaliyah repeated. “With?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Took the shot instead—clean, hard, a little too fast.

“Nike,” she said. Then, after a beat, quieter: “And Paige.”

There it was. The name she’d been avoiding since it lit up her screen like a warning flare.

A beat.

“Bueckers?” Aaliyah said.

Azzi didn’t look up. “Is there another?”

It wasn’t meant to sound bitter. But, well. It did.

“Fair,” Aaliyah muttered.

Azzi reset at the top of the key. Elbow in. Chin up. Picture perfect, if you ignored the fact that she kind of wanted to launch the ball straight through the scoreboard.

“You gonna do it?”

“It’s just a shoot,” Azzi said.

The words felt sterile. Like checking a box on a form.

Aaliyah hummed. “Lot of tension for something that’s ‘just a shoot.’” She tilted her head. “You sure you’re good?”

Azzi took a breath she didn’t mean to make obvious. She didn’t need to be read. She needed to be left alone long enough to make this go back to not mattering.

“She’s everywhere,” she said instead. “Always has been. Smiles for the cameras, plays the whole charming, everyone’s-best-friend thing.”

It came out flat. Like she was reciting stats. But there was a burn under it—one she didn’t know what to do with. Paige had always had the gift of being magnetic. Azzi had the gift of being effective. The world never seemed to value them equally.

Aaliyah tilted her head. “You think it’s fake?”

Azzi shot again. Swish. Of course. Her game didn’t lie. People did.

“I think it’s rehearsed.”

She caught the ball again. Let it spin slowly in her hands.

“She doesn’t crack,” she said. “Even when she’s off her game. Even when she loses. People still eat it up like she invented the sport.”

Like grace was something you could trademark. Like smiling into a camera erased the parts of you that couldn’t be packaged.

“So you don’t like her.”

“I don’t get her,” Azzi said.

Which was worse. Not liking her would’ve been cleaner.

Aaliyah sat up straighter. “That sounds... almost worse.”

Azzi shrugged, sharper this time. “We share a league, not a group chat.”

Aaliyah leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Mm. Funny thing to say about someone who’s been living rent-free in your head all practice.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. But her silence said enough.

“I could drop fifty,” she muttered. “And it’d still be her name in the headline.”

Aaliyah nodded, slow. “That’s valid.”

Azzi glanced at her, surprised.

“I mean, I played with her at UConn, remember?” Aaliyah said. “And yeah—she really is just... that person. Always upbeat. Always smiling. Encouraging everyone. Like, I’m not even sure I ever saw her have a bad day. Not really.”

Azzi’s brow twitched. “You think it’s real?”

“I think she means it,” Aaliyah said. “She’s genuine. It’s not fake. But it’s also... curated. Paige knows how to be the version of herself that people want. It’s a skill. And it works.”

Azzi let the ball bounce once, then caught it again. “I don’t have that gear.”

“You have a different one,” Aaliyah said. “Yours is execution. Precision. Lock-in mode. People respect it. They just don’t always celebrate it the same way.”

Azzi’s jaw flexed. “Exactly.”

She turned toward the baseline, took a slow dribble, then stopped. “I do everything right.” Another breath. “And somehow, it’s still her they ask about.”

The words hung there, unfinished. Not bitter exactly. Just tired. Like she was finally naming something that had been sitting in her chest for years without permission.

Aaliyah didn’t rush to fill the space. Just let it settle. Let it breathe.

Then, quietly: “And yet,” she said, “you said yes.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Just caught the ball again. Breathed once, slow. “Maybe it’s time things change.”

She wasn’t excited about the shoot. She wasn’t even sure she’d get through it without grinding her teeth into dust.

But she knew one thing.

Paige would show up smiling, press-ready, acting like this was fun. Like it made sense.

Like they hadn’t spent half their lives being held up next to each other. AAU. USA camps. College. One name rarely came up without the other. On highlight reels. On Twitter threads. In interviews where no one asked about her unless it somehow circled back to Paige.

And now—apparently—they were being packaged together on purpose.

If they were going to do this—on camera, in public, under bright lights and brand deals—then fine.

Maybe it was a risk. But it was also a shot. A chance to shift the narrative—just enough to remind people she wasn’t the afterthought. Not this time.

She’d show up.

Azzi stepped to the baseline, spun the ball once in her hands, and squared her shoulders with that look she got right before a fourth-quarter inbound—tight focus, sharp jaw, zero daylight for anyone to get through.

She wasn’t going to play along like it was some kind of reunion. Because it wasn’t. There was nothing to reunite.

There was only the story people wanted, and the version she intended to tell.

Aaliyah sat up slightly, phone forgotten, eyes tracking her now with quiet satisfaction. She’d seen that look before—right before a big game, right before Azzi decided something wasn’t going to beat her.

“See,” she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, “that’s the energy I was waiting for.”

Azzi didn’t smile. But the shot she hit next was perfect.

Of course it was.

****

Azzi sat on the floor of her apartment, back against the couch, knees stretched out in front of her, twin ice packs strapped tight beneath worn sweats. The apartment was quiet—except for the low hum of the fridge and the faint bass thumping through the ceiling from her upstairs neighbor, who apparently didn’t believe in sleep or volume control.

She didn’t notice the noise, not really. Not tonight.

Her phone sat in her lap, screen lighting up her face in a way she didn’t like. Too revealing.

She scrolled through Instagram out of habit, not interest. Thumb to screen. Most of her feed was WNBA stuff—Valkyries content, league highlights, players reposting clips from Sunday’s games. A blur of polished moments. Everyone looking like their lives fit into a grid of clean edits and good lighting.

Then her thumb froze.

@paigebueckers Let’s make this count. [📸: @NikeBasketball] #RiseAbove #NikeWomen

It was a promo shot—Paige mid-laugh, head turned slightly like she wasn’t posing, but absolutely knew the camera was there. Sharp jawline. Low slick-back ponytail. She was in full gear—Nike warm-up jacket half-zipped, sleeves pushed to her elbows, like she’d just come off the court instead of a photo set. The background was dark, studio-lit and sterile, her name stamped in bold white across the bottom like a tagline.

The comment section was already on lighting up. Fire emojis. Goat emojis. A few one-liners about greatness and legacy, like this was some kind of coronation.

Azzi didn’t swipe through the carousel, but she didn’t scroll past it either.

Of course, Paige had gone ahead and posted. Early. Bright. Confident.

Of course, she looked comfortable doing it.

Azzi let out a breath that didn’t quite qualify as a sigh. Her jaw clenched, then unclenched, like her body was reminding her to stay ahead of the tension.

She stared at the photo a second longer, until her chest felt too tight, then locked her phone and tossed it onto the couch beside her.

The sound it made—soft, dull—somehow still annoyed her.

She tipped her head back against the couch, let her eyes close. For a moment, she did nothing. Just listened to the fridge, the upstairs bass, the too-loud silence pressing in from every side.

She should’ve been used to this by now.

The comparison. The pairing. The headline proximity. Paige’s name following hers around like punctuation. Even when they weren’t on the same court, their names never really traveled alone. It wasn’t personal. That’s what she told herself.

It wasn’t about Paige. It was about the way the world seemed to fall in love with ease and brightness and charisma. About the way Paige made people lean in without ever saying much. About how Azzi had to work twice as hard to get half the narrative.

And now they were packaging it. Monetizing it. Putting a slogan on top.

Rise Above.

God.

She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. The phrase was probably already printed on three different kinds of hoodies and half a marketing deck. She didn’t need to see it. She knew the script.

The interviews. The promo clips. Paige flashing that effortless smile, tossing off some line that sounded just vulnerable enough to go viral. It’d land. It always did.

The campaign would blow up before the first photo even dropped. And Azzi? Azzi would be called intense. Or cold. Focused, if the write-up was neutral. Bitter, if they needed traffic.

She didn’t have to guess. She’d seen it before. Paige would be the story. Azzi would be the contrast. And this time, they were doing it on purpose.

Packaging it. Selling it.

Rise Above. It sounded clean. Branded. Like the kind of line people wore on t-shirts without thinking too hard about what it asked.

Azzi didn’t rise above. She trained. She performed. She held the line. That was the difference.

Paige made it look easy. Azzi made sure it stayed earned.

She didn’t move. Just let the thought settle, quiet and solid, like weight pressing into the floor beneath her.

Maybe it wouldn’t change anything. Maybe they’d still frame her the same way—serious, sharp-edged, second.

But maybe not.

Maybe this time, she’d get to be more than the contrast. Maybe this time, she’d get to choose how she’s seen.

Her phone buzzed from the couch.

She stared at it like she could will it into silence. Into disappearing.

But the message preview lit up anyway.

Unknown number: Long time coming.

Azzi didn’t move at first. Just blinked.

Of course.

She sat up slightly, reached for the phone like it might burn her, thumb hovering above the screen.

Seriously?

She had told MJ—explicitly, in all caps, probably twice—not to give out her number. Apparently, Paige Bueckers could charm the one person Azzi paid to be on her side. Outstanding.

MJ cracked within six hours after the call. Probably even less time than that.

Azzi clenched her jaw, tapped the message open, then immediately hit the side button to darken the screen again.

She sat still for a long beat.

The phone stayed in her hand, screen gone dark like the message hadn’t happened.

But it had.

Long time coming.

No punctuation. No context. Just five words, like they were already mid-conversation. Like the space between them didn’t matter. Like Paige had never left it.

Azzi’s thumb hovered over the screen, but she didn’t touch it again.

She pulled her legs in, folding them beneath her, the ice packs on her knees shifting with a sharp crunch. One of them had melted enough to leak slightly, soaking through the cuff of her sweats. She didn’t fix it.

The phone buzzed again, just once, but it was a calendar notification. She didn’t look.

She leaned forward and set the phone facedown on the coffee table. It slid an inch across the wood, too quiet to matter. Still, it felt loud in her body.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes until she saw bursts of color. She stayed like that, elbows on her knees, spine curled tight.

She wasn’t angry. Not exactly.

Just… thrown.

That Paige had messaged her at all. That the words were so casual. She’s just like that, Aaliyah had said. Kind. Consistent. Effortless.

Azzi hadn’t wanted to believe it.

She wanted Paige to be performative. Rehearsed. Calculated.

Because if this was just who Paige was—if she really meant it—then Azzi had no idea what to do with that.

No playbook. No scouting report. Just a version of Paige she didn’t understand. Maybe never had.

She sat back against the couch, spine pressed to the cushions, arms folded tight across her chest like she was holding something in.

She didn’t respond.

Didn’t delete it either.

But she didn’t let herself overthink it. Whatever Paige was trying to be—genuine, nostalgic, warm—it didn’t matter. She didn’t buy it. Not the text, not the tone. Paige had always been good at playing to a crowd—and Azzi wasn’t about to be one of them.

She stood, peeled the ice packs off her knees, dropped them in the sink without looking. The cold had already settled deep in her joints, but it didn’t bother her.

She turned off the lights.

The room went still.

Somewhere on the other end of the state��bright, camera-ready LA—Paige Bueckers was probably already onto the next thing. Azzi stayed where it was quiet. Where the lights didn’t follow. It didn’t feel like a beginning. It felt like bait.

[mariacallous]

The first thing to say about the hate and scorn currently directed at the mainstream US media is that they worked hard to earn it. They’ve done so by failing, repeatedly, determinedly, spectacularly to do their job, which is to maintain their independence, inform the electorate, and speak truth to power. While the left has long had reasons to dismiss centrist media, and the right has loathed it most when it did do its job well, the moderates who are furious at it now seem to be something new – and a host of former editors, media experts and independent journalists have been going after them hard this summer.

Longtime journalist James Fallows declares that three institutions – the Republican party, the supreme court, and the mainstream political press – “have catastrophically failed to ‘meet the moment’ under pressure of [the] Trump era”. Centrist political reformer and columnist Norm Ornstein states that these news institutions “have had no reflection, no willingness to think through how irresponsible and reckless so much of our mainstream press and so many of our journalists have been and continue to be”.

Most voters, he says, “have no clue what a second Trump term would actually be like. Instead, we get the same insipid focus on the horse race and the polls, while normalizing abnormal behavior and treating this like a typical presidential election, not one that is an existential threat to democracy.”

Lamenting the state of the media recently on X, Jeff Jarvis, another former editor and newspaper columnist, said: “What ‘press’? The broken and vindictive Times? The newly Murdochian Post? Hedge-fund newspaper husks? Rudderless CNN or NPR? Murdoch’s fascist media?”

These critics are responding to how the behemoths of the industry seem intent on bending the facts to fit their frameworks and agendas. In pursuit of clickbait content centered on conflicts and personalities, they follow each other into informational stampedes and confirmation bubbles.

They pursue the appearance of fairness and balance by treating the true and the false, the normal and the outrageous, as equally valid and by normalizing Republicans, especially Donald Trump, whose gibberish gets translated into English and whose past crimes and present-day lies and threats get glossed over. They neglect, again and again, important stories with real consequences. This is not entirely new – in a scathing analysis of 2016 election coverage, the Columbia Journalism Review noted that “in just six days, The New York Times ran as many cover stories about Hillary Clinton’s emails as they did about all policy issues combined in the 69 days leading up to the election” – but it’s gotten worse, and a lot of insiders have gotten sick of it.

In July, ordinary people on social media decided to share information about the rightwing Project 2025 and did a superb job of raising public awareness about it, while the press obsessed about Joe Biden’s age and health. NBC did report on this grassroots education effort, but did so using the “both sides are equally valid” framework often deployed by mainstream media, saying the agenda is “championed by some creators as a guide to less government oversight and slammed by others as a road map to an authoritarian takeover of America”. There is no valid case it brings less government oversight.

In an even more outrageous case, the New York Times ran a story comparing the Democratic and Republican plans to increase the housing supply – which treated Trump’s plans for mass deportation of undocumented immigrants as just another housing-supply strategy that might work or might not. (That it would create massive human rights violations and likely lead to huge civil disturbances was one overlooked factor, though the fact that some of these immigrants are key to the building trades was mentioned.)

Other stories of pressing concern are either picked up and dropped or just neglected overall, as with Trump’s threats to dismantle a huge portion of the climate legislation that is both the Biden administration’s signal achievement and crucial for the fate of the planet. The Washington Post editorial board did offer this risibly feeble critique on 17 August: “It would no doubt be better for the climate if the US president acknowledged the reality of global warming – rather than calling it a scam, as Mr Trump has.”

While the press blamed Biden for failing to communicate his achievements, which is part of his job, it’s their whole job to do so. The Climate Jobs National Resource Center reports that the Inflation Reduction Act has created “a combined potential of over $2tn in investment, 1,091,966 megawatts of clean power, and approximately 3,947,670 jobs”, but few Americans have any sense of what the bill has achieved or even that the economy is by many measures strong.

Last winter, the New York Times columnist Paul Krugman, who has a Nobel prize in economics, told Greg Sargent on the latter’s Daily Blast podcast that when he writes positive pieces about the Biden economy, his editor asks “don’t you want to qualify” it; “aren’t people upset by X, Y and Z and shouldn’t you be acknowledging that?”

Meanwhile in an accusatory piece about Kamala Harris headlined When your opponent calls you ‘communist,’ maybe don’t propose price controls?, a Washington Post columnist declares in another case of bothsiderism: “Voters want to blame someone for high grocery bills, and the presidential candidates have apparently decided the choices are either the Biden administration or corporate greed. Harris has chosen the latter.” The evidence that corporations have jacked up prices and are reaping huge profits is easy to find, but facts don’t matter much in this kind of opining.

It’s hard to gloat over the decline of these dinosaurs of American media, when a free press and a well-informed electorate are both crucial to democracy. The alternatives to the major news outlets simply don’t reach enough readers and listeners, though the non-profit investigative outfit ProPublica and progressive magazines such as the New Republic and Mother Jones, are doing a lot of the best reporting and commentary.

Earlier this year, when Alabama senator Katie Britt gave her loopy rebuttal to Biden’s State of the Union address, it was an independent journalist, Jonathan Katz, who broke the story on TikTok that her claims about a victim of sex trafficking contained significant falsehoods. The big news outlets picked up the scoop from him, making me wonder what their staffs of hundreds were doing that night.

A host of brilliant journalists young and old, have started independent newsletters, covering tech, the state of the media, politics, climate, reproductive rights and virtually everything else, but their reach is too modest to make them a replacement for the big newspapers and networks. The great exception might be historian Heather Cox Richardson, whose newsletter and Facebook followers give her a readership not much smaller than that of the Washington Post. The tremendous success of her sober, historically grounded (and footnoted!) news summaries and reflections bespeaks a hunger for real news.

[probablyasocialecologist]

A reporter from the right-wing Times newspaper said: “I literally cried in the bathroom so many times because of the uphill battle of trying to get things reported.” Disgruntled staff at the liberal Guardian have compiled an “exhaustive spreadsheet” with a “mountain of examples” of the paper “amplifying unchallenged Israeli propaganda…or treating clearly false statements by Israeli spokespeople as credible”. Journalists working in TV studios face a similar struggle, with swift repercussions if guests from the Israeli government are asked difficult questions on air. Declassified was told: “The Israeli narrative always reigned supreme and instructed the coverage at Sky News, no matter how inaccurate”.  At the BBC, when it comes to reporting accurately on the nature of Israeli conduct in Gaza, a journalist said “the use of the word genocide is effectively banned, and any contributor who uses this word is immediately shut down.” At ITN, which produces news programmes for three British TV channels, the focus is on “clicks not ethical clarity”, a member of staff lamented. “Tragic footage [from Gaza] is often met with…remarks about how much traffic it will generate, as if it’s not real lives being impacted.”

[...]

“Myself and other colleagues found ourselves frequently frustrated at how nothing could be reported unless there was a response or confirmation from the Israeli army,” the Sky journalist told Declassified. “We know who’s doing the killing, we know who’s responsible, so why must we wait for Israel to confirm or deny before we attribute? We never wait for the Russians; we take Ukrainian claims at face value as the victims. Why is this any different? “Nor was any version Israel provided ever challenged. It was taken as fact, always. I remember challenging senior members of staff, reminding them that Israel repeatedly lies and has a history of doing so. But it was pointless and fell on deaf ears. The Israeli narrative always reigned supreme and instructed the coverage at Sky News, no matter how inaccurate”. 

20 February 2025

[hoe4hotchner]

Can you write a hotch x famous actress. They go public at the Oscars or an award show. The press probably needs to investigate who hotch is. Thanks

The Oscars | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x actress!reader | WC: 0.4k | CW: fluff

The world wasn’t ready for the sight of Aaron Hotchner in a tuxedo. No, scratch that, they weren't ready for the sight of Aaron Hotchner with his hand resting on the small of your back as you walked down the red carpet.

Cameras flashed in rapidly as they spotted you with the mystery man by your side, reporters scrambled to identify him, and fans glued to their screens flooded social media with theories and questions.

“Who is he?”

“Isn’t he a government agent or something, I feel like I've seen him on the news?”

“I need to know how they met, like, yesterday.”

For weeks leading up to the award show, the buzz surrounding your personal life had been relentless. Whispers of a new love interest had floated around since a blurry photo of you leaving a D.C. coffee shop surfaced online. But this? This was confirmation.

Aaron was calm despite the chaos surrounding you, his stoic demeanor making him even more intriguing. He leaned close to your ear, his deep voice barely audible over the noise. “You okay?”

You smiled a small but genuine expression that only he could draw from you in moments like these. “Perfect. I should be the one asking you that.”

You paused for photos at the iconic step-and-repeat. You beamed as Aaron stayed slightly behind you, he wasn’t here for the glitz or the glamour; he was here for you, to support you.

Inside, the night unfolded with Hollywood’s elite coming to greet you—and by extension, him. There was no escaping the barrage of curious glances and polite inquiries.

“How long have you two been together?” someone asked during a lull in the evening.

Aaron’s lips twitched. “Long enough to know I’m the lucky one.”

It wasn’t until after you won your award—a standing ovation accompanying your name being called—that the internet exploded. The camera caught you returning to your seat, your hand naturally seeking his for a celebratory squeeze. It was a small, intimate gesture, but it spoke volumes to the people watching at home.

By the end of the night, hashtags about you both trended worldwide.

#WhoIsAgentHotchner?

#HotchnerAndHollywood

#LoveInTheLimelight

The press dissected every detail of his life within days: FBI Unit Chief, widower, father of one. It was a whirlwind of attention that would overwhelm anyone else—but not Aaron.

In your private moments, when the cameras were off and the designer clothes were replaced by sweatpants, he reminded you why this worked.

“I didn’t sign up for this to be your publicist,” he teased one evening, his hand slipping around your waist as you both watched late-night coverage of the Oscars from the couch.

“You signed up to be my partner,” you countered, resting your head against his shoulder. “And you’re doing a great job.”

He pressed a kiss to your hair, his voice low and full of affection. “You make it easy.”

[batboyblog]

What Joe Biden has Done for LGBTQ+ People

I wanted to list out everything The Biden Administration has done for Queer people in the last 3 and a half years, but according to GLAAD it'd been 337 moves (and I noticed they missed a few things...) there was just no way to list every ground breaking first Queer person ever nominated to fill this or that job, every ally with a historic LGBT rights record nominated for a top job, every beautiful statement of support, every time he tried to get Congress to pass the Equality Act (support it!) So I've gone through and done my best to pick the ones I think were the most important, but everyone should check out the full list!

Day 1: Signs executive orders banning discrimination and ordering a full review of all federal agencies policies to better include and support LGBT people

Pete Buttigieg becomes the first openly gay person nominated and confirmed for a cabinet level post as Secretary of Transportation

Revokes Trump’s 2018 ban on transgender military personnel

Department of Housing and Urban Development implements LGBTQ protections in housing, becoming first federal agency to implement Pres. Biden’s executive order

First President to recognize and proclaim Trans Day of Visibility

Department of Justice Civil Rights Division issues an official memo that the Supreme Court's Bostock decision against LGBT workplace discrimination also applies to education through Title IX

HUD withdraws a Trump Administration proposed rule change, and reaffirms trans people's rights to seek shelters matching their gender identity

HHS announces the withdrawal of Trump Administration rules that allowed discrimination by healthcare organizations against LGBT people.

The State Department and later Homeland Security announce babies born to Queer couples overseas will be American citizens if one parent is American, in the past the child only qualified if they were genetically related to the American citizen parent.

The Justice Department files against a West Virginia law banning trans students from school athletics

Department of Veterans Affairs announces it will offer gender confirming surgery for transgender veterans. There are an estimated 134,000 transgender veterans in the U.S. and another 15,000 transgender people serving in the armed forces.

President Biden Signs a law making the Pulse Night Club a national memorial

The State Department creates an X gender marker for passports and other documents, allowing gender affirming identification for non-binary and intersex people for the first time.

The Census Bureau for the first time issues a Survey with questions about sexual orientation and gender identity

On the 10th anniversary of the repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, Veterans Administration announces that soldiers discharged for homosexual conduct, gender identity or HIV status qualify for veterans' benefits

Dr. Rachel Levine becomes the first trans person confirmed by the US Senate when she was nominated to be Assistant Secretary for Health, she also became the first trans flag rank officer when she was sworn in as a 4 star Admiral for her job as head of the Public Health Service Commissioned Corps, his makes her the highest ranked trans person in government

Holds the first ever vigil in the White House for Transgender Day of Remembrance

HHS announces rule change to reinstate and expand protections against discrimination in the Affordable Care Act, including denying coverage for gender-affirming care.

Social Security Administration reverses a Trump Administration policy and allows benefits claims by surviving partners in same-sex relationships, whose partner died before marriage equality was legal

President Biden signs the reauthorization of the Violence Against Women Act (a bill he helped originally craft in the Senate) which for the first time has grant programs dedicated to expanding and developing initiatives specifically for LGBTQ survivors of domestic violence

The TSA announces new technology and policy shifts to improve the customer experience of transgender travelers who have previously been required to undergo additional screening due to alarms in sensitive areas.

The Social Security Administration allows people to edit their gender and name on records for the first time without legal and medical documentation

The US Air Force announces it'll offer medical and legal aid to any personnel families affected by state level anti-trans youth bills.

Karine Jean-Pierre becomes the first Lesbian to serve as White House Press Secretary

on 50th anniversary of Title IX The Department of Ed strengthens protections for Students against sexual harassment and discrimination

Veterans Affairs announces survivor benefits now extended to partners from relationships before marriage equality was legalized in 2015

President Biden signs the Respect for Marriage Act into law enshrining protections for marriage equality for same-sex and interracial couples

The Department of Ed announces new rules around athletic eligibility under Title IX, declaring blanket bans on trans students violate the law and setting up strike standards for schools

The White House announced a suit of new protections for LGBTQ people, including a new job at the Department of Ed to combat book bans, a joint DoJ Homeland Security effort to combat violence and threats and HHS evidence-based guidance to mental health providers for care of transgender kids

President Biden signs an Executive Order directing HHS to protect LGBTQI+ youth in the foster care system, a rule they later passed requiring Queer foster children to be placed in affirming homes

The Biden administration joins families of transgender youth in Tennessee and Kentucky in petitioning the U.S. Supreme Court to review and reverse a circuit court ruling allowing a ban on mainstream health care to be enforced

President Biden Signs a EO expanding on past EO on equality and helping underserved communities

The Department of Education's Civil Rights office opens an investigation into the death of Nex Benedict. President Biden in his statement said: "Every young person deserves to have the fundamental right and freedom to be who they are, and feel safe and supported at school and in their communities. Nex Benedict, a kid who just wanted to be accepted, should still be here with us today. Nonbinary and transgender people are some of the bravest Americans I know. But nobody should have to be brave just to be themselves. In memory of Nex, we must all recommit to our work to end discrimination and address the suicide crisis impacting too many nonbinary and transgender children.”

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Amanda Marcotte at Salon:

It's starting to look like Donald Trump is deliberately wrecking the economy. As Robert Kuttner at the American Prospect wrote this week, "no other president has gone out of his way to create a collapse," but there's no other way to interpret Trump's actions. Pointless tariffs will only jack up inflation. Illegally shutting down much of the federal government and laying off thousands at random will suck money out of the economy, forcing a recession. Both consumer confidence and the stock market are diving and a likely surge in unemployment — driven in no small part by Elon Musk recklessly firing federal workers without regard for law or necessity — will make it worse. And if all these federal cuts lead, as expected, to people not getting Social Security checks or health coverage, the disaster will likely spiral.  Kuttner can't decide if Trump wants the economy to crash or if his actions are "based on sheer ignorance and impulsivity." Trump, however, indicated malicious intent during his seemingly endless speech in front of Congress on Tuesday night. Trump mocked the fears over imminent inflation by sneering that it's merely "a little disturbance." It's a familiar rhetorical move of his to paint his victims as whiners. In this case, however, his victims include most Americans, who aren't independently wealthy and can't simply afford rising costs and massive job losses.  Trump mocked the fears over imminent inflation by sneering that it's merely "a little disturbance." It's a familiar rhetorical move of his to paint his victims as whiners. It's an understatement to call it "unprecedented" to have a president who hates most Americans, including his own voters, and wants them to suffer. But, as Jamelle Bouie of the New York Times persuasively argued Wednesday, Trump's psychology makes it explicable. Trump's "every executive function exists to satisfy his ego," Bouie wrote. He continues to whine on a near-daily basis about losing the 2020 election. "[I]t stands to reason that Trump would want revenge against the public," Bouie concluded, adding that Trump is now undergoing "a retribution campaign against the American people." Thomas Edsall of the New York Times spoke with psychologists who confirmed Bouie's layman understanding of Trump's disordered mental state. They affirmed that Trump suffers from "a congenital sense of entitlement," whose personality is like that of "street toughs, bullies, abusive husbands and hate-crime perpetrators." Even in the 2024 election, he didn't get over 50% of the vote. It makes sense that, after nearly a decade of most Americans rejecting him, a malignant narcissist like Trump would detest Americans categorically, and wish nothing more than to punish them all.  As for his supporters, there's good reason Trump enjoys hurting them, as well. One of his favorite moves is to humiliate people who are dumb enough to fawn over him. Even during Tuesday's speech, he reminded us he loves to kick someone in the face after they bent to kiss his feet. After congratulating Marco Rubio for getting the secretary of state job — for which Rubio had to repeatedly prostrate himself — Trump threatened him. "Good luck, Marco. Now we know who to blame if anything goes wrong," Trump said, relishing one more bit of public shaming of a man who has done so much to flatter him. 

Like most abusers, Trump's go-to move when challenged is to blame his victims. Unlike most abusers, however, Trump has a small army of spinmeisters and apologists who will echo his victim-blaming rhetoric. As the economic damage starts to balloon out, the number of people who will be told that they brought this on themselves will grow — likely until most Americans are being blamed for what Trump inflicted on them. 

Malignant traitor Trump victim-blames Americans for his struggles to get a functioning economy.

[daxisyzz]

⁺‧˚ ⋆ 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥 | 𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋆ ˚‧⁺

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 4: 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆... 𝑶𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒈𝒚

Pairings: ceo!boss!bucky barnes × fem!reader

Other characters: bestfriend!Natasha romanoff

Contents: fake dating, chaotic relationship dynamic, workplace romance, contract relationship.

Summary: To maintain appearances, Bucky takes you on a real date. But instead of romance, you’re drilled on your “favorite things,” relationship history, and how to properly hold his hand for the cameras (he claims you’re doing it wrong). Despite the cold approach, your heart skips a beat when he gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

Word count: 2.6k+

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Inspired by the kdrama "Business Proposal"

Previously on Business Proposal...

You: “He’s possessed. He’s like boyfriend of the year now. I need answers.”

You waited, and it didn’t take long before Natasha’s reply lit up your screen.

Natasha: “So what I’m hearing is: red dress.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but laugh. Shaking off the unease Bucky left behind, one thing was clear: things were getting way more complicated than they should be.

__________________•

It was a day off from work, which meant it was your mandatory self-care day. You were lounging on the couch in your softest hoodie, which swallowed you whole, and your favorite pair of fuzzy socks, complete with an old throw blanket you didn’t know where you’d gotten from.

Your laptop was on the table in front of you, playing a show you’d been dying to watch for a long time. It had been five minutes or so when you started zoning out from all the drama—work, fake boyfriend, and life in general. It was bliss.

No work. No Bucky. No pretending.

You turned your attention back to the show when something interesting started happening, and right then you got a notification. You hovered your hand over the mouse, already suspecting some work email. But when you saw the name, your heart dropped:

James B. Barnes.

An email.

You stared at it for a moment, unsure whether to open it or ignore it and blissfully enjoy your day off. But then you reluctantly tapped the email open.

SUBJECT: Confirmed Appointment - Tonight, 7 PM

To: You

From: James B. Barnes

Time: 7:00 PM

Location: Baccarat Hotel

Attire: Evening formal (mandatory)

Purpose: Public outing, media coverage

Reminder: You’re supposed to be my girlfriend. Try to act like it.

—J.B.B

You blinked once. Twice. And then you read it again, just in case your eyes were playing tricks on you.

A formal dinner invitation, in your inbox, from Bucky. At 7 PM. With a specific dress code. The use of the word “girlfriend” seemed to leap off the screen.

This was absurd. He was absurd.

You threw your head back on the couch and groaned loudly, your peaceful self-care day absolutely ruined by a man who thought sending emails about what to wear was somehow romantic.

A formal dinner invitation? On your day off? From Bucky Barnes, of all people? You should’ve ignored it, turned your phone off, gone back to your show and fuzzy socks. But no. You were bound by a contract. And you couldn’t risk anything.

You groaned, collapsing face-first into the couch cushion. After a good thirty seconds of dramatic internal screaming, you lifted your phone and fired off a text to Natasha.

You: SOS. Emergency dinner with CEO demon. Fancy dress required.

Natasha: Be at your place in 20 mins. It’s my time to shine.

Your brows pulled together.

You: Why?

Natasha: Because I know you and you’re probably about to wear a panic hoodie to a five-star hotel. Also, I may or may not have a new collection of dresses that needs a gorgeous model. See you soon.

You didn’t even have time to process that before she was ringing your doorbell twenty minutes later, standing there with a garment bag slung over one shoulder and a smirk that said, “I told you so.”

“I should’ve blocked you,” you mumbled, letting her in.

Natasha ignored you, kicking off her boots as she made her way into your apartment with the energy of a woman on a mission. “Let me see the dress code again.”

You handed her your phone, watching her eyebrows rise as she read the email.

“Evening formal? Damn. He’s not playing around.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled, not too enthusiastic about it.

She grinned, already unzipping the garment bag and laying dresses across your bed like precious artifacts. “Well, if you’re going to be dating a billionaire, you better look the part. Try this one first.”

An hour later, after a blur of fabric swishing, makeup brushes flying, and Natasha yanking your hair into an updo with terrifying precision, you stood in front of the mirror and barely recognized yourself. The red dress she’d picked hugged your body like it was made for you sleek, elegant, daring. Your hair was swept up in soft curls, a few tendrils framing your face. Gloss shimmered on your lips, just enough to catch the light.

“I look like a Bond girl,” you whispered.

Natasha smirked. “Damn right you do.”

At exactly 7:00 PM, your phone buzzed again.

Bucky: Come down. I’m outside.

You blinked at the text.

“He’s here?” you said aloud.

“What, did you think he’d send a car and not show up himself?” Natasha asked. “The man is so obviously going to fall for you again,” she said, gushing, not noticing your pained expression.

You took one last glance in the mirror before heading downstairs, Natasha’s voice echoing in your head “You look like a damn movie star. Now go knock him dead.” She’d even dabbed perfume on your wrists before practically shoving you toward the elevator, claiming, “First dates need real effort.”

The heels clicked steadily against the marble of the lobby, your heart thudding in sync with every step as you smoothed your hands over the front of your dress. There was something oddly vulnerable about being this dressed up like shedding your usual armor and walking out into the world in skin made of satin and red lipstick.

When the doors opened to the street, you paused in the doorway, scanning for him.

And there he was.

Bucky stood near the curb, casually leaning against a sleek black car that looked far too expensive to exist outside of movies. His phone was in one hand, but he wasn’t looking at it. No, his eyes were already on you, blue and unreadable, flickering just slightly when they landed on your figure.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

He stood upright slowly, sliding the phone into his jacket pocket, expression unreadable. The way his gaze moved over you was careful. Not possessive. Not leering. Just… curious. Assessing. Like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to the version of you in front of him.

Finally, he said, “You clean up okay.”

You raised your brows. “You really know how to flatter a girl.”

He opened the car door for you with a slight smirk. “I’m saving my A-game for when the press shows up.”

“Lucky me.”

You ducked into the car, the leather seat cool against your skin. As Bucky rounded the front of the vehicle and slipped into the driver’s side, you couldn’t help but glance at him sideways. The suit he wore was navy, almost black in the low light and cut to fit him like it had been sewn onto his frame. Everything about him looked crisp, controlled, smooth and next to him, you felt like the chaos you always were, bundled into a red dress and nerves.

The ride was… surprisingly quiet.Not awkward exactly, but full of unspoken thoughts hovering between you like smoke. The soft hum of the car filled the silence as the city blurred past the windows, streetlights casting gold and silver shapes across Bucky’s face. You caught him glancing at you once or twice, but he didn’t say much and neither did you. Maybe you were both trying to figure out how to pretend to be something you weren’t. Maybe it was easier to save the performance for the public eye.

By the time the car pulled up to the Baccarat Hotel, your stomach had settled into a tight knot of anticipation.

The valet opened your door, and Bucky was there again, offering his hand as you stepped out. His touch was brief, steady, warm but it lingered in your skin longer than it should’ve.

The hotel’s entrance glowed like something out of a dream: all chandeliers and soft jazz and air that smelled like money. Bucky led the way, a respectful hand at your lower back as he murmured his name to the hostess. You didn’t miss the way she blinked a little too much when he looked at her.

Of course she did.

You were seated at a corner table near the center of the room, beneath a chandelier that scattered light like falling stars. Crystal glasses. Fresh-cut flowers. A waiter who addressed Bucky as “Mr. Barnes” and you as “Miss” before slinking off like he’d been trained to vanish.

You picked up your menu just to have something to look at, but Bucky didn’t seem interested in the food. His eyes were still on you.

“You’re nervous,” he said quietly.

You looked up. “I’m annoyed.”

“Same thing.”

You gave him a flat look. “Is this how you normally start dates? By diagnosing women like some underpaid therapist?”

His lips twitched. “Only the fake ones.”

You exhaled a soft laugh despite yourself and returned to your menu. “You should know I’m ordering the most expensive thing just out of spite.”

“Good,” he said smoothly, “because if you order a salad, I’ll assume you’re incapable of making real decisions.”

You lifted your water glass in a mock toast. “Cheers to mutually assured irritation.”

The conversation settled into a strange rhythm after that, still sharp, but laced with something lighter.

“What’s my favorite fruit?”

You blinked. “Are we quizzing each other now?”

“We’re dating. You should know.”

“Plums.”

“Wrong.”

You put the menu down. “Okay then. What’s mine?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Strawberries.”

“Wrong.”

He looked genuinely surprised. “Seriously?”

“Mangoes.”

He leaned back, nodding once. “Good to know. We’ll work on that.”

“Work on what?” you asked incredulously.

“Our relationship. Or the appearance of one.”

Before you could reply, he tossed out another: “Dogs or cats?”

“For you or me?”

“Start with you.”

“Both,” you said.

“Same.”

“I guessed you’d be a cat person,” you teased. “Quiet. Judgey. Moody.”

He smirked. “Fair. I like cats more.”

You sipped your water and tried not to notice how easily this weird fake date had become… almost natural.

Then came a softer question.

“What’s your favorite flower?”

Your eyes flicked up to him. He wasn’t looking at you like a CEO; he was looking at you like he actually wanted to know.

“Peonies,” you said softly.

He didn’t speak, just nodded like he was filing that information away under something important.

Halfway through the meal, as you dabbed your lips with a napkin, a camera flash flickered somewhere beyond the hotel’s tall windows. Bucky noticed it too, his jaw ticking the slightest bit as he glanced toward the source.

“They’re here,” he said under his breath, almost like an afterthought. “Time to look convincing.”

You raised an eyebrow and leaned back slightly in your chair. “Is this the part where you pretend to be wildly in love with me?”

“No,” he said, his voice low and steady as he reached across the whitelinen tablecloth, “this is the part where I teach you how not to hold my hand like I’m your dentist.”

You blinked as he took your hand in his, his fingers wrapping around yours with gentle insistence. The contact startled you not because it was sudden, but because it wasn’t cold or stiff like you’d expected. It was warm. Grounding. Intentionally slow.

“You’re gripping like you’re bracing for a storm,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” you said a little too defensively, your heart betraying you by thumping faster under his gaze.

He gave you a look, tilted head, a soft smile tugging at one corner of his mouth like he didn’t believe you for a second.

Then he adjusted your hand, gently repositioning your fingers until they rested naturally against his. His touch wasn't clinical, and it wasn’t showy either, it was deliberate. Careful. Like he knew exactly how this would look to anyone watching, but also maybe… maybe like he didn’t hate how it felt either.

“Better,” he said, still looking down at your joined hands. “That looks less like business partners about to sign a contract.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t just stab you with my fork.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t replace you with someone who knows how to fake chemistry.”

You shot him a withering look, but the corners of your mouth twitched before you could help it. “Wow. That’s romantic. Is this how you charm all your fake girlfriends?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned in a little, his expression softer than before. The glint of amusement in his eyes gave way to something more thoughtful, almost contemplative. His free hand reached up, slowly, deliberately, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers gliding across your cheek softly. The world around you blurred just a little.

You could still hear the clinking of glass and silverware from the other tables, the soft croon of jazz from the speakers, the occasional click of cameras outside but it all sounded distant. Muted. Like you were underwater.

His fingers lingered just a second too long at your temple, the pad of his thumb brushing skin before retreating.

“There,” he said quietly, as if he hadn’t just tilted the world on its axis with a single gesture. “Now you look the part.”

You swallowed. “Of your doting girlfriend?”

“Of someone who might actually like me,” he said, voice almost too low to catch.

The moment you stepped out of the hotel’s grand revolving doors, chaos greeted you.

A wall of flashing lights, camera shutters snapping like rapid fire, voices calling out names and questions and theories. It was blinding. Disorienting. You barely had time to react before Bucky’s arm was around your waist, firm and steady, guiding you forward like he’d done this a hundred times before.

It wasn’t rough. It was instinctive, protective, like your safety was muscle memory to him.His touch was warm even through the fabric of your dress, anchoring. His stride matched yours effortlessly, as though you’d rehearsed this dance.

“Smile,” he murmured, lips barely moving. He didn’t look at you, eyes locked ahead like a soldier marching through gunfire.

You plastered on your most radiant, camera-ready smile, the kind that felt like a lie but looked like a magazine cover.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you muttered back, still flashing that smile.

Bucky leaned in, lips near your ear, voice low enough to send a chill down your spine. “You passed. Barely.”

You dug your elbow into his side, not too hard but just enough. “If this dress had pockets, I’d be reaching for my pepper spray.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Thank God it doesn’t. You look like you’d actually use it.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. A real one, soft and under your breath. You weren’t sure if it was the absurdity of the evening or the fact that Bucky Barnes, CEO and professional stoic, had just made a joke. About your dress, no less.

The cameras didn’t stop until the car door clicked shut behind you. The world outside was a blur of lights as he pulled the car away, but inside the car was quiet. Not awkward, not tense, just… quiet. Easy.

And that might’ve been the strangest part of all.

Later that night, after the makeup was wiped off and the pins in your hair were undone, you finally made it back to your bed. You dropped face-first into the mattress with a dramatic sigh, still in your dress, heels somewhere near the door like casualties of war.

Your feet ached. Your head buzzed from the forced conversation and endless smiling. But your heart, that was the real traitor. Because it wouldn’t stop replaying one stupid, small moment:

The way his fingers had brushed your cheek. The look in his eyes right after.

You groaned into your blanket.

Get a grip.

Then your phone buzzed. A message. From Bucky.

Mr.Barnes: Plums are my favorite. I just said wrong to mess with you.

You blinked at the screen. Then read it again. A laugh bubbled out of your throat, unexpected and warm. You sank deeper into the bed, smiling against your pillow.

Maybe he wasn’t a complete machine after all. Maybe just maybe there was something under all that armor.

And maybe that was the real danger.

Taglist: @calwitch, @scott-loki-barnes, @baw1066, @awesompawsum, @bucky-baby-barnes, @marianastudiesart, @pattiemac1, @maryevm, @borkybawnes, @mcira, @otterlycanadian, @mrsnikstan, @sebastians-love

[felassan]

Cliff notes on the new info on Dragon Age: The Veilguard in today’s issue of Game Informer (magazine hub link):

Edit/update: I tidied up this post. ^^

---

In CC you can customize things like shoulder width, chest size, glute size, hip width, how bloodshot your eyes are, nose crookedness, and more

There are hundreds of sliders for body proportions

CC detail: “Features like skin hue, tone, melanin”

There is nudity in DA:TV, “which I learned firsthand while customizing my Rook” in CC

Rook’s backstory also affects “reputation standing”, along with the other previously-known things like in-game dialogue etc

Lords of Fortune are pirate-themed, “piratic”

Rook ascends because of competency, not because of a magical McGuffin, contrasting with the 'destiny-has-chosen you’ angle DA:I has for the Inquisitor

Rook is here because they chose to be, “and that speaks to the kind of character that we’ve built. Someone needs to stop this, and Rook says, ‘I guess that’s me'”

The 4 voices we can choose for Rook each have a pitch shifter in CC

The game starts inside the bar (as previously detailed in other coverage)

In some dialogue wheels there is a “romantically inclined ‘emotional’ response” option. These are the replies that will build relationships with characters, romantic and platonic alike, but you can ignore them if you want to. Giving a companion the cold shoulder might nudge them into another companion’s embrace however

Bellara’s surname is Lutara

In the streets of Minrathous (in the opening segment of the game), there is a wide, winding pathway with a pub which has a dozen NPCs in it (is this The Swan tavern?)

The devs used the DA:TV CC to make each in-world NPC, except for specific characters like companions

There is smart use of verticality, scaling and wayfinding in the gameplay

If you play as e.g. a qunari Rook, the camera adjusts to ensure larger characters like them loom over those below. The camera also adjusts appropriately for dwarves to demonstrate their smaller stature

Neve Gallus is described as being capable

The Venatori Cultists we fight in the opening segment of the game are seizing the chaos caused by the demons unleashed by Solas’ ritual to try and take the opportunity to take over the city

As you traverse deeper and deeper into Solas’ hideout, more of his murals appear on the walls, and things 'get more elven'. Rhodes says “this is because you’re symbolically going back in time, as Minrathous is a city built by mages on the bones of what was originally the home of the elves”

At the heart of Solas’ hideout is his personal eluvian

Demons are fully redesigned in this game, on their original premise as creatures of feeling that live and die off the emotions around them. “As such, they are just a floating nervous system, pushed into this world from the Fade, rapidly assembled into bodies out of whatever scraps they find”

In the opening, we stop Solas’ ritual and save the world. “For now” anyways. Rook passes out moments later and wakes up in a dream-like landscape to the voice of Solas. He explains that a few drops of Rook’s blood interacted with the ritual, connecting them to the Fade forever. (I guess this is why they said in the Discord Q&A on June 14th that Rook has good reasons to want to avoid blood magic)

He also says that he was attempting to move Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain (confirming who the two Evil Gods are) to a new prison, because the one he had previously constructed was failing. Unfortunately, Solas is trapped in the Fade by our doing, and the two gods are now free. “It’s up to Rook to stop them”, thus setting the stage for our adventure

Rook wakes up after this with Harding and Neve “in the lair of the Dread Wolf himself”, a special magical realm in the Fade called The Lighthouse. It’s a towering structure centered amongst various floating islands. This is where the team bonds, grows, and prepares for its adventures. It becomes more functional and homier as you do. “Already, though, it’s a beautifully distraught headquarters for the Veilguard, although they aren’t quite referring to themselves as that just yet”.

Because it was Solas’ home base, it's gaudy, with his fresco murals adorning various walls, greenery hanging from above, and hues of purple and touches of gold everywhere. Since it’s in the Fade, which is a realm of dreams that responds to your world state and emotion, the Lighthouse “reflects the chaos and disrepair of the Thedas you were in moments ago”

Clock symbols over dialogue icons signal optional dialogue options

At this point you can head over to Neve, engage in dialogue, and try and flirt with her

There is a dining hall in the Lighthouse. A plate, cutlery and a drinking chalice are at the end of a massive table. Matt Rhodes says that this is a funny and sad look at Solas’ isolated existence, and an example of the detail BioWare’s art team has put into DA:TV. “It’s like when you go to a friend’s house and see their bedroom for the first time; you get to learn more about them”

There is also a library, which is the central area of the The Lighthouse. It’s here that the party will often regroup and prepare for what’s next

The team decides that it must reach the ritual site back in Arlathan Forest. Corinne Busche said that the writer was "missing unique dialogue options here because I’m qunari; an elf would have more to say about the Fade due to their connection to it. The same goes for my backstory earlier in Minrathous. If I had picked the Shadow Dragons background, Neve would have recognized me immediately, with unique dialogue”

The team decide their next move. They go to Solas’ eluvian and back through to the ritual site in Arlathan Forest. However, it’s not fully functional without Solas, and while it returns them to the Forest, it’s not exactly where they want to go. Then a demon-infested suit of mechanized armor known as a Sentinel attacks them, and two NPCs appear to save you: the Veil Jumpers Strife and Irelin. Harding recognizes them, which you would expect if you read the comic Dragon Age: The Missing. They are experts in ancient elven magic. A cutscene ensues and we learn that Strife and Irelin need help finding Bellara Lutara. This cutscene is long and has multiple dialogue options.

“There’s a heavy emphasis on storytelling and dialogue, and it feels deep and meaty, like a good fantasy novel. BioWare doesn’t shy away from minutes-long cutscenes”

For Rook, this story is about what does it mean to be a leader? We define their leadership style with our choices. “From the sound of it, my team will react to my chosen leadership style in how my relationships play out.” This is demonstrated within the game’s dialogue and a special relationship meter on each character’s companion screen

Bellara is deep within Arlathan Forest, and following the events of the prologue, something is up here. Three rings of massive rocks fly through the air, protecting what appears to be a central fortress. Demon Sentinels plague the surrounding lands.

In gameplay/combat, players complete every swing in real time. Special care was taken in development for animation swing-through and cancelling. We can dash, parry, charge moves, and a completely revamped healing system that allows us to use potions at our discretion by hitting right on the d-pad. You can combo attacks and even ‘bookmark’ combos with a quick dash, which means that you can pause a combo’s status with a dash to safety and continue the rest of the combo afterward

Abilities can be used to customize your kit. They can be used on the fly as long as you account for cooldowns

When you pause and pull up the ability Wheel, it highlights you and your companions’ skills. There you can choose abilities, queue them, target specific enemies, and strategize with synergies and combos

Each character plays the same in that you execute light and heavy attacks with the same buttons, use abilities with the same buttons, and interact with the combo wheel in the same way, regardless of which class you select

Sword and shield warriors can hip-fire or aim their shield and throw it like Captain America

Warriors can parry incoming attacks which can stagger enemies. Rogues have a larger parry window. The mage the writer played couldn’t parry at all. Instead they throw up a shield that blocks incoming attacks automatically, so long as you have the mana to maintain it

On the start/pause screen: it has the map, journal, character sheets, skill tree, and a library for lore information. You can use it to cross-compare equipment and equip new gear for Rook and their companions, build weapon loadouts for quick change-ups mid-combat, and customize you and your party’s abilities and builds via an easy-to-understand skill tree. There aren’t in-depth minutiae, just "real numbers". For example, an unlocked trait might increase damage by 25 percent against armor, but that’s as in-depth as the numbers get. Passive abilities unlock jump attacks and guarantee critical hit opportunities, while abilities add moves like a Wall of Fire to your arsenal if you’re a mage. As you spec out this skill tree, which is 100 percent bespoke to each class, you’ll work closer to unlocking a spec, complete with a unique ultimate ability

“Sentinels and legions of darkspawn”

Combat is flashy and quick, with different types of health bars. Greenish-blue represents a barrier, which is taken down most effectively with ranged attacks

The game is gorgeous, with sprinkles, droplets, and splashes of magic in each attack a mage unleashes

The game looks amazing on consoles both in fidelity and performance modes

The mission to find Bellara is called “In Entropy’s Grasp”. You find her. She is the first companion you recruit (as Neve auto-joins). If your background is Veil Jumper, you get unique dialogue here with Bellara. She explains that everyone there is all trapped in a Veil Bubble, and there’s no way out once you pass through it. Despite the dire situation, she is bubbly, witty, and charming. She is spunky and effervescent

Companions are the faces of their factions, and in this case with Bellara, their entire area of the world. She is our window into Arlathan Forest. She is described as a sweetheart and a nerd for ancient elven artifacts, which is why she’s dressed more like an academic than a combatant. Her special arm gauntlet is useful both for tinkering with her environment and taking down enemies. While Neve uses ice magic and can slow time with a special ability, Bellara specializes in electricity, and she can also use magic to heal you. Her electric magic is effective against Sentinels. “However, without Bellara, we could also equip a rune that converts my ice magic, for a brief duration, into electricity to counter the Sentinels”

If you don’t direct your companions in combat, they are fully independent and will attack on their own

You progress at this point through the Forest, encountering more and more darkspawn. Bellara says that they have never been this far before because the underground Deep Roads, which they usually escape from, aren’t nearby. However, with “blighted” (BLIGHTED!) elven gods roaming the world, and thanks to the Blight’s radiation-like spread, it’s a much bigger threat in DA:TV than any prior DA game

The Forest has elven ruins, dense greenery and disgusting Blight tentacles and pustules

The style of the game is more high fantasy than anything in the series thus far and almost reminiscent of the whimsy of Fable. Matt Rhodes says that this is the result of the game’s newfound dose of magic: “The use of magic has been an evolution as the series has gone on. It’s something we’ve been planning for a while because Solas has been planning all this for a while. In the past, you could hint at cooler magical things in the corner because you couldn’t actually go there, but now we actually can, and it’s fun to showcase that.” The Forest’s whimsy will starkly contrast to the game’s other areas. The devs promise some grim locations and even grimmer story moments because, without that contrast, everything falls flat. Corinne says it’s like a “thread of optimism” pulled through otherworldly chaos ravaging Thedas. At this point in the game, Bellara’s personality is that thread

We can advance our bonds with our companions on their own personal quests and by including them in our party on main quests. Every Relationship Level you rank up, shown on their character sheet, nets you a skill point to spend on them. “The choices you make, what you say to companions, how you help them, and more all matter to their development as characters and party members”. Each companion has access to 5 abilities.

Each companion has issues, problems, and personal quests to complete. “Bellara has her own story arc that runs parallel to and informs the story path you’re on” (They’ve said that all of the companions have this too in previous promo material)

You progress deeper into the forest and Bellara spots a floating fortress and thinks that the artifact needed to destroy the Veil Bubble is in there. To reach it, we must remove the floating rock rings, and Bellara’s unique ability, Tinker, can do just that by interacting with a piece of ancient elven technology nearby. Rook can acquire abilities like Tinker later to complete such tasks in instances where Bellara, for example, isn’t in the party

Bellara has to activate three of these in the Forest to reach the castle. Each one you activate brings forth a bunch of Sentinels, demons, and darkspawn to defeat

You can create Arcane Bombs on enemies. It does high damage after being hit by a heavy attack

It sounds like mage characters can charge heavy attacks on their magical staffs. “then switch to magical daggers in a second loadout accessed with a quick tap of down on the d-pad to unleash some quick attacks”

Some enemies are “Frenzied”, meaning that they hit harder, move faster, and have more health

After a few more combat sections, including against a Frenzied sentinel, we reach the center of the temple. In there is an artifact called the Nadas Dirthalen. Bellara knows that this means “the inevitability of knowledge”. Before we can progress, a darkspawn ogre boss attacks, hitting hard with unblockable, red-coded attacks and a massive shield that you need to take down first. It is weak to fire

After defeating it (it’s a climactic arena fight), Bellara uses a special crystal to power the artifact and remove it from the pedestal, which destroys the Veil Bubble. Then, the Nadas Dirthalen comes alive as an Archive Spirit, but because the crystal used to power it breaks, we learn little about this spirit before it disappears. Bellara thinks that she can fix it (fixing broken stuff is her thing), so the group heads back to the Veil Jumper camp. The writer’s demo then ended.

The design of the game is not open world. The devs describe it as a “hub-and-spoke” design where the needs of the story are served by the level design. A version of DA:I’s Crossroads return (the network of teleporting eluvians) and this is how players will traverse across northern Thedas. “Instead of a connected open world, players will travel from eluvian to eluvian to different stretches of this part of the continent”. e.g. Minrathous, tropical beaches, Arlathan Forest, “to grim and gothic areas and elsewhere”. Some of these areas are large and full of secrets and treasures. Others are smaller and more focused on linear storytelling. Arlathan Forest is an example of this, but it still has optional paths and offshoots to explore for loot, healing potion refreshes, and other things.

Each location has a minimap, though linear levels like In Entropy’s Grasp won’t have the 'fog of war' that disappears as you explore like in some of the game’s bigger locations

The game has the largest number of diverse biomes in DA history

The Thedas of DA:TV “lives in the uncertainty”. “the mystery of its narrative”, “the implications of its lore”

The writer is surprised by BioWare’s command over the notoriously difficult Frostbite engine, and by how much narrative thought the dev team poured into these characters, even for BioWare.

---

[source: the Game Informer pages from Issue 367 - the cover story from June 18th (link), two]

[evermoredeluxe]

Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour Grand Total: A Record $2 Billion

By Ben Sisario

For the last 21 months, Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour has been the biggest thing in music — a phenomenon that has engulfed pop culture, dominated news coverage and boosted local economies around the world.

Now we know exactly how big.

Through its 149th and final show, which took place in Vancouver, British Columbia, on Sunday, Swift’s tour sold a total of $2,077,618,725 in tickets. That’s two billion and change — double the gross ticket sales of any other concert tour in history and an extraordinary new benchmark for a white-hot international concert business.

Those figures were confirmed to The New York Times for the first time by Taylor Swift Touring, the singer’s production company. While the financial details of the Eras Tour have been a subject of constant industry speculation since tickets were first offered more than two years ago — through a presale so in-demand it crashed Ticketmaster’s system — Swift has never authorized disclosure of the tour’s numbers until now.

The official results are not far from the estimates that trade journalists and industry analysts have been crunching for months. But they solidify the enormous scale of Swift’s accomplishment. Just a few months ago, Billboard magazine reported that Coldplay had set an industry record with $1 billion in ticket sales for its 156-date Music of the Spheres World Tour — a figure that is just half of Swift’s total for a similar stretch of shows in stadiums and arenas.

Every date on the Eras Tour was sold out, and spare tickets were scalped at eye-popping prices — or traded within the protective Swiftie fan community, often at face value.

According to Swift’s touring company, a total of 10,168,008 people attended the concerts, which means that, on average, each seat went for about $204. That is well above the industry average of $131 for the top 100 tours around the world in 2023, according to Pollstar, a trade publication.

The biggest single night’s attendance was in Melbourne, Australia, on Feb. 16, 2024, with 96,006. And Swift’s eight nights at Wembley Stadium in London, which she played more than any other venue, drew 753,112 people — about as many as live in Seattle.

As gigantic as they are, the figures revealed by Swift’s company are only part of the overall business that has surrounded the tour. They exclude her extraordinary merchandise sales, for example, a product line so in demand that Swift opened stadium sales booths a day early in some markets to sell T-shirts, hoodies and Christmas ornaments to fans, ticketed or not.

And they do not count the secondary market of online ticket resellers. According to StubHub, the Eras Tour was the biggest-selling tour in the platform’s two-decade history, and last year it outsold Beyoncé’s shows by a factor of five. Another ticketing company, Victory Live, said the average price for resold tickets to the Eras Tour’s three Vancouver dates was $2,952. (Swift earned nothing from resold tickets.)

Beyond its numbers, the Eras Tour has been a mega-event that elevated the already-super-famous Swift to a new level, making her an epochal symbol of cultural saturation on the level of the Beatles in the 1960s or Michael Jackson in his ’80s prime. Swift’s every onstage utterance, outfit swap or offstage sighting was thoroughly documented, on social media and in the mainstream press, with news outlets big and small rushing to capture Swifties’ clicks. Online, fans tracked every tweak to the three-hour-plus set lists.

As the story of Swift’s tour took shape, it seemed to contain its own eras within it. First, in November 2022, came the ticket fiasco, when Ticketmaster was overwhelmed by what it said were 3.5 billion online requests for tickets, many from scalpers’ bots. The furor over those problems led to a Senate Judiciary hearing in January 2023, at which lawmakers from both parties openly called Ticketmaster’s corporate parent, Live Nation, a monopoly. (This year, the Justice Department filed an antitrust suit against Live Nation, calling for a breakup of the company.)

Then came the tour and the folkways that developed around it, like fans trading hand-assembled friendship bracelets. After the tour’s stop in Kansas City, Mo., a public flirtation between Swift and Travis Kelce, the star tight end of the Kansas City Chiefs, developed into a full-on romance, with the pop star and the football hunk sharing a field-level smooch after the Chiefs defeated the San Francisco 49ers at Super Bowl LVIII in February. The photographers definitely did not miss it.

In October 2023, she released “Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour,” a nearly three-hour concert film, released through a direct distribution deal with AMC Entertainment, the world’s largest theater operator. It sold about $93 million in tickets during its opening weekend, and ended up with $261 million in worldwide grosses, according to Box Office Mojo. The next step was a streaming deal with Disney+. A 256-page hardcover tour book, released last month through Target stores, sold 814,000 print copies in its first two days on sale.

As the tour moved to Europe in 2024, it narrowly avoided what could have been a major catastrophe when a terrorist bomb plot was uncovered before three planned shows in Vienna. Those events were canceled and never rescheduled.

Although Swift has largely avoided the news media during the tour, over time she has pulled back the curtain a bit to reveal some of how it came together. To prepare herself for the physical demands of the show, she trained for six months, with a cardio regimen that included singing the entire set list while running on a treadmill, she told Time magazine.

“I knew this tour was harder than anything I’d ever done before by a long shot,” the magazine quoted her as saying. “I finally, for the very first time, physically prepared correctly.”

The music video for “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart,” from her latest album, “The Tortured Poets Department” — her third release over the course of the tour, including two rerecorded versions of older albums — has behind-the-scenes clips confirming some of the stagecraft mechanics that fans have carefully cataloged on social media, like how she “dives” each night through a “hole” in the stage (onto a soft cushion held by crew members) and how she is ferried backstage in a dummy janitor’s cart.

The tour concludes just as Swift celebrates yet another win: “Tortured Poets” has returned to No. 1 on the Billboard 200 chart for a 16th week, with help from vinyl and CD sales of the 35-track “Anthology” edition of the album, which Swift released on Black Friday, also through Target. “Tortured Poets” is by far the biggest-selling album of the year so far.

Swift is up for six awards at the Grammys in February, including album of the year for “Tortured Poets” and both record and song of the year for one of its singles, “Fortnight.”

At a recent tour stop in Toronto, as the tour neared its end, Swift teared up as she delivered valedictory remarks to fans.

“My band, my crew, all my fellow performers,” she said, “we have put so much of our lives into this, and you put so much of your lives into being with us tonight and to giving us that moment that we will never forget.”

[natsaffection]

Auge um Auge pt. 2 | N.R

Investigator!older!Natasha x Robber!younger! reader

Warnings: Age gap (Natasha is 32 = reader ist 22)

Word count: 6,4k

A/n: we are slowly getting to the point..

Natasha entered the small café, the familiar scent of freshly roasted beans and quiet murmurs wrapping around her like a warm blanket. She glanced at the barista behind the counter, ordered a black coffee, and found a seat at the bar. Her head was full of unanswered questions. The voice on the phone earlier had been polished, calculated, and far too composed. It had set off her instincts. She hated being at a disadvantage. And now, with her dead phone, she felt even further removed from the case.

As she waited for her coffee, her eyes wandered to a wall-mounted television above the counter. A breaking news report had caught the attention of a few patrons. On the screen, a news anchor spoke in a serious tone: “We continue our live coverage of the ongoing situation at the national bank, where an as-yet-unknown group of robbers has taken hostages. Details remain scarce, but sources confirm that the group is well-organized and heavily armed.”

The footage switched to shaky video of the bank exterior, where armed officers and barricades had been set up. Natasha herself briefly appeared in the footage, an image of her stepping out of a black SUV earlier that day. The caption read: “Agent Natasha Romanoff, FBI, leads negotiations.” She grimaced, annoyed at the media’s interference. The last thing she needed was her face plastered all over the news. Her coffee was served, and she took a long sip to collect herself.

“Tough day?” a voice asked, pulling her from her thoughts. Natasha looked up. A young woman stood nearby, holding a charger in her hand and smiling warmly. Natasha hesitated before replying. “You could say that.” The woman nodded toward Natasha’s phone on the table. “I noticed you staring at it like you were waiting for a miracle. Dead battery?” Natasha glanced at her phone and then back at the stranger. “Yes.”

“Here.” the woman said, stepping closer and offering her charger. “You can use mine.” Natasha’s instincts flared. She didn’t like accepting help from strangers, especially in the middle of a delicate situation. But the alternative was sitting in silence, stewing in her frustration. She took the charger with a curt nod. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” the woman replied. She sat at a nearby chair and pulled out her own phone. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full anyway..” she added, nodding toward the television. Natasha followed her gaze. The broadcast had switched to a panel of commentators speculating about the robbers’ motives. Words like “calculated,” “anti-establishment,” and “dangerous” flashed on the screen.

“They’re turning it into a show.” the woman said casually, her eyes still on the television. “Whoever’s behind this knows exactly what they’re doing.”Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You seem pretty certain about that.” The woman shrugged, her expression thoughtful. “I mean, just..look at the timing. They didn’t pick any random day. This is deliberate, as the news said. They’re playing chess while everyone else is still playing checkers.”

Natasha studied her closely. There was something about her, something a little too self-assured, a little too relaxed. Most people wouldn’t start a conversation about a bank robbery with an FBI agent. “And you’re an expert on bank robberies?” Natasha asked coolly. The woman laughed softly and shook her head. “Not at all. I’m just good at reading people. It’s a habit.” She extended her hand. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” Natasha hesitated, then shook her hand briefly. “Natasha.”

“Nice to meet you.” You said with a disarming smile. “You don’t have to answer, but… you’re involved in this, aren’t you? I mean, you were on TV.” Natasha stiffened slightly, her professional walls snapping back into place. “What makes you think that?” You gestured to the screen. “You just have this..presence. Like someone who’s used to handling high-pressure situations. And the whole ‘lead negotiator’ thing gives it away a bit too.” Natasha let out a dry laugh and shook her head. “The news always exaggerates.”

“Maybe..” you said, tilting your head. “But from what I can see, you seem like someone who doesn’t back down from a challenge.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t know anything about me.” You shrugged and leaned back in your chair. “True. But I can tell you’re the kind of person who notices things others miss. The kind who doesn’t stop until they have the whole picture.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. The compliment was both flattering and unsettling. “And what’s your angle in all this?”

You raised your hands in mock surrender. “No angle. Just making conversation. But..if I were you, I’d think about why these people are doing this. It’s not just about the money. It never is.” The words hung in the air as Natasha considered them. You were good, too good at reading the situation for someone claiming to be just a casual observer. But Natasha couldn’t decide whether it was intuition or something else.

“Thanks for the charger.” Natasha said finally, standing up and pulling her phone from the outlet. “Anytime.” You replied lightly. “Good luck with..whatever you’re dealing with.” Natasha paused, her gaze lingering on you for a moment. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than met the eye. But with the bank heist occupying her thoughts, she decided to let it go for now.

Once Natasha was out of sight, you leaned back in your chair, a satisfied smile on your lips. The encounter had gone exactly as planned. You planted the seed of curiosity and perhaps even doubt in Natasha’s mind. More importantly, you gotten the chance to observe Natasha up close. Your gaze returned to the television, where the news once again showed images of the bank. Your eyes lingered on Natasha’s image on the screen, her sharp features framed by the chaotic scene. “This is going to be interesting,”

Back in the tent, officers bustled between monitors and plans, their voices low but urgent. Natasha stood at the center of the room, arms crossed as she stared at a large screen displaying a live feed from outside the bank. “Still no movement?” she asked sharply, glancing at a young officer monitoring the cameras. “None. They’ve barricaded all entrances, and their signal jammer is still active. Nothing from the hostages either.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. It had been hours since her first call with Lisbon, and with each passing minute, the situation felt closer to disaster. She turned to the negotiator standing beside her. “Any progress?”

He shook his head. “They’re not answering the phone.” Natasha’s patience was at its end. She hated waiting, it gave her too much time to think, to doubt, to overanalyze. And right now, her instincts were screaming that she was missing something.

“Keep trying.” she ordered. “And get me a psychological profile on Lisbon. I want to know what drives him.” Meanwhile, inside the bank, the robbers were busy implementing the next phase of their plan. Nairobi and Rio worked in the printing area, carefully calibrating the machines. The hum of the presses filled the room, drowning out the muted murmurs of the hostages. Berlin, ever the perfectionist, strode through the atrium with calculated calm. He glanced at Denver, who stood guard near the hostages. “Keep them calm. If they panic, it’ll spread.” Denver nodded, spinning his weapon idly in his hands like a toy. “Got it.”

In the manager’s office, Tokyo leaned against the desk, her eyes glued to the monitors displaying various camera feeds. “Lisbon.” she called into her headset. “Any updates?” At a safehouse, you sat before your laptop, your headset snug over your ears. “The cops are getting restless. Romanoff’s in charge, and she’s sharp. She’s not buying into the manifesto distraction like we hoped.”

“Lissbon, Romanoff is on her way to the cafe again." said the professor through headphones. you sigh and head back to the café. At first, you didn’t think much of it when you were told you’d be sitting in the café near the bank for most of the robbery. But over time, it starts to feel like you live there.

Natasha ordered her usual black coffee and took the same seat at the counter, her thoughts racing as she replayed the day’s events. The news was still playing on the TV above the counter, but this time she ignored it, too absorbed in her thoughts. She pulled out her notebook and began jotting down ideas and observations.

“Tough day again?” asked a familiar voice. Natasha looked up sharply. It was the same young woman as before standing by her table with a coffee cup in hand. She carried the same casual confidence, but there was something about her..calculated. “You again.” Natasha said, her tone wary. “Do you live here or something?” You chuckled softly, gesturing to a nearby table. “Something like that. Mind if I sit?” Natasha hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her. You took a seat across from her and sipped your coffee. You glanced at the notebook on the table, tilting your head. “You’re working again. You really don’t know how to take a break, do you?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m working?” You shrugged. “The focused look, the notes, the way you tap your pen like you’re trying to crack a code.” Natasha didn’t respond, her skepticism growing. This woman was too observant, too present. And now, she had shown up twice, both times during critical moments in the investigation. “Are you always this curious?” Natasha asked, her tone sharper than she intended. Your smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”

“And what exactly is your occupation?” Natasha pressed, leaning forward slightly. “Oh, nothing exciting..” You replied nonchalantly. “I freelance. Mostly tech stuff.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed. Tech. Her instincts screamed at her to dig deeper, but before she could respond, her phone vibrated on the table. She glanced at the screen, a message from the command tent.

As Natasha picked up her phone, You leaned back in your chair, your expression unreadable. This was the moment you have been waiting for. While Natasha was distracted, you discreetly slid a small USB drive onto the table, letting it fall just beside Natasha’s bag. The move was deliberate but casual, designed to look like an accident.

“Oops..” You said, bending down to pick it up. As you did, your hand brushed against Natasha’s bag, and you deftly slipped the ID card hanging from the strap into your palm. It was a bold move, but one you had practiced dozens of times. You straightened up, holding the USB drive with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Butterfingers. Natasha gave her a mildly suspicious look. Something about the moment felt off. “Do you always carry USB drives around?” Natasha asked. You shrugged. “Part of the job. Tech stuff, remember?”

Natasha thought carefully. Your timing, your confidence, your casual remarks? It was too much of a coincidence. And then there was the USB drive. Tech stuff..Lisbon was a tech expert. Could there be a connection? “Where were you this morning?” Natasha asked suddenly, her voice sharp. You blinked, visibly caught off guard. “What?”

“You heard me.” Natasha said, her eyes boring into Y/N’s. “Where were you?”

“I don’t see why that’s any of your business..?” You replied, your tone calm but defensive. Natasha’s coffee sat untouched as she fixed You with an intense stare. The timing was too perfect. Your tech background, the way you navigated conversations..it all pointed to something bigger. Her instincts were screaming at her: this was no coincidence. “You haven’t answered my question.” Natasha said, her voice low but authoritative. “Where were you earlier today?” You blinked again, visibly confused. “Why does it matter?”

“It matters because you’ve shown up here twice now, and each time, there’s something off about you. You’re too calm, too observant. Who are you really?” You sat up straighter, your brows furrowing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just-“ Before you could finish, Natasha abruptly stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. The sudden movement drew the attention of a few other patrons, but Natasha didn’t care. She stepped closer to you, gripping your arm. “W-What the hell are you doing?” You asked, your voice panicked as Natasha’s grip tightened. “Let me go!”

Natasha maneuvered you to stand, lightly pressing you against the wall near the counter. Her hand rested on your shoulder, blocking others’ view of the confrontation. “You’re hiding something.” Natasha growled, her voice low but intense. “And I don’t have time for games.“

“I’m nobody!” you exclaimed, your voice breaking as you stared at Natasha with wide, frightened eyes. “I-Idon’t know what you’re talking about! I was just trying to help you!” Natasha’s jaw tightened as she studied your face, searching for any hint of deception. Her instincts told her you weren’t innocent, but there was something about you. Something raw and genuine. You looked so young, so honestly terrified.

“I..I just wanted to help..” you repeated, your voice trembling. “With the charger. That’s all. I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but I haven’t done anything.” Natasha hesitated. The quiver in your voice, the glimmer of tears in your eyes, it struck a chord in her. The iron wall of her professional demeanor cracked, and doubt began to seep through.

“What’s going on here?” The barista approached quickly, her voice cutting through the tense atmosphere. She looked from Natasha to you, still pressed against the wall. “Sarah, please, do s-something!” you pleaded, your voice shaky but sharp. Natasha’s hand fell from your shoulder, her expression momentarily uncertain. “She’s hiding something. There’s something about her that doesn’t add up.”

“Hiding?” the barista echoed, her brow furrowed. “Ma’am, I see Y/n here almost every day. She always sits at that table over there, works on her laptop, drinks the same coffee. She’s not a criminal, if that’s what you’re implying.” Natasha’s lips parted slightly, the weight of the barista’s words hitting her like a punch. She glanced back at you, and now you looked more vulnerable than ever, your arms crossed protectively over your chest.

“Is that true?” Natasha asked softly. “Yes!” you snapped. “I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but I’m not a threat. I’m no one!” Natasha took a step back, running a hand over her face. The adrenaline of the confrontation ebbed, leaving behind a nagging sense of guilt. What had she just done? “I..” Natasha began, faltering as she searched for the right words. She looked at you, your wide, hurt eyes still fixed on her. “Shit, i’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- I was wrong.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Your gaze dropped to the floor, your hands trembling slightly as you adjusted your jacket. “You think?” The barista crossed her arms, glaring at Natasha. “You should leave. Now.” Natasha raised a hand, her tone softening. “Wait. Please.” She turned back to you, her green eyes filled with remorse. “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have..I thought you were someone else. That’s no excuse, but I made a mistake.” You still wouldn’t look at her. “A mistake? You cornered me, scared me half to death, and you call that a mistake?”

Natasha’s shoulders sagged. “You’re right. I crossed a line. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I want you to know that I’m sorry.” The sincerity in her voice gave you pause. Finally, you looked up, your gaze lingering on Natasha’s face. “This won’t happen again, will it?”

“No..” Natasha said firmly. “I swear it.” You exhaled shakily. “Good. Because I don’t think I could handle another ‘mistake’ like that.” Natasha nodded slightly and grabbed her things to leave the café. She had let her frustration cloud her judgment, and it had almost cost her. Inside the café, you sank back into your chair, your thoughts racing. Despite the encounter being part of the plan, Natasha’s intensity had still caught you off guard. Your heart was still pounding, but a small, triumphant smile crept onto your face. You had used the time to plant the tracker in her ID card, ensuring that any computer she used would now send its data directly to you.

“I did it..” you murmured softly to yourself, taking a sip of your coffee. “Hook, line, and sinker.” The barista returned, her expression concerned. “Are you okay? That woman was intense.” You nodded, your voice calm but quiet. “Yeah. Thanks for stepping in. I think she was just..stressed or something.”

“Still..” the barista muttered, shaking her head as she walked back to the counter. “People really need to learn some manners.” You watched her go before turning to look out the window, where Natasha’s figure disappeared into the distance. Her apology had felt genuine, and for a brief moment, you almost felt bad about deceiving her.

But only for a moment.

Hours had passed since Natasha’s tense encounter with you at the café. Back at the command tent, the atmosphere was still tense as officers pored over blueprints, monitored live feeds, and updated Natasha on the robbers’ movements. She stood at the center of the chaos, issuing orders with calm authority. “Any updates from the negotiator?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the live drone footage of the bank.

“No response yet.” an officer replied. “They’re still blocking us.” Natasha exhaled and crossed her arms. The robbers’ silence was unnerving, and her gut told her they were planning something big. She turned to a tactical officer at another station. “I want a perimeter check in twenty minutes. We can’t afford any blind spots.”

She stood in front of the evidence board, arms crossed, staring at the clues laid out before her. But none of it was sinking in. Her jaw was tight, her frustration from earlier still simmering under the surface. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the café. To the moment you flinched when she raised her voice. To the confused, almost hurt look in your eyes. She was just a kid, Natasha thought bitterly. And I snapped at her like she was a suspect.

“Natasha..” Maria’s sharp voice cut through her reverie, tinged with curiosity. “What’s going on with you?” Natasha blinked, tearing her gaze away from the evidence board. “What do you mean?” Maria crossed her arms, studying Natasha closely. “You’ve been distracted the whole time. You didn’t even notice when Hillman suggested reviewing the hostage profiles.”

Natasha let out a sharp breath and ran a hand over her face. “I’m fine. Just..scattered.” Maria raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Scattered? Or something else? You’ve been off your game since you came back from the café.” Natasha stiffened, but the way Maria said it made her heart sink. She turned away, trying to focus on the evidence again. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing..” Maria insisted, stepping closer. Her voice softened. “Come on, Nat. Talk to me.” Natasha hesitated, her shoulders tense. Finally, she muttered, “I think I overreacted. To someone who didn’t deserve it.” Maria frowned and leaned against the edge of the table. “What happened?”

“There was this..girl.” Natasha admitted, her voice low. “At the café. I thought she might be hiding something, but she wasn’t. She was just sitting there, minding her own business. I was frustrated, and…” She sighed, shaking her head. “I intimidated her.” Maria tilted her head, watching Natasha with a sympathetic expression. “You’re only human, Natasha. Mistakes happen.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. “She looked so scared, like I was about to arrest her. And for what? Sitting in a café? She didn’t deserve that.”

Maria was silent for a moment before speaking. “You’ve got a lot on your plate right now, Nat. And I’m guessing that girl was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you can’t let it eat you up. Let it go. We’ve got bigger things to worry about. Natasha nodded, but as Maria walked away, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she owed you more than just an apology..

You sat at your usual spot in the corner, your laptop open in front of you. The trap you’d set for Natasha had worked perfectly, and now the flood of incoming data was organizing itself neatly into folders on your screen. Police reports, internal communications, tactical maps..everything Natasha had been working on in the command tent was now in your hands. You leaned closer to the screen, your lips pressed into a thin line as you scrolled through the files.

This is gold, you thought, clicking on a folder labeled Command Session Protocols. Inside, you found detailed summaries of police strategy, schedules, and assignments. You smiled to yourself as you saved the files into an encrypted folder on your own system. Just as you reached for your coffee cup, the scrape of a chair startled you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up and saw none other than Natasha sitting across from you. The agent held a steaming cup of black coffee in her hand, her sharp green eyes fixed on you, though they didn’t seem hostile. You blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Natasha said, taking a sip from her cup.

“Uh-hi..” you managed to stammer, quickly snapping your laptop shut and leaning back in your chair. You tried to compose yourself, but the shock lingered. You hadn’t seen Natasha come in, hadn’t even felt her presence until she was already there. Natasha smiled faintly, clearly noting your surprise. “Didn’t expect to see me here, did you?”

“Not really.” you admitted, your voice regaining a bit of steadiness. Tilting your head, you slipped back into your usual charm. “I figured someone like you would be too busy running the show to take a break.” Natasha chuckled softly and set her cup down. “Even I need a moment to breathe sometimes.”

A brief silence fell between you as Natasha studied you. You worked hard to appear casual, even as your mind raced. You wondered how much Natasha suspected, or if this was just another coincidence. “How’s your day going?” you asked lightly. Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You’re really asking me that?”

“Why not?” you asked with a small laugh. “You seemed pretty stressed the last time I saw you. Thought I’d check in.” Natasha shook her head, smiling slightly. “You’re something else, you know that? I corner you, nearly arrest you, and here you are asking how I’m doing.”

“Well..” you said with a grin, “you apologized, so I figured we’re even, right?” Natasha chuckled, her shoulders relaxing. “You have a unique way of looking at the world.”

“Makes life more interesting.” you replied, taking a sip of your coffee. “Besides, I think it’s good for someone to ask how you’re doing for a change. You seem like the type who worries more about everyone else than yourself.” Natasha’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. “You’re not wrong.” You tilted your head, genuinely curious. “So? How are you?” Natasha hesitated, as though weighing whether to answer. Finally, she shrugged. “I’ve had better weeks. The situation at the mint isn’t exactly going according to plan.”

“Figured as much,” you said, your tone light but not mocking. “You seem like someone who hates it when things don’t go the way you want.” Natasha smirked. “You’re not wrong about that, either.” You both laughed, the tension between you slowly dissipating. For a moment, it was easy to forget you were on opposite sides of a high-stakes game.

As the conversation continued, you found yourself genuinely enjoying Natasha’s company. She wasn’t just the sharp, intimidating agent from the tent..beneath the armor was warmth, a quiet strength you couldn’t help but admire. Natasha, too, noticed the shift. Something about your direct, candid demeanor was refreshing, your refusal to tiptoe around sensitive topics. It was a rarity in her world. “You’re interesting.” Natasha said suddenly, her tone thoughtful. You raised an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”

“You don’t back down.” Natasha replied. “Most people would’ve run a mile after what happened earlier. But you’re still here, like none of it fazed you.”

“Oh, it fazed me.” you admitted, leaning forward slightly. “But I figured you were just having a bad day. Plus, you apologized. And I have a soft spot for good apologies.” Natasha laughed, shaking her head. “You really are something.”

“I get that a lot.” you said with a grin. As the conversation wound down, Natasha felt a strange sense of calm. She couldn’t explain it, but being around you made her feel..lighter, somehow. It was a dangerous feeling, one she couldn’t afford. And yet, she hesitated. “Well.” Natasha said finally, finishing her coffee. “I should get back to work.”

“Saving the world and all that?” you teased. “Something like that,” Natasha replied as she stood. She gave you one last look, her expression softer. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too.” you said, your smile warm. As Natasha left the café, you let out a slow breath, your heart still pounding. Opening your laptop again, you stared at the stolen files. The weight of what you were doing pressed heavily on you, but you shook it off. It’s just a job, you reminded yourself. Don’t get sentimental. But as you watched Natasha walk away, you couldn’t help but wonder if you already were.

A day went by and the robbers had gone silent again, and the clock was ticking. Natasha sat at her laptop open and fingers poised on the keyboard as she scrolled through surveillance reports. Her green eyes narrowed, focused but heavy with fatigue. A sudden ping broke her concentration. She frowned, looking at the notification on her laptop. It wasn’t from the internal system, this was something else. The subject line was blank, and the sender’s email address was an untraceable string of numbers and letters.

Natasha hesitated, her instincts instantly on alert. She glanced around the tent, ensuring no one else had noticed the message. With a deep breath, she clicked it open. The message was short and cryptic:

Check Camera 3, Sector D. You’re being watched.

Her heart skipped a beat. A quick glance at the room confirmed no one else had seen the email. She tapped a few keys, pulling up Camera 3’s feed. Who sent this? And how do they know about the cameras? Leaning back in her chair, Natasha considered her options. Whoever had sent this wasn’t part of her team. Was it one of the robbers playing games? Or..someone else? She typed a quick reply, her fingers moving instinctively.

Who is this?

The reply came almost instantly:

Someone who sees what you don’t.

She wasn’t sure if it was a trap or a genuine lead, but her instincts told her to check. Turning to the nearest officer, she barked, “Pull up the south rooftop on Sector C. Now.” Within seconds, the thermal feed for the rooftop appeared on the screen. At first glance, nothing seemed out of place. But then a faint heat signature flickered near the edge of the building. “Zoom in.” Natasha ordered.

The image enhanced, revealing a figure crouched low, partially obscured by a vent. Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she spotted the unmistakable glint of a weapon. “Sniper..” she muttered. “Get a team up there now.” The tent sprang into action, but Natasha was already focused back on her laptop. She typed again.

How did you know that?

The reply was quick:

I have my ways. :)

Natasha smirked faintly, though suspicion still tugged at her. She had a feeling she knew who was behind this. There was only one person who had the audacity to meddle in her investigation like this.

She typed again.

Let me guess. Sitting in a café right now?

For a moment, there was no response. Then:

Maybe. Should I order you something? ^^

Natasha let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. Unbelievable. She closed her laptop with a decisive snap and grabbed her jacket. “I’m stepping out.” she told her team, her voice clipped but calm. “Keep me updated.”

The café was quiet, its usual hum subdued in the late hour. Natasha spotted her target immediately. You were sitting in your usual corner, your laptop open, fingers lazily typing as if you didn’t have a care in the world. The sight was almost comical. Natasha approached, crossing the room with her usual purposeful stride. You looked up as the agent reached your table, your expression shifting from mild surprise to a wry smile. “There she is.” you said smoothly, leaning back in your chair. “Didn’t expect you to stop by this fast.”

“Didn’t expect you to send me an anonymous email.” Natasha shot back, one brow arched. “Or are you in the habit of hacking federal networks for fun?” Your smile widened as you gestured to the empty chair across from you. “Depends. Did it work?” Natasha paused for a moment before pulling out the chair and sitting down, her green eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re lucky it did. Otherwise, this conversation would be going very differently.”

“Lucky?” you tilted your head, your tone playful. “I think you mean skilled.” Natasha couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at her lips. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you to pull something like that. You don’t exactly scream ‘hacker extraordinaire.”

“People are full of surprises..” you replied, shrugging. “I just happen to have a knack for seeing things others don’t.”

“Like the sniper.” Natasha said, leaning forward slightly. “How did you know about that?” You hesitated, your playful demeanor faltering for just a second. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the situation.” you admitted. “The robbers, the police..you. I noticed the patterns in their movements, and… I wanted to help.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Help? By hacking into a federal system and sending cryptic emails?”

You met her gaze evenly. “Would you have listened to me otherwise?” Natasha didn’t answer right away. She hated to admit it, but you had a point. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But you’re playing a dangerous game.” You leaned forward, your voice soft but firm. “I’m not playing. Those people in the bank- hostages don’t have time for bureaucracy and red tape. You’re good, Agent Romanoff. But even you can’t see everything.”

For a moment, Natasha didn’t respond, studying you with a mix of curiosity and amusement. There was something undeniably impressive about your confidence, your skill. But there was also something reckless, something that could get you in serious trouble. “You’re smarter than you look.” Natasha said finally, her tone lighter. “But you’re also reckless.”

“Reckless gets results.” you shot back, grinning. “And it got your attention, didn’t it?” Natasha shook her head, laughing quietly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know..” you said with a shrug, leaning back in your chair. “So, what now? Are you going to arrest me?” Natasha smirked. “Not tonight. But if you pull another stunt like this, I might reconsider.” You grinned, raising your coffee cup in a mock toast. “Noted.”

Natasha stood, her expression thoughtful as she looked down at you. “You’ve got talent. I’ll give you that. But if you’re serious about helping, you need to stop sneaking around and work with me.” You raised an eyebrow. “Work with you?”

“You heard me.” Natasha said. “You’ve already proven you can spot things we miss. Use that skill the right way.” Natasha sat down again, her curiosity piqued. You had proven yourself capable almost dangerously so, and Natasha wasn’t the type to let something like that go unquestioned. Crossing her arms, she leaned forward slightly, her green eyes fixed on you.

“You know..” Natasha began, her voice even, “people don’t just wake up one day and decide to hack federal systems. How’d you learn to do all this?” You hesitated, your fingers toying with the edge of your coffee cup. “It’s not exactly a fun story,” you said lightly, trying to brush it off. Natasha raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “Humor me.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. For a moment, you stared at your laptop, as if debating whether to answer. Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter, tinged with something Natasha couldn’t quite place, bitterness, maybe, or sadness. “I didn’t have much of a choice.” you said, your gaze fixed on the table. “I was on my own by the time I was nineteen. No family, no safety net. I had to figure out how to survive.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t interrupt. “I wasn’t exactly the nine-to-five type.” you continued, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “So I started picking up skills. Little things at first, how to crack a Wi-Fi password, how to fake a document or two. It wasn’t glamorous, but it kept the lights on.”

“Sounds more like survival than a career choice.” Natasha said softly. You shrugged. “It was. But somewhere along the way, I realized I was good at it, really good. I could see patterns other people missed, find loopholes no one else thought to look for. It became…I don’t know, a way to take control of my life. When you don’t have much, knowing you can outthink the system? That’s power.”

Natasha nodded slowly, sensing there was more to the story but not wanting to push too hard. “And that’s how you ended up here?” You let out a short laugh. “Not exactly. I stopped doing illegal stuff a long time ago, if that’s what you’re asking. These days, it’s more about staying curious. Finding puzzles to solve.” You gestured toward Natasha. “And you? You’re one hell of a puzzle.” Natasha smirked faintly, though her gaze softened. “You’re not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” you asked, tilting your head. “Some basement-dwelling computer geek?”

“Something like that.” Natasha admitted with a small chuckle. “Not someone like you.” You shrugged, your smile faint but genuine. “Life doesn’t exactly hand out guidebooks. You make do with what you’ve got.” There was a pause, a moment of quiet understanding between you. Natasha could tell you were holding back there was more to your story, more pain buried beneath the surface, but she didn’t press. She knew what it was like to guard your past, to only share the pieces you were ready to reveal.

“You’re impressive.” Natasha said finally, her tone softer than before. “I’ll give you that. But you need to be careful. Pulling stunts like this..hacking into federal systems, sending anonymous messages, it’s not going to end well for you. You met Natasha’s gaze, your eyes steady. “I knew the risks when I sent that email. I just thought…maybe you’d understand.”

Natasha’s expression flickered, a hint of something unspoken passing across her face. “I do.” she said quietly. You blinked, surprised by the honesty in Natasha’s voice. “But if you really want to help..” Natasha continued, “then you need to work with me, not around me. No more anonymous emails. No more hacking my system. We do this the right way.” You hesitated, searching Natasha’s face for any sign of deception. Finding none, you nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Natasha leaned back, studying you carefully. “Why’d you really do it? Helping with the sniper, I mean. Why take that risk?” You exhaled, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I know what it’s like to feel trapped. To think no one’s coming to help you.” You paused, swallowing hard. “Those hostages… they don’t deserve that.” For the first time, Natasha saw a crack in your armor, a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. She nodded, her voice softer. “Neither did you.”

You looked down, your fingers tightening around your coffee cup. “I got through it. Doesn’t mean it was easy.” Natasha’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, a quiet respect forming between you. She stood, pulling her jacket over her shoulders. “You’re better than you give yourself credit for. Just…don’t waste it.”

You looked up, a flicker of warmth in your eyes. “You’re not as intimidating as you think, you know. Natasha smirked, her signature confidence returning. “Don’t push your luck.” As Natasha walked toward the door, she paused and glanced back. “I’ll be in touch.”

You raised your coffee in a mock toast. “I’ll be here.”As Natasha left, a faint smile tugged at her lips. You weren’t just a hacker or a nuisance. You were a survivor..sharp, resourceful, and far more than you appeared. And Natasha couldn’t help but be impressed.

[kksverse]

Winters Touch

A/N: This is part of a series where you can find the first chapter below!! Also, I didn't want to rush them getting to know each other so please don't send airstrikes to my location 😩.

I also posted it on ao3!!

Chapter One

masterlist

Summary:

Soulmate AU where the name of your soulmate is seared into the skin above your heart when you first make eye contact with them.

Reader discovers that Bucky Barnes is her soulmate when he is the Winter Solider.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2261

Chapter 2: When the Phone Rings

It had been weeks since you met your soulmate. Since your soulmate almost tried to kill you. To say you have been handling it poorly would be an understatement. 

In the beginning, you would sit by the phone waiting for Steve to call every hour of every day. And every day you would be disappointed by the silence that filled your apartment. Your workplace was one of the many that were ruined during the attack so you have had nothing to fill your time with. So you deep dived into finding out who exactly Bucky was. The more you searched about him the more your heart ached at the thought of what he has done. A news coverage spread of the attack a few weeks ago named him the “Winter Soldier”, whose list of crimes were so long they shorted the coverage to only cover his confirmed kills. 

His murders. 

The day you found out you couldn’t eat all day. Throwing up anything you attempted to eat. Since then your faith in the man that Steve described has been lost. How can someone like that do this? 

So you stopped waiting by the phone. Stopped waiting for any sign of your soulmate. Began trying to move on with your life. Started volunteering at animal shelters, tried yoga, took daily walks to clear your racing thoughts. But the more you did to try and move on the harder it was to sleep. 

Your dreams plagued you a life that could be. A life with Bucky, a life of happiness with your soulmate. Then you woke up and for a second the happiness in your dreams would follow you but it wouldn’t last long when reality came crashing down and left you with a heavy heart ready to split into two. 

You were making breakfast one morning getting ready to go to the animal shelter when you heard a name on the news that caused your body to go still. Spinning around your breath catches on the screen at the picture of him. 

Bucky

You grabbed the remote with a shaky hand turning up the tv until it covered the sound of your beating heart. 

“Statements have come out that the infamous Winter Soldier was not involved in the bombing of the UN Senate in Vienna but instead was framed for the bombing and the murder of King T’Chaka by Helmut Zemo” 

You could not move as the picture of Zemo came on screen. You didn’t dare to breathe as you watched the screen. 

“Sources move to the motion to pardon the Winter Soldier, formerly lieutenant James Buckanan Barnes who served alongside Steve Rogers. The pardon goes under the information that James Barnes was held against his will and brainwashed into committing the crimes under the guise of the Winter Soldier. While we await for more information regarding this matter, it has been confirmed that he remains at the Avengers tower until further action of the pardon is to be taken” 

The coverage continued to go into detail about HYDRA and what they had done to turn James Buchanan Barnes into the Winter Soldier. 

Tears rolled down your face at the information on the screen. Steve was right. A sob broke out at the thought of that. Steve was right and you had given up on him. You had given up on your soulmate. You had tried to move on with your life while he suffered. You hand reached out to grip the couch in front of you as your knees felt weak. The pain in your chest was so heavy you could not breathe. Looking up at the screen, you saw the list of things that they did to him. That they did to your soulmate. Your vision went spotty as you rushed to the bathroom and threw up your breakfast. 

When you had nothing left in your body you pulled your hair out of your face as you laid down on the cold tile of the floor. You laid there until you felt the buzzing of your phone against the tile. Looking at caller ID your heart stopped in your throat. You sat up as you answered the phone.

“Steve?” your voice coming out harshly. 

“Hi” he replied immediately, his voice causing you to bite back more tears 

“Hi” you whispered back not believing that he was actually calling you. All the hours you waited by the phone only for it to be silent. 

“Did you see the news on channel ... .well every channel” he said humorously, you could hear whispering in the background but you didn’t question it. 

“Yes. Is it true?” your voice hoarse from throwing up and sobbing. 

“Yes” you could hear the smile in his voice. “We got him back” he whispered softly. 

You couldn’t stop the smile on your face as you felt a swirl of emotions in your chest. Tears streamed down your face at the thought that Steve was reunited with his friend and that Bucky was safe and free. Sniffing and rubbing your face you listened as he ranted about the last three weeks not interrupting as you waited until he mentioned him again. 

“He wants to meet you” Steve said anxiously, like he was scared of your reaction 

Your breath got stuck in your throat. Shame bloomed in your chest. You had given up on him and now he wants to meet you. Something that you settled on never happening. Your silence prompted Steve to continue. 

“He hasn’t stopped asking about you, you know. It killed him to know that you thought he didn’t want you” he said softly 

Your hand covered your mouth as you bit back a sob in your chest. 

“Ok” you whispered 

“Would you like to come by today?” Steve continued 

“If not I totally understand. It’s totally last minute and you probably have a million things to do. Just let me know what works best for-”

“Today is good for me” you said softly, still not believing that this is happening. 

“Thank God. You do not know that crap I would’ve gotten if I didn’t convince you” Steve joked lightly laughing anxiously. 

Your grip on the phone tightens as the anxiety begins rushing through your body. What if he didn’t want you. He saw you that day on the street. He knew you and knew you were his and still left. 

That wasn’t him. 

The memories of Steve’s voice soothing you. You breathed shakily as you listened to Steve try and send you the address of the tower through his flip phone. You could hear the noises of frustration from your side of the phone. 

“I know where the Avengers tower is” you emphasized ‘Avengers’ humorously. Moving to stand up you gripped the counter as you stood, your whole body was still shaky.  

Steve laughed awkwardly at that.

“That was kind of stupid of me huh? Well please let me know when you get here I am very excited to see you again” You could hear a voice in the background. 

“We are very excited to see you again” Steve’s voice was playful as he said goodbye and ended the call. 

You barely gave yourself time to think as you quickly brushed your teeth and untangled your hair. Making sure you didn’t smell like you had just thrown up everything in your body you grabbed your bag and keys and practically ran out of the house. 

The drive to Manhattan from D.C was long and backed up as people made their way into the city for work. The whole drive you made sure to keep the music louder than your thoughts cause you knew if you started spirally about seeing him you would send yourself into a panic attack. But nothing could prepare you for when you entered the city and could see the Avengers Tower towering over the surrounding buildings. Your heart began racing as you entered the parking lot below the floors of the tower. 

You tried to focus on your breathing to stop the panic attack but your breaths still came out short and shaky. With shaky hands you dialed a number on your phone and focused on the ringing instead of your racing heart. 

“Are you here?” Steve’s voice filtered through the phone. 

“I don’t think I can do this” You voice came out shakily as your tried not to let tears fall 

“I’ll be right there” You heard movements on the other side of the phone before you heard the phone click. 

You rested your head against the steering wheel counting up to four each time as you breathed. It only took 4 long breaths before you heard light tapping on the window. Your head whipped up to find Steve there looking at you with a soft smile. You turned off the car before opening the door and stepping out. 

“I’m sorry for calling you. I just didn’t know what to do” your voice wavering as your breathing worsened. 

You felt Steve lightly reach out and grab your arm in an act of reassurance. 

“Don't be, you did the right thing! That’s why you have my number remember” He laughed softly while smiling at you. 

You simply nodded, your breathing steadied as you felt your heart beat strongly in your chest. One final deep breath before Steve gestured if you were ready to continue. 

You walked with Steve as he rambled about certain aspects of the building why we passed them. You marveled at the technology and the grandeur of the tower but your mind was really only truly focused on one thing. 

Suddenly as you reached the top of the tower, Steve suddenly stopped and looked down at you. 

“Listen, just take it easy on him. He is here but he is not the same Bucky as I knew. Not yet” Steve’s voice wavered as he spoke. 

“Just give him a chance. Please” Desperation coating his voice. 

You simply reached out your hand and squeezed his, providing him the same reassurance he gave you. He paused for a second, giving you a soft smile before knocking on the door in front of you. 

You held your breath as the door opened slowly, revealing the same soldier you saw on the street just weeks ago. He wore none of the combat gear that you saw him in. Instead he was in a long sleeve shirt with a pair of jeans, he looked comfortable. You felt his stare long before you met his eyes. Which were now looking down at you softly. 

You let down a deep breath, your chest falling as you looked at him for the first time truly. His face held none of the hardness as the Winter Soldier. 

He looked human

He looked beautiful

Your mouth was wide open as you admired him which didn’t escape the notice of Steve as you heard a soft laugh beside you. Quickly regaining composure you shut your mouth and gave him a soft smile. 

“Hi” you said so softly it might as well have been a whisper. 

Bucky’s chest shuttered at the sound of your voice. He could not believe you were standing in front of him. You were the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on and you were all his. That was the most devastating news of all. He didn’t deserve you not in this world. Not in any of them. 

“Hi” his voice rocked through your body warming your cheeks. 

You looked down softly not wanting him to see. 

Suddenly a voice next to you broke your trance. 

“Guess you don’t have to worry about if she is a dog or cat person” Steve’s laugh filled the halls. 

Looking at him with a sideways look you realize as you look down at yourself. You didn’t bother changing from the outfit you would wear to the dog shelter. Dressed in black leggings and an oversized white tee with the words ‘I PET DOGS’ bolded with bright pink letters. 

Your cheeks deepened in color as you groaned at the realization covering your shirt by crossing your arms over your chest. Bucky looked down at you with a soft smile, his blue eyes sparkling in a way that made your heart throb. He was devastating to look at. 

“As much as I want all of this silence to continue. The team is expecting to meet you right about now” Steve said, checking his watch. 

You looked nervously between Bucky and Steve at the thought of meeting the infamous Avengers. You weren’t sure what they wanted to meet you for. Bucky said nothing as he stepped into the hallway moving to follow Steve to the living room. He waited for Steve to turn his back on the two of you until he gestured to you to walk alongside him. 

Your heart was beating out of your chest with anxiety. Between him and the team you’ve had enough for a lifetime. 

Suddenly you felt the cold bite of metal brushing against your fingertips. You straightened up at the feeling of glancing at your soulmate next to you who was looking at you with a weird look in his eyes. A mixture of comfort and affection that you thought you imagined as he eyed the door in front of you with a familiar coldness.

As you walked down the hall you chased that feeling of coldness. A warm feeling flowed through your chest which brought a small smile to your face that you weren’t ready to admit. 

[lostintransist]

Chiseled Heart | When A Heart Reacts | Part 1

CW: none this chapter

AO3

When he left the military König missed the action found in the theatrics of war. He signed up with a company that would get him close to that again. He felt alive in those moments of pops of gunfire and the scream of missiles. Everything else became muted as a consequence. He worked with KorTac, leading one team (instead of several, doing that left him with hives) KorTac filled his needs until a bullet through the knee saw him in recovery and left behind.

König worked for a year to recover and train back to the standards he would need to reach to again take missions. He attempted three times and failed three times. When tears slid down his face they were absorbed by his makeshift cowl. A tired-faced woman had walked him into an office following his last failure. She spared no extra effort to look at him as she settled behind her computer. Slapping a stack of papers on the desk between them she spoke.

“Name?” She didn’t look at him, eyes on her screen and fingers poised for typing.

“König.”

When no second name followed she lifted a brow as she looked at him.

“One of those, okay.” Keys clicking her eyes tracked along the monitor. “Looks like you put away most of your earnings into a pension, good for you. Now to be eligible for the release of the pension all members leaving KorTac must complete regular therapy sessions. You can choose any therapist, if they don’t accept the insurance then KorTac will reimburse you for the out-of-pocket costs. You have insurance through KorTac for the next five years. They pay into a plan that will cover insurance premiums for the next fifty years, though you will require an evaluation every five to confirm that your injuries are still causing issues in your day-to-day life. When it comes back you are still having issues they will extend your coverage.”

She rattled off this information as if it were rote and not shocking news to him. This was more than the Austrian government had provided after years of faithfully serving. She lifted a hand from the keyboard and clicked a few times before turning to look at him again.

“I’m printing off your specific details but everything I just told you is contained in these papers,” she tapped the papers she had put down first. When König did not respond she stood and strode out of the room. She reappeared within moments, more papers held firmly in her hand. Once settled back in her seat she lifted all the paperwork, tapping them into a neat stack. König took them when offered.

She looked into his eyes as she held onto the papers, “Mr. König I would suggest finding a hobby, I find the men who find a hobby are less likely to fall into despair and die by their own hands.”

König pulls the papers from her hand slowly, the advice uncomfortable sitting atop his numbed feelings.

He had taken the advice though. It took him nearly a year to find something. He thought he had found peace in metal work but the hot forge became too large a barrier to enjoyment. Sculpture found him. He found extracting his images from stone a task that kept him focused and a challenge enough to pull him back time and again. His therapist put him in touch with a curator of a local art gallery when he complained about running out of space to store his finished pieces. No one was more shocked than König when his art began to sell, and sell well. Art became the outlet for his emotions and the gym became his outlet for his body. That is where he ran into you. Would it be cliche to say you became the outlet for his fantasies?

It happened so innocuously. You became waving buddies at the gym. This particular gym stayed open late but had locked doors after eight PM. One would use an app to unlock the door or notify the front desk staff to open the door.

You appeared one day after eight, in the middle of his sets. König carefully maintained the program he had worked out with his physical therapist. That meant five days with two rests. His rest days were Sunday and Thursday. You made smiles that filtered into his dreams on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

Several months slid by. He tracked the seasons by the length of your sleeves, always long workout pants for you. König helped you with form once when you were getting noisy and visibly frustrated with your lifts at an increased weight. Swallowing hard on his anxieties he decided to help. His therapist would be proud of him for not letting his social anxiety prevent him from helping someone. He had been challenging him to branch out for months now.

Stepping up near you he waited until you looked up and caught sight of him in the mirror. He waved with a slight shift of his hand.

“Keep your shoulders wide as you lift,” he mimed the corrected posture.

You narrowed your eyes as you watched, flicking from watching the mirror to his profile.

“Okay. Let me try that,” turning back to the weights you lifted, form perfect.

Settling the weights back on the mat you shot him a brilliant smile, not deterred at all by the scars creeping above his surgical mask. He had worked hard to shift away from his hood in public spaces. It still got much use at home though.

“Thank you! I couldn’t figure out why I was having so much trouble with this lift.”

König nodded and went back to his set several feet away. If his eyes strayed to you more than once, well who noticed? He liked the look of you, how solid and real you felt as compared to most of the women who floated through the gym. He, as a big man, had never understood the fascination of other large men in finding the smallest woman to bed. How did they make that work?

You hadn’t appeared in his art until the second time you interacted with him. Appearing before him as he finished a bicep curl you waited, left hand curled around one finger on your right. A sheepish smile sat on your face.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but can you help me?”

“Ja,” he set his weight down, standing.

The top of your head reached his shoulder, hair pulled back and away from your face.

“My grip slipped while trying to remove one of these plates and caught my finger. Can you help me by putting them away? I am done for the night after this. Need to go get my finger checked out.” You send him a half smile, cheeks a warm color.

He nodded once before removing all of the plates and returning them to their respective racks while you watched on, awkward smile firmly in place. Your cheeks reddened further when he looked at you after finishing the task.

“Thank you.”

König notices blood trailing down your arm. Without further thought, he pulls out his handkerchief and presses it to your arm. Startled you look down at your arm.

“Fuck, I need to go take care of this. Can I take this and wash it? I see you every time I’m here.”

You look so distressed König can do nothing more than nod. Watching as you disappear and then reappear from the locker room König runs the past few moments back in his mind. The wave that required both hands you sent him sticks in his mind.

It sticks so hard when he rises the next morning to start a new piece it is your face that appears as he carves away the stone.

Resting both hands against the work bench, fingers curled around his chisel König hung his head.

“Scheiße.”

Chiseled Heart Masterlist | Masterlist

@scaredyspooks @backseatsoldier @demothers-empty-blog Since you all asked to nicely.

[girlactionfigure]

No surprise to anyone paying attention: a new report in The Telegraph today confirms the BBC’s blatant bias against Israel, with skewed coverage since October 7th.

People consume this news like it’s coming from an impartial source— clearly, it’s not. The real question is: how much longer will we tolerate biased reporting that fuels hate and distorts the truth?

Were you surprised? Let me know

Hen Mazzig

[my-midlife-crisis]

MAGA says Kamala Harris had done nothing as VICE PRESIDENT and is inexperienced.

But I'm sure they just weren't paying attention.

Anyways, here are the things she HAS DONE:

Legislative and Policy Leadership

Set a new record for the most tie-breaking Senate votes cast by a VP in history

Expanded the Child Tax Credit to cut child poverty in half

Provided $450 billion in relief to 6 million small businesses

Sponsored legislation to expand and strengthen Social Security

Led the push for the Domestic Workers Bill of Rights Act, federal worker unionization, and overtime pay for farm workers

Healthcare and Public Health

Led the White House Blueprint for Addressing the Maternal Health Crisis

Created the first-ever federal health and safety requirements for maternal emergency services in hospitals

Extended postpartum Medicaid coverage from 2 to 12 months to provide lifesaving coverage in 46 states

Connected 38,000 people to free 24/7 support with the new National Maternal Mental Health Hotline

Shut down scam healthcare websites

Sued drug companies for unlawful drug pricing and marketing tactics

Allowed Medicare to negotiate lower drug costs, expected to save taxpayers $6 billion

Capped the cost of insulin to $35/month for seniors

Voted against Trump’s budget cuts to Medicare and Medicaid

Reproductive Rights

Stood up for reproductive rights during Trump’s Supreme Court nominees’ confirmation hearings

Launched a national reproductive rights tour, becoming the first VP to visit a reproductive health clinic

Climate and Energy

Invested $370 billion to combat climate change and expand energy production

Economic Justice and Consumer Protection

Won $20 billion settlement for homeowners during the foreclosure crisis

Took on for-profit colleges that scammed Americans

Took on big corporations that took advantage of working people

Introduced a student loan forgiveness program for mental health professionals

Won settlements from companies that underpaid workers and violated labor laws

Announced administration’s plans to remove medical debt from credit reports

Protected seniors from fraud and abuse

Gun Violence Prevention

Oversees the first-ever White House Office of Gun Violence Prevention

Stopped nearly 30,000 firearms sales to convicted domestic abusers

Closed the gun show loophole to ensure sellers conduct background checks

Led the fight to pass a red flag law

Global Leadership and Diplomacy

Strengthened global alliances by meeting with more than 150 world leaders

Kept Americans safe while serving on the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence

Judiciary and Legal Leadership

Oversaw the country’s largest state justice department

Prosecuted transnational gangs, the drug cartels and human traffickers

Presided over the vote to confirm Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson

Voted to confirm more women and people of color to make the judiciary look more like America

Officiated some of the nation’s first same-sex marriages

Well MAGA, what have you done lately?