#(and maybe not 2025 either but I refuse to think about that)

[triangle-dog]

Me, lying in bed with full body pain despite several different medications after eating 1 piece of a walnut (I do not (didn't?) have a walnut allergy) because my immune system is so out of whack: I want a puppy

[chussyracing]

what has been happening in the world of motorsports lately?

Charles' race engineer Xavi Marcos will be replaced by Bryan Bozzi from Imola onwards while Xavi moves to a different project within the team

Ollie Bearman will be completing junior FP1 session for Haas in Imola

Ferrari tested new anti-spray wheel covers during their filming day in Fiorano (they look horrendous) - as well as the new upgrade package they will introduce in Imola

besides them, also RBR and Mercedes are bringing upgrades - Mercedes will introduce them over the next 4 races, Oscar will get full package Lando got in Miami and Sauber are set to introduce the upgrades to help with their bad pitstops

Pierre will have a special Senna tribute helmet in Imola

Jamie Chadwick scored her first podium in Indy NXT

Miami GP donated over 40 thousand portions of food that was left over from the race weekend through Food Rescue US

Marc Priestly says multiple Red Bull workers are considering departure from the team after Adrian Newey left (if you don't know him, he is maybe the most well known former mechanic)

Helmut Marko said that the rumours about Daniel getting replaced by Liam Lawson were started by Liam’s management and that’s why it was reported by a New Zealand journal first

Red Bull will present RB17 hypercar that Adrian Newey developer at Goodwood

George has a film??? Made with UBS (but it is actually a short video on social media?)

McLaren has new merch line for Monaco which is inspired by the (good) old times

German media are saying that Audi already took over Sauber and both current drivers would be out of the team

Abbi Pulling became the first woman to win British F4 race <3

the f1 Brad Pitt movie’s budget is already over 300 m AMERICAN DOLLARS

Joe Saward thinks that Alpine might be the destination for Carlos Sainz starting from next year because neither Mercedes nor Red Bull want to commit to him and rather prefer to wait and see how people shift across the teams first and since Carlos Sainz sr worked with Bruno Famin for Peugeot in Dakar, he has some links to it

speaking of, Carlos Sainz sr has been confirmed as Ford’s driver for Dakar 2025

multiple drivers or former drivers (Charles, Lando, Oscar, Zak Brown, Mark Webber, Ollie Bearman, Arthur Leclerc and even Adrian Newey) went to see Grand Prix de Monaco Historique this weekend (also just for fun: Zak Brown drove Williams FW07B

after Guenther Steiner sued Haas, Haas took a look at Surviving to Drive and they are suing him for unauthorized use of their trademark :))

Loic Serra and Jerome d’Ambrosio will start officially working for Ferrari from October

MotosportWeek spoke to Alex about his future and he refused to confirm he will drive for Williams next season (despite having a contract through 2025) and James Vowles didn’t want to comment on potentially letting him go sooner with an exit clause either

there are more rumours about Chicago GP, this time of it potentially being signed already from 2026 onwards

it’s been confirmed that the HP (ew) deal is worth 100m dollars a year with additional benefits and all technique equipment from the company (laptops, computers, printers, 3D printers etc) to Maranello

Ford confirmed their targets for 2026 RBR power unit are being met, the rumours about them being behind in the development are nonsense and they obviously don’t know where others stand with their engines

Helmut Marko said that if he was in Newey’s position he would choose red (or something like that I am paraphrasing oe24.at)

[effervescentdragon]

I want girl!Charles/Seb for Valentine bc I am deprived, and I am shameless about it. Some disgustingly pink and sparkly Valentine's gift maybe that somehow ends up not spectacularly backfiring?

love ya <3 this is set in 2025 in my girl!charles/tp!seb verse, and its from Seb's pov :)

Sebastian knows he's going overboard. He knows, and he would cringe at himself if he wasn't so absolutely and disgustingly in love. He thinks of the boy he was fifteen years ago and his reaction when Jenson bought his then girlfriend a frighteningly similar thing. Are you insane, he thinks were his words, this is pathetic. Jenson had laughed, completely unbothered in a way that sometimes grated on Sebastian's nerves immensely, and just said I don't give a fuck, Seb, it's going to make her happy and that's all that matters. He patted Sebastian on the back and added You'll understand someday.

Jenson had broken up with that girlfriend a long time ago, that was true, but the fact still remained that at the point in his life when he was more in love with her than with anything, Jenson's cheesy gift had made her happy, and that was really all that mattered.

Sebastian figured Jenson was right. He did get it, finally. Not that he will ever tell Jense that. The man was way too self-satisfied already.

Sebastian looks down at the box in his hands. It's huge, and it's wrapped in sparkly red paper. There is a huge pink sparkly bow on it which clashes with the red horribly. There is a huge bouquet of red roses on top of it. Sebastian couldn't open any of the doors himself, and he thanks the universe that doormen in Monaco are used to every kind of insanity. The doorman in Charles' appartment building - Martin, a nice man, he has two kids that are Ferrari fans, because of course they are - offered to carry the box for him, but Sebastian refused. He's going to do it himself. It's a matter of principle.

He's glad that Charles lives in a penthouse which is accessible directly from the elevator, otherwise this would have been a disaster. He's even more glad - giddy, really, he's giddy enough that the thought makes him smile every time - that he has the key-card that takes him directly to the penthouse. Martin had pressed the correct button for him and smiled a smile that said I know exactly what's going on, but I have signed so many NDA's that I won't even acknowledge it and said "Good luck, sir." Sebastian is pretty sure he blushed, but he was also sure NDA's covered that, too.

"Honey! I'm home!" he yells like the absolute cliched idiot he is as soon as the elevator doors open. "Happy Valentines!"

He can hear a peeling laughter that ends in an undignified snort, and fast French from the kitchen as Charles says goodbye to someone - either Pierre or Arthur, if Seb's hearing is any good. She appears in the doorway a moment later, spinning her phone in her palm.

"Happy Valentines honey," she says with a smile, and then her eyes bulge out. "What - what the fuck, Seb?" she asks, coming closer. She lifts the bouquet off the box and Sebastian can finally see her properly now that his vision isn't obscured. "I love the flowers, thank you, what the fuck?" she repeats.

"How do you know the flowers are for you?" he can't help but ask. Charles rolls her eyes and doesn't even dignify him with a response.

"What did you buy me?" she asks instead, and Seb walks to the living room and puts the red and pink monstrosity down. "I thought we weren't doing Valentine's Day gifts and stuff," Charles huffs, smelling the roses and smiling a little. "Or did I misunderstand?"

Seb throws himself on the couch and pulls Charles down too. She manages to leave the flowers on the table before he kisses her properly for the first time in days. She yields to him, and he feels her smiling against his lips. There is no intent behind their kisses; the kiss itself is the goal. It feels wonderful, and so does she. Sebastian is stupidly in love.

"Darling," he mumbles, leaving little pecks all over her face, "I know you booked us a dinner tonight in that fancy restaurant by the marina, and I know you bought us both plane tickets for Madagascar for the summer break."

Charles blushes, but her dimples still show as she stares at him incredulously. Sebastian can't help but laugh and kiss her again, because she is adorable.

"It showed up in my online calendar app," he says by way of explanation. "I guess neither you nor Britta counted on me checking the app regularly."

"And of course you did, because that's just my luck," Charles grumbles. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

"I was very surprised when I saw it, I promise."

"Fuck you," she laughs, and he kisses the tip of her nose.

"Later. Now, you open your gift."

Charles rolls her eyes again, but he can see how eager she is to see what's in the box by the speed with which she reaches for it. He thinks of making a joke about 'What's in the box?', but he admits to himself it would be in poor taste, and that he would probably have to explain the whole plot of Seven to Charles, because he is certain she has no idea about it. Instead, he settles back and watches as Charles tears off the pink bow and incomplrehensibly puts it around her shoulders, grinning at him as she does so.

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and Sebastian doesn't even think of making fun of her, or acting grumpy. She tears the lid off the box and reaches inside, taking out the contents one by one.

She grins at the big pink heart-shaped pillow with two-faced sparkles, writing a C and an S on it immediately. She laughs at the custom made fluffy plush toy of two lions in Ferrari shirts hugging (which cost way too much, but whatever, Seb can afford a thousand of those if it means she will laugh like that). She gives him a side-eye at the Armani box, but he just grins and says "This one is kind of for me too." She pulls out the red, sparkly dress and gasps.

"You can wear it for dinner tonight, if you want," Seb adds.

Charles nods, frowning.

"I have to check if it fits, first," she says. Seb leans in and pulls her backwards so she can sit on his lap.

"It will fit perfectly," he whispers in her ear and sees goosebumps raise on her bare arms. "I know your measurements. I'm your boss, I have to know," he says and kisses her neck, "but I also know your body, because I'm your boyfriend, and I want to know."

"You're a bastard," Charles says, but her breaths are short and her chest is moving fast, and she's not moving from his lap. "We'll see if you really know it that well."

Sebastian hears the challenge in her voice. It makes his blood boil and makes his heart beat faster, because some things will never change, no matter what. Charles will always play everything as a competition, and Sebastian will always, always remember to answer the challenge.

"Do you want a demonstration, darling? Is that what you're aiming for?" he asks, winding his arms around her waist and underneath her shirt, where he can feel her naked skin. "Is that what you want?"

Charles turns her head to face him. Her eyes are sparkling and she is smiling. Her hair is spilling over his shoulder, and she throws the dress to the table too, reaching for him.

"Yes," she whispers, and kisses him in the same way she races - boldly, and confidently, and with her whole heart.

"I love you," Sebastian says into her lips, and she turns in his lap and frames his face and says "I know," like it's a stupid thing to say, like it's obvious, like it's a fact; and it is. It has been for a long while, but it doesn't matter. She may not need to hear it, but Sebastian needs to say it now that he finally can. He's kept it behind his teeth for too long; he has to make it up to her.

"I love you," he says again, and she rolls her eyes. "I love you," he says, and she giggles. "I love you," he says, and she swallows the words and gives him an "I love you, too" back every time.

They make it to dinner; but only barely.

[blindedbythedarkness]

Dear future me

It's New Years Eve 2023 right now, and I feel sad thinking about all the NYEs that have come before. For a few years, I saw in the new year via zoom with 2 close friends and we chatted well past midnight. This year, I haven't spoken to one of those friends in 6 months, and the other seems so distracted with their own things. And I know I certainly won't be able to stay up until midnight, I'll be pushing it after 9pm.

This year has been long and hard. I'm proud of myself for everything I've achieved, but it's not been without almost constant struggle. I smashed my med school exams, lived at the hospital for 6 months whilst on placement, and then was ultimately infected with SARS-COV2. That left me with worsened autonomic dysfunction, CCI, generalised hyperinflammation and neuroinflammation. And that sucks.

After making the most of Christmas, yesterday I spent the day horizontal in bed all day, save for eating and going to the toilet. I have a list of things I need to do, and a longer list of things I want to do, but I had to write off the whole lot. Again. Today, though there's a little improvement, I'd still say I feel like shit warmed up.

The world right now doesn't feel much more positive either. Covid JN1 is surging, and despite renewed recommendations from the WHO for healthcare facilities to bring back masks, the UKHSA is dragging its feet. There's no doubt anymore that they're not following the science. They get away with it though, as no lawyers are willing to fight the case (as I have found, time and again).

Everyone is ill with "the worst cold ever". There's so many stories about young people dropping dead. But people refuse to connect the dots, or connect them wrong and blame the vaccine. Public Health has abandoned us all to eugenics.

The final result? I dread going to visit my nearly 90 year old gran next month as either one of us could infect the other and finish them off. I know if I don't go though, I'll feel endlessly guilty (and be endlessly guilted). I live in a constant state of high stress.

This time last year, I don't think I had high hopes for 2023. I figured it would get worse before it gets better, but 2024 might see improvements. I was certainly right that it's got worse, but I'm less certain next year will be better- the world is so stubborn and unwilling to open its eyes. I think maybe by 2025? But who knows, maybe that's what I'll say now for every year of my life. Always "maybe the next year, maybe the next year".

Either way, I hope for me personally I'm in a better place by next New Year's. I hope my long covid is vastly improved and that I'm back on placement and coping well. I also hope I haven't been reinfected and I'm managing to stand my ground on any issues people take with me keeping myself safe. I hope that I am more hopeful.

That's all I will say for now, as honestly just writing this has tired me out! But me, I love you, you're doing the best you can and its a damn sight better than a lot of people. You can do this. Keep going. It's a marathon not a sprint.

C

[hauscrashburn]

ever notice how outside of tik tok and maybe some Facebook account people refuse to believe that project 2025 is a thing

Hi anon:

I don't know if this is in earnest or not, but I think it's really difficult for people to believe someone will go that hard on something. The world will always go on. One of my best friends has a huge problem wrapping their head around it because what is the end goal? Even rich people will have to live in a destroyed environment!

(but do they?)

In my experience, people who refuse to believe it are insulated in some way, either by race or class or gender.

We've all got to fight the power and when things feel overwhelming, I like to read pieces from Emergent Strategy by adrienne maree brown. Inspired by Octavia Butler's explorations, this book is about how community is the weapon. We build community, we build strength, we forge relations, and its how to defeat them.

[princesssarcastia]

following congressional politics in the U.S. for the past couple years has been insane. it makes you feel insane. i feel like i'm losing my mind whenever I think about it for too long or too critically.

i want to take tom cotton and kevin mccarthy and jim jordan and shake them by their shoulders so I can determine whether they remember that donald trump and the republican base tried!! to kill them!! they tried to KILL them!! they constructed a gallows on the steps of the capitol and called for politicians to be hanged—and then then broke!! into!! the capitol!! and tried to find you!!! they tried to hunt you down!!!

what do you and your colleagues imagine would have happened if they succeeded in either breaking into the house chambers while members were still present, or in happening upon congresspeople as they were evacuating, or in finding members in the undisclosed locations they were evacuated to. look me in the eyes. look me in the eyes, mr. republican congressman, and tell me what you think would have happened to you if the rioters, the insurrectionists, the trump voters, had gotten ahold of you on january 6th, 2021.

i'll tell you what would have happened: they would have killed you. you would be dead, instead of standing here being shaken vigorously by a woman you've since driven insane.

maybe telling them you were a republican would have saved you—but i doubt it. maybe trying to explain that no, you were perfectly willing to overturn the election, if you very nice people would simply let us do that, would have saved you—but i doubt that, too. i think they would have just attacked you on sight, like dogs fighting over a bone. I think that guy with the military grade zip-ties on his belt would have come for you and killed you.

but they didn't succeed, there but for the grace of god. you live, still, and in doing so, have created the exact circumstances necessary for the SAME THING TO HAPPEN AGAIN.

what do you think is going to happen in january of 2025? what do you think is going to happen, after four years of telling the republican base that the 2020 election was stolen, and elections are vulnerable to fraud, and you can't trust the results of the elections—

what do you think is going to happen after, voters and fate willing, fingers crossed, donald trump loses the presidential election in november 2024? what do you think is going to happen to YOU, mr. republican congressman?

do you think donald trump is going to concede? do you think he's going to quietly fade into obscurity?

or do you know, like I do, that he's going to try it again? one attempted insurrection already under his belt, all the kinks worked out, maybe he even publishes some maps of the capitol so the next round of rioters can find you in your little hidey-holes.

how many hundred of people who were involved in january 6th do you think are still out there? how many proud boys and other white supremacist groups are still out there? how many of them do you think will be calm and reasonable enough to spare you when the time comes?

tl:dr, tonight the republican conference nominated Rep. Mike Johnson (R-Louisiana) to be their next Speaker-Elect. Johnson being one of the major architects behind the 2021 efforts to refuse to certify the results of the 2020 election in Congress. And when a reporter tried to ask him about his election denial-ism, he laughed, and the other republicans booed, and he refused to answer the question.

because it doesn't matter to them, not now. not while there's still power to grab.

I wonder if it will matter to them the next time the insurrectionists come knocking at the chamber doors.

Probably not.

[alyjojo]

The Person On Your Mind in July 🎱 2023 - Libra

Whole of their energy towards Libra: The Star rev

Feelings: 5 Wands

Intentions: 10 Cups

Actions: 5 Swords rev

You and this person have a very difficult relationship that involves arguments, jealousy, competition, major issues. They see you as delusional and argumentative, but very confident about it too. Like you’re waving around a shovel and calling it a rake, but acting all “FIGHT ME” about it. Right or wrong, this is how they perceive you. Spirit is giving you a nudge that…they’re not totally wrong. Needs Counseling comes up on your side. Having said that…The Star rev can be depression, a lack of hope or healing, and they perceive you as being in 9 Swords and 4 Swords upright, this is a constant state of mental anguish. You’re on their mind a lot, but they don’t want to come back around and just have more repeats of this dynamic. They know you’re angry they left, they feel you’d be angry if they stayed, you’re just angry…and it’s not their problem.

Because of Spirit showing counseling is beneficial to your situation, I can’t know what you’ve gone through to put you into the mindset you’re in, and I respect your traumas & experiences 🙏 And also…your mental health is your responsibility, others can and will empathize & support you, but you’re the one that has to realize this emotional state you’re in, and not want to be there anymore. This person intends to live their life happily, without mental anguish, healing from whatever they’ve gone through themselves and focusing on joy in the family. If you’re part of that family, you could feel outcasted, but there’s a note here of you lashing out at others, painful arguments, competition, drama, jealousy games, and that won’t be tolerated with this person. They’ve handed you the reins of your own issues like “deal with it”. In actions, they’re going to apologize for something they’ve said in a passionate exchange of some kind…probably an argument. They’re also going to speak their truth that they’re done with this dynamic and refuse to continue dealing with this. I do get the sense that they’re not interested in battles of any kind, their own focus is 10 Cups & healing, which is fair for them. If that’s with you, great, if not, they’re not surprised. It sounds harsh but Knight of Swords is kinda harsh with how they speak, they just rush forth and bluntly say it, it can feel like sharp cutting swords, but it’s truth so they don’t care. Could be another air sign. If there is something on their side that needs work, it’s probably that, but they also find you extremely defensive and argumentative so it’s like they *could* sugarcoat it 🧁 and fight or just say it bluntly and fight, but either way it’s a fight. That’s for you to work on. There is nothing showing this person cutting you off for good, healing is possible, but there needs to be honest communication on both sides & receptive listening, plus change, and maybe some counseling because it could definitely help. That’s not easy to do.

On July 17th, the North Node will oppose your sign of Libra, whichever placement you have and whatever house it’s in, and will challenge your sense of identity as it has been up to this point, and the life path you’ve been on. It will change signs again in January 2025. There can be an energy here of self sabotage & avoiding growth by forcing yourself to continue on with South Node habits, comfort zones & prior conditioning…which will be in conjunction with your Libra sign. Looking up these transits and other Cardinal placements affected, learning how to navigate Aries energy (and it’s house for you) could be really helpful to you at this time.

Messages:

Their side:

- Can’t stop thinking of you

- You assume the WORST of me

Your side:

- Needs Counseling

- I have to figure out what I want.

Possible signs:

Leo, Aquarius, Pisces & Gemini

If you’re dealing with:

10 Pentacles is a foundation that’s solid enough to build on, last a long time, hand down to your children and their children, etc. This card is about legacies, having something worth sharing equally with another person. It can represent a secure family dynamic, a thriving business, a beautiful relationship, these are the combined resources of a unit. You could have this, these people may be part of that, or that could be what you want, a goal. It’s most people’s goal tbh, just in different ways.

Aries - holding onto their money because they don’t like the way you spend it, they feel you’re overindulgent or wasteful with it

Taurus - either they’re emotionally immature and have made painful decisions for you, or they think that about you with them

Gemini - think the Sun ☀️ shines out of your bum, they’re asking you out, romantic, and thinks you’re the most beautiful creature alive

Cancer - a very practical & responsible person that’s confused about where this is even going, or that could relate to their job

Leo - realizing why this didn’t work out and they’re sad you never told them something, or switch it

Virgo - loves you and this relationship very much, even if they don’t always say it

Libra - a great friend, could be getting together for a fun event of some kind

Scorpio - being sneaky/avoidant and waiting on something that’s going to cause a Tower

Sagittarius - happy, successful, moving away from whatever drama existed here

Capricorn - working together with you to heal some sort of situation

Aquarius - burdened that you don’t care, or switch it

Pisces - either starting shit or responding to yours, someone is getting some truth bombs, could definitely be this person

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Nine

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 9 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: strong language; use of a derogatory slur/racist language (not said by any main character); mentions of blood and injuries; angst!  

Word Count: 11,200+

A/N: One more chapter after this - I should really stop labeling this as a mini-series considering it’s already over 100,000 total words lmao. Thank you for staying with me this long! I love you guys soooo much!!!

~

Utah Merry Hotel, January 2025, 2:09pm

     “I’m being an ol’ sport, why can’t you?” You whine, stomping your feet as you trudged up the stairs to the hotel roof. “It’s our first serious stakeout in forever! I’m pretty sure Wanda shaved her legs for this.”

Steve shoots a flustered and unsettled look over his shoulder. He’s lugging the rifles and extra equipment on both his shoulders so you know he’s truly baffled because to even attempt a look over… well, that required real effort. He doesn’t answer, however; he continues upward. 

Bucky and Clint are following close behind. They’re tired, huffing every few steps and grunting while doing so. Finally, Bucky whines and throws himself against the wall dramatically. “Remind me why we couldn’t just get Wanda and Sam to lift us up there?”

Steve readjusts one of the rifle straps while he replies, “Buck, I told you not to skip leg day.”

“I skip ‘everything’ day. I’m just now employed as a superhero, thank you very much. The serum should be enough.”

“Are we even close?” Clint asks and passes Bucky on a few steps. Bucky takes that as a challenge though and hoists himself more steps before giving up again. 

You just watch in pure amusement. Makes you really proud that your thighs are stronger than theirs. “Just a few more flights.”

They both groan in unison. Steve has already rounded the next flight, no longer waiting on the three of you. It takes several more minutes until you kick open the roof door Steve had left slightly ajar. It’s cold outside, wind howling with icy droplets whipping through your hair. It’s only fifty stories up but it’s pretty high - you can see the tops of the trees, or branches really. It’s winter in Utah and most of the trees are naked and covered in snow. You hope Bucky and Clint, the dynamic duo no one saw coming, still have good aim in this wind after a year of vacation. 

“Alright. Buck - Clint, set up over there. Y/N, you’re over there.” 

“Aye Aye, Captain.”

You set up where Steve instructed. You’ve got a simple magnifier and some binoculars - you won’t have to do any shooting today, thank the Gods. Clint’s got his arrows and Bucky’s got his sniper. Steve’s waiting for a signal from Sam if need be - he won’t need to shoot today either. 

“Wanda and Sam will let us know when the cars pass the barrier. The tech cannot, under any circumstances, pass through the gate right over there.” Steve points to the giant, black coated metal gate. There’s no one on duty. You made sure to evacuate the area and any staff before. The tech these goons are bringing in is all stolen Stark Tech. And according to Happy, strict instructions are to ‘blow it to Hell’.  

“And if it does?” Bucky asks, grinning mischievously at Steve’s pointed look. 

“What’d I just say?”

Bucky laughs and puts his hands up in surrender. “Damn, Stevie. Calm thyne tits.” He goes back to fiddling with his rifle. “Blow the tires before they reach the gates but after they pass the barrier. Got it.”

“Peter, you in position?” Steve asks and adjusts his earpiece. 

You can hear Peter over your own mic. “Seatbelts look easy enough to break. I’m in position, I can easily pull them from the trucks.”

“Five minutes then.”

You all settle in. The cold has passed through the leather of your boots and your toes are paying the price. It makes you miss the rain of spring and the sprinkles of fall, when everything is drenched rather than frozen and your toes still have mobility. Your jacket is big enough but it scratches your neck every time you lean down to look through the magnifier. As the minutes tick by, you brave the cold and take it off. You’d rather conduct your part efficiently and without the constant distraction. 

“It’s almost forty degrees out,” Steve mumbles beside you. He’s looking over the roof balcony and into the trees. He’s squints and refuses your offer of binoculars. 

“So I get a sore throat.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Tony put a heater in all our suits. You should have worn yours.”

“My suit is half nano. It’s excessive for a stakeout.”

He huffs but you ignore him, choosing to look through the rejected binoculars instead. He shuffles, and then there’s a warm weight enveloping your shoulders. It’s his sweater, cotton and baby blue, and he lifts the hood to cover your cheeks and ears. Your stomach flip-flops.

“Uh, thank you,” you say and zip it closed.

Steve shrugs lightly, “Don’t mention it.”

So you don’t. He doesn’t look cold besides or he’s just really good at masking it. It’s quiet now; you can’t really hear the quiet mutters of Clint and Bucky enough to join in and to not mention the jacket is eating at you. You opt for a casual conversation instead while you wait. 

“Soooo… how’d your date go last week?”

Steve clears his throat and turns to you, a forced grin on his face. “They, uh, they were sweet.”

“Sweet,” you repeat, nodding at nothing and cursing yourself for creating such an awkward moment. “Going on a second one?”

He sighs and his expression actually turns truthful. “No, don’t see that happening.”

For a second, you’re appalled. Who wouldn’t give Steve a second date? He’s an absolute catch and being a famous superhero wasn’t exactly a dealbreaker for many. Or maybe it was and Steve was blaming his alias once again for no fairytale ending. “Are you kidding? Who wouldn’t want you?”

The words leave your mouth too quickly to reel them back in. Steve’s cheeks turn pinker, both from your words and the chill, and he ducks his head low as he answers. “It’s my fault, really. They were sweet but I wasn’t paying much attention.”

“Mm, on your phone? Daydreaming? Were they a bore?”

Steve chuckles, “I pulled out my phone, like, once to answer a text but I was a proper gentleman!”

The tension is slowly melting and there’s a soft twinkle in his eye as he laughs. It’s been so long since he’s looked at you this way: on his own accord and not on order. “Bucky said they were, and I quote,” you lower your voice and look over at Bucky to make sure he’s distracted. “‘Cute as hell’.”

Steve gives Bucky a warm look. “Eh, it’s fine. Wasn’t the one.”

“The one,” you mock in a deep voice. “Who texted you that it was so important to ignore someone cute as hell?”

Steve hesitates and looks over the balcony as if wishing for an interruption. But the trucks aren’t near yet and Sam hasn’t given the signal. “Uh, it was Peter.”

“Oh, don’t tell him that. He’ll feel incredibly guilty if he ruined your chances at getting laid.”

Steve shoves your shoulder a bit harder than he intended and it makes you stumble back. He quickly catches you by the arm and holds you still, a sheepish smile painting his pink face. He mumbles a quick ‘sorry’, and goes back to lean over the railing. “It’s cool, he knew.”

You fake a surprised gasp, “Even worse!”

“He needed me to stop by the compound and I did. Really, it’s okay,” Steve assures and he’s speaking a little quicker. He fidgets with his thumbs and it looks like he wants to wrap up that portion of the conversation. But he looks over at you and sighs deeply, and he rolls his eyes as his upper lip tilts upward. “Ask.”

“What’d he want?” It makes your belly all warm to know he expects this enthusiasm from you.

“Wanted me around. Buck and Wanda were out getting dinner.”

“Yeah, but like, what for?”

He gives you a knowing smile, like you walked right into that trap. “You made dinner but Peter was too nice to say he didn’t enjoy it, so he texted me knowing I would like it. Knowing I had it before. He didn’t want there to be leftovers because then you’d be sad.”

You step back and shake your head like there’s a fly swarming around. It startles you. “You left your date… during dinner… to come to the compound to eat the dinner I made instead?”

“Don’t think too much about it.”

“How not?”

It’s five minutes when Sam calls it in. You groan in frustration and give Steve a look that says the conversation isn’t over. 

There are four armored vehicles and the magnifier illuminates three bodies per car. The targets will be hit starting from the last to keep the explosions out of each driver’s line of sight. 

“Target acquired,” Bucky mumbles and clicks off his safety. He closes one eye and settles comfortably as he awaits Steve’s signal.         

Clint tugs back an arrow, “Same here, Cap.”

“Wanda, you ready?” Steve’s voice is lower when he’s focused. He looks over at you, your hand up with an index finger raised, and waits. Wanda answers that she’s ready and Sam counts it down. The first truck crosses the barrier, then the next, next, and finally the fourth and you drop your hand in a fast swipe. 

“Fire! Go Parker!”

Bucky shoots the back tires of all four vehicles and Clint shoots his arrows to penetrate through the passenger doors. Peter works fast, webs slinging from side to side grabbing one passenger right after the other. Once the trucks are empty, Clint activates the arrows and you all prepare for the explosions. The fourth car catches flame first and Wanda contains the explosion perfectly, balling it up into a weak bundle of light and string. She does the same to the third and second, bundles extinguishing just as quickly as they burst. But the first car swings out of control on manual and the explosion is delayed.

“Clint?”

Clint leans over the balcony and squints, as if it would help. “I don’t know. It’s not going off.” He’s clicking the detonator repeatedly, holding it up for all of you to see. 

“Wanda, the truck! The truck! Sam!” You scream as the truck crashes through the gate and hurls closer to the hotel. The commotion is enough for Bucky to pop out from his cover and the four of you watch in horror as the truck still doesn’t stop. Clint has stopped clicking the button, but it’s no use. The truck finally explodes in an outbreak of debris and electricity. The Stark Tech reacts poorly to the strain, electric gusts of smoke fire left and right and rattle the building. It feels like an earthquake, shaking the already weak foundations and old brick. Wanda catches the bottom to better contain it and tries desperately to smother it. But the shaking doesn’t stop and the corners of the roof are collapsing. 

Steve leaps to grab and pull you away and just as quickly to catch Clint’s leg before he falls over the edge. Clint is thrown back rather harshly but Steve isn’t thinking about the abuse of strength right now - no, not while Bucky slips and hangs on to a rogue pipe. Steve crawls and latches onto his hand before the pipe gives way. He yells as he tugs Bucky up with only one arm, the other having to hold onto undisturbed brick. He won't let Bucky fall. Not again.

Bucky throws his leg up and over solid ground, and you go to help Steve pull him up. Bucky’s heavy and his metal hand pinches your skin bad but he’s safe. Wanda struggles to contain the electricity but she’s succeeding. The rumbling slows until nothing moves anymore. You collapse back in exhaustion.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Bucky gasps as he rubs his face. 

“Is Wanda okay?” You mumble more to yourself and struggle to pull yourself back up. But the sudden weight of your body proves too much for the edge and in a horrible wave, you’re falling through. You practically file your nails as you try to latch onto falling brick.

“No!” You feel the scratch of someone’s fingers along your forearm and soon they’re digging into your skin, and it hurts but you figure it’s better than splitting your skull open. Pebbles of concrete are falling down onto your face and the smoke from the explosion is clogging your nostrils. You hang for a few seconds, like the person can’t believe they actually caught you. Then they begin pulling you up, lifting you to safety, and you claw the rest of the way only to tumble into Steve’s chest, shaking. 

He pulls you into his arms but they’re restless, roaming over your shoulders and through your knotted hair clumsily. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His voice wavers and he’s on the verge of tears, it seems. His waterline is glossy and his lips are quivering. “Answer me.”

“I’m fine, hey. Steve? I’m good.”

He pulls away and his hands hover you like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “I’m sorry. I should have kept you close. I-” His voice cracks and he swallows hard. “You sure you’re okay?”

Disregarding his words is difficult, especially when you feel a second meaning to them, but you force yourself to do so. It’s been such a long time since you’ve seen him like this. And each time you have, it was never because of anything good. “Y-yeah. I’m good, Rogers.”

Bucky and Clint look at each other, they look at Steve, to you, and back to each other. Finally, Clint breaks the silence and huffs a light chuckle. “Are we really THAT rusty?”

Present Day, 2025, 11:45pm

    The Montana skies are clear and free of passenger planes, allowing the Quinjet to swift easily on autopilot. You could never drive this thing and the building anxiety of that reality bubbles each time it makes an unsteady bounce. 

Steve’s laying in the makeshift medical wing and though it’s against protocol, he’s on a secure line with Dr. Cho. She takes her time, albeit working as fast as possible too, and her light voice is fairly calm. It settles you to hear her speak this way. 

‘I need you to use this disinfectant, Captain Rogers. Do not pour it on all at once… Good, now dig through gently and make sure the pliers are sanitized.’

Steve digs out the bullets himself and bites down on a clean towel. He’s biting down hard enough that his teeth make a squeaking sound against it. It takes every ounce of your willpower to not do it for him. The Montana skies are beautiful, at least. It’s a good distraction. 

Steve gives a rather painful yell as he finally plucks the second bullet, cursing as a stream of blood drips onto the table. He’s got such tough skin - miracle or serum - that the bullets didn’t pass all the way through. Dr. Cho moves on to how to properly bandage the wound but Steve begins to tune her out. 

Two years mucking through mud and bodies and getting patched up every other day has prepared him for whatever life may throw during this new century. Not much has changed, it seems. 

When the line disconnects, Steve can finally just relax. He focuses on the soft rumble of the engine and your steady breaths. 

     You hold your breath as you settle the Quinjet on the open field, only half of you actually trusting automatic tech. Steve coaches you the whole time too, the little shit, and promises you’ll never be doing that again. 

Steve stumbles and teeters and falls on the porch steps with a low groan. You let him fall because you know you’d only fall with him. He catches himself with the hand he’s been pressing over the bandage while the other still holds on to you. You fight the urge to crash down with him and bite your lip as you look up to the night sky. 

“C’mon, Rogers,” you swallow down the increasing worry, “We’re almost inside.”

Steve huffs a pained laugh and nods. He grabs your arm again and with his remaining strength, pulls himself up,

The inside of the cabin looks comfier than the outside. You help Steve to the couch closest to the unlit fireplace before going out back to turn on the power. There’s a thin layer of ice in the grass so just in case, you scope out the garage and make sure there are snow supplies. Not that you really know what the hell snow supplies actually look like, but there’s a shovel and you figure that’s as much as your brain is going to piece together. 

When you get back inside, Steve’s fumbling with the coffee maker and leaving tiny fingerprints of blood over every surface he touches. You don’t comment on them, just step back and discreetly wipe the counters each time he passes. 

“Figured you’d like a pot,” Steve says. 

It damn near breaks your heart how small his voice sounds. The fact he’s stumbling around the cabin making sure you’ve got your coffee fix while he’s nursing two bullet wounds damn near snaps it in two.

“Thank you,” you respond and go to lead him back to the couch. He moans quietly when he sits and again as you lay him down. “I hope you don’t think I’m sleeping here,” Steve laughs and tries to hide his wince due the uncomfortable rumble. 

You smile and touch your hand to his hot cheek. His body is working overtime fighting off infection and regenerating tissue. His cheeks are a lovely scarlet red and so is the beautiful bulb of his crooked nose. He’s a little shiny, like varnish over light paint strokes, and taking the fever like a champ. “I’ll help you to the bed in a little bit. Let’s get that fever down first.”

Steve sighs, defeated, but nods. He lays his head back on the pillow and once he shuts his eyes, you get to work. The bathroom is stocked with the simple necessities: aloe vera, vapor rub, heating and cold pads, dozens of towels, and painkillers. You pop two painkillers yourself before gathering everything and dropping it on a nearby table in the kitchen. The coffee is about done brewing so you fill up a mug with bottled water and set it in the microwave for two minutes. You dip a chamomile tea bag a few times once the water is heated. There’s no teapot - you’ll apologize to Steve later. 

Once Steve’s happily sipping his tea, you start on the medicine. You wet the small towels and lay them over his forehead and bare chest. You rub aloe vera on the other cuts he obtained from hand-to-hand and finally rub the vapor rub in the dip of his neck and just below his nose. Steve gives you this funny smile as you do so, scrunching his nose and wiggling it back and forth. 

“Vicks,” you say as you show him the small container. “Heal you right up.”

“I bet,” he laughs. “Stuff smells like what I think liquid morphine would taste.” A laugh bursts from your chest, your first real instance of calm during these last few hours. You ignore his protests and smother more across his chest. 

Steve settles deeper into the couch and returns to his tea. He’s got less sweat on his skin now but he’s still red. You go to pour yourself that coffee and return to his side. The nanotech is growing stiffer and scratching your skin but you refuse to get comfortable until Steve’s fever breaks. You’re still covered in Ernesto’s blood, the red now a hellish brown, and you try not to move your face much for risk of feeling the dry pull of it. 

“Steve,” you try, but Steve shakes his head and makes sure to meet your gaze before he speaks. 

“No. The less I know the better.”

It surprises you, makes you feel more guilty, but you understand. Not telling him the full truth would be beneficial in the long run. Still, your hands hug the mug closer to your chest. “Do you think I did something bad?”

His upper lip tugs upward, “Do you think you did something bad?”

You don’t think for long. There’s not much need to. “No.”

He nods, “But you care what I think?”

“Of course I do. You’re not just my Captain anymore - you’re my friend. I care even when I’m asking you if my eggs need more salt.”

“You trust me enough to correct your cooking?” He teases, but it’s a question disguised as another. 

“I trust you enough to tell me if I need more salt. You’re not correcting it.” He laughs and dips deeper into the couch. The bandage is bleeding through, only slightly, so you move to find the first-aid kit. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’ll stop bleeding soon.”

You hum your disagreement. “I’m gonna keep it clean until you’re strong enough to shower.”

“You can always help me shower,” he mumbles into his tea. 

Rolling your eyes, you gently nudge his shoulder as you sit back down with the kit. “If you fall, I can’t catch you, you big lug. We’d have to tell everyone we screwed in there because you falling on top of me, injured, is somehow more embarrassing.”

He allows you to remove the soiled bandage and dab around the healing wounds. He’s bruising around the sides, multiple shades of green and yellow already, and the holes are stitched rather poorly. It makes you feel a little better about your own criss-cross work - even Steve sucks at it. 

“I’m sorry I had to go and get myself shot,” Steve apologizes and sucks in a deep breath when the towel drags a little too roughly. 

“Yeah, what the hell happened there?”

He almost mimics you in the way he shrugs his shoulders and lifts his arms in that ‘well, fuck if I know’ position, pursing his lips and expelling a chuckle. “Had my gun trained on Ernesto. Ernesto had his own on Ramirez. Then Seda came in and Ernesto ordered Ramirez to hand his over to Seda. Played right into Seda’s hands.”

You process the explanation slowly and dab his wound a few more times before unwrapping the clean bandage. “And the damn shield?”

Steve’s embarrassed by that small detail, he’ll admit it, because he truly was blindsided by Seda’s appearance. You were supposed to be holding him down after all. “In my defense! When it’s shrunk down and in your pocket rather than latched onto one’s arm, it’s easily forgettable.”

You clean around the wound softly before placing and taping the new bandage. The conversation settles and you’re both quiet for a long, long minute. He thanks you for cleaning him up by rubbing sweet circles into the knuckles of your right hand. Finally, you can’t take it anymore. It’s like a wave of irrefutable worry and rage, all bunched together with each emotion trying to outweigh the other. That goddamn riptide, sucking you in and keeping your head below water just for the hell of it. Breathing in harshly, you fail to keep yourself from stuttering over your words. “I’m sorry.”

Steve bites back a groan of pain as he leans over to take your cheeks in his palms. The brush of his fingertips lets you know that you’ve already started crying. You don’t much care about the facade anymore. “Doll, listen to me. Listen.”

“I never meant to leave you alone.”

“You never did.”

You bark out a wet laugh, sarcastic. “I should have run faster. I should have killed him all those years ago. I should have never brought you into this.”

“You did what you had to do,” he says, fiercely. He forgets his own strength for a second, only slightly diminished from the healing process, and loosens his tight grip against your cheeks. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

“I wanted to hate you,” you admit. Your bottom lip is trembling and your hands clench together over your thighs. “I wanted to hate you so much. If I did, then you getting hurt or killed on this mission wouldn’t hurt so bad. I hated you for what you did. Because it made me realize that I could never hate you at all.”

“Hey,” he tries, hands now lowering to clutch at your own. “Stop apologizing for having a heart. Stop thinking you’re not worthy of even having one.”

Your face crumbles and Steve realizes for the first time in a long time just how much you’ve been holding in. “Why didn’t you use the stones?”

Steve’s heart clenches at the sound of the crack in your voice. He hasn’t heard that crack since Clint fell to his knees without Natasha by his side. He holds onto you tighter and prepares himself for an admission he never thought he would ever have to give. “Because Peggy told me not to.”

Something confusing happens in the middle of your chest. It clenches with anger but understanding. The answer to your question was always this simple but it looks like it’s tearing Steve apart from the inside-out.

    She’s as beautiful as the day he went into the ice. All he has to do is whisper her name so sweetly, delicately, and she turns her head like she’s answering the prayer. First her knees buckle, eyes watering and blotching her vision, and she collapses on the soft grass of her backyard. Steve’s holding her the very next second, repeating that he’s real, he’s here. 

“Steve,” Peggy gasps, hands shaking as she brings them to his wet cheeks. She grips and pokes and does everything so comically that Steve laughs a wet laugh when she starts smacking him. “What is going on?”

And he tells her. Everything he can remember: the good, the bad, the wretched. He spills everything, and he spills the most delicate information of their time: he’s alive, just frozen; Bucky’s alive, just hurt; the world is saved, just broken. Whether she believes it or not Steve’s not sure, but he’s so goddamn happy to see her again that he chokes every other word. 

“And you? You’re happy?”

His eyebrows come together and he looks at Peggy like she’s speaking another language. She’s got the same red lipstick, same curl in her hair even if it’s longer now, and she’s filling out her dresses more. “Pegs, don’t ask me that.”

She detaches herself slowly from his arms, pausing their dance as she speaks. “Why not? You can’t expect me to accept that you stopped by to see me all willy-nilly after saving the universe.” Her lips twitch into a knowing smile and Steve melts. Her voice is sending him into a spiral, a world he never thought he would see again, and he realizes just how much he loves accents on women  - especially this woman. 

“I just,” he chokes out, and brushes his index finger down her cheek. “I had to see you again.”

“I get that,” Peggy says and pays no mind that the record player has stopped; she still sways gently with Steve. “But you’ve just mentioned a whole other world you’ve been a part of. You’ve got your best guy back, that Wilson fellow sounds like the life of the party, and this Agent Y/N certainly sounds like she’s been by your side through it all.”

Steve stutters in his step and holds her closer. Her stomach presses against his, and he stops abruptly. He looks down between them and runs his hand from her shoulder, down, to lay across her growing belly. “Pegs.”

She gives him the same wide and proud smile she gave him when he returned with the 107th. She lays her hand over his. “I know.” She laughs and tilts her head lovingly. “I’m happy, too.”

Steve bites his lip to keep from sobbing. He was so stupid for coming to this timeline, for ruining Peggy’s chance at happiness, for interrupting the life he already knew she created for herself. He inputted the wrong year, he suddenly realizes, and steps back arms-length from her. “I’m sorry, I was stupid to come here. I just wanted to see you and then I did, and I… I still love you, Pegs.”

“Oh,” Peggy gasps, bottom lip trembling. “Darling, do not mistake yourself, even for a second, into thinking that I do not love you too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for having a heart.”

He wants to argue, say he’s stupid a million more times, but he finds himself listening to her gentle words. It’s Peggy, Steve thinks. She’s always been right.

“In this world you live in, you have James?” He nods. She continues, “In this world you live in, you just lost two of your most loved friends?” He nods again. He wipes his face from forehead to chin. “In this world you live in, you have met a woman who has the same stubbornness as you; has the same self-sacrificing streak, who has your heart in such shambles that you dare call her one of your best friends?”

Steve thinks of you and how broken your smile was as you waved him goodbye, hand clenching Sam’s as Steve gathered the stones and Mjolnir. He thinks of the times you’d leap onto his back and demand a ride; the times he’s saved your ass in a firefight; how his sleep has definitely improved ever since he started calming you from nightmares - he hasn’t slept so well since before the war. He nods again.

Her eyes go soft. “Steve,” she starts and Steve knows. He doesn’t want to know. “Don’t abandon the world you’ve built for yourself. Surround yourself with the people you love. Do this for me.”

“There’s so much hate and blood waiting for me when I get back, Pegs. I don’t want to-”

“There is a difference between you not wanting to and you having to.” He drops his head and focuses on the floor. Peggy isn’t done grilling him, however, and he looks back up to grant her the respect. “You must not abandon the world you helped create. I’m not saying this to be mean. I’m saying this because I know you don’t want to.”

“Pegs.”

“I see right through you, Steve. We marched together through mud and blood before. We’ve got two years of fighting side by side under our belts. I’ve seen you at your worst, and you I. I know that face anywhere.”

“I missed you, Pegs,” Steve breathes. She cups his face with her hands and draws their foreheads together.

“The stars weren’t written in our favor. But to know that you’re alive, and that you make it, and that you actually get to live,” she bites back a sob. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“It isn’t my world to begin with.”

“No, you’re a man out of time. But so is James. You won’t abandon him now, will you?”

He chuckles low and their noses touch. “Stop making me feel guilty for wanting to find you, Peggy.”

She presses a soft kiss to the side of his mouth and finally breaks away. “And you won’t abandon that sweet girl who has put up with your nonsense for the last five years, you say?”

Steve shakes his head and meets Peggy’s gaze. “I’m just tired.”

“They are too, I bet.” He turns to the door and to Peggy, and she figures it’s almost time for him to leave. “You have been the archer and the brave, Steve. I’m absolutely certain you’ve been more. You will be more.”

Steve says his final goodbyes and stops to remember the fine details of Peggy’s face. The fifties are treating her well. Steve expected nothing less. Bright lights flash around him and he’s back to the world he wanted to leave, to hide from, and he sees you - and your mouth parts in shock.

     “And you listened to her?” you ask. 

Steve smiles, although it’s hard for him to remember that conversation. “I came back. I didn’t listen to her when she said to surround myself with people who love me, and who I love in return.”

“No, you made damn sure of that.”

“Hey,” Steve chuckles. “Don’t take smacks at me when you’re down.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Sorry, it’s just too easy sometimes.” Laughing about the two years of missed chances and spoiled friendship was not on your bingo card for this week. 

“I don’t know how this is going to play out,” you admit. Steve looks so young with a somber expression: his eyebrow creases gently without wrinkling the rest of his forehead, the side of his mouth tilts downward, and his eyelashes kiss the pink of cheeks. “I decided in the moment. So I’m fuck all out of ideas on how to proceed.”

He nods in understanding. “Guess we just have to look over our shoulders three times instead of two now.”

“Simple like that?” You scrub a hand over your face and curse inwardly when you smudge your lipstick down to your chin. You ignore it. “I know we’re Avengers, but.”

“No buts,” Steve says and moves to sit up. You help him by pushing his shoulders and he accepts your help as you struggle to the bathroom. “You helped the guy and his daughter. I’m sure he’s going to be watching our backs from now on.”

You help Steve strip from his dress pants and shoes and finally remove your suit as well. The graze on your arm is covered in brown, dried blood but the wound isn’t deep. It’ll sting like a sunburn, you know that, but it’s better than being shot through. You watch Steve enter the shower and leave the curtain drawn. His bandage is soaked again but thankfully it’s from the water and not more blood. You grab a spare towel and soak it with water and soap, and rub it across your lips and chin. 

“Let me do that,” Steve calls. You strip bare and bring the towel with you into the shower. Steve takes it and scrubs over your face, gently but more rough as he gets to your eyes. It’s an innocent moment of ‘ouch, scrub softer!’ and ‘surprised I didn’t take all your lashes off’. He helps clean your wound as well and once you’re both clean, he bandages you up and you him. 

The master bedroom is the only room without electricity so you gather some candles. It’s like the two of you won’t admit you’re currently afraid of the dark or what may lie in it. They illuminate the room in a delicate orange and it’s such a peaceful color to briefly see before falling asleep, head tucked into Steve’s chest and his heartbeat thrumming gently with your breath. 

     It’s a wonder what a night’s sleep can do. Steve’s wounds are sealed and his fever is gone, but there’s a signature left behind. A pink and white patch of skin as tender as a newborn’s, a memory. Steve pours your coffee and his tea while you trace your fingers over it.

Two hours after eating a small breakfast and securing the perimeter, a soft ding startles you from the random book you’re reading. Steve’s phone shines with a message from Sam. It simply reads: ‘Clear’. Grabbing the phone and walking out onto the porch, you find Steve sitting on one of the steps he tripped over just yesterday. He’s sketching the sky and the trees, taking his time on the lines of the branches, the strokes of the leaves, and the frost over them. He looks up, studies his surroundings, and looks back down to add a detail he previously missed. He sniffs, rubs his nose, and finally notices you leaning against the doorframe. 

“Hey,” he says, soft. “Any news?”

You hold up his phone and nod. “Sam says we’re clear to fly in.”

Steve looks back to his drawing. You hesitate before speaking, knowing damn well an all clear means get your ass back as soon as possible. “Finish your drawing. I’ll pack whatever we need to.” Steve’s mouth parts but he shuts it just as quickly. Slowly, he nods. 

     There isn’t much to pack since you brought nothing but the clothes on your backs. Everything at the hotel was collected before the wedding and should have flown back with Scott and the others. It feels awkward stealing bottled water and processed foods to hoard on the quinjet, but it’s a necessity. Steve meets you at the quinjet doors, shows you his drawing, and volunteers to take the wheel. 

“You’re not volunteering. You’re ordering.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “No license, no drive.”

“What are you? A cop?”

“Don’t think for one second I won’t actually hand the wheels over and happily crash while screaming ‘I told you so’.” 

Steve steers for the duration of your flight. The next few hours are spent just enjoying each other’s company, speaking of all things and simply catching up. It’s amazing how much you two missed from one another’s lives those two years.

      The landing base is clear and it’s Sam who’s waiting for you as the Quinjet manually lands itself. He shoots you a gap-toothed smile and extends his arms, pulling the two of you in at the same time for a strong hug. He’s talking a mile a minute about how successful the mission was, how Fury is over the moon that it’s finally over, how the DEA is thinking of congratulating everyone one by one. It’s enough to distract Steve, who’s just happy to see his best friend again, but it isn’t enough for you. The large metal doors sealing the storage facility from the rest of the compound are thrown open. Bucky stumbles through and practically sprints over to the three of you. 

“Get back on the jet,” he orders, already pulling you by the arm. You all look at one another like he’s gone mad but that’s impossible. Bucky’s paranoia isn’t something to take lightly; he’s right nine out of ten times. 

“Buck, what-?”

“Rhodes couldn’t hold them. They have warrants, Steve.”

Steve hauls Sam onto the jet as well. “Warrants for who?”

“Get down from the jet without a fight and this will all go smoothly.”

There are about twenty uniformed officers surrounding the jet. They spread out in case anyone decides to run but it seems pointless to even try. Secretary Ross points his gun directly at you, proud and tall and looking just the same as you remember him. Last time you saw him was at Tony’s funeral. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you bite, and raise your hands in cooperation. Ross shakes his head and his expression contorts into one of disgust. There are red beams coming from each gun but your friends are clean - the beams are only pointed at you.

“Agent Y/N Y/LN, you’re under arrest for multiple charges of drug smuggling, trafficking of illegal goods, the murder of Ernesto Vega and Daniel Seda, aiding and abetting drug-lord Omar Ramirez, and for conspiracy against the United States of America. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a federal court of law...”

You drone out half way through. Ross finishes up the speech but no one is listening. Sam is already yelling over your Miranda Rights and Bucky’s frozen in place. Steve’s fighting his way through to Ross, pushing through the muscle until he’s face to face with him. But Ross isn’t fazed. There’s nothing left to do but exit the jet. 

Immediately there are handcuffs slapped to your wrists. Two men drag you over to the containment car that’s enforced with so much indestructible material it’s almost insulting. You weren’t enhanced - they were doing this for fun.

“You’ve got it all wrong! Y/N! Y/N!”

You don’t fight. Conspiracy… you’re surprised they didn’t just shoot you dead. Steve’s still yelling, begging to be heard, but you try to block him out. It’s not your first time being arrested but it is your first time being charged with something you didn’t do. As funny as that sounds, it’s terrifying. 

“Steve,” you say, and Steve breaks through some more hired muscle so he’s within earshot. “It’s okay.”

His face pulls up in pain, “No, you didn’t do this! They’re not listening!”

One of the officers pushes your head down roughly and tries to shove you in the backseat. You’re still looking at Steve. And those eyes, wounded and vulnerable, haunt him even after the door shuts and the car drives away.

     There’s a privilege attached to the mantle of Captain America. Perhaps he was too blind to see it during the war or just too proud he was finally being heard and respected, but now he sees it for what it really is. It’s a mantle this country has never truly associated with the person but with the purpose. Steve was manufactured to help protect this country under government orders and when he defied that purpose, he disgraced the mantle. Seems like some people idolize the role a little too much. 

But he’s still Captain America. This reality has continued to clear his name from stunts he pulls and laws he breaks. And once Steve is able to walk away without so much as a scratch, he leaves bodies behind.

Sharon. Sam. Bucky. Wanda. And now you. All people who fought his fight and weren’t granted the quick privilege of that perceived pureness and holiness. He was always ready for combat, he was built for it, but he didn’t really want it. 

Did he?

Ripping that star off his chest was one thing. Accepting his new shield cemented his continual legacy as the Star-Spangled Man. He deserved to be in that cell with you. But if he learned anything about how the world works, it’s that cruelty doesn’t just win in the movies. All of his enemies started out friends and if he had to bet, he’d bet the reason they’re labeled as such is partially because of him. 

So he sits and listens to everyone’s ideas and plans, vetoing and dismissing one right after the other, his mind doing jumping jacks. He’s both there and not, drowning in the fact that he made it home and you didn’t. He doesn’t know how to sleep without the sound of your snoring anymore. 

He sits and listens. 

    The cell isn’t one you would expect for someone who has been charged for betraying her country. It’s modestly furnished: a black cot in the far right corner with a mini table beside it, a desk with some paper, and a door that leads to the private bathroom. All in all, the room’s size is that of a child’s bedroom; there’s no actual pens and pencils for risk of violent behavior and there’s a bulb camera that moves when you move. 

You’ve been trapped in worse. 

Countless detectives and investigators have visited already. They all ask the same questions: Why did you do it? Did Captain Rogers know? Who are you, really? 

You give the same answers: I didn’t do it. Of course, every single person knows. Who do you think I am?

Every time they leave more discouraged than the one before them, refusing to compare notes with one another in case they were in possession of gold. They all ignore you when you try to ask for Steve and his wellbeing. Their faces contort, they whisper to their partners, and they shake their heads in disappointment. One even goes as far as to threaten you, warning you to keep Captain Roger’s name out of your wetback mouth or else, until he’s escorted from the cell. Not that it really matters - the manipulated ideals of these people will always blur their search for the truth. And when the truth fails to satisfy such greedy manipulations, they choose to create their own.

There is one agent who peaks your interest. He offers you gum when he settles in the chair near the door. His name badge reads ‘Kavert’; it glares in the bright lights overhead and he makes no other attempt at small talk once he gets comfortable and opens his little notepad. 

That goddamn notepad, you think. Every single person before has prided themselves over it, scribbling little notes about your tone of voice, body movement, and vague answers. You never give much, Natasha had taught you better, so they always end up writing less than two bullet points before giving up. 

But Agent Kavert surprises you by opening up to a blank page, spitting his chewed gum in the middle, and then he shuts it closed. He offers you a real smile, one that doesn’t look practiced or forced. It lets you study him without being so guarded or uncomfortable. He seems young, not really a rookie but it’s obvious he’s spent more time behind a desk than out in the field. His dark hair is short, sprinkled grays near his temples, and his attire screams upper level. His build is lean, his gun is in the holster on his right hip, and a part of you knows he’d put up a hell of a fight if you tried to escape. 

“I was gonna comment on what lovely weather we’re having, but I don’t think you get out much.” 

You’re startled into a real laugh. Satisfaction washes over his face. 

“I think you’re wasting your time, Agent Kavert.”

He grins and moves to proudly pull at his jacket and present his badge. He sets the notebook to the side and leans forward to cup his hands together on his knees. 

You squint at him. There’s nothing interesting about you right now: back against the wall as you sit criss-crossed on the cot, sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, hair brushed but a little greasy. Your last shower was two days ago and you figure they’ll let you have one tonight. 

“Yeah, you’re right. There’s no point in hoping you’ll tell me anything you haven’t shared yet.”

“Nope.”

He hums low in his throat and tilts his head to the left. Now, he squints at you. “I just don’t get it. How did you do it? Not show up on our radar, I mean?”

It doesn’t seem like he’s calling you guilty or innocent. Already he’s one-hundred percent different from the other agents. “I wasn’t exactly hiding.”

He sits up to lean back in the chair, “Different last name, government and Avenger protection, covering your tracks so carefully even the DEA missed you.”

“You’ve done your homework.”

“Yes, but,” he starts. He acts like he’s having a normal conversation on his front porch. “It still doesn’t make sense. How could Nick Fury miss this? Tony Stark? After the whole Obadiah situation, I expected him to-”

“It’s simple, really. Do you want to know or do you want to keep making assumptions?”

He’s watched the other agents leave by this point. Some couldn’t even make you talk. So he shuts up and waves his hand for you to continue. 

“Cool,” you breathe out. “First of all, I’m literally only telling you this because I’ve already been refused a lawyer or some crap like that and I highly doubt this is going to actual court. The publicity would be horrible.” 

He bites his lip but you catch the little smile forming. You continue, “And I have nothing to hide. I’m sure my Captain, my teammates, and Fury himself have given their sides. Am I right?”

Agent Kavert adjusts himself in the seat and nods in response. He doesn’t dare interrupt you now. 

“Good, then I’ll keep it sweet. They knew who I was. I was recruited to be an inside source, a double agent, and this wedding was the perfect chance to corner those men,” you declare, turning your hands palm up and shrugging your shoulders. “There, happy?”

“Double agent.” Agent Kavert chews over the words, rolling them around on his tongue a few more times. He’s squinting harder and you can see his brain working. The next sound to leave his lips is a heavy sigh and a feeling of immense irritation washes over you. It wasn’t enough.  “Are we going to be truthful yet, Agent?”

Chuckling lightly, you rest the back of your skull on the wall. It was wrong to assume he’d be any different from the others. “Of course you don’t believe me. You want more, they all do. I don’t suppose I have anything better to do.”

He claps his hands on his thighs and leans forward again, loud and restless. “Then let’s get started, really: Did you or did you not let Omar Ramirez, Mexican drug-lord involved with Ernesto Vega, your father... imagine that, run away from a crime scene, evade arrest, and possibly leave the country?”

“You expect me to follow all those questions?”

“It’s not the time to be funny.”

“You were enjoying it just a second ago,” you mumble. He raises his eyebrows, still waiting for an answer.  “Then let me put it simply: no, I did not.”

“Did you or did you not assassinate Ernesto Vega?”

“I would have remembered such a brilliant kill if it came from my gun.”

“So that’s a no… Daniel Seda?”

“His gun was pointed at my Captain. Yes.”

“Against orders, then?”

Confusion is written all over your face and you make sure the camera knows it too. There are only so many times you can repeat yourself. “Don’t you have Steve’s report? Scott’s?”

“We have to hear the story from you, Agent.”

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? You don’t believe me.”

He shrugs and quickly scans you up and down. Even if he doesn’t have the tangible notepad in his hands, he’s getting away with making mental notes. “The story just isn’t piecing together the way it should be. Why would Daniel Seda murder his greatest ally and friend?”

“Our mics have already transcribed that answer for you, sir. I’m sure of it. And I’ve got sources outside of the DEA and Avengers-”

“Like Maribel Rodrigo? Another smuggler who has operated inside the cartel, HYDRA, Madripoor…”

You cut him off, angry. “Not the full story.” 

Tone of voice: defensive.

“Then that leads me to my next question.”

“Oh, fun.”

Tone of voice: sarcastic.

He speaks with a tinge of astonishment hidden in every syllable. “Why didn’t you do it? Kill Ernesto, I mean.”

“I was disarmed at the time. The Captain and I both were,” you answer, growing more impatient by the second.

He uses his hands to speak now, finger pointing along an invisible timeline detailing the order of events. “So you admit you were going to kill him if you had your weapon.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Body movement: rigid.

“Or maybe you weren’t. Maybe my boss is right, maybe the FBI is right in thinking that you are a double agent leaning more towards your roots than our boys in blue.” He says this like its scripture; like it’s some holy conspiracy he’s just found evidence for. He wants you to plant words in your mouth and in this discussion so he can pluck the evidence from the ground and water it with fire.

You scoff hard, “I hardly ever wear blue when doing your job for you.”

“Was letting Omar Ramirez escape our job or just yours?”

Telling him the truth would mean losing all credibility, all titles, all trust in your work. You know what you’ve done and you don’t regret it. Ramirez was never the biggest fish and if you spun this right, then he was simply a fish who got his meal and promptly swam away. “You assume I let him go. What evidence tells you that?”

He ignores the question and instead asks another of his. “Why were your relations kept hidden from SHIELD and the FBI?”

“That’s a question for you know who.”

He shakes his head in disappointment. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”

“I bet I am. But this is not some precinct where you can get my team to turn on me so easily. And this is not a situation in which they’re lying for me. I trust that whatever the Captain has said is the answer to all your questions.”

“We’re gonna unravel this case. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

You’re suddenly overcome with a wave of sleepiness. These past two weeks have been exhausting even if you haven’t moved more than five feet from wall to wall. Having to repeat yourself to people who have already written the story for themselves is tiring. “I don’t know why you guys can’t just believe the words of myself and everyone vouching for me. We got you all the evidence. We have given you more names and connections that you’ll ever know what to do with. You don’t need to unravel anything; it’s all there! But because we weren’t able to arrest the one person you wanted, that being Ernesto, you go after me. You have White but I guess he’s not talking. And you’ll believe what you want to believe.”

“I trust my gut.”

“As simple as that, huh?” You sigh deeply and cross your arms over your chest. “You know, there’s a saying the late Agent Carter used to tell all SHIELD agents when they first started out and when they came back from missions. When she retired, it was Fury who then eased our minds.” 

Agent Kavert has a harsh line creasing through the middle of his forehead and he looks deeply interested. 

“There are three sides to every story,” you recite. “Your side, my side, and the truth.” A gentle shrug of the shoulders feels like all you’re allowed to give him. “I’m not lying to you but I’m not telling you the full truth either. Just my side.”

Agent Kavert shuts his eyes and bounces his left leg. He looks conflicted and unable to formulate a response at all. He’s shaking like he’s at war with himself or with the suits on the other side of the door, but no one has come knocking yet. “Let’s say I believe you. Just for a second.”

You nod. 

“Daniel Seda murders Vega at his own daughter’s wedding. We managed to catch Marcus White and because of fault entirely, Omar Ramirez gets away. Because from what I heard, Ramirez was working with you.” He paints the picture rather mundane, but you shoot him a smile that tells him he’s on the right track. “And you and all the other Avengers were blindsided by Ramirez. You gathered all the evidence you were told to gather, worked together and played your cards right, infiltrated one of the most secure estates in the country, and fucked up so badly that you managed to let two of your biggest giants die?”

“I really think you got it spot on.”

He laughs dryly, “But it still doesn’t make sense. Once Vega was gone and Seda survived, where would you have fallen in this tree?”

He wants to retract his question the moment he sees your face fall with such a sincerity he wasn’t ready for. “That’s just it, Agent Kavert. I would have fallen.”

“And the other two? How would business work? Would Daniel Seda have been the head of it now?”

“Your answers are in the evidence we gathered. I know you guys aren’t touching it because you think I’m compromised.”

He stands from the chair and dusts off his jacket. “Your side, my side, and the truth,” he repeats. He goes to open the door but you speak quickly before he can leave. 

“They think I infiltrated SHIELD, the Avengers, and am in bed with HYDRA because they’ve been helping Ernesto’s vision all along.” Agent Kavert stops and turns back to you. “I am a double agent whose identity was kept secret to aid this country and not raise suspicions from your part. I have seen a lot of things, have done things I’m not proud of, but I’ve done it all for a reason.”

Agent Kavert looks almost ashamed. Tone of voice: sincere.

“Me and my Captain saved lives, our own as well, and we stopped three of the most notorious drug-lords who have been at large since the eighties. We got your giants for you. And the truth is, I have discovered: through all my pain and experience... that it’s excellent to have a giant’s strength; but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.”

Agent Kavert doesn’t know if you’re talking about Ernesto, the U.S Government, yourself, or him. His eyebrows pinch together and he slowly moves to leave the room.

    It’s another week before you’re visited by someone who isn’t bringing you food or extra toilet paper. You’re picking at your cuticles when the vents above your cell begin rattling with the obvious weight of a human being. You sit dumbly on the bed, straining your ears and trying hard not to laugh as each rattle is returned with a muffled curse. The vent on the ceiling right outside your cell drops to the concrete floor. 

Ernesto’s men wouldn’t go through all that trouble to kill you James Bond style. They would have just bribed a guard. So it’s a treat when the door swings open quickly and in comes a staggering Clint, keys in one hand and his phone in the other. The screen is illuminated, showcasing what looks to be blueprints. He’s got a bandaid over his left eyebrow and dust all over his clothes.

Your upper lip twitches into a silly smile. “You’re ridiculous if you thought you wouldn’t be heard in those damn vents.”

Clint makes a noise that sounds like he’s saying ‘maaaf’ and he plops down beside you on the cot. It’s absolutely hilarious he traveled in the vents and that the team approved this when in reality, they could have just sent Scott. “Just had to get past the first line of security. Plus, the blueprints said they were wider... I figure we’ve got a good three minutes before they check the cameras.”

It’s not the first time you sit in a cell with a time crunch. 

     The Raft is nothing special. They have you all separated by rank, meaning you were in the same vicinity as Clint, Sam, and Scott. Wanda was moved to a more secure location and you haven’t seen her since they brought you in. 

There isn’t much to do in a place like this. You tried counting how many strands of hair you had but gave up once you counted two hundred; you tried seeing if the others could hear you when you yelled out to them but the cells were soundproof; you even tried filing your nails against the uneven paint on the wall. It’s like they made life in these cells purposefully horrible - like you didn’t save the world a couple times over, c’mon. 

The camera fidgets over your head where you’re laying down and after a few seconds, it stops. The red light slowly fades and turns a bright yellow. You move to stand on the bed and reach for it, but a voice startles you from doing so. 

“Don’t mess with my magic!”

You topple over the single pillow you were given and fall flat on the bed, scrambling to shield yourself from whoever intruded. “Jesus!”

“Oh, I met him. Strange lad, didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

There’s a moment where you think you must be dreaming. His hair is longer and hits his shoulders and he’s added some blue and yellow to his usual attire. But other than that, he’s alive. Truly, brilliantly, really alive. 

“Loki, what the fuck?”

“Right!” Loki claps his hands and extends them outwards, smiling.  “Ta-da!”

A few beats pass. You blink a few times just in case you’re hallucinating. Barely a week in containment… 

“I’m sorry… I’m still trying to process the fact that you’re still alive!”

He scoffs low and goes to sit at the edge of the bed. “A God never truly dies, darling.”

“Well in Greek mythology-”

“Greek mythology and I have this unsettled beef that’s been going on for about five hundred years. Do not mention Greek mythology to me.”

“Excuse me, right, I should have known that was a sensitive topic.”

Loki swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and expels a laugh. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your restraint is gone and you lunge forward to envelope him in the tightest hug you’ve ever given anyone. He returns it, sighing into your shoulder and holding you close. You pull away just to stare at him, watching his features as they move ever so slightly. It’s really him. 

“I-” Loki tries but stutters. He’s studying you too and he almost looks sad. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Does Thor know?” Loki shakes his head at your question and winces when you smack his shoulder. “Loki, Thor has been grieving you for months!”

“I’m planning on it!” You don’t believe him. He goes to rub his shoulder. “Gods, I forgot you had excellent aim.”

You look back at the camera and find that the yellow light is still glowing, dim. Loki’s magic is blocking footage out or putting footage in, you really don’t know. But it’s allowing you a few moments with the man you thought you’d never see again. “Spontaneous reincarnation aside, what are you doing here? How did you even know I was here?”

“I’m on this planet for five-FIVE minutes, and the television has all these reports about you and everyone fighting each other?”

“Mm, right, right.”

Loki stares at you, amused. “... Care to explain?”

Your face contorts into a hundred different expressions until you finally settle on one of gentle guilt. “The person we were after was a friend of a friend. I made a judgement call and let him go.”

“You went against orders?”

“I went against the law.”

“Even better.”

With an eyebrow cocked, you give him a judging look. “Loki.”

His eyes crinkle from the intensity of his smile and you’ve missed him, you missed him so much. “That’s what I love about you. Barely starting out as an Avenger and you’re already realizing you can do more good in your own way.”

You groan quietly and rest your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around your waist and tugs you closer. “I mainly did it for Steve. Wasn’t like it was a big ‘fuck you’ to one-hundred and seventeen nations for the hell of it.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.”

“Spoken like a true anti-hero.”

“You comparing me to yourself?”

Loki chuckles and runs his fingers through the strands of hair closest to your cheek. “Darling, I’m a God. No one comes close.” He sighs, serious again. “All I’m saying is that it’s refreshing to see the young break the rules.”

“I missed you,” you softly say. You can feel the nudge of his cheek turning upward against your head. 

“Always nice to hear.”

Rolling your eyes, you move to meet his gaze. “So, no reason why you came to visit me specifically?”

Loki takes one cautious look at the camera, to outside your cell, and back to you. “I too do things for your lovely Captain.” His smile grows wider. 

“What?”

He winks and tilts his head over to the giant metal doors that are starting to pry open. “See you in a minute.” 

The alarms begin blazing; there is fog filling the room, and Steve emerges from that fog with a winning smirk.

     You look over at Clint, half selfishly wishing he was Loki on another one of his midnight visits, and quickly do away with the thought. “So how’s life without me?”

“Oh, it’s great! The flowers are in bloom, the kitchen isn’t always a mess, and my bow and arrow aren’t misplaced because you wanted to have some fun with it,” he jokes, stretching far enough that his feet dig into your thigh like he’s trying to make more room for himself.  

“Not like it’s your only bow and arrow.”

He chuckles and sits up. He does a once over of the room and adjusts the frequency on his hearing aid. “They read you your rights at least?”

You wait to respond until he finishes fixing it. You speak and sign the words slowly,  “I don’t think any lawyer in America will want to take this case anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s a career killer.”

Trying to refrain from smiling around Clint was nearly impossible. You look to the door quickly, “Two minutes?”

He shoots up straighter as he watches your hands, “Right! So we’re currently tracking down your sister-”

“My sister?”

“Steve thinks she’s our only hope at clearing your name.”

“Why is that? I told her to get as far away as possible.”

Clint sighs and scratches the skin just above the bandaid. “She stayed in Mexico all those years you were gone. By all accounts, Ernesto adored her. Because of that, her influence might clear your name.”

“But she stayed. All the more reason to believe she was involved as well,” you say, shaking your head.

“She’s barely out of her teens. Everything that happened, happened when she was a minor. She has a first hand account of the abuse Ernesto caused you. And Steve thinks that the Julian fellow might even come clean and admit to the arranged marriage. Shows a pattern of abuse by Ernesto to his own children. Could spin it to make it seem like you had no other choice but to follow his orders.”

You follow his hands slowly, some signs difficult to read but you latch onto the gist of his argument. You groan and lean your head back on the wall with a small thump. “They go against Ernesto and they have targets on their backs. Even my other siblings who are still involved with all of this won’t let it go.”

“Y/N… Ernesto’s dead. You know that.”

“His influence isn’t.”

There’s minimal commotion a few doors down. Clint realizes it’s time to leave. “It might never be. But we don’t get to live in the future.” He stands with another small groan and stretches as he prepares to lift himself back into the vent. “We’re living now, and it’s all any of us can do.”

“Clint?” You also stand and have to wave in his peripheral to get his attention. He turns and knows what you’re about to say even without the hand gestures. “They won’t answer me when I ask.”

His lips pull into a perceptive smile, “He’s okay. Doing what he does best - blaming himself.”

“Oh, okay, good.”

He’s had enough practice reading your lips to notice the sarcasm that drips from them. He hurries to lift himself up. “We’ve got about a million tricks up our sleeve. If Jackeline’s word or the evidence isn’t enough, we’ve always got Fury and his blackmail.”

“Yeah, half the guys who interviewed me look like they cheat on their wives, so.”

He genuinely laughs and jumps high, muttering more to himself than to you. “Up we go…”

     The team locates Jackeline just a few days after your run-in with Clint. The building saw a triple rise in security but even then it didn’t prevent undercover agents passing all the checkpoints and sliding notes with your meals. They’d leave the tray, tip their hats, and smile like they knew the cameras wouldn’t suspect a thing. 

The first note is from Bucky, with the simple message of ‘I watched a few episodes of The Crown without you… I’m sorry.’

The second comes on the same day at dinner time, this one from Wanda. ‘I think Peter is trying to flirt with your sister.’

The third isn’t slipped through with any meal, but rather through the tiny opening beneath the door. ‘Surprised we did this the legal way this time! See you soon! - Rhodey’

The final one is actually hand delivered when several guards come in to tell you you’re free to go. They’re mumbling amongst themselves, cursing the system and the privileges Avengers always get, when the smallest of the five turns to you and hands you the note. ‘I owe you one. You owe me one. Who’s counting anymore? - Joaquin’

Jackeline had been able to track down Maribel and the two of them, with such accuracy in their stories and their timelines, constructed your defense perfectly. They showed them phone records, all of the recordings from that week, had proof that you never signed a thing, and made several special deals. Jackeline promised to reveal where bodies were buried, where business was dealt with, who else was involved with Ernesto and Seda. Maribel managed to get a message to them from Ramirez, which basically cleared you from the crime they were trying to stick. Ramirez was a damn good liar, you’ll give him that, and it made you the tiniest bit sad that you’d probably never see him again. 

The tipping point was when Steve turned himself in. There was no evidence that you did anything, never signed anything, never conspired behind your teammates backs. Fury made sure not to keep a paper or electronic trail. But there was evidence that implicated Steve - the contract. No matter how badly the FBI and CIA tried to make it go away, to absolve Steve from it, he didn’t back down. It was like the story they originally wanted toppled in on itself and it was actually Steve who forced you into all of this - playing your connections and forcing your hand. The contract hadn’t been voided, still hasn’t, and they really couldn’t risk another SHIELD fiasco. So it was destroyed to protect the Stars and Stripes, and in return they promised to let you go if you didn’t tell a soul. The image you’d come to despise, that tacky red, white and blue, is starting to grow on you.

‘Let me think about that and get back to you,’ you had joked. You think they let you go sooner because they feared the truth in your joke. 

But there wasn’t anything to think about, ever, still isn’t. Steve pulled another sacrifice play and you wanted to get out as soon as possible to kick his ass. 

You leave the prison with the same clothes you had on when you entered. They smell washed and you’re thankful they allowed you to shower before you left. You ignore the looks guards and prisoners aim at you, each trying to somehow get their hits in without actually pulling their punches. This would be a media disaster either way, didn’t matter the outcome of a supposed trial, and PR was most likely struggling to prepare their defense. 

You resist the embarrassing urge to run into his arms. He’s standing right outside the gates, leaning back on the passenger side of his rusty old blue pickup, positively glowing underneath the blazing sun. You’re blinded by it, skin thanking the dangerous rays for its first touch in weeks, but it only takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. He still hasn’t shaved and his hair is getting longer, and instead of his usual tucked-in dress shirt, he’s wearing a brown leather jacket over a faded graphic tee that reads AC/DC. It was Tony’s.

You’ve only got the broken burner phone and a hair tie in your possession; it’s what was on you when you were arrested. You drop the burner in a nearby trashcan and head on over to the truck. Steve’s wide smile buckles your knees and it damn near breaks your heart. Even when the two of you weren’t on speaking terms, you still saw each other at least twice a week. Going two weeks without seeing him feels like a lifetime. 

Once you're a few feet away, you stop in front of him. There are no immediate words you know to say, so you simply shrug your shoulders and give him a look that asks ‘What now?’

“Home.”

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer​ @justab-eautifulmess​ @supraveng​ @mycosmicparadise​ @missnighttigress​

[excelsi-or]

29/04/25 - needy (woozi)

w.c. 1k (fluff, adorable pouty Jihoon)

BIPOC rec: Brooke Simpson is a wonderful human being who just came out with a new single called Temple. She’s a vocal genius, her range is wild, and I adore her. Her personality is beautiful. Listen to her cover of Emotion (with two other amazing female vocalists) AND her live vocals of Unbreakable with Lex Cole that brings me near tears. Brooke’s just fantastic. CHECK HER OUT. 

April 18, 2025

April 29, 2025

The boys are over for games night, which has slowly dissolved into “let’s have deep chats” night. Seems everyone is involved in his own crisis and she’s the mediator they’ve all come to see. Seungcheol is absent due to time away with his family.

And also he and Jeonghan are having a couple spat.

Jihoon has already told her that he’ll be late. That was three hours ago. She isn’t bothered, understanding that there is a lot going on at the company.

Some scandals have come out about the CEO, so the company is working around new management with many of the producers, Jihoon included, looking to see if they can find work elsewhere.

“All I’m saying is that,” she hears the lock turn in the door, “maybe you should just tell her that you don’t like that she’s grinding up on other guys when you go out. But you also gotta remember that you’re the one who said you didn’t want to be anything with strings attached.”

Mingyu frowns. “I don’t want a relationship. I want the fun.”

“You can’t catch feelings and say that.” Hansol sips his drink. “She’s doing what ‘no strings attached’ people do.”

Wonwoo pats Mingyu’s leg. She’s heard about this situation from Wonwoo, as he doesn’t really vent to anybody else. It’s been a long month and a half.

“Hey, Jihoonie,” she calls when she hears the door open.

The boys call their hellos but become distracted when Seungkwan asks Jeonghan what’s going on with Seungcheol.

Jeonghan, loving drama and being angry, immediately fires off and begins ranting about the fight that he and Seungcheol got into before he left. It isn’t a topic that she has much experience with. Her relationship with Jihoon’s parents is good and vice versa. But it’s clear that Seungcheol’s father is having issues accepting Jeonghan as Seungcheol’s ‘life partner’, as the older man likes to say. The term ‘boyfriend’ is apparently too much for him.

“You and hyung have been together for ages, right?” Seokmin reaches forward for a chip. He catches Jeonghan’s nod. “Why is it suddenly an issue now?”

She doesn’t catch the beginning of Jeonghan’s answer, as she forward folds over when Jihoon koala hugs her. He has an arm around either side of her head, legs kneeling behind her, and his body weight presses her forward. She looks back at him and notes his closed eyes and red cheeks. She intertwines their hands together, rubbing her thumbs back and forth against his skin.

The man must be stressed if he’s willing to show PDA in front of the boys. They tend to make gagging noises whenever something remotely couple-y happens.

“It seems that ten years is the tipping point,” Jeonghan sighs. “And I said, well if it’s such a big issue, he has to choose. I don’t want him to have a strained relationship with his dad. Cheollie loves his dad.”

“You can’t seriously be asking him to choose.” Soonyoung’s eyes widen. “Hyung would never.”

“Well, he went away with his family to see if they can talk it out. Also, he’s been sleeping on the couch since he thinks that I don’t know what I want.”

The room goes quiet for a moment. But Wonwoo is brave enough to ask. “Do you know what you want?”

Jeonghan, sprawled out on a couch by himself, purses his lips as he thinks. “I thought I did.”

Over her shoulder, she hears Jihoon sniffle. When she glances back at him, she watches his face bury into his arm. As much as she wants to listen to Jeonghan, there’s one person who requires her attention. Gently, she pulls his hands over her head and disentangles them.

“Come on, let’s talk in the kitchen,” she murmurs. She urges Jihoon to stand and he keeps his head ducked so that the boys can’t see his tears. They’re distracted just enough by Jeonghan to not all make comments. 

She begins piling a plate with food, just so she has something to do. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Jihoon shakes his head. He uses the edge of his sweater paw to wipe his eyes. “Nothing. I’m just tired, I think.”

She puts a plate down on the counter near him. Her hip rests against the counter top as she watches him. His dark hair is free flowing today. It makes him look a bit softer without his hat. “Jihoon.”

“I’m stressed.” He sighs. “That’s the long and short of it. I’m tired and stressed. Work is stressing me out. None of us know what we want to do or where we want to go. The groups aren’t going anywhere, because what are the chances of being signed again if you’ve already debuted?” His voice is tired, as if he’s had this conversation a million times over at the company. “I don’t want to leave,” he rubs his eyes, “but everything’s so up in the air.”

“Why don’t you ask the boys if there are any positions open?” She nudges the plate closer to his hand. “Your SoundCloud is taking off. You could just keep producing originals for yourself.”

Jihoon picks up the chopsticks and pokes at the food. “They aren’t very good though.”

“Bullshit, Jihoon. If your music sucked, you wouldn’t be in this line of work.” 

Jihoon refuses to lift his head. 

She reaches for his waist, ducking her head slightly to meet his eyes. “Jihoonie.” He makes eye contact with her. “You’re doing fine. We’ll be fine. Your job is unpredictable and we knew that going in.”

“You did too?”

“You didn’t think I started dating you because I thought you would be the breadwinner, did you?” she teases.

Jihoon cracks a small smile. Her eyes follow his chopsticks and she smiles when he puts food in his mouth. His voice is soft, almost so quiet that she can’t distinguish the words. “Can we cuddle when they leave?”

“Do you even have to ask anymore?” she chuckles, leaning up to peck his cheek. “Eat here. Seungkwan’s gonna notice—”

“Noona! Jeonghan hyung wants an opinion!”

She tilts her head in a way that says ‘See? Didn’t I tell you?’

Jihoon grins and nudges her away from him. His body warms from her hand trailing around him as she walks away.

“I think making Cheollie choose undermines the relationship you’ve built together,” he hears her say. The boys all ‘oh’ in surprise.

Next: May 7, 2025

[hms-chill]

Mother’s Day

Summary: Six snapshots of three Mother's days across the years.

2005, Edinburgh, Scotland Henry's got his mum's hand in one of his and a massive picnic basket he'd insisted he could carry in the other. Bea and Philip have run ahead, and Henry's starting to envy their freedom, but he refuses to make their mum carry a picnic basket on a day that's supposed to be all about looking after her. But then he feels a hand in his hair, and another taking the basket for him, and he turns to see his dad, an easy grin on his face and his guitar slung over his back. "Look at you, all grown up and helping your mum. Were you good for her today?" Henry beams. Arthur's been out on a set for hours; he's still got bits of makeup on his face and some product in his hair. Henry thinks it makes him look like a superhero. "I was really, really good!" "Is that right? Cat, was Henry really, really good today?"

"He was," Catherine says, grinning. "All three of them have been wonderful. They were all big helps getting things ready for our picnic."

Henry grins, and newly freed of the weight of the picnic basket, he runs up to join Philip and Bea while his parents share a kiss above his head. Catherine calls to them to stay within eyesight as the family make their way out of Holyrood and up toward Arthur's Seat. The kids fall back a bit as it gets steeper and they get tired, but they make it to the top of the Salisbury Crags and Arthur lays out their picnic while the kids pick flowers, Bea and Philip handing their considerably larger boquetes to Henry so that he can be the one to present them to their mum. After dinner, Arthur gets out his guitar and plays, cycling through some of Catherine's favorites and teaching the kids "Loch Lomond" so they'll be ready when they visit the loch tomorrow. As it starts to get darker, they pack up and finish the climb to the top of Arthur's Seat, and Bea takes pictures of their parents, then a PPO takes pictures of their family as the sun sets behind them, and Henry is so happy he can hardly believe it. 2005, Washington, DC Alex is awake first, and for a second, he's not sure where he is. It's brighter than his bedroom, with whiter walls and a window without any real curtains yet. But then he rolls over, and June is still asleep in a twin bed across the room, and the cars outside are too loud, and it all comes back. They're in Washington, DC. They're visiting their parents for Mother's Day, and they're going to see all the places they work, but first, he and June have something planned. He hops out of his bed and into hers, shaking her awake despite her grumbles. "June! June, June, June. Get up, get up, get up. We have to make breakfast!" Their dad has promised to help them if they need it, but Alex and June decided last night that, at eight and eleven, they're grown up enough to do it themselves. Alex has been helping his dad pour and flip pancakes since he could reach the griddle, and June's been sitting on the counter pushing oranges into a juicer for as long as he can remember. Between the two of them, surely they can put something together. When Oscar comes in, he finds the kids in the middle of a whispered, but very heated, discussion about what exactly the instructions on the side of the box mean. They're both furiously mixing their own pancake batter in different bowls. June's looks better, but Alex refuses to give up. Oscar just laughs, and he helps fix Alex's so that it looks right, and then Alex shapes and flips pancakes while June makes orange juice and Oscar makes bacon and coffee. June finds a tray and she puts a yellow rose on one corner to make it look pretty. Once everything is assembled, Oscar disappears upstairs to make sure Ellen is actually in bed when the kids come to "wake her up" with breakfast in bed. She's been awake for a few hours at least, answering emails and drafting meeting agendas, but she can climb back into bed and let the kids think they've surprised her. Oscar snaps a picture of the three of them, Ellen grinning with a kid under each arm and the breakfast laid out in front of her, and it all feels perfect. 2020, London, England

Mother's Day is rainy, but that feels right. Henry writes a card for his mum, and they all have lunch together, but it's not right. Mother's Day used to be a day Arthur would always make sure he wasn't working, and he'd plan them something fun and exciting to do. But now, Catherine doesn't want to visit the London Eye or go to Holyrood or even take them to the V&A. She just wants to have a nice family lunch, so they have one, and Henry takes the barbs from Philip and his gran so that he doesn't ruin things for his mum. She wants them to get along for the day, so he doesn't fight back. He sits, and he's civil when Philip suggests casually that the public might be excited about a new royal suitor, and how great it would be for their public image if either Henry or Bea started dating. Henry sits quietly while his gran hints that he's been taking a bit too long to decide what to do with himself, and Philip all but outright says that he should be enlisting soon. He sits, and he eats his food, and he resists every urge to fight back or argue.

But after lunch, when their mum's back in her room and Philip is headed back to Anmer, Henry and Bea find their way to the music room. Bea gets her guitar, plucking out a few chords of "Loch Lomond" as Henry settles on the other end of the sofa with his phone. She hums what should be the lyrics "I'll be in Scotland afore you/ but me and my true love will never meet again", and Henry pretends he doesn't know the words. A few minutes of quiet chords later, he looks up from his phone to say, "hey, Bea? Happy Mother's Day. I... I know you didn't really ask for any of this, but I'm... you've been sort of a mum for me for the past few years, and I... I really appreciate it. I love you."

She puts down the guitar to hug him, and he asks, "do you think Mum will get better?"

"I'm... I'm not sure. I hope so. But we've got each other, alright? Whatever happens."

He nods, and that night, they sneak out together to eat Jaffa cakes and Cornettos in a courtyard outside the V&A. Bea brings her guitar, and she plays their parents' favorites, and Henry hopes that wherever their dad is, he's doing something special to help their mom feel loved.

2020, Washington, DC

Alex and June are planning on a traditional Mother's Day, one where they make their mom breakfast and she pretends to be surprised. But Alex is mid-pancake when Ellen appears in the kitchen to grab a muffin and tell them both she loves them and she's sorry, but something's come up and she's got to take a video call. She'll be ready for breakfast as soon as she can be, and she'll meet them when she can.

After an hour, Alex and June eat cold pancakes with warm orange juice alone. June's trying to be happy, but her mouth is doing that thing it does when she's disappointed, but not surprised. Alex is used to that look being directed at him after ignored texts and too-late nights. But it's Mother's Day, and they should be happy, even if their mom is busy. So he picks off the thorns and tucks the yellow rose behind her ear, then he steals her coffee and pancakes to put them on the tray and carry everything out to the Truman Balcony, June following him with half-hearted complaints. When their mom and Leo join them half an hour later, they've saved some pancakes and juice, and Ellen gets to spend at least half an hour as a mom before she's called back to the presidency, Leo promising her a nice dinner if she can find time in her schedule.

At least it's better than last year. Last year, Ellen had been pulled away from breakfast the moment she'd sat down and had been busy for the rest of the day. June had been upset for the rest of the day, and Alex had had to try and keep her company, at least, and the whole day had been hard. Mother's Day has been hard for the past few years, more about finding a semblance of family time than about actually celebrating their mom. But they've found some time today, and June's still smiling, and Leo looks proud and their mom doesn't seem to stressed. So, all in all, it could be worse.

2025, London, England

Tradition demands that they invite Mary to their Mother's Day brunch, so she is invited. She comes, and Alex thinks it might just be to spite them. But after the brunch, she's complaining about her joints. She goes back to Buckingham, and the Fox-Mountchirsten-Windsor children are urging them all into a van, sharing conspiratorial glances and grins as Philip talks to a driver and Bea pulls out a blindfold.

"Mum, we've got a surprise, so we're going to blindfold you after a bit, alright?" Catherine laughs and agrees, and Alex looks at Martha, who looks just as surprised as he is. Philip reveals a blindfold for her, too, arguing that since she's pregnant, she's technically a mother and deserves to be celebrated as one. Catherine agrees immediately, grinning at Martha. So, an hour and a half later, the moms are being blindfolded, but Alex is free to look out the window as the ban pulls into a small seaside town. They drive through it, stopping to park near a beach. Henry takes his mom's hands and Philip takes Martha's as Bea hands Alex a picnic basket, and they make their way to a picnic table on the beach before the blindfolds are removed. Catherine sees the picnic basket, and she grins.

"We... We thought maybe we could go for a hike, since that's what we always did growing up," Henry says.

“It’s not a long one, but Mazzy, if you’re not feeling up for it we’ll stay in town and enjoy the beach, or we can only go part way,” Philip says.

“Happy mother’s day, Mum. It… it’s good to have you back, and we love you,” Bea tells her.

"And you too, Martha. You're the best decision Philip ever made," Henry says, and Philip nods, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek, then the baby bump just starting to make an appearance against her shirt. They have a happy lunch, one where they're not all being careful to do things just right or keep an uptight grandmother happy. Then, Martha feels alright to hike, so she and Philip join them. They take things slowly, resting at a halfway point for Bea to play guitar and the six of them to take a break, Philip making sure Martha's doing alright and Henry passing out some of the treats Alex's family sent with him. And it's good. It's really, really good.

2025, Austin, Texas

Alex wakes up early on Mother's Day in his childhood home, wrapped around Henry in a bed that's probably too small for the two of them to share. He can hear June's alarm from across the hall, and he knows it's time. He presses a kiss to Henry's forehead, then gets up and meets June in the hall, both grinning. This is the first Mother’s Day where they get Regular Mom instead of President Mom, and they’re going to make it the best Mother’s Day yet.

Breakfast is routine by now; Alex starts pancake batter while June squeezes orange juice, then moves on to cooking eggs and bacon as Alex flips pancakes on the griddle. Henry wanders into the kitchen, talking on the phone as he wraps his arms around Alex. The coffee's ready, and there are three stacks of pancakes: blueberry, chocolate chip, and plain. Their mom will take one of each, and Leo will refuse anything but plain while Alex takes chocolate and June does blueberry. Alex wonders which one Henry will pick, thrilled that his boyfriend gets to join them. He's not sure who decided that England and the US should have different Mother's Days, but he's glad.

"Good morning," Henry says, hanging up and pressing a kiss to Alex's forehead.

"Morning. Things going alright at the shelter?" Henry's arranged to have moms who can't be with their kids visit the youth shelter today, to love the kids a little extra and get loved themselves. He’s left Pez in charge of it, and apparently, it’s all off to a good start.

When breakfast is ready, June brings over the tray with servings of eggs, bacon, juice, and coffee, complete with the yellow rose. Alex adds a plate of their mom's favorite pancakes, then he and Henry grab the rest of the food and bring it to their mom's room, where it's been Leo's job to make sure she actually relaxes this morning. She'd jumped into charity work the minute she left office, and they've all agreed she deserves to take a break for once. She doesn't know it, but she and Leo are going on vacation tomorrow, and he and the kids are refusing to let her bring any work with her. She’s been working for eight years straight; she deserves to relax for a bit.

She pretends to be surprised about the breakfast as the kids find spots around the room to settle down so they can eat together. Ellen's relaxed for the first Mother's Day in eight years, and she's going to spend the whole day with them for the first time in ages, if ever. They're planning on a day in, full of card and board games. Alex is going to help her grill for dinner, and they've all made a pact not to wear anything but pajamas all day. And, for the first time since she was president, Alex is convinced it's going to be a good Mother's Day.

On AO3

Notes:

Earlier today, I was like "yeah I kinda want to write a parent fic but I don't know", and then the discord chat (especially Gina over at @saltfics) was like "DO IT" and so I ignored my final essay and did this instead. -

Want to support the Hannah Makes Art fund? You can tip me a ko-fi here!

[chussyracing]

what's been happening in the world of motorsports lately?

a long overdue summary which is not including absolutely everything but at least some important stuff. there is a lot, so i'm putting it under the read more button :)

Jack Doohan confirmed to partner Gasly in Alpine for 2025

Ferrari will be bringing upgrades for Monza (and Fernando had something to say about their performance over the next two races……)

after the court decided that Haas owes Uralkali they were told to send unspecified amount of money as unpaid sponsorship bid to them but their trucks were literally held hostage in Zandvoort (after Uralkali got help from Dutch court), not allowed to leave with the rest of the teams until the transaction was finalized and the money ended up in Uralkali’s account, but that is sorted for now so they don’t expect to miss out on Monza

Liberty Media are selling a share in F1 to have enough funds to get Moto GP

if you weren’t already tired of it, there is another rumour of Logan losing his seat mid-season, this time either to Mick or Liam Lawson that James Vowles apparently spoke to after Logan crashed in FP3 and ultimately broke the upgrades he was fitted with for the weekend (Wolff confirmed that Kimi won’t be going to Williams for the rest of the season but didn’t rule out Mick as he “offered” him to James… he might get sold to 1d you guys), there is also possibility for Franco Colapinto to actually choose from their own junior academy

Helmut Marko said that Liam Lawson will have a seat in one of their teams in 2025, Horner said he might be on loan to another team at the same time (choose your fighter)

Lewis’ current race engineer Bono (Bonnington) will stay in Mercedes and even gets a promotion as Head of Race Engineering after Lewis’ departure, while Lewis will inherit Ricky (Adami) from Carlos in Ferrari

also Checo’s race engineer is leaving for paternity leave, so they prepared a switch up to make his current performance engineer Richard Wood (sorry but you mean to tell me there is a guy and his name is Dick Wood????? in a world where Prince Albert is real well? ok) temporarily his race engineer

Toto had a lil Freudian slip and said that they had a small chance to get Max which has now passed but they are happy about their Goerge-Kimi line up for 2025

Kimi will also have junior outing in fp1 in Lewis’ car in Monza

there are rumours about a potential F1 race in Rwanda as Domenicali had more meetings to ensure that over the summer break, it should be a permanent track and not a street circuit, so I take this as a big win (now if only we took existing track and upgraded them instead of making new ones)

Lando’s gap between p1 and p2 was the biggest winning margin all season not as big as his ego though, knowing he said “simply lovely” after crossing the checkered flag as a dig at Max lol (Sauber drivers were lapped twice I think, as much for the cars being close in performance we thoughts we could see this year)

Alex was disqualified from quali in Zandvoort because his floor was outside of compliance of the rules, so he had to start from the pitlane although he got to p8 on merit

Liberty Media are officially under investigation for rejecting Andretti’s bid to become 11th team by the US Department of Justice’s antitrust division

Charles is on the new edition of Beyond the Grid podcast which is now also available in video form (all I saw about it so far is that he wants to win with Ferrari only and he believes they can do it, he name dropped Elon Musk ew and he said Leo pees everywhere)

Zak Brown refused McLaren would be signing Adrian Newey

Nina Gademan was the wildcard for Zandvoort’s F1 Academy race and she SLAYED

Isotta Fraschini ends in WEC before the season is done so you won’t see the only private team on the grid for the last three races

despite (or maybe because) being Ferrari reserve driver, Robert Schwartzman got a chance to have a junior outing in fp1 for Stake in Zandvoort

FIA officially banned asymmetrical brakes in fear it could bring advantage (in turns) – it can be either a reaction to someone’s grey area shady business this year or reaction to teams questioning the new technical rules for 2026 onwards

Oscar got his rib broken because of wrong seat/seating position and it happened around Austria/Silverstone, but he is fully healed by now

Audi is looking at Mick and Liam Lawson as some potential candidates for the seat (but also Valtteri and now apparently Robert Schwartzman and Guanyu too – Valtteri because he posted an Audi car with number 77 on it, Robert because of his junior outing in fp1 and Guanyu because of possible sponsorship deals)

Helmut Marko yapped about Seb Vettel and that it is no secret besides Red Bull he was asking one or two other teams if they have a free seat for him

there was also the one Kyle guy from??? Nascar I think? thinking he is overall better driver than Max Verstappen which is honestly just a bit funny

gentle reminder that the drivers now have to be way more careful on the radio about swearing and talking about stewards and race control, because FIA will now be penalizing such behaviour as misconduct (Ben Sulayem also linked it all to online abuse which is a campaign he focused on with his presidency)

Mattia Binotto will have “full responsibility” in Audi because they are apparently happy about how much experience he has, especially in the technical department

Peter Bayer said that if it goes like that Yuki will be considered for 2025 Red Bull seat

Peter Windsor said that one driver is doing rally testing in secret and doing good results among uncertain F1 future and that he won’t tell who it is but it’s not Max (and then Val was asked about it because he could be the one with uncertain future and he denied it)

Ferrari will be switching to pull-rod front suspension for 2025

Oscar started his own app similarly to Logan

Porsche said after they failed to partner with Red Bull, they closed the F1 chapter and don’t wanna pursue another entry into the series

David Malukas is no longer jobless, he signed multiyear contract with AJ Foyt in Indycar

Zane Maloney tested with IndyCar in Indianapolis

BBS won’t be supplying wheel rims after 2026 to everyone so it will be one of the parts teams can get from any supplier they wish

Domenicali wants more changes to the weekend structure in the future – probably more sprints and less FPs or none at all (or points for them), maybe even reverse grid

(not sure if I already wrote this down in previous round up but) Nyck de Vries will go to Super Formula starting round 5

Fionn McLaughlin and Scott Linblom joined Red Bull junior academy

the complaint against Horner has been dismissed (are you kidding me)

Marta Garcia debuted in GT racing in Ligier European Series JS2 R and lost podium from the first race due to penalty only to win the second race

Zak Brown is apparently trying to take away team’s veto/voting rights for the new Concorde Agreement that is being finalized for future decisions

Adidas is apparently in talks with Audi to become their clothing partner

Juri Vips was meant to drive an indycar race but I didn’t put enough effort into this to find out if he really did teehee :)

(Bonus from my fave gossipers: They are set on Newey going to Ferrari, the talks about Aston bring up his value though, something his manager Eddie Jordan is well aware of. Also there are talks about the Ferrari upgrades for Monza and that they will be black – deleted everything else because they already posted the black merch and suits so they were right about this lol)

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

Nick Jonas doubled down on his stance as a straight ally after queer baiting accusations, even though I've heard firsthand he's closeted. He's someone who I doubt will ever "come out" (he's also in a PR marriage).With the way H has navigated his closet more recently, being more explicit in his attraction to men while also confirming Camille as an ex-gf, and the way he has not clarified his stance as a straight ally, despite some similar criticism, I wonder what that means. I do find the way 1/3

fandom has always framed the end-all-be-all as this big coming out, but I've never found that useful. I still think that there is a large possibility that will never happen. If Harry or Louis ever come out, it would not be to confirm "Larry is real" and this also negates the fact that so many celebs go their whole life without ever coming out of the closet, and I don't think it's against their will. I just find people in the fandom love to speculate on when they will come out and how they 2/3

will do it as if it's inevitable, and I just don't see it that way at all. I'm not sure if you've discussed your thoughts on if/how HL would ever come out, but I would love to hear them if you have any. 3/3

*********

There’s a lot here anon - and I’ll try and say a little bit about what I think.

The first thing to understand the current environment for celebrities coming out.  Celebrities are coming out more than they used to, but they tend to be younger and not to have actively performed heterosexuality as part of being in the closet.  The effect of this has been to erase any structural elements of the closet.  Coming out is presented as an individual choice, as opposed to something that is mandated by structures of power within the industries involved.

The last person I can think of who publicly performed heterosexuality and then came out was Kristen Stewart.  But she’s never denied her past - it just sits there and people can believe what they want about it.  

What hasn’t happened for a while (and I’d be interested if anyone can think of any examples) is someone saying ‘I’m gay and the story I was telling about myself before was a lie’.  Ricky Martin is the last person I can think about who came out, and made it clear that the relatioship history he had told publicly wasn’t true (this is leaving out people who were clearly outted like Phillip Schofield).

That’s a very tricky envrionment for Harry and Louis to navigate if they’re together and want to come out.  It would be possible I think for them to tell a story that didn’t present everything about their dating life as a lie (definitely possible for Harry and with enough lead time also possible for Louis). But trying to do that would be high risk, because lots of people won’t believe it - and will talk about how they don’t believe it - and there’s a risk of journalists runnig aritcles about why they won’t believe it.

But things won’t necessarily stay as they are now.  Celebrity changes and the experieces of being a public LGBTQ person change.  It maybe that in five years time celebrities are much more able to expose the nature of the celebrity closet in the 2010s. We live in an incredibly unstable time - the idea that we can predict what will happen in the short term is absurd - the medium term is unthinkable.  And there are all sorts of ways that current events could ricochet and create a different environment for LGBTQ celebrities.

We don’t know what they want, we don’t know how they see this, and I try really hard not to pretend that I do know.  But when thinking about whether they might come out - it’s useful to think about things that they might want that would be difficult if they remained in the closet.

First, I may be wrong about this, but I think Louis will struggle to be an interesting popstar in the closet.  And in the current environment you gotta be interesting to get any traction.  

Second, I think it’s very difficult for them to have children together, if they don’t come out.  If either of them were with someone non famous, or even someone famous where the relationship was under a little bit less surveillance, then there are all sorts of possibilities to have kids. But if they stayed together long term, I think they’d have to choose (certainly if either of them was living a public life of any sort).  

Finally, it may be the circles we move in (I have quite a restricted dash), but I don’t see a lot of discussion of coming out on my dash.  What I saw instead - was large parts of fandom turning on a dime.  When it became untenable for those with a grasp on music industry contracts to argue that they were closeted entirely because of their contracts.  I suddenly saw lots of arguments about privacy and their desire for privacy across my dash.  I think it’s very obvious that they have reclaimed a lot of privacy.  But I think it’s a huge leap to claim that that’s the reason that they haven’t come out, partiucularly when there’s a much more obvious answer.

I’m a materialist girl, and so I am going to look at what’s going on financially first, and there’s a huge amount of money on the line for Harry’s career.  I think it’s unfortunate that fandom refuses to discuss that, because I think the implications of that refusal are quite fucked up.  I think there’s a reasonably strong belief that it wouldn’t be OK that Harry is closeted, because a huge part of his audience is invested in a romantic fantasy boyfriend version of him.  And that’s why people don’t talk about the extremely obvious, because they don’t want to acknowledge it.  But I think that ends up blaming LGBTQ people for their oppression. If society cuts off opportunities for queer entertainers if they come out (which it does), the problem there is society.  And I think it’s really homophobic to suggest that there are wrong ways of navigating the closet. 

Ultimately I don’t think the line of question you focus on - how should fans talk about their closet in the future - is a particularly useful one. Thefuture was always unknowable, and feels much more unknowable than ever right now.  We don’t know what Harry or Louis’ short, medium, or long term plans are.  Or what might change so they end up living completely different lives from what they imagine.  I think there is a lot to say about the closet in the present (and their recent past), there’s no need to suggest we know what 2025, let alone 2035 will look like (or not look like).  

[mccncrane]

INTRODUCING — KALANI "MERCY" AHUNA

“ I WAS EVERY WORD IN EVERY LANGUAGE, AS LONG AS IT TRANSLATED TO BLOODSHOT. ” is that JASON MOMOA? oh no, that’s KALANI “MERCY” AHUNA, born on the 15th of APRIL, 2004. i heard HE/HIM (CIS MALE) is a MOST TRUSTED of the IDAHO HUNTERS.  apparently, they can be WARM and HUMOROUS but also known to be SELFISH and UNPREDICTABLE. spends most of their free time (TERRORIZING) PRANKING THE PRISONERS FOR ENTERTAINMENT, probably smells like STRAWBERRIES AND SMOKE. is that a bite mark i see?

HISTORY: (tw for death, the usual) (me starting this: i barely have anything to say! / this in the end: probably the longest intro i have so far)

Kalani Ahuna was born under difficult circumstances. He lost his father very young, and his mother even younger, which left him to be raised by his fraternal grandparents. He never felt like he was missing out on any parental figures growing up, but there was the undeniable fact that they were much older than most parents -- Kalani always knew he wouldn't have much time with his tūpuna.

They lived in a small town in Nevada, and when the apocalypse started, they were moved into a qz on the northern area of the state. Fedra wasn't doing a great job. Kalani's grandparents were already much too old to be living in these conditions; while the quarantine zone kept them safe from the monsters roaming outside, they couldn't afford the lack of resources. Kalani was a big guy, even as a teenager, he could handle sharing his own rations with them for as long as he could, but eventually, it was too much.

By the end of 2025, their qz was a warzone in itself. Fedra was losing control and starting to abandon the area, food was almost inexistent, clean water and medicine were also hard to come by. Kalani's grandparents, now too old and fragile to continue, passed away. One after the other, barely hours apart on the same day. Kalani believes it was simply their time to go, and they went together.

He was sad, but he knew they went as peacefully as they could. And all things considered, maybe this was a better death than being torn apart by an infected. He greeted their death with grace, and decided to leave the qz. He took their bodies out with him, buried them somewhere pretty and covered them with flowers in the woods.

He roamed alone for about a year, freshly twenty-something, until he found the Idaho Hunters. They were just planning their final takeover of the city, and he proved himself a worthy ally when he helped them.

He got his nickname by talking a big talk about forgiveness and the belief of not holding onto any grudges or bad feelings, as he'd always been close to his Hawaiian culture. Someone probably jokingly said "yeah okay, Mr. Mercy" in a teasing tone, and he laughed so hard at it that it stuck. He likes it.

About ten years later, one day when he was roaming the outskirts of their town, Mercy stumbled upon a woman in danger. He felt compelled to save her, and once he did, things made sense. It was like there was a gravitational shift on the Earth itself, it felt like all of the energies in his body realigned. Meeting her changed him, immediately, even if he couldn't quite put a finger on how. They talked as if they'd known each other since forever, and he became easily convinced that their souls had been each other's companions for many centuries. It didn't feel like meeting someone knew, it felt like finding an old friend again; a reunion.

He managed to convince the Hunters to take Aylin in -- by being dramatic about it and saying they could either take her in or he'd be leaving with her, which he definitely meant. She is the absolute love of his life, they got married at some point, and he will kill and die for her, thank you.

At some point in the last couple of years, while he was outside with Aylin, they got themselves into a troubling situation with a couple of infected. Mercy is good at combat and has brute force, but he'd gotten distracted and one of the things sunk its teeth into his side. It was a gnarly bite, and the only reason he didn't lose a chunk of meat around his ribs was because Aylin managed to shove the infected off.

They sat there for a while that day, with Mercy trying to convince her to kill him before he turned, which she refused to do. It was for the best, in the end, since hours passed and he felt none of the symptoms. Hours and more hours, and he didn't even feel tired. He patched up, eventually, they went back to camp, and they kept quiet about it. After the initial shock had passed, Mercy started to believe this was not a normal bite. He wouldn't turn.

Surely enough, he's immune. He still hasn't told anyone else besides Aylin, and if anyone notices that he doesn't take his shirt off in the summer anymore, no one has said anything, either. He keeps the obnoxious scar on his side a secret -- the only thing he hides from his beloved group of Hunters.

TL;DR:

raised by his grandparents, they died of old age. he roamed around for a bit, found the idaho hunters, joined them. then he found aylin, his soulmate, his wifey, his boo. they live a chill life with the idaho hunters. he gets bit, finds out he's immune, hides it from everyone but aylin. nowadays he's out here chilling, being a most trusted and protecting his fellow hunters. as well as terrorizing some prisoners for Funsies.

PERSONALITY:

an absolute goofball idiot. he has a childish sense of humor, he likes to mess with people and he doesn't have a solid understanding of boundaries when it comes to pranks. he's your older cousin who made you cry when you were 5 because he showed you some traumatizing horror film while he laughed his ass off. probably slaps his bros' asses lovingly.

despite being painfully between chaotic neutral and chaotic evil, he is not all chaos, he's pretty emotional. he's open and honest, he's a romantic, he loves love, he wears his heart on his sleeve. he thinks there's beauty in pain and sadness, he's just very peaceful in that sense, and very in tune with his feelings. we love an emotionally stable man.

that being said he is not above slaughtering an entire village if someone hurts his loved ones 😌bc he's protective of all of his hunter family and aylin (of course), and he doesn't see anything wrong with killing people sometimes. broken moral compass energy, but like, it is the end of the world. mr mercy will still kill u if u deserve it. he will forgive your soul and then still chop your head off bby.

EXTRAS:

im not gonna make y'all read any more, i'll think of connections some other time !! if you got any ideas, yes, come give me anything !!

[autisticblueteam]

Change in Perspective (WashCT)

[AO3] [Ko-Fi in Bio]

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2025

Summary: It had been their willingness to question things that had brought them together. It was her willingness to act that had pushed them apart.

Notes: Finally emerging from long-fic hell to churn out something for rare pair week!

There had been a time, before the leaderboard, before the Triplets went missing, before the Project started to fan the blaze that obscured itself with billowing smoke into an inferno, that their healthy scepticism had been a part of what had brought them together.

She’d never been anything less than outspoken. From the day she set foot on the Mother of Invention, she questioned everything. It was part of her charm; it made her who she was and he had loved her for it, then. She had the words for things he would never say, no matter that he thought those things just as often as she did.

He humoured her questions and enabled her discussions, but he never said anything unprompted. He never gave himself anything less than plausible deniability.

He was scared. She wasn’t.

But they had worked, for a time. When the questions were nothing but hypotheticals or the kinds of offences that one could ignore, in pursuit of a nobler goal. The war was the driving force behind every action and reaction, every moral choice and decision about the future was made with the knowledge that humanity was on the brink of the abyss that seemed to grow darker with every passing day.

The urge to not just survive but to live had been what drove them into each other’s arms.

Surrounded on all sides by the black expanse of space, perched on the edge of the Mother of Invention’s observatory deck, her questions about the Triplets’ disappearance had turned into questions about the stars. He didn’t know the answers, not in the scientific sense, but perhaps they had never been the kinds of questions that needed them. She had asked about lightyears and the relativity of time. Did the glassed worlds, still burning somewhere tens of lightyears across space, still live on if you looked at them from far enough away?

Could you pretend, if only for a moment, that things hadn’t changed?

“No,” he’d said, “I don’t think so. The past… the past is done; viewing it from another angle can change your perspective, but it can’t change what happened. All you can change is the future.”

She had nodded and fallen silent, her knees to her chest and her chin on her arms. Her hair fell into her face and somehow, in that moment, he had realised what he wanted his future to be.

And still, somehow, it had still been a surprise when she kissed him first.

She had laughed at his bewildered face and kissed him again, and again, and again, and he had fallen into her like a diver in freefall, eyes closed and heart open. One of the few things left unsaid between them had reached the open air at last and they revelled in it, for a while.

They had months, like that; or, at least, it had seemed so at the time.

In hindsight, it was easy to see the ways in which her questions had changed tone, to see where her frustration with him had bloomed as he refused to follow her lead. Where she grew bolder, he grew reticent. For every flaw and hole and lie she unearthed, he found an excuse. For every question she asked, he had a rebuttal, a dismissal.

Until, finally, he crossed a line.

Connie became CT and they became…

What had they become?

She still slept in his bed at night, or him in hers. She still kissed him and she still touched him, in the ways she always had. She still teased him and smiled at him, but the smile rarely seemed to reach her eyes.

Oh, he had known, of course. He had always known.

Internals had chosen him to talk to for a reason; but he didn’t give them what they wanted from him. He lied through his teeth, with the convincing demeanour of a man who didn’t want to lose his second chance. They believed his lies because they believed that he would not lie, because they thought that they had him under their thumb.

Perhaps they had. Perhaps it had only been the hand she still held that had escaped the crushing pressure from above, that made him too afraid to let the seeds of the doubt in his mind bloom into the forest they could have been.

Or perhaps he had simply been selfish, protecting himself from the scrutinous gaze that would have turned his way should he have revealed what he knew.

He liked to think it was more the former than the latter, that he had done it for her and not for him. He liked to think that telling her, one night, about how he had been talked to by internals had served as a warning for her.

He liked to think that she had known that, despite it all, he was on her side—at least, so far as he didn’t want her to die.

So he turned a blind eye to everything he saw—the conversation with the man in the hallway; the disappearances on missions; the glow of her screen, casting her features into shadow, in the early hours of the morning—at the same time as he turned a blind eye to the flames that had begun to whip itself into an inferno around their feet.

Hypocritical, that was what he was.

Somehow, though, he was still surprised when she left without him.

At the time, he had wanted to scream that he would have followed, that he would have taken her at her word and followed the lead of the person who he had told himself would be in every version of his future. That had she simply told him what she’d found and laid it there in front of him, outright, he would have thrown aside his selfish desires and gone with her her, wherever she may have led him.

In reality, she could have asked him, “Come with me?” with her hand outstretched, hovering in the black expanse of space with nothing but their armour between them and the void, and he would have looked away.

It was better, that she hadn’t asked.

At least then he could pretend. At least then, she didn’t have to see him turn his back on her, in a way that neither of them could deny.

He’d known then that he’d never see her again.

 The truth came for him, in time. Epsilon came apart in his head, screaming with the kind of all-consuming agony and rage and fear that he had never known, spilling memories that burned like the fire from which they’d come and forcing him to confront all the things that CT had done everything she could to show him, that he had done everything he could to ignore.

Memories that left him longing for a time when learning the truth would have been as simple as listening to the person he loved, instead of dismissing them.

Hindsight makes a genius out of everyone—what a lousy excuse that was.

Wash became Recovery One and with it, he became bitter. He realised, then, as he struggled to hide the truths he knew from the people that had the power to end his life with a word, how alone CT had been in the end. How she had balanced on a knife edge for so long that she must have forgotten what it felt like to be at ease, to trust.

How much it would have meant to her, to have someone.

Alone, he played Command’s games. He cleaned up their messes. He watched the friends he had known drop like flies, always one step behind, always just a little too late to change anything. He tallied them, one by one; the people he’d failed, the people he could have saved. He tallied them and every time he did, he started with her.

He’d been ready to mark off another, when the Level 0 signal came in.

Imagine his surprise, when he’d found not the corpse of another friend, but the very much living, breathing shape of a lover, not a drop of blood in sight. Perched on the driver’s side of a Warthog, staring right at him with golden eyes set into the deep brown metal of her helmet, CT saw him and the beacon stopped. Just like that.

“You’re late,” she said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “Your response time over that distance is usually less.”

“…I took a wrong turn,” he replied, once his mouth remembered how to move. His radio was dead, but he’d never turned it off. “How are you—”

“Texas is a surprisingly agreeable woman, when you’re on the same side,” she said, as if it explained a thing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know if we could trust you.”

“You couldn’t,” he said and heard her laugh, a sound that lit up something in his chest that hadn’t been alive in months. Defensiveness seeped into his voice despite himself and he asked, sharply, “What’s so funny?”

And she laughed again and said, “Nothing,” with a hint of a smile still in her voice. “I’m just… relieved. Any other answer and… I wouldn’t have trusted you now, either.”

“How do you know that’s not why I said it?” he said.

“I don’t,” she said with a shrug. “But if you were working with them, not just for them, you’d have killed me by now. They don’t need me alive, we both know that.”

As always, she was right. She was the only agent besides the Meta designated ‘eliminate on sight’.

His hand had never so much as gone for his pistol.

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to get in?” CT said, tilting her head. “They’ll notice your radio silence soon. We should be out of here before a secondary recovery team is sent.”

“Why are you doing this?” he said, the words toppling out like debris knocked loose. “I don’t deserve this.”

“Maybe not,” she said, simply. “But if I didn’t want to give you the chance to prove that you were, then why would I be here? I’m ready if you are.”

CT offered him an outstretched hand and he stared at it, at the second chance, third chance, fourth— whatever it was that she was offering him. He stared at it, and he said:

“I’m sorry, Connie.”

Her shoulders fell and she went to pull the hand away, but he grabbed it. He took her hand in his and he held on, until her smile could be read in every inch of her body and she pulled him close, their helmets knocking together with a sharp clunk.

“The past is done,” she said, jerking her head towards the passenger seat. He clambered inside without a word. “Viewing it from a different angle might change your perspective a little, but it can never change what happened. All you can change is the future. Remember that?”

Heart beating quick in his chest, he swallowed and nodded. “I remember.”

“Live by your own words, Washington. Help me change the future. Maybe that will go some way to making up for the past,” CT said, resting her hand over his. “But make no mistake, it’ll take a while. You really fucked up.”

Washington laughed, the sound as foreign in his mouth as her own laugh had been in the air. “Yeah. Yeah I did. Would it be a good start to tell you I have a plan on how to take them down?”

“Depends how good the plan is.”

So he told her everything. He told her about how he knew everything now and she squeezed his hand, knowingly. He told her about the failsafe and how he’d been biding his time, waiting for his chance to end it all. He told her how they could trick them and in turn, she told him all he needed to know.

She gave him the chance to prove himself a better, braver man than he had been.

The past was done, but the future was only just beginning.

[theyearoftheking]

Book Twenty: Roadwork (A Bachman Book)

“One way or another, things are set and they’ll turn out the way the way they will. Only one thing that bothers me, and that’s a feeling I get from time to time that I’m a character in some bad writer’s book and he’s already decided how things are going to turn out and why...”

Unpopular (or maybe popular?) opinion: these Bachman books are garbage, and getting worse. I can’t wait to get back to Steve’s actual books. 

Roadwork was a predictable, and messy descent into madness. You pretty much knew what was going to happen within the first few pages. It’s the precursor to Falling Down. Except not good. 

Barton “George” Dawes and his lovely wife Mary are being forced to sell their home on Crestallen Street West back to the city, because of the 784 freeway expansion. While Mary is dreaming about new curtains, and suburban heaven, Bart (or George, depending how nuts he is on any given day) is digging his heels in, and refusing to sell their home. He won’t meet with realtors to look at new homes, and he’s lying to Mary about homes he’s not looking at. He’s also tasked with finding a new location for the Blue Ribbon Laundry facility he runs. He’s not really acting on that either, which is adding to his (completely preventable) stress. Blue Ribbon finds out he hasn’t found a new location yet, and he resigns about two seconds before they fire him. 

Bart/George is mad he’s forced into this situation, and takes matters into his own hands. Matters that involve buying guns, explosives and lots of ammo. Yes... we all see where this is headed. Mary finds out he’s been lying to her, and she leaves him. Cue the true descent into madness. Bart/George is drinking more, meeting with mobsters, bringing home (and hooking up!) with young, female hitchhikers, and takes an ill-advised trip on mescaline. All of this reads like one big hangover.

Oh, I should explain the Bart/George dichotomy. To the world, he’s known as Bart. However, he and Mary had a son that died of a brain tumor, Charlie (who naturally went by Fred). So, during Bart/George’s truly manic moments, he does this strange comedy routine in his head between George and Fred. I don’t know... I didn’t really get it. I kept thinking of the Weasley twins. 

The book ends with Bart/George selling his house to the city, donating most of the money to a small coffee shop in town, and blowing up his house (with him inside). It was supposed to be political, but instead it just read like a grown man having a temper tantrum. 

I think this book annoyed me, because we had a similar situation here in Wisconsin, when global douchebags Foxconn decided to build a manufacturing facility in Mount Pleasant, Wisconsin. I don’t want to get into the politics behind it, but it was never well planned, and Foxconn got big money for investing in an economically depressed area of Wisconsin. We knew shit was going sideways when Trump showed up for the groundbreaking ceremony. That should tell you ALL you need to know about this shit show.

The people in Mount Pleasant were forced out of their homes, and not paid fairly for their hardship. The most cringy was a wheelchair bound veteran who was forced out of his home, and relocated to a home that wasn’t wheelchair accessible. Homes were destroyed, families were displaced, and in the end... Foxconn decided not to have manufacturing jobs in Wisconsin. Who saw that coming? Oh... just anyone with half a brain...

This is a really bastardized version of the story, I highly recommend listening to this amazing episode of Reply All for the whole saga. 

Bart/George was being paid fairly by the city for his home’s value, and he owed it to the employees of Blue Ribbon Laundry to find them a new plant. But no... he threw a temper tantrum, and the end result was the same. 784 kept right on moving along. This story was stupid. 

But there were two Dark Tower references, one which I lost, but references a gunslinger, and another, “I was a little off the beam...” 

Ugh, this book was painful to get through, and I’m glad I’m done with it. Now I’m onto The Running Man, which is supposed to be dystopian, but is set in 2025. Sooo...yeah...

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 15

Total Dark Tower References: 14

Book Grade: D

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Different Seasons: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Roadwork: D

Christine: D

The end of quarantine might not be in sight, but the end of the Bachman is! 

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights, Rebecca

[lonelypond]

2025: Breakout

Love Live, NicoMaki, 5.3K, 1/?

Summary: Super Idol and Closely Held Government Secret Yazawa Nico's been back from her tour, but she and Tokyo's top robotics expert, Nishikino Maki, have been at odds, unable to just pick up their relationship. And even if they can, how can they make a future work in a Tokyo that wants to limit their choices. Sequel to 2024.

A/N: Giving myself a Lunar New Year present a day early and posting this as a challenge. I rough drafted this chunk a year ago maybe and I kept tossing between potential story arcs and stalled. However, this is one of my favorite AU's so I'm giving myself a nudge. Any chapters to follow may or may not follow a linear timeline. Apparently I’ve missed juggling multiple AUs. Enjoy!

Also, thanks again to the Love Live Wikia for song translations. And may the Year Of The Pig bring you health, prosperity, and happiness. Thanks for all your support.

Chapter One

"Ebbing and rising,

The waves of my heart wash me away The strength to desire something this much Is the passionate Reason in my chest

That's strange; I'm feeling fervent! Once you've taken the first step, you've gotta run Has everyone gone through this? Everything starts to pick up; Ah, I can't stop

I think I want to give those things a try; I'll walk forwards while counting them"

And that’s Love Arrow with "Yuuki No Reason". Winter is winding down with a bit too much gray for our liking, but the next Tunnel Rave theme is Neon Night. Password is “first step.” Text it to the number you know for the location. And we’ll also be hosting a virtual dance floor for those of you who can’t make it out. Diamond Princess has banned Nico Ni songs but send us your requests for anything else that hits the target for you. And Ballet Twist has some advice about which toys to avoid when you hit the virtual dance floor.

FALLING INTO HER EYES

Five times in the past month. Professor Nishikino Maki couldn’t seem to avoid events that the Number One Idol in Japan aka that demon doll, Nico Ni was scheduled to perform at. She couldn’t blame either Nico or her mother. Nico had barely returned from her tour of the North of Japan, released a new single with a new sound and a burst of popularity, pleasing her government minders. Tonight was the fifth event, an unveiling of a new Robotics lab at a small company Maki often consulted with. Maki wondered if the Air Special Defense Forces did too, but the robot she’d examined the night she’d uncovered Nico Ni’s double life was the only one of its kind she’d heard of. And Eli had put discreet questions out but received no answers. Maki was having no success growing her own organoid brain, even at a small size.

Maki had decided casual was the ticket for tonight so tailored black trousers, her N-Zan, grey button down shirt, loose white tie, black vest. She and Nico had tried meeting for a meal -- pizza -- in a dive near Muse, when Nico had first returned to Tokyo, but it had been an awkward encounter, neither of them sure what they could safely discuss in public. It had also ended awkwardly, a quick kiss and a promise to meet again when their schedules cleared.

Which didn’t suit Maki at all. No 1 Idol and the rest of the Idol Fools had been painting regularly, but Maki had noticed an increase in curfew drones and police foot patrols in areas that had been hit by them. Which worried her.

Maki entered through a few photographers and reporters, nodding in their direction, but neither answering questions or smiling, as they expected. Next would be the colleagues excited by her latest breakthroughs in electrical transfer from skin photocells. Batteries for emergency only would leave more room for processing power. She and Eli had been working on a breakthrough for two years, but after seeing what was possible with organic brains, Maki had to fake her excitement. But it had led to her contract being renewed, a budget increase and the possibility of hiring another grad student, although the department had pushed her to hire one of the younger male grad students, preferably a married one. That had been the theme of Nico Ni’s last song, a slow, pulsing number, the joys of newlyweds under the cherry blossoms, which had led to Nico performing at every wedding Maki had been invited to recently. The wealthier families being able to hire the crazy popular Idol made both marriage and wealth seem more exciting to everyone looking on through their personal devices. Maki was really quite fed up with both wealth and marriage, although she did appreciate that her money made much of what Soldier Game did possible as she had provided the seed money for Eli’s investment portfolio.

Inside, someone had draped black fabric everywhere, lights shimmering against the folds, highlighting the textures. Seemed gloomy, but maybe that was just Maki’s mood. At least there would be dark corners and Maki could hide there. She grabbed a bottled seltzer water and slunk into the corner she’d decided on. Wait for the music to start, give it a few minutes, then find the founder, shake his hand and express her reluctant need to get back to her lab. It was a great plan. Maki had spent at least an hour going through the steps in her mind, including the slight nod when the demonic black eyes of Nico Ni glanced in her direction. As if she didn’t know her, as if she thought the eyes were actually black, as if she hadn’t been dreaming every night about…

Nope. That was a trap. Take a sip of water. Focus. Ignore everything below eye level. Until they simper.

“So the brilliant Professor can’t stop stalking the great Nico Ni?” Nico’s voice sounded even peakier than usual.

Maki took a long moment and looked down her nose at the singer, taken aback by a Nico shaped hole under a lace cage of deep blue lights. It was disconcerting, she heard Nico’s voice, but as her eyes struggled to find definition in Nico’s face, she could only sweep the contours and as her line of sight followed the line of Nico’s body down, and she was pretty sure some of the curves were padded, but there was nothing but depth. Maki shivered, a hand instinctively reaching out but as she connected with the light cage, Nico Ni hopped back, “No touching, Professor. You’ll break the illusion.”

“Sorry,” Maki grunted, pushing her hand into the wall behind her to contact something solid, her eyes still futilely attempting to make sense of Nico’s lips and nose, lost in the darkest black she’d ever seen.

There was silence, a hole between them as black and deep as whatever was obscuring every detail of Nico’s appearance. Nico fell back into character, leaning forward toward Maki, what might be an arm sweeping her finger to her lips, her voice a coquettish giggle, “Don’t tell anyone, but Nico Ni is debuting a new song later. About pretty girls.” Maki was glad she couldn’t see the wink. That was her cue to accuse Nico Ni of being simplistic or untalented or invasive. Her cue for disdain and disinterest. They’d done this same exchange too often recently and Maki didn’t have the drive for another round.

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy the performance.” Maki shrugged and went in search of the founder.

Nico frowned, startled out of character for a breath as she watched the redhead get further and farther away. “No fight left?” Nico muttered, uncertain. Then with a smile obscured by designed darkness, she swept back into the crowd, every awed comment, every intake of breath, every ‘Nico Ni’ shouted greeting fueling her for the upcoming performance. No time for worry.

Maki had left halfway through Nico Ni’s performance and headed to the dojo. She and Umi were trying to build an light array based on specs Hanayo had given them. Umi was also working a program to mimic the abilities and reactions of the organoid brain. Maki calculated that if they could find the right pattern, seizures could be triggered in the A-RIse bots, similar to how patterns effected epileptics. It would be a strategy to use against them, if necessary. Eli was working on sourcing parts for a Taser sized EMP device that could trigger a robot shutdown. Nico would probably refuse if Maki asked to borrow one to test it on. But that didn’t mean Maki wasn’t going to work from the data they’d gotten. Maki guessed Nico and the rest of the Idol Fools would let their paint cans idle tonight. It would probably take Nico far too long to get the body paint off to make any other activity practical.

Maki pulled up the main screen and did an automatic check for Soldier Game mentions and #sgame on TWIG. The social media chatter had been dropping; the government had had a bunch of bots pushing Nico Ni’s latest single and spreading the rumor that Soldier Game were government agents. Attendance at the last rave had dropped and Nozomi had passed a rumor on to Eli that there might be a raid at the next one.

Maki sighed and hearted the latest IdolFools image. They needed to talk about a way to pushback. Eli had started taking advice from Nozomi, but she thought they needed to be public figures, something not even Eli agreed with. And Umi was preparing for a trip to see Alisa. Maki was the only person lacking advice from someone significant in her life.

Her phone buzzed? She looked down. The encrypted weather app. A change in the Kyoto forecast. That meant Nico.

N: Where are you?

M: Working.

N: Nico is at your place. And you only have pizza. （●≧艸≦

M: Why are you at my place?

N: TO SEE YOU (ღ꒡ ᵌ꒡)⋆﹡♡⃛*⁎⋆(꒡ᵋ ꒡ღ)

M: I’ll be there in 10 minutes. Stay put.

N: ┗(^o^　)┓三

Maki pulled her hat down and tossed on a dark hoodie. Back into the tunnels. To see Nico. Her stomach fluttered a little as her pulse picked up. She hoped Nico had gotten out of that nightmare makeup. She had enough bad memories of the Idol’s ‘demon doll’ side.

Maki was surprised to find Nico calmly on her couch, wearing baggy cargo pants and an over sized sweatshirt. Her face had been scrubbed clean, but there were disconcerting slashes of dark on her neck that Maki kept staring at.

“You need to upgrade your makeup removal stash. Nico will give you a list.” Nico put down the book...one of Maki’s recent organic robotics purchases and leaned back, “Hey, genius.”

“I have a name.” Maki snapped.

“Professor Nishikino.”

Maki sighed and fell into the couch, “I missed you too, Lt. Colonel.”

Nico’s head was suddenly in Maki’s lap, Nico’s eyes literally holes in her head. Maki didn’t scream, that was a plus, although she did nearly bite through her lip.“Please, Nico-chan, take out your contacts.” Maki tried not to shiver, but Nico caught the movement away from her and bounced up immediately.

“Do you have anything that isn’t pizza?” Nico complained as she hurried into the half bath. Maki took a container out of her kangaroo pocket, “I picked you up some kind of rice dish from a street vendor.”

Nico leapt over the couch, kissed Maki and grabbed the box, “You are so worth it.”

“Worth what?” Maki kept staring at the paint slashes, which moved as Nico swallowed. Eerie.

“Sneaking out after curfew, fraternizing with enemies of the state, risking my career,” Nico turned, mid chew and winked, “And my heart.”

“You have one?” Maki doubled down on snarky and wished she hadn’t. This was a real chance to talk to, to be with Nico and here she was, back to blowing it. Nico raised an eyebrow and Maki saw another slash of dark under it. This looked like Nico had a tiny hole in her head. Tonight was a winner in the least favorite Nico Ni costume derby. “I’ll wait while you get out your stethoscope, Doc.” Nico waved her chopsticks toward Maki’s lab.

“I’m sorry.” Maki slid a little closer to Nico, “How’s the recovery from the A-Tak?”

“Nico hasn’t fallen in” Nico counted off something with the chopsticks, “Three weeks.”

Maki nodded, a little closer, her arm on the couch behind Nico. She watched as Nico picked up every last bit of rice and then neatly placed box and utensils on the table. Then Nico turned, “You look even better than I remember.”

So did Nico. Lips thankfully free of black paint, crimson eyes a mysterious, welcoming warmth. Maki could feel Nico so vividly, where her arm rested near the Idol’s back. Maki was 1000% sure there were important topics to discuss and lines to draw, but Nico wasn’t moving away and Maki just wanted to charge forward into a kiss. Touching Nico’s lips was a jolt, the first time Maki had been overwhelmed by the sensations that exploded, but this time woven into an even greater crash of sensations was the memories, the touches, the thrusts, the skin against skin contact that made every flinch, every twitch a wave. And Nico was moaning yes, and Maki barely heard a zipper through the cacophony in her ears and Nico was encouraging Maki to lift off her sweatshirt, then Maki’s lips were sliding down Nico’s tensing abdomen, her hands stroking up the dancer’s muscles that had always fascinated her, Nico crying Maki’s name and Maki suddenly desperately hungry for a new taste.

###

Couch again, Maki thought as she pulled Nico closer, before the blanket slipped off both of them. Not that Maki would have minded the view, but...not letting go of Nico while creating a warm space for snuggling seemed to be a higher priority to her instinctive reactions. Nico yawned and pecked a kiss on Maki’s cheek.

“Hey,” Nico wondered sleepily, “Where were you? The university’s further away than 10 minutes.”

“Top secret.” Maki murmured into Nico’s hair, “No one knows.”

Nico flipped so she was lying on top of Maki, her eyes full of the impish glee that had charmed Maki through the computer screen, “I can find it.”

“Ha!” Maki shook her head. Nico pressed her lips together, dragged an extremely distracting hand along Maki’s ribs and dropped her head to whisper, “Bet I can” into Maki’s ear, triggering shivers.

“No.” Maki managed to get out.

“No?” Nico pulled back, quirking an eyebrow.

“Won’t find it….” Maki was finding hard to get words out as Nico’s hands ranged lower, taking their time over her curves.

Maki kicked the blanket off and Nico laughed, “Getting hot?”Nico hovered over Maki’s lips, barely brushing kisses against them. WIth a moan, Maki wrapped her arms around Nico, forcing the Idol even closer.

“I think that’s a yes,” Nico whispered as her hand skimmed over Maki’s breasts and Maki gasped, nodding, her legs hooking around Nico’s as momentum took more than the blanket to the floor.

###

Nico and Maki were sitting, backs against the couch, pizza shared between them, blanket wrapped around them, speakers playing jazz.

“How’s the Soldier Game business?” Nico popped the tab on a cold coffee.

Maki frowned, finishing her slice of pizza, “Not as much traffic; government spreading rumors that we’re government agents. We’re trying to figure out a strategy to ‘retake a defensible position, ‘to quote Umi.”

“Give the people what they want.” Nico stated simply.

Maki turned, ignoring the blanket that fell off her shoulder, enjoying Nico’s inability not to stare, “And what do the people want?”

Nico’s finger traced a gentle line across Maki’s nearest shoulder, tapping lightly up her neck, “The people want sexy.”

“Sexy? But we’re anonymous…” Maki looked confused.

“So? You don’t need pictures. Music can be sexy. Haven’t you heard Nico’s latest?” Nico stared at Maki for a long moment and when no response was given, she shrugged and continued, “Nico will forgive you. It’s capital S, triple XXX, kiss the girl hard, SeXXXy. Kind winds don’t really blow the clothes off girls.”

Maki had recovered and her eyebrow went to war, raising archly to eloquently express doubt, “I don’t see yours.”

Nico roared with laughter, then kissed Maki hard enough to scramble Maki’s next thought, which was fine with Nico, “See, sexxxy. Spice up your music. Give the cute girls what they want.”

Maki growled, as she moved into Nico, “And what do you want?”

“There’s the sexy,” Nico bopped Maki on the nose, causing the redhead to sit up,”Growl like a...panther, prowl...visualize.” Nico gestured at herself, then slid the blanket off her shoulder, “You don’t get to see this much of the Number One Idol in the universe without some game.”

Nico was giggling. Maki sighed and leaned back.

“What’s wrong?”

“You have no sense of mood.”

“Nico Ni knows mood.”

“Nico Ni knows nothing.”

Nico pulled Maki in, kissing her so long and with so much weight that the redhead was breathless and panting and leaning forward for more, “Nico knows Maki will remember this.”

Maki didn’t want to let Nico win, while at the same time desperately wanting Nico’s kiss. Nico took advantage of her internal argument to once again advance, her caresses expertly deployed to melt Maki into a shivering mess.

“...want...No 1….Lt….Col...Yaza...you...,” Maki managed to get out amid mostly animal noises.

Nico’s laugh was a cold contrast to the warmth her hands were driving straight through Maki’s legs, “I bet I can have you singing my latest song. I know you listened to it.”And all senses surrendered before Lt. Colonel Yazawa’s bold sweeps. No treaties were signed.

THE MORNING AFTER

Fortunately, Maki did not have an 8 am class scheduled so sleeping in after Nico left at dawn was not a problem. There was a department meeting at 3 so Maki headed in early to clear out her email and prepare. A woman, dressed in more business like attire than the usual student wear, was pacing outside her office.

“Hello?” Maki greeted her visitor.

“Doctor Nishikino?” The woman’s voice had a lovely, musical lilt but everything else about her screamed razor sharp professional edge.

“Can I help you?” Maki tapped out her passcode, puzzled.

“Did you receive Doctor Amago’s message?”

Maki shrugged, “I had family business this morning and haven’t checked anything.”

The woman shook her head and followed Maki into her office, uninvited. Maki sat behind her desk, typed in her password and waited.

“If you had read Dr. Amago’s message, you would have expected me.’

“I am sorry if my being unprepared is causing a delay in your day.” Maki bowed her head slightly, monitoring the tone of her voice closely, “Can we reschedule for another time?”

The woman shook her head, still standing. “I am Inoue Kiku, departmental assistant for media relations.”

Maki realized the woman frowning at her was her link to the media, the Ms. Inoue who passed on all the requests for interviews.

“Dr. Amago has asked me to pass on a directive that the government had given to him.” Inoue linked her hands behind her back, light eyes boring into Maki’s. “For such a high profile department, working so closely with military suppliers, the government requests that you hire an assistant who is both male and married.”

“W...what...why?” Maki half rose from her chair, hands clenching.

“While we acknowledge that Ayase-san’s work has met the requirements of the position, we feel that two women at the head of our premier robotics efforts sends the wrong message.”

Maki stood, hands shoved into her desk to channel some of the flaring rage she felt, but any comments she thought crashed into her faltering mental filter so she just stared into Inoue’s expressionless eyes, mouth slightly open.

“Ayase-san will be moved to another, less visible department.” Inoue stated.

Maki shook herself, “I am not firing my assistant and replacing her with a random male. Does the university demand any level of talent or skill or experience of this imaginary male?

Inoue didn’t back down, even as Maki’s voice gathered force, “The government representative I spoke to was not concerned about that. We would pre…:

Maki inhaled and drew herself up, briskly cutting off Inoue, “I don’t care. I am not replacing Ayase-san. Her work is excellent. Please inform Dr. Amago of my decision. Should another research assistant slot open up, I will certainly consider his advice, but my main concern is the quality of the work being done. That will not change.”

“Your status does not make your position more secure, Dr. Nishikino.”

“Thank you for sharing your belief, Inoue-san. Please leave my office. I need to catch up on my correspondence.”

Inoue shut the door behind her and Maki fell back into her chair, all the post night with Nico jaunty replaced with worry for Eli and frustration with a government that had decided, once again, to put women in secondary positions. Eli’s partial Russian heritage heightened the probability that the department would not stop pushing until they’d found a way to replace her with a ‘definitive picture of traditional Japan.” Maki needed to install a speed bag here as well, especially if the government was planning to use her to further its agenda. How did Nico manage? Maki closed her laptop. Quick walk was a better use of her pre meeting time. She didn’t really want to think about the choices Nico made daily and the message Nico was promoting. Maki had been able to float a little above the fray, buffered by circumstances and money, but now she could feel the ground shift, about to tilt her into the messy middle of the fight.

###

Nico entered the offices. Sergeant Takeda saluted, “He wants to see you.”

Nico nodded, stepping quickly into Komura’s office.

“Yazawa.” Komura was sorting through papers.“Sir?”

“Phase Three is approaching and we are being ordered to develop new public outreach strategies. There’s a meeting in two hours with the rest of the team. Your “find a new songwriter” suggestion was a big success and a commendation has been posted in your file, but I want at least three more usable ideas from you.” Komura met Nico’s eyes, grim, “There are elements pushing back and we need to counter their efforts.”

Soldier Game, Nico thought to herself, and Maki had insisted that their numbers were lacking, but Nico couldn’t think of anyone else out there pushing counter propaganda. Well, the Idol Fools, but...

“Is there anything in particular going on, sir?” Nico was surprised that she asked, and recovered, “so I know where are our efforts are weak?”

Komura stood, clapping Nico on the shoulder, “You’re a loyal airman, Yazawa. I respect that.” He sighed, “Mostly foreign influences, celebrity postings on TWIG, a podcast and a few Japanese artists, some of whom are anonymous. We’ll be discrediting the public figures, but we need some high voltage celebrity presence ourselves.”

Nico nodded, good soldier Nico time. A strategy to boost Nico Ni’s image had flashed in her mind immediately, but she wasn’t going to enjoy it and she was willing to bet a certain temperamental roboticist would hate it.

“I’m on it, sir.”

“Good. Two hours, Yazawa, use them well.”

Nico saluted, thoughts pinballing between opposite worlds and incompatible needs.

INTERLUDE

Eli was always surprised at how quickly Muse had become a second home and how comfortable she had gotten with Nozomi. It was still disconcerting when Nozomi would fix Eli with an intense stare and insist Eli pull a card from her Tarot deck. The last had been a Two of Rods, with Nozomi insisting that Eli was preparing for a journey, to which Eli’s reply had been that she’d pulled Umi’s fortune by accident. And had then sat through a lecture on how the cards did not tell fortunes, they provided guidance. Considering how Nozomi’s turquoise eyes had twinkled and Eli’s reward after, Eli was willing to learn more about Tarot any time Nozomi was willing. Eli was willing to learn more about anything any time Nozomi was willing.

They were upstairs, in Nozomi’s room, jammed between the Idol Fools workspace and Kotori’s fabric and clothing storage. Eli was lounging on the bed in a open shirt while Nozomi puttered in the kitchen, making tea, in a sarong and bra.

“Is there always this chemical smell?” Eli wondered.

“Sorry. I’ll open a window. They must be trying a new paint formula. They mask the profile with smells the drones won’t track, mostly spices.”

“So that’s why I get a curry craving whenever Honoka and Rin hug me.” Eli yawned and laid back.

Nozomi giggled, “What kind of tea do you want?”

“You.” Eli propped herself up on an elbow, her best come-hither grin aimed right at Nozomi.

Nozomi shook her head, “Chamomile it is.” After pouring water into the kettle, she sat on the side of the bed, taking one of Eli’s hands in hers, “I need to talk to you, Eli-chi.”

Eli immediately pulled Nozomi in for a hug, worry replacing any other thoughts, “What’s wrong?”

“Honoka and Rin found three more teens who were kicked out by their families.” Nozomi said, softly, her head pressed into Eli’s shoulders as the blonde tightened her hold, “We’ve almost got a safe place set up for them, but we need a little more help…”

“What do you need?” Eli’s organizational skills readied to receive a list

“Money, food, clothes….They had the clothes on their back and two kept their phones.”

Eli kissed the top of Nozomi’s head, blue eyes earnest, “I don’t have much, but I’ll talk to Maki.”

Nozomi shook her head, “No, Eli-chi, what they need is Soldier Game. We need to reach out to as many people as we can. We’re going to need more safe spaces and to tell people how to find them.”

Of course, Soldier Game. Eli blushed a little, embarrassed at her misunderstanding of Nozomi’s intent. Nozomi tilted her head, watching as Eli looked shyly away and took the blonde’s hand again, “You are a wonder, Eli-chi. You care and do so much. It’s what I love most about you.”

Eli raised her head, amazed as she heard Nozomi’s words repeat in her head. And then before she could stutter out a response, Nozomi’s lips reinforced the message they’d just breathed out.

###

"Flow like the waves until dawn breaks My feelings swirl more violently than usual And I feel as though I could fall apart completely

Should I sleep? The moon eventually grows light A gentle dream falls upon my chest

With this clichéd sadness and clichéd pain, I barely hold back tears and watch the stars They shine brighter than usual, and seem to fall As they quietly illuminate me…"

Greetings! That was our newest song "Arifureta Kanashimi no Hate". Ballet Twist here wishing you gentle dreams. But some of us are facing rather harsh realities and so we’re here tonight with a request from the IdolFools and new friend CupQueen, who are finding safe spaces for those turned out and turned against by families, landlords and friends. Next tunnel rave, three days from now, please bring an item that would get you through a dark night. We have to help each other. Code word is star watching; you’ll get the usual text. And watch the clubs for a Minalisky appearance; Love Arrow has heard they’ve been really restless lately and looking to burn up a dance floor ENBY style ‘til they close down the club.

On a brighter note, two newer and gayer episodes of Dynamic Leadership Rescue Force have been given the RAY treatment, redubbed for your virtual pleasure. Strap into our VRLock and see what Captain Sasaki and Dr. Tora have discovered on the Shadow Planet.

And now, our resident street medic, Diamond Princess, has recorded some tips for taking care of yourself out in the wild. Listen up. We got your back, hoods and g-skis, but you have to stay safe ‘til we can get you to help.

“DATING” Maki yelled. Eli and Umi looked up from the light array they were working on. Maki was hovering over a Yazawa Nico oddly lacking confidence.

Nico muttered, head down, Maki leaned down, Nico reached a hand out to Maki’s cheek, Maki stepped back and turned on her heel.

Eli and Umi exchanged a glance, as they caught the look on Maki’s face, sullen and scared. “Come upstairs, Eli. Alisa texted me some new photos of her latest eaglet.” Umi grabbed Eli’s arm, both doing their best to ignore the other two in the bunker.

“Maki…” Maki’s eyes were tearing and Eli hesitated, not certain what would be best to say. Nico’s head was still down, hands shoved deep in her pockets, “We’ll be upstairs when you’re done.”

Maki nodded. After Eli and Umi left, Nico came up gently behind her lover and looped both arms around Maki’s waist, “It’s not really dating and I don’t like it either, Maki.”

“I hate it.” Maki spat.

Nico leaned her head into Maki, “How can you…?”

“I have a job.” Nico said quietly.

“D..did Komura think this up? Because…” Maki began, fists clenched and started to press into her thighs.

“I did.” Nico’s voice was so soft Maki couldn’t believe she’d actually heard Nico correctly. “It was my idea.”

Maki turned, Nico’s arms still around her, amethyst eyes open and lost, “Nico-chan?”

Nico swallowed and then blew out a long breath, “After I saw you last, Komura told me our superiors wanted us to develop pushback strategies against things like Soldier Game. Having Nico Ni make public appearances with high profile athletes and celebrities was my suggestion.”

“Why? Do you want to?” Maki felt as if she were going to fall and Nico seemed to sense the sag in energy because she moved them both to a chair, sitting across Maki, arms around the redhead’s neck, one hand playing idly with curls of hair.

“No. And nothing will happen. But I have a job. And I want to do it well. And I don’t want anyone looking for reasons I might be disloyal.” I don’t want them looking for you, Nico thought as she took one of Maki’s hands, brought it to her lips and kissed the palm, “I won’t lie to you, Maki. But there’s some things I can’t tell you right now. You just have to trust me.”

Maki knew Nico was trying to distract her by letting her lips slowly move from palm to wrist to forearm, but she was too detached to notice the gentle pressure. “Nico-chan.” Maki’s tone commanded Nico’s attention and the ruby eyes blinked up at her, mischief clouded by worry.

Nico let Maki’s arm drop and put both her hands on Maki’s cheeks, ensuring that their eyes stayed locked on each other, “I want you. So much. Only you. Nico never imagined feeling like this when I was 18 and they said, “Hey Nico Ni, sign up here for ten years and be an idol.” Nico frowned, “I never imagined anyone as amazing as you in my life, Maki-chan.” Nico kissed Maki, lips desperately twisting to break through the barrier Maki’s stiffness was building around her heart. ”Please trust me. It’ll be like spending time with my little brother for Nico. People will mostly care about seeing posts on TWIG. I won’t care at all.”

Maki sniffled as Nico licked away tears rolling down her face, “I hate this, Nico-chan.”

Nico kissed Maki’s cheek softly before replying, “I know. But I can’t just quit.”

Silence. Both of them staring ahead, no future to be seen, wondering if the other’s was darker. Maki could feel Nico, so close, so much brighter and warmer than any tomorrow she could see. Nico would be with other people, talking, laughing, maybe kissing, maybe…

Nico’s eyes were serious, as if she were reading Maki’s mind, “I won’t.”

Maki had no words, but her hands grabbed the back of Nico’s head and pulled the Idol in for a deep, yielding kiss, any self control Nico might have had dashed by the sudden softness inviting her in, Maki’s whispers encouraging her to prove how much Maki would haunt her thoughts, pushing Nico deeper into the swell of need surging between them, into an intensity of emotion Nico was not prepared for, but there was Maki’s voice, the movement under Nico’s hands, the fingers gliding shivers across Nico’s back. Nico pulled back, staring into trust and warmth and confusion, taking a breath to regain control.

“N...Nico-chan?” And that breath became a hiss as Maki touched a hesitant finger to Nico’s underlip.

Another surge, another kiss, another second became an eternity for Nico, “I love you, Maki-chan.” And then Nico ensured that neither of them said anything else, so she didn’t have to think about what “I love you” meant or hear a response that would lead to a court martial. A moan, a cry, a plea, she knew how to handle those.