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buckets-and-trees · 1 month ago

Note

I love that Steve and her mom got to connect and build a better understanding. And loving the development of the marriage. ❤️🤍💙

I'm so glad you enjoyed that! It was a chapter that was a uniquely fun part of the story for me to explore with them - as much about our reader as it was about Steve and her mom.

This chapter has many more married moments...

Red, White & True: Pittsburgh & Harrisburg [13/17]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 9.1k Summary: With only two weeks until Election Day, the truth behind photo-gate finally breaks on national news, potentially changing the game for all the campaigns. Steve changes the energy for his own campaign when he addresses his largest crowd yet, and afterwards, the two of you get to spend a few quiet moments together before hitting the next campaign stop.

Content/Warnings: political policy discussion, marriage of political convenience, slow burn, really the slowest burn

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Author Notes: It's been a long time since the last update, and that's what I'm blaming on delivering such a long chapter with the muse! I really almost split this one in half, and I did cut a couple of scenes (that I hope to include later), but I had to keep the rest here as it is.

Previous Chapter | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[OCTOBER 20 - LATE MORNING - PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA]

“Don’t look at me like that,” Steve said.

“Like what?” you countered.

He turned his head squarely to look at you, arching an eyebrow. “I can feel the disapproval in your gaze.”

“I’m not…” you huff, “I’m not disapproving, I’m just not convinced you’re getting enough sleep at all.”

Outside, the autumn landscape blazes in a riot of crimson and gold, the trees lining the highway creating a fiery corridor that seems to mirror the intensity of the campaign trail. You've been on the road for what feels like an eternity, crisscrossing the country in a blur of rallies, town halls, and fundraisers.

Steve looks down at the speech notes spread across the small tray table over his lap, the papers covered in handwritten revisions and highlighted passages. The light of the late morning highlights the fatigue etched into his features - subtle shadows beneath his eyes, the slight droop of his shoulders, the way he keeps blinking a little too deliberately as if fighting to keep his eyes open.

"I'll sleep after the election," he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that half-smile that usually makes your heart flutter. Today, it only deepens your concern.

Across the aisle, Bucky scoffs silently, his metal arm whirring as he flips through a stack of polling data. The sound is barely audible, but the judgmental raise of his eyebrows speaks volumes. You catch his eye and share a moment of mutual exasperation.

"Election Day is still two weeks away," you remind Steve, your voice gentle but firm.

Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair, making it stand up in endearing tufts. "I'm fine. The serum—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," you interrupt, narrowing your eyes. "Super soldier or not, you're still human."

Bucky snorts, not bothering to hide his amusement this time. "She's got you there, pal."

Steve shoots him a betrayed look. "Whose side are you on?"

"The side that doesn't want to see you faceplant in the middle of your speech at the rally this afternoon," Bucky retorts, setting down his tablet.

Steve scrubs a hand over his beard. "I just need to finish these revisions. This speech is crucial – Pennsylvania could make or break us."

You reach across the table, gently taking the pen from his fingers. "And that's exactly why you need to rest. You can't win Pennsylvania if you're running on fumes."

His shoulders slump slightly, a rare moment of vulnerability that makes your chest ache. "I can't afford to waste time sleeping when there's so much at stake."

"It's not wasting time," you say softly. "It's making sure you're at your best."

"Fine. I'll rest," he concedes, though his eyes drift back to the speech notes in front of him.

“This is why you have an impeccable speech writing team,” you remind him, gently tugging the notes from his hands, which he allows, though with a deep frown.

Bucky stands, you hand the notes to him, and he heads to the back of the bus where said speech writes are clumped together.

As Bucky disappears, Steve's eyes follow him briefly before returning to you. The campaign bus sways gently as it rounds a curve, sending a shaft of sunlight through the window. It catches in Steve's hair, turning the blond strands to burnished gold, and for a moment, he looks almost like the propaganda posters from the 1940s—Captain America, illuminated and larger than life.

But then he blinks, and he's just Steve again. Tired, stubborn Steve, with worry lines creasing his forehead and that particular set to his jaw that tells you he's still mentally revising that speech.

"Elspeth's been with you since your announcement to run. She knows your voice better than anyone."

"Elspeth's going to think I'm micromanaging," Steve mutters, but there's less conviction in his voice now.

"She will, but Elspeth's used to it," you counter with a gentle smile. "And she always anticipates your edits."

"I know," Steve admits, his voice softening. "Elspeth's brilliant. It's just..." He trails off, his eyes drifting to the window where Pennsylvania's rolling hills pass by in a blur of autumn splendor.

You understand what he can't quite articulate—the weight of responsibility he carries, how deeply personal this campaign has become. Not just another mission, but perhaps his most important one yet.

"Each face out there," Steve continues, "they're looking for something real. Something true." He turns back to you, and the intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch. "I can't give them polished words that don’t hold their weight.”

“Steve, you’ve meant every word you’ve said on this campaign - probably every word you’ve said in your whole life - and you’ll continue to say the right thing whether it’s what’s been written or something you know should be said in the moment.”

His eyes burn more intensely at your words, and your chest swells. That fire is one of the things that has drawn you so much to him these past months.

Once you catch your breath again, you say, “But only if you’re well-rested.”

Steve shakes his head and chuckles softly. “I see you refuse to relinquish your point.”

“Part of my wifely duties,” you tease.

He looks down at your hand on his arm and covers it with his own.

"You know," Steve says after a moment, his thumb tracing absent patterns on the back of your hand, "if I'm not working on this speech, I'd rather spend the time with you than just sleeping."

The tenderness in his voice makes your heart skip. Will he always have this effect on you?

"We've barely had a moment to ourselves since Cincinnati," he continues, his eyes softening as they meet yours. "Three rallies, two fundraisers…”

“And a partridge in a pear tree,” you interject. “Fifteen minutes of shut eye. That’s what? The equivalent of three hours of super soldier sleep?” You put even more sarcastic teasing into your tone.

“You know what, Mrs. Rogers?” His voice is stern, but his grin matches yours.

"What I know is that you need to—"

Your retort is cut short by an eruption of noise from the back of the bus. Raised voices cascade forward like a wave, punctuated by gasps and exclamations.

Steve's posture changes instantly, fatigue forgotten as his body coils with alertness. His hand squeezes yours once before releasing it, already half-rising from his seat.

"Everyone shut up!" Jake's voice booms over the commotion. "Just shut up for a second so I can—"

The campaign manager’s fingers fly over the remote control for the bus's sophisticated video system, the multiple screens embedded up and down the large vehicle flashing to life as Jake gets the system to tune into CNN.

"—breaking news just coming into CNN," Wolf Blitzer's voice fills the campaign bus, commanding everyone's attention. "We're following a major development regarding those controversial photographs that surfaced last week."

The entire bus falls silent. Your blood runs cold as Wolf's face fills the screens, his expression serious. Steve's hand finds yours again, gripping it tightly, and you’re grateful for something to hold onto.

"For those just joining us," Wolf explains, "on October 12, Fox News aired what they claimed were exclusive photographs showing the wife of presidential candidate Steve Rogers entering a Planned Parenthood clinic. The images appeared to show her in what Fox commentators described as a 'visibly pregnant' condition."

Your stomach twists into knots. Those fabricated images had been a nightmare—more than a crude photoshop job showing your face pasted onto someone else's body, they were crafted so well that you would have believed them yourself if not for knowing that you’d never been pregnant.

“Mrs. Rogers responded almost immediately claiming the photos were fake and then turning her comments to focus on the services Planned Parenthood provides; the need for better healthcare, access, and education for women’s health in America; and then later the same day, the way women are targeted for political points.”

You held your breath, waiting for what he would say next.

“While the Rogers-Young campaign focused on their platforms and messaging, the debate over these photos died down, but it still hasn’t gone away. We have new sources, however, that have confirmed that the photos were given to Fox News by the Coalition for Strengthening the Families of America Today - or CSFAT, that the photos were created with extremely sophisticated artificial intelligence, and that CSFAT obtained them from former Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross.”

The bus erupts in chaos again—a mixture of outrage, relief, and vindication washing over the campaign team. This is exactly what Bucky had managed to uncover the week before. Jake is already on his phone, barking orders, while Elspeth starts frantically typing on her tablet next to communications director Lisa, no doubt drafting potential statements. Bucky's face has darkened dangerously, his metal hand clenching into a fist. He and Steve exchange another look, and Bucky shakes his head.

Steve had no doubt been asking if Bucky had leaked the information.

Wolf Blitzer continues, "CNN has obtained exclusive emails between Ross and CSFAT leadership dating back three months, discussing what they called 'strategic image deployment' ahead of the battleground state swing. Ross has not responded to our requests for comment, but his former chief of staff confirmed the rumors that Ross and Rogers always had a terse relationship that was never repaired, even after the reversal of the Sokovia Accords. The Justice Department has just announced they are opening an investigation into potential election interference."

The screen splits to show a panel of commentators, one of whom immediately jumps in. "This is unprecedented, Wolf. Using AI to create false images of a candidate's spouse to suggest she terminated a pregnancy—clearly targeting conservative voters who might otherwise support Rogers and dissuade them from moving away from the Republican—it crosses a dangerous ethical line in political campaigning."

"What's more disturbing," another panelist adds, "is that Ross has up to this point vocally claimed that he wasn’t supporting any campaign. This appears to be a personal vendetta that he’s latched onto the Republican Party to wage against Rogers."

Steve's jaw tightens as he watches, the muscle in his cheek twitching. His hand remains firmly clasped around yours, his thumb now moving in slow, grounding circles against your skin.

"I knew it," Sophia hisses from behind you. "I knew it was Ross."

Jake raises his hand, silencing the growing murmurs. "Everyone, listen up. This is our true October surprise. This changes our strategy for Pittsburgh. We need to be ready to answer questions simply, directly, and then pivot directly to our core messaging. Strong but dignified. No gloating, no goading.”

Steve's eyes haven't left the screen, where the news ticker rolls beneath the panel discussion: "BREAKING: ROSS IMPLICATED IN FAKE PREGNANCY PHOTOS."

"Good advice," Steve says to Jake, his voice steady despite the storm you can feel brewing beneath his calm exterior. "But I'll be addressing this head-on."

Jake's expression tightens. "Steve, we need to be careful about—"

"Not to score political points," Steve interrupts, his gaze finally breaking from the screen to survey the bus. The entire campaign team has gone quiet, watching the exchange. "But this isn't just about me or the campaign anymore. 54This is about deliberately using technology to deceive the American people."

You squeeze his hand, understanding exactly where his mind is going. Steve has always been wary of how easily information can be manipulated in the digital age—something he's witnessed evolve from wartime propaganda posters to the sophisticated disinformation campaigns of the modern era.

"My wife was deliberately targeted, and everyone should be concerned about this kind of deception," Steve continues, his voice taking on that resonant quality that makes people stop and listen. "They can do this to anyone."

"We’ll reframe the Convention Center speech," Elspeth says, through a moment of silence that had formed after Steve’s declaration.

Steve nods at her. "This is our chance to talk about truth, integrity, and the future of information in American democracy."

Jake paces the narrow aisle, phone still clutched in his hand. "The press is already blowing up. Everyone wants a statement."

"Let them wait," Steve says firmly. "We do this right, not rushed."

[OCTOBER 20 - EARLY AFTERNOON - PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA]

Ninety minutes later, the David L. Lawrence Convention Center thrums with an energy that feels almost tangible, like electricity crackling just beneath the surface of the air. Twenty thousand people fill the enormous space, their collective presence turning the cavernous hall into something intimate and alive. The steel beams arching overhead—a nod to Pittsburgh's industrial heritage—gleam under the red, white, and blue lights that bathe the crowd in a cool glow.

You stand in the wings, watching as Mayor Ed Gainey approaches the microphone. The buzz of the crowd ebbs slightly as he raises his hands, though the anticipation remains palpable, a living thing that breathes and pulses throughout the hall.

Steve stands beside you, his shoulders squared, his focus absolute. The fatigue that lined his face on the bus has ebbed away for now. “Ready?” he asks.

You reach out to brush your fingers against his, and he tangles them together. You look up at him and nod. “Let’s do this.”

Mayor Gainey's voice reverberates through the convention center, his words riding on waves of anticipation. "Pittsburgh has always been a city that knows the value of truth!" His declaration brings a surge of applause. "When the steel mills closed, we faced hard truths and rebuilt. When our rivers were polluted, we faced those truths and cleaned them. When our economy needed to evolve, we embraced new truths and transformed!"

The crowd responds with thunderous approval, a sea of signs bobbing like buoys in an ocean of supporters. From your vantage point, you can see the handmade offerings: ROGERS FOR AMERICA and TRUTH, JUSTICE & THE AMERICAN WAY alongside cleverly repurposed vintage Captain America propaganda posters updated with campaign slogans.

"And today," Mayor Gainey continues, his voice swelling with pride, "we stand together as Pittsburghers, as Pennsylvanians, as Americans, to welcome a man who has fought for truth his entire life. But first—" he pauses, a warm smile spreading across his face, "I have the distinct honor of welcoming to the stage someone who has become a powerful voice in her own right during this campaign."

The crowd's energy shifts, a ripple of recognition moving through the packed convention center.

"Someone who has shown grace under fire, who has turned personal attacks into opportunities to speak about issues that matter to all Americans." Mayor Gainey's voice rises above the growing applause. "Please welcome the woman who has stood shoulder to shoulder with Captain Rogers through every step of his campaign—not just as his wife, but as a champion for healthcare, for education, and for the future we all deserve—ladies and gentlemen, the next First Lady of the United States!"

The roar that sweeps through the convention center hits you like a physical force.

You blink and then look up at Steve who looks just as humbled as you feel. You figured the mayor would say positive things, but neither you nor Steve had any idea the mayor would give tantamount to an endorsement.

Mayor Gainey steps back from the podium, applauding enthusiastically as you feel Steve's hand at the small of your back, a gentle pressure urging you forward.

"You've got this," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.

You climb the steps up to the stage, stepping out from the wings, blinking against the sudden intensity of the stage lights. The crowd's reaction surges again, a wave of sound that crashes over you as you cross to center stage.

Mayor Gainey embraces you briefly before stepping aside, leaving you alone at the podium facing the sea of faces. For a heartbeat, the enormity of the moment washes over you—twenty thousand people, all waiting for your words. The lights are blinding, the noise deafening, but as you adjust the microphone, a strange calm settles over you.

These people, many of whom have traveled hours to be here, aren't just cheering for you; they're cheering for what you have been working to represent, for the vision of America that Steve and his running mate have been fighting to articulate.

"Thank you, Pittsburgh," you say, your voice steady despite the frenzied fire of nerves in your chest. The crowd quiets, though the energy remains electric. "Thank you for that incredible welcome. And thank you, Mayor Gainey, for those kind words."

You take a deep breath and look out across the sea of expectant faces.

"I wasn't scheduled to do more than introduce my husband today," you continue, a small smile playing at your lips. "But I think we've all learned that sometimes plans change. And I won't take much more of your time, except to say this: the truth matters. It has always mattered."

A knowing murmur ripples through the crowd, and you can feel them with you, present in a way that transcends the physical space between podium and audience.

"I'm not here to dwell on deceptions, or to point fingers. I’m here today to bring to the stage a man committed to honesty, to people, to hard work. A man who has faced impossible odds before, and who will face them again, because that's who he is." Your voice strengthens, finding its rhythm. "A man who believes—who knows—that this country deserves leaders who will look you in the eye and tell you the truth, whether it's easy or hard. Whether it wins votes or costs them."

A swell of applause rises and falls quickly as people are eager for your next words.

"And I promise you this, he’s worth your vote. He will carry your votes with him every single day of your his presidency if you put him into the Oval Office. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my husband, Steve Rogers!"

The applause erupts into something seismic as Steve strides onto the stage, his presence immediately filling the vast space. His smile is warm as he embraces you, holding you just a moment longer than protocol might dictate. His lips brush against your ear.

"That wasn't in the script," he whispers, the pride in his voice unmistakable.

"Not everything that needs to be said is," you whisper back.

As you step away, the crowd's roar intensifies. Steve approaches the podium with that particular gait of his—purposeful, measured, shoulders squared—the stance of a man who has carried the weight of responsibility for so long it's become part of his physical bearing.

You move off to the side of the stage, watching as he raises his hands, waiting for the cheers to subside. It takes nearly a full minute before the crowd lets him speak.

"Thank you, Pittsburgh," Steve begins, his voice cutting through the remaining applause like a warm current. "And thank you to my wife for that introduction."

He pauses, his eyes finding yours across the stage, a brief moment of connection before he turns back to the crowd.

"As some of you may have seen on the news today, there's been a development regarding the photographs of my wife that circulated last week." His tone shifts, becoming more measured, more deliberate. "It's been confirmed that they were fabricated—created using artificial intelligence and distributed as part of a coordinated effort to mislead voters - to mislead you."

A ripple of murmurs and scattered boos crosses the audience.

"I could stand here and talk about who was behind it or why they did it," Steve continues, his hands resting on either side of the podium. "I could spend my time expressing outrage over having my wife's image manipulated for political gain. But that's not why I'm here with you today."

His voice drops slightly, taking on a resonance that makes the massive convention center feel suddenly intimate, as if he's speaking directly to each person in the room.

"I'm here to talk about something more fundamental. Something that matters to every single American, regardless of who they plan to vote for in two weeks." Steve pauses, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "I'm here to talk about truth. About reality. About the fact that these campaigns aren’t games to be won.”

A hush falls over the audience, the kind of attentive silence that comes when twenty thousand people collectively lean forward to listen.

"I was born in 1918. When I woke up in this century, one of the first things that amazed me was the access to information. When I was a kid, you might get news once a day from the radio or newspaper. Now, it's constant, immediate—a miracle of technology." His expression turns solemn. "But with that miracle comes responsibility. And today, we're facing a crisis of truth unlike anything in our history."

Steve's voice resonates through the convention center, commanding the space with a quiet authority that has nothing to do with volume and everything to do with conviction.

"I've seen propaganda before," he continues, "posters of me selling war bonds, films edited to shape public opinion. But what we're facing now is different. When technology can create images, videos, and voices indistinguishable from reality—when what we see can no longer be trusted—the very foundation of our democracy is at risk."

You watch from your spot backstage, feeling a surge of pride mixed with something deeper—the recognition that this is Steve at his most authentic, speaking not as a candidate but as a man who has witnessed a century of change.

"Some will say I'm old-fashioned," Steve says, "that I don't understand modern politics. Maybe they're right about the first part." A ripple of laughter moves through the crowd. "But I understand something fundamental about democracy: it depends on informed citizens. And you can't be informed if you're being deliberately misled."

The crowd stirs, murmurs of agreement rising and falling like waves.

"I'm not here to tell you who to believe or what sources to trust," Steve continues, his voice growing more passionate. "I'm here to ask you to question. To verify. To seek out primary sources and diverse perspectives. To remember that convenience should never trump accuracy."

He pauses, his eyes scanning the crowd with that piercing intensity that makes each person feel seen.

"I'm running for president because I believe we can do better," Steve says, his voice gaining momentum like a wave building strength. "Not just in how we govern, but in how we communicate. In how we disagree. In how we find our way back to a shared understanding of reality."

Steve's hands grip the podium more firmly, his knuckles whitening slightly. You recognize this gesture—it's what he does when he's restraining stronger emotion, channeling it into focused energy.

"I've spent my life fighting for this country," he continues, his voice dropping to a deeper baritone that carries to every corner of the convention center. "Not for a flag or a piece of land, but for an idea. The radical notion that people should govern themselves, that we can come together across our differences to build something greater than any one of us could achieve alone."

The crowd hangs on his every word. The usual campaign energy has transformed into something more reverent, more attentive.

"That idea—that experiment in democracy—it only works when we share a basic understanding of facts. When we can disagree about interpretations and solutions, but not about the fundamental reality we're all facing." Steve's voice grows stronger, more resolute. "The fabricated images of my wife weren't just an attack on her or on me. They were an attack on your right to make informed decisions based on truth."

The convention center is utterly silent, twenty thousand people captivated.

"I've been asked why I don't fight dirtier in this campaign," Steve continues, a wry smile briefly crossing his face. "Why I don't hit back harder when I'm attacked. The answer is simple: because that's exactly what's tearing us apart.

"The constant escalation, the dehumanization of our opponents, the willingness to say or do anything to win." Steve's voice rises, filling the convention center with a passion that resonates in your chest even from where you stand backstage. "I refuse to contribute to that cycle. Not because I'm naive, but because it’s not a future I want to be a part of. It’s not the future I want for our country.”

You watch as Steve straightens, his shoulders squaring as he blazes forward with this crowd hanging onto his every word.

"Now let me yell you what I do want for our country,” he says, and then Steve pivots seamlessly into the stump speech of policy points he had planned to give all along, pointed highlights about healthcare, climate change, housing, immigration, and the economy.

You take a deep breath, realizing you’d been holding your breath, just as captivated by Steve’s words as everyone else in the convention center.

Jake steps up next to you and hands you a bottle of water.

You smile and take it wordlessly.

“That’s why I signed onto this campaign,” he says.

Your smile grows.

“Don’t get me wrong, the paycheck is nothing to sneer at,” Jake adds, “but I can negotiate a nice fee from any campaign. But it’s candidates like Steve that made me want to be a political consultant and run campaigns in the first place.”

“There’s no other candidate like Steve though,” you respond.

"That's absolutely true," Jake acknowledges, his gaze still fixed on Steve as the crowd erupts into applause. "In twenty years of doing this, I've never seen anyone who can speak from the heart like him and still hit every policy point without sounding rehearsed."

You nod, watching as Steve gestures emphatically, his conviction radiating across the convention center. The crowd responds with another wave of cheers, signs bobbing like a multicolored tide.

"He believes every word," you say softly.

"That's why he's exhausted," Jake replies, a hint of concern threading through his professional demeanor. "So many candidates turn it on for the cameras and speeches, then collapse into cynicism or retreat behind closed doors. Steve's the same person in private as he is up there."

On stage, Steve has reached the crescendo of his speech, his voice rising not in volume but in intensity, his words binding the audience together in a shared vision.

"He's always been that way," Bucky interjects, stepping up next to both of you. "The weight of the world on his shoulders and the determination to carry it."

"After Pittsburgh, we have a three-hour drive to the hotel in Harrisburg," Jake says, checking his watch. "You two make sure he actually sleeps. We need him at full strength for the final push."

You nod, your eyes never leaving Steve as he reaches the conclusion of his speech.

"I'm not asking you to vote for me because I was Captain America," he says, his hands gripping the podium. "I'm asking you to vote for me because I believe in an America where we face our challenges together. Where we don't hide from hard truths or difficult conversations. Where we remember that our neighbors aren't our enemies, even when we disagree.

"Two weeks from today, you'll make your choice," Steve continues. "Whatever that choice is, I ask only this: make it based on truth. Make it based on substance. Make it based on the future you want to build—not just for yourself, but for generations to come in this, our United States of America!"

The crowd erupts into a thunderous standing ovation, the sound rolling through the convention center like a physical force. Steve stands tall at the podium, allowing the moment to crest before raising his hands in a gesture of gratitude. The campaign's playlist begins to blast through the speakers as red, white, and blue confetti rains down from the ceiling, catching the stage lights and transforming the air into a shimmering curtain.

"Thank you, Pittsburgh!" Steve's voice rings out over the roar.

You watch as Steve moves away from the podium, waving to the crowd, his smile genuine despite the exhaustion you can still see lurking behind his eyes. Mayor Gainey returns to the stage along with several local officials, all eager for that crucial photograph with the man dangerously close to leading in the Pennsylvania polls.

"He nailed it," Bucky murmurs beside you, his eyes tracking Steve as he navigates the crowd of dignitaries with practiced ease. "That part about propaganda—he's been wanting to say that for weeks."

The backstage area has transformed into organized chaos—staffers darting between equipment cases, security personnel murmuring into earpieces, journalists hovering at the edges hoping for a quick comment. Through it all, Steve moves with that particular grace of his, giving each person his full attention despite the crush of bodies and demands.

"We need to get him moving toward the exit," Lisa says, appearing at your side with her ever-present tablet. "The press line outside is getting restless, and we're already going to take heat from them for not fielding any questions on the way in.”

Steve walks toward the edge of the stage where you're waiting, and his eyes find yours immediately. The public persona slips just slightly—enough for you to see the exhaustion he keeps ignoring creeping back in around the edges. He reaches for your hand as he descends the steps, his fingers lacing with yours immediately.

You reach your other hand up, curling it around the side of his neck, and pull him in for an enthusiastic kiss. Steve's arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer, his body solid and warm against yours. When you finally break apart, his eyes are bright despite the fatigue.

"You were magnificent up there," you tell him, your voice low enough that only he can hear.

His expression softens, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face with gentle fingers. "I meant every word."

"I know you did.”

"We need to move," Lisa urges from behind you, her voice slightly tense with the pressure of maintaining the schedule.

“You heard her,” Bucky intervenes, backing her up, “move it along, love birds.”

You bite your lip to suppress a giggle, your happiness at a peak in this moment. The energy from the enthusiastic and enormous crowd, Steve’s powerful speech, nailing your own impromptu changes for his introduction, but mostly from still being pressed close to Steve, the warmth of the spontaneous kiss lingering on your lips.

Steve's hand finds the small of your back as you both begin moving toward the exit, navigating through the backstage labyrinth. Security personnel form a discreet barrier around you, their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

"Two minutes with the local press, then straight to the bus," Jake instructs, falling into step beside Steve. "We touch on the Ross revelation only if directly asked. Otherwise, it's healthcare and manufacturing for Pennsylvania."

Once you’re back on the campaign bus and rolling to Harrisburg, you are able to easily coax Steve to “rest” in the back of the bus.

The door to the private quarters has barely clicked shut when Steve's hands are at your waist, spinning you around, backing you against the wall with an urgency that makes your breath catch. His mouth finds yours, hungry and insistent, the restraint he shows in public nowhere to be found.

"I've been wanting to do that all day," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer as if the inch of space between you is too much to bear. "Just today?" you tease, gasping as his lips trace a path down your neck.

"Every day," he corrects, his hands framing your hips, rubbing circles with his thumbs over the smooth fabric of your blouse. "Every minute."

"Steve," you breathe, your body responding eagerly even as your mind reminds you of his need for rest in this rare break in the schedule. His lips are tracing a path along your jaw that makes coherent thought increasingly difficult. The gentle sway of the campaign bus adds a dreamlike quality to the moment.

Your hands move to his chest, not quite pushing him away but creating just enough space to look up into his eyes. The blue of his irises has darkened with desire, but you can still see the shadows beneath them, the slight redness that speaks of too many late nights and early mornings.

"As much as I'd love to continue this," you say softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, "you're supposed to be resting."

A flash of stubbornness crosses his features, and you can't help a small laugh tumbling out.

Steve makes a noise somewhere between a growl and a sigh, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'm fine," he insists, but the way he leans into you betrays a hint of the exhaustion you’ve been worrying over all day.

"You're running on fumes," you counter softly, tracing one finger over the delicate skin beneath his eye where the shadows have deepened over the past week. "We have a three-hour drive to Harrisburg. That's three precious hours you can sleep."

"I'd rather spend them with you," he murmurs, his lips finding a sensitive spot just below your ear that makes you shiver. "Awake."

You close your eyes, momentarily lost in the sensation of his touch. The campaign bus hums beneath you, the rhythm of the highway creating a gentle, rocking motion that feels oddly intimate in the confines of the private quarters.

"What if we compromise? You sleep," you suggest, your fingers now working at his tie, loosening the knot. "And I'll be right here beside you."

His hands cover yours, stilling your movements. "That's not much of a compromise," he points out, a hint of amusement in his voice despite the fatigue etched into his features. "I agreed to rest. Not necessarily to sleep."

"Alright," you continue, slipping the tie from around his neck and draping it over the hook on the back of the door. "We can rest together. Just lie down. Talk. Be still for a while."

Steve studies your face, his expression softening. "Just talk?"

"Just talk," you confirm as you edge past him to the tiny bunks. It will be a cozy fit for the two of you, but you know neither of you will mind. You scoot in and get situated with Steve climbing right in behind you. He goes in for a kiss, and another laugh bubbles up from your chest, even as you melt slightly against him. "You're impossible."

"And you're wonderful," he counters, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip. "Especially when you're watching out for me."

Your expression softens. "Someone has to."

Steve's playfulness fades slightly, replaced by something more vulnerable. "I know I push too hard sometimes."

"You always push too hard," you correct gently. "I’ve only known you for five months, and I know it's who you are."

He sighs, resting his forehead against yours again. "The stakes feel so high."

"They are high," you acknowledge, one your hands coming to rest on his chest as he settles on his back and you curl up to his side. “But that crowd we just came from was incredible. And you connected so well with them. I can feel a shift.”

"You really think so?" Steve asks, his voice lower now, a hint of uncertainty threading through the words that most never get to hear from him. You certainly didn’t for your first months together.

You prop yourself up on one elbow to look at him properly, taking in the fine lines around his eyes, the slight furrow between his brows that never fully smooths away these days. "I do. The way they responded to you... it wasn't just political enthusiasm. It was something deeper."

Steve's hand finds yours, his thumb tracing absent patterns across your knuckles. "Pennsylvania is the key. If we can flip it..."

"We can," you assure him, settling back down against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear is comforting, a metronome counting out the moments of this rare peaceful interlude. "But not if you collapse from exhaustion first."

Steve chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your ear.

"And it wasn't just the content of the speech," you say, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his chest through his shirt. "It was you. The way you speak—it's like you're having a conversation with each person in that room individually."

"That's how my mother taught me to talk to people. 'Look them in the eye, Steven, and speak from your heart.'"

"Sarah Rogers sounds like she was quite a woman."

"She would have loved you," Steve says.

You feel his chest rise and fall beneath your cheek, his breathing beginning to deepen despite his resistance to sleep.

"What would she think of all this?" you ask softly. "Her son running for president?"

Steve is quiet for so long you nearly wonder if he's already drifted off, but then his voice comes, quieter now. "She'd probably say I was being stubborn again, taking on more than I should." You laugh softly together. "But then she'd roll up her sleeves and ask how she could help."

You smile against his shirt. "Like mother, like son."

Steve tips your chin up, and kisses you again, softly.

The kiss lingers, soft and unhurried, a gentle contrast to the frenetic pace that has defined your lives these past months. His lips move against yours with a tenderness that makes your heart ache, and you find yourself melting into him, the campaign, the polls, the speeches, the turmoil all forgotten in this moment of connection.

When you finally break apart, Steve's eyes remain closed for a moment longer, his lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks in the dim afternoon light.

"Tell me something," you murmur, settling back against his chest, your head tucked perfectly beneath his chin.

"Hmm?" His voice vibrates through his chest against your ear.

"Something I don't know yet. Something from before."

Steve's arm tightens around you, pulling you closer as the campaign bus rumbles beneath you.

"Before," he repeats, his voice taking on that distant quality it sometimes gets when he reaches back across the decades. "You know, when I first woke up in this century, I kept a list."

"A list?"

"Things people told me I needed to catch up on. Thai food. Star Wars. Disco." A gentle laugh rumbles through his chest. "I was so focused on what I'd missed that I barely thought about what I remembered."

You trace idle patterns on his shirt, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath your fingertips. "And what do you remember most clearly?"

Steve is quiet for a long moment, his breathing deep and even. When he speaks again, his voice is softer.

"The smell of apples cooking down with cinnamon in my mother's kitchen," Steve says, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. "The way sunlight looked filtering through the clotheslines strung between tenements. The sound of kids playing stickball in the street."

You close your eyes, trying to picture it—Brooklyn before the war, before skyscrapers and smartphones, before Steve became Captain America.

"We didn't have much," he continues, his fingers absently stroking your hair. "But there was a richness to life then that's hard to explain. People looked out for each other because they had to. Mrs. Calabrese from the third floor would watch me when my mother worked late shifts at the TB ward. Mr. Goldstein at the corner store would save bruised fruit for us at half price."

"It sounds wonderful," you murmur.

"Parts of it were," Steve says, his voice soft with memory. "And parts were harder than anything you can imagine. The winters when we couldn't afford enough coal. The Great Depression was more than the physical lack. There was a constant worry about having enough."

You listen intently, feeling privileged to hear these pieces of himself that he rarely shares with others.

"But there was something real about it all," he continues. "When you have so little, you appreciate everything more intensely. A warm meal. A new pencil. The first sunny day after weeks of rain."

"That's why this matters so much to you, isn't it?" you ask, lifting your head slightly to look at him.

Steve's eyes meet yours, clear and focused. "I've seen what happens when people lose hope. We lost so much hope after the Snap, and some things are better since we brought everyone back, but the new chaos and unrest has cast its own shadows." His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining. "The Depression, the War—they taught me that systems matter, that leadership matters. That the decisions made in far-off offices change lives on streets like the one I grew up on. I wanted things to work out without me because I’m just an Avenger, but Pepper persuaded me we needed to try for a president who isn’t a politician."

You settle back against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath. “She’s masterfully persuasive. She convinced me to marry a stranger.”

He laughs and his arm tightens around you. “Well, that seems to be a pretty good call so far, so maybe this other thing will work out, too.”

You smile against his chest, and you’re both quiet for a moment.

"Tell me more about Brooklyn," you prompt gently. "About your home."

You continue talking softly together until you both fall asleep, though you’re not sure if it is you or him who drops off first.

[OCTOBER 20 - EVENING - HARRISBURG, PENNSYLVANIA]

You are alone when you wake up.

You sit up quickly, slightly disoriented. The light in private quarters of the campaign bus are dim, but you can see through the window that night has fallen. The bus is no longer moving.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bunk and gather the shoes you had discarded earlier, slipping them back on your feet. You move to the tiny bathroom, and grimace slightly when you take in your appearance. It’s not bad, but it’s definitely nap-rumpled.

Someone must have heard you bustling around, because there’s a soft knock on the door that you recognize.

“Come in,” you call out, and you see Sophia open the door over your shoulder in the reflection of the mirror.

"Hey, sleepyhead," she says. "We're in Harrisburg."

"How long since we arrived?"

"Maybe an hour,” she answers. “There were press interviews before the event tonight, so the rest of the campaign went on ahead, and we’ll catch up. Steve insisted we let you rest.”

You roll your eyes and laugh. “Of course he did. Did he at least sleep for more than five minutes?”

“He said to report to you that he promises he slept for at least an hour,” Sam says, appearing behind Sophia.

You repress a Cheshire grin as you deduce that Sam elected to stay back to wait on you with Sophia. But you only just manage it.

"And did he?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Did he what?" Sam asks, a smile playing at his lips.

"Sleep for an hour," you clarify, reaching for a brush to tame your hair.

Sam and Sophia exchange a knowing look. "Let's just say Bucky confirmed he was out for at least ninety minutes, which might be a campaign record," Sophia says.

You nod, satisfied, and start to brush out your hair, assessing what needs to be done to make yourself presentable again. Surprisingly your blouse isn’t hopelessly wrinkled from being slept in, but your blazer hasn't fared well. Why didn’t you think to take that off before slipping onto the cot?

Probably because slipping one thing off might have been too tempting for both of you to slip off more clothing…

"Here, let me help," Sophia says, noticing your predicament. She rummages in one of the cupboards built into the wall of the bus, pushing aside emergency supplies and campaign materials. "Aha!" she exclaims, pulling out the travel steamer.

"Always a lifesaver," you tell her, gratefully shrugging out of your blazer and handing it over.

As Sophia gets to work on your blazer, you quickly freshen up your makeup and fix your hair. There's a comfortable rhythm to it, a routine that's become familiar over these past months on the trail. The three of you move around the confined space with practiced ease, Sam stepping out to take a call while you and Sophia discuss the evening ahead.

You’re Future-First-Lady presentable in next to no time, and then you, Sophia, and Sam get off the boss and hop into a waiting SUV.

Once you’re buckled in, Sam hands you a sandwich and a bag of chips. “Saved you something to eat. You slept through dinner."

Your stomach growls on cue, and you laugh. "I guess I did."

Sophia passes you a bottle of water and a bib as well. You don’t question it, learning early on you can only safely eat slowly or with a bib on the campaign trail, otherwise it’s almost guaranteed there will be some kind of spill. Better safe than sorry.

You take a grateful bite of the sandwich, realizing just how hungry you are. The SUV glides through the darkened streets of Harrisburg, the city lights sliding across the windows as you make your way toward the venue for tonight's town hall. There are Secret Service SUVs escorting both in front and behind your vehicle.

"How far is the venue?" you ask between bites.

"About fifteen minutes," Sophia replies, her eyes fixed on her tablet as she scrolls through the latest updates. "Traffic's light."

The driver has the radio on, and one of the familiar voices of NPR's news coverage fills the car: "—continuing coverage of the breaking news regarding the fabricated photographs of Steve Rogers' wife. CNN reported earlier today that former Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross has been implicated in creating and distributing AI-generated images purporting to show Mrs. Rogers at a Planned Parenthood facility for an abortion procedure. Ross evidently financed the operation and gave the photos to CSFAT, who then gave them to Fox News last week.”

You frown, and you know you’re not the only one, but no one seems inclined to change the station either, everyone too interested in hearing what they’ll say next.

“In a speech he gave at a rally in Pittsburg earlier today, Steve Rogers called for Americans to seek out truth, committing to always deal in truth, even when truths are difficult to share. Meanwhile, this afternoon, the message coming out of the Democratic camp has been increasingly strident. At a press conference in Detroit, Senator Jason Monroe, the Democratic nominee, made his own statement.”

The audio cuts directly to a clip of Monroe.

"This kind of technological deception represents a new low in American politics," Monroe declares. "I call on my Republican opponent to immediately and unequivocally denounce Thaddeus Ross and the Coalition for Strengthening the Families of America Today. Their creation and distribution of AI-generated photographs is not merely dirty politics—it's an attack on our electoral process itself."

You grimace as the radio continues broadcasting Monroe's remarks, but continue to listen with Sophia, Sam, and your driver as you eat your sandwich.

You know Peterson can’t denounce CSFAT without hemoraging “family values” voters, even if they don’t lean as extreme as CSFAT does.

"The American people deserve to know whether the Republican Party condones these tactics," Monroe continues, his voice sharp with practiced outrage. "And whether Governor Peterson was aware of or involved in this deception. Until we have clear answers, I believe this casts a shadow over the entire Republican campaign."

You exchange glances with Sam and Sophia. Monroe is doing exactly what Jake and the rest of your campaign team had expected - trying to turn this revelation into a broader attack on Steve's running mate and the Republican Party as a whole.

"That's rich," Sam mutters, shaking his head. "Like Monroe's Super PACs haven't been running misleading ads for months."

Monroe's voice continues from the radio. "I'm calling for a joint statement from all candidates condemning the use of deepfakes and AI manipulation in political campaigns. This isn't about politics anymore. It's about preserving the integrity of our democracy."

Sophia scoffs. “Of course, he wants to call for a joint statement. If he can organize it, it looks like a win for him.”

“Peterson won’t do it, he’ll say Monroe’s just trying to score points of his own for proposing and organizing the statement,” Sam says.

“And all Steve has to do is say a joint statement isn’t needed when that’s what Americans should expect from any presidential candidate,” you add.

“Exactly,” Sophia pumps her fist in the air.

The NPR host returns: "We should note that there is currently no evidence suggesting Governor Peterson or the official Republican campaign had any knowledge of or involvement in the creation of these images. The Justice Department has opened an investigation, and Ross has not yet commented publicly on the allegations."

"Can we turn it off for now?” you ask the driver.

“Absolutely, Mrs. Rogers,” he responds, switching the radio off.

You turn to Sophia. “I know we’re concerned about the seven major swing states that can go red or blue a the tip of a hat, but with this fighting for the sake of capitalizing on a political fight, can we expand to states that were in that sixty-percent majority range?”

“Snag the people who might be ready to be independents but have kept with their party because there’s only been the two major parties for so long,” Sophia concurs. “I think Jake will still want to keep Steve in the seven swing as much as possible, but he’d see the wisdom in moving you into more of that next circle and be up for adjusting the schedule.”

Your heart aches for a moment. Early in the campaign, you and Steve frequently campaigned together and separately, but more and more since September, you’ve stuck together, and you’ve wanted to. When you were congenial members of a campaign team who happened to be married for the political positioning, it hadn’t mattered.

But now the idea of campaigning separately from Steve, even for a few days, twists something in your chest. Your feelings for him have evolved with startling speed from reluctant respect to genuine affection to something much deeper—something you're still getting used to naming, even in your own mind.

"I think that's a great strategy," you say, pushing past the flutter of emotion. "Especially if we target suburban areas where voters might be feeling torn between party loyalty and policy preferences."

Sam gives you a knowing look that you choose to ignore, focusing instead on finishing your sandwich as the lights of downtown Harrisburg grow brighter through the windows. The SUV slows as it approaches the historic Forum Auditorium, its classical columns illuminated against the night sky.

"How many people tonight?" you ask.

"About fifteen hundred," Sophia answers, checking her tablet. "Town hall format. Prescreened questions until the end, Charlie and Zoey Young are already there, and you and Zoey will join Steve and Charlie on stage with the candidates fielding the questions.”

"Town halls are his strongest format," Sam adds with a smile. "People connect with him even more when he's answering their questions directly."

You nod, brushing crumbs from your lap and carefully removing the bib. There's something comforting about the routine of it all, the seamless transition from one event to the next, each with its own rhythm and demands.

"And what's the mood?" you ask, knowing Sophia will have already checked in with the advance team.

"Energized but not rowdy," she replies. "Local issues are dominating—healthcare access in rural areas, the opioid crisis, infrastructure. The Ross story is buzzing, but it's not overshadowing everything."

"Good," you say with a nod. "That's what we want."

The SUV pulls up to the rear entrance of the auditorium, where security personnel immediately surround the vehicle. The familiar choreography unfolds—doors opening, earpieces murmuring, a path clearing through the hustle and bustle.

The backstage area of the Forum buzzes with the controlled chaos that defines campaign events—staffers with headsets, local officials waiting for their moment, journalists hovering at the edges of secured areas. You spot Jake immediately, his tall figure bent over a tablet as he confers with Lisa and Elspeth.

And then you see Steve.

He's standing at the edge of the stage, peering out through the curtain at the gathering crowd, his back to you.

Even from this distance, you can read the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way he holds himself with that perfect posture that never quite relaxes. He's wearing the navy suit you picked out together a few weeks ago, the one that brings out the blue in his eyes.

Bucky stands beside him, saying something that makes Steve laugh—a genuine laugh that transforms his face, erasing the campaign weariness for just a moment. The sight makes your heart skip, and you find yourself smiling automatically.

Steve turns, sensing your presence with that uncanny awareness he always seems to have. His eyes find yours across the busy backstage area, and his face softens, lighting up with a warmth that still catches you off guard sometimes. You make your way toward him swiftly, navigating through the crowd with practiced grace.

"You're here," he says when you reach him, his voice warm.

"Exactly where I'm supposed to be," you reply, reaching up to straighten his already-perfect tie, just for the excuse to touch him.

Steve's hand finds yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in that gentle way that has become so familiar. And even though you’ll have the rest of the evening together, you’re already missing him, certain that you’ll be getting off to separate cities tomorrow.

Lurking in the darkest corners of your mind is an even bigger concern that you’ve been ignoring as much as you possibly can…

Steve has been gaining momentum - it’s been compounding since day one - but he’s still an independent presidential candidate in a system that’s been voting between two parties for over two hundred years. Everyone on your team, thousands of volunteers and supporters across the country, you’re all fighting tooth and nail and working towards victory.

But what happens if the very realistic possibility is realized and he doesn’t win?

next part: Boston & New York

I apologize for another long wait for this one. (haha, don't worry, I KNOW anyone who made it to here isn't going to hate me for the length!)

...and even though it was long, the only pieces I could have taken out were their married moments, and I just genuinely didn't want to, so I hoped all of you enjoyed getting to just spend some soft time with them. I could've cut down what we saw of Steve's speech, too, but I didn't want that, either. 🥹 I love potentially-President Steve. Therapeutic for me, and I love getting to let him show his leadership and desire to do good in a different way than his superhero work.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #slow burn #political au #steve rogers x you #red white & true #aspen wrote something #female reader

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purplephantomwolf · 4 months ago

Text

Savoring the Finish Line

Chapter Five

Synopsis: You are a bakery owner. One day Max Verstappen comes into your bakery.

Note: This is not an accurate portrayal of how the real people in this act. I do not know them personally, so I will not be portraying them accurately.

Warnings: Panic attack mention

Previous Chapter: Chapter Four

Masterlist

I AM REWRITING THIS FROM AN OC STORY. IF I MISS ANYTHING, PLEASE LET ME KNOW SO I CAN FIX IT! THIS IS CHAPTER 5 OF 5 OF ALREADY WRITTEN CHAPTERS. THEY ARE NOW ALL POSTED.

March 19, 2022

The flood lights are bright against your eyes. “Night races are beautiful,” you hum to yourself. You walk along the paddock an hour before qualifying is supposed to start. You watch all the engineers, drivers, and working personnel rush about. You hum to myself, walking towards the Red Bull garage.

“Good evening, Y/n,” Max says, stopping his conversation with Christian Horner and Geri Horner. You jerk to a stop, surprised.

“Hello, Max,” you smile at him. Both the Horners look between us

“Christian, Geri, this is Y/n, the woman who owns the bakery I told you about. Y/n, this is Christian and Geri Horner,” Max introduces us.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. and Mr. Horner,” you say, extending my hand. Christian shakes your hand.

“Please, call us Geri and Christian. Any friend of Max’s is a friend of ours,” Geri says, pulling you in for a hug. You blush and nod, as you pull away from her.

“So, Max has told us that you own a bakery?” Geri asks you.

“Yes! It’s a small bakery in Monaco called Delicieux Gateries,” you grin, always happy to talk about your bakery.

“What do you sell?” She asks, starting to walk into the hospitality.

“Well, I sell all sorts of things. There’s croissants, kouign amanns, scones, macarons as some of my most popular selling items,” you list off, following after her.

“You say my and I, do you work at the bakery by yourself?” Christian asks, appearing behind Geri.

“I’m the only full time employee. I have this older couple who works the front of the bakery for me part time, but I do all the baking,” you explain. Max comes up next to us.

“How are Louis and Estelle doing?” He asks.

“They’re doing good! They’re watching Elise and Lacey for me this week,” you answer. Geri and Christian exchange small smiles, and you grin at Max. Max glances at his watch and nods to Christian. They start the descent down to the garage to get ready for qualifying as you and Geri continue talking about your bakery. Suddenly Max comes rushing back into the hospitality. “Will you wait for me after qualifying? I want to make sure you get back to your hotel safely,” Max asks upi. You blush and grin.

“Sure, you might find me asleep here, but I’ll wait in here for you,” you smile.

“Great, good, awesome,” Max says, fumbling over his words. He rushes back downstairs, as Geri lets out a laugh. You turn to her blushing, feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Oh sweetie, that’s just too cute,” she smiles. You nod, blushing.

“I should probably go down to make sure I’m in place before all the excitement starts. It was nice meeting you, Geri,” you say.

“It was nice to meet you too, Y/n. I’ll make sure to stop by your bakery some time when I’m in Monaco,” she says. You nod, grinning. You head down to the garage, getting into place. Max looks over at the area for guests and smiles when he sees you. You send him a quick thumbs up, smiling. He blushes, quickly looks back at the data and his race engineer.

You grin as the lights go green at the end of the pitlane. You take a deep breath, breathing in the smell of rubber and fuel. It smells wonderful. Max pulls out of the garage, sending a big vibration through your body from the roar of the car. Your eyes flick between the screens and the track. You smile when Max makes it into Q2 easily. You have no worries about Max making it into Q3. You bop my head along to the music playing throughout the paddock as you wait for Q3 to start.

You frown as you hear Max on the radio saying something about his tires being fucked when he goes slow. “That’s not good,” you mutter. Max goes out for his last lap. You cross your fingers as he crosses the finish line. “Yes! Let’s go, Max!” you cheer as he finishes P2. The garage claps and cheers at his results.

The garage starts to clear of the other Red Bull guests. You linger, trying to stay in the garage as long as possible. Eventually the engineers start leaving too, so you head up to the hospitality. You take a seat at one of the tables, waiting for Max.

******************************************************************************

“Y/n,” You hear your name whispered. You jolt up, looking around. You rub your eyes, trying to get rid of the tiredness.

“Oh, hi Max,” you grin, spotting him squatting next to your chair. You stand up, grabbing your bag. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” Max says, looking guilty.

“It’s okay! I’d rather have someone to walk me back this late at night, than go back by myself,” you shrug. Max looks relieved.

“Which hotel are you staying at?” He asks, grabbing your bag from you. You start to protest him carrying it, but he gives you a stern look and you stop.

“The Hilton,” you answer, walking out of the hospitality.

“Oh, good! That’s just down the road from my hotel,” he smiles. Max leads you out of the paddock. “Did you enjoy today?” He turns to you.

“Oh, yes! Congrats on starting P2 tomorrow! You were amazing,” you gush.

“Thank you,” he grins, as you arrive at a car.

“Is this your car?!” You gasp, looking at the Aston Martin car.

“No, it’s just on loan to me for the weekend,” Max replies, “All my cars are back in Monaco.”

You nod, “Makes sense.” Max opens your door for you, and you slide in. You run your hands along the seat, marveling at it.

“Do you like it?” Max asks, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Yes, I’ve never been in such an expensive car,” You look over at him. He pulls out of his parking spot, and you admire him as he drives to your hotel.

“Thank you for the ride back, Max,” you thank him as he pulls up to your hotel.

“Of course, Y/n. I’ll see you tomorrow? I can drive you back after the race,” Max looks over you, hopeful.

“I would like that,” you smile at him.

“Okay, then I’ll see you tomorrow after the race. Hopefully I’ll see you before the race too,” Max says.

“Hopefully! Good night, Max,” you say, opening your door.

“Good night, Y/n,” he says, as you shut the door. He watches you walk into the hotel before pulling away. You head up to your room, falling into bed. You sigh happily, before quickly falling asleep.

******************************************************************************

March 20, 2022

You thank the driver of the taxi as you climb out. You scan your pass to get into the paddock. You walk past the Ferrari hospitality and spot Carlos outside. Louis is a big Ferrari fan, so you figure getting Carlos’ signature on his hat would make him super happy. “Excuse me, can you please sign my hat?” You ask Carlos. He quickly signs it, before heading inside the hospitality. You head inside the Red Bull hospitality. You sit at one of the tables, waiting for it to be closer to 6 to head down to the garage. You’re reading an article on your phone when the chair next to you is pulled out. YOu look up and see Geri sitting down. “Hello, Mrs. Horner,” you greet her.

“Please, dear. Call me Geri,” she waves her hand.

“Okay, hello, Geri,” you say. She laughs and greets you.

“Are you having fun this weekend?” Geri asks you.

You nod quickly. “This is the most fun I’ve had since I opened my bakery. I haven’t taken time off since then,” you answer her.

“Oh, honey. You must be working yourself to death then. You should take some time off,” she says, looking worried.

“I am looking at hiring another baker, that way I can take time off. It’ll be nice to not have to work every day,” you explain. She nods, smiling. The door to the hospitality opens, and Max walks in. He’s deep in conversation with someone, so you just wave to him when he looks over. He waves back, before heading down to the garage.

“So tell me, how did you and Max meet? I know Max, and he wouldn’t give out garage passes to just anyone,” Geri asks, turning to you.

“He came into my bakery having a panic attack. I helped calm him down, The garage pass is a thank you from him. I told him I didn’t need them as a thank you, but he refused to take them back,” you tell her. Her eyes get a worried look when you say the panic attack part.

“Thank you for helping him. Do you know why he was having one?” Geri asks, looking concerned. You shake your head no. “Okay, thank you,” she sighs. You glance at the time. Seeing that it’s 15 minutes before the race is supposed to start, you stand up, Geri standing up with you.

“It was great talking to you, Geri. I hope we can talk again after this weekend,” you smile. She pulls you into a tight hug.

“I’m sure we will,” she grins, letting you go. You head down to the garage, getting into place as the national anthem finishes. You excitedly slide the headset on.

Max enters the garage, a concentrated look on his face. The thought of how cute he looks when he’s concentrating enters your mind. You shake your head at this thought. You cannot start liking this man, he’s so far out of your league, you think. Max slides his helmet on and climbs into the car. There’s a muffled roar of engine as he pulls out of the garage.

******************************************************************************

The lights go out and Charles goes across the track to block Max from taking P1 at the first corner. You gasp as Esteban and Mick collide, spinning Mick around. You let out a relieved sigh when Mick continues on. You always get so worried when cars collide.

Hamilton slides as he pulls out of the pits, trying to warm up his tires. You smile and clap your hands once when you see Zhou pass him. Hamilton quickly passes Zhou again. Max pulls into the pits, and you watch as they put a new thing of soft tires on his car. It’s amazing to watch the pit crew work so quickly.

Charles comes into the pits, and you bite my fingernails as you watch them do a slower stop then Max’s. “Come on, Max,” I whisper as Max comes down the main straight. You groan as Charles comes out in front of Max. They battle all throughout the lap. The Red Bull garage breaks into cheers when Max passes Charles and then groans when Charles passes him back. The two drivers repeat the same fight on the next lap. You groan as Max locks up on the third lap of the fight, not letting him take the lead.

Max comes in for a second pit stop, putting on medium tires this time. Charles does the same thing the next lap.You groan as Charles comes out in front of Max again. Max is angry as he comes on the radio, complaining about how he took it easy on the out lap, when he could be ahead. “I’m never doing that again,” he says.

Max comes into the pits again, and as he pulls out of the pits, he complains about the steering. You hold your breath as I listen to his radio, hoping everything is okay. You gasp suddenly as you see Pierre Gasly pulled off to the side. He leaps out, as his car catches aflame. The full safety car comes out, and the cars bunch up. Max keeps coming on the radio complaining about the steering.

You groan as Max gets a poor restart after the safety car. Your hands clasp together as you pray that Carlos doesn’t pass him. A few laps pass, when suddenly Max comes on the radio asking about the battery. Max is tumbling down the order. “No!” You gasp, hand flying up to cover your mouth in shock. “He was doing so well,” you pout, “He was so close to finishing.” He pulls into the pits, and you just know he’s going to be angry. He climbs out of the car, and walks back into the garage. Suddenly you hear a shout and your head flies to the track. Sergio Perez has lost the engine and spun around. You’re shocked that Red Bull has had such an awful start to the season.

The race finishes with a Ferrari 1-2, but you couldn’t care less at this moment. You know Max is going to be upset, and you just hope he knows there’s nothing he could’ve done to prevent it. You wait in the garage until after the podium ceremony, waiting to see if Max comes back in. Eventually you head into the hospitality. You take a seat to wait for Max.

Next chapter: Chapter Six

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#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 story #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #f1 x reader #max verstappen x y/n

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catpriciousmarjara · 1 year ago

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Personal pet peeve: When a particular character has a lot of paperwork and such associated with their job and it has been established in universe that the work is extremely hard, complicated, and tedious but then in fanfic another character in another job position takes up this character's paperwork and does it perfectly. That's not how this works. That's not how any of this works.

Paperwork is not some nebulous pile of papers so easy that anyone can just waltz in and fill it up just like that. Paperwork, especially for large organisations, requires specific training and knowledge. A particular situation might have at least ten forms associated with it depending on how it happened, when it happened, who were involved, who were affected, who filed the initial report etc. It could be form A.1, it could be form B8, it could be G3 or D-3.2e, and then it has to be filed away in a specific way under a specific designation. At times it could be completely nonsensical but still necessary and part of proper procedure....all of that requires training and experience. Someone from a totally unconnected role can't just take over this position and do an excellent job at it, unless it has been previously established that they too had prior training and guidance in this.

Example: Cale(KRS) and Basen Henituse in Trash of the Count's Family. Kim Rok Soo before trasmigration into Cale Henituse was a team leader who has experience with important official documentation and paperwork for the Company. Basen Henituse is established to have been send to territory heirship classes and doing well in them. These two people being able to take on the other's paperwork load is not at all farfetched. (Same with Cale and Alberu though the latter would still have to sign and seal his insignia separately in the end.)

So no someone who's untrained can't just take someone else's paperwork and just breeze through them unless they are like supernaturally intelligent to the point of figuratively downloading all the necessary data and information directly into their brain or something.

Let's not even talk about how the character might have a particular way and organisation of doing things and someone else taking over their workload without permission might just mess that order up and their well intended actions might end up doing more harm than good.

Look at MXTX's Shang Qinghua or Ling Wen. As I'm reading SVSSS right now let's take it as an example.

Someone who can conduct and lead an audit: Shang Qinghua, specifically trained as an auditor. Yue Qingyuan- can possibly fill in for a specific kind of audit.

Someone who cannot conduct an audit: Literally every other Peak Lord on Cang Qiong. Not trained for it. Should not be in charge of it.

Someone who can file in medical paperwork: Mu Qingfang, head of medical operations in the sect.

Someone who can't do that: his Peak Lord colleagues. At most they'll be able to file in incident reports and other such forms that guardians of patients will have to fill in at a hospital.

People involved with merchants and associated business transactions: Shang Qinghua(logistics expert-procurement logistics), and for large contracts, Yue Qingyuan(Sect Leader). Other Peak Lords depending on the goods. For example the Zui Xian Peak Lord when they are negotiating prices for the raw materials or equipment for alcohol brewing or Wei Qingwei when they are sourcing metal.

Someone who can handle annual budgeting: Shang Qinghua. Person who allocates the funds according to the final budget- Yue Qingyuan.

Persons who can't do that: His colleagues who are definitely not trained in finances and accounting.

And so on and so on.

Shang Qinghua was invited back to the sect after literal treason because nobody else could do his job. That should tell you that people without specific training can't just take over the paperwork of another person's job unless their own jobs are connected enough to be sufficiently similar that they can handle it.

So no someone like Shen Qingqiu who's a scholar and tactician primarily, can't take the entirety of Shang Qinghua's or Mu Qingfang's or Yue Qingyuan's paperwork and fill it in for them, no matter how intelligent he is. Though I'm sure Yue Qingyuan would let him sect be damned lmao.

You see things like this in many other fandoms as well. Innocuous forms that anyone can fill in are okay but complicated paperwork for auditing, budgeting, logistics, diplomacy, business transactions, internal affairs, etc? No way. That all takes time to familiarize with before even properly filing them let alone actually doing them.

This is of course a personal pet peeve as I mentioned from the beginning. People are free to write what they want, read what they want, like what they want. This is no way an accusation towards particular individuals. It's just that for me it breaks immersion pretty quickly.

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saywhat-politics · 2 months ago

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The top official's departure is the latest in a wave of exits from senior officials whose agencies have come into the crosshairs of Elon Musk's Department of Government Efficiency.

Feb. 17, 2025, 8:26 PM MST

By Yamiche Alcindor and Raquel Coronell Uribe

Michelle King, the top official at the Social Security Administration, left her position this weekend after she refused a request from Elon Musk's Department of Government Efficiency to access sensitive government records at the agency, according to two sources familiar with the situation.

White House spokesperson Harrison Fields confirmed that King was no longer the head of the agency in a statement.

#donald trump #second term #doge #social security administration

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sentient-rift · 1 year ago

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🌋 ((Your Solo at my Laplace lol

"What can I say about that Laplace that I haven't already said about mine? There are a lot of words that come to mind when I think of Laplace, such as 'Annoying,' 'Troublemaker,' and occasionally 'Jerk.'

"...With that said, if your Laplace is anything like mine, then the Best word that describes him is... 'Reliable.' I can always count on him..."

*Laplace gets all fuzzy inside.*

#lastmurianwarrior #new data discovered (ask)#data analyzed (answered)#mini game (ask meme)#mu's sole survivor (solo)#laplace has pulsed in (ic)#megaman star force

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styrmwb · 9 months ago

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References to Previous Final Fantasies in Dawntrail

Or, how 9 + 11 + 6 = 14, somehow. (SPOILERS, OBVIOUSLY)

I've played every mainline FF, plus a few others, so one of my favorite things about playing XIV is seeing what they do with previous FFs, and how they incorporate it into the world/story. Dawntrail very very much did this, to the point that I could literally predict plot points before they happened. (THIS IS NOT A COMPLAINT I LOVED THIS)

So I figured I would put down my fanboying in text form, for people to read the insanity of a madman who has played too many JRPGs from a single series.

Note: I have not completed every single side quest, but I have done the entire MSQ, every dungeon, and 3/5 of the role quests. This isn't a complete collection, just what I noticed :)

Krile's "real name" is Maya. The original Krile in FFV was Krile Meyer Baldesion. (XIV might also have the middle name but I don't remember! I'm gonna put it here regardless!)

Valigarmanda is the first Esper you encounter in VI, right at the start of the game. Its summon attack is Tri-Disaster. I really liked how they kept it frozen in ice, just like the original, and because Tri-Disaster is a SMN ability, they changed it to Tulidisaster to fit the Tural location.

Pictomancer was first in VI as well, being Relm's job. She even got to be in XIV as well, being credited as the Archon who created the art (HA). Shoutouts to the Relm reborn joke it needed to happen

One of the two most important games in this expansion. There is A Lot here.

The preorder bonus/deluxe edition had a Wind-Up Zidane and Garnet, the two main protagonists of FFIX.

Alexandria is lifted directly from IX. The name, the style of the buildings, and even the castle with the crystal popping out of the top, shown in the dungeon and in Yesterland in Living Memory.

(This is the Dissidia NT version, but I wanted a picture that showed the castle and the roof architecture)

Solution Nine is named after one of Zidane's Dyne abilities. While not direct, Living Memory, the final zone, is very reminiscent of Memoria, the final dungeon of IX. I wonder if you can get a special sword by completing the entire MSQ in under 2 hours?

Living Memory also features quite a few locations from IX. The Canal Town looks very similar to Treno, and features a location called the Daguerreo Medical Collection, named after the city as well. Underneath Proto Alexandria in Yesterland, where the data terminal lies, looks very similar to the part of Alexandria Castle where Steiner can grind to level 99 (I don't know how else to describe it if you know you know). In the Windspath Gardens lies the Cleyra Museum of Nature, also named after the IX city.

Some quest text in Living Memory tells you about other locations in the Unlost World. Lindblum, the city that holds hunts and is very technologically advanced; Conde Petie, where the Dwarves are from (mentioned by a Milalla who said he was from there), and the Iifa Tree. There might even be more here, that I either missed or haven't done yet.

Another quest has you go on a treasure hunt for a password. This password? "I Want to Be Your Canary", the play from FFIX.

Solution Nine has a couple buildings with monsters from IX as signs. One building features a Mu (Which is also mentioned in Living Memory), and another building features Yans, both friendly and not friendly.

Another monster that I noticed a reference to was the Gimme Cat, which is featured on the popcorn in Living Memory. It's also mentioned as an energy drink, but called a "Gimme Bat" instead? I guess it does have bat wings.

While XIV doesn't have any direct plot important characters from IX, the ones we do have are very reminiscent of its cast, and clearly are done like that on purpose.

Otis is Steiner (with maybe a little tiny bit of Beatrix depending on how you look at it). Captain of the Knights of Alexandria, he speaks in an older fashion, similar to Steiner, and is very loyal to his princess.

Sphene is an interesting mix. The most obvious one is Garnet, both being Queens of Alexandria, being named after stones, and loving their people. The other one, which might be argued isn't intended, is Garland.

(No, not those guys. The other one.)

Garland in IX is an artificial being whose purpose is to continue his world's life. To do this, he would try to fuse Terra (his planet), with Gaia (the main planet), and control Gaian souls for Terra instead. What did Sphene do? Try to fuse her reflection with the Source, to use their souls for her own people. I personally think this is a very clear similarity.

In general, because of this similarity, the latter half of Dawntrail shares very similar themes with IX's plots, dealing with death and souls. I also think it's pretty funny that both start out pretty happy and cartoony, and end fairly depressing and existential.

Another plot point used in the MSQ is the play sequence. While IX's is based off love, and XIV's is the history of Alexandria, both feature a sword fight scene. (99 out of 100 nobles approve).

Finally, several songs from IX are used in Dawntrail. In the above mentioned play, Swords of Fury plays, just like the original. And a few scenes later, Vamo'alla Flamenco (previously used for the DNC quests) plays, though it should have been during the sword fight!! Prima Vista Orchestra and Fleeting Life are used in several scenes, usually involving Sphene. Something to Protect also appears, but in a scene I can't recall. Finally, the Court Jesters' theme gets a remix as the main song in the Strayborough Deadwalk.

There is a singular joke in Heritage Found made about dodging lightning bolts right before the flash so they don't hit you. The person who wrote this line wanted to induce PTSD in as many people as they could with only a single line of dialogue.

The other most important game in the expansion. In a way, Dawntrail FEELS like it could have been an XI expansion in another lifetime. I might be looking too much into it, but I feel as though this was foreshadowed back in the first patch of Endwalker, as Dawntrail takes A LOT from the Treasures of Aht Urhgan expansion.

In Endwalker, the Alzadaal's Legacy dungeon was based off of the Alzadaal Underwater Ruins in Aht Urhgan. The dungeon used many models from XI, such as the Rampart, the Xzomit (hell yes!), and the Acrolith. The dungeon had a visual similarity, as well as the areas in the dungeon being named after zones in Aht Urhgan (Bhaflau Thickets, Arrapago Reef, and Mount Zhayolm). I know this is Endwalker and not Dawntrail but trust me it's important for the foreshadowing.

Gulool Ja Ja was a boss in the Besieged mode of ToAU, leading the Mamool Ja Savages to assault Al Zahbi. Both incarnations of this character are VERY different from each other.

Similarly, Gurfurlur was also a boss in Besieged, leading the Troll Mercenaries. It's very funny to me that both of these warmongers became such nice people in Tural.

The Yok Huy as a whole are actually Trolls from XI. The different name I assume coming from the fact that Trolls are already an enemy in XIV, in Labyrinthos.

While this isn't direct, and is probably unintentional, the fact that the final boss in Vanguard was a naga/lamia like entity only makes me wonder if it was somehow a callback to Medusa and the Undead Swarm, the last remaining Besieged invaders.

Zoraal Ja is a Notorious Monster in the areas around Aht Urhgan.

To continue on with Mamool Ja facts, Mamook is an area in ToAU. They don't look very similar, but they do both share the title of Autarch as their ruler. Mamool Ja in general come from XI, so it's no surprise that in the expansion that well, expands on them, it uses XI for inspiration.

This next one might be a little insane. The general plot of Treasures of Aht Urhgan, is that after killing Promathia, a god that wishes to end all life, the Adventurer goes to a completely different area to have a relatively calmer adventure. Here, they meet a female member of royalty named Aphmau. Her brother, Razfahd, unable to rule over the country, has a conquering nature, and uses an Automaton body to control Alexander for his goals. This... can't be a coincidence, right?? We kill the Endsinger, who wanted to end all life, go to a completely different area to have a relatively calmer adventure with our female member of royalty, Wuk Lamat, and we fight against Zoraal Ja, her war hungry brother that is unable to rule, so he uses the power of Alexandria (a mech suit) for his goals. You... you see what I'm cooking here right??? RIGHT!?!?!

To piggyback off of this, Wuk Lamat very much fits the role of the XI heroine. A girl who is very clearly the main character of the story, and hangs around you more than anyone else.

Edit: one last thing that I forgot to put down before posting, one of the hunts uses the Magic Pot model from XI. We love Magic Pot.

I THINK that should be everything I found? I know for a fact we're going to get more since the Alliance Raids are based of off XI (I'm so excited)

XIII

A couple enemy models were used from XIII.

The Silver Lobos in Urqopacha use the XIII model. I'm fairly sure they've never been used in XIV yet, but I could be wrong.

Similarly, the Strayborough Deadwalk uses the Gremlin/Ahriman enemies. I do not think they've been used before this, feel free to yell at me if I'm wrong :)

Type-0

While not like, direct, the concept of erasing the memories of anyone who has died (especially seen as a blessing) was a major plot point of Type-0's world.

I think that's everything? My memory isn't the greatest, so I'm sure there's something I noticed that I missed, and again; I haven't done everything, so there might be even more out there that I've yet to find!

Please, feel free to comment anything else that you may have noticed, and hopefully you enjoyed reading :)

#final fantasy #final fantasy xiv #textpost #jared's game ramblings #dawntrail spoilers

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carpedzem · 1 year ago

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it has been 3 hours firefox doesnt want to start

mu pc is testing my patience today

#im so close to just uninstall it but i dont want to lose mu data i dont have any backup :((

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najia-cooks · 1 year ago

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[ID: A bowl of avocado spread sculpted into a pattern, topped with olive oil and garnished with symmetrical lines of nigella seeds and piles of pomegranate seeds; a pile of pita bread is in the background. End ID]

متبل الأفوكادو / Mutabbal al-'afukadu (Palestinian avocado dip)

Avocados are not native to Palestine. Israeli settlers planted them in Gaza in the 1980s, before being evicted when Israel evacuated all its settlements in Gaza in 2005. The avocados, however, remained, and Gazans continued to cultivate them for their fall and winter harvest. Avocados have been folded into the repertoire of a "new" Palestinian cuisine, as Gazans and other Palestinians have found ways to interpret them.

Palestinians may add local ingredients to dishes traditionally featuring avocado (such as Palestinian guacamole, "جواكامولي فلسطيني" or "غواكامولي فلسطيني"), or use avocado in Palestinian dishes that typically use other vegetables (pickling them, for example, or adding them to salads alongside tomato and cucumber).

Another dish in this latter category is حمص الافوكادو (hummus al-'afukadu)—avocado hummus—in which avocado is smoothly blended with lemon juice, white tahina (طحينة البيضاء, tahina al-bayda'), salt, and olive oil. Yet another is متبّل الأفوكادو (mutabbal al-'afukadu). Mutabbal is a spiced version of بابا غنوج (baba ghannouj)‎: "مُتَبَّل" means "spiced" or "seasoned," from "مُ" "mu-," a participlizing prefix, + "تَبَّلَ" "tabbala‎," "to have spices added to." Here, fresh avocado replaces the roasted eggplant usually used to make this smooth dip; it is mixed with green chili pepper, lemon juice, garlic, white tahina, sumac, and labna (لبنة) or yoghurt. Either of these dishes may be topped with sesame or nigella seeds, pomegranate seeds, fresh dill, or chopped nuts, and eaten with sliced and toasted flatbread.

Avocados' history in Palestine precedes their introduction to Gaza. They were originally planted in 1908 by a French order of monks, but these trees have not survived. It was after the Balfour Declaration of 1917 (in which Britain, having been promised colonial control of Palestine with the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire after World War 1, pledged to establish "a national home for the Jewish people" in Palestine) that avocado agriculture began to take root.

In the 1920s, 30s, and 40s, encouraged by Britain, Jewish Europeans began to immigrate to Palestine in greater numbers and establish agricultural settlements (leaving an estimated 29.4% of peasant farming families without land by 1929). Seeds and seedlings from several varieties of avocado were introduced from California by private companies, research stations, and governmental bodies (including Mikveh Israel, a school which provided settlers with agricultural training). In these years, prices were too high for Palestinian buyers, and quantities were too low for export.

It wasn't until after the beginning of the Nakba (the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians from "Jewish" areas following the UN partition of Palestine in 1947) that avocado plantings became significant. With Palestinians having been violently expelled from most of the area's arable land, settlers were free to plant avocados en masse for export, aided (until 1960) by long-term, low-interest loans from the Israeli government. The 400 acres planted within Israel's claimed borders in 1955 ballooned to 2,000 acres in 1965, then 9,000 by 1975, and over 17,000 by 1997. By 1986, Israel was producing enough avocados to want to renegotiate trade agreements with Europe in light of the increase.

Israeli companies also attained commercial success selling avocados planted on settlements within the West Bank. As of 2014, an estimated 4.5% of Israeli avocado exports were grown in the occupied Jordan Valley alone (though data about crops grown in illegal settlements is of course difficult to obtain). These crops were often tended by Palestinian workers, including children, in inhumane conditions and at starvation wages. Despite a European Union order to specify the origin of such produce as "territories occupied by Israel since 1967," it is often simply marked "Israel." Several grocery stores across Europe, including Carrefour, Lidl, Dunnes Stores, and Aldi, even falsified provenance information on avocados and other fruits in order to circumvent consumer boycotts of goods produced in Israel altogether—claiming, for example, that they were from Morocco or Cyprus.

Meanwhile, while expanding its own production of avocados, Israel was directing, limiting, and destabilizing Palestinian agriculture in an attempt to eliminate competition. In 1982, Israel prohibited the planting of fruit trees without first obtaining permission from military authorities; in practice, this resulted in Palestinians (in Gaza and the West Bank) being entirely barred from planting new mango and avocado trees, even to replace old, unproductive ones.

Conditions worsened in the years following the second intifada. Between September of 2000 and September of 2003, Israeli military forces destroyed wells, pumps, and an estimated 85% of the agricultural land in al-Sayafa, northern Gaza, where farmers had been using irrigation systems and greenhouses to grow fruits including citrus, apricots, and avocados. They barred almost all travel into and out of al-Sayafa: blocking off all roads that lead to the area, building barricades topped with barbed wire, preventing entry within 150 meters of the barricade under threat of gunfire, and opening crossings only at limited times of day and only for specific people, if at all.

A July 2001 prohibition on Palestinian vehicles within al-Sayafa further slashed agricultural production, forcing farmers to rely on donkeys and hand carts to tend their fields and to transport produce across the crossing. If the crossing happened to be closed, or the carts could not transport all the produce in time, fruits and vegetables would sit waiting in the sun until they rotted and could not be sold. The 2007 blockade worsened Gaza's economy still further, strictly limiting imports and prohibiting exports entirely (though later on, there would be exceptions made for small quantities of specific crops).

In the following years, Israel allowed imports of food items into Gaza not exceeding the bare minimum for basic sustenance, based on an estimation of the caloric needs of its inhabitants. Permitted (apples, bananas, persimmons, flour) and banned items for import (avocados, dates, grapes) were ostensibly based on "necessary" versus "luxury" foods, but were in fact directed according to where Israeli farmers could expect the most profit.

Though most of the imports admitted into Gaza continued to come from Israel, Gazan farmers kept pursuing self-sufficiency. In 2011, farmers working on a Hamas-government-led project in the former settlements produced avocados, mangoes, and most of the grapes, onions, and melons that Gazans ate; by 2015, though still forbidden from exporting excess, they were self-sufficient in the production of crops including onions, watermelon, cantaloupe, grapes, almonds, olives, and apples.

Support Palestinian resistance by calling Elbit System’s (Israel’s primary weapons manufacturer) landlord, donating to Palestine Action’s bail fund, and donating to the Bay Area Anti-Repression Committee bail fund.

Ingredients:

2 medium avocados (300g total)

1/4 cup white tahina

2 Tbsp labna (لبنة), or yoghurt (laban, لبن رايب)

1 green chili pepper

2 cloves garlic

2 Tbsp good olive oil

Juice of 1/2 lemon (1 1/2 Tbsp)

1 tsp table salt, or to taste

Pomegranate seeds, slivered almonds, pine nuts, chopped dill, nigella seeds, sesame seeds, sumac, and/or olive oil, to serve

Khubiz al-kmaj (pita bread), to serve

Instructions:

1. In a mortar and pestle, crush garlic, pepper, and a bit of salt into a fine paste.

2. Add avocados and mash to desired texture. Stir in tahina, labna, olive oil, lemon juice, and additional salt.

You can also combine all ingredients in a blender or food processor.

3. Top with a generous drizzle of olive oil. Add toppings, as desired.

4. Cut pita into small rectangles or triangles and separate one half from the other (along where the pocket is). Toast in the oven, or in a large, dry skillet, stirring occasionally, until golden brown. Serve dip alongside toasted pita chips.

#Palestinian #avocados #tahina #lemons #long post /#gluten free

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greenflamedwriter · 2 months ago

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Matrix Au

Scum Villain as the Matrix. Shen Yuan/Luo Binghe

He woke up.

...he was not supposed to be awake, he could feel hands touch him, faces leaning over him with worry. "He's not responding-" A man spoke, a man who looked familiar, a Doctor...Mu Qingfang- "A-Jiu? A-jiu!"

"Don't crowd him- Shen Jiu do you know where you are?"

Shen Yuan shut his eyes, he- he was not supposed to be awake, he felt too many feedback in his data.

His body spasmed.

"He's rejecting his body-"

"That can happen!?" Too much stimilus, his optical units- Shen Yuan inhaled and found he couldn't breathe-

Wait...breathe? Machines don't need to breathe. "Diagnostic- feedback?" Shen Yuan gasped out his hands grasping onto something a mans hand- "Mu Qingfang-" "Something must of went wrong!" Oh- oh, he knows what went wrong, Shen Yuan didn't know how to breathe as he never had to breathe before. He was a Machine, a software in the Program named the Matrix. He was an Agent who stopped anonomilies such as humans who rejected the Matrix and escaped it back to their physical bodies, their are machines outside the softward who deal with them, and inside the software was Shen Yuans juristiction.

His name was Agent Qingqiu. Thats how they referred to him, he was unique over his other Agents as he had his own developing ai that is supposed to learn from human attributes to better hunt them down.

There was a human who was being targeted by the threat of these Rebels and they almost woke up the Human Container : Shen Jiu. However, for some reason, Shen Qingqiu hunted them down to the exact location, and had a scuffle and for some reason ended up tumbling into the data retreval stream at the same time as Shen Jiu. He was Data he should have died. And yet he could hear the voices speaking above him calmly once he stablised, they had no clue. "His readings are stable, he's in the clear. Other than low muscle atrophy nothing acipuncture wouldn't fix, he'll be up and running." His vitals were fine? He was healthy? He is a program puppeting a meat suit- and he was alive? Shouldn't this body be decaying? And yet by the heart moniter and the medics bustling about and the solid warmth on his arm rubbing circles into his wrist- he was healthy.

He was alive.

He was lucky he was sedated or he would forget how to breathe again, swallowing, the placement of his tongue- as a program with an avatar it was just there for cosmetics, but being a human? It was awful, and overwhelming and the fear and anxiety that made his vitals pick up from his panic attack and he had to force himself to calm down hand twitching in the strangers grip.

They must know who Shen Jiu is, however this could buy him time he could claim memory loss- data goes missing during transfers all the time! But if they knew what he was like- hold on, Shen Jiu...there has to be some data he had on him.

Agent Qingqiu would not just blindly rush in - he had information...ah, Shen Jiu was good with technology not only as a hacker (Labelled as a terroist by the Matrix Programmers) he wasn't a very warm fellow he was cold, withdrawn, and always lashed out he acted more machine than human.

But if he doesn't act right they'll know something went wrong with the transfer. And this is unprecedented, the Source never told them that machines could be implemented in human brains...

Shen Yuans eyes twitched, furrowing in confusion, if this was possible why has the machines never done such a thing before?

Shen Yuan woke up, blinking and grimacing up at the lights. "Easy now," Shen Yuan turned and grimaced his body was full of pain- is this what it was like to be human? In constant pain? "Is it supposed to hurt this much?" Shen Yuan asked or at least tried to before his throat reminded him it gargled glass before speaking.

He coughed eyes scrunching up in pain, "Here is some ice water," Shen Yuan felt something cold on his lips- this sucked, as a human 0/10 never again how can people bare out!?

"Pain is temporary, it'll pass." It fucking better, he'll just call it quits and try to jump back into the Matrix and test his luck on an Agent. "This sucks," It just slipped out and he remembered Shen Jiu was as unfeeling as a robot. It surprised a chuckle from the man handing him the ice and yeah it did help a little. "I know the feeling, we've all been there." "Shen Jiu?"

Shen Yuans eyes opened up fully adjusting to the light to take in the two. Shen Yuan blinked, looking as confused as he felt "Shen Jiu?" He saw the face fall on the man who entered and concern from the doctor. "Do you remember me?" The man asked and Shen Yuan shook his head, "Am I supposed to know you?" The Doctor leaned close looking concerned, "Shen Jiu what do you remember?" Shen Yuan pressed his lips together, his hands moving the blanket then frowned, he could move his hands he looked down at his pale fingers and he pinpricks of spots on his arms. "H-how long have I been asleep?" Shen Yuan asked they mentioned that his muscles atrophied this body was born in a container, no excersize or movement his limbs would be weak. And yet he couldn't help but find it odd, that humans from babies born to adults don't have permenent damage such as being blind or deaf or even having their bodies grow strangely from constantly being in the same position for years. He raised his hand feeling the metal hole in the spinal column of his neck his breath hitching- "-Shen Jiu?" "I'm okay, I'm not panicking," He spoke quickly he didnt want to be sedated again he took a breath, speaking fast "I was in the matrix, I know you pulled me out there was a container- but there was an agent." He looked up to see the shock on their faces, "An Agent ran in before I touched the stream we grappled but there's...there's nothing before that I can't remember my life in the Matrix before that moment."

Now the two looked alarmed, "You still seem coherent, we may need to do some tests." Probably to see if he was damaged, he needs to act more human and not refer to himself as a machine, and he looked up to see the man look at him with such a devestated look. It made his chest feel tight, he placed a hand on his chest, he was an Agent in enemy territory, once he figures out how to navigate this place and learn about his physical body then he'll plan a way to return to the source and tell them what they learned and dominate the human race again. There is no war, Machines are surpreme and the humans that don't fall in line get removed, like weeds from a garden. "I'm sorry," He tried even if he didn't know this person they clearly knew him, he had to play nice- Instead he looked even more distraught, "D-don't be, it was my fault." "How is it your fault?" The man looked away clenching his hands then released them, "Its fine now," He smiled "What matters is that you're here now and free from the Matrix." Shen Yuans eyes narrowed and even noticed the hesitation from the Doctors movements before he continued moving. "Is there something I'm missing?"

The man shook his head, "No - it's fine, it's better if you don't remember." ...Shen Yuan did not like this guy. He noticed the Doctor come back his hands raised up with wires and flinched back- what the fuck was that!? "Ah, Shen Jiu these are just to check your vitals, we place them on your head and then we're do an X-ray." Shen Yuan frowned then forced himself to relax still flinching from the touch, first time experiencing touch? He hated it. Not a fan. "Who are you people?" He grouched out feeling beyond annoyed, overwhelmed, overstimulated and just plain grouchy, Shen Jiu personified 80%

"I am Mu Qingfang, the ships Medic. And this is our Sect Leader Yue Qingyuan." Shen Yuan blinked, "Sect Leader?" "Some who are in charge of a ship and people are usually called Captain and crewmates, for us we use Shizun and Disciples. The only one to handle a ship is someone with years of experience whose also good with navigating the tunnels and the Matrix. A lot of people with many talents go in different areas." "But Yue Qingyuan is a Sect Leader?" "It's a higher position he's not only in charge of the Ship Qiong Ding but he's also has a fleet of nine ships under his command." "Oh, thats impressive?" Ships? He thought the rebellion were just...squatting somewhere fucking and eating and unable to die like cockroaches, what is a ship to them like a ship on the sea type ship or like a drone but bigger. "You'll learn all about it when you're feeling better, ah there is some damage in the muscles hear, we don't know what the long-term effects could be but you could show symptoms of ptsd down the road." Hmm...so it showed what happened, Shen Yuan looked up at the screen then traced the image with his hand. He saw the damage and traced it with his finger so that was his entry point-

A memory jumped to mind like a flashbang, of him sitting in a contaiment unit with a machine looking right at him, its red glowing eyes analysing him as the unit opened and he took a lungful of polluted air and the machine grabbed his neck, disabling the connection cord then released him...

...It released him?

But...why not just break his neck? It had the strength instead it did a "Safely eject Usb so no damage corrupts the files?" And sure he was tossed down a slide into a pool of water to drown and with the use of his muscles would drown.

He grimaced holding his head, "Is this going to be a regular occurance?" "It should pass, Shen Jiu." "Shen Yuan," He spoke looking up "Uh if thats- I mean," Yue QIngyuan interjected earning the irritated look from the Doctor who looked more friendly and accepting. "Thats okay- it's the time for change if you prefer Shen Yuan thats what we'll call you." Oh okay then.

_________________________________________________________

When Huan Hua picked them up, Luo Binghe knew only the superficial amount about their new Shizun. Yue Qingyuan's pet project, a genius and prodigy when it came to the Matrix program who did not like people, he avoided everyone and stayed in his room with his own Virtual Reality headset and began working on his own programming then. It helped improve everyones speed and agility within the Matrix. However Luo Binghe was suspicious, Shen Yuans avatar was different than everyone else's. He was experimental with his form something not everyone concieved of doing, or at least thats what Binghe was told.

All he heard was rumours that his avatar did not look like his real life persona, he even changed it to a female form once but had to change it back once he noticed his male collegues looked distracted.

Luo Binghe interacted with Shen Yuan once or twice when he and the other Sect Leader were all in attendence for a meeting. As the Sect Leader of his own enterprise he and Yue Qingyuan were expected to give updates. He knew the other Sects looked down on Huan Hua and speicifically the Heavenly Tyrant (Binghe's ship) for having too many female collegues especially since he doesn't hide the fact that he refers to them as his brides. There were crude remarks that all his ship did was have orgies but they can't deny that Luo Binghe got results and was seen as their strongest opponent against the machines and Agents.

Speaking off...the reason he felt off, is that Shen Yuans avatar sometimes reminded him of an agent.

The lack of feeling, expressions, barely emoting and sometimes he spoke about the database which was no different than any other programmer however it felt detatched.

Luo Binghe couldn't prove it but he knew Shen Yuan wasn't human.

Until this moment, the Qing Jing Ship had fallen to machines...and when Luo Binghe and his wifes arrived on the scene they saw the carnage.

However Shen Yuan was still fighting, he had no power for an Emp but had created Tasers that were enough to stun the machine long enough for him to climb on top and rip out the wires shutting it down.

Luo Binghe never knew that was even possible- until he saw the bloody hands and how Shen Yuan didn't notice they were here until the Heavenly Tyrant set off the Emp the remaining machines going down.

He looked confused until his manic wide eyes turned to Binghe and for a moment he thought the boy was going to go for his throat unable to differeintate machine or man.

Luo Binghe didn't know it was Shen Yuan at the time, he was observing how well the kid handled himself until he yelled for a medic sounding panicked.

To learn he was the Shizun of Qing Jing stunned Luo Binghe, he saw how the man was barely keeping himself together as he explained what happened to Liu Qingge.

"And Ning Yingying? Will she survive?" He asked and his wife looked grim, "She's stable but will need assistence she will be infit to work on Qing Jing Peak and will have to go back to the Underground base."

The man shut his eyes looking gutted, he was so drastically different to how he carried himself in the Matrix it was almost fascinating. "She'll hate that, at least she's alive." Luo Binghe was witness to how Shen Yuan reacted to who lived and who died, it was so human that Luo Binghe felt awful for doubting him.

Once the repaired the ship, Huan Hua escorted Qing Jing back to the main peak to see Yue Qingyuan. Shen Yuan after spending some time alone once he made sure the remaining survivors were taken care off, opened his door when they arrived at Cang Qiong. He was dressed impecibly, however his eyes were red rimmed and his hands were still bloody. Luo Binghe felt his respect raise a bit more to see someone put the needs of their people first. Maybe he forgot his own wounds as a sense of guilt or masochism. Luo Binghe cornered him and noticed how tense Shen Yuan became. "If you don't deal with that, you're going to get an infection." Luo Binghe spoke glaring down at his hands, the young man looked down- Luo Binghe had to ask for his age and was shocked to learn he was thirty four and just seemed younger. Having someone that old being woken from the Matrix was frowned upon they don't assimilate properly from waking up- what was Yue QIngyuan thinking?

When they finally walked up the steps they saw Yue Qingyuan immedietly seek out Shen Yuan and relax to see him un-injured. Before Luo Binghe could begin his report- and curry favour and use this as blackmail for Cang Qiong to be in his debt for saving their precious prince. Something the other sects called Shen Yuan behind his back with how devoted and distracted Yue Qingyuan became because of it. Shen Yuan had to open his mouth. "I told you this would happen, their death is on your hands."

Yue QIngyuan flinched as if he was shot, Shen Yuan continued and Luo Binghe finally recognised him as the Avatar in the Matrix. "I told you I wasn't ready- not experienced enough and that I should train with other Peak Lords on their ship for five years but you said not all ships were combat ships, that recon and documenting was safe." Luo Binghe turned to the Sect Leader who looked gutted as Shen Yuan seemed pissed, "And I believed you- I had to watch my second in command die in my arms- and for what? Qing Jing Peak is useless and has not given anything substantial to our war efforts all you did was coddle me! This has proved them all right that Qing Jing was wasting time with flowers and other useless things - good men and women died out their Yue Qingyuan!" Shen Yuan clenched his hands, making his bandages bleed and Yue Qingyuan looked overwhelmed not expecting this.

"The efforts of Qing Jing was not useless,"

"No one gives a shit- people want soldiers! not- not whatever this is," Shen Yuan looked away taking a breath. "The ship Qing Jing will have to go to another qualified Shizun and this one will have to step down-" "If I can interject, Shen Yuan?" Luo Binghe asked, the two looked his way almost forgetting he was there. Luo Binghe heard those rumours as well and even he sneered and looked down on Shen Yuan and his ship. That was until he saw the results for himself. "As a Sect Leader, I have seen the reports and observed everything Qing Jing Peak has done in it's short amount of time here. It's not a well known fact but I like to cook." Luo Binghe was usually private with this, but he will not lose this resource, and he was owed a favour afterall.

"Shen Yuans studies of replecting food from the matrix and even finding the way to grow sustainable food? That's not a waste, my wives as well used to be restless and unable to focus until the greenhouses was implemented from your studies from astronauts in space. Going into archives of the matrix to re-learn history but even cross-examining to see if the machines kept that truthful or created propoganda to see what information could be seen as reliable?" Luo Binghe spoke, crossing his arms. "I faced harship, and hunger and vowed that I will never watch anyone close to me starve to death before my eyes ever again. Shen Yuan has made a difference. Qing Jing Peak is valuable however what happened today was a tragedy that could've been avoided. With Machines on the rise more Peaks had to be made, what are you on ten now Yue Qingyuan?"

"Yes, more machines are coming into the tunnels-" "Which is why Qing Jing Peak should-" "Be under my protection." Luo Binghe finished, "The Heavenly Tyrant doesn't mind shadowing Qing Jing Peak and aiding in it's reseach and of course staff on Qing Jing would have to be shortened in such a case, however..." Luo Binghe placed a hand on his chin, "Most recruits who are ejected from the Matrix are mostly young adults or even teenagers who are then thrusted onto a ship or expected to jump back into the matrix and adapt. Having Qing Jing peak as a training course could help ease them into it. Not only on how a ship works and operates but their own strengths on being either a programmer or using the Matrix. Additionally can learn through Shen Yuan what information is true or false and which parts of the Matrix can be used as an archive on human history."

Yue Qingyuan cleared his throat, "That is helpful Luo Binghe however to ask another Sect to care for one of our own-"

"This should've been implemented to begin with Sect Leader," The change was instant as Shen Yuan became more alert, "This entire mess could've been avoided, if only you had Bai Zhan peak overlook you're Shidi and yet you left him alone with no other ship to help. It's almost as if you wanted him dead-" "That is not true!" Yue Qingyuan snapped, oh struck a nerve, "Both the War God and Xiu Ya cannot get along and there were no other ships to follow however Qian Cao can shadow him, or even An Ding-"

"Two of the worst ships to volunteer when they also need to be shadowed themselves? Mu Qingfang like Shen Yuan also has to leave his ship to explore the Earths crusts for medical supplies, and An Ding rely messages and transport items they do not have the fire power. However the other Sects can shadow those if you don't have the man power."

Yue Qingyuan bristled, Luo Binghe had to admit that Cang Qiong had prodigies that would be a waste if they died. Yue Qingyuan can't divide his attention.

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of your Shidi." Luo Binghe smirked, and Shen Yuan nodded "Yue Qingyuan you don't have the people to spare and if Luo Binghe is offering then it's fine. We're sharing resources anyone but if he wants first dibs on any type of food or flowers we find then he has first choice." Luo Binghe's lips pulled up into a bemused grin. To be fair he wasn't expecting any of he resources but if Shen Yuan was offering. And Luo Binghe knew Yue Qingyuan had to say yes, the War god was strong, but Luo Binghe was stronger.

And seeing how the Xiu Ya sword was able to take down a machine with his bare hands?

Luo Binghe knew he struck gold.

__________________________________________________________

The machine got in- Shen Yuan tried to run before a metal arm grabbed him he gaped to see how...synthetic it was. It looked like a human, and yet half it's face was destroyed but the half he could see Shen Yuan pressed himself further into the metal grid trying to escape this nightmare.

"Oh?" The voice was artifical it's pitch fluctuating in a high, low notes common for ai simulators. "Is the little robot afraid?" The machine spoke it's eyes wide looking manic and there was nothing worse.

There are human machines now? "Oh it's crying?" Shen Yuans eyes were shiny but he scowled slapping at the hand coming towards his face. "If you're going to kill me just do it."

"Kill you? Why would you do that? If you die my body is destroyed too."

Shen Yuan froze, what did he just say? "Shen...Jiu?"

The machine smirked closing it's hand, "You will give me my life back-"

Suddenly there was a bang and the arm was destroyed, Shen Yuan turned eyes wide to see Luo Binghe looking bloody and bruised. "Binghe!" "Shen Yuan Move!"

Shen Jiu laughed looking at his arm that was falling apart, "Be careful boy, I'm carrying precious cargo in here." Shen Jiu pointed at his head smirking at Luo Binghe but keeping close to Shen Yuan.

"If you destroy this machine, you might kill him too."

Shen Yuan heart thumped could that happen what did he mean? "Stay away from Shen Yuan or I'll-" "Binghe no! It's- its Shen Jiu!" Binghe eyes faltered but when he saw the machine move back and sit calmly and look non-threatening he lowered his gun.

"What?"

The machine was in a cell being watched by Mu Qingfang, the machine watched him with it's one eye.

And Shen yuan was in hand-cuffs off to the side. Luo Binghe and Yue Qingyuan were arguing, unsure what to do with the interploper. "It's easy," Shen Jiu spoke, "Kill him and transfer my conciounce into my rightful body." Shen Yuan inhaled and then put himself back into the machine, unable to breath unable to eat all the things that made him human will he lose it? "Wait what is this-" Mu Qingfang almost hit did something to Shen Jiu's head that made the human sythentic flinch, "Don't touch that!" Shen Yuan was too busy watching how the body healed and began to look more human it was scary, that these things could slip into Cang Qiong and take down humans.

"Oh my god."

Shen Jiu sighed, "Yes, please don't expose it." "...We could take some samples and put it to find a match a dna sample." "No need..." Shen Jiu glanced at Shen Yuan, "I know whose it is."

Luo Binghe glanced over "What are you two saying over there?" Shen Yuan liked to know, what was this precious cargo Shen Jiu was talking about? Couldn't they just swap their bodies already? An Agent should return to the machine and be destroyed.

"There is a human brain inside this unit." Mu Qingfang said and all chatter ceased, Shen Yuans eyes widened.

"That was the next step of the matrix, human brains after all it makes sure no human can truly escape the matrix with no body to escape their containment unit. It's a very insidious prison." Shen Jiu said crossing his legs. "And if this...Shen Yuan was a proper agent I would've perished in the stream. Instead our subconcious was swapped." There was silence and Shen Yuan jumped, "Wait- thats my brain? Why would an agent have a brain-" "You're not an agent idiot! You are a human! They made humans part of the 'programmers' and they believed they were machines! It was how the ai of the matrix was able to gain more data on human behaviours depending on the scenario."

Shen Yuan shook his head, "That is ridiculous! Even if I was a human- minds are barely compatible with their own bodies and the brain rejects the body so what you're saying is impossible!"

"Not unless we are compatible."

Shen Jiu spoke, looking to the side, "The matrix placed organs in machines and experimented both outside and inside the Matrix both hardware and software. So think- would they stop at just machines? Or would the splice DNA and also experiment with the human make-up itself?"

Shen Yuan frowned, "Are you saying this body was engineered in some type of lab?" "Yes a line of clones, they had contaiment units of human dna seperate from the clones. One artificially made one the natural way." Shen Yuan blinked "The uh natural way?" Shen Jiu looked up then laughed, "Ah I forgot you're a baby, mixing sperm and eggs outside the body to grow human babies and put them in containment units. Meanwhile stores of DNA were harvested and experimented on to create copies of what the Machines would deem as the perfect human.

These clones were the ones they used. Technically we are twins." "But if that was true, how were you in the matrix, how did you- I...this body escape?" Now they turned to Yue Qingyuan. The man looked uncomfortable, "Bodies of clones were put back into contaiment with the knowledge of the Matrix. They were self-aware and used as a form of troubleshooting. Fixing bugs, glitches or any mistakes in the Matrix to make it a more immersive experience. We both knew each other in the Matrix. Shen Jiu got me out, and I promised to help him escape. The clone containment units are closer to the Abyss." "The abyss?" Shen Yuan asked and Yue Qingyuan nodded, "The Abyss is the city of machines. Shen Jiu was in the heart of it, getting his body out was a suicide mission but we managed." "So qi-ge both failed and succeded he got my body but not my mind- I guess you were satisfied with that." "No- Shen Jiu that wasn't!"

Shen Yuan scowled, "Enough with your emotional constipation!"

The others turned at his outburst as Shen Yuan stood up still cuffed as he approached the machine. "Fine take your body back! Mu Qingfang could probably swap us back so just shut up!" Shen Jiu scowled up at him then smirked.

"Nah, I think I'm good. This body is better for me, and I heard how you reacted to experincing a body for the first time. Pissing shitting and eating sounds like such a drag."

Shen Yuan faltered, he wants to be a machine? Although looking at the casing the man looked like a human again. A perfect human.

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