#Delta Contact Number

[dollerin]

VOICE OF AN 𝓐𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑳 stack moore.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝑳𝐔𝐃𝐄 ─── you’ve got one hell of a talent, everyone knows that except for the notorious, stack. but he may be the one to get you your very first gig when he finds out. he says you shouldn’t let your gift go to waste, you’ve got the voice of an angel.

elias ‘stack’ moore x f. reader romance strangers to lovers physical touch 𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝗐𝖼. 𝟣.𝟩𝗄 ─── 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒

part 2 available here

The old restaurant smelled of tobacco smoke and the pork chops that were being made in the kitchen, the aged wood scent lingering with it. It was crowded, per usual, but you didn’t mind—it meant you and your mother were getting business.

Fridays were usually the busiest anyway, people getting off of work, needing a good meal and a drink to wash down their rough week. Some work all day in the field and want to run away from the trouble of the other folks out to get them. And then there were others who just wanted to dance.

No matter where they were from, you served them anyway, a smile always on your face. Though working and serving for your mama wasn’t ideal, it was a start—a start to your dreams. And you were okay with that.

You weaved through the tables and small crowds of dancing elders, placing plates in front of people and collecting the empty ones. This was nothing new to you, so it came like second nature.

The music in your mama’s joint wasn’t slow, but it wasn’t fast, either. It was the perfect tempo for people to groove along and for you to begin humming to yourself as you cleaned off empty tables. The band that played were a few good family friends that agreed to play there every night, no pay required. Every once in a while, you join them. Sometimes they played popular blues songs, other times they played the songs that you wrote yourself, and knew all the lyrics to. Now, of course, the audience didn’t know the songs but they didn’t have to. Your voice was what captivated them.

By now, it was a regular thing for someone to come up to you and request a song—or just ask you to go on stage so they could hear you. All you could ever do was nod your head and bashfully agree as you walked up.

But tonight, it didn't happen. Not yet, anyway.

Maybe it was because your mama needed some extra help, with the amount of folks that piled into her restaurant. Your cousin—the only chef that she had at the moment, was sick so she was forced to do all the cooking by herself, instead of helping you serve.

As you continued to hum to yourself, the music still echoing throughout the restaurant, the bell on the door jingled. Your back was turned, but you heard footsteps as another customer came in. They didn’t ask to be seated, though.

You glanced behind you to see that they’d taken a seat at the bar, but then you did a double take once you saw who it was.

Some people whispered to each other, but they didn’t dare make eye contact with the person.

Stack.

One of the famous Delta twins. Dressed in that red hat that sat low, hiding his eyes a bit.

You turned back to the task at hand, not wanting your staring to be too obvious—though it probably already was. You could hear him shuffling in his seat at the bar, the sound of his lighter flicking and him inhaling a bit.

You continued working as if he weren’t there, humming along to the music. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes boring into the back of your head.

Soon, the music ended on the stage, leading everyone to applaud before the band started their next song. Some of them walked off the stage, taking a bathroom break or a sip of water. You continued humming to yourself, even as the music was gone.

“Y/N! Hey!” Someone called out to you.

Your head popped up, seeing one of the band members headed right toward you.

“Hey,” you smiled.

“You wanna c’mon for our next number? It’s your favorite,” he said.

“What? ‘Down Hearted Blues’?” You asked, quirking your eyebrow.

The man chuckled, “You know it.”

You thought about it for a moment, his constant ‘c’mon’ had made you want to go up there and grab that microphone. But you weren’t so sure if you’d do that tonight.

“Oh, I don’t know, sir—“

“Go on up there! You know everybody love yo’ voice!”

You shook your head, hiding the bashfulness on your face.

He turned around to the rest of the restaurant, raising his voice for everyone to hear, “Aye, y’all, don’t y’all love lil’ Y/N’s voice? Don’t ya’ love when she sing for us?”

They all paused what they were doing to agree, the area erupting with applause and cheers. That didn’t make your case any better, if you were one of them white folks, you would’ve looked like a tomato by now.

Your smile grew as the people’s focus was now on you, encouraging you to head up on that stage.

“C’mon, Y/N, sing for us!”

“I wanna hear some good ol’ blues tonight!”

“Girl, if you don’t get up there—!”

After a moment of them all trying to persuade you at once, you drop the cleaning towel on the table you were standing at. You walked through the crowd again, walking toward the stage with loud cheers behind you.

The smile on your face never dropped, even as you got to the center of the wooden platform.

Stack was tucked into the back of the restaurant still, remaining in his seat at the bar. He took another drag of his cigarette, waiting to see what all the ruckus was about—what the big deal was about one voice.

People took their places at their tables and some stood around as the instrumental of your favorite song began to play. You took in a deep breath, closing your eyes as the lyrics began to flow out of you.

Were there folks watching you all around the restaurant? Yes.

But you could feel a certain pair glued to you. Like they couldn’t move. Like they didn’t want to move.

You sang out, your voice drifting throughout the restaurant like a harp played in the moonlight. You clutched your chest, reciting the lyrics as if you had lived by them.

Stack looked up at the platform from beneath his hat, the cigarette sitting between his plump lips. They curled up at the corners, a smirk playing on his face as he listened to you. He could’ve sworn he died and came back when he heard, nodding his head slowly in approval and enjoyment.

You twirled to the side of the stage, your long work dress flowing with you as you fell in love with the music all over again. People not only loved you for your voice, but for your performance. How you let the chords flow through your veins. The music was you.

As the band began to reach the end of the song, you smiled out to your little crowd, seeing all them send cheers your way.

You made your way off of the stage, hugging some of them, others kissing you on the cheek.

“Alright, y’all, I gotta get back to work now,” you laughed, cheeks burning from your wide grin.

They all let you get back to your duties, still cheering you on from afar, but not wanting to hear any fuss from your Mama.

You walked back to the table you were at before, grabbing the dirty towel to place in the basket full of other used cloth.

“‘Scuse me, miss,” a voice said from behind you.

You turned to see Stack grinning at you, sly look plastered on his face, per usual.

“Um, hi?”

“Hi,” he repeated. “I don’t mean to bother, but… that was you singing up there?”

You nodded.

“Mhm.”

He smiled, gold pieces on display. His eyes scanned you for a moment before speaking again.

“Just wanted to let you know I enjoyed it. Sounded like an angel sent from heaven.”

You raised your brow, slightly, “Thanks.”

He moved a hair closer to you, eyes never moving from yours.

“I’m offerin’ you a spot down at this here Juke Joint.. You know the SmokeStack twins?” He asked, eyes shimmering in the restaurant’s dim lighting.

“Yeah, I heard of em’. What that gotta do with a Juke Joint?”

“We openin’ one. Right here in the Delta.” He said proudly.

You folded your arms, not responding.

“So? What you say, huh?” His voice lowered, his words only heard between you both.

You narrowed your eyes up at him, “I don’t know.. I don’t understand what I would be gettin’ outta this.”

“Well,” he ran his tongue over his lip. “Thirty cents an hour. And a front-row seat to this here pretty face. Can’t beat that.”

Something about his little comment made your stomach tumble, but you straightened your stance.

“Still not hearin’ what this’ll do for me.”

He sighed, looking around for a moment before turning back to you.

“I meant it when I said you got a voice on ya, pea. Voice like that don’t come ‘round often. Why don’t you come on out? Show folks what the blues s’posed to feel like?”

You kept your eyes on him, thinking for a moment. You didn’t know if this was just a way for him to keep persuading you to come so he could try and take you home—or what. But he had a point. How would you ever get to where you wanna be in life, with your gift, if you don’t show it to folks outside the restaurant?

You tapped your foot, trying to make a decision.

“I…” you started, looking down at your scuffed shoes.

He hummed, waiting for your response, leaning down to follow your gaze.

“You in or what?”

“Lemme talk to my Mama. See what she says, she might—“

“You a grown-ass woman, what you talkin’ bout’, askin’ your mama?” His eyes scanned you again, lips twitching like he was holding back a grin.

“She might need my help,” you finish your sentence, cutting your eyes at him. “It ain’t easy runnin’ a restaurant all by yourself, now.”

Stack gave a short nod, hand coming to his pocket, shifting around it. He pulled out some cash—real dollars, not just coins. He grabbed your hand from your side, placing the paper right in your palm.

“That gon’ cover one night for y’all?” He asked, already knowing the answer as you stared down at the money, mouth agape.

“I— You—“

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow night, then? Bring some of your mama’s platters, hear?”

And with that, he tipped his hat, showing off the gold in his mouth before turning to the door.

꒰ ≧ ̫ ≦ ꒱ྀི : decided to split this in two parts !! :) first sinners fic.. kinda nervy tho.

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, still quite angsty (sry), strong language.

Notes — Lots of plot, we're closing out the 2019 year in this one! Not much Lando in this one (Im still mad at him). This gets crazy. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2019

Two weeks after Spa, Amelia stood outside her dad’s office at the MTC with a manila file in her hands and the taste of copper in her mouth.

The door was open, but she still knocked.

Zak looked up, startled, like he wasn’t used to seeing her there anymore — and maybe he wasn’t. She’d stayed away from the MTC for the past few weeks.

“Hey,” he said, getting up too quickly. “You want to come in?”

She stepped inside, cringing when her new trainers squeaked against the floor. Her arms were stiff from holding the file too tight. “Brought you something,” she said, and handed it over. No eye contact. She stared at a plaque on his shelf instead — a dusty one from 2007, still etched with a podium that felt like another lifetime.

Zak took the file and sat back down behind his desk. “You put this together?”

She nodded once. “It’s just data. Analysis. Trends.”

He opened the folder and started flipping through, slower than she wanted, be he was a much slower reader than she was. Pages of her notes, charts, predictive modelling, comparative pace metrics, aero versus power unit deltas from the season so far. Even some basic projections based on engine supplier performance curves over the last six years.

He hesitated, eyes scanning the pages. “What is this, Amelia?”

“McLaren’s had a better season,” she said, not bothering to hide the way her nose scrunched. “You’ll probably finish fourth in the Constructors’. Best of the rest. Everyone is going to be very happy.”

He looked up at her, sensing the ‘but’ before she even said it.

“I am not,” she said. “I don’t think we should be happy with fourth. I think we should be aiming for much higher.”

Zak leaned back slightly in his chair, file still open in front of him. “Amelia…”

“I think we should drop Renault after next season,” she said, cutting him off.

He blinked. “Jesus,” he muttered. “That’s a big swing.”

“I’ve run the numbers,” she said, a little sharper now. “Reliability. Raw power. Upgrade cycles. Driver feedback. Even manufacturer investment in long-term hybrid development. Renault is… not consistent, and they’re not progressing fast enough. Mercedes is more efficient, more stable, more scalable. If we want consistent podiums, a chance at race wins, then we need to align with a manufacturer that knows how to win. Not just how to score points.”

Zak sat back again, slower this time, like the weight of the idea was physically pressing into him. He tapped the edge of the file absently with his fingers.

“You know how much this would rock the boat, right?” he said. “We’ve spent years building this partnership. Renault’s got skin in the game. Contracts. Commitments. There’ll be consequences if we walk away.”

“I know,” she said. “But you always said we should act like a front-running team, even when we weren’t. So act like one. Make a decision like one.”

Zak was quiet. Still.

“I started working on this after Hockenheim,” she added, voice lower now. “I just… didn’t show anyone.”

He closed the file. “This isn’t a light suggestion, Amelia.” He sighed. 

“I know,” she said again. “But I think it’s the right one.”

He exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand across his mouth, then looked at her; really looked at her.

She was calmer than she’d been the last time they’d spoken. Still paler than usual, still guarded, but steadier somehow. Like something had hardened and solidified inside her in the silence of the past few weeks.

“I’ll take it to the board,” he said finally. “Quietly. Just to test the water. No promises.”

“Okay,” she said.

There was a beat. She stared at the paperweight on his desk, the one she’d bought him for Father’s Day when she was thirteen.

“I just want us to stop being afraid of wanting more,” she added, softer now. “That’s all.”

Zak didn’t respond right away.

And as she turned to go, hand already on the doorframe, he couldn’t help but ask, “You didn’t just do this for him, did you?”

She paused. “No,” she said. “I did it for the team. I did it for you.”

She walked out. 

— 

The press release dropped on a Thursday.

A neatly timed, efficiently worded, professionally curated announcement: McLaren Racing to become Mercedes-AMG Powertrain customer team from 2021 onwards.

Quotes from her dad. From Toto. From Andreas.

A photo of a handshake she wasn’t in.

No mention of the folder. No mention of the analysis. No mention of her. 

Of course there wasn’t. She hadn’t expected it.

Not really.

And yet she sat at her desk, surrounded by pages and pages of sketches of cooling architecture redesigns, and felt… strange.

Not angry. Not exactly.

Not proud either.

Mostly just quiet.

She clicked out of the article. Closed her browser. Opened a new tab, then immediately forgot why.

When she'd handed her dad the folder two weeks ago, it hadn’t even been about recognition. She hadn’t cared about credit. She’d just wanted them to be better. To try harder. To take a worthwhile risk. 

And when he’d said, I’ll take it to the board, she’d believed him.

She just didn’t think that would be the end of it.

He hadn’t spoken to her about it since. No follow-up. No texts. No update. No “you were right.” Not even a half-hearted thank-you over dinner or a passing “good job” in the hallway.

The decision had come. And it had come without her.

Which made sense. She wasn’t a department head. She wasn’t on the executive team. She didn’t even have an official job title.

She wasn’t owed anything.

But still… still, she sat there with her heart lodged high in her throat and her fingernails digging crescents into the seam of her jeans, wondering why she suddenly felt like a ghost.

Why it felt like this was supposed to mean something.

And why it hurt so much to realise that her dad was okay with taking her work, her time, her thinking, the thing she’d built, and not giving her even a whisper of recognition.

Because he was used to it.

Used to her just handing things over for free.

And the worst part was, he wasn’t the only one.

She’d been doing this for years, hadn’t she? Offering up all the sharpest pieces of herself like they were scraps. Little theories, little fixes, the way she could spot patterns no one else could, pick through race data like thread. Suggestions left on the kitchen counter, ideas floated during test weekends, whispers passed to engineers when no one else was listening. Quiet contributions, all of them. Invisible fingerprints.

She’d given it away. All of it. Every clever thought, every hard-earned observation; just laid it down, like it didn’t belong to her in the first place.

And now someone else got the credit. Again. And she wasn’t even surprised.

She was just tired. And quietly furious.

— 

The house smelled like woodsmoke and dog shampoo. Roscoe was already halfway into Amelia’s lap, snoring, his head heavy against her stomach as Lewis slid a mug of tea across the coffee table.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he said, settling into the armchair across from her. “He’ll try and sleep there all day.”

“I won’t complain about that,” she murmured, scratching behind Roscoe’s ears. He was a big dog, solid and heavy. He felt a bit like her weighted blanket. Anchoring. 

Outside the windows, snow clung to the corners of Lewis’ sprawling. Quiet. Still. The way winter was meant to be. Amelia pulled her sleeves down over her hands and stared at the steaming mug.

Lewis leaned back, watching her over the rim of his cup. “You keeping up with the silly season chaos this year?”

“As always.” She nodded. 

“Gasly back to AlphaTauri, Hulkenberg out, Ocon sliding into Renault. There will be a bit of a bloodbath next year.” He said. 

She nodded, though her mind was elsewhere.

Lewis gave her a second longer before asking, “What about Lando? You two—”

“I don’t want to talk about Lando,” she said quickly, too quickly. Her eyes stayed on Roscoe’s fur.

Lewis didn’t press. He just leaned forward, brows faintly furrowed. “Right. Okay.” 

They let the silence settle again. Roscoe shifted in his sleep, his paws twitching as if chasing something through a dream. Then, quietly, Amelia spoke. “The Mercedes-McLaren deal,” she said, voice low. “That was mine.”

Lewis blinked, gave himself a second to repeat her words in his head, and then said. “What?”

“McLaren dropping Renault, becoming a Mercedes customer team.” She rubbed a thumb over Roscoe’s collar. “I ran all the projections. Power unit deltas, reliability, development pace, all of it. I put together the entire case. Handed it to my dad in a file. And two weeks later, they made the announcement.”

Lewis stared at her. “You’re serious?”

She nodded, swallowing. “No one said anything. Not to me. And I wasn’t… part of the meeting, or the rollout. He never even followed up. I just saw it in the press release like everyone else.” Her voice wavered, but didn’t break. “And I know I don’t work for McLaren. But I thought; I thought maybe it would mean something.” 

Lewis’s jaw twitched and his eyes looked darker than they usually did. “Amelia. That… that’s a big deal, you know that? That was your intellectual property.” 

“I know.” She hugged her arms tight around herself. “It just… it feels wrong to be angry. Like I should’ve known better. Like it’s my fault for not asking for anything in return. For just giving it away.”

“That’s not on you,” Lewis said, voice hardening. “That’s on him. Your dad. And on the team. They’ve taken advantage of you. You should get credit. You should get a bloody job offer and a signing bonus. Not… whatever the fuck this is.” 

She sniffed. “I don’t have a degree.”

Lewis scoffed. “So what? Since when does a piece of paper mean more than years of proven genius?”

That made her pause.

“You are one of the sharpest minds I’ve seen in this sport,” he said. “And I’ve been in it a long time. You see things before they happen. You think ahead of the curve. That’s what teams dream of having. And if McLaren can’t see that, if your own dad can’t see that, it’s not because it’s not there. It’s because he doesn’t know how to recognise it in you.”

She nodded. She already knew exactly what the problem was. “He doesn’t know how to see me as anything but his daughter.”

“Toto does,” Lewis said. “And that offer is still on the table, by the way.” 

Amelia looked away, cheeks flushing. 

“I’m not trying to pressure you. I just want you to know that you’ve got options,” Lewis said, softer now. “Real ones. And you don’t have to keep waiting around for your dad to finally recognise your potential.” 

She didn’t answer, but her hands were steady on Roscoe’s back now. And when she finally did glance at him, there was something a little sharp in her chest. Something that felt a lot like clarity.

— 

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2019 F1 Grid

Lewis H. @Lando You are an absolute prick.

Sebastian V. Good morning to you too?

Daniel R. Shit. What’d he do this time?

Charles L. Ah, this does not seem good.

Lando N. what the fuck did i do

Lewis H. You ghosted her. Like a child.

Carlos S. What??????????

George R. Wait are you serious?

Lewis H. Dead serious.

Lando N. oh my god can you not it’s literally none of your business ok

Max V. You’re an idiot, Norris.

Pierre G. Landooooo bro.

Alex A. Yeah nah that’s rough. You ghosted her? I actually thought you liked her, man.

Daniel R. She was so nice. Bet she feels like shit now.

Sebastian V. Is she okay? @Lewis

Lewis H. She’s fine. Too good for him anyway.

George R. I can’t believe this. Didn’t he literally write his racing number on her shoes? Or was that a fever dream??

Max V. @George He did. He’s just a right dickhead.

Carlos S. 😐 Told you not to screw it up, @Lando

Lando N. ok fucksake i get it You can all stop now i already feel like a piece of shit

Charles L. Why would you ghost her when she is so pretty and smart? I do not understand.

Daniel R. He’s still a kid. Dumb as hell. He’ll regret it in a few months, trust me.

Lewis H. He should be regretting it already.

Max V. Extremely dumb move. I wouldn’t have ghosted her and I’m famously difficult.

Sebastian V. Maybe I will set her up with my younger brother. He’s very clever. And rich.

George R. Is it weird if I throw my uncle’s name in the hat? He’s only 24. Really lovely guy.

Carlos S. My cousin Carlo is already in love. He will be thrilled to know she’s single.

Lando N. fuck off i get it I’m the villain Jesus christ can we drop it now

Daniel R. Glad you’re finally on the same page, mate!

Alex A. You could’ve just talked to her. Didn’t need to ghost her. That was cold, man.

Kimi R. 👍

— 

Interlagos was hot and loud and humming with tension, and Amelia made sure to stay pressed to the edges of it; a shadow against the garage walls, an expressionless face hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses.

It was her first time at any track since before Belgium. Her first time being in the same place as Lando since he’d decided that she was not worth knowing. And she was careful. Careful to keep to service corridors and briefing rooms, careful not to risk running into him. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she looked did. 

Nothing, probably. He would just ignore her, like he had been for two months. 

She had just slipped away from the hospitality bar, iced-coffee in hand, when a voice called out to her from the outside deck; warm, accented.

“Chica! Are you too busy to stop and talk with a very ignorant old man?”

She turned and found Carlos Sainz Sr. waving her over, a bottle of water in one hand and a wary smile on his sun-worn face.

“I was just—” she started, but he was already rising from his seat, gesturing for her to come join him. 

“Come, come. Sit. I have good seats here.”

She hesitated for a breath, then nodded and climbed the short steps up to the guest viewing area. The chaos of pit lane sprawled out below. Mechanics scrambled. Tyres stacked like soldiers. Race engines sang in the background, vicious and alive.

“Gracias,” she murmured, sliding into the chair beside him.

He nodded, then stared at her for a long, quiet second. “I wanted to say,” he said, his English thick with Madrid roots, but kind. “I think that… earlier in the year, I judged you too quickly.”

Amelia frowned at him. “Yes, you did.”

He sighed and nodded. “I assumed that you were just a pretty girl in the paddock.” He said. “And you see, my son has a terrible habit of becoming fixated on pretty things. But I realise now that I was wrong. You were there to, eh, help. To fix.” He sounded worn, like he’d had to work hard to say that out loud. 

She shrugged, staring out at the grandstands. They were full. “I was upset about it, I think. But it was not a big deal.”

“It was,” Carlos said, serious now. “It was a very big deal. My son made that clear to me. You are very clever. A real asset to the McLaren team.” He told her, firm and steady. 

She didn’t have anything to say to that. Just gave him a tight, (hopefully) polite smile and turned her eyes to the pit-lane as the cars peeled out of the garage to line up on the grid.

The race was long, and she stayed on the balcony throughout it all. Heat shimmered off the asphalt. Pit strategies flexed and fractured as the laps ticked down, and through it all, Amelia sat with her hands still in her lap, her mind sharper than the TV graphics overhead.

And when Carlos Sainz, the younger one, made it to third after a messy, brilliant final few laps, when the checkered flag waved and the paddock exploded into cheers and disbelief, she turned to his father and smiled, truly smiled, for the first time all day.

“Felicidades,” she said, voice soft but real. “That was very well done.”

Carlos Sr. beamed, pride etched into every line of his face. He stood up quickly, hurrying down to find his son and the rest of the team.

Amelia stayed.

The viewing deck emptied fast. Celebration echoed below. But she just slipped back into the motorhome, past the catering crew and out of the line of sight, into a quiet alcove near the storage lockers where no one would think to look for her.

She sat down on the floor, pressed her back against the cool wall, and closed her eyes.

She was proud. Of Carlos. Of the car she had helped make faster. Of the whisper of her fingerprints across the strategy that had put him on the podium.

But the truth still sat heavy on her ribs; that it had all happened without her. That even here, even now, she felt like a ghost.

— 

The paddock at night after a race was one of her favourite places in the world. Empty water bottles clattered in the wind, discarded tyre blankets lay forgotten in corners, and the once-buzzing garages now hummed low and tired beneath the fluorescent lights. Amelia walked slowly, hands in her pockets, trainers scuffing against the tarmac, the cool Brazilian evening pulling the heat from her skin.

She passed the Mercedes motorhome, its sleek black exterior reflecting the dim light. Through the tinted glass, she caught a glimpse of Toto Wolff, head bent in conversation with one of his engineers. Calm. Assured. In control.

She didn’t stop walking, but something in her twisted. Guilt, maybe. Or the quiet ache of uncertainty.

Red Bull had been circling for a while. Quiet at first; emails she half-dismissed, a few engineers asking her strangely specific questions, casual feelers through people she didn’t realise even knew her name. Then Christian on Dutch TV, mentioning her potential. Helmut at COTA, watching her from the edge of the pit wall like a cowboy evaluating livestock. And Adrian Newey, who bypassed all of them and emailed her directly in early November. Short. Direct. Complimentary in a way that didn’t feel rehearsed.

She hadn’t told her dad. Not yet.

Nothing was official, anyway.

“Brown,” came a voice behind her.

She turned, blinking as Max strode over from the Red Bull suite. His jacket was unzipped, and he still reeked faintly of champagne. Hair a bit damp. Grin lazy.

“Christian asked me to make sure you knew where to go,” he said, lifting his brows. “You’ve got ten minutes before Jos starts vibrating.”

She pulled a face. “Is everyone going to be there? Like… your dad is going to be there?”

“Obviously. It’s Red Bull. We are very theatric,” he said, deadpan. “Zusje, you are the most in-demand person in Formula 1 right now, of course everybody wants to be in the room when we finally win the battle for your brain.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t call me that. Zusje. I don’t know what it means.”

“Little sister,” he said, Dutch accent thick, shrugging as he fell into step beside her. “It suits you. You talk just as much as I do, and you are equally annoying as me. We will give Christian many headaches, I think.”

“I always carry ibuprofen in my handbag.” She tried to joke, but it came out flat. 

Max looked at her for a moment, but then he grinned, so she imagined he must have thought her joke was funny. At least somewhat. “Adrian’s been trying to steal you since Canada.” He told her. 

She sighed. “That explains the espresso machine he sent to me during the summer break. I was very confused.”

He gave her a look. “You kept it?” He asked curiously. 

She nodded. “It is a good machine. Expensive.”

“Of course it was. It’s Adrian.” Max shrugged. 

They stopped a few feet from the Red Bull motorhome, which buzzed under the night lights like it was wired into a different voltage. Something kinetic hung in the air; possibility, maybe. Restlessness. Momentum.

She stared. “This feels like betrayal.”

Max rolled his eyes. “It is not betrayal.”

He nudged her shoulder. She recoiled, glaring at him. He raised his hands in defence. “Sorry. Sorry.” Then, quieter, he said. “You’ve outgrown the shadows, zusje. It is not your fault that your dad doesn’t know what to do with you. But we do. Adrian does. Christian definitely does. You belong somewhere that doesn’t try to keep you small.” 

She started to chew on her bottom lip anxiously, “Do you really think that I am worth all of this?”

He didn’t even blink. “I think you’re going to make me a world champion, Amelia Brown.”

— 

The Yas Marina Circuit gleamed beneath the Abu Dhabi sun, all smooth marble floors and overly modern hospitality suites. It felt more like a luxury mall than a racetrack, but Amelia liked it. Everything was polished, controlled. 

She slipped through the back corridors of the McLaren unit with practiced ease, unnoticed as usual. It was early, quiet, the calm before the chaos of FP1.

In Carlos’s driver room, she placed a neatly bound packet on the table beneath the television. His telemetry from the entire season, annotated and colour-coded: green for improvements, yellow for repeat tendencies, red for danger zones. She’d included braking inconsistencies, corner exit deltas, and fuel load trends, with suggestions tailored to the 2020 chassis.

He’d get it. He always did. Carlos read data like scripture.

In Lando’s room, she left the same. A different binder. Different tendencies. More throttle hesitation in traffic, sharper degradation when chasing, lapses in tire preservation across high-deg circuits. A note in the front, written in her smallest, sharpest handwriting.

You are an asshole. You are also better than your instincts. Learn the difference between fast and frantic. Good luck.

She didn’t linger. She didn’t need to. No one would know she’d been there except the two of them, and even then, it didn’t matter anymore. She’d done it. Helped them. One last time.

She turned down the corridor toward the exit, and almost walked straight into a man who was standing too stiffly in her path.

He was older, expensively dressed, with the familiar face of someone she’d seen on enough pit walls to know he didn’t belong there out of curiosity. Adam Norris. 

He looked her up and down, his voice clipped. “Ah. Amelia, is it?”

“That’s right.” She muttered. 

“I suppose we haven’t met.” He said. 

“No,” she said. “Not really.”

He hesitated. A beat passed. Two.

“I’ve… heard you’re very capable,” he said finally. “Talented. Bright.” He said it like he didn’t really believe it. 

She tilted her head. Frowned at him. “Did you tell Lando to stay away from me?”

He flinched, just barely. “I advised him to focus on his career.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It wasn’t a happy smile. “You should teach your son better manners.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She stepped around him, slow, deliberate, and kept walking. Past the orange panels, past the McLaren logo, past the team she’d poured her entire self into. 

By the time the sun dipped below the grandstands and the lights came on for the weekend's final showdown, she was long gone from the paddock. A flight booked for her under a new team name. A seat at a new table. A blank page waiting for her red inked scrawl.

Red Bull knew she was coming.

They just didn’t know what she was prepared to become.

— 

The Browns’ living room was filled with the scent of cinnamon, pine, and whatever Christmas candle Tracy had been obsessed with that week. The fireplace crackled softly, fairy lights twinkled around the windows, and somewhere in the background, Ella Fitzgerald was crooning something vintage and sentimental.

Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor in sweatpants and a hoodie, half-watching as her dad unwrapped a book about American muscle cars from the 1960s. He grinned like a kid, holding it up for Tracy to see.

“This is great,” Zak said. “I’ve been looking for this one.”

“I know,” Tracy said, leaning in to kiss his cheek before returning to her place at the table with a glass of wine. “I listen, you know. I’m a good wife.”

Amelia smiled faintly. She hadn’t said much all day. She’d made breakfast. Helped put the chicken in the oven. Unwrapped the gifts they handed her; socks, a new set of sketching pencils, a silver pen engraved with her initials, and said thank you each time. But the weight in her chest hadn’t lifted, not even when her mother handed her a plate stacked high with garlicky roast potatoes. 

Zak was still talking, flipping through the book, animated now. “I’ve got such a good feeling about next season,” he said, his eyes bright. “The team’s in a good place. Carlos is dialled in, Lando’s matured a lot. And the Mercedes power unit; I know we’re still with Renault this year, but it’ll be a game-changer for us in twenty-one. Might be the year we really start bothering the top three again.”

Amelia swallowed hard. Her fork hovered above her plate, untouched. She glanced down at her food. It was getting cold. Her stomach turned.

Across the table, Tracy watched her. Her gaze was soft but sharp, a mother’s intuition in full force.

“Everything okay, Amelia?” She asked gently.

Amelia nodded. “Yeah,” she said, quickly. “Just tired. Long few months.”

Tracy didn’t push, but Amelia could tell she wasn’t convinced.

Her phone buzzed once, facedown on the table beside her glass of water. She flipped it over, half expecting a message from Carlos, or worse, from her dad, who had a terrible habit of sending her random articles from F1Tech like she wasn’t sitting five feet away.

But it wasn’t Carlos.

iMessage — 17:02pm

Vrolijk Kerstfeest,

Can’t wait for you to build my championship-winning car. – M.V. 

She exhaled, barely more than a breath. The corner of her mouth lifted. Not a smile, not really, but the closest she’d come to one all day. She tapped her fingers against the table, hiding the message beneath her palm.

Of all the gifts she’d been given that morning — the socks, the pen, the awkward hug from her dad that still smelled faintly of cinnamon and gasoline — this was the only one that made her feel something. Recognition.

She glanced at her dad, still rambling about wind tunnel simulations and team morale like the world hadn’t shifted beneath their feet. Then she looked back down at her plate, her fork still untouched.

She hadn’t told him yet. She didn’t know when she would.

Maybe she wouldn’t at all.

Maybe she’d take a page out of his book. 

— 

“Red Bull Racing Hire Amelia Brown as Technical Design Intern, Working Under Adrian Newey”

— Motorsport.com

Red Bull Racing Announces Amelia Brown as New Technical Design Intern “Mini Newey” Joins Office of the CTO Ahead of 2020 F1 Season

Red Bull Racing has officially confirmed the addition of Amelia Brown to its technical department, naming her as a Technical Design Intern working directly under Chief Technical Officer Adrian Newey.

Brown, 19, has quietly gained a reputation in Formula 1 circles for her analytical precision and instinctive approach to problem-solving. Though never officially affiliated with a team, her behind-the-scenes contributions have turned heads up and down the paddock — especially within the aerodynamic development community.

“She’s one of the sharpest minds I’ve come across in years,” said Newey in a brief statement. “She has an innate understanding of car behaviour, balance, and airflow mapping that’s rare at any level of engineering, let alone someone so early in their career.”

While her appointment as an “intern” may sound modest, Red Bull insiders are already referring to Brown as “Mini Newey,” a nod to the technical savant under whom she will be working and a reflection of the high expectations within the team.

Team Principal Christian Horner added, “We’ve always prided ourselves on fostering talent, and Amelia represents the next generation of creative engineering thought. Her insight, even during early informal conversations, has already helped shape some of our thinking going into 2020.”

When asked about her appointment, Brown declined to comment directly, but sources inside the team say she will be working across simulation, aero development, and design review cycles throughout the season.

“She’s not here to make coffee,” said Gianpiero Lambiase, Verstappen's race engineer. “She’s here to change the game.”

Red Bull Racing’s 2020 challenger is set to be unveiled in Bahrain next month. Whether Brown’s influence will be visible from day one remains to be seen — but if early whispers are any indication, she won’t stay behind the curtain for long.

NEXT CHAPTER

[ava-is-up-to-something]

Hey do you ever think there was an extremely awkward moment where Set realized that at least* two of his wives (Nephthys and Taweret) were helping to raise baby Horus behind his back?

Like, imagine it. Isis has decided her son is finally prepared to face Set. She has presented him to the Ennead. The court case to decide which one should hold the kingship has begun.

And as Set is watching Horus, trying to calculate what to do (he's not good with words so. best bet is probably just to punch him in the face really hard when no one is looking. oh no, the annoying child is dead! of completely unidentifiable causes! we can all go home now!), he notices that Taweret is, like, always slipping Horus honey candies whenever Isis isn't looking? And she keeps ruffling his hair affectionately with her hands?

And, also, Nephthys is correcting Horus's posture on how he holds his weapons? Like, he'll be holding a spear or a khopesh (wrong! cause he's stupid!), but then Nephthys will make eye contact with him while miming how to do it properly, and he corrects himself? And when his belt sash comes undone she'll point at her own so he fixes it? And she thinks she's being sly about it but SET CAN SEE HER DOING THIS???

Why is this happening? What does it mean? Because to be honest Set hasn't been speaking with his wives a lot recently. There were really long periods of time where they didn’t see each other, since he was busy stalking through the marshes of the Nile Delta trying to hunt down and kill this kid. And, now that he thinks about it, he doesn't really know exactly where they were when that was happening. And-- Oh. OH GOD.

*I say "at least" because there are a lot of goddesses who you could speculate are Set's consorts based on various evidence, and the amount of goddesses in the Egyptian pantheon who are said to have helped/watched over Horus at some point is basically all of them. So the number of women this happened with is potentially infinite.

Also if you're wondering about Set and Taweret, Plutarch says that they had a relationship at some point, and it kind of makes sense if you consider that Taweret is supposed to be a very fearsome guardian, hence her association with female hippos (who are very violent when they protect their young), and Set also is very fearsome, hence his association with male hippos (who are also violent but minus the protecting their young part).

[whirligig-girl]

Reference sheet for Eaurp Guz for ArtFight 2025.

More about Guz: -Tumblr Tag -Guzcomic: AO3 / Tumblr -Surviving Schwil AO3 / Tumblr

STARFLEET COMMAND PERSONNEL DATABASE ACCESS Name: "Eaurp Guz" Full Legal Name: Eaurp Eugigathlia Waralslaupwormn't Guz Date of Birth: Stardate 33013 (2356-January-06 A.D.) Place of Birth: Twin Slime Hall, Southern Gurfluint, United Mellanus, Zwo-Nmu System, Zalda Sector, Alpha Quadrant. Species: Mellanoid Slime Worm Age: 26 Earth Years Height: variable, roughly 1.4 meters. Rank: Lieutenant Junior Grade Division: Operations (Engineering Subdivision) Academy Class: 2379 Assignment: U.S.S. Cerritos NCC-75567 (2380-2382(present)) Previous Assignments: Douglas Station (2379-2380) Honorifics: Lieutenant, Miss, Ma'am. Pronouns (Federation Standard Language): She/Her/Hers/Herself. Sex: N/A. Gender: Woman, Xenogender, Transgender, Female, Girl Parents: Mx. Waral Slaup, Mx. Eurgus Fleud, Dr. "Worm" Zugui   (Bio below the cut)

Bio: Eaurp Guz grew up in the turbulent time immediately following first contact with the United Federation of Planets, during a time when much of the world of Mellanus was struggling to adapt to a new political situation. Her world had united under a single umbrella, and one of the unifying principles was that of a desire to do space exploration on Mellanus' own terms. Guz had always loved machines, and made a hobby out of robotics, model railroading, and model rocketry.  Through the latter, she gained an aerospace scholarship and went to gooniversity at Flugoz, where she became an intern for the United Mellanus Space Program. At the end of the Dominion War, she pivoted, realizing that she would have better career prospects--and accomodations for her neurodivergence and gender--in the futuristic Starfleet than she would on her homeworld. After four years of academy, where she excelled at engineering topics but struggled with other aspects of the curriculum, she graduated as one of only a small handful of Mellanoid Slimes in Starfleet, and an even fewer number of fully trained officers.  After a year working at Douglas Station as part of their maintenance and repair crew, she fell in love with the Cerritos while assisting in its refit after its run-in with the Pakleds towards the end of 2380. During 2380 and early 2381, she served on Delta Shift, but in late 2381 she transitioned to Beta Shift. Due to her original training and upbringing, she is a sublight propulsion systems specialist, and spends most of her time tweaking the impulse engines and maneuvering thruster control system to keep them operating at ideal efficiency and smoothness.  In a report given by Lt. Cmdr. Andy Billups in late 2381, he noted "She is a skilled engineer, but she only seems to want to apply herself to this one specific subfield. She'll make an excellent specialist, but I am not considering a promotion at this time." END REPORT. APPENDIX TO PERSONNEL BIO Since the previous report, Eaurp Guz has been promoted to Lieutenant Junior Grade following a harrowing experience on planet TE-92f, in which she demonstrated a high degree of technical mastery over a wide variety of engineering domains. She has been transferred into an Command and Operations training track to ensure she is better equipped to get herself out of the situations she has proved to be able to get herself into, Starfleet Command having determined that she, quote, "slipped through the cracks, pun intended" of Starfleet Academy's career assignment program. Lt. Guz herself was hesitant to accept the promotion, claiming to prefer such tasks as crawling around in Jeffries Tubes, optimizing impulse engines, and tweaking maneuvering thruster PID controller values. Personal Section: Hobbies: Model rocketry, model starship engineering, railway modelling, holographic aerospace flight simulation, technical artist, amateur astronomy. Sexual orienation: asexual (or possibly demisexual, for a broad definition of 'sexual') Romantic orientation: polyamorous lesbian demiromantic Notable Friends: * Slamtha Uzgoel (Childhood friend, 2368-2376) * Dyani (Academy Roommate 2375-2379) * Marta Martinez (Academy classmate 2376-2379) * Eyluss Iris (Crewmate 2380-) * Lisdolin Kerman (Crewmate 2380-) * Samanthan Rutherford (Crewmate 2380-) * D'vana Tendi (Crewmate and Medical Provider 2380-) * T'lyn (Crewmate 2381-) * Zhandar Ghel (Stranded on Schwil Together 2381) * Doctor Promised Vision (Schwil, 2381) Enemies:  * Slamtha Uzgoel (Syndicate pirate with a grudge 2381-) Love Interests <3: * D'vana Tendi (Guz's crush 2381-2382, Guz's girlfriend following Tendi's return to the Cerritos 2382-) * Slamtha Uzgoel (childhood friends in a QPR 2368-2376, so into Guz it ruined her life 2376-) * Marta Martinez (had a crush on Guz 2375-2379) * Zhandar Ghel (survived a traumatic experience together 2381)

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkness on Umbara Chp.9 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 8. Chapter 10.

Plans and Arguments

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, names of non-canon dead clones, Mentions of breakdowns, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

Minors DNI

“Those missiles have a 100 megaton yield!”

Fives was exasperated at the new plan Krell had thrown at Rex, “We won’t even make it to the delta!”

“What can I do?” The captain met the ARC troopers eyes steadily, “I’ve tried to reason with him. Those are the orders.” 

March on the capital despite the massive missiles that rained from the sky. Fucking brilliant. 

Jesse sighed, “Great, another suicide mission.” he continued to inspect the console, typing on the screen, “The capital is too well armed.”

“Why does it seem like he has it out for clones?” Tup chimed in from where he continued to study the mechanics of the starships.

“Are we sure Krell isn’t, you know, fucking insane?” You mumbled, continuing to look at the data of the anomaly you saw earlier.

Dogma scoffed, “I think you're all overreacting,” He was steadfast in his belief in the general, “Obviously General Krell knows what he's doing. do you really think he doesn't care if he loses men?” 

Yes. you nearly responded, but opted to remain quiet. 

Jesse crossed his arms, “I’m not saying that,” He kept his voice steady, doing well at remaining calm, “But I do think his desire for victory has blinded him to the fact that there are lives at stake.”

You nodded, “Field doctors keep in contact with one another, and several doctors I knew have been killed under his command, not to mention the number of troopers,” Your hands were still as you focused on the conversation, “I’ve never seen such a high number of casualties from a single general.”

“He’s out of control!” Fives snapped, “He is not acting like the other jedi. He has no respect for us.”

I don’t think he has respect for anyone but himself. You thought bitterly. 

Rex stepped forward, trying to calm the ARC troopers ire, “Listen, I don’t agree with him either, but I don’t have a better plan.”

“What about using these starfighters to destroy the supply ship?” Fives continued, motioning to the ships that were in different stages of maintenance. 

“Our fleet has been trying, The Umbarans have it as protected as the capital.” The 501st captain rubbed his temple, clearly reaching his own limit. 

“But we've got their access codes and their own hardware,” Fives stepped up next to Jesse, looking confident. 

Rex, on the other hand, looked more surprised and hopeful, “You were able to crack it?”

“Mhm!” the ARC trooper gave a friendly punch to Jesse’s shoulder, earning a smile and a head shake from the other trooper, “We can sneak right past their blockade, get to where our ships can’t.” He clasped his hands in front of him, as if begging. 

The captain looked down and rubbed his chin, he remained silent, mentally planning and strategizing with this new information. 

Fives’ continued, as if trying to convince him, “If we take out that supply ship, then we cut off arms to the capital.”

Rex smiled, looking up and meeting his friend's eye, “This is why you’re an ARC trooper,” He put a hand on his hip, now with a proud smirk, “I’ll talk to Krell, see what we can do.” 

Fives practically cheered, and you laughed at his joyful display. The ARC troopers' energy and good mood always amazed you. 

The captain shook his head and gave a soft laugh before turning and walking out of the hangar. You, however, got up and followed him, “Captain, I don’t know where the barracks are.” you stated, with a small grin, “Can you walk me to them?” 

“Mesh’la,” he rolled his eyes but he matched your smile, “Of course.” 

Now that you two had semi-privacy, “Are you ok?” you asked him quietly. 

“Once this campaign is done, I will be.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “General Krell is…a challenging General to work with.”

You brushed your hand against his as a small sign of affection, “You’re doing the best you can given the circumstances.” 

He gave you a grateful, yet exhausted look. 

In the far distance, potentially a mile away, Umbaran missiles slammed down, exploding into a bright green and orange light. Despite how far the strike was, you could still feel the vibrations in the ground. 

“Damnit, they never give up.” Rex sighed, “This won’t stop until that supply ship is taken care of.”

“Hopefully Krell will listen,” You said as the doors to another section, the living quarters, of the airbase opened. 

“He hasn’t so far.” your lover led you through the halls before pressing a button next to a door. They slide open, revealing Rex’s temporary quarters and office. To the Umbarans, the private room must’ve belonged to the leader of the airbase. Once the doors closed, he held your face in his gloved hands.

“I want you to rest, mesh’la,” He murmured, kissing your forehead tenderly, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your exhaustion.”

“I can handle it.” you put your hands over his, “You and the others have been-.”

“We are built for this,” He interrupted you, “We’re clones, we can handle days without rest.”

You stared into his beautiful brown eyes, “Rex…”

“Please, mesh’la,” He whispered, “I can’t…I don’t think I can handle it if you're hurt again. Or worse.” He was pleading with you, gaze filled with an emotional desperation. It was rare to see him so unsteady. So unsure and even…afraid.

Your lovely captain was in despair. Yes, you’ve lost soldiers, but Rex has lost brothers. 

You moved your hand and stroked his cheek, “Ok…” your words were soft, “Alright Rex, I’ll get some rest.” 

He let out a small, relieved breath before kissing your forehead again, “Thank you.” 

As promised, you allowed yourself to sleep once he was gone again. It was comical how as soon as you laid down on the stiff bed, you were completely out. It felt like your brain just turned off. You didn’t even dream, so exhausted your consciousness just faded out of existence. 

When you awoke, it was due to yelling.

“Where is the honor in marching blindly to our deaths?!”

Fives.

You groggily sat up, rubbing your face in your hands with a pounding headache. You could hear Rex respond, but his voice was quieter and much calmer. It was hard to make out the words. 

However, you heard Fives loud and clear through the door, “I'm sorry. I cannot just follow orders when I know they're wrong! Especially when lives are at stake!”

Your lover answered him, and again, he was quiet. 

“I do support it. I do!” Fives was angry and frustrated, that much was clear, “But I am not just another number! None of us are!”

You admired the ARC trooper for his independence. He was a powerhouse on the battlefield and never backed down. Your friend was a very rebellious, free thinker, but intelligent enough to know when to fall in line. 

He was a good friend who you loved dearly. 

Surprisingly, you heard Rex’s voice, “Fives, where are you going?”

The ARC trooper responded with something, but you couldn’t hear him clearly that time. 

You sighed and stood, stretching your arms over your head. How long has it been…?

With a quick check of the time, it had only been a few hours. Everything was sore and you were still tired. It would take more than a nap to help, apparently…

The door to the captains quarters opened and Rex seemed surprised to see you, “You should still be asleep.” He approached to kiss your cheek. 

“I heard yelling. Is everything ok?” You asked, leaning into the peck. 

“The march on the capital will continue as originally planned.” He sighed, “the men are understandably against it.”

“You are too.” You pointed out. 

He nodded, looking downright tired, “I am, and if we had the time and the training, I’d go along with Fives’ plan. I know General Skywalker would with no question. But Krell has orders.”

You pet your lover’s cheek, “Rex, would you really follow every single order Krell gives?” 

“I am duty bound to follow.” He responded.

“Even if you know they’re wrong?” 

“I…” the captain sighed, “I believe in the Republic. I would fight and die for it without question.”

He’s avoiding the question. Pushing too hard might stress him further. You leaned forward and kissed his forehead, “You're a good soldier, Rex. but you're also a man with your own thoughts and feelings.”

He melted under your touch, “Without you, I’d probably have gone insane by now.” he mumbled, earning a small giggle from you. 

“You’re doing the best you can,” Your words were tender and filled with love, “I need to check on the med bay, but I want you to get some sleep. Even if it's just a nap.” before he could argue, you booped his nose gently with your finger. 

Rex let out a small chuckle, “Alright mesh’la, I’ll get some rest.” He pecked your cheek before you walked out of his private quarters. Getting to the med bay was quick and easy, and as soon as Kix saw you, he nodded in greeting. 

Back to work. You were the 501st field doctor, you had a job to do, “What supplies do we have?” 

Your medic friend listed everything you had. 

Bandages, tourniquets, laser cauterizers, laser scalpel, bacta, patches, emergency suture kits

It was better than before taking the airbase, but the amount of such items was the real concern. Perhaps in a standard battle you’d be able to help everyone, but with Krell’s overwhelming need to kill as many soldiers as possible, It would be difficult. 

You swallowed, taking in the low numbers. Triage would be crucial. Managing pain wouldn’t be the priority. Save bacta for critical wounds. Sutures and bandages for anything else. 

“I’m going to talk to Krell.” You informed Kix, “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t get killed.” He called to you as you left. 

Your steps took you up to the tower. Were you nervous? Potentially. If he took a step out of line, you might end up snapping and laying a fist in his face. Your anxiety came from your lack of faith in your own restraint. You’ve hit your limit, and if the damn Jedi pushed you too far, you might break. 

Once the doors opened, you were met with Appo and Hick typing at a console while Krell looked over the Umbaran holomap. 

“Doctor,” He greeted you rather…politely, “I didn’t call for you.”

“I have concerns, General.” You stepped inside, “I am aware of the impending march on the capital, but Kix and I do not have the supplies to keep everyone alive.” 

Pong Krell looked up at you, eyes looking down right uninterested in what you have to say, “You have an extreme lack of faith in your skills, Doctor.”

“I am not doubting my skills,” You responded, tone becoming icy, “I am limited by the supplies I don’t have. I can save lives, but if I don't have the medical supplies to do so…”

The General pressed a button and the map changed. He went back to ignoring you, “And what do you propose I do about your misuse of much needed medical equipment?”

Misuse!?

You swallowed, “Respectfully, General, I think for the sake of the men, you should work with Captain Rex and think of another strategy to take the capital.”

“We do not have time!” he slammed his fist down, causing you and the other soldiers around to jump, “Every moment we waste, we are getting that much further away from taking Umbara for the Republic! Now I know your judgment is clouded by your useless feelings surrounding these clones, but winning this war is the priority!” 

“Respectfully, General,” You backed down. All that bravado you told yourself earlier melted away. He had the power to court martial you, or worse, “My…feelings are concern for my patients. I am a doctor first, before I am a soldier.”

“Is it duty you feel, or something else?” He raised his head, “You spend an awful lot of time with the Captain, don’t you.” 

Your blood ran cold. 

He knew.

Your throat ran dry. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Appo look up from his console. 

Back track. Now. 

“Captain Rex and I have known eachother since the beginning of the war,” you explained, “We are friends, and I trust him with my life.”

“Just friends?” He rubbed his chin, “Your judgment is indeed clouded, Doctor. Your bias is hindering your view of the reality of this war.” The volume of his voice picked up until he was damn near shouting at you, “You can’t have friends on the battlefield! If you worry about those clones, you’ll never achieve victory!” 

Wrath burned under your skin. You wanted to shout back, but you didn’t have Fives’ courage, “I understand General, but these men, not just Rex, have protected me. Saved my life on the battlefield. In turn I do my best to keep them alive. It’s my duty to care for them. Because of this, I am able to view things objectively during battle.”

Krell was silent for a moment before he gave a slimy smirk, “Rex, huh?” 

Shit.

“Captain Rex, sir.” you cleared your throat and you caught Hick pausing in his typing on the console, “Since we are not currently on the battlefield, It’s easy for me to forget rank and titles. Forgive me, General.”

“I suppose you call General Skywalker by his name as well,” He turned to face the window, indicating he was done with you, “I am a General, Doctor. You will do well not to make that mistake with me. You’re dismissed.”

You saluted and turned, leaving the tower as quickly as possible.

Once on the ground, you spotted Fives and Hardcase walking to the hangar where the starships were being kept. With a glance back up to the tower, you followed the troopers. 

Oh what trouble were they about to get into?

[noisydelusionlove]

Chapter 9: Night Out

Pairings: Poly141xOriginal Character, GazxOriginal character, SoapxOriginal Character

Warnings: Medical inaccuracies, military inaccuracies, Alpha/Beta/Delta/Omega Dynamics, Alcohol, Kissing, Dancing, Drunk characters and questionable decisions

Not edited or Beta Read

A/N: Kind of a little ‘let loose’ chapter for the Betas and our little Omega

Aurora smiles as she walks through the halls with Kyle, his linen and spearmint scent filling her lungs, causing her to relax naturally. She is surprised at how much she missed his scent. As they approach the rec room the smell of rain and citrus hits her nose, the unmistakable scent of Johnny. As they enter the room she sees Johnny relaxing on the couch. His hair is wet, freshly showered it seems, and he’s in casual clothes, a black t-shirt that looks a few sizes too tight, and a pair of jeans whose size is also questionable on him. He beams when he sees Aurora walk in, taking a deep breath in her scent as he rises to his feet. “Missed me, Bonnie?” He says as Aurora reacts by instinct, her Omega drawn to the Beta scent. She walks over and wraps him in a hug that he quickly returns. “Maybe I should have left on a mission sooner.” Johnny jokes as he hugs her back, letting her go when she pulls away.

”I’m going to shower and get ready, had to stop and grab my favorite medic beforehand.” Kyle jokes as he walks out of the room. Aurora raises an eyebrow as she looks at Johnny. “Get ready?” she says curiously as Johnny smirks. “Yeah, we just got back from a mission so we are all heading to the bar just off base. I wanted to ask you to join us since you’re a part of this pack now.” He smiles as Aurora looks up at him for a moment, considering if she should mix any amount of alcohol and the men in this pack. After a moment she sighs. “Fine, let me go get ready.” she laughs as Johnny practically jumps for joy as she turns and heads to her room to change.

Thirty minutes later Aurora is dressed in her casual clothes, a pair of black flare-leg pants, a cropped band t, and her Converse, never having been one for heels. Her hair is down in its naturally wavy state and she even threw on a bit of eyeliner and mascara. She grabs her phone, making sure her credit card, military ID, and regular ID are in place as she steps out of her room and heads back to the rec room to meet the boys. When she walks in she notices everyone in casual clothes, mostly jeans and too-tight t-shirts, but John has on a button-up, and Ghost has on a black hoodie with a black surgical mask covering the lower half of his face. They all stop chattering when she enters and Aurora can't help but feel slightly uncomfortable at all the eyes on her.

Kyle walks up to her and holds his hand out. “Phone please ma’am.” He smiles as Aurora hands him her phone curiously. “Why?” she asks as he asks her to unlock it. She watches as he programs a few numbers into her phone before pulling out his phone and sending a text. She hears her phone go off and when she looks she sees a new group chat with all of the 141 members, including her. “Soap tends to get drunk and wander off so I want to make sure everyone can contact each other tonight.” He smiles as Aurora nods. John heads to the door holding keys as he calls out “Alright let's go ya muppets the sooner we leave the sooner I'm dragging a drunk Soap and Gaz home.” Aurora laughs as she follows behind him with Kyle walking next to her. “He’s always the designated driver, Ghost rides shotgun so that means it's a sergeant club in the backseat.” Kyle jokes as Aurora shakes her head.

They head outside and pile into a black SUV. Aurora sits in the backseat between Kyle and Johnny. She’s thankful that the SUV is roomy or else she would be squished between the two walls of muscle on either side of her. “Rules, since Sargeant Lee is new to our nights out,” John calls out as he drives. “You can drink whatever, but if me or Ghost cuts you off you’re done. You do not leave with anyone that you don’t know, if they want to meet you back at the barracks and they have clearance to get on base that’s fine.” John says, Ghost tries to hide his growl at the idea of Aurora bringing someone back to her room. “Try to not get into any brawls unless you want the night to end abruptly. If you’re made uncomfortable by some drunk Alpha or even Beta find one of us and we will handle it. Just be safe and try to not get too stupid. Also, do not throw up in this vehicle or you will be scrubbing it.” John finishes as Johnny and Kyle say “Yes sir.” With Aurora echoing right behind them.

”We honestly just get a table and drink, maybe play some pool, and if I can get Johnny drunk enough we dance. Do you dance?” Kyle says as he leans over to talk to Aurora. “Hmm, after a few drinks, I might.” She jokes as she gives a playful wink causing Kyle to let out a laugh. The car stops and Aurora sees that they’ve arrived at the bar, it was right off base it seems. The group piles out of the SUV and Aurora follows behind the group as they head inside. John heads to find a table to accommodate the group. He finds a corner booth and motions for Aurora to slide in “middle” he mumbles as Aurora slides into the middle of the seat. Kyle slides in to her right with John next to him, and Johnny to her left with Ghost next to him. John stands after everyone is seated. “I already know the orders for all of them, Aurora what would you like?” He asks as she looks at him. She glances around at the others, debating on trying to fit in with a hardened military crowd and go for Whiskey or go for what she wants, a more fruity cocktail.

”Get whatever you want, we won’t judge.” Johnny whispers as he notices her slight unease. She turns and smiles at him “Just a vodka cranberry for now.” She says and he smiles. Kyle smirks as he looks at him. “Shots?” He asks which causes John to groan as Kyle puts on his best puppy dog eyes. John grunts before walking away. Aurora laughs as she shakes her head at him. After a moment John returns with a tray of glasses. He sits Aurora’s drink down in front of her before placing a bourbon in front of Ghost, a bourbon for him, beers in front of Johnny and Kyle, and 6 clear shots in the middle of the table. Aurora raises an eyebrow “Six?” she asks curiously. Kyle smirks as he laughs. “Price and Ghost won’t be doing them, so it’s two for each of us, for now.” He says which causes Aurora to roll her eyes as she sips her drink.

”So, how are you enjoying your first week?” Johnny asks as he drinks his beer. Aurora smiles as she angles her body slightly towards him to answer. “It’s been fun. I worked some shifts at the hospital while you were on your mission.” She says with a smile. Half an hour later John and the boys are playing pool while Aurora sits on a bar stool watching. She is on her third drink, Johnny and Kyle have each finished three beers, and the three of them have each taken three shots. Aurora is feeling a good buzz and is smiling as she watches the boys banter and argue over the game of pool. After a moment she feels a hand on her hip and an unfamiliar scent hits her nose. She turns and looks at who is touching her and sees a blonde man she thinks she’s seen a few times in the mess hall.

”Hi there I’m Grayson.” The man says, he reeks of alcohol and his scent is not pleasing on Aurora’s nose at all. “Let me buy you a drink.” He says, either ignoring the scent of annoyance rolling off of the Omega, or not caring. Aurora lets out a small warning growl. “I’ll let you keep that hand if you remove it right this second.” She snaps. Grayson’s eyes widen slightly, shocked that an Omega wouldn’t be charmed by an Alpha flirting with them. “I’m just trying to get to know you princess.” He purrs out, trying to push his scent out to impress her. Aurora lets out a louder growl, this time the team hears and all four members of the 141 have turned their attention to the Alpha currently flirting with her. Aurora sighs as she reaches down and grabs the hand on her wrist, digging in with her nails slightly. “I’m warning you.” She says as she snarls slightly. The Alpha looks at his hand before scoffing and pulling away. “Whatever.” He grumbles as he walks off, mumbling under his breath, Aurora is sure he’s calling her names that she can’t hear over the music. Ghost goes to follow him but is stopped by John placing a hand on his chest and shaking his head.

Aurora is still slightly fuming when another scent hits her, spearmint and linen, Kyle. She smiles as she looks at Kyle approaching her. As he stops in front of her he pushes his scent out, it calms her as she smiles at him. “Come on, you’ve had a few drinks, lets go get that dance in.” He says as he grabs her hand. Aurora laughs as he leads her to the dance floor. After a few moments of awkwardness, she finally allows herself to fall into rhythm with Kyle. They’re facing each other and dancing, her hands around his neck and his hands on her hips as they move.

After a few minutes, the scent of rain and citrus hits her as she feels a presence behind her and hands on her waist. She glances behind her to see Johnny smiling as he moves in time with her and Kyle’s dancing. The alcohol has taken full effect on the three of them by now as they dance to the music booming through the speakers. A blush creeps up Aurora’s cheeks as she realizes how close the three of them have gotten, with practically no space between her front and Kyle’s and her back and Johnny’s front. They continue to dance as the music plays.

At the booth Ghost and John are sipping their drinks as they watch their Betas and the Omega dance together. Ghost’s eyes are locked on where Johnny’s and Aurora’s bodies touch, with almost no space between them as she grinds back against him. The air around him thickens with the smell of his arousal as he watches them. After a moment John jokingly fans the air. “Jesus Simon, if you keep that up you’ll suffocate everyone here.” John jokes causing Ghost to let out a grunt in response.

The trio on the dance floor continue to dance together, the air around them thickening as arousal and alcohol sets into their system. Aurora lets out a gasp as she feels Johnny place a kiss on her shoulder, moving closer to her neck as he hums against her skin. Her body is buzzing as she wonders if she should stop him if they’re crossing a line, but the alcohol makes her mind slightly fuzzy. Her eyes droop closed as she continues to dance between the two Betas. Her eyes open as she feels a hand on her jaw. She looks into Kyle’s eyes as he smiles at her before slowly leaning down to connect their lips. As their lips connect she feels like her body is on fire. Their lips move together and she’s shocked by how the spearmint in his scent comes through in his taste. Johnny mouths at her neck from behind as Kyle and her breakaway, Johnny’s hand coming up to turn her to face him so he can connect his lips to hers in a kiss just as passionate. When they break apart she feels slightly dizzy from the influx of hormones.

John notices the trio on the dance floor sharing kisses and laughs as he stands up. “time to get them home.” He says. Ghost growls out a yes as he follows John to the dancefloor to help wrangle in the Betas and Omega. John grabs Kyle’s shoulder who lets out a whine as he realizes they’re being made to leave. “Come on pups let's get back to the base,” John calls as he pulls Kyle along. Kyle grabs Aurora’s hand, and she grabs Johnny’s as they walk out of the bar. John shakes his head as he corrals the three into the backseat. Once everyone is inside the SUV John rolls the windows down, the mixture of Beta arousal, Omega arousal, and Alpha arousal becomes so thick it’s almost choking.

Aurora giggles as she leans against Johnny’s shoulder in the backseat with Kyle’s hand in her lap. She glances up and her blood feels like it's on fire as she notices Ghost’s eyes in the rearview mirror staring right at her, his pupils dark and blown making his eyes almost appear black. They arrive back at the base and John parks, ushering everyone inside. He makes sure Aurora goes to her room before he heads to his own, with Kyle following behind him. Johnny and Ghost head to Ghost’s room next door to Aurora’s.

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[orangez3st]

Welcome to Vau's! - Chapter 2

Pale Ale

Delta Squad × OC | Modern AU | Fast Food Worker AU

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✧ Chapter Summary: Eli being home is always a refreshing sight, especially when that goofball is on a reunion with old friends—the Vau boys. Raye hits Scorch up for that part-time opportunity.

✧ Warnings: several namedrops of known TCW characters along with one (1) from the Jedi game and a couple from Repcomm novels, Scorch chats in lowercase and abbreviations, inaccurate fast food restaurant management lol

✧ Word Count: 2.4k

✧ A/N: Welcome back! I did mention that there would be several OC pairings, right—so judging by my current hyperfixation I guess I'm predictable enough. Enjoy this light filler! Next up will be actually introducing Raye to everyone at Vau's 😉

📊 Worldbuilding #1 Poll is over! The local bar name shall be The Clone Underground ✨

COLLAB with @carbon-corrie | Header art by Carbon!

Summer break at home is rarely ever bad. And Eli is back home, so that's ten times better. And as always and sure as the day after Monday is Tuesday; Abuela Rosa needs company, Dad's oftentimes out of town lawyer-ing, and Mom spends time at the homeless shelter and in various other communities. One thing in common about the Estradas is the way they value communication and connection.

Dinner done, first thing Raye did after she showered was Facetime with Riyo. Then a brief group discussion with the student council which Raye is in that actually produced something instead of goof-offs. Then acting therapist to a wasted Padmé because apparently Skywalker fucking forgot to check in the entire day while his girl is on period. Uh uh. Bad, real bad.

While she loves being home, Raye can't help but feel out of place. The mattress is unlike hers in her dorm room back at Austin. It's hers, but laying down on her belly with a laptop in front of her on her own bed only makes her miss Austin, and then there's the little guilt for thinking about that. It's not really that worth looking into, but shouldn't you feel at home during summer break at home?

She's in the middle of doomscrolling when someone knocks on her bedroom door, and it opens to Eli. Leave it to a brother who doesn't even bother asking. On purpose.

“Hey.” Eli peeks his head in. Raye invites him in with a nod. “What’re you up to?”

“Researching,” she mumbles, chin propped up in one hand while the other shifts to her laptop, the screen showing a browser with multiple tabs open about Vau’s. “How on Earth didn't I know about this place before? Google Maps and Yelp; 4.8 star, 36k plus reviewers. Most of those talking about the drive-thru guy. Facebook page. TikTok. Instagram. Their PR’s working hard that I don't know that that's even possible, but what got me scratching my head is how the geographical algorithm shit on my social medias haven't recommended this place even once.”

Eli chuckles as he listens, the bed shifting under his weight as he plops himself down onto it. His eyes skim over the content displayed on the screen, grinning and mumbling hell yeah while nodding to himself. “Toldja. Local pride.” He then clears his throat. “You contacted them yet?”

Raye shrugs, grabbing her phone on instinct but not knowing where to start. “I think I should contact that window guy Scorch personally?”

Eli arches a perfect eyebrow. “That shouldn't be a question, Raye. He asked you to.” Grabbing his phone, the Marine thumbs through his contacts and proceeds to do God's work. “There. Sent you his number.”

Raye's phone pings upon the coming notification, her heart picking up in nervousness even though her lips carried a pleased, grateful smile. “Alright thanks, bro,” she sighs in relief, double-taking to the side once she catches Eli’s bomber jacket and jeans. “Where you goin’?”

Her brother stands and makes his way to the door. “Out.”

“I know that, dumbass. To where?”

“The usual; The Clone Underground,” Eli grins charmingly, his enthusiasm shining through, “Catching up with the boys over drinks.”

Raye smiles. “Sounds like boys night out,” she says before eyeing the Snapchat notification for a second. “But hey, isn't Scorch gonna be there?”

“Yeah everyone is, so you better talk to him ASAP before I get there ‘cause once Scorch runs his mouth off he won't catch a break.”

“Ouch. Mean timer,” Raye mutters.

Eli cracks the door open and slips through.

Raye stifles her smile. “Don't forget safety!”

“Fuck off, Raye. Es noche de bros tonight!”

“I believe you.” Her laughter rings through before the door shuts. “Bye!”

A couple of responding slaps to the door signals Eli's exit from the premises. Drinks with friends. Must be nice. Once in every other week Raye hits Concord Dawn off campus with her girls—Riyo, Padmé, Ahsoka, Barriss—to let out some steam. Though sometimes Padmé wanders off with her boyfriend if he happens to be in the area and nobody wants to know what they're up to. Without booze, the conversation goes stale pretty quickly once Soka and Barriss basically radiate awkwardness toward each other (because everybody seems to know about them except themselves) with Riyo repeatedly checking her notifications to anticipate messages from this pretty chill guy from history named Echo Skywalker.

Raye rolls onto her back and releases the biggest sigh that night, letting the silence take over and making her mind go blank in a drowsy buzz. Eli's car as it reverses out of the driveway can be heard, and then nothing, as he drives off. No music blasting out her audio device tonight, the nervousness is running around too wild to contain, and so are the thoughts.

So. Part-time job. FNB, service. Probably manning the counter and mopping the floor at the end of last shift. She's been there before, somewhere in second term where she needed the pocket money for band merch and better home-cooked food. So what is it exactly that needs to overthink about? The path is there, laid in front of her, all she has to do is to walk it.

Raye sighs again, staring down the empty chatroom on her phone, yet to be filled with conversation. Yeah, right. Okay. We can do this.

Raye Hi this is Raye Estrada. Eli gave me your number.

There. Should be a good start.

Until she huffs a regretful sigh.

“Shit I should've been more formal. Should I?”

She's worked part-time at a diner off campus before. Plus point. Generally nothing to worry about if you've got a relevant work experie—

Scorch oh hiiiiiiiiiii i was wondering when u would reach out soon means good 😁 taking the offer??

Yeah, uh, definitely not formal. Raye's pretty sure Scorch won't rat her out for talkin— chatting… colloquially. He's besties with Eli, so far she knows. And the manager is, what, Scorch's brother too? Doing this via private messages especially when he's Like That is pretty much not formal.

Raye Yeah I've considered it Bcs I for sure am not hitting on u buddy Scorch aw bummer 😔 want me to introduce u to fixer? he aint got no bitches yet 😏 Raye We'll see abt that 🙄💀 So how does this work? Scorch right just come by tmrw @ 11 n talk to boss thats when we start our shift Raye Y'all have the same hour? Scorch yea ik this sounds cringey but we r inseparable 😀 hours is 6-11 11-16 16-22 midnight crew 23-2 Raye Wow that's nearly 24 hrs Scorch yea serving the country w our teriyaki sauce poor fixer bro gotta prep every damn day @ 4 am sev takes 3 shifts sometimes do u know that asshole is popular 🙄 Raye Kinda but I'll make sure to check on that more 😀 Scorch wow u rly dont sound like a local 11. ask for boss if im not the first thing u see bby

Handling boys who's gone out of their way to flirt is a current occurrence. To be honest with herself, she doesn't look too bad. Although not as radiant as that girl from criminal justice Trilla Suduri, Raye's got a fair hoard of eager boys tailing her around. Valentine's Day can't be worse. Or someone who goes hard on being a fucking tsundere like Bacara, that gruff guy from meteorology who's got a ten feet pole up his ass.

But to be honest… Scorch is handsome. That half-assed outgrown bleached hair makes him real quirky. But too much of shit-eating grins and him just being generally expressive—reminds her too much of Eli. She's feeling eager to know about the story behind that big burnt scar on his face, though. Ordnance accident? Was he infantry, a veteran? Grenade blew up too close?

Raye 🥴 that means I'm gonna have to put up w u every day If I even got in Scorch u will! eli n i talked more abt u, i put the good word in n isnt it exciting 😉 im exciting Raye Ok keep telling urself that el macho Anyway, thanks! See u tmrw Scorch 👋🏾😘

That uh, went well.

Pretty well in fact, that Raye's heartbeat is unable to calm down after five minutes or so. But that should be a good sign. She's enthusiastic about work. Around people she knows, too. Or, soon to know. The Vaus are long-time family friends, after all. She just needs to be reintroduced with them and everything will be dandy.

She has a feeling that she should care about this job.

Evenings like this are usually spent among friends. Her girls; Riyo, Padmé, Ahsoka, and Barriss. It's always either group voice calls into the night over assignments or boys being dicks.

Or sometimes sitting for lunch in the cafeteria with Bardan, the friendly dude from anthropology who drives Uber for a side gig, and his classmate Etain—those two are an odd pair to be around, never seeming to fit in with the other students. But they click with her. Raye, a normal jane herself, seems to be the magnet for strange people with strange circumstances, and never been bothered with that.

It's only been a few minutes of doomscrolling silly cat memes, dubbed get-ready-with-me’s, and stupid bass-boosted Scotland bagpipe music jumpscares until another notification floats on top of her phone screen. Curious to see how much further this goofy guy would be able to tease her, Raye accepts the unspoken challenge—well, for herself anyway.

Scorch ur brothers here lol 😆 📷 tap to open image 

It's a picture from Scorch's point of view where he's sitting at the far right of the table, phone camera angled like so to the other end where Eli is seen slapping another guy's shoulder with the biggest stupidest grin on his face. Raye can no longer stifle her smile—he looks very happy. Reuniting with friends after long months of deployment must be reinvigorating—Eli has only been catching a few hours of well-deserved sleep before waking up for dinner in a very specific enthusiastic manner.

Reunion. Friends.

But that's not her sole point of focus. It's the guys who apparently sit with Scorch, too, bearing resemblance judging by skin tone. Beautiful sun-kissed tan, some marred with white scars, muscles slightly straining. These dudes are well-built. She remembers Sev the drive thru guy, and he's a vet—were they all really in the military?

It's difficult to put familiar names to faces she hasn't seen for a long, long time. Everyone's out of frame, but one of them can be seen sipping his pale ale, though his eyes dart sideways to Eli's direction glinting with some kind of mirth and reunion.

Raye That's fast Is that one of u?

She waits for a couple of minutes before the reply comes through.

Scorch heck yea thats fixer 📷 tap to open image 

Raye frowns. Deep. Hard. Every running neuron particle and shit in her brain telling her not to place her trust in the attachment. Or maybe the dude himself because shit-eating grin owners typically are menaces, and ‘speaking from experience’ is understatement. Whatever's Scorch planning deserves a loud disrespectful bitch slap to the nuts if it's a piece of one of those horror jumpscares.

Raye What r u sending Scorch jeez bomb squad chillax 🙄🙄🙄 its worth it i promise 😂

And she regrets her decision to believe him.

No. It's not worth it. If you count a selfie photo of Scorch pulling the sigma face worth it, Raye wishes you luck in your later life because that picture is her bad luck charm now.

Raye How to unsee Ctrl z Scorch 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺 yea ok fair dudes looking @ me weird rn 📷 tap to open image

Fixer, who apparently Eli had grown close with in high school for sharing the same interest in tech, is situated diagonally to Scorch. Eli is out of frame, Scorch purposefully zooming in solely on the man. Raye is expecting something else and nothing else at the same time—at one point she's surprised he looks exactly like Scorch, but one educated guess dismisses it away.

His hand reaches across his body to grab onto his own shoulder, the other hand rests on the table. Cocking his head to the side presumably to Eli's direction, Fixer sports a slight smirk, barely visible, to something her brother probably said. His hair, though probably is shaggy that reaches past his ears, is tamed and well-kept in a slicked-back style. His cool-toned pine green hoodie looks worn yet it only radiates how much he holds value of his own possessions.

Her heart races and then stops for a second. And it's making her feel real fucking ridiculous—almost embarrassing.

Raye R u on a matchmaking mission or sumn 😑 Scorch who knows yk 😗 Raye Eli gonna kick ur ass yk He's close w Fixer too if I’m not wrong Scorch exactly 🏃🏾‍♂️🏃🏾‍♂️🏃🏾‍♂️ DUDE i kicked his ass in wrestling back in hs LMAO Raye Lol ok my money's gonna be on u I never knew that Scorch aw now thats my girl 😘

The stifled smile on her lips finally blooms into a full-blown wide beam followed by a mixed series of snorts and laughter. Somehow talking with Scorch feels… safe. Maybe with the other boys would feel safe, too. Eli trusts these people with his life, having known them most of his life.

It feels wrong to compare this with Austin. Austin is a whole different life, a different Raye merely chasing a bachelor's degree bunking up with a distant cousin and spending time with friends, away from family.

But here is home—where her family and the closest ones are. It's where she grew up, where she developed the homegrown sense and awareness towards people she should trust. And Eli, that sweet stupid courageous hermano, willingly opened up a lot of gates of opportunity for her with the love of a brother, and still does. Raye can't be grateful enough.

Scorch u know what me sev boss fixer we r literally identical quadruplets Raye World's wonder Scorch so if u r having babies w one of usdjdoldl

She snorts. What a guy.

Raye Uh you still there? Scorch YEP boss took my phone cuz i didnt pay attention Raye 😂 what a dad Scorch we r fun i promise well see ya tmrw @ work 😘

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Welcome to Vau's Taglist (lmk to join!): @alor-ika @hellfiresky

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive (Daily updates!)

by Katherine Kahn

Since early in the COVID-19 pandemic, epidemiologic studiesopens in a new tab or window demonstrated that household transmission was a key driver in the spread of SARS-CoV-2. However, nearly 5 years later, less is known about more nuanced dynamics of SARS-CoV-2 viral transmission in households, particularly in the setting of evolving variants and pre-existing immunity.

Two studies presented at this year's IDWeek annual meetingopens in a new tab or window focused on leveraging genomic analysis to gain a better understanding of whether COVID infections in households represent transmission between household members or the introduction of new infections.

Household density, vaccine status of exposed household members, and individual immunologic factors are all associated with the spread of SARS-CoV-2 among households, said Kathryn Stephenson, MD, MPH, of Harvard Medical School in Boston, during a presentation.

During the Alpha wave, the secondary attack rate for household contacts -- the risk of transmission of SARS-CoV-2 stemming from a household index infection -- was about 36%, dropping to approximately 30% during the Delta wave, but then rising to about 43% during the early Omicron period, as reported in a systematic review and meta-analysisopens in a new tab or window.

Stephenson and her colleagues conducted a small prospective study in the greater Boston area during 2022, enrolling 38 households with a positive SARS-CoV-2 index case, identified on either rapid diagnostic testing or PCR testing.

Over the next 2 weeks after enrollment, 58% of 38 households had a second case develop among household contacts, and, overall, 39% of 66 household contacts tested positive over that time period.

However, in a strict subanalysis in which researchers excluded index cases that were PCR-negative on day 1 or contacts that tested positive on day 1, the secondary attack rate fell to 22.5%.

Furthermore, after performing genomic analysis to identify SARS-CoV-2 lineages with different genetic makeup that could not be caused by infection from the index case, that percentage dropped to 18.4%.

The finding indicated that although the most common source of infection was the index case, there were multiple sources of infection in over half of individual households, Stephenson said. Other sources for those infections likely included new cases introduced from outside the household, shared initial exposures with the index case, and other already infected contacts within the home.

In the larger, ongoing prospective CASCADIA studyopens in a new tab or window, Amanda Casto, MD, PhD, of the University of Washington in Seattle, and colleagues also used genomic analysis to look at the frequency of simultaneous circulation of multiple viral strains in households.

The investigators analyzed genetic data from weekly nasal swabs from children and adults ages 6 to 49 years in households in Seattle and Portland, Oregon between 2022 and 2024.

Of 1,103 households, 67% had at least one SARS-CoV-2 case, and 24% of households had at least one episode in which two or more participants tested positive. Of these, 7% of episodes involved more than one viral lineage, suggesting multiple introduction events.

"Before the widespread availability of viral genome sequence data, chronologically clustered cases in households were often presumed to be all secondary to intra-household transmission," Casto commented. "Now that genetic data are being integrated into a number of epidemiologic studies, there have been a number of observations of the simultaneous circulation of multiple viral lineages in households within a short time."

Of note, Casto and her colleagues found no association with certain household characteristics, including number of children or people in the household, or household income, which were associated with intra-household transmission.

When more than one viral lineage was present, the investigators also found no association with the presence of any children or children under 5 years of age in the household or with children attending daycare. Nor was there any association with location (i.e., households in Oregon vs Washington), any previous household illness episodes, or households living in apartments versus single-family homes.

What can we take away from these two studies? Household contacts of a person newly diagnosed with COVID-19 are certainly at high risk for SARS-CoV-2 infection in the following weeks. However, this may not only be due to heightened risk of transmission between household members, but also -- perhaps not so surprisingly -- to an overall increase in SARS-CoV-2 transmission in the community where different strains may be circulating.

In other words, "infection within the household can serve as a proxy for broader risk for community transmission, emphasizing importance of public health measures inside and outside the home," Stephenson said.

Casto noted that "in the long run, [genomic data] will really help us refine our understanding of the conditions under which intra-household transmission of respiratory viruses occurs and does not occur."

Studies: jamanetwork.com/journals/jamanetworkopen/article-abstract/2774102 jamanetwork.com/journals/jamanetworkopen/fullarticle/2791601 bmjopen.bmj.com/content/13/7/e071446.long

[nate-gold-66]

Day 7 – Part II “Evaluation Night – PDU-070 & Nate Gold 66: Pre-PDU Review” 🕓 Time Stamp: 21:44 📍Location: Golden Drone Quarter, Evaluation Chamber Delta-3

The golden halls quieted. Silence settled not as absence—but as presence. Inside Chamber Delta-3, the air shimmered with tension and low electro-pulse static.

Nate Gold 66 stood alone in full kit. Jersey clung to him, sweat long dried. “GOLD 66” bold across his back. His bone-conduction receiver glowed faintly. His body was still. His mind, aligned.

Across from him, PDU-070 emerged.

Not walking—arriving. Each step precise. Rubber shining black, trimmed in sharp gold. Masked. Silent. Utterly focused.

Evaluation had begun.

070’s gold optics scanned Nate from neck to heel.

“Unit 66. You executed your day cycle with 97.8% efficiency. You hydrated five units. Synced three breathing formations. Generated two visual propaganda infographs. Distributed four tactical affirmations without speaking. No corrections required. No repetitions requested.”

Nate stood unmoving, but his chest rose with calm breath. Eyes locked forward.

070 paused. Then spoke the critical line:

“This is not a behavior review. This is a threshold analysis.”

The word hung in the still air like voltage.

“Threshold: Conversion Readiness. Status: Pre-PDU Candidate.”

Nate’s jaw tightened slightly. That was his only reaction.

070 stepped forward. It extended its gloved hand and pressed two fingers lightly to Nate’s temple.

“You move like a drone. You signal like a drone. You obey like a drone.”

A beat. A click. A pulse passed from 070’s fingers into Nate’s receiver.

Images flooded his vision—brief, flashing impressions of himself in black rubber. The golden laurel. His number replaced with a designation. The Hive—not the team—at the center of his programming.

His breathing remained slow.

070 withdrew.

“But there is more. To become PDU, you must stop serving the team. You must begin serving the Hive.”

Another beat. Another step closer. 070’s voice softened:

“Can you submit without question?” “Can you move without self?” “Can you listen without ears?”

Silence. Then Nate raised his hand. Formed a closed fist. Tapped it once to his chest. Then held it there.

A pledge. A signal.

“I obey.”

070 didn’t nod. Drones do not praise. It recorded.

Evaluation Outcome: Subject: Nate Gold 66 Signal Strength: Stable Mental Readiness: High Physical Compliance: Confirmed Ego Dissolution: In Progress Status: Cleared for Conversion Queue Awaiting Hive Signal to report for full PDU induction. Assigned Mentor: PDU-125 Supervised by: PDU-070

070 turned. The door opened silently.

“Stand by for further instruction.”

Nate remained still until the door hissed shut.

Then, slowly, he exhaled.

“Do you want to join? Contact our recruiters: @brodygold, @goldenherc9, @polo-drone-001 or @polo-drone-125”

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Day 6

Day 7 Part I

[unwelcome-ozian]

Hi, I was wondering if you have or know of any resources that explain the different types of programming (beta, epsilon, etc)? Thank you!!

Hi, Here is an overview of base programming/programmes. Most other internal programmes will fall under one of these. Base programming is different from Greek programming.

Here’s a link to a document with a list of some internal programmes. LINK

Take Care, Oz

ALPHA-Alpha programming is also called ‘the base personality control.’ Symbolism is used to reinforce programming. The symbols can be found outside the body, such as; hourglasses, white rabbits, monarch butterflies, as well as found in the programming of that individual. The programming for alpha teaches the person triggers, assists in fragmenting the personality, protection programming, logic programming, map of the system, base commands for contacting/calling up of other parts, and the foundation for future programming. (Base program)

BETA-Sexual programming spanning from rigid gender stereotypes on one end of the spectrum (Princess Programming) to hyper-sexualised conduct at the opposite end. Particular programs (and thus commands) are for pornography, acting, oral sex, etc.(porn/sex/BDSM Programming). Beta Programming requires absolute submission from women/men in order for them to perform their tasks. Early sexual torture will be used to anchor programming. These parts will develop sexual abilities that are for the pleasure of others. These parts are programmed to have charm, seductive skills, charisma, and creativity. This Programming ensures the part is lacking sexual inhibitions. (Base program)

GAMMA-Can be system-protection and deception programming which will provide misinformation to outsiders and try to misdirect people by telling half-truths, protecting different internal programming. Gamma parts are trained to sow doubt and confusion about the existence of programmers. This is done by creating a number of misinformation parts, some of which are involved in exposing the group, but they will mix truth with wildly speculative and obviously ridiculous assertions. (Base programming)

DELTA-Is assassin programming and was originally developed for training special agents or elite soldiers (i.e. Delta Force, First Earth Battalion, Mossad, etc.) in covert operations. Optimal adrenal output and controlled aggression is evident. Subjects are devoid of fear and very systematic in carrying out their assignment. Self-destruct or suicide instructions are layered in at this level.

EPSILON-Is the programming of animal parts into the child, which is thought to be the key to paranormal or superhuman abilities. (Spiritual programming) Type 3 Epsilon Programming-A base-level obedience programme the individual is programmed to their primal components of food, shelter, and water. Epsilon Programming elements are often added to other forms of programming.

THETA-Psychic programming correlates with the development and use of extrasensory powers and extra physical abilities, including long-distance mind connection with other remote viewing where part’s could see what an individual is doing in another location. It also implies the use of thought energy to kill someone at a distance. Paranormal ability known as "remote scanning", the ability of some humans to locate objects or envision events in remote geographical areas of which they have no prior knowledge. Cortical theta waves are frequent in children. In older children and adults, theta waves appear during meditative, drowsy, hypnotic or sleeping states. (Base Programming)

OMEGA-Self-destruct programming. The corresponding behaviours include suicidal tendencies and/or self-mutilation. This program is generally activated when the victim/survivor begins therapy or interrogation and too much memory is being recovered.

[msn-04iinightingale]

Contact

Helios

Langogne

0200 Hours

The SLDF hover APC thrummed along what passed for a road this far from civilization, the winter storm buffeting the hovercraft this way and that. 

Lt. Charles Strebeck watched the 3d tac map from his position in the troop section of the multi ton machine. He and his platoon of 25 troopers had been sent to the town of Langogne on orders from command. 

Apparently they had intercepted a high level tightbeam communication from Word of Blake Forces, directed out here. 

Why, they did not know, but that’s what he was supposed to find out. He had 25 men and women, a hover APC, and, thudding along beside them, an SLDF Kit Fox piloted by Corporal Irma Hoyle, serving as the recon group’s heavy punch.

Not that he expected anything needed that much of a punch. Langogne wasn’t so much of a town as it was a village, nestled away in the mountainous forests of Helios, along the River Coen. And yet, this was the location of the message’s endpoint. More specifically, after reckoning the town proper, an abandoned church outside of town. It had taken some doing getting that out of the locals. None of them seemed keen on talking to the armed soldiers about it. Most had remained silent, and those that spoke had crossed themselves in a curious, furtive manner, and even then spoke sparingly. Still, it was enough to key the hunting party to their destination.

“Coming up on the target now, Lt. Strebeck.” said the driver over the comms.

Charles nodded, and addressed the four squads of SLDF infantry.

“Alright boys and girls, ready up. Time to see what the Word thinks is so important way the hell out here that warrants a senior ROM commander level encryption.”

He was greeted by twenty five “Sir yes sir’s!” and all present prepping their kit for a quick deployment.

A grin creased his weathered face. He triggered the comms to their heavy metal escort.

“Hear that mech jock?”

“Roger that, PBI, I’ll try to watch my step.” came the teasing reply. Her voice carried that sultry hint that likely wooed a good number of men.

He liked Hoyle, she was a competent mechwarrior, and a bit of a flirt, if he was honest. The two had worked together more than once in this operation, ferreting out Blakist elements that went to ground in the wake of the invasion. 

“Just make sure we don’t have any unpleasant heavy metal surprises.”

He received the double click of affirmation in response. At the same time, he felt the hovercraft slow, timed perfectly with the message he received from the driver.

“We’re at the target now, Lt. Good hunting.”

Charles grunted in reply and keyed the squad comms as the troop compartment hatches popped open, the green light bathing the interior now an angry red.

“Alright people, let’s move like we got a purpose! Go, go, go!”

The soldiers filed out like a well oiled machine, each squad of five splitting off to cover each other. Charles followed, Mauser 960 to his shoulder, slotting into Delta squad in perfect unison. The target, was a church, stone and local wood, it looked largely abandoned. Even so, there were signs of occupation. For one, the snow had been cleared recently, and he spied several sets of hassle covered footprints being filled with that same snow. 

He’d have to follow those up, but first, secure the area.

“Squad Alpha and Bravo, move up, Charlie and Delta, cover.” he whispered into the comms, receiving the double non verbal click of confirmation. The Alpha and Bravo moved up, Charlie and Delta covering the woods and the entrance and small windows of the church. 

—

In the woods, Cpl. Hoyle took up position, her Kit Fox hunkering down into a crouch to lower its profile, scanning for any possible concealed armor and mechs that may have been left behind as a trap. Her sensors showed all clear, with some interference from the church. She keyed the squad comms.

“Head’s up, can’t see into the church, but the woods are clear.”

“Roger, stay frosty” came the reply from Lt. Strebeck.

Irma resumed her sensor sweeps. Overhead, a full moon peeped through the winter storm clouds, then was gone in an instant. 

She shivered slightly. Not from the cold, the cockpit of her Kit Fox was pleasantly warm, but from… something… something she couldn’t place. Her eyes scanned the woods through the cockpit canopy. She had the niggling feeling that something was out there. Like the feeling you get walking alone in the woods, of unseen eyes watching you from all around. 

She recalled once on her homeworld, she had ventured out into the family farm’s cornfield at night when she was small. It had been a stupid decision, looking back. She could have gotten lost, or, god forbid, one of the local predators could have been using the corn as a place to bed down. An unlikely event but still. Nothing came of the adventure, however. She had run back inside after less than five minutes. Of course, there had been nothing there with her in the corn, just the childish fears of the dark and the unknown.

Still…

Irma checked the sensors again. 

Still nothing.

“Ugh, this place gives me the creeps…” she said to herself, watching the dark woods.

—

They waited with the stillness and patience of the dead.

It had been two hours since they had been activated. By their estimates, based on the weather and the physical records of the personnel stationed at the outpost, the three allies had most likely made it to and possible, across the river by now. With some luck, they would be picked up by loyal forces and shepherded to safety.

They turned their attention back to the enemy contacts. Across the side of their vision, information began to scroll by as they begin to assess the situation, mechanical eyes taking in as much information as possible.

/INITIATE SCAN

/SCANNING

/TARGETS IDENTIFIED

/INFANTRY - 25

/APC - HOVER - 1

/OMIMECH - KIT FOX - PRIME - 1

/INFANTRY KIT SCANNING…

/MINIMAL CYBERNETIC ENHANCEMENTS

/CLAN COPPER BASED BODY ARMOR

/CLANTECH MILITARY COMMUNICATOR, IR GOGGLES, RANGEFINDER, NIGHT VISION, HC MICRO POWER PACK

/MAUSER 960 RIFLE VARIANT - 20

/DISPOSABLE SRM LAUNCHERS - 5

/GRENADE LAUNCHER - 40MM - DRUM MAGAZINE - ANTIPERSONNEL AND HE ROUNDS - 5

/ASSORTED SIDEARMS AND CQC WEAPONS

/ASSESSING OP-FOR THREAT LEVEL

/…

/…

/…

/THREAT LEVEL: MINIMAL

/ENGAGE AT OWN DISCRETION

They had their orders however. They would see them done.

They continued to wait, passive sensors tracking the infantry troops as they closed in on the church.

—

Lt. Strebeck pushed into the building along with Delta and Charlie, the squads sweeping the lifeless pews and alter expertly. The chapel lead off in two ways, one, looking to lead to living quarters fro whatever priest used to manage this place, and the other, down, into what he supposed was a crypt.

He motioned for two squads to search the other rooms, while he took his own and Charlie down below. The air was thick and heavy. It smelled old, with the scents of burnt plastic and metal present as well, growing stronger as they descended.

Above, he knew Alpha and Bravo were sweeping the rooms. If there were any hostiles, they would find them.

The Charlie and Delta defended the stairs, past a heavy duty blast door. Whoever had been here had neglected to close it, likely, because they left in a hurry. The room beyond held a great deal of equipment, most if not all of it wrecked. Extensive fire and thermal damage made it impossible to tell what any of it was at first glance.

“Guessing thermite charges, sir.” said the leader of Charlie, Sgt. Teijo Oda. “Scrap what they couldn’t take with them.”

“Aff, start checking the equipment, see if you can get an idea of what…all this was.” Strebeck said, gesturing to the smoldering equipment.

“Hai, Lt.” Teijo replied, ordering his squad to start checking the wreckage, not just for what it might be, but for any potential boobytraps the Word might have left behind. They’d almost lost good people to IED’s and other more “creative” devices.

Charles toggled the comms for Alpha and Bravo.

“Alpha and Bravo, this is Delta Actual, report-“ he began, wincing slightly at the squeal of static over the comm bead at his ear.

“Alpha Actual-….reading-….interference-….personnel quarters-….comm unit sma-….”

“Say again Alpha Actual, getting significant interference my end.”

Charles toyed with the frequency of his communicator.

“Alpha Actual here, having t-…reading you, getting some inter-…. our end, found personnel quarters, recently aband-….found comms unit smashed-…quick job, in a hurry my g-….” came the voice of Sgt. Justin Navarro. It was better, but still.

“Delta Actual, reading you, regroup in the chapel and secure the area.”

“Roger that.”

He looked around the crypt of ruined equipment. It didn’t look like much of anything. Not enough for any really important equipment that he knew of. But something here was worth a communication directly from Word HQ.

Charles felt a growing unease creep into his gut. Something was wrong. He toggled the platoon wide comms.

—

The squads had broken up, into two groups of two.

Smart, that way each group could cover and support the other, with the Omnimech outside to support if need be.

Not smart enough.

As the two squads searching the personnel quarters returned to the chapel, they at last, moved.

–

Sgt. Justin Navarro lead Alpha into the chapel, followed by Bravo behind them, again, sweeping the room. 

All clear. 

God this place was fucking weird. Since they had entered this damned church, he had felt his skin crawl. The sooner they were outside the better.

As Bravo moved in to secure the entrance to the chapel, and he directed Alpha to watch the way they came from, he paused. 

A noise, soft, barely audible, but it had been there.

It had come from…

Above.

He looked up, swinging his rifle up as he did. 

His eyes grew wide at what he saw.

“CONTACT!” was all he had time to yell before it was on them.

–

Charles’s head snapped around towards the stairs. 

He had heard Sgt. Navarro yell.

He also heard the distinctive whine and pulse of laser fire.

And screaming.

“Charlie and Delta, with me!” he shouted to the two squads he was with. Without question, they formed up and began charging up the stairs.

“Alpha and Bravo squads, report, what is the nature of the contact?!” he yelled over the comms. He only received the sounds of screaming and laser fire in return.

It only took a handful of seconds to mount the stairs back to the chapel. The scene that greeted them was straight out of a nightmare. 

Alpha was down. All of them. Blood, and parts of them, were everywhere. And Bravo was…

Something was killing his men. 

A shape, half shadow half something that flickered between church wall and stained glass, was in the middle of the squad. 

He watched as it effortlessly cut one of the soldiers trying to bring their rifle to bear in half, the distinct whine of a vibro blade audible from where he stood. It was so fast, the trooper didn’t seem to realize anything was wrong immediately until they fell in two. In the time it took for their body to hit the stone floor, the thing had lunged and grabbed another soldier, closing the distance and knocking their grenade launcher away with ease.

There was a crack, and the soldier was tossed aside, bent in half at the waist the wrong way.

Sgt. Lene Dalgaard, leader of Bravo, was firing full auto one handed at the thing as it turned to her. Her other hand was gone, still gripping the combat harness of a now headless soldier at her feet. 

The enemy seemed to flow this way and that, like smoke. If any of the laser pulses made contact it didn’t show.

An arm flicked out, and Lene died. She fell like a puppet with cut strings, a smoking hole in her forehead from the bright red laser pulse that shot from the arm.

The shape of the thing solidified. 

It was robbed in black that seemed to swallow what light there was in the room. And tall. Easily over 2 meters at it straighten up.

Then it turned to look at them.

Twin pinpoints of red light regarded them from the black eye sockets of the leering metal skull of a monstrous wolf. It tilted its head slightly.

‘Fire! Light the bastard up!” Charles forced out.

The men and women under his command obeyed, fingers depressing triggers to send a blizzard of green laser pulses through the air.

The air through where the enemy had just been standing. It had darted out of the way, seemingly at the same time as they had begun firing. It was just a blur now, as it jinked this way and that at inhuman speeds, scaling the walls and support pillars of the chapel as the lasers chased it this way and that.

“Grenades! Before it can close!” Charles shouted, as the thing landed in the middle of the butchered squads, before leaping back to a wall to escape the barrage again. 

It threw something at them before ducking behind a column. 

The upper half of one of Bravo’s soldiers collided with one of Charlie squad, knocking them down. Charles registered dimly that it was one of the soldiers assigned to support weapon duty. Mauser 960 rifle, and a disposable…

SRM

“Scatter! Enemy launcher!” he shouted, just as the thing darted out of cover, the bulky shape of a launcher over its shoulder. 

The cough of the launcher was lost in the roar of the missile impacting between Charlie and Delta, tossing men and woman around like rag dolls and sending stone and fire snickering through the room. 

Charles was knocked several meters through the air, landing heavily in the midst of ruined pews, knocking the air out of him. 

He blacked out. 

When he opened his eyes again, everything was spinning, smoke and fire, and ringing.

“….fuck…” he croaked, forcing himself up on his hands and knees. The Clan Copper of his armor and helmet had saved him from the worst, but he was still in a bad way. 

He felt the broken rib floating in his chest.

Shaking his head to clear it, he reached for his sidearm, his rifle last somewhere in the chaos.

Then he saw it. It was casually walking down the chapel towards him, skeletal face leering at him. It looked like it was grinning at him.

Bastard.

Charlie raised his pistol, intending on going down fighting.

Movement from behind it caught his eye. The stone dust and blood covered shape of Sgt. Oda lunged from the smoke, vibro-katana in hand, swinging the blade to decapitate the monster. Beside him, another soldier, one from Delta, ran at the thing with the vibro-bayonet of his rifle deployed. 

It spun, meeting both blades in a shower of sparks, multi segmented blades like those of some kind of insect deflecting the blows, the howl of vibro blades meeting echoing through the chapel.

“Sir! Get out of here!” shouted Teijo, blade clashing again and again with the thing’s own.

Charles blinked, before forcing his screaming body to its feet. A proper weapon, he needed-

There, he spotted one of the fallen Mauser rifles, and staggered over to it. He knew Tejio and the other soldier wouldn’t last long. Uncoordinated hands grabbed the weapon, checking the battery and grenade launcher load. The battery was gone, the feed mechanism warped, but the grenade…

Would have to do.

He spun in time to see Tejio die. He had been run through by the thing, twin blades piercing through his chest armor with ease. At its feet, the other soldier lay dead, rifle and body split cleanly in two.

Tejio snarled through bloodied teeth, and in a sudden movement, thrust his own blade forward towards the things torso. This last desperate act of defiance, was thwarted with a shower of sparks, as yet another arm lashed out from within the things robes, parrying the blade.

The thing cocked its head to the side, and flung its arms wide, letting the body of Tejio fall in a heap at its feet.

Charlie shouldered the rifle, and fired the underslung grenade launcher.

The grenade detonated at its feet, the resulting explosion kicking up obscuring clouds of smoke and stone dust.

Charles let himself sag slightly to his knees again. 

That was-

The smoke started to clear, a tall, dark shape began to resolve itself…twin points of red light stared out at him, followed by the grinning skull.

Charles sighed, heavily. Of course it wouldn’t be enough.

He switched comm lines, picking up his pistol and unsheathing his combat knife.

“Hoyle, mission is FUBAR…total platoon losses…” he said, calmly, watching the thing as it closed on him leisurely. “Need you to bring down the building”

“Wha-…Come again, you-“ she started

“Just do it Hoyle!” he barked at her.

He pried the helmet off his head, and tossed it away.

“…just…what the fuck are you?” he rasped at the thing that had butchered his people.

It cocked its head, as if considering the response.

Before it could respond, the world exploded in fire and noise.

–

Adept Marie Dufresne turned back the way they had came, pausing as she stepped from the small inflatable raft on the far bank of the River Coen. Acolyte Gilabert noticed her pause.

“Adept, is something wrong?” he asked, looking up at her from where he stood holding the raft in place. Acolyte Nistor sat on the bank, panting heavily. The crossing had not been easy, and they had all had to help man the small inflatable craft. It was lucky they made it at all.

“Listen” she replied.

Over the wind, came the sounds of mech scale weapons fire, back in the direction of Langogne.

–

Irma’s fingers held down the trigger on her controls, sending Autocannon shells, lasers, and SRMs into the building, 

She knew Charles, knew he wouldn’t make that call without good reason.

Still, it was hard to do it, as she watched the church crumble and burn.

“Jesus christ, what the hell Corporal?!” came th driver of the APC.

Something, a shape, darted from the building. Her targeting systems tried to track it, but slid from it, as if it refused to target it.

“What the-“

The shape was already to the APC by the time she opened the comms.

Before she spoke, she heard the driver speak again.

“What, what the- oh JESUS FUC-“ 

The voice devolved into a scream of panic and pain, which abruptly cut off.

What the fuck, what the fuck is going on?!

She turned her mech to face the hover APC, just as something…the thing from before, pulled itself out of the open hatch.

“Oh fuck, what the fuck?!” she blurted, toggling her weapons and swinging the mechs arms to fire. She opened up again, firing everything at the nightmare that had crawled out.

The APC detonated in a rumbling billowing fireball, unable to take the omnimech’s firepower.

Did she get it?

She had to have.

Nothing, not even Battle Armor could withstand that much punishment.

She tried to remember, she had seen it go up with the APC.

Right?

Something clanged against the closed hatch of her mech.

Oh no.

She threw the controls of her mech to the side, hoping to shake…whatever was out there off. She swung the arms of her mech down, trying to swat the thing from her mech before-

The hatch gave way with a shriek of metal.

It started to crawl inside.

She screamed, grabbing for something, anything, to stop the leering thing from getting too her. She grabbed the pistol at her hip, and started to fire.

The rounds sparked and flashed off the things metal skull. It grinned at her.

Her other hand found the ejection lever, as her sidearm clicked empty.

Irma yanked on the lever, the ejection system of her omnimech firing, explosive bolts of her canopy detonating and launching her through the disintegrating canopy.

She was still screaming as she hit the canopy of trees above the small mech, and the world went black.

–

0300 Hours

The villagers hid in their houses.

They had warned the soldiers not to go up to the old church.

They had heard the sounds, the shooting, the explosions.

Now they watched as the battlemech they had seen go with the soldiers, walk back through town, unhurried.

There had been a terrible evil there.

Now, it was free.

The Kit Fox headed off, back the way the soldiers had originally come.

Toward Coen. And the SLDF.

–

0630 Hours

The figure trudged through the snow, one foot infront of the other. 

Beaten and bloody, they walked on, empty pistol in a limp hand. Mechanically, they walked, numb to the cold, the world, to everything. 

One foot in front of the other.

It had taken the figure an hour to reach the outskirts of Langogne, ignoring the handful of villagers that had tried to help them.

All that mattered was one foot in front of the other.

[a-minke-whales-tale]

Whale Suit Thermal Considerations

One important consideration in the engineering of a whale suit which would allow me to swim is thermal management: how do we properly maintain temperature of the human body within the suit. If the heat flux is too high, then hypothermia is inevitable, too low, and overheating will occur.

First, how much heat energy do I produce? One thing to note is that metabolic activity is not constant throughout the day. Using METs (Metabolic Equivalent of Tank).

There is some dispute over the exact formula for METs, as well as if rest is 1 MET as defined, or is actually closer to 0,95. Using the equation kcal = weight * METs * time(hr), we can estimate roughly how many kilocalories are expended in a given timeframe. 'q' or heat flux is estimated using a Schlich Approximation of 1,7m2. When compared to other values this does produce a higher result at a rest than a RMR (resting metabolic rate) calculator, with a difference of around 10-20%. One thing to note is that the estimations of METs are guesses based off given data of walking humans. It is uncertain what amount of energy would actually be produced for a given swim speed, this will have to be measured at some point in the future, it is however likely the project would go through multiple full body suits before having one suitable.

Note that heat from the sun will be ignored for this as A) much of a whales time would be spent under water and so the amount of time in direct sunlight is minimal and B) even when surfaced the sun is going to do much more work heating up the water that nearly the whole body would be submerged in.

Second, what means do we have to remove heat? There are two realistically, the expulsion of air combined with evaporation of the tongue (this is how a dog cools down), or convection and conduction with the sea. Humans are not designed to cool via their tongue and the energy losses from heating of air is negligible (~1,5W). Taking this then the primary means of cooling is surface cooling. In order to cool at the surface the heat must first conduct from the body, through the silicone, and then convect into the surrounding water. In this case as the skin and the silicone are in direct contact with each other and so are the same temperature.

Using these sets of equations we can define the heat transfer in any part of the system.

In this system only a few things are really controllable: delta T (that is the temperature difference between the surface skin and the sea), the thickness of the skin, velocity, and conductivity. A sea temperature of 10 C (roughly the temperature captive Orca are kept at) was initially selected however this was later increased to 15 C as the resting skin temperature would become uncomfortably cold. This is, conveniently, a temperature more suited to Minke whales as will be seen at the end of this post.

Base silicone has a conductivity of roughly 0,16 W/mK and produces the following result.

Note that here the thickness is quite thin, roughly 16 millimetres. This thickness really is not suitable for making a human body into sufficiently whale shaped. Also take note that though heat transfer coefficient of convection (h) is much much larger than that of conduction (k). This means the value of U is almost entirely dominated solely by conduction such that speed is not a variable we can meaningfully use to control temperature.

Silicone can however have a number of fillers incorporated into it. Google will note that the maximum conduction of a filled silicone is 0,4 W/mK, however other papers using carbon nanoparticles not values of up to 8,4 W/mK. In this case a maximum value of 1 W/mK was selected. Significantly higher values can be achieved, however this will result in significantly thicker segments which would be harder to deform and the nanoparticles are likely to somewhat disrupt the elastomer structure creating essentially billions of tiny fractures in the system which could accelerate a fatigue failure.

As thickness and conduction are effectively fixed once a part is built, the only means to control rate of heat expulsion is to adjust the skin temperature. At a normal Minke travel speed of around 5kph this should produce a skin temperature in the range of 30-31 degrees in most places which should be comfortable. However at higher swimming speeds than 10kph it is likely I would overheat quite quickly without a good means to cool down. Fortunately the body is able to move blood around to allow for that variation of skin temperature, however it is likely that some places like the arms will want an increased conductivity over the standard q value to allow for the body to more effectively cool itself. Even so, without some sort of active cooling such as a variable geometry from ram pressure, any sustained high energy expenditure is likely to lead to overheating. This would be a significant problem if in the wild as I would be effectively unable to flee from Orca as chases generally last multiple hours at high speeds, though to be honest given my current body configuration, even in a hydrodynamic suit it is unlikely I would escape Orca regardless.

Out of curiosity I did plot out what a suitable migration pattern might look like for myself if indeed somehow I could survive in the sea, and do so for an extended period in which I would maintain in 15 degree water.

The blue dotted line would represent a more pelagic route, one realistically more likely to be taken by other whales. The purple is a more littoral route mainly that it would make navigation easier following the coast with fewer large sea crossings, though it is of course much longer and passes through much more crowded shipping areas. It would also be possible to go all the way to Norway however this would represent another large sea crossing, and it would likely significantly increase the energy expenditure of the trip nearly doubling the length of the migration and cutting time much more closely during the summer months.

This curiously maps very well to Minke migration patterns in both location and time.

The Spain to Scotland route is one of a number of possible migration solutions. There exist similar options in the west north Atlantic, as well as the north Pacific. However the Europe route generally offers the lowest temperature gradient in position and time reducing the likelihood of thermal problems. There are some Southern routes, however these generally have even greater gradients. There is one exception to this which is Tasmania for which the temperatures are regularly quite stable, however, [dwarf] Minke Whales are not commonly seen there. But there may be a resident group of Pygmy Right Whales, for which we have quite little information on, and in truth, though I depict myself as a North Atlantic Minke Whale, I do not honestly know if that is accurate owing to the lack of available information on Pygmy Right Whales (and for that matter Minke Whales).

In any likelihood my return to the water would not be to a sea, but to a tank. However seeing that, if indeed somehow I could survive out there, there are places with other whales I could go and be with, does bring to me some amount of comfort. It also more importantly confirms that it should be feasible to passively manage the heat in such a whalesuit and is a step further in being able to fix what was done to me, so that someday I may return to the water and swim forever.

~Kala

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

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The year’s long-awaited Perseid meteor shower will be accompanied by a graceful planetary conjunction. It’s well worth staying up all night to watch.

The Perseid meteor shower, a celestial event eagerly awaited by millions of skywatchers around the world, is about to make its annual return to the night sky. The shower is predicted to reach its peak the morning of Monday, August 12th, but viewers should plan to start looking for meteors at nightfall on Sunday, August 11th. In a dark site away from light pollution, at the peak of the shower, observers might see one meteor per minute!

Light from the Moon, which will be just shy of first quarter, will somewhat affect viewing before midnight. “But as the Moon sets before midnight local time, the rest of the night is primed for perfect viewing circumstances,” says Diana Hannikainen, Sky & Telescope’s Observing Editor.

Begin watching for meteors soon after evening twilight ends on the evening of August 11th. By then the shower’s radiant — its perspective point of origin in the constellation Perseus — has risen above the northeastern horizon. The few Perseids that appear this early will be spectacularly long “earthgrazers” that skim along the top of the atmosphere. The higher the radiant, the more meteors you’ll see — so when Perseus climbs higher in the northeast, especially after midnight, more meteors should appear all over the sky.

Given the timing of the peak, you’ll have a second chance for observing on the evening of Monday, August 12th, and into the early morning of August 13th. In fact, the Perseids are a long-lived event, and you should see meteors — though fewer in number — for several nights before and after its predicted peak.

How to Watch

To enjoy the Perseids, you need no equipment but your eyes — binoculars and telescopes show too small an area of sky to be useful for meteor-watching. Find a dark spot away from bright lights with a wide-open view all around if possible.

You’ll want to make yourself comfortable to fully enjoy the show — craning your neck for many hours can ruin your experience. Bring a reclining lawn chair or picnic blanket so you can lie back. Bundle up in blankets or a sleeping bag, both for mosquito shielding and for warmth; clear nights can grow surprisingly chilly, even in August.

Once you’re comfortable, be patient and let your eyes adapt to the darkness. Give yourself at least 20 minutes before expecting to see multitudes of meteors. “And do resist looking at your phone during this time — or at any time during the night — because the harsh, bright light from the screen will wash away whatever dark adaptation you’ve built up,” says Hannikainen.

“Shooting stars” can appear anywhere and everywhere in the sky, so you don’t have to look toward the radiant to see them. The best direction to watch is wherever your sky is darkest, usually straight up. Faint Perseids appear as tiny, quick streaks. Occasional brighter ones might sail across the sky for several seconds and leave a brief train of glowing smoke.

When you see a meteor, trace its path back to its origin. If you eventually come to the constellation Perseus (see the accompanying sky chart), you’ve just witnessed a Perseid. Occasionally, you might spot an interloper. The weaker Delta Aquariid, Alpha Capricornid, and Kappa Cygnid showers are also active during Perseid season, and there are always a few random meteors too. All of these come from other parts of the sky. It’s a fun exercise to trace meteors back to their radiants: If the tracks don’t lead you to Perseus, they aren’t Perseids!

“The main thing that would hamper enjoyment of the spectacle would be clouds or light pollution,” Hannikainen cautions. Only the brightest meteors shine through light pollution (though usually not through clouds). But there’s good news for those in light-polluted areas: A NASA analysis of all-sky images taken from 2008 to 2013 shows that the Perseids deliver more bright meteors (those that outshine any star) than any other annual meteor shower.

How and Why

Meteors are caused by tiny, sandgrain- to pea-size bits of dusty debris striking the top of Earth’s atmosphere that burn up more than 50 miles (80 km) above the ground. The average Perseid zips in at 37 miles per second, glowing as it burns to soot and creating a quick, white-hot streak of superheated air. The nuggets in Grape Nuts cereal are a close match to the estimated size, color, and texture of typical meteor-shower particles.

The Perseid bits were shed long ago by Comet Swift-Tuttle and are distributed all along the comet’s orbital path around the Sun. Earth passes through this tenuous “river of rubble” every year in mid-August. The comet is so named because it was independently discovered by Lewis Swift and Horace Parnell Tuttle in July 1862.

Mars and Jupiter Meet in the Morning

The celestial spectacle doesn’t stop with the Perseids. In the early morning hours of Wednesday, August 14th, Jupiter and Mars will be really close on the sky — less than ½° apart. How close is that? Well, if you stretch your hand out to arm’s length, the apparent distance between the two planets would span less than half the width of your little finger. That’s close, and well worth staying up late or getting up early to see. (We should note, though, that even though the two will appear right next to each other on the sky, they’ll actually still be separated by more than 300 million miles, or 500 million km.)

The planets will still be very close in the mornings preceding and those following August 14th, so if you’re clouded out on the date of closest conjunction, it’s well worth the effort to catch this sight on one of the other mornings. The two planets will look slightly farther apart — a little more than twice the distance — on the morning of the peak of the Perseids. What better way to crown a night of meteor-watching than with the delightful sight of the conjunction of brilliant Jupiter and ruddy Mars!  

To take in this view, face east-northeast — that’s approximately in the direction where the Sun rises at this time of year at mid-northern latitudes. No equipment is required to enjoy this sight — in fact the unaided-eye view is the most pleasing, as the planetary duo nestles between the horns of Taurus, the celestial Bull, with the Pleiades star cluster not far to the upper right and orangey Aldebaran to their right. If you have a pair of binoculars lying around, pointing them at Jupiter will reveal the planet’s four largest moons.

No matter what sight you take in, between the Perseids and the planets there’ll be plenty to enjoy!

Read more on this year’s Perseids in the August 2024 issue of Sky & Telescope and on S&T's website.

[princesscolumbia]

So about the musical episode...

This is specifically geared to "Subspace Rhapsody," which if you haven't watched it shame on you go now and watch go go go go!!!

So by the end of the ep everything goes back to normal and it turns out the real musical ensemble was the friends we made along the way etc., but what if it didn't?!

Yes, there'd be immediate consequences; highly classified secrets getting out, relationships starting and ending, etc.

But humans adapt, and since the other species in the galaxy are the same kind of "fuck you, I'm surviving!" results of evolution, they'd all adapt, too.

First off, the big one: It'd be like that post where somehow Anakin and Obi-wan can hear the musical score an realize Palpatine is a sith lord; the bad guys would be outed, like, the SECOND their musical number started up. Khan would have been identified before the Enterprise even finished scanning the Botony Bay, the Prime Directive would have to get a big 'ol asterisk pointing to a clause describing the specific mathematical properties of different types of music the crew can expect to hear when approaching a potential first contact. Science experiments would be (metaphorically) killed on the spot because the "mad scientist" theme would start playing.

But a century on? Well, everyone would have adapted...

The Vulcans would have come up with an entirely new discipline; Rhythmic Logic. Rather akin to rap, it'd be syncopated speaking with periodic inflections to denote emphasis on certain points, and the passive aggressive sass levels would be off the CHARTS. Counterintuitive to most Vulcan training for centuries, to properly learn and master this new discipline, the Vulcans would need to induce moments of high emotion to properly initiate the musical triggering conditions, but once started their logic and ability to freestyle would then be put to use to focus and direct the song.

Andorians would be less about the singing and more about choreography. Their troop movements would be works of martial art and their ability to synchronize with each other during operations (any operation, whether medical, business, black-ops, etc.) would be legendary throughout the galaxy. When xenoanthropologists start proposing theories, the truth is swiftly buried for the sanity of the galaxy; since the "musical universe" is based on human musicals, Andorian affinity for good choreography is rooted in figure skating.

Tellarites would unabashedly embrace Weird Al as a sort-of prophet/god once they figured out that parody is the sincerest form of insult. Whatever musical number you're performing, the Tellarites will ride on top of it and twist it in crass ways until the song they sing drowns out whatever they're parodying and is considered the superior work. This, amusingly, results in relations between Tellar and Earth to improve as "bards" of both races across every strata of society compete to see who can make the better parody.

Romulans would lean into the villain pieces, like, unironically. Go to a diplomatic party on Romulus and you're beset by a massive orchestral work of interweaving harmonies as a melody of every big number and quiet ballad are melded together in a symphony of intrigue, emotion, politics, and betrayal. Yes, there's good Romulans, but because their music is JUST as "villainous" as the heroes, it's nearly impossible to tell them apart. Somewhat ironically, it's That One Romulan who only sings spritely songs in a major key that turns out to be the baddest, most lethal Romulan of all.

Klingon society would fracture into new houses based on musical style. The "Old Guard" would be the Klingons who break out into Klingon Opera on the regular. K-pop would be known for being vicious berserkers. Shakespere may be beloved by the Klingons, but the Soviet Anthems would become THE way to unify the Klingons during the "cold war" era.

Once the effect stretched into the Delta Quadrant (nobody in the quadrant knows why they've suddenly started breaking into song, and it isn't until well after Voyager returns home that someone in a university history department is given access to the full history of the Borg's interaction with Starfleet that they realize that it was Q launching the Enterprise D into the Delta Quadrant that created the contact), the Hirogen would come to be known for their absolutely epic power-metal ballads. Their "hunting axes" would become some variety of electric guitar almost overnight.

Because Voyager's crew had grown up with the "random" musicals, Voyager has a leg up on the entire Delta Quadrant, further solidifying Janeway as an unmitigated badass when she uses her absolute mastery of the musical forms to kick ass in every genre.

Cultures that had been introduced to warp flight badly (turns out the Federation had the right idea with the Prime Directive, just not for reasons that anyone could have ever predicted) can always be identified as being...cut rate. It'd be like going from a Broadway Musical production of Hamilton to encountering that one "Christian" production where they butchered the lyrics and the "b-list" actors were the best they could get.

Cardasians would be all about the martial themes. Even their counterculture movements would be all about the percussion-heavy 4:4 musical numbers.

Bajorans would be split between Broadway Musical-style numbers that seem to take inspiration from plays like "West Side Story" and Epic Battle Hymns sung by every Bajoran involved in a given conflict that reach deep into your soul and make you feel simultaneously victorious and deeply sad for reasons you can't quite identify.

The Borg would be EDM for some reason. Nobody is quite sure why.

Even the species that sent the whale probe in the 23rd century wouldn't be spared. Dubstep...dubstep everywhere!

Section 31 and the Tal Shiar would be in a black-ops weapons race to see who can weaponize the musicals the most effectively.

Time travelers would have a blast. Turns out the big reason for the Temporal Cold War was to stop a massive Temporal Prime Directive violating wave of time tourists who just want to go back to a time before musicals were a fact of life. Mariner and Boimler wouldn't even realize they hadn't broken out into song once until they returned to the 24th century.

Humans would be driving everyone nuts. A species that had adapted to using Rent-style musical numbers to form social collectives that were so "in-crowd" that nobody else could even think of joining would suddenly find this one asshole human that picked up on it and was fitting in perfectly. Klingon slasher ballads would be met with children's cartoon bubbly pop music. Andorians would be simultaneously overjoyed at having companions that could work so perfectly with them and appalled that another species dared to get on the ice with them.

The only beings immune to the whole thing would be the Q. The reason Q was the one interacting with Picard? He's the only Q that can stand the whole universe turning into a musical! He's "the band nerd" in Q high school, the one that'll break into a situationally appropriate musical hit number from that one Broadway play when nobody wants to hear you singing Q! Q doesn't have to sing like the lesser species, but by golly he WANTS to and he's GONNA!

[featherxquill]

The real resolutions were the dogs and cats we met along the way...

So, this time last year, @eunyisadoran asked me if I had any New Year's Resolutions. I said no because I'm lazy and I don't really do that, at which point she asked me whether I'd ever thought of silly, light-hearted resolutions - like she once had a friend who resolved to buy and taste any unfamiliar fruit they came upon in a shop or market. When she said this, I immediately thought of one - how many dogs and cats could I meet in a year?

So I set myself some parameters and some goals. Parameters: I had to be meeting said dog or cat for the first time. 'Meet' included physical contact of some kind - a pat, a sniff, etc. Some sort of interaction. Goals: Because it was 2024, I decided that I waned to meet 24 dogs. Then I halved the number to 12 for cats (one per month), because cats are harder to meet (my own cats wouldn't want a bar of me if I wasn't me - they're terrified of strangers). I set up a list in my notes app so I could record each new dog or cat I met, and recorded names and breeds where I could. I also took photos where I could.

In the end, my stats were excellent! In 2024, I met 53 dogs and 17 cats, with my goal helped along by attending a few events on days out with my mum - a local event for me that was called 'Worst in Show' and was kind of like a joke dog show with cute/silly prizes for things like 'waggiest tail' and 'best lookalike dog + owner', and also the Sydney Cat Lovers Festival in August.

Also, yes, I took pictures! Where I could, anyway. I didn't want to be invasive and didn't always want to explain myself, so although it was harder to meet cats than dogs, it was actually easier to get pictures of cats because they're usually on their own (or you're at a cat lovers event where everyone is taking pictures).

But here is a selection of pictures that I took:

First, the cats:

Here are a few from the local boarding place that I booked mine in at twice last year. The resident cat (top left) is called Fluffy:

A few local residents I had the pleasure to meet. The boy top left is called Gavin, which is an objectively awesome person name for a cat, and the bottom two counted as 'meets' because I discovered that my local pet store (who periodically have cats available for adoption) has a cat enclosure with a tiny hole in the bottom right hand side, in which one can fit a finger, In both cases these kittens were very interested:

A couple of pictures I took at the Cat Lover's Festival. I think left is an American Curl, and right a Devon Rex:

Now, doggos! A selection from Worst in Show. I don't have names but I do remember that the Great Dane in top left had been decorated for halloween, and still had the faint outline of a pumpkin on her side:

And here's a few good boys and girls I met out and about. Bottom right is my dad's new companion, Delta, who he adopted mid-year after losing his two old boys:

Anyway, yeah. A++ new year's resolution, do reccommend!

This year, my resolution is to take a photo at each new place I visit (definition of 'place' is nebulous, but I'll try and stick to the spirit of it!)

[fishability]

I'm working on my graduate thesis at Delta State University (fear the Fighting Okra!) and I'm looking adults with disabilities to take part in an online survey. The survey will probably take 15-20 minutes to complete and it's about how social friction is perceived in interactions between disabled and able-bodied people. So if you're 18 or older and self-identify as disabled or partially-disabled, I would love to hear from you on the survey:

"Let Me Get That For You": Analyzing Frictional Situations in a Disability Context (via Google Forms)

This research survey has received approval (IRB number 2025-037) from Delta State's Institutional Review Board. It will be live and accepting responses for the next 4-6 weeks depending on the number of responses received. But there's also something for you!

The survey itself is anonymous, though you can optionally enter a drawing for an Amazon gift card at the end of the survey. I can't buy a gift card for every response (as much as I would like to be able to do that) but I can give away a token of appreciation to a randomly selected portion of you. Email addresses are collected only for those who wish to participate in the raffle; any collected emails are deleted after each weekly drawing and only used to contact whoever won that week.

If you have any questions about the project, feel free to send me a message on tumblr!