#alp 12

[f1archives]

Jack Doohan and Pierre Gasly on media day - Abu Dhabi, 2024

[joutsummer]

would LOVE to know what they're saying to each other here

[nyhne]

.

[fagpacket]

👻💗🌧️

[rabbitcruiser]

Switzerland became a Federal state on September 12, 1848.

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Five

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, pregnancy, emetophobia warning, domestic fluff.

Notes — We're closing out the 2023 season!! Double update for the day!

2023 (Abu Dhabi)

The filming studio was chaos. Bright lights, Nerf guns, a beanbag chair someone had exploded accidentally, and Max F was in the corner trying to tape a foam sword back together.

Lando stood off to the side, hoodie hood up, sipping a smoothie and pretending to review a script while actually just taking a breather from the all-day mess.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He fished it out lazily, thumbed it open.

iMessage — 12:03pm

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

My period is 3 weeks late.

—

He stared.

Then blinked. Read the words again.

And stood there frozen in the middle of the mess, smoothie halfway to his mouth.

“…What the f—”

“Bro, you good?” Aarav called from across the room, eyebrow raised.

Lando didn’t answer. He was busy rereading the message for a third time. Then a fourth. Slowly lowering the smoothie.

Missed period.

3 weeks.

Missed period for 3 weeks.

Period 3 weeks missed.

He let out a stunned, breathy laugh. “Oh fucking hell. Of course she’d just message me about it like it’s no big deal. Of course she did.”

The rest of the guys were still messing around in the background, arguing about whether they could build a kart ramp out of beanbags, and Lando just… walked backwards into a couch and sat down before his legs gave up on him.

Well, clearly she wasn’t freaking out. So that meant he wasn’t supposed to freak out. Cool. No problem. Cool, cool, super cool.

Except, he ran a hand through his hair. It was Amelia. If she was freaking out, she still probably wouldn’t say it. She’d just power through it all and not mention anything had even happened and then be like, “Oh yeah, by the way, our kid is three now.”

He shook his head.

iMessage — 12:05pm

Lando (Husband)

Ok. I’m not freaking out. Kind of want to throw up a bit tho. Love u x

He stared at the screen. Chewed the side of his thumb. Sent another.

Lando (Husband)

Did u like… pee on a stick yet????

Also should i come home. Or stay and keep filming the stupid cart bit. Idk what to do bby xxxx

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

No, I have not peed on a stick. No, you do not need to come home. Finish filming. I will just see you when you come home x

—

He barely had time to process it before Max shouted, “Lando! You’re up!”

Lando slowly stood, still blinking, feeling kind of like he was buffering in real time.

“Mate, you look like you just saw a ghost,” Max added. “You alright, bro?”

Lando just looked at him, dazed. “No. I think I’m gonna be someone’s dad.”

Max’s eyes went fucking massive. “Woah, woah. Hold on. What—”

“Later. Can’t explain. Gotta pretend to joust on a kids scooter first.”

And off he went, hoodie flapping, brain somewhere over the Alps, while back in Monaco, his wife was casually engineering a race car and possibly incubating a human life like it was no big deal.

—

Amelia chewed on her bottom lip as she pulled up Pietra’s contact.

The screen blinked to life and there she was, chin propped on her hand, eating a bowl of cereal. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a lopsided bun, and she had one AirPod in, the other probably misplaced somewhere nearby. Her face lit up when she saw Amelia.

“Hello, gorgeous—wait, are you okay?" She asked, narrowing her eyes. “What’s wrong? You look off.”

Amelia didn’t say hello. She just held up her phone so the camera framed her blank expression and said, deadpan, “I am having déjà vu.”

Pietra blinked. Then squinted harder. “Wait… about what?”

“This call.” She said. “I think I’m pregnant.”

Pietra blinked again, cereal halfway to her mouth. “Você tá brincando.”

“I would never joke about this kind of thing.” Amelia said.

“Meu Deus.” Pietra gasped, dropping her spoon into the bowl with a dramatic clatter. “How? I mean—well, how is obvious, but—how do you know?”

Amelia turned her phone around, flashed her calendar at the screen. One day highlighted in red. Three weeks past due. “Calendar told on me.”

Pietra’s eyebrows shot up. “Three weeks? Amelia!”

Amelia sighed. “I know. But I’ve been so preoccupied with Vegas prep, travel, lobby meltdowns.”

“Oh my god.” Pietra was practically whispering now. “But… how likely is it?”

“Very. We haven’t been, like, trying,” Amelia said, voice clipped, efficient. “But we also haven’t been not trying. No protection for the last… few months. Ish.”

Pietra dragged her hand down her face. “Ameliaaaa. You can’t just drop a possible baby on me while I’m eating cornflakes!”

“I can and did.” Amelia adjusted the camera so it faced the ceiling, then sat cross-legged on the couch, phone balanced on her chest. This was their usual routine. She could write strategy notes with Pietra on FaceTime, no problem. Sometimes Pietra filled the air with stories, or whatever drama was happening in one of her many group chats. Sometimes she was just quiet, scrolling TikTok beside her. It was easy. Safe.

“Have you taken a test yet?” Pietra asked, after a beat.

“No.” Amelia’s voice was flat. “I don’t want to look at a little window. The little window makes things real.”

Pietra groaned. “It’s the only way to know!”

“I don’t want to know yet,” Amelia pointed out.

“I don’t trust you not to emotionally suppress this entire event and pretend it never happened.”

“Unfortunately not possible with this,” Amelia returned.

Pietra reached for the cereal again, shaking her head. “Have you told Lando?”

“I texted him. He’s in London filming Quadrant stuff, obviously. He freaked out a bit but, like, he was fine I think.”

Pietra cackled. “What did you even say?”

Amelia lifted her phone and scrolled briefly. “‘My period is three weeks late.’”

“Oh my god,” Pietra said. “You’ve probably given him a heart attack.”

“I’m nothing if not efficient.”

“He’s probably already told my Max, then. Are you telling anyone else?”

“No,” Amelia said, immediately and firmly. “I haven’t even processed it yet. And it might not even be something to process. It’d be like… trying to run a live feed before the camera boots.”

“Got it.” Pietra nodded. “Just us, then.”

“Just us,” Amelia echoed. She returned her focus to the spreadsheet open on her laptop. Sector delta charts glowed on the screen, comfortingly quantifiable.

Pietra softened. “But like—how are you?”

“I’m fine.” Amelia blinked slowly, as if running an internal diagnostic. “Not panicked. Not excited. Just... fine. Although thinking about it, I have been feeling nauseous a lot more frequently lately. I just kept putting it down to nerves you know?”

“Yes, I know. It’s been a long few weeks.” Pietra agreed. Eventually, she asked, “So. Plan?”

Amelia shrugged. “Go to the bakery and the pharmacy. Buy a bunch of pastries and three pregnancy tests.”

“And then?”

“And then I’m waiting for Lando. I’m not testing until he’s back.”

Pietra smiled, biting back something fond. “Of course not.”

They hung up not long after.

Amelia finished annotating a slide for Oscar’s sector exits in medium-speed corners, then shut her laptop with a soft click. She stood, pulled on one of Lando’s oversized hoodies, and grabbed her bag.

As she stepped out into the sunshine, she ran through her mental checklist:

Bakery

Pharmacy

Groceries

Don’t forget oat milk

Do not freak out

Business as usual.

—

The pharmacy was quiet, the sort of quiet that made every footstep sound louder than it should. Fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, and faint French pop music played from an old radio behind the counter.

Amelia moved with purpose, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over her hands, the corners of her to-do list folded neatly in her pocket. She headed straight for the aisle where the pregnancy tests were shelved, eyes flicking over the boxes clinically. Brands didn’t matter. She just picked three, different ones, out of mild uncertainty more than logic, and turned on her heel toward the checkout.

Behind the counter sat Madame Duval, a tiny, silver-haired woman with thick glasses, a warm smile, and a knit cardigan that didn’t match her blouse but somehow made her look even more maternal.

“Bonjour, Amelia,” she said, her voice like soft wool. “C’est bon de vous voir.”

Amelia blinked. “Hi.”

She placed the boxes down without flinching. Madame Duval looked down, eyebrows twitching faintly. Then she smiled again, smaller this time. “Ah. I see.”

Amelia didn’t say anything. Just offered a shrug and a half-nod. She wasn’t embarrassed, exactly. It just felt… complicated.

“Would you like a bag?” Madame Duval asked gently. “One that is not see-through?”

“Yes please.”

She packed the boxes neatly, moving with the patience of someone who had known Amelia since she had first moved to Monaco. The first time she had come in for antihistamines, she’d asked in English and apologised for not speaking very clear French. Madame Duval had tutted at her gently and waved it off — “You’re young. You learn.”

She hadn’t expected Amelia to remember all of their conversations. But Amelia did. Down to which shelf the chamomile tea had been on that one rainy day when she came in, red-eyed and overstimulated, asking for something that “made bodies quiet.”

Now, only a couple of years later, the girl she’d watched grow into a woman, all sharp focus and clinical precision, stood with three pregnancy tests in her hand and a face like a still pond. Flat on the surface. Rippling just underneath.

Madame Duval placed a single wrapped chocolate on top of the box in the bag. The fancy kind they kept near the till. “For after. Whatever the result.”

Amelia blinked. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t argue,” Madame Duval said simply. “I know you very well, Amelia. You will enjoy your sweet treat.”

She accepted the bag and nodded, a single sharp dip of her head. “Merci.”

Madame Duval smiled again, knowing, warm. “Bonne chance, ma fille.”

Amelia didn’t translate the words in her head. She didn’t need to. They sank into her like the warmth of a blanket after a cold morning walk.

She left the pharmacy with the bag looped tightly around her wrist and walked the short distance back up the hill toward the apartment. The sea was visible between buildings, a thin slice of blue horizon. Everything smelled faintly of croissants and sunshine and exhaust fumes.

She checked her mental list:

Got the tests.

Got the pastries.

Got the groceries.

Back home, she set the bag down on the kitchen counter and grabbed her laptop.

The tests could wait until Lando was back.

For now, it was just another variable. Logged.

Pending analysis.

—

The door clicked softly behind Lando as he stepped into their Monaco apartment, duffle bag forgotten somewhere between the entrance and the bedroom.

The light was low, just the soft stretch of sunrise brushing over the walls, and Amelia was curled up on their bed in one of his hoodies, half-asleep, laptop still warm next to her leg.

She opened one eye when he crouched beside her. “Hi,” she murmured, voice heavy with sleep.

He didn’t answer right away. Just tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and held up a small paper bag like he’d just won a prize. “Get up, baby,” he said, gently.

Amelia blinked. “Seriously?”

He kissed her temple. “Come on. I need to know if my wife is growing a person.”

She groaned, dragging her hand over her face — but didn’t argue. Not really. She let him pull her upright with a sleepy grumble, let him tug her by the hand toward the bathroom, let him press the test into her hand.

They paused there for a second. Fingers brushing. Her gaze flicked up to meet his.

“You okay?” He asked, voice low now, a little more cautious.

“I’m fine,” she said. Then, with a characteristic deadpan mutter, “I’m tired.”

Lando gave her that crooked little grin, the one that always cracked something open in her. “Right. Go pee on it.”

She rolled her eyes and shut the door.

He sat cross-legged outside, back against the wall. Same way he had the first time she’d let him into her quieter corners; back when they were barely even dating and she couldn’t handle knocks on doors, loud voices, or sudden touches. Back when he learned to ask first and sit with her in the silence.

He waited now, quiet, patient, fingers tapping his knee.

The door creaked open.

She didn’t speak at first. Just stood there holding the test, staring at it.

Lando scrambled to his feet. “Amelia?”

She looked up at him. “It’s positive,” she said, voice soft. Like she wasn’t sure the words could be able to come out of her mouth properly.

Silence fell between them — not tense, not panicked. Just heavy.

She looked back down at the test. Then back at him. Her expression was unreadable for a second, and then… it cracked. Not big. Not loud. Just a subtle unraveling. A tremble in her mouth. Her eyes too bright, but dry.

“I thought I’d feel more in control,” she said quietly. “Like it would just slot into the system. Checklist. Contingency. Risk management.” She held up the test, eyes never leaving it. “But it’s not like that. It’s not a flowchart. It’s not a decision tree. It’s just… me. And you. And this. And I can’t logic my way through it.”

Lando took a slow step forward, voice hushed. “Is it a bad feeling?”

She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “It’s just… big.”

And then it happened — not a meltdown, not a scene, just her body folding into his with no warning. A silent collapse.

Hands clinging to the front of his hoodie, face buried against his chest, a single shuddering breath breaking out of her like she’d been holding it in for hours. No sobbing. No hysteria. Just quiet overwhelm — the kind that sneaks up and knocks the wind out of you.

Lando wrapped his arms around her instantly, no hesitation.

“Whoa, hey,” he murmured, steady as ever, his hand in her hair. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, love. You’re okay. We’re okay. We’re going to be okay.”

She didn’t answer, just breathed — deep and shaky. Her fingers still clutched the test like a lifeline. Her knuckles were white.

“I’m scared,” she said after a long pause. The words were barely there. “What if I mess it up? What if I do something wrong? What if I’m not good enough to do this?”

Lando pulled back, just enough to look at her. His hands stayed on her waist, grounding her. “Hey,” he said gently, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. “Don’t do that. Don’t start doubting yourself now.”

Her eyes flicked away. “I’m not soft. I’m not warm. I don’t… glow. I forget social niceties, I spiral over things like flight plans and tyre temps and socks that don’t feel right. That’s not the kind of person who’s supposed to—” She swallowed. “I don’t know if I’m made for this.”

“Baby. You’re made for anything,” he said, firm now. “You’re made for me. And if our baby ends up anything like you, blunt, brilliant, weird in the best possible way, they’re going to be so lucky. And so am I.”

She let out a sound that was halfway between a breath and a laugh. Her shoulders sagged just a little. “We don’t even know if I’m actually pregnant yet,” she muttered.

He glanced down at the test still in her hand. “Kinda looks like we do.”

Another breath.

She let him take the test and set it gently on the counter, his touch reverent, like it was something fragile and sacred. Then, without a word, he slid his hand into hers and led her back into the bedroom.

She didn’t resist. Didn’t speak. Just let herself be tugged along like driftwood in a current.

Lando climbed into bed first and pulled her down with him, settling them in the tangle of covers she’d only half-kicked off earlier. His arms came around her automatically, looping over her waist and up across her back. He tucked her in close, chin resting against the top of her head, one leg hooked loosely over hers.

Wrapped around her like a blanket. Safe. Heavy in the best way.

They lay like that for a long time. Breathing in sync. No words needed.

Eventually, Amelia spoke. Her voice was quiet — raw around the edges, like she'd surprised even herself with the crack earlier. “I didn’t think I’d cry,” she murmured.

Lando smiled, lips brushing her temple. “I’m glad you did.”

She blinked against his hoodie. “Why?”

He huffed a soft laugh, barely more than a breath. “Because it made it less pathetic that I was crying for a second too.”

Her head tipped back just enough to look up at him. “You were crying?”

“Only a little bit,” he said, mock-defensive. “Like, blinked-a-lot-and-hoped-you-wouldn’t-notice crying. I’m British. I’m subtle.”

“You’re not subtle,” she said flatly.

“No,” he agreed, grin tugging at his mouth. “But I am dramatic, and I’ve been alone for two days imagining every possible outcome and Googling ‘is surprise pregnancy good news if you’re in love and mostly financially stable.’”

Amelia blinked slowly. “You Googled that exact phrase?”

“Yes.”

She snorted. A small, involuntary noise that made his heart squeeze. “What did it say?”

“That the internet is deeply unhelpful,” he said. “And Reddit is a lawless place.”

There was another long pause.

Then she whispered, “I was scared it wouldn’t feel real. That I’d just… log it as data and move on. Like it was just another variable.”

Lando tightened his arms around her. “But it does feel real?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “The second I said it out loud.”

He kissed her forehead. “Good. I don’t think I could’ve handled being more emotional than you about this.”

“You’re always more emotional than me.”

“True. I tried at Bake Off the other day.”

“I know,” she said, and even through the haze of anxiety and confusion and quiet overwhelm, she smiled. “That’s why I married you.”

Lando rested his cheek against her hair, and for a few long seconds, the world outside the blanket of their bed ceased to exist.

“Should we sleep a bit more?” She asked eventually, already halfway there.

He nodded against her. “Yeah. Big day of parenting ahead. Gotta start practicing how to Google more useful things.”

She hummed. “Start with ‘how to tell if your wife is actually going to let herself feel things this time.’”

Lando squeezed her a little tighter. “Already figured it out. Just gotta love her loud enough that she forgets to be afraid.”

She didn’t respond.

But she didn’t pull away either.

—

The clinic’s sliding door whispered closed behind them as Amelia and Lando stepped into the small, clinical room. The nurse smiled warmly, gesturing toward the chair.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” she said, setting out the necessary equipment.

Amelia sat down slowly, her fingers lacing in her lap. Lando stood quietly by her side, watching her with closeness.

“You doing alright, baby?” He asked quietly, voice low enough only for her.

She shrugged, eyes steady. “As alright as I can be.”

Lando reached out and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. She held on tight.

The nurse prepped the needle, talking her through it as she did. Amelia kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling, her jaw clenched just enough to show her focus.

When the needle slid in, Lando’s hand moved up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

“There,” he whispered. “Done.”

Amelia exhaled, releasing some of the tension she hadn’t even realised she was holding.

—

Amelia and Lando sat quietly in the small waiting area just outside the testing rooms, the sterile white walls feeling colder than usual. Amelia scrolled absently through her phone while Lando rested his arm around her shoulders, both wrapped in a low hum of nervous energy.

The nurse appeared after what felt like an eternity but was realistically just under an hour. She held a folder in her hand, her expression calm and professional. “Amelia Norris?” She called.

Amelia stood immediately, Lando rising just a half-step behind her, his hand brushing lightly against the small of her back in quiet support.

The nurse, a kind-looking woman in her fifties with kind eyes and soft lines around her mouth, smiled gently as she approached, holding a slim folder in her hands. “Amelia, Lando,” She said warmly. “Your blood test results are back.”

Amelia held herself very still, as if bracing for impact.

The nurse opened the folder and glanced down. “Everything looks healthy, and we did manage to confirm your pregnancy, Amelia.”

For a second, neither of them spoke. Amelia’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes fixed on the nurse but unfocused, as though the words had landed somewhere just behind her.

She blinked once. Twice. “Okay,” she said softly. Just one word, but it sounded like it had taken effort to get it out.

Lando, ever the contrast, let out a breathy laugh; short, quiet, almost disbelieving, and slid his arm around her waist. He gave her a gentle squeeze, grounding them both. “Well,” he murmured, leaning in close, “that’s the official verdict then.”

She didn’t answer right away, just nodded, lips pressing into a line. Her fingers twitched at her side, stimming without even thinking.

The nurse, unfazed by the silence, handed Amelia a printout of the blood-work results. “Everything looks perfectly normal for where you’re at. If you have questions or want to talk about next steps, you’re always welcome to call. We’ll book your first ultrasound soon.”

Amelia’s eyes scanned the paper, already filtering the information into categories in her head — normal levels, nothing flagged, timeline confirmed. Just data. But even with all the logic in the world, she felt the subtle shift in the air. It was real now.

“I can fly to Abu Dhabi?” She asked, sharp and direct.

The nurse nodded. “Yes, you can. You’re still very early. Travel is fine, just make sure you stay hydrated and try to keep your stress levels to a minimum.”

Amelia scoffed out a single breath. “Right. Sure.”

Lando gave the nurse an apologetic smile, stepping in smoothly. “We’ll make sure of it. Water, snacks, earplugs, noise-cancelling headphones, the works.”

The nurse’s smile deepened. “Good man. Just listen to your body, Amelia. That’ll be the trickiest part for you, I think.”

Amelia met her gaze, brows furrowed. “Why? Because I’m autistic?”

“Because you’re used to ignoring and pushing aside your discomfort,” the nurse said kindly. “But yes, that too.”

Amelia blinked, visibly filing that away.

The nurse handed her a card. “Call and make your next appointment as soon as you’re back. That’ll be for your first scan — around gestation week seven. You can ask for me by name if you’d like.”

Amelia took the card, examined the name — “Colette” — and gave the barest nod of approval. “Okay. I will.”

Colette gave them both a final smile. “Take care of each other. And congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Lando said quietly, while Amelia murmured something that might’ve been a “you too” out of sheer social obligation.

As they stepped out of the clinic and into the soft Monaco sunlight, Lando reached over and laced their fingers together. Amelia let him. Didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Just walked beside him, her expression unreadable — but her grip on his hand was firm.

He glanced at her as they waited for the elevator. “So.”

She glanced up.

“You’re gonna have to let me look at that report later,” he said. “Just to double-check you’re not secretly growing twins or something.”

Amelia huffed. “I’d know if I were.”

He grinned. “Sure you would.”

—

The private jet hummed softly beneath them, the kind of quiet that came with luxury and familiarity. Amelia had curled up beside the window, iPad balanced on her lap, headphones hanging loosely around her neck. Next to her, Lando was dozing — hoodie pulled up, mouth slightly open, dead to the world.

Across the aisle, Max sat with a protein bar and a very serious frown as he scrolled through Instagram. For all the years they’d known each other, Amelia had rarely seen him sit still this long.

She, however, was very much not still.

Her finger tapped quickly across her iPad screen, eyes scanning an article titled “What To Expect in Your First Trimester.” She had three tabs open; one medical, one forum-based, and one purely dedicated to nutrition. Her nose wrinkled as she read the phrase “morning sickness may begin as early as week six.” She was almost six weeks, according to the timeline Colette had scribbled down.

“Oh, screw that,” she muttered under her breath.

Max leaned slightly toward the aisle and blinked at her screen. “What’re you reading?”

Amelia startled slightly and tilted the iPad instinctively away from him. “Nothing.”

Max tilted his head. “No, I definitely saw the word ‘placenta’ just now.”

Amelia pursed her lips. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

He blinked. Then his eyes went wide. “You’re pregnant.”

“What? No. Don’t be absurd.” Amelia spluttered.

“Your ears are red!” Max pointed out.

“Lots of people have red ears,” she lied boldly.

“Name two people.”

“Um.” She looked around desperately. “Um.”

Max raised a brow.

“Okay, whatever, fine.” She sighed.

He choked on his protein bar, coughing into his sleeve. “So you are pregnant.”

Amelia groaned, setting the iPad facedown on her lap. “You can’t know! I’m not even supposed to know, I don’t think. Google says no one is allowed to know until the second trimester.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know!” She whispered-shouted, flinging her hands up in frustration. “Apparently there's this whole unwritten rule that you’re meant to keep it secret until like week twelve in case things go wrong but also I can’t stop Googling everything because what the hell is a mucus plug and why is it in my body?”

Max looked vaguely alarmed. “Oh, god. That sounds disgusting.”

“Exactly!”

Lando stirred at the noise, cracked one eye open, and muttered, “Did you tell Max?”

“No,” Amelia said at the exact same time Max said, “Absolutely.”

Lando sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, clearly too tired to argue.

Amelia shifted slightly in her seat, frowning. “Is it weird I don’t feel different yet? Like I thought I’d… know. That there’d be this, I don’t know, gut feeling. Like how I know when it’s going to rain or when Oscar’s about to spin out of a corner.”

Max softened a bit, leaning over the aisle. “Everyone’s different, I think.”

“Yeah, but I already feel behind.” She nudged her iPad back into her lap. “There are apps and charts and... symbiotic uterine developments. It’s like a project I didn’t plan for. And you know how I feel about unplanned variables.”

Lando reached over sleepily and squeezed her hand. “You’re doing fine.”

Max nodded. “Plus, your kid’s gonna have, like, the two most ridiculous godparents in the paddock.”

She blinked at him. “I never said anything about godparents.”

“You will.”

“I might not.”

“You will.”

She rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her mouth.

Then, after a pause, she muttered, “The mucus plug thing is still on my mind.”

Max gagged theatrically, Lando groaned, and Amelia opened another article, determined to understand the entire gestational timeline before they landed.

—

The Abu Dhabi sun was already unbearable by the time they stepped onto the tarmac, the heat pressing down like a hand on the back of her neck. Amelia barely blinked at it. She was too busy focusing on not gagging.

It wasn’t morning sickness. It wasn’t anything that dramatic. There’d been no dramatic sprint to a toilet. Just this constant, low-level nausea that clung to her throat like the aftermath of turbulence. Cloying. Lingering. Like the scent of someone else’s perfume in a closed room.

She clutched her water bottle a little tighter as they walked toward the paddock entrance, sunglasses on, headphones around her neck, McLaren lanyard tucked into the front of her shirt. She wasn’t on duty yet — they were just arriving — but already, her brain was buzzing with briefings and timing windows and tyre strategy for FP1.

Lando walked beside her, one hand on the small of her back, close but casual. He wasn’t smothering her, he never did, but his body was attuned to her like a second radar system. When she slowed for a moment, swallowing hard, he adjusted his pace instantly.

“Still feeling off?” He murmured, quiet so no one around them would hear.

She nodded once, not breaking stride. “Feels like... I’ve had warm milk out of a shoe.”

“That’s a disgusting analogy.” He said, nose twitching.

“I feel disgusting.” She moaned.

Lando gave a small, sympathetic laugh and handed her a peppermint from the stash he’d brought specifically for this. “Want to skip the garage for now? Go to hospitality. Sit down.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said quickly, bluntly. “We land, we go to the garage. That’s the routine.”

He didn’t argue, not really. He just looked at her for a beat longer than usual and nodded. “Okay.”

Max had peeled off earlier, some Red Bull meeting already dragging him into another PR vortex, so it was just the two of them when they reached the McLaren motorhome. Amelia paused for a moment outside the hospitality entrance, letting the air-conditioned breeze spill over her as the door opened and closed in waves.

She stared forward, expression flat.

Then, without looking at him, she muttered, “If I throw up in front of Oscar, I’ll lie and say it’s food poisoning.”

Lando grinned. “You’d lie to Oscar?”

“I lie to Oscar all the time. I tell him the car has good rear grip when I know it doesn’t. I tell him his haircut’s not weird.”

“He knows it’s weird.”

“Then I’m not doing my job properly.”

He kissed the side of her head and ushered her inside.

The nausea didn’t leave; it didn’t even lessen. But she filed it away somewhere behind tyre allocation updates and garage temperature readings. Pushed it back. Compartmentalised.

She had a job to do.

Even if her body, her whole world, had quietly started to change.

—

The garage was its usual symphony of motion, tyre blankets, torque wrenches, low chatter on radios. Amelia stood just behind Oscar’s car, one hand resting on the side-pod, her iPad in the other, watching the data scroll. Her other hand was shoved in her pocket, fingers twisting the small piece of fabric — an old tag from one of Lando’s fireproof undershirts. Grounding. Textural. Familiar.

Oscar was climbing out of the cockpit, unzipping his suit halfway and tugging off his gloves. “How’s it looking?” He asked, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Like you are still lifting off too early into Turn 14,” Amelia replied, not looking up.

Oscar squinted at her. “Nice to see you too.”

She handed him the tablet. “Look at the overlays. You’re lifting fractionally earlier than yesterday.”

“I don’t feel like I am.”

“That’s the thing about data,” she said flatly. “It doesn’t care how you feel.”

Oscar made a face but didn’t argue. He took the tablet and perched on the edge of the front wing as he scrolled. Amelia leaned on the pit gantry behind him, eyes tracking the mechanics, her brain juggling three different timelines.

Tyre test. Race sim. Media obligations.

And nausea. Always the nausea. A thin layer of wrongness settled at the base of her throat.

“You look pale,” Oscar said suddenly.

She flicked her eyes up. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. You good?”

“I’m always good.”

He gave her a suspicious side-eye. “You’ve said that to me before. Usually when you’ve gone two days without sleep.”

She took the iPad back from him. “I’m eating. I’ve slept. I’m hydrated. I’ve had breakfast. What more do you want?”

“Some forgiveness if I don’t get the lift right on the next run?”

Amelia’s lip twitched, barely. “Not happening.”

Oscar didn’t push, but he watched her as she turned back toward the screens. She knew it. Felt his gaze linger.

But she didn’t offer anything more. Not yet. Not when the garage was full of people, and cameras, and microphones always somewhere nearby.

She just reached for her earpiece, shoved it into place, and keyed into the radio with a sharp, clean voice. “Oscar’s ready for the next run. Let’s do race trim, full fuel, softs.”

The engineer on the other end acknowledged her. The crew got moving.

And the nausea, ever present, curled a little tighter in her gut.

Still. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t step back.

Amelia Norris stayed exactly where she was — sharp, unfazed, in control.

—

The air conditioning hummed steadily overhead, and Amelia sat cross-legged in one of the lower chairs, stylus tapping as Oscar muttered something about corner exit balance. She wasn’t entirely listening. Or rather — she was, but her body was staging a full-scale rebellion against her.

The nausea had been background static all day, but now it was cresting into a full wave. Her fingers tightened slightly around the stylus. She blinked twice, tried breathing through her nose. No improvement.

She could hear Lando in the corner, chatting with one of the engineers, blissfully unaware that his wife was currently sweating through her team polo in slow motion.

Oscar nudged her shin with the toe of his socked foot. “You’re quiet. Am I saying something stupid?”

Amelia opened her mouth to answer, but—

Her stomach twisted violently. She slapped the tablet onto the low table and stood up in one movement, but it was too fast, too late.

Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide.

And then she doubled over and vomited squarely into the only available container-like object at ground level.

Oscar’s race boots.

The room fell silent.

Oscar blinked once. Then looked down. Then back up at her.

“Well,” he said, with a perfectly dry inflection. “That’s one way to critique my driving.”

Amelia groaned, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her hoodie. “I’m so sorry,” she managed, breathless. “I— I tried to make it.”

Lando was already at her side, hand on her back, concern etching itself into his features. “Jesus, baby—are you okay? You need to sit down?”

Oscar, meanwhile, remained seated, staring down at the shoes like they might attack him. “Those were custom-moulded.”

“Yeah,” Amelia said weakly, dropping back into the chair. “They’re custom-moulded to hold the exact volume of my stomach contents, apparently.”

“I’m never putting my foot in those again.”

“I’ll get you new ones.”

“You’ll buy me a new digestive system, because I’m never forgetting this.” He frowned.

Amelia finally laughed; a little breathy, a little unhinged. “I hate this,” she muttered, head in her hands.

Lando crouched in front of her, gently brushing her hair back from her face. “You’ve done three days of data crunching and garage shifts while apparently fighting the urge to puke in various footwear,” he said quietly. “Come on, let’s go clean you up.”

Oscar stood up finally, crossing to the corner where someone had mercifully placed paper towels and a bin bag. “Can we agree to never tell anyone about this.”

“Yes,” Amelia agreed.

Lando snorted. “Too late. I already texted Max.”

“You what—?”

“I’m kidding,” he grinned. “But I’m tempted. He’d find this absolutely hilarious.”

—

Amelia was curled up on the end of a low sofa, sipping flat Sprite from a paper cup. The AC was finally hitting just right, and she'd gotten through the rest of the afternoon without projectile vomiting on any more personal items. Progress.

Oscar wandered in, a granola bar half-unwrapped in one hand, still in his race suit tied off at the waist.

He flopped into the chair opposite her, stretched his legs out, and with no preamble at all, said, “Happy pregnancy, by the way.”

Amelia blinked. “Oh,” she said flatly. “So it’s obvious, then.”

Oscar shrugged. “To me? Yeah. You’ve been chewing your pen caps like you’re trying to murder them, you haven’t had coffee in three days, and you were sick in my race boots, so.”

She tilted her head. “That’s a lot of observation for someone who thinks toothpaste is spicy.”

He laughed. “I’m very detail-oriented. And still peeved about my boots.”

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, far too magnanimous. “They were hideous anyway.” There was a pause. Then he added, “Honestly, everyone else just assumed it was heat stroke.”

Amelia lifted a brow. “And you didn’t?”

“Nope.” He took a bite of the granola bar. “You go green when you have heat stroke. You went green this time, so I knew it was different.”

She barked a short laugh. “That’s horrifying.”

“And accurate,” he said, chewing. “So… Lando knows, obviously?”

“Yeah. He made me pee on a stick at six in the morning. Then I had to go and get blood drawn to confirm it.”

Oscar winced. “Disgusting. Anyway—congrats, I guess.”

“Thanks. And sorry again about the shoes.”

Oscar leaned back in the chair, arms behind his head like he hadn’t been personally victimised. “Eh. If the kid turns out to be a world champion, I’ll tell this story in the Netflix documentary.”

“Can’t wait,” she deadpanned.

They sat in silence for a moment. Then, with a smirk that was all mischief and no sympathy, Oscar added, “Next time, at least aim for Lando’s sneakers. His fans would pay for them.”

Amelia snorted into her Sprite. “God, you’re vile.”

“I know. And yet you can’t get rid of me,” he said, and stood up, already texting someone; probably Lando.

She groaned again. Loudly.

—

The Yas Marina Circuit always felt like the end of something.

By the time the sun dipped beneath the glowing skyline and the lights snapped on around the track, the paddock was buzzing with the familiar edge of finality. Mechanics moved with that distinct rhythm—half instinct, half exhaustion. Cameras flashed. Engines roared. And on the McLaren pit wall, Amelia sat completely still, headset pressed tight, her eyes fixed on Oscar’s live telemetry.

No one would’ve known she was pregnant. No one would’ve guessed she’d thrown up in her colleague’s race boots less than 24 hours earlier. No one would’ve known that she’d spent the flight to Abu Dhabi Googling “why does pregnancy make you feel like your body is a hostile foreign nation” or that she’d quietly rested her head on Lando’s shoulder for the last twenty minutes of final practice, just to stay upright.

But now? Now she was fine. More than fine. Because when it came to the race, Oscar’s race, she was always prepared to lock in.

Oscar had qualified well. Not perfect, but decent. Enough to put him in the fight.

Lando, meanwhile, had his own race to run, starting P5. Amelia didn’t let herself think about his car in the first ten laps. She’d gotten very good at compartmentalising again. Still, every now and then, she could feel his presence, could hear his voice from earlier:

“One more race. Then we get a break. Then we breathe.”

God, how she wanted to breathe.

The race itself was tense. Ferrari and Mercedes were locked in their Constructors’ battle, chaos unfolding all across the midfield. Amelia kept her voice calm on Oscar’s radio.

“Strat 7, we’re going to offset slightly from Gasly ahead.”

“Understood.”

“Clean exit turn 3. Good traction now. Let’s build.”

He listened. He always listened.

Mid-race, Oscar made an aggressive but beautifully timed overtake, and Amelia let herself smile—just a little.

Lando, a few positions ahead, was holding ground. Quietly, steadily. Nothing dramatic. Amelia could handle steady. Steady felt manageable.

The final laps bled together like watercolour under pressure. Amelia felt her stomach twist, nausea creeping up again. She ignored it. She had work to do.

In the end?

Oscar crossed the line P6.

Lando, P4.

Respectable. Solid. A good end to a hard-fought season.

When Oscar pulled in and killed the engine, Amelia finally took a long breath and peeled off her headset. Her hands were trembling. Whether it was adrenaline, hormones, or just sheer relief, she couldn’t tell.

Lando found her on the pit wall not long after, hair sweaty, fireproofs unzipped halfway.

“Hey,” he said, brushing her shoulder lightly. “You okay?”

She looked at him for a long moment, the smile tugging at her lips slow and almost reluctant.

“I am now.”

He grinned. “We did it.”

She snorted. “You did it. I just puked in Oscar’s boots and managed his brake maps.”

Lando bent down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You did both with tremendous style.”

Somewhere nearby, champagne exploded. But for Amelia, the noise faded into the background. The season was over. They were having a baby. They’d finished best of the rest.

And the MCL38-AN was going to be an absolute masterpiece. 

[turbobyakuren]

What I love about 12 Angry Men:

💬 Vast possibility of acting due to limited setting. 🖋 Writing is incredible !

What I don't like about 12 Angry Men:

🙄 Do we really need another legal drama story? 👨 I'm watching a movie about generic white men again, urgh.

I want a movie that uses 12 Angry Men's same insanely well crafted limited setting and wonderful writing…

…but it's about 12 nice witches trying to decide who should feed the neighbour's cat in a small village in the Alps.

[im-not-a-ghost]

Your next significant relationship - Who? When? Where?

Group 1 - Controler

Letters : N U Z E D M L K I O S Significant words/names/signs : SKZ, nudes, suki, soul, miso, sun, zen, Leo, kids, Nike, Mike, lion, Leon, noise, sound, Link, links, Dion, Zeus, Odin, Oden, onze (french for 11), douze (french for 12), uno, dos/due, dom, Muse, likes, silk, sold, DMs, solid, kudos, doki, slime, smile, Milo, miko

WHO ? - The Empress / STRENGTH / Herkimer diamond : power wash your energy This person is not what they seem. They may look harsh on the surface but deep down they are as fragile as Quartz. People may only judge them based on their looks and not who they are at there core. They are beautiful without a doubt. Extremely sensual and feminine. Their beauty feels ethereal. They are highly sensitive and spiritual. They could be a healer. The Herkimer diamond card mentions New York's Mohawk Valley where it can be found. So maybe this person is a New Yorker or they would like to travel to New York. With the strength card being related to fire, this person could have important fire placements in their chart (Leo, Sagittarius, Aries). They are powerful and determined. They know what they want and they won't back down no matter what you put them through. Though this person is affected by what people think of them, they would rather die than show it. They could have red hair. Their hair is rather long and straight. They like to wear bracelets. They are connected to the stars. They are grounded and protected by the universe. The Empress is also assiocated with Taurus. They present themselves as a woman. They feel close to their ancestors. It might be that there were warriors in their bloodline. Especially women. Their women ancestors were fierce in battle and they like to take after them and ask for their guidance. I'm feeling a strong connection to witches and shamans.

WHERE ? - 9 of swords / UNDERWORLD / Barite : get answers to your biggest questions. Places this person could be from or have been to at some point are : USA -> Nevada, Misouri, Georgia, Texas / China / India / Morocco / Mexico / Iran / Kazakhstan / Canada / Australia / Thailand / Nigeria / Peru / UK -> Scotland The 9 of swords card shows imagery of a woman lying down in the snow, with mountains in the background. So this person could live in a cold climate country/region. I'm thinking of the Alps, Himalaya, Caucasus, Alaska range. I'm thinking about Sweden, Denmark, Netherlands, Russia, Groenland, Iceland. Any city starting with a U or a B. Furthermore the character on the card has a dress with an important amount of stars on it, which reminded me of the European Union flag. In terms of the meeting, it could be through social media. The underworld card gives me a sense of mystery, of something being hidden. So it could be the dark web for some. Or on a website that keeps things hidden from people (i.e. content available only for subscribers or a private account). Also you could meet them in your dreams before you meet in 3D. Also, the underworld could be a metaphor for rave parties, clubs and so on. They could live or you could meet near an important building or monument.

WHEN ? - XXI The World / NATURE / Labradorite : protect your magic. The labradorite card mentions Aurora Borealis and the sign of Pisces. So Winter could be relevant, as well as the period from mid February to mid March. The number 21 could be relevent. So if we think in terms of dates it could be 02.21 or 03.21. The World speaks of cycles as well as the long term. So it could represent several years in terms of timing. When it comes to zodiac signs, The World is related to fixed signs. So Taurus, Leo, Scorpio and Aquarius season could be relevant as well. Which means that you could meet them between mid April to mid May, mid July to mid August, mid October to mid November or mid January to mid February. The World could also represent a time of your life when you are traveling abroad. Again, the character depicted on the card has a lot of stars in their hair. So I'm thinking of the USA as well as the EU. As she is dressed in red, holds red roses and has horns on her head, I'm also being reminded of Spain. The nature card could talk about a time of your life when you are in the wild, connecting with nature, taking a break from the drama of big city life.

Group 2 - Phone

Letters : T E N N U L N O R I S Significant words/names/signs : tennis, Noris, Noe, Noel, runs, Euro, sun, tenor, soul, norns, nine, tunes, Sonne (Rammstein song), Uriel, notes, nuns, trio, route, routines, Riolu (pokémon name), Loire (region in France), Lorie, LOTR, rise, sonnet, soir (french word for evening), nuit (french for night), riots, Lise, lotus

WHO? - IV The Emporor / Sacred Sexuality / Sapphire : find your tranquil place. This person is very masculine and grounded. They could be a father and/or a leader, a mentor, an entrepreneur. The sign of Aries could be significant. They are incredibly determined and strong. Their sexual drive is high. They pay a lot of attention to their health and appearance. They have a lot of sex appeal. This person could be in the fashion industry or could even be that they get money from people watching their body (selling pictures of them, having access to private erotic content). They could have a bit of a bad temper. Piercings also seem significant. On the sacred sexuality card, there’s a full moon and roses. This tell me this person is a romantic and is more of a night owl. They have an important status. We’re talking about company owners, freelance artists, lawyers, head officers, doctors, headmasters of big schools, politicians and so on.

WHERE? - 6 of swords / MOVEMENT / Garnet : get into your depth. -> places they could be from or have gone to : Czekoslovakia, Kenya, Madagascar, India. The 6 of swords depicts a beautiful woman rowing a boat on a lake. Behind her is a white mountain. In her boat are two herons. So Africa seems significant, particularly Tanzania where Kilimandjaro can be found. I’m also thinking of the Mt Fuji in Japan, in Yamanashi. This person lives near an important body of water. Or you might meet them there. Another thing that is significant is movement. So you could meet them where you’re going on a trip, as you travel or relocate. You could meet them on a boat. Anyplace you want to create something (art, music, writing and so on). When looking at « get into your depth » this gives me the feeling you could meet this person in the 5D before meeting them in person, like through dreams or meditation.

WHEN? Queen of wands and VI The Lovers - DARE TO DREAM - Citrine : manifest your masterpiece. First of all I have to say, when I was shuffling the cards for the WHEN? the bells of the nearby Church started ringing. So this tells me when you're going to Church either for communion or for a wedding. Summer is significant, especially from mid June to mid July. I would even say the month of June is the most significant of the two. When you go after your dreams, you will meet this person. On the DARE TO DREAM card, you can see a diamond trapped in an eagle's claw. For some reasons it reminded me of metal and rock bands, of concerts and big events like the Superbowl. So maybe one of your dreams is to go watch your favorite band/artist live or to go to Hellfest or any big convention that is happening in Summer. If there are any French people here, I'm thinking of the Olympics happening this Summer in Paris. And also the Japan Expo convention. In terms of timing, I’d say in a few months.

Group 3 - Mirror

First of all I want to say my coffee spilled as I did your reading. So either you or this person is super clumsy and/or coffee is significant in your relationship. Letters : E L I C O O E U J I A Y

Words/names/signs : Jay, Jey, Joy, Jolie, Julia, Julie, Jule, July, Lucy, cool, jail, Luc, Loïc, Alice, ciel (French for Sky), clue, juice, école (French for school), eco , CEO, Lucie, Lucia, Cloe

WHO? - XVII The Star / Ancestors / Obsidian : protect your soul. Aquarius comes in strongly for this reading. This person is an introvert. They are often seen as a daydreamer, someone that doesn’t care about earthly life. They look like their head is in the stars. Which, in some way is true. This person connects strongly with the Ethers. Social media seems to be important. They could be an influencer or have a certain amount of followers that they help. Think of tarot readings, raising awareness about certain subjects (mental health, disabilities, menstrual cycle, sexuality and so on). This person could be famous in some type of way or they are going to be at some point in their life. Overall they have a good reputation among their peers. They are valued for their work ethic and their deep insights. They are divinely protected. Family business comes to mind. They care about family a lot, especially the deceased ones. This person would be the type to seek out advice from their ancestors or try to honor them as much as they can. Scorpio is also a sign that seems relevant. I don’t know why but I thought of a surgeon. So maybe they have undergone an important surgery. Or they are very sharp. Because I definitely don’t feel this person is a surgeon. Well it could be, but honestly I feel more the energy of influencers and public speakers, like ambassadors of NGOs and stuff like that. Soft and caring, they feel and look rather feminine. Giving more than receiving. They love animals. They draw a lot of attention just from their presence. I think their aura is pretty strong and vibrant. Connected to nature, especially trees and plants.

WHERE? - 7 of pentacles / movement / Herkimer diamond You could meet at work, as you’re changing jobs or they are. During a break at work while you’re printing/scanning papers. In sacred spaces. New York. Somewhere in a lot of greenery like a park or a farm. As for places they could come from or have been to, we have : Norway, Ukraine, Arizona, China, Afghanistan, Herkimer county. If not these places, there could be farms where this person lives. Also they live in a place where there is a lot of activity, especially work wise. So this makes me think of hot spots like La Défense in Paris where a lot of businesses and political administrations can be found. Other places like that would be : Midtown New York, La City London, Marunouchi Tokyo, The Loop Chicago, Bankenviertel Frankfurt, Zuidas Amsterdam, Gangnam Seoul and so on.

WHEN? - 4 of swords / Death / Aquamarine : Keep your cool. You could meet on the fourth of a month, in April. At a time when you’ve lost your voice or when you are going Hermit mode, when you are sick or when you are mourning a loss. During a period of depression. During Scorpio season. In several weeks. Also it could be when someone or something pushes your buttons but you can’t express your frustration somehow. That could be anything really. Like queueing for registration in a building and someone is trying to take your spot. Or shopping at the mall and a customer is being super rude but since there are children around you can’t fully tell this person what you think of their attitude. Stuff like that.

[dame-de-pique]

Gradin médian du Glacier Blanc [Hautes Alpes], vu du Refuge Tuckett, 25 juillet 1926, 12 heures

[feather-bone]

Please consider: olms

The olm is a cave-dwelling salamander from the Alps! It can live up to a hundred years! It uses electrosensitivity and other senses to find food because it has no functional eyes! It grows around 6”-12” long! It can go without food for six years! It’s basically a real life water dragon!

[ID: an illustration of two olms, long white and pink salamanders, curled into a figure-eight shape, with a background resembling moss in dark water. End.]

[f1archives]

The drivers’ photo, 2024

[vestaignis]

Впечатляющая горная вершина Aiguilles d'Entrèves.

Эгюий-д’Аржантьер (фр. Aiguille d'Argentière) — вершина в горном массиве Монблан на границе Франции в регионе Овернь — Рона — Альпы и Швейцарии в кантоне Вале. Высота вершины составляет 3901 метр над уровнем моря. Наиболее примечательной является северная стена вершины, в верхней части имеющая протяжённые участки наклоном 55°—65°. Ещё в 1950-х годах северная стена была покрыта массивным сплошным ледовым покровом. В начале 2000-х годов покров был уже частично разрушен и содержал многочисленные сераки высотой до 60 метров.

Первое восхождение на Эгюий-д’Аржантьер совершили Эдуард Уимпер, Энтони-Адамс Райлли, Мишель Кро, Мишель Пайот и Анри Чарлет 15 июля 1864 года. Их маршрут проходил по леднику Шардонне, с выходом на северо-западный гребень и последующим переходом на северную стену на высоте около 3750 метров. 15 июля 2015 года Винсент Фурнье и Джефф Мерсье совершили первое восхождение по маршруту «Эфареб» на южной стене (категория сложности 6b+). Их восхождение состоялось ровно через 151 год после первого восхождения на вершину.

The impressive mountain peak of Aiguilles d'Entrèves.

Aiguille d'Argentière is a peak in the Mont Blanc massif on the border of France in the Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes region and Switzerland in the canton of Valais. The summit is 3,901 metres above sea level. The most notable feature is the north face of the summit, which has long sections with a slope of 55°–65° in the upper part. Back in the 1950s, the north face was covered by a massive, continuous sheet of ice. By the early 2000s, the sheet had already been partially destroyed and contained numerous seracs up to 60 metres high.

The first ascent of the Aiguille d'Argentiere was made by Edouard Whymper, Anthony-Adams Reilly, Michel Cros, Michel Payot and Henri Charlet on 15 July 1864. Their route was along the Chardonnet Glacier, with an exit to the northwest ridge and then a traverse to the north face at around 3,750 metres. On 15 July 2015, Vincent Fournier and Geoff Mercier made the first ascent of the Efareb route on the south face (grade 6b+). Their ascent took place exactly 151 years after the first ascent of the summit.

Источник://t.me/puteshestvija5, /print.marcdaviet.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/Panoramique-Aiguilles-Entreves.jpg, /ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Эгюий-д’Аржантьер, /marcdaviet.com/ Portfolio/Petzl/3, /www.guidecourmayeur.com/en/scheda_ valle. php?id_prg=20&id_n=&id_stag=1, /www.camptocamp.org/ waypoints/40159/fr/aiguille-d-entreves.

[falafels]

hello will you please spare me any Gordon family crumbs you have 🤲

ADLER OMG HII!! CRUMBS OK LET ME SCOUR THE NOTES APP

-Jeremy Gordon is still trying to put off his Fiona Gallagher scale crashout and it’s mostly working. The fox he’d get on with best is Renee, and they have a brief conversation at Seth’s graduation before Nicky comes over to ask him how many times Seth was dropped as a baby. (seven, twelve if you count the time Jeremy and Marcus (and Ricky a bit but he was only 2) decided to play catch with him out in the yard. very aerodynamic baby is on Seth’s CV)

-Tabitha Gordon big time sufferer of older sister-younger brother disease where they would scrap fairly routinely until around the time seth was 12 and she went to put him in a chokehold for taking her jacket and he just launched her across the room into the dresser. and he looked down at his hands like he didn’t realise he could do that now either and got all smug like Ohohoho. No more banging my head on the wall or twisting my arm behind my back so you can do makeup on me (that one hadn’t happened for a few years at that point but he didn’t want it to happen again) or pelting me with old bullet casings found down by the creek. No no. There’s a neeeeew sheriff in town. alp holding his hand out in front of him like hes gonna repel her with The Force. and Tabby blinks for a moment. and he thinks this is it. and instead she gets back up and seamlessly transitions from physical abuse into verbal abuse.

-They all used to hang out (not usually with each other, each of them thought this was their super cool secret spot they would go to with their loser friends at one point or another) down at the creek. Scotty likes to go down there to “look at nature”, Jessie went down there to appreciate the gifts of nature and get stoned out of her mind, Seth liked to just fuck about in the water, Ricky and Jamie both called it “free time off work creek” because both of them separately chose to drink from it and got sick, Marcus used to meet his dealer there, Tabitha would get drunk with people from high school, Michael would go there to read (sometimes while Seth was fucking about in the water), and Jeremy would climb the tree that rose over the water and sit in it just to be alone for a moment. also to smoke

-Seth wasn’t actually the first of his sibling to overdose, but he didn’t know this for several years until Marcus mentioned it while they were throwing tyres and sorting shit down at Ricky’s auto body shop. because Marcus is a complete asshole, it’s entirely throwaway and at Tabby’s expense, some shit about “yeah new boyfriend let’s see if this one beats her to death or if she nearly beats him to it again lol” or something equally horrendous and Seth is like hold up what do you mean by that and Marcus explains that when Tabitha was about 16 she got really dangerously into injectables because of the guy she was dating and the group she hung out with and one day overdosed in a park with them and the guy just panicked and dropped her off in the front yard where Jeremy found her and took her to the hospital. and Marcus finishes telling Seth this story and immediately offers him loose pills he found at work

-Scotty is the most likely sibling to lose in a fight, not for being the youngest but for more or less growing up in a slightly different world because most of his siblings had learned a shred of emotional maturity by that point. Michael is the least violent by nature but would still absolutely wreck anyone’s shit if they picked the fight but wouldn’t swing first or second. He doesn’t like to fight but he’s still a Gordon so he knows how to throw a punch and take a hit

-Ricky has been really getting into telenovelas. His boss’s wife insists on having her soaps play on the shitty old tv down at the shop and Ricky and the other guys bitch about it but are actually fairly invested and Ricky’s also picked up some Spanish from it. his on-again off-again girlfriend Rita calls him gay for it (the telenovela not the Spanish) but Ricky insists he’s not gay because, quote, “he doesn’t even use deodorant”

-Jessie Gordon is almost entirely fearless, with the three exceptions being pregnant women, being sucked through a time warp back to medieval times and trying to explain electricity but not actually knowing how it works, and velvet leggings

-Jeremy is the best with a rifle and thought about joining the army as a sniper but didn’t have any interest in the culture and kind of wanted to start over with something different. Jamie is also a decent shot but tends to post up in trees to shoot pigeons or shit that Ricky and Seth throw up in the air and then gets stuck in the tree. Nobody is particularly actively pro-guns but it’s always just been part of life in Birmingham, which Seth doesn’t quite realise until he gets to Palmetto. Specifically after meeting New Yorker Matt Boyd, who always looks vaguely horrified when Seth mentions shooting hay bales for fun or the guys from his high school with assault rifles slung over their shoulders in prom pictures. Matt Boyd, who comes in to the dorm one day yelling that some crazy guy is outside with a gun and Seth sticks his head out the window to have a look and tells Matt that’s a Springfield 67C and it’s so dogshit the only way the guy’s doing any damage with it is if he beats them with the barrel, then tells the guy as much out of the window

-Jamie Jessie and Seth all have matching scars from trying to pierce their ears. Jamie’s got infected as fuck, likely not helped by Ricky pouring Tabitha’s premixed can of passion fruit martini all over it (logic being that alcohol would clean it out- sure, but fruit juice isn’t too good for it), and Jessie’s closed over so she re-pierced it but missed a bunch of times so now she has multiple earlobe piercings and wears little stars in all of them. Seth’s just bled a lot. Like a lot a lot. But he mentioned getting painkillers from the doctor and Jessie looked at him like he’d shot her, so for her sake he firmed it and for a good few months there he thought he was clean for good.

that’s all i’ve found for loose scraps of Gordon lore for now but i’m sure there’ll be more at some point

[girl-lostconnection]

Christmas already passed but winter didn’t. Therefore I’m not too late with my winter snippets about Perchta!König and Malanka!Reader.

Trying to find the right carol of the bells version for this thing, god, I love Christmas stories

For some context Perchta is a mythological entity/goddess from Alpine paganism in the Upper German, Austrian and Slovenian regions of Alps. In the folklore of Bavaria and Austria Perchta was said to roam the countryside during 12 days between Christmas and Twelfth night (25th Dec to 6th Jan)

So Perchta would know whether the children of the house had behaved well and worked hard all year. (Basically if you were on the naughty or nice list)

If they had, they could find a small silver coin the next day in their shoe.

If they had not, she would slit their bellies open, remove their stomach and guts, and stuff the hole with straw and pebbles. (Alpine paganism truly was built different)

She was particularly concerned to see that girls had spun the whole of their allotted portion of flax or wool during the year.

The tradition of celebrating with Perchta is still alive in Austria, they have cool wooden masks and actors that dress up and walk on stilts, I encourage you to read more if the topic got you curious.

My Perchta König is loosely based on Bluegiragi’s Percht!König because they did fantastic job with designing him as a monster. But mine would be different because it’s a very different setting

Malanka is a Ukrainian folk holiday celebrated on 31st of December which is New Year’s currently. Before it was celebrated on 13th of January but we switched calendars so... Anyways-

Malanka was named after goddess Mylanka (meaning “the loved one”) formerely named Spring-May that got snatched to the underworld by her kind of evil uncle god (I’m looking at you Hades and Persephone) but got rescued and unlike her Greek counterpart never had to marry anyone. Or come back to the underworld.

Her mom (Mother Earth) just locked the cycle of spring and rebirth and got her child back. 10/10

There are no descriptions of how Mylanka actually looked so I took some liberties and considering that Reader is rather the embodiment of the holiday, I had some more creative freedom.

If anyone would be curious about references after reading the snippet itself — hit me up. I’m dying to talk about it. That’s just a context post

[rabbitcruiser]

Switzerland became a Federal state on September 12, 1848.

[the-froschamethyst4]

Just found your account I love Guns and Dahlias it’s fantastic will you be doing a part 2 🥰

Guns and Dahlias Pt: 2

𖤐Pairing: Crime Lord! Ghost x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: Angst, smut, harsh language, kissing/making out, mention of guns, violence, blood, and gore, no codenames,

𖤐Summary: Picking up where we left off. Ghost is now on a rampage trying to find the person he cares more about then anything in the world his wife

𖤐Yes, of course! I will never you guys on a cliff hanger for any reason

————

————

March (12:00PM)

It's been close to a month now, Simon was led to dead ends about the whereabouts of his wife.

Harry was no help, even though Simon was using him as leverage thinking maybe the asshole would come forward on who might have taken Y/n.

Simon paces in the meeting room, Johnny was going over the last compound thinking Y/n was there and wasn't, Simon blood was just boiling when he felt like they're not even close to finding her.

"I just want my fucking wife, that's all I fucking ask for," he grabs Harry by his shirt. "GIVE ME ONE GOOD REASON WHY I WOULDN'T BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT?! You said you'd help us, and you keep dragging us to dead fucking ends."

"If you want to know so bad, then kill me," Simon takes a gun from John holster and with no regret or hesitation finally put this asshole out of his misery.

"SIMON!" Simon then started to go through Harry's pockets, grabbing a dagger and then reaching for a his jacket pocket and pulled out a photo.

"What is it?"

He flips the photo between his fingers and showed the guys. "The Alpes," he says. "The bastard knew the whole time." Simon moved his foot and kicked Harry's bloody face away.

"There's a compound in the Alpes?"

"Wait, can we be for sure."

"Find me those security cameras to every fucking airport!" Simon demands.

------------------

The Compound

Y/n's fingers were cold, blistered, she just wants to know if Simon is coming? If he was close to finding her? She looks down at her fingers and saw them slightly yellowed.

"Fuck," she whispers while her teeth chattered. "S-Simon...please," she begs.

"Get up," someone stood at her cell door, she did what she was told, the guard walks in and she was yanked up off the floor, she was pushed to the wall as they searched her room like she was some sort of criminal.

"I-I'm cold."

"We all are," the guard says.

"You g-guys are in warm furs...I-I'm in a t-shirt and shorts..."

"Give her these," a man comes in, a scar over his left eye and one on the corner of his mouth. He tossed in some furs and pants that she knew wouldn't fit her.

"Boss, she's clear-"

"O-Of course I'm clear, you s-snatched me from my house with n-nothing on me, you f-fucking psychos," she curses.

"Oh she's got a fucking mouth on her, Boss," the guard spits as he walks passed Y/n. Y/n looked at the guard then at the man who gave her the warm clothes.

"Just t-take me back home, I-I'm not apart o-of whatever my husband d-does."

"Why would I do that? You're the one thing he cares about the most, if anything you're leverage till I get to see that bastard, again."

"Again?"

"Guess you don't know your husband at all...he use to work under me! He was a nobody before he met me." He just chuckles, he walks away from Y/n and they closed her cell door.

-----------------

12:50PM

"There." Simon pauses the video and zooms in, a guy in a mask carrying Y/n-well more like dragging her, her face was covered with a sack and her hand tied behind her back.

"That jet, track that jets data."

"Left at...5pm, landed in XYZ Airport just outside the Alpes."

"More information they had struggled to get into the air because a fight broke out."

"A fight? Are there cameras in there?"

"No, but...audio..." Johnny was hesitant to play the audio but Simon nods signaling to play it.

"This is Captain Jack Orsen, we're having a problem on the flight-"

"GET OFF OF ME! DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!"

"SHE BROKE MY NOSE!"

"YOU BITCH!" There was a struggle but they heard a smack and Simon clench his fists.

"THE BITCH SLAPPED ME!?"

"How did her hands get loose!?"

"Tie her back down."

"For a lady getting kidnapped, she does know how to fight," John says.

"She is a fighter-get me a flight to the Alpes, asap."

"Yes, sir-"

"You'll need back up."

"Tackle up," Simon says as they break.

------------------

Now The Alpes 15 Minutes outside Potential Compound

"Insights say that it could be the compound."

"Alejandro managed to get in with no problem, undetected."

Speaking of Alejandro, he walked through the compound like everyone else, undetected. He carries a gun and walked with a mask covering his face like all the other guards. He stood just outside of a cell, he sees her curled up on the floor.

"Get up." She sits up and once Alejandro opened the cell door, he pushes Y/n to the wall, spreading her feet like it was protocol, he leans forward close to her ear. "Simon is coming." He says.

"Alejandro?" She whispers.

"Shh, don't blow my cover." Soon the head honcho stepped behind Alejandro. "She's clear."

"O-Of course I'm clear, you s-snatched me from my house with n-nothing on me, you f-fucking psychos," Y/n curses at the two men playing along with Alejandro.

"She's got a fucking mouth on her." He says, stepping out of the cell.

He walks down the hall, putting an ear piece in as he was away from the other guards and the head honcho.

"Simon? Do you copy?"

"Yes, where are you Alejandro?"

"In the dungeon where she is...she's here."

"Is she safe?"

"Couple of bruises," he looks up. "I have to go," he pulls his earpiece out and continues walking.

---------------

Red lights flashed across the hallways. Shouts erupted in the distance. Alejandro instinctively reached for his pistol, pressing himself against the wall as chaos unfolded around him. The guards scrambled, some rushing toward the commotion outside while others barked orders into radios.

Then the first explosion hit.

The force rocked the foundation, dust raining from the ceiling. The blast sent a guard stumbling into Alejandro’s path. Without hesitation, Alejandro grabbed the man by the collar and drove his knee into his gut. The guard wheezed, doubling over, but Alejandro was already spinning him around and using his own rifle to snap his neck with a sickening crack.

Gunfire erupted in the distance, closer this time. Simon was here.

Alejandro sprinted back toward Y/n’s cell, neutralizing another guard with a swift blade across the throat. He retrieved the dead man’s keycard, swiping it against the panel. The lock clicked open.

"Move!" he barked.

Y/n didn’t hesitate. She stumbled forward, but Alejandro caught her arm, steadying her. "Can you run?"

"I can fight," she shot back, grabbing a fallen guard’s knife.

He smirked. "Then let’s get the hell out of here."

The hallway ahead exploded in a shower of sparks as gunfire ricocheted off the walls. Alejandro shoved Y/n behind cover, returning fire. Three guards fell before the rest scrambled for cover.

"We have to move now!" Alejandro shouted over the gunfire.

A familiar voice crackled over the radio. "Alejandro, where the fuck are you?"

He quickly tries to put his earpiece in. "North wing, second floor! Need extraction!"

"Hold tight. On my way."

Another explosion rocked the compound. Alejandro turned to Y/n. "You trust me?"

"Not really," she admitted, gripping her knife tighter.

He smirked. "Good. Stay close."

They sprinted down the corridor, dodging bullets and bodies as the compound erupted into full-blown war. And somewhere in the smoke and fire, Ghost was coming.

"Get down," Alejandro says, covering Y/n as they heard gun firing and then...it stopped. Alejandro released Y/n and they looked to see if it was clear.

Y/n sees her husband, blood covering his front as he was pulling his knife from the back of one of the guard that was firing at them.

"Simon!" Y/n calls out, Simon looks up and sees her.

No others words were exchanged, Simon put his knife back into his holster and running up to Y/n picking her up and hugging her so tight she could barely breath.

"Si," she coos, while holding his face.

"Oh, thank fuck, you're safe." He says. He looks at Alejandro and motions for him to get in front so they can all leave here unharmed and safe.

"Leaving so soon, Simon?" A voice calls from the end of the hallway. They stopped and turned. "The fun has just begun," he smirks.

"Viktor Mikhailov," Simon growled.

"It's been awhile...I'm not surprised you came in guns up and firing, and you setting off my alarms..."

"Take her out of here."

"Simon-"

"I'll be fine this is between Viktor and I."

Alejandro moved Y/n out of the way and headed out of the compound.

"Y/n!" John yells.

"He's still in there!" She cries.

"He'll be fine, Y/n, he's tough," Johnny tries to reassured her.

"I don't need that right now, I want my husband, I just got him back, I don't want to lose him."

They felt bad for Y/n, she cried on her knees, holding her face in her hands as tears streamed down her face.

"No need to worry," Johnny says, moving Y/n to turn and look.

"Simon!"

"No, need to cry, my love, I'm not going down that easily. It's gonna take more then that."

----------------

7 Months Later

"Si? Where are you?"

Simon came out of the bedroom and was in a very nice suit.

"Where are you going? Are you going to see your mistress?" She teased.

"Funny, no I'm not. I have meeting today."

"Is it to talk about your retirement?"

"No...that's another time, my love." He leans down kissing her lips and placed his big hand on her plump stomach. "Get some rest, you're gonna need so much strength for when this little one comes along."

"I know." She whines, putting her head back.

"I'll be back later."

"Fine," she groans. He just smiles down at her and pats her back giving her a soft kiss and waited for her to get under the covers and get comfortable before he leaves.