#i am just so so happy with this new build

[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

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Inspired by the alien-cat species and the dragon!Ford:

How about a borrower!au in which both brothers are borrowers and Stan gets cursed to be a cat? And after finding a borrower running from a bird (?) he decides to help him out, only to discover that it's his twin!

Cue cat!Stan trying to (over)protect ford while ford, after realizing this cat isn't going to eat him, decides that he is now unstoppable

If ford is living in Fiddleford's walls you could have Stan being an asshole to fidds all the time

Alien cat? Where's the alien cat? Am I forgetting something I made, or is this a reference to something else.

I'm not an expert on borrower lore, so don't quote me on their culture, fwi.

Borrowers au Stan gets kicked out after accidentally messing up the family's chance to get into some deluxe or super secure house/community for borrowers. Not sure what, but it would have kept his family comfortable and safe. Gets told he has to find somewhere equally safe/great for borrowing if he wants to be a part of the family.

Maybe the house they're living in has someone who had a chance to go to college, which are borrowers hot spots and Stan messed up their presentation? Or Ford figured out some grand scheme to get into some building and Stan messed up the timing? Whaterver happened, the twins still had their falling out and Stan's on his own.

Stan lives life constantly moving from place to place, trying to find the perfect home that will keep his family safe and have enough resources to support them, but fails. Either because someone was already living there or it was too dangerous, or something. Eventually breaks into a witches house, and she panic curses him, not realizing he wasn't a human man breaking in and is now throwing a regular sized cat out of her house, none the wiser. Stan now has to survive as a cat, but it's actually not too bad, living the life of a mini giant.

Then he stumbles onto Ford. Ford lives in the walls of the McGucket cabin in Gravity Falls. He followed them from backupsmore, where he was trying to get a higher education while also trying to survive after getting separated from the rest of his family. The McGuckets live in Gravity Falls so that Emma-May can study the fossils in the area, and Ford researches the smaller borrower sized anomalies when not focused on survival.

Stan saw the bird, saw it chasing a borrower, and figured 'hey, I'll help the guy out, now that I'm huge and basically unstoppable' only to realize later that it's Ford, who, wow, is tiny. Stan could squish his brother if he wanted! Ford, meanwhile, is already waiting for the end. Got saved from a bird just to wind up in the belly of something worse. His life is flashing before his eyes when the giant cat licks his hair, flops it's head on top of him, and starts purring like crazy. He scrambles for freedom, flinching as he prepares for it to bat at him, when it just. Doesn't do that. Lays there watching him, only moving to follow when he makes a break for it. By the time he gets back home it's fairly obvious Stan is not going to eat Ford, and in fact attacks anything that tries.

Cue protagonist moment. Fords made a special connection with this giant murder beast, and now he's basically the most powerful borrower alive. No need to worry about predators with his brand new steed, he's zipping around the forest like nobodies business, and the cat listens when he tells it to go places or distract the McGuckets so he can borrow. But it also bullies him, stopping him from checking out cool anomalies and carrying him home when it gets too late. The first time Stan picks him up by the back of his shirt Ford thinks he's about to get eaten, only to glare when Stan drops him off at his outside door and lays in front of it so he can't sneak out.

(The McGuckets are not so happy with the new local stray, that attacks their ankles and runs off with their stuff. Except for Tate, who loves Mr. Mystery and please won't they let him keep him please please please!!!)

Not sure where the plot would go from there, but I'm loving the premise.

[jamesunderwater]

100% to all of this. I couldn't have said it better myself.

Not sure if I've ever shared this story here, but: I didn't realize my identity as a trans person until my late 20s, and when I did, it was more of a revelation than a realization. Ridiculous as it sounds, what made the light bulb click on was recalling all the years that I'd roleplayed as Sirius Black, and how it sometimes felt so much more right to be him than to be the person I pretended to be. So, not only did being in this fandom help me realize who I am, but I think that being able to "be" a man by playing as these characters also helped me survive through the times that I couldn't be the real me.

Fandom genuinely saves trans lives in so many more ways than I think cis people can fathom. Which is why it's more important than ever to keep it alive. I know all the arguments about why people in the HP fandom just need to "get over ourselves and move on", but for me, there was (is) no moving on from these characters, because they're literally a part of me. So -- I don't know, I'm just picturing a world where all the cis people in the fandom listened to those self-righteous people telling them that they should "find a new obsession", only leaving trans people like me without a fandom to feel safe in, to be ourselves in, to find ourselves in. And that's a world that would make jkr very happy. I say we keep building a world that really pisses her the fuck off.

And I know that it's about more than just the opinions of people outside of this fandom, I know that there is a lot of (rightful) inner conflict about staying here, as well. But I hope what I'm saying adds a different perspective for the internal debates, too.

What you should definitely do, instead of leaving fandom?

Write trans characters!!!

I'm so for real yall. Write trans characters, draw trans characters. Support trans authors and artists, of course, but also -- give us representation in the places where you have the power to do so 🩵 that, in my opinion, is the most powerful and meaningful way you can fight against jkr's bullshit.

Like a lot of other authors/content creators in the HP fandom, I am feeling a sense of heaviness over the rulings that happened in the UK and feel the need to speak on my (albeit very complicated) feelings.

What JKR is doing is terrible. It will ruin lives. It will end lives.

If you feel like that is being hyperbolic, please go look up the suicide rates for the trans community. It's a staggering number and it only grows as people seeking information, comfort, and support are locked out of proper resources due to heinous legislations like the one passed yesterday.

It saddens me too because I know that so many in the LGBTIQA+ have found characters/stories in the HP universe that have spoken to them and helped to understand their personal journeys---only to have that comfort ripped away by the very person who created them.

If you can permit me to be personal for a second: My brother is trans and before/during his transition (this was early 2010s) he always cited Remus Lupin as one of the foundations for coming to terms with his trans identity because he saw some of his own internal struggle in Lupin's character. He even went so far as to write a letter to JKR (which, thank GOD he never sent...) thanking her for creating a character that aided him with the complicated feelings he had when there were no other resources for him.

My brother is now a psychologist specializing in the young trans community and speaking to him recently, he has said that he comes across this same story constantly and each one ends in tragedy because that little piece of solace and comfort was not just taken from them, but told them that no, actually. You thought wrong to see yourself in this character. You don't matter.

Watching what happened yesterday and knowing the long history of bigotry JKR has spouted for years now weighs heavy on my heart every time I step into this fandom and often I question if I should still contribute to it. I know it's not much, but I would like to share some of the things that keep me going--even when it all looks really fucking bleak:

Fanfiction and fanart are, at their foundation, anticapitalist works--and can be used to fight JKR's agenda. By consuming fanfic/fanart zero money goes towards JKR. None. And further, JKR has no say in how you use her characters in these spaces. So, if you want to use these creative outlets to uplift trans voices, please do! Support trans writers/artists and urge them to PERSIST--because I promise you nothing is going to tick off the ole' bitch more than trans bodies/ trans supporters writing her characters.

Just because the writer is the devil, doesn't mean the art has to be. I won't go into the concept of "death of the author" because I think it can be pockmarked to hell with various examples, but what I DO subscribe to is that once the art is out in the world, it is now owned by the person who consumes it. To put it simply: when I read HP I am POSITIVE I imagine characters/settings differently than the person next to me. It's the beauty of the imagination: the creator can give us the blocks but how it is built is contingent on how WE perceive it.

Did I mention money? DON'T GIVE IT TO HER. Buy the books/movies second hand. Pirate the media you wish to consume around the fandom. Don't give her any reason to give any more hate funding and instead send that money to trans communities and groups who need it (they REALLY need it.)

Maybe I'm naive to say this, but I don't think interacting with the story as an art form is bad. She invented it, sure, but she isn't in charge of what goes on in my brain. If anything, this fandom NEEDS the trans community and supporters within it because not only can they push back, but they can educate those who otherwise are listening to the author. Don't let her win the space even though she's the author. It's no longer hers to have.

If you are someone who wants to leave the fandom because you can't bear to watch her continue to destroy it--I completely understand. But, as someone who has been in this fandom for over 20 years, the one thing I've learned is: besides monetarily she doesn't own shit. Don't let her take what you love from you and don't let her get away with scaring people out of their community spaces. Support and love our trans brothers and sisters and enjoy your HP despite it all. The things you love are worth fighting for.

[theambitiouswoman]

I really like your attitude towards dating and relationships. Over the past few years, I’ve kind of reprogrammed myself, I’m no longer seeking intensity, but rather the kind of qualities you mentioned. I’ve realized that I don’t need butterflies or a racing heart to feel connected; sometimes just feeling calm and comfortable is enough. Still, I sometimes wonder if I’m doing it right. I don’t just want to process things. I want to truly experience emotions too

What you said "I don't just want to process things" is a sentiment that is echoed very often in my messages

You know, real love can feel like fireworks, but I think we need to rewire our idea of what that actually means

A healthy relationship doesn’t spike your anxiety or make your heart race from fear of losing someone. In fact, neuroscience shows that when you're in a safe, loving bond, the brain’s fear center (the amygdala) actually calms down. Holding hands can reduce physical pain, hugging regulates the nervous system and just being in the presence of someone you trust can lower cortisol levels

When love is calm, it’s easy to wonder if you’re missing something. But what if you’re not? What if you're finally safe? Love becomes a place your body can exhale, not brace itself. That stillness isn’t a lack of feeling, it’s a new kind of depth. The kind that doesn’t burn you out, but lights you up

Healthy love is so powerful

What we call “butterflies” is just anxiety, we confuse nervous system activation with romantic excitement. But drama and toxicity can feel intense because they create a cycle of extreme highs and lows: love bombing, withdrawal, arguments, then affection again. That spikes dopamine, and we become addicted, not to the person, but to the anticipation of their validation. Especially for those of us with an anxious attachment style, you unconsciously associate unpredictability with love. The person just becomes a personification of our unresolved attachment wounds

The truth is that if you removed the chase and the validation, you probably wouldn't even like them

We need to rewire what we think fireworks feel like. Because healthy love can still feel like fireworks, just in a different way

When you’re emotionally safe enough to be fully yourself When you can play, laugh, and be present without fear When chemistry builds through trust, not tension When growth is mutual and love feels expansive When your nervous system feels at home, not on guard

Imagine feeling happy, at peace, free, full of love, seeing the world full of magic, seeing colors brighter, feeling like a child again, feeling confident, full of life, inspired, motivated

So if peace feels unfamiliar, maybe the question isn’t: Where’s the passion? Maybe it’s: Am I mistaking peace for boredom because I’ve been wired for chaos?

Healthy love isn’t void of emotion, it’s where real emotions finally have room to be felt, not just survived. And yes, real love still feels like fireworks, just the kind that light up your whole sky, not the kind that set your heart on fire and leave you in smoke

You already know the difference between what’s healthy and what isn’t, so don’t overthink or second guess yourself

I will tell you that not everyone is open to healing. A lot of people are operating from unhealed wounds, stuck in cycles they’re not ready to break. Emotional health isn’t as common as it should be… and that’s okay. Because not just anyone is meant for you

So trust yourself. The right connection will never require you to abandon your peace just to feel "something"

[nfr-girly]

Unspoken Words ~ B. Bradshaw x f!reader

Summary: Upon finding out you’re leaving the state, Bradley realises he has less than a day to build up the courage to tell you how he feels <angst-fluff>

border by @saradika-graphics <3

“What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I’m not leaving permanently, I’m just going out of state for a few months to take up a job position”

You and Rooster now found yourselves in the parking lot of the academy. You were planning on telling him a lot sooner, and not the day before you flew out, but how were you supposed to tell your best friend you were going away for 9 months?

You had been offered a job position in the South Atlantic, and you were hesitant at first. 9 months was a while, especially since you’d be in a completely new area with new people. But your officers thought you’d be best suited, and figured it would be good experience for you. So you took up the position.

You had confirmed everything a month prior, giving you time to sort out your belongings, and who would apartment watch for you. You had told everyone at the program two weeks ago, and they were sad to see you go, but happy for you to experience something fresh. On the other hand, telling Bradley was a whole other thing. Truthfully, you had gained feelings for him not long after becoming friends. It was stupid, falling for your fellow classmate, but you couldn’t help it.

He was your first friend, and immediately warmed up to you. But you also knew that you weren’t the only one with their eye on him. Every time you all went to the hard deck, you saw the way other women looked at him. Whenever he played that stupid piano, you could guarantee there were at least 3 women who gave him their number. He never ended up calling any of them, weirdly enough. But they were gorgeous, and probably more his type.

You didn’t want to leave him behind, but you had eventually accepted that your friendship with him would most likely stay a friendship. Which is mostly why you agreed to go away, maybe some time off would help you get over him?

But it surprises you now, that when you’ve finally told him, he’s acting like you’ve just stabbed him repeatedly in the leg.

“A few months? You’re going away for 9. I thought you liked it here?”

You huff and step closer to him, trying to reassure him

“I do! But this is a good opportunity for me”

He scoffed and looked around him

“Being here is a good opportunity. You finishing this program with m- us, is a good opportunity”

You furrowed your eyebrows, you couldn’t believe how angry he was. Why did it bother him so much?

“Why are you so mad about this? Jesus Bradley I thought you’d be happy for me”

He pressed his lips together and breathed out.

“I am. But going down south, at your level? You’re not ready.”

The moment it came out his mouth he regretted it. What the hell is wrong with me?? He thought

You paused and scoffed

“What and you are??” You respond

“I….” He didn’t have anything else to say, he had already said too much

You shake your head and point to him

“Go fuck yourself Bradley”

You turn and head towards your car, not sparing him a second glance

All he could do was watch you leave. All he could think about was how much of an idiot he was.

~~~~~ that evening ~~~~~

Bradley lies on his couch, taking the occasional swing of his beer bottle as he watches tv. He feels like a walking stereotype. Drowning his sorrows with alcohol to forget the fact he hurt the women he loved.

What the hell was he thinking? Jesus- you came up to him so excited. He had never seen light in your eyes like that. He was happy for you, of course he was. But how could he pretend he was happy about the fact you’d be leaving him for that long? He was just coming around to admitting to himself his feelings for you, now he has to watch as you leave him behind?

You’d probably find some better man out there, more taller, more muscular, someone who isn’t scared to love you. What was he supposed to do without you? You’re one of the few people he actually gets along with here.

He doesn’t know what to do now. His outburst yesterday doesn’t change anything. You’re still leaving. If he had acted better yesterday, he could have at least been able to say goodbye to you. Now he wouldn’t even get to do that, and you’d spend the next 9 months hating him.

He felt sick at the thought. Before he could spiral more, his phone pinged. He looked toward his phone, grabbed it and looked at the message. It was from Nat.

Nat 🐦‍🔥

She told me what you said to her earlier, why did you say that?

He huffed out, and started typing

Roos 🎹

I didn’t mean to. You know how I feel about her, I just panicked.

Lame excuse. He thought

Nat 🐦‍🔥

I know you didn’t. But she doesn’t know that, she leaves tomorrow. You should go talk to her, she’ll be packing right now

He stared at the text. She was fucking right, of course she was. Would you even be willing to talk to him? He typed out a response

Roos 🎹

I’m gonna have to tell her how I feel aren’t I?

Nat 🐦‍🔥

Absolutely. Let me know how it goes 😛

He lets out a chuckle and turned off his phone. He ran his hands through his hair, sighing. After a minute, he gets up and grabs his keys to the bronco.

Heading out the door, he comes up with different ways on how to not fuck it up this time.

~~

You took a lot longer than you hoped it would to pack. Honestly, right now you’re just putting in random crap you don’t need. You’re trying not to think about him, he was an asshole earlier. But you still miss him, you were hoping you’d get to say a proper goodbye, or maybe ask if he wanted to see you off at the airport.

Now you were certain you wouldn’t get to do that, he was stubborn too, he wouldn’t apologise so easily. But you could see it in his eyes, you knew he felt guilty saying all that, but honestly? You couldn’t care less. You didn’t owe him anything, if you wanted to go on deployment away from him then you would very well do so.

You looked around, the apartment was cleaned up, but the pile of belongings in front of you still stood. You were supposed to choose which ones to bring and which ones to give away.

Before you got a chance to do so, a knock at the door was heard. You furrowed your eyebrows, you weren’t expecting any deliveries, no family members over either.

But a voice called out from the other side

“Hey, it’s Brad. Could we talk?”

Fuck. Speak of the devil. You sighed and stood up, making sure your footsteps could be heard.

You took off the chains and opened the door, revealing him. He looked like a mess. He was wearing a black top with cargo pants. Honestly, you’d be lying if you said he didn’t look hot right now, but that wasn’t the point.

“What do you need?” You say

He pauses and observes you. You didn’t even realise, but you’re wearing the hoodie he got you when it came winter. Said you didn’t have enough warm clothes and got it for you without you asking, no interest in you paying him back either.

You follow his eyes and land on the hoodie. Crap. You fumble your words as you speak

“I just put it on- it was cold”

He shakes his head and grins. “No no, not judging. You look nice in it.”

You nod and look down. His smile falters, he almost forgot what he actually came here to do.

“Could I come in? I really need to speak to you.”

You look up and nod. “Yeah.”

You open the door wider for him and he steps in, while you lock the door, he takes a quick look around your apartment. You’ve tidied up, and in the middle next to your couch lies your many suitcase. He isn’t surprised. 9 months? You’re bound to bring alot of things. He ignores the remaining pile of stuff that lies next to them.

“If this is about earlier, forget it. It’s not important” he turns to look at you, your arms are crossed, and your eyes wander around everywhere, but not on him.

“Hey. It is. I was an asshole I’m sorry.” He sighs and moves closer to you

“No- it’s fine. Forget about it” you still don’t look to him

He sighs, and before he can take it back, he reaches out and tilts your chin upwards, making your eyes land on his. You both ignore the feeling that runs through your body at the touch.

“Don’t do that. It’s not fine. I don’t know why I did that” he lets go of you, and you still feel the essence of his touch.

“I’m truly sorry, you know that? I am happy for you. I mean Jesus- south Atlantic? You’re doing better than any of us” he chuckles

“And… you’re more than ready for this. Forget what I said, about not being ready and all that crap. You are.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, taking in his words. You appreciate him apologising, you really do. But part of you was hoping he wouldn’t at all, because then leaving here would be a hell lot easier.

There’s a silence that holds, and it’s comfortable. But there’s words that are meant to be said. You both know it.

He breaths in, before speaking up again.

“I’m gonna miss you. A lot more than I think you realise”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“I’ll miss you too. I will.” You say

He nods and looks down. Looking back up, you take a closer look at his face. You almost miss the way his eyes start to glisten.

“There’s nothing I can say to convince you to stay. Is there?”

You press your lips together, and shake your head, your own eyes glistening

“No. But there’s stuff you could say to make me come back”

His heart skips a beat, he knows full well what you’re talking about. It’s right there. Haunting the both of you, it always has been. A lingering thought. Waiting to be told aloud.

Bradley doesn’t care anymore, if he doesn’t say anything now, will he ever?

He takes a deep breath, before he decides to put his all out on the line.

“I love you. You know that, don’t you?” He asks, and you could swear the floor falls below you

You didn’t, not until just 10 minutes ago. But somehow you wonder if you always did know, deep down. Just that you wouldn’t let yourself believe it. The lingering touches, the eye contact.

You nod. “I know. I was just waiting for you to say it.”

He chuckles, “I didn’t do a good job of hiding it.”

You smile, and move closer to him.

You bring your hands up and place them on either side of his face, stroking his cheek.

He takes the moment to look at you. To properly look at you. He looks at your eyes, the shape of your eyebrows, your nose, your eyelashes, your lips. You had always said you sometimes got insecure about your looks. But looking at you now, you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You look to him, and whisper

“I love you too, you know that?”

He grins slightly, and nods

“I know, I was just waiting for you to say it.” You chuckle, and he laughs

He brings his hands to your waist, caressing it. He moves closer and asks in a low voice;

“Can I kiss you?”

You smile and nod, he doesn’t give it a second thought before he pulls you in. Connecting your lips to his.

You meet him halfway, holding his face as he gently kisses you. The months of words unsaid are let free now, and there’s a relief that’s lifted off both your shoulders.

After a few seconds, you let go for air. He pulls you in to put his forehead on yours.

“There’s absolutely nothing I can do to make you stay?”

You chuckle

“Maybe if you told me all this a few months ago, I would’ve stayed”

He chuckles and looks down

“I know.”

You breath in and speak up, wanting to address the other problem in the air

“Bradley… I’m away for 9 months. If that’s too long of a wait, then I understand”

He shakes his head as soon as you say it, “I don’t care. I’ll wait. I’ve already been waiting a year and a half for you. This is nothing” he smiles, and you chuckle in return

He pulls away and looks towards the pile of belongings still left, waiting for someone to tend to them. “Do you need help with that?” He asks

You breathe out a sigh of relief “please”

He laughs and nods, taking your hand in his. “Cmon. Let’s go sort it out”

You two sit down on the floor as you arrange all your belongings, now, the atmosphere around you isn’t filled with unspoken words anymore, instead, it’s filled with love, hope for something good. Before, there was an invisible string tying you towards each-other, yet neither of you seemed to know where it led, and now, you had both found the other end.

————————————————————————

masterlist

[tapwater118]

tpot 17 spoilers here's what i thought of it lalalala

overall very good episode!! not the *best* ever episode but not every episode can be. it was very silly and fun and also what the fuck is happening

this eliminations played out how i most expected it to, i like pillow and yellow face is alright i guess but it was definitely their times to go. love how pencil freaked out for a hot second over having the most votes (again) i knew they would do that they are so evil for it. I LOVED BOTTLE'S LITTLE DOODLES of course she draws 2018 cute boots and mouth good for her

speaking of bottle was such a fun host! the "everything she does takes literal days" thing was a bit overused but i'm glad they stopped doing that once the challenge started. nice little subtle bit of character-building for four given how he was seemingly happy with bottle taking over. bro cares more about cooking than hosting now i can respect the growth and progression

the challenge itself was a very neat idea, splitting up the teams like this is a very good way to get new groups of characters to interact who wouldn't have otherwise. i thought for a second when bottle shuffled everyone around that we were getting ANOTHER team swap and nearly screamed lmao. but yeah super funny how the eating contest objects where all chill with each other (for the most part) but everyone else was at each other's throats the whole time lmao

pencil. oughhhhh pencil. i am ill. i dont really think pen was the best choice to talk to her at the end but to be fair the options were pretty limited given that everyone else was either MIA or book. the bookcil scene was awesome yes girlie get ANGRY unleash your RAGE. i think it would have been a bit more impactful if they didn't have fanny going basically "erm, awkward!" right in the middle of it but yeah good food i am fed

oh my god what has happened to one's room. has gaty torn through there like a feral animal or something or was this all the product of one's own frustration. given how she fucking mutilates donut i wouldn't discount the latter possibility. also six is plot relevant what, and purple face is gonna lead them to the EXIT and then (theory time) one's gonna use that group to get three out of the fourtress for. something. idk yet but things are happening

individual challenges lightning round go! circus circumstances is amazing i love slasher tacks, love evil tv arc they should have him Kill more. ferris wheel was kinda whatever but i love how they're bringing back snowball's old relationships with certain characters, particularly gb and pen. THE FOURSE IS BACK I LOVE YOU FOURSE not much else to say i didn't already cover in the previous section. eating contest was fun they leaked price tag's search history (and loser got cancelled lmao). winner felt appreciated i need to kiss them what who said that

wow i had a lot to say about this one huh, forty minute episodes will do that to ya. elimination predictions: grassy is almost certainly out, the team 2 votes (aside from icy's) were really close last time so it really depends on where the icy voters' votes will go now, and just by fandom reaction i can tell you it will not be grassy. for 🎼 i'm less sure but i can certainly say bottle and pen are safe, they were all over this episode they got so much to do. i think it might be liy or tb as much as i hate to say it, they kinda got sidelined in their challenges

ok uhh tpot 18 or 19 will probably be a meetup episode so i'll be able to see it before the rest of you HAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[alystrin03]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Another IllaRook fan, @zwitter-iconic has tagged me for this day!

I'm gonna share a snippet I wrote some days ago, when I misread a prompt for the Drunken Circle Writing

I'm obsessed with Viago (and Illario, lately...) but this one is about my game canon romance: our favourite disaster bisexual Lucanis Dellamorte. The Crow massacre they talk about is described in this chapter of my preVeilguard fanfic! This will belong to my main fic, which I have abandoned a bit...

So, I hope you like my Rookanis fragment!

Also: gonna tag @nyx-de-riva @adhd-riddled-crow and @dragonagegayz. I love your work too much!

“There's still one place I want to go before we return to the Lighthouse.”

Rook wondered what else the day might hold for them, as she looked at Lucanis with some curiosity. He certainly was full of surprises: not only had he prepared paella with chocolate with churros for dessert - the nap that followed such an opulent meal was epic - but also had made their relationship “official”, so to speak, in front of their companions: he did not hesitate to flirt with her openly and brush her hand as he passed by her side, finally leaving behind the fears that had plagued him for so long. So that night Rook decided to keep the promise she had made him a long time ago: to spend a night together in the places of Treviso where no one would recognize them, being “no one”, if only for a day, as she herself had been for so many years.

“Sure” she replied softly, smiling at the man she loved ”lead the way.”

Although he looked happy, Rook could sense a certain nervousness in him. For a second she feared that he might be plagued by doubts again, but that fear vanished as soon as she felt his fingers intertwining with hers. Their destination surprised her even more, if that's possible. Lucanis had taken her to the back of the amphitheater where a lifetime ago they had shared a bottle of an unknown liquor, when he was a newly ascended Crow and she a heartbroken fledgling, an instant in time where they didn't even know each other's names. A place where minutes later a massacre had been unleashed that would be engraved in the memory of the Crows forever.

That garden was still practically the same, with the marble balustrade over the canal. That memory was bittersweet: on the one hand, it had meant the starting point for both of them, but on the other the ghosts of that night had haunted her for too many years.

“Are you all right, Rook?” Lucanis seemed troubled by her sudden change of expression.

“Yes, I am,” she said, with a sigh ”I just didn't expect to come back here. It's a bit of a complicated memory.”

“That's why I wanted to come here” he replied, approaching her, soothing her with his mere presence “I wanted to turn a bad memory into a worthwhile one” She was thinking what to answer him, but the cold drizzle that had been falling all night long increased, turning into a persistent downpour that threatened to soak them to the bone if they continued out outdoors. “If only looking like two wet cats.”

Lucanis looked up at the sky with some disappointment, but that was something she could fix.

“Remember when I managed to cool a hot liquor with some ice inside it? I've learned a trick or two since then.”

A thin dome began to form over the two of them, solidifying some of that water into a thin layer of ice, enough to shelter them from the rain.

“Don't you ever get tired of surprising me?” Rook smiled broadly at him, with a certain mischievous look “As I was saying, the reason for coming here with you is none other than to end the curse this place holds for us. A point from which to build something new, together” He moved closer to her, letting their faces separate by mere inches. Rook felt a tingle in his stomach, an anticipatory nervousness she had not felt in a long time “It's about time I finally do what I should have done years ago.”

Rook closed her eyes instinctively as she felt his warmth as he leaned closer, letting Lucanis kiss her and responding in return, feeling Lucanis' breath on her lips and caressing them with her tongue, causing them both to open their mouths to make the kiss deeper, much more intense, sharing the air they breathed. The concentration that held the spell shattered, as did the dome, which cracked soundlessly, causing the rain to seep through all its cracks, drenching the couple, but neither of them cared. Lucanis took her by the waist and hugged her tightly, barely separating to take a breath, and Rook pressed her body against his, savoring those lips that tasted of coffee and almonds. That moment of happiness, those ardent kisses made them forget the time and the problems, letting themselves be intoxicated by all the feelings they had contained for too long.

[kemendin]

Alliance Commander's Quarters - Caspian Serapis

This is meant to be on Odessen, not Coruscant - high up in the Alliance base, with plenty of windows and a stunning view. Some notes below cut because I put a lot of thought and meaning into the decor:

Hallway/entrance. An actual door, unlike the room in the Odessen base xD Theron and Lana hanging out because they're Cas' right and left hands when it comes to running the Alliance, and good friends besides.

Main room, featuring Alliance and Task Force Nova banners, both important causes in Cas' life. There's also a central table for small meetings or meals with his inner circle, Jedi-themed because while Cas is no longer strictly part of the Order, part of him is always going to be a Jedi.

Cas' work table, where he can futz around with computer tech or Rakata artefacts. Corellian rugs, as a nod to Cas' home planet. Also a model of his ship, the Seeker.

Kira and T7, Cas' crew and family, and a casual little lounge area for relaxing chats over drinks. Also a computer workstation connected to the Odessen base systems and the holonet. Boy's an accomplished slicer, gotta keep those skills sharp.

Rakata corner with statue, console, and model of Belsavis, because Cas is a little too obsessed with all things Rakata. Also a secure holo-library for his research.

Bedroom entrance, featuring a little breakfast table with a view, where Cas and Scourge can have a meal in solitude.

Bedroom panorama, a lot to unpack in this one. Naturally, as Cas' life partner, Scourge is there. A Rakata plaque - all the Rakata, I swear - and a painting of the Meridian Complex, where Scourge and Cas reunited after so long apart. A lightsaber display whose meaning I haven't settled on yet xD And a model of Alderaan, where Cas took Scourge on a sensory pilgrimage after they got together, a very special place for both of them.

And another bedroom view. Prominent Corellian banners, as Cas is fiercely proud of his homeworld and heritage. Some more Jedi connections in the archive and datacron. The bed's an inside joke - Cas asked Scourge to pick out the colour of the sheets, now that Scourge can appreciate colour again, and Scourge went with - black. Of course he did. (That's ALL the colours though, that counts, right?)

[cultivating-wildflowers]

ladies, I need to wander despondently across a foggy moor asap

[deoidesign]

Idk who needs to hear this but time and time again isn't over!!!

Webtoon removed the "time and time again will return!!!" Banner and I don't know why, but it's not over!!! There's still another 1/3 of the comic to go! There's a lot more stuff that I'm working on and it'll be coming back soon!

Please be patient with me, I know it's been a long time... But the stuff I'm making is really good and there's a lot of reasons it's taken this long. I promise I want it back more than anyone.

I'm trying to come back around the end of October. I'm doing my best to get everything ready in time, so no promises, but I'm on track to do so! I'm just one person writing and drawing everything, and my editor was fired so I'm not even getting any notes anymore. It's literally just me. I'm doing my best I promise!

[sissytobitch10seconds]

THE MARIGOLD IS NOT A METAPHOR FOR GENERATIONAL OR PARENTAL TRAUMA. IT IS A LITERAL, TANGIBLE FORCE THAT CHANGES THE UNIVERSE THEY LIVE IN. ERASING THE MARIGOLD IS NOT A METAPHOR FOR KILLING ONESELF TO MAKE THE UNIVERSE A BETTER PLACE IF YOU HAVE TRAUMA. STOP MISCONSTRUING THE ENDING JUST BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T LIKE IT.

[unopenablebox]

i'm not sure whether i'll want this yarn at ~12 or ~15 epi but that's ok because i planned out a warp long enough for SAMPLING!!! if it seems loose i can cut off a bit of sample to wash and then resley it if needed! and fortunately i have every reed dent i could possibly want due to the wonderful assortment of loom accessories that came bundled with this loom :)

[anonymusbosch]

replacing "kink at pride" discourse with "kink at the bougie-ass smoothie shop hawking acai smoothies for like $14 and hanging up a poster for Pride as if that's anything." if a place has pride posters up then you should get AT LEAST a 10% discount for wearing one of those puppy masks or having freaky transgender sex in the store

[philcoulsonismyhero]

I've reached the playlist making stage of my overwhelming obsession with Rivers of London, and I'm still not over how much I love 'Don't Carry It All' by The Decemberists as a Nightingale and Peter song.

So raise a glass to turnings of the season And watch it as it arcs towards the sun And you must bear your neighbor's burden within reason And your labors will be borne when all is done

[peachcitt]

it’s about to be june everybody :)

[mokeonn]

Currently I have so many bg3 saves bc I refuse to delete my old ones that will likely never be finished (first ever gameplays, not optimized, everytime I open one I get overwhelmed and stop), but also because I keep making new games with the specific purpose of romancing a certain companion, seeing special dialog, doing a specific style of run, or getting an achievement on steam.