#nosecone

[elfdragon12]

No one talks enough about the fact that Grimlock is a single dad.

His kids even throw him a Father's Day celebration.

The sign in the back even says "thank you, our father" with cute little drawings of their heads. They live their daddy!

[they-hermes]

short technobot characterisations go:

scattershot is if springer was raised by prowl, a jock soldier with no social etiquette bc hes a nerd who studies mathematics and statistics all day. hes the only frat boy to ever leave a party to go study.

strafe is very sweet but because he is in a war they gave him a gun instead of anxiety meds, and seeing the damage he could do with one gun they gave him another. hes also a biologist and embodies that one guy on tiktok who keeps picking up animals barefoot in the florida everglades

nosecone finds all fiction literature very boring and prefers to read long winded academic essays all day. this is what gives him the patience to deal with his team everyday, hes used to heated arguments between people who can never admit they're wrong

lightspeed is one of the only scientists who appreciate social sciences, including astrology, and highlights his research with an intricate color coding system your average pinterest girly would only dream of having. hes a rousseau trapped in the body of a pythagoras

afterburner doesn't believe in deadlines and submits academic papers whenever he wants, nor does he believe in searching praise from professors and will fight them instead. this is why hes banished to archivist work to spend his days only ever organising data in giant empty halls where he cant fight people but jokes on them because the war let him back into society

[deadly-aim-broke-my-heart]

Happy Birthday to Technobots！！！18 years old！！！！！(G1S3 has a fixed year 2006, and it's 2024 now)

[transformers-mosaic]

Transformers: Multiverse #31 - "Spotlight: Bombshell"

Originally posted on January 18th, 2014

Story, Art - Joe Teanby Colours - Al Letters, Edits - Franco Villa

deviantART

wada sez: Teanby made a comment on deviantART explaining this one’s place in continuity: “This could be set in the Marvel continuity or present day. I figured Bombshell has always just been out for himself.” See below for the original sketch.

[hasbr0mniverse]

The Rodimus Corner - Nosecone makes enemy fortifications look like walls of Swiss cheese by the time he's finished with them. He’s slow and methodical, and weathers artillery fire with the same calm he endures when criticized of his apparant laziness.

[toyboxcomix]

Random Old Comic: Nerd https://www.toyboxcomix.com/2017/05/21/nerd/ Nerd

[infinitealpacas700]

The lion king part 2: Grimlock carries on the tradition with the technobots

That scene from the lion king but it’s wheeljack and ratchet showing off their kids

[jazzluca]

STEEL DRILL [Technobot NOSECONE] ( Combiner ) CRAFTSMAN TOYS

Dopo l'infelice versione Combiner Wars, salvata dalla controparte giapponese parallela United Warriors, ed in attesa di un'eventuale prossima uscita ufficiale post Legacy, a vedere appunto come Hasbro sta facendo ORA i combiner, ho voluto provare il frutto proibito di questo NOSECONE ( STEEL DRILL per gli amici ) Third Party della Craftsman Toys per sciacquarmi la bocc… gli occhi dopo, durante e in attesa delle mezze delusioni in tema di gestalt a livello ufficiale, anche se il nostro Argobot cinese è solo di classe (circa) Legends.

Che poi, la classe Legends paragonata agli Hasbro sarebbero i moderni Core, ma questo è alto quanto un Bumblebee SS 86 e simili, quindi praticamente è un Deluxe piccolo ma mooooolto elaborato E con dei signori accessori, ma il "brutto" sta solo nella stazza ridotta rispetto ai Generations d'ordinanza, che se l'avessero fatto alto almeno quanto i Dlx medi ufficiali, di certo sarebbe stato meglio almeno per la mia idea di collezione...

Ma digerito il rospo della scala a se', questo Nosecone supplisce ad un mio bisogno collezionistico di rifarmi un po' gli occhi, come accennavo sopra, rispetto ai deludenti Aerialbot e Constructicon in arrivo per le linee ufficiali; ma un altro fattore respingente per me verso i 3p sono talvolta i design pure troppo liberi rispetto a quelli iconici, laddove però nei Technobot questa cosa può essere "sopportata" tranquillamente vista la natura intrinseca di questo gruppo dagli alt mode notoriamente cybertroniani, che è pure parte del loro fascino.

E Argobot stesso a mio avviso ha sempre il suo fascino come trivella cingolata ma sopratutto per via dell'interessante colorazione con un marron scuro principale bilanciato da parti arancio e bianche, schema cromatico sapientemente riportato in questa versione cinese, con l'arancio un po' spento e tendende al color senape per meglio amalamarsi al marrone scuro, ma sopratutto non hanno invece ripreso la colorazione del cartone!

Questa infatti era basata sulle prime immagini del prototipo di Argobot, dove il nostro un po' troppo simile ai colleghi Technobot cromaticamente, con un rosso violaceo stile borgogna ( grazie Matteo Pieri! :D ) ed arancio scuro, che magari in tv non si notava troppo ma che invece nel giocattolo sarebbe stata una pessima scelta, e per fortuna quindi che l'hanno reso marrone e quasi giallo, e ancor meglio che per questo 3p si siano basati sul giocattolo, che molto probabilmente coi colori show accurate manco l'avrei preso! ^^''

Il nostro Steel Drill qualche libertà se la prende nella sua fedeltà, che se da una parte ha tutto il torso del ROBOT biancastro, le gambe inferiori sono senape con piedi e cosce marroni, mentre ci sono dettagli sparsi argento a simulare gli adesivi sul petto dell'originale.

Se nel G1 le braccia erano banalmente i moduli cingolati del veicolo senza manco dei pugni scolpiti, qui abbiamo i pugnetti neri e le parti superiori dei cingoli ruotati paralleli al pavimento, anche se volendo si possono alzare per somigliare di più all'originale.

Carino che al centro del petto ci sia il cockpit del veicolo in plastica trasparente arancio mentre l'unico appunto che mi sento di muovere a livello estetico sono gli occhi normali e non allargati a mo' di visore interrotto sul naso come nell'originale, ed è un po' un peccato che così erano assai particolari come tipo di occhi, anche se poi TUTTI i Technobot avevano quel tipo di ottici, quindi chissà cosa vedremo negli altri colleghi futuri… ^^'

Belli anche i dettagli delle ginocchiere rialzate che ricordano quelle del G1, ed ovviamente il nostro ha l'avanzo della trivella appesa sulla schiena, che ruota ma che può separarsi ed essere indossata da un pugno a scelta, e ruotare grazie alla rotazione della mano!

Parlando di accessori ed armi impugnabili, Steeldrill ha la pistola ed i cannoni di Nosecone G1, e se sulla prima non c'è molto da dire, sui cannoni gemelli invece ce n'è eccome, dato che se nell'originale erano appannaggio del solo veicolo, qui possono sistemarsi tramite gli appositi agganci o sopra le spalle o sotto gli avambracci, ed essere pure impugnati grazie ai calci a scomparsa!

Ma come non citare l'altro signor accessorio, altro motivo per cui mi ha conquistato questo modello, ovvero il piccolo tank drone, cui si può montare la pistolina di qui sopra, che non è messo a caso dato che si trasformerà nel piede e supporto di Steeldrill come gamba del gestalt? <3

Ovviamente ne parlo meglio più avanti, ma solo il fatto di aver messo questo accessorio trasformabile in un drone carrarmato è davvero un'ottima mossa, ed il tank non sarà perfetto esteticamente, ma ha gli stessi colori di questo Nosecone e può ruotare ( anche se fuori asse in avanti, vabbè ) la torretta, la cui canna comunque può sollevarsi!

Ed a proposito di posabilità, sarà che io ne sono a digiuno di questi 3p, ma cavolo, è degna di un Masterpiece, ed in un modello così piccolo mi ha lasciato stupefatto! Diciamo che gli manca solo di poter aprire i pugni, ma il resto è tutto sulla media superiore dei Deluxe Generations, ma senza balljoint a parte la testa e con doppio snodo sulle ginocchia.

La TRASFORMAZIONE ricalca quella del G1 originale, ma anche questa è degna di un Masterpiece, con gli avambracci che ruotano, i pugni che si ribaltano e gli spallacci che si drizzano per formare QUASI tutti i due moduli cingolati. Il supporto della trivella si divide per permettere al modulo centrale con la testa di ribaltarsi all'indietro portandosi dietro il cockpit che si estende e ripiega, per poi ribaltare in avanti suddetta trivella. Le gambe infine anche qui si ripiegano sulle ginocchia, ma non prima di aver tirato fuori dai piedi dei pannellini e le parti finali dei cingoli racchiusi all'interno, finendo di così di completare anche la parte superiore del mezzo, con le punte dei piedi che ruotano di 180°.

La TRIVELLA CINGOLATA CYBERTRONIANA che ne esce è davvero ben fatta e sopratutto fedele nelle forme rispetto all'originale, con la cabina centrale rialzata, i moduli laterali, la parte posteriore rialzata ma non troppo, anzi no, è bella uniforme con quella centrale, e con in più un paio di propulsori nascosti all'interno di quelle che erano le ginocchia del robot, per non parlare della punta della trivella stessa bella grande e non piccina stile SD quasi del Nosecone del 1987.

Alla fine non stona troppo il fatto che tutta la parte posteriore sia arancio / senape e non solo nei dettagli superiori, mentre è un po' un peccato che i moduli cingolati siano immobili con la scusa della trasformazione che li compone, dato che nel G1 invece potevano muovicchiarsi un po', salvo non avere i cannoni gemelli attaccati.

Cannoni che abbiamo già visto nel robot e che qui ovviamente si attaccano ai moduli cingolati e fanno la loro parte citazionistica; peccato che non trovi posto nel veicolo anche la pistolina, ma c'è per lei un foro apposito nel drone tank da compagnia: quest'ultimo, come anticipato, altro non è che il modulo del PIEDE del gestalt, trasformandosi sollevano la torretta e raddrizzando la punta.

Come nel G1, anche questo Nosecone si trasforma in maniera minimal nella GAMBA del Computron cinese, limitandosi a sollevare la trivella e con il modulo della cabina che si ribalta verso l'interno facendo spuntare l'effettivo aggancio per il ginocchio del gestalt, richiamando giocoforza i perni/testa degli Scramble G1, e attacandosi poi al succitato piede abbassando anche il pannello centrale del bacino.

Parlando di Scramble, è ovviamente un peccato che non diventi anche un braccio il nostro Steeldrill, che nella mia ideale configurazione del Computron G1 lo preferisco così che non come gamba, ma tant'è, "accontentiamoci" intanto di questo gioiellino fedele ma modernizzato di Nosecone, e restiamo in attesa delle future uscite, apprezzando pure la magari ignara citazione di aver fatto uscire per primo proprio Argobot, che nell'episodio G1 dell'origine dei Technobot era effettivamente il primo ad essere creato da un Grimlock temporaneamente geniale. ^^

-Videorecensione

[nerdfins]

I found a folding chair phone stand at Five Below for $1.

[they-hermes]

nosecone and gudetama!!!

[beckyh2112]

Mental Image

Motormaster with Lichtenberg figure-like ridges on his face and neck. His self-repair systems smooth them out over the course of a few hours.

He just smirks if someone comments.

[transformers-mosaic]

Transformers: Mosaic #597 - "Scattered"

Originally posted on May 2nd, 2011

Story - Martin Fisher Art - Rui Onishi Colours - Yu Hye Shim Letters - Dave Reynolds

deviantART | Seibertron | TFW2005 | BotTalk

wada sez: Scattershot’s original Bob Budiansky bio says: “This brawling, bragging berserker's idea of strategy is to wade into a Decepticon patrol with all barrels blazing and not withdraw until he's out of ammo or out of enemies, whichever comes first. And he expects his followers to do the same.” Ratchet dryly remarking that Scattershot’s words to his followers are hypocritical is funny to me, considering the very first sentence of that bio is: “Scattershot leads by his actions, not his words.” In the first narration box, a little header reads “TK5: C-86″. C-86 is his Takara ID number, with TK5 being the number of the Technobots as a unit. Clean inks and colors below, along with a preview of tomorrow’s strip.

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Seven

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, strong language, more angst (IM SORRY IT'LL GET BETTER SOON I PROMISE).

Notes — Welcome to Oracle Red Bull Racing, Amelia Brown.

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

2020

The office was quiet in the way only offices designed for genius could be; not sterile, but reverent. Drafting boards and CAD monitors hummed quietly in the background, interrupted only by the soft tick of a mechanical clock that someone had insisted on keeping analogue.

Amelia sat stiffly in the chair opposite Adrian Newey.

He was perched on a stool beside a massive whiteboard, sleeves rolled up, fingers stained faintly with pen ink, as though he’d been sketching ideas directly into the fabric of his shirt. His presence was oddly... nerve-racking. 

Neither of them spoke for the first few minutes.

Amelia rolled her golf ball between her hands in her lap, trying not to bounce her knee. Adrian made a few marks on a fresh sheet of paper, muttering under his breath. It sounded like a stream of formulaic gibberish to anyone else. To her, it was almost a lullaby.

He paused. Looked at her. “Do you have any thoughts?”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear them.”

Adrian hummed, and then there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I will always listen. I will also always tell you when you are wrong.”

She swallowed, then nodded. Then she gestured to his paper pad. “You’re already sketching the '21 nosecone?”

“Yes. The frontal vortex targets under the new regs are… absolutely maddening. They’ll make cooling a nightmare.” He muttered. 

She shifted forward, almost involuntarily. “Mm. Not if you separate the low-pressure bleed early and feed it into the underside of the side-pod. It could trick the wake into thinking it’s interacting with a full-body airflow.”

He went very still. 

“Interesting,” he said slowly, standing and crossing to the nearest drafting board. He didn’t ask her to explain it again. He just started drawing. She stood too, walking around the conference table in order to stand at his side. Without looking at her, he handed her a pen. 

She made a face at it. “I like red.” 

He didn’t say anything. Just took the black pen back and found her a red one. 

By the time lunchtime rolled around, they had filled three boards, made seven sketches, and the early formation of a concept that wouldn’t just survive under the 2021 regs; it would thrive.

They hadn’t spoken much, not conversationally. Just fragments.

“This doesn’t breathe well at speed.”

“What if we taper the upper control arm here instead?”

“Why does this remind me of the '98 car?”

But somehow, it worked.

By mid-afternoon, Adrian glanced up at her from the schematic they were both hunched over.

“You think in shapes,” he said.

She blinked at him. “You think in sound.”

He smiled, and it was full of promise. “We will make a wonderful pair, Miss Brown.”

She let out a quiet breath. “Oh. Good. I was afraid that you would regret spending three million pounds on me.”

He stared at her for a long moment before laughing shortly. “No regret, Miss Brown. Not a single one.” 

For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel anxious. Or lonely. Or burning with the guilt of abandoning McLaren, the team that was synonymous with her family name. 

She tucked the golf ball back into her pocket. “I’ll draw up a more formal aero flow map tonight.”

“Don’t bother,” he said, flipping to a new page. “We’ll build it first. Then reverse-engineer the explanation.”

She grinned, sharp and fast and excited. “We can do that?”

“We can do anything we want.” He told her. 

— 

Christian pushed open the door to the technical office with the kind of hesitant curiosity reserved for someone who was pretty sure they’d told everyone to go home six hours ago.

The light was still on.

At first, he thought maybe the cleaners had left it by mistake. But as he stepped inside, the faint scratch of pencil on paper, the rustle of blueprints, and the hum of two very intense brains in quiet dialogue stopped him dead in his tracks.

Adrian was barefoot now, barefoot, perched on a wheeled chair with one leg pulled up under him like some kind of engineering gremlin, holding a scale model in one hand and gesturing toward it with the other, mid-monologue.

Amelia was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a yellow golf ball tucked beneath her heel, grease-smudged notebook balanced on her knee, jotting notes at lightning speed while murmuring confirmations like, “Yeah, but the boundary layer separation’s going to collapse here—unless we change the outwash angle…”

Neither of them noticed Christian standing in the doorway.

The room was covered in paper. The whiteboards had no white left. Someone, probably Adrian, had scrawled equations on the glass wall. There was a half-eaten croissant on the radiator. Half of the work was done in black ink. The other half was done in red. 

He took one silent step backward.

Paused.

Then slowly, quietly, pulled the door closed behind him.

From inside, he could just barely hear Adrian’s voice, “Did I ever tell you about the time I built a full wind tunnel model out of my wife’s hairdryer and a vacuum tube?”

Amelia sucked in a breath. “Did it work?”

“It blew the roof off my shed.”

She laughed, genuinely, full of lightness.

Christian exhaled and reached for his phone.

—

iMessage — 00:45am

Christian Horner

We are going to become world champions. 

Helmut Marko

How can you know?

Christian Horner

Newey is barefoot. His intern is laughing. 

Helmut Marko

Mein Gott.

— 

The drive home from Milton Keynes had been quiet; just the low hiss of the car heater and the soft murmur of the radio.

It had been her first week working at Red Bull Racing. She’d stayed in Max’s flat, the one he kept in Milton Keynes but only used when he was in town for sim sessions. 

The high of her first week was still humming under her skin; the buzz of purpose, of being understood, but underneath that, exhaustion tugged at her bones. She felt stretched thin. Too much stimulus, too many new faces. 

But the moment she stepped through the front door, into the warm, lemon-honey air of the house she’d grown up in, none of that mattered.

Her mum was in the kitchen, back turned, humming softly to the radio.

Amelia didn’t say anything.

She dropped her bag quietly, kicked off her shoes, walked straight over and folded herself into her mother’s arms from behind, pressing her forehead between her shoulder blades, breathing her in.

Tracy stilled. Just for a moment. Then she reached back, tugging Amelia around until she could hold her properly; one hand at the back of her head, the other wrapped around her shoulders, thumb rubbing slow circles into her jumper.

“Hello, darling,” she whispered. “I missed you.”

Amelia pressed closer, her cheek against her mum’s collarbone. “I missed you too.”

They stood there like that for a long time, the hum of the radio filling the silence between them, a wooden spoon tapping gently against the edge of a pan.

“I saw the article,” Tracy said eventually, voice soft. “And the photos.”

Amelia tensed.

Another piece had gone live, following the Motorsport.com exclusive. Red Bull had shared her official announcement — complete with photographs of her in team gear, standing in the middle of Max and Alex. 

Tracy didn’t let her pull away. “You looked very professional. And happy.” 

“I am,” she said, too fast. Then again, slower. “I am. I just… I’m wishing that he wouldn’t make it so hard.”

Tracy sighed into her hair. “Your father’s not angry with you, love. Not really. He’s angry with himself. He had no idea that you were even receiving offers, let alone considering any.”

Amelia swallowed. Shrugged. “He didn’t want me at McLaren. He never offered. I gave him every chance to.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Tracy pulled back just far enough to look her in the eye. “And you were right not to wait forever. You did the brave thing. You put yourself first. I’m proud of you.”

Amelia blinked fast. “I’m not used to that,” she admitted. “Putting myself first. It feels… selfish.”

Tracy brushed a strand of damp hair from her face. “No. Not selfish. It’s how you grow. You’re building race cars with Adrian bloody Newey. That’s something to be incredibly proud of.”

Amelia smiled, weakly. “They call me Mini Newey. All of the engineers. Christian. Max thinks that it’s funny.”

Tracy chuckled, pulling her into a tight squeeze again. “They should call you Better Newey.”

That pulled a real laugh out of her, small and sore and soft.

“Now,” Tracy said, letting her go, “go change into your favourite pyjamas and let me feed you. I bet you haven’t eaten a real meal all week.”

“I’ve been living on machine coffee and stale pastries,” Amelia admitted, already peeling off her jumper. 

Tracy shuddered. “Criminal behaviour. Go on, love. I’ll have dinner on the table in ten.”

As Amelia padded toward the stairs, warmth blooming in her chest, she heard her mum call gently after her. “He’ll come around. He loves you too much not to.”

She didn’t answer, but she nodded once, before disappearing up the stairs.

— 

iMessage — 01:43am

Lando Norris did u leave bc of me like. mclaren it’s okay if u did i just. i just need to know feels like maybe u did and idk. i feel shit also this is prob a bad time. i had like 5 beers and a shot of smth blue was v blue. tasted like acid

Amelia Brown No. Not because of you. You don’t matter to me that much.

Lando Norris ouch ok but like partly bc of me?

Amelia Brown Not everything is about you, Lando.

Lando Norris but some things are

Amelia Brown You started ignoring me. For no reason. Then I got a job designing a future championship-winning car. Those two things are unrelated.

Lando Norris when did u become so meannnn :(

Amelia Brown I’m not being mean. You’re just used to me being quiet when people treat me badly.

Lando Norris i didn’t mean to treat u badly i just panicked everything was getting weird and real and i didn’t know what to say

Amelia Brown So you said nothing. That’s still a choice.

Lando Norris yeah. i know. i’m sorry i miss u sometimes just thought u should know that

Amelia Brown That doesn’t change anything.

Lando Norris yeah i figured ok

Amelia Brown Go home. You are going to feel terrible tomorrow morning. 

Lando Norris already do thanks i guess goodnight mini newey 

Amelia Brown Don’t call me that 

— 

Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor with her laptop open in front of her, the Red Bull Racing CAD interface glowing on the screen. Max was half-stretched out on the couch behind her, a bowl of strawberries balanced on his stomach and a bottle of Heineken in hand.

“Okay,” Amelia said, tapping the trackpad. “Front wing redesign is about eighty percent locked. We’re still playing with DRS and airflow under braking, but I think what we’ve got is going to make the car ridiculously sharp into corners.”

Max took a sip of his beer, watching her over the rim. “Ridiculously sharp sounds nice.” He noted. 

“It’ll bite if you get lazy,” she warned him.

He shrugged. “So, just like you.”

Amelia didn’t even look up at him. Over the past few weeks of working with him, she’d learned how to decipher his tones — he was teasing her. “I’m not lazy. You’d die without me.”

He tossed a strawberry at her. She caught it and took a bite.

She turned back to her laptop, sighed, and opened up the email thread that she and Adrian had going. 

Max cleared his throat. “Ah, have you talked to your dad yet?”

Amelia’s fingers froze over the trackpad. “No.”

Max nodded. “He’s still not talking to you?”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’. 

“Your mom?” He questioned. 

“She’s trying. He’s just… stubborn. You know what he’s like.” Amelia exhaled. “He thinks I betrayed him.”

“You didn’t.”

“I know that now.” She rubbed her temple, leaned her head back against the couch. “But I also think I became inconvenient. It was easier when I was just the kid who wanted to build toy cars in the corner. Now I’m—”

“Mini Newey,” Max offered, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She groaned. “Max, stop.”

He rolled his eyes. “You are, though. And you’re building my car, so I’m not complaining.” A pause. “Have you talked to Norris?”

Amelia blinked slowly, then shut her laptop with a quiet snap. “He messaged me two weeks ago. Drunk. Asked if I left McLaren because of him.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“Of course not.” She scoffed. What a ridiculous idea. “He just… doesn’t get it. He thinks that everything is about him.”

Max laughed. “He’s nineteen. His brain is still soft.”

“I’m also nineteen,” she muttered, tipping her head back against the couch to look up at him. “I think he’s just emotionally illiterate.”

Max blinked, then grinned. “Tell him that to his face. I’d pay to see it.”

“You’re not a world champion yet,” she shot back. “You don’t get to make demands like that.”

He leaned in, until their faces were almost level. “I will be. And when I am, I’ll buy you a stupidly expensive watch for every podium we get.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You say that now.”

“Mark my words,” he said, puffing his chest in mock pride.

They sat there for a while — not quite friends, not just colleagues. Something in-between. Teammates in the truest sense. Bound by a shared obsession: a championship. A car so fast it betrayed the law of physics.

“I miss him,” she said quietly.

Max exhaled through his nose, slow and even. “He’s a nice boy. Stupid, but nice.”

“I know.” Her voice was barely a breath.

— 

iMessage — 18:15

Fernando Alonso How has your first month at RB been? Do I need to make any angry phone calls?

Amelia Brown It’s been great. Everything’s going better than I could’ve imagined. I’m already making progress. Adrian and I work really well together.

Fernando Alonso I told you so, did I not? You two are very alike!

Amelia Brown It’s a perfect fit, actually. I feel like I’m finally being heard.

Fernando Alonso Good, good. I knew it. You made the right choice. And now, you’re three million pounds richer. That helps too.

Amelia Brown Haha, yes. Very much. I would've probably taken £5, so, thank you for handling the negotiation for me.

Fernando Alonso Mi Nina, for your talents, they would have paid three billion.

Amelia Brown I miss you so much. When are you coming to visit?

Fernando Alonso Soon. I’ve got some meetings in London next month.

Amelia Brown Anything exciting?

Fernando Alonso You’ll be the first to know if there is.

Amelia Brown :)

— 

Lando stood with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders hunched, posture defensive. Across the polished meeting table, Zak leaned back in his chair, arms folded tightly over his chest, eyes fixed on the floor like it might offer him an answer he hadn’t already lost.

The silence had stretched too long. 

“She’s really gone, huh?” Lando finally muttered.

Zak didn’t look up. “Yes.”

Lando blinked hard. He wasn’t sure what he expected; some kind of denial, maybe. Some reassurance that there was still a version of this where she came back. That maybe Red Bull was just a phase. A test. Something to prove a point.

“She left a hole here,” Zak said eventually. “Not just in the team. In the culture. She was…” he paused, trying to find a word that wouldn’t sound too sentimental. “I didn’t realise how important she was to the team. How much she was involved in.”

Lando didn’t answer right away. His jaw was tight. “We all let her down.”

Zak looked at him then. Really looked at him. “You liked her.”

It wasn’t a question. Not judgment, either. Just a fact. Like pointing out a flat tire or a burning building.

Lando flinched. “Yeah. I really liked her.”

“You shouldn’t have listened to us,” Zak said quietly. “Any of us. You should’ve fought for her.”

“I couldn’t.” Lando’s voice was sharp, brittle. “I was scared. And stupid.”

Zak let out a rough, humourless laugh. “And I was selfish. I never gave her the recognition she deserved.” He paused. “She was the brain behind the Mercedes deal.”

Lando’s head jerked up, eyes wide.

Zak’s voice dropped, heavy with something close to guilt. “She pulled it all together, handed it to me in a file with start-to-finish instruction. Never asked for credit. I knew she wanted more, deserved more, but I didn’t give it to her. Not because she wasn’t ready. Because I wasn’t brave enough.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“I didn’t want to be the one who gave her a shot, because I knew what people would say. Nepotism. Favouritism. They’d talk about her name before they ever looked at her work. And I thought I was protecting her from that.” He shook his head. “But I wasn’t. I was just holding her back.”

Lando stared at him. Silent.

There it was.

The ugly truth of it all.

Lando swallowed thickly. “She was never going to stay.”

“No,” Zak said. “No. I don’t think so.” 

Lando ran a hand over his face. 

She had belonged here once. She had. And they’d both let her feel like she didn’t.

Now she was designing the future with the enemy.

And they just had to sit back and watch it happen.

— 

The paddock buzzed with the usual pre-season chaos; the rhythmic whirr of engines, the sharp sound of tires scraping against the asphalt, and the chatter of team members huddled in tight circles. 

Amelia stood near the Red Bull garage, her posture stiff but her eyes alert, scanning the familiar sea of cars and faces.

It was the start of the 2020 season, and everything felt both familiar and brand new. The sharp smell of fuel lingered in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of freshly waxed cars. But this time, she wasn’t in McLaren orange or one of her father’s old team shirts; this time, she was in Red Bull team gear. Black and dark blue with that iconic bull on her chest, the Red Bull Racing logo proud on her back.

And tucked around her neck, a pair of navy blue Red Bull ear defenders. 

She glanced to her left. Max was chatting animatedly with Christian, the two of them gesturing towards the car as the crew worked around it. Adrian was nearby, bent over a laptop, his face creased in concentration. Amelia would soon be next to him, diving into the data and throwing out her ideas. But for a moment, she lingered at the edge of the paddock, trying to ease herself into this new, new, new. 

Amelia’s gaze drifted toward the McLaren garage, even though she knew she shouldn’t be looking. There was Lando, standing with her dad, his usual smile present but different. Amelia tried not to flinch.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her ear defenders, the cool plastic grounding her, just a little. She had left her golf ball in her office, determined not to need it. 

Her eyes flicked back to the Red Bull car, sleek and aggressive in its design. It was more than just metal and carbon fiber. It was partly her work, her heart and soul poured into something tangible. 

And then, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a camera crew approaching her.

Her stomach dropped. 

The journalist’s voice reached her first, though she barely registered the words. “Amelia, first season with Red Bull Racing. You’ve been working behind the scenes for a while, but now you're here, in the paddock, in full Red Bull gear. How does it feel to be wearing navy blue now, after spending so much time with your father’s team, McLaren?”

Before she could formulate any kind of response, a familiar presence appeared beside her. Max.

He stepped in without hesitation, his body language calm and protective as he leaned slightly into her space. His gaze shifted to the interviewer, who looked briefly excited at the new addition. 

"Need an out?" Max asked her, his voice low enough only for her to hear. His stance was relaxed, but there was something in the way he held himself; a quiet assurance that, if she needed him to, he would get her away. 

The camera crew hovered expectantly, but Max didn’t flinch. He didn’t let the pressure reach her. He stayed right there, like a grounding force beside her.

"Amelia?" The interviewer prompted, waiting for her response.

Max’s eyes softened as he glanced at her. “Say whatever feels right,” he murmured, offering her a smile that was small but understanding. “You don’t owe them anything.”

For a moment, Amelia felt the tension drain from her. This wasn’t a performance. She didn’t have to give them the perfect soundbite. She could speak her truth, on her own terms.

She took a deep breath and, feeling Max still there, solid and supportive beside her, looked directly at the interviewer.

“It feels powerful,” she said simply, her voice steady but soft. It was the truth. For the first time, it felt like she was owning her decisions, not just navigating them. Powerful because this was her journey now. Because, despite everything, she was in total control.

The interviewer didn’t push for more, probably sensing the finality in her words. But the moment lingered for a second longer, like they were all collectively taking a breath.

Max gave her a subtle nod of approval, his lips twitching into a smirk. 

And, just as quickly, the two of them turned and started walking away, the cameras still rolling behind them, but it didn’t matter. Amelia’s shoulders relaxed, a weight lifting, and her feet carried her toward the garage.

— 

iMessage — 19:51

Lando Norris I’m sorry. I know that’s not good enough but I am I’m really sorry. And I want you to know that I’m happy for you. I’m not being sarcastic. You looked beautiful on camera. I’m glad Max was there with you. I wish it had been me.

Amelia Brown Congratulations on the podium finish, Lando.

— 

The morning sun was bright over the circuit as Max and Amelia walked into the F3 paddock. Amelia was wearing a denim dress. Max, in his typical laid-back skinny jeans and plain shirt, had his hands in his pockets and a baseball cap perched low over his eyes. He was always eager to watch the younger drivers, always curious about who might be the next big thing in motorsport.

She was more used to the engineering side of things, but she’d been a fan of motorsport in general since she was a child. The thrill of being here just to watch was amazing. 

They settled into the VIP viewing platform. The race kicked off with an energy that seemed to buzz in the air. Engines roared and the young drivers raced past, navigating the tight turns and high-speed straights with a determination that made Amelia feel the thrill of the sport she’d always loved.

As the race unfolded, Amelia’s eyes were drawn to car 81; Oscar Piastri. The young Australian was carving through the field with an almost eerie calm, moving up with a precision that belied his years. He raced like someone who had been here for ages, his every move instinctive yet calculated, as though he had been born for this.

Amelia felt that familiar pull. It was the same feeling she had gotten watching Lando in Formula Renault all those years ago — a sense that she was witnessing something special. Piastri surged ahead, eventually crossing the line first, claiming the win in the season opener.

“Damn,” Max muttered, impressed. “Kid’s fast.”

Amelia leaned in closer to the barrier, watching as Piastri celebrated with his team, their joy radiating from every hug and high-five. She turned to Max, who was watching her closely, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Don’t get too attached,” he teased. “He’s not yours to claim yet.”

“I’m not trying to claim him,” she replied, her tone steady, though there was an undeniable certainty in her voice. “But I will. When the time comes. And I think...” She trailed off, watching Piastri for a moment longer. “It will come for him very soon.”

Max grinned, shaking his head fondly. “Always thinking ahead, kleine zus.”

Amelia’s eyes remained on the Australian driver, a quiet feeling settling deep in her chest. She couldn’t quite place it.

“His manager?” she asked, her gaze still on Oscar as he laughed with his team, the world around him seeming to pause for a moment.

“Mark Webber,” Max replied, his voice neutral, but his expression unreadable.

“Ah.” Amelia’s lips tipped upward into an amused smile. Mark Webber, who had been central to Red Bull's rise in the sport. She glanced sideways at Max, then back at Oscar. “Mark Webber,” she repeated, her voice soft. “It’s strange, isn't it? Fernando and Mark; rivals. And now, I’m working at Red Bull thanks to Fernando, and Oscar is under Mark’s wing.” She looked at Max, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Formula One is a funny place.”

Max grinned, clearly entertained by the thought. “You can make connections out of anything, can’t you?”

Amelia let out a soft laugh, her gaze returning to the young driver in the distance. “I guess I do,” she said, her voice quieter now, a subtle sense of realisation setting in. “And somehow, they always seem to circle back to Red Bull.”

It was funny how Formula 1 worked that way: legacies, rivalries, and new beginnings always intertwined.

—

iMessage — 00:42am

Amelia Brown

Are you in Woking?

Lando Norris

Yes…?

Amelia Brown

I’m home alone. Come over. I am still angry at you, but I’m ready to talk to you now.

Lando Norris

Ok im omw like right now

NEXT CHAPTER

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Isuzu Gemini Wizard, 1991. Presented at the 29th Tokyo Motor Show, a speedster version of the 3rd generation Gemini Coupé. This was the last Gemini generation that was made by Isuzu. The open roof Gemini also had nosecone styling that differed from the series production coupé. Neither the nose nor the open roof made it into Isuzu's showrooms. This generation Gemini was sold in the US as the Geo Storm

[humanoidhistory]

McDonnell Douglas DC-9 with nosecone radar at Zurich Airport, circa 1972.

(ETH Zurich)

[arceespinkgun]

Valentine's Day comic with my favorite Combiners!

Afterburner: I don't know how, but I know this is your fault, Scattorshot!

Scattorshot: Pipe down, this is all Computron. But he's never reached the wrong conclusion before!

Strafe: Yuck! How could he want to mack on those Decepti-creeps?! We should be pummeling 'em! That's the enemy!!!

Lightspeed: I think Computron just wants to dream of something better. After all, if Sandstorm and Octane can be best friends...

Nosecone: ...Hm.

Hun-Gurr: Yesss, we should join forces with Computron, think of how much more food—resources we'd have access to.

Cutthroat: But only two of the Technobots are any fun!

Sinnertwin: If Computron and Abominus destroy everything together, it will be fun anyway.

Rippersnapper: What are your malfunctions?! You can't seriously be considering this—it's disgusting!

Blot: *sobbing* I know Computron just loves Abominus, but I've never felt so loved!!!