#evolution of office design

[mtcremovalsposts]

[bluejay-07]

Political fields will have you forming dynamics with other people that no two other human beings have ever had before.

[lmsintmedia]

The Death of the 9-to-5:Will Offices Become ‘Experience Zones’?

The traditional 9-to-5 office job has long defined modern work culture, shaping everything from our daily routines to urban infrastructure. But in the aftermath of a global pandemic, a digital revolution, and changing employee expectations, the foundations of office work are crumbling. The question today isn’t just whether remote work is here to stay — it’s what will become of the office itself.…

[ace-marvel]

Ananchronism

Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Synopsis: The world has evolved beyond needing designations and sub-genders, alphas no longer seek out omegas, scents are a thing of the pass while heats and ruts are a rarity. You're an omega who relies on scents and still gets heat, an abnormality in this modern world. Only you find solace in a man lost to time.

Word Count: 9k

Based of a prompt/idea by @black-cat-2

(A/N: This is set in a time where everything goes back to complete normal after they defeat Thanos, Nat comes back and Steve doesn't leave. I will also warn that Bucky has some old time views on relationships, we are talking 40's stereotype stuff after all.)

Ananchronism: used to describe a historical inaccuracy where something from one time period is placed in another.

You had never been normal. 

In this day and age, sub-genders were nothing more than an additional label that went on your driver's license or something to be noted by an employer. You had presented as an omega when you’d hit puberty, like all the other people your age. It was a blood test done by the doctors to check, each sub-gender produced a certain enzyme that was checked when a woman got their first period and or a man started to grow hair on his chest. 

Your results had been odd, your early teenaged years spent in and out of doctor’s offices as they poked and prodded with needles and endless tests to find out why your levels had been so strange. It was something more commonly seen in the early 1900s when sub-genders had been such a big deal. 

“She’s a genetic anomaly,” A doctor had finally chalked it up, after looking at your records when you were fifteen. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your mother was an alpha, which meant that she took charge, a stubborn and proud lady in her own right. 

“Look, it’s a rare thing we’re seeing in very cases,” The old doctor huffed out. “Her sub-gender appears to not be suppressed, like evolution skipped her for whatever reason it decided to.” 

That was the end of the poking and prodding. 

You just weren’t normal. 

A genetic anomaly. 

Adjusting was horrid for your family, from the need to steal all the soft blankets, much to your mother’s dismay or your father’s disappointment, when you needed to skip school again because you had fevers and cramps from an ancient thing called a heat. After a year of missing almost two months of school, the doctor had put you on suppressants. 

Things still didn’t get better from there. 

Society was rough. 

Equality meant you had to work, despite everything in your brain and body screaming at you not to. You shouldn’t be standing on your feet for hours on end at the coffee shop you worked part-time at as a teenager, you shouldn’t have to get up at ungodly hours to study for tests and sit in a room full of people that seemed like dead bodies. 

You were sensitive, soft, and not made for this time. 

Becoming an adult was hard; moving out of home had you in tears, and finally diagnosed with depression. But you had to trudge on in this harsh world, alone. 

The only saving grace had been a woman who owned a bakery down the street, who had hired you after you’d come in one day craving something sweet before your heat decided to strike. 

It turned out that Elise was like you, a genetic anomaly. She wasn’t an olden day omega like you were, but she had heightened senses and strangely strong despite her small stature. You’d seen her lift three massive bags of flour like she’d been carrying a little pillow. 

“You look exhausted hun, have a seat for a little bit,” Elise had called from where she was punching a bowl of dough, flour smeared on her face as she smiled. 

“That would make me lazy..,” You mumbled under your breath, despite your whole body screaming at you to stop, “I’ll go clean a little..,” 

Elise didn’t argue, you always pushed your own limits even if your whole body screamed at you day in and day out. Grabbing the cloth and spray, you made your way over to the tables and began to wipe them down as the shop door opened. 

Usually the smell of cupcakes, baked bread and sweet treats covered up the many unpleasant smells of the people around you, but something stuck out today. It was a musky scent, mixed with pine and the odd edge of something cold, like ice. You could always tell what someone’s sub-gender was based on smell alone, you avoided alphas at all costs because that was what felt right to you. 

But this scent was so strong it made your stomach drop, hands suddenly holding onto the table as you took in the smell. It smelt right, so delicious and soothing that it called to something deep in your chest and awakened your every instinct. You wanted to be surrounded by it, pulled into its embrace and just left to soak in who ever the hell this person was 

You finally managed to turn around on wobbly legs, your throat dry as you looked at the people who had walked in. Steve and Sam were regulars; hell, the whole Avengers and their superhero companions were. You were close to the tower after all, when they needed to stay in the city, they always dropped by the bakery to stock up on the baked goods. Elise had tried to push you towards Steve at one time, but you’d avoided the super soldier and he was just as awkward about your boss and best friend’s strange match making habits. 

But there was a third person with them today, he was bigger than Steve but held an aura that was distinctly alpha about him. The way your hair stood on end made you just know, he was an alpha in every sense of the word. 

He had the most stunning blue eyes, dark locks pulled under a cap and a red henley covering most of his body. His beard was short but neat, no doubt hiding a strong jaw line. But the thing that stood out was the black and gold metal arm on his left side, as he kept his arms holded over his chest. 

And he was staring straight at you, eyes blown wide and nostrils flaring slightly. 

“Hun, you okay?” Elise spoke as she turned around the counter, walking to your side, “You’re a bit flushed,” 

Elise’s hand touched your forehead and the coldness made you whimper, the noise coming out strangled before she flinched backwards and frowned. There was a slight scuffle from the other side of the room, only your ears were ringing and everything was becoming fuzzy. 

“You’re burning up,” Elise tutted, “I’ll call a cab, you get yourself home,” 

– 

Bucky found dating hard. 

He wasn’t built for this century, something that Steve shared his sympathy with but he had at the very least found an omega for himself. In his day, dating was for marriage and nowadays it seemed to be for a quick fuck to get your rocks off. Bucky was considered a playboy in the 40s, he’d dated a few omegas and maybe helped a few during their heats, but he’d always been motivated to take care of someone, provide for them, and give them anything they wanted. 

A lot had changed in all his years as Hydra’s perfect soldier. 

The serum amplified everything. Steve had the same issues sometimes, too. Bucky was already considered a strong alpha in his time with high instincts, but it had only gotten worse since they’d pumped him full of that blue serum. His ruts came more often, Hydra had either pumped him full of suppressants or thrown a random woman for him to take the edge off with. He was more aggressive and more protective. 

Omegas didn’t need knots anymore, they didn’t pick up on scents or could tell when his own turned sour when they threw themselves at him. Bucky wasn’t a fan of the fake lips or fake tits, he wanted something natural. 

Someone natural to him. 

“She ran away from you?” Sam asked as Bucky sat awkwardly in the backseat of Steve’s car, grumbling to himself, “Damn,” 

“I scared her, okay?” Bucky stated, not wanting to think of his latest, horrible date, “That’s all,” 

“You’ll find someone who's not scared, okay?” Steve spoke up, “It’ll take a while,” 

Maybe if he didn’t die of blue balls first. 

Steve pulled up next to a little shop and Bucky looked out the window, confused. They were supposed to be going back to the tower, yet Sam and Steve had raved on about some bakery that they had to stop at or both Thor and Nat would have their heads. 

“It doesn’t look special,” Bucky remarked as he climbed out of the car, stretching his legs and groaning. 

Some how Sam always got the front seat to the car, despite Bucky being almost twice his size. 

“I’m telling you, man, this place is magical or something,” Sam went on as they walked to the front door, “We all come here whenever we’re in the city or do an order to get delivered out to us, the food is amazing,” 

Bucky was still learning to appreciate food, he’d spent so long only eating for survival, he forgot how to enjoy it. 

The bakery smelt like a bakery, bread and a slight sweetness to the air. Only all those scents seemed to fade away when he stepped inside behind Steve and Sam, his head whipping to a woman who was wiping down the wooden tables. 

A distinct smell of plums and sugar filled his senses, mixed with a slight edge of something warm that he couldn’t but his finger on. This scent was so homey and delicious, it made his mouth water and something twist in his chest, a low rumble he hadn’t felt in almost a century awakening to life. 

This woman finally turned around and it clicked in Bucky’s head and chest, he knew exactly what you were to him. The feeling had been told to him time and time again by his parents, his sister when she’d met her mate and his old army buddies. 

You were his mate. 

But an edge hit the scent and it almost made Bucky drop to his knees, the sweetness of an incoming omega heat, of his omega’s heat. Steve seemed to shift too, looking at you before he looked at Bucky as he heard the growl that left the man’s chest. 

“Buck?” 

Then there was the noise, that little noise that seemed to shoot through his ears and bounce around his brain. It was a cry for help and he needed to respond to it, surging forward only for Steve and Sam to both grab him. 

“Bucky! Calm down!” Steve yelled out as they barely managed to wrestle him out the door and tackle him into the concrete footpath of New York City. 

The fresh air seemed to jolt him back to reality, pushing both the men off himself as Steve held his hands out, waiting to be attacked. 

“You good?” Sam questioned, panting, “Man, you super soldiers need to calm the fuck down sometimes,” 

“Buck, you growled,” Steve questioned, “What was that?” 

“Her..,” Bucky barely managed to grunt out. “It’s her, Steve,” 

The blonde super solider look back at the bakery before looking at his best friend, bewildered. Bucky stood up, smoothing a hand through his hair before he suddenly the punched the concrete wall beside them. The surge of alpha hormones pumping in his blood was putting him on edge. 

“Can we not destroy public property?!” Sam yelled. 

– 

You had spent a whole seven days in heat, which hadn’t been supposed to come for another month before it had suddenly triggered in the bakery that day. You had no idea who the man with Steve and Sam was, all you knew was that he’d triggered some primal urge in you. 

Never had a scent triggered you into a heat. You didn’t even know that it was possible, everyone always smelt so off-putting that it almost had you gag when an alpha stood to close. Sometimes omegas, like Elise, were pleasant enough to withstand, but alphas were usually disgusting. The one and only boyfriend you’d ever had was an omega. 

 Returning the day after your heat had your body groaning protest, the cramps still slightly there as you walked into the back door of the bakery. Elise had opened, you usually took the late shift since you loved to sleep in especially more now that winter would be approaching soon. 

“You didn’t have to come back so soon,” Elise spoke as she pulled a tray of muffins from the oven, “Jordy is happy for the extra shifts.” 

Jordy was a casual employee for the bakery. She was studying at college and usually helped out whenever exams weren’t drilling her into the ground. 

“I’ll be fine,” You smiled small as you placed your bag in the office before walking to the front of the bakery. 

That smell hit you again and you almost buckled to the floor. The strangely cold scent of musk and pine filled the air, hands shaking as you turned towards the person who had just walked through the door. 

He had cleaned up a little bit, his beard looked a little bit neater and he wasn’t wearing a cap today. Instead, he was in a plain black jacket and jeans, gloves on his hands. The gloves made you frown slightly, you had briefly remember him having a metal arm or was that some heat induced delusion? 

“H-hi,” His voice cracked as he stepped up to the counter, “Uh..,” 

“C-can I get something f-for you?” You stuttered out, gripping the edge of the counter until your knuckles turned white. 

Everything was screaming at you to climb over the stupid wooden bench and throw yourself at this man. 

“These are for you.” 

His words came out rushed as he thrust a bouquet in your direction, the white orchids making your heart swell as you gently accepted them. No one had bought you flowers before, not that your dating history was rich with excitement and gifts from suitors. 

You’d only dated one person before, and it had been an absolute train wreck. 

“I’m Bucky.. Or James.., whatever you want to call me,” He cleared his throat, clearly nervous. 

Your name was uttered from your lips in a whispered, holding the flowers close to your chest. Bucky’s face softened, you had accepted the flowers and that was a step in the right direction. Maybe his therapist would finally be happy that he’d done something good with his time. 

“Uh, so do you-” 

His words were cut off by a phone ringing, and you watched as he groaned, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and glaring at the device. The actions almost made you giggle because something was so relaxing about his presence and his scent. Bucky was the first alpha that didn’t make you want to crawl into a hole and never come out. 

“I’m sorry, it’s important,” He sighed. 

Bucky answered the call before basically rushing from the bakery, you watching him run down the street at an unusually fast speed. 

“Finally!” 

You screamed when Elise popped up from the kitchen window, making you jump and almost throw the flowers before you turned to your boss with wide eyes and heart racing fast enough to jump start a car. 

“Poor guy’s been coming to the shop every day, waiting for you.” 

Elise had been right, Bucky had been coming to the bakery almost everyday and he continued to do so. You always thought that the Avengers lived further away from the city, different members appeared in the bakery every so often. But Bucky kept up the appearances and you had settled into a steady rhythm with the alpha. 

Bucky came around lunch time, you shared your break together before he left and then he walked you home. 

The cool evening air wraps around you as Bucky walked beside you, the rhythmic sound of your shoes tapping against the pavement the only noise that fills the quiet night. You’d just finished your shift at the bakery, and even though it’s late, you can’t shake the exhaustion weighing down on your shoulders. Your body aches from the hours on your feet, the constant motion, the endless demands of the customers, the heat of the ovens. You’re drained—completely.

But the thought of leaving work, of stepping away from your responsibilities, has you feeling a little more at ease. The comfort of Bucky’s steady presence beside you is almost as much of a relief as being able to slip out of your apron and leave the chaotic bakery behind. It’s not that you dislike your job, but your omega instincts have always told you something else—that you’re not meant to be working so hard, that there’s more to your life than running yourself ragged in a place that doesn’t feel like home.

“You look like you’re about to collapse,” Bucky says, his voice low but warm, noticing the way you’re dragging your feet just a little bit more than usual. He glances at you with that look in his eyes, one that’s almost protective, like he can see exactly what you need.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, but even you know it’s a lie. Your body is exhausted, your mind too, and you can feel the weight of your designation, the constant pressure to be strong, independent, and capable.

“No, you’re not.” Bucky’s voice is firm, and for a second, it takes you by surprise. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, instead slipping his arm around your shoulders and gently guiding you forward. “You shouldn’t be working so hard, you know that?”

You glance up at him, unsure of where he’s going with this. “What do you mean? I need to work. I need the money, and—”

“Forget that for a minute,” he interrupts, his voice softer now. “Omegas weren’t meant to be working themselves into the ground. Not like this. Your instincts—your body—they’re not built for it. You’re supposed to be pampered. Protected.”

You blink in confusion. “Pampered?”

Bucky chuckles, the sound rich and warm, like a secret only shared between the two of you. “Yeah. I know it’s hard to wrap your head around, especially with everything being the way it is now. But omegas like you? You’re meant to be taken care of, not pushed to your limits every day.”

You pause, the weight of his words sinking in. For the longest time, you’ve been told that working hard, being self-sufficient, was the way to live. Your parents had drilled it into you, given you no other choice than to support yourself. It’s what you’ve always known. The thought of not working so much, of letting someone else take care of you, feels foreign. It feels wrong, almost.

“But I have to work,” you protest weakly, feeling your tired muscles protesting every word. “I can’t just… sit around and do nothing.”

Bucky’s hand tightens slightly on your shoulder, not in a forceful way, but in a way that grounds you, reminding you that he’s here. “It’s not about doing nothing. You’ve got gifts, things you can do, but your role… it’s to be cherished, not to be constantly worn out. An omega needs rest, care, and someone who’ll give them the space to be soft, to be who they are without the pressure of the world on their shoulders.”

You’re silent for a moment, letting his words settle in. It’s hard to accept, to let go of the mentality that you should be doing more, pushing yourself to be productive and independent. But when you look at him—his warmth, the way he’s always there, steady and unbothered by what the world thinks—you feel the heaviness in your chest begin to ease just a little.

Bucky smiles down at you, his eyes twinkling with a gentle amusement. “You’re not a machine, sweetheart. You don’t have to keep running like this. You need someone who’ll take care of you, spoil you a little. Maybe even pamper you a bit.” He raises an eyebrow, and for the first time that evening, a genuine smile pulls at the corner of your lips.

“I don’t know about being pampered,” you mutter, feeling a little embarrassed at the thought.

“You’d be surprised,” Bucky grins. “But I’ll take care of you, okay? No more working yourself into the ground. You deserve to rest. You deserve to be protected.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the soft sincerity behind them reaching places inside you that you didn’t know needed mending. Maybe he was right. Maybe you didn’t have to do it all on your own. Maybe it was okay to lean on someone else, to trust them with your well-being, with your care.

“I don’t know if I can just… stop working,” you admit quietly, almost to yourself. But Bucky doesn’t seem bothered by your uncertainty.

“You don’t have to stop completely,” he says, his tone reassuring. “But you don’t have to wear yourself out like this either. You deserve to relax, to enjoy life without always feeling like you’re carrying the weight of the world. Let someone take care of the heavy lifting for a change.”

You exhale softly, a tiny chuckle. You didn’t have to worry about heavy lifting physically, because Elise’ strange gift gave her the advantage of hauling the heavy things around. But  the tension in your shoulders begins to melt away as you walk beside him. The idea of letting go—of surrendering just a little to the care of someone else—feels freeing in a way you didn’t expect. Maybe, just maybe, you could let Bucky help carry the load.

And for the first time in a long while, the thought of being cared for feels less like a burden and more like something you can let yourself want.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely a breath. “I’ll try.”

Bucky’s smile deepens, and he leans down just slightly to catch your gaze. “Good. I’ll make sure you get the rest you need.”

As the two of you continue walking, his arm still gently around you, the idea of being pampered doesn’t seem as strange anymore. Maybe, just maybe, you could get used to this new reality.

It had become routine for two weeks now, slowly enjoying his presence as you joined him for lunch again, the musk and pine scent making you relax and your body not scream in pain for once in your life. 

“For a bakery, these are good sandwiches,” Bucky spoke as he scoffed down his second hot sandwich. 

“Elise’ parents owned a bodega downtown. she got good at making them,” You beamed softly, sipping at the cup of water you usually had with lunch. 

“You gotta eat too, doll,” Bucky pushed the sweet treats towards you, “Come on,” 

He always made an effort to make sure you were well fed, as any good alpha in his time should have done. 

“I’m getting there,” You laughed softly and nibbled on a pastry that had been made fresh that morning. 

Your parents had always lectured you on not overeating but you seemed to crave food often, like your instincts demanded food to keep up with something. 

“So,” Bucky leaned back in his seat, content in watching you eat, “Where did you grow up?” 

“Chicago,” You told him with a shrug, “I do prefer New York,” 

Bucky nodded, noting the way your scent had an edge of burnt caramel to it, “Your parents still living in Chicago?” 

You couldn’t help but scrunch your nose up and Bucky thought how you looked like a bunny, all soft yet displeased with his question by your scent. 

“I don’t really talk to my parents anymore,” You whispered, placing the pastry down. 

For a moment, you expected him to ask before Bucky just silently nodded and smiled. 

“Only family I got is Steve and Sam, like two brothers I never asked for,” Bucky confessed. 

You giggled, a light floral scent blooming from you, and Bucky felt his heart swell. 

Your days continued like that, a lunch date and a quiet walk home in the early evening. The walks home were usually silent, just walking side by side down the street before you and Bucky bid each other goodbye at your building door. 

That was until one day they didn’t, and you were displeased when Bucky didn’t show up to share lunch. Elise watched as you sat sadly in the booth, hardly touching lunch before returning to work with silence as you served customers. 

Had Bucky found you boring? Did he find out that you weren’t normal, your instincts and genetics wired differently? Had it scared him off? 

It was starting to get even colder now, the threat of snow looming over New York. You were lost in thought as you stepped onto the street, turning to lock the door until a click and something pressed against your lower back. 

“Don’t move.” The voice was muffled, but you knew what was pressed against your back as you stood, shaking on the bakery steps. 

This person’s scent made you want to vomit, your instincts going haywire as you didn’t dare to move and face your assailant. 

“You’re kinda cute,” The alpha sniffed, “Turn around, bitch,” 

You did what you were told, slowly turning as tears rolled down your cheeks. This alpha held a gun to your body, snickering and smirking as he looked you up and down. It was violating, feeling his eyes scan your body. 

“Unlock the door and get the cash from the register,” He hissed, the gun now pointing to your head. 

“P-please..,” You whispered. 

The next moment happened so fast that all you saw was a glimmer of metal before the attacker was sent flying into the wall. 

– 

Bucky was going to strangle someone. 

He had asked for uninterrupted time with you, which he had gotten for the most part. Staying at the tower mostly by himself had been nice, getting away from all the smells in the compound was clearing his head. But your scent seemed to be burnt into his brain, because he could smell the lingering scent no matter where he was. 

His instincts wanted nothing more than to steal you away from that bakery and keep you locked up in his room at the tower, marking you, mating you, and scenting you. Sometimes, it irritated him when your smell of sugar and plums wasn’t mixed with his scent. In the forties, scent mates usually got married within a week. 

But Bucky was a gentleman, something this time didn’t appreciate so much anymore. 

Getting sent on that mission was stupid; he shouldn’t have had to go, It was easily handled by Sam and Steve, after all, Bucky was nothing more than a sniper and a look out. He should have been here with you, sharing lunch and hearing all about your life and loves. His best friends had noticed his irritation, and Steve had picked up on his burning scent, but neither of them had mentioned it. 

Now, he was rushing down the cold New York streets, looking repeatedly at his watch as he made his way to the cozy shop. The Bakery closed at seven thirty, and it was almost that time, meaning he could at the very least apologize for missing lunch and walk you home. 

Turning down the street, Bucky picked up on your scent easily but it didn’t smell right this time. That smell of burnt caramel mixed with the plums, indicating that something was wrong and it kick started Bucky’s system into overdrive. He was running before he knew it, straight towards that little bakery. 

Years as a soldier made petty thieves seem like ants to him, grabbing the other alpha by the throat and throwing him into the concrete wall before he stalked over, making sure your attacker was out of it. 

Would he need medical attention? Yes. 

Did he deserve it? No. Not in Bucky’s eyes. 

You sobbed, and all of Bucky’s instincts zoned in on your shaking form. 

The scent was something he wanted to erase, he never wanted to smell burnt caramel again because it meant you were upset. You were shaking, tears rolling down your cheeks even as he reached out and cupped your cheeks, metal and flesh fingers wiping away the tears. 

“Can I?” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, offering you a choice even though you both know what you need.

You nod wordlessly, your throat tight. It’s like your body knows the comfort he’s offering even before your mind catches up. When his arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest, it’s like the last of the tension in your body melts away. The overwhelming scent of him envelops you, and you instinctively breathe him in, the warmth of his embrace sinking into your bones.

Bucky frowned; he hadn’t done this in a while, consoling an omega with scent. But he pushed his scent forward, rubbing his wrists over your neck while wiping the tears away. You finally calmed down when Bucky pulled his massive jacket off and placed it around your shoulders. 

It warmed you up instantly, the musk and pine scent calming all your nerves and emotions as you collected yourself again. You can feel his eyes on you, gentle and understanding, but there’s something more—something primal in the way his scent seems to flow around you, slowly calming your racing heartbeat. His natural warmth seems to bleed into the space between you, and even though you're still shaken, you can’t help but lean slightly into him.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly, stepping closer, his voice quiet and soothing. “You’re okay. He’s gone. You’re safe.”

“Y-yeah..,” You stuttered out before letting out another sob as the wave of emotions hit you now that the shock was gone. 

You needed something a lit bit more, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his bigger frame. You hadn’t had time to stop yourself before you hugged him, your instincts and desire just craved the physical touch. 

Bucky didn’t say anything, just wrapping his arms around your frame and holding you close. The pressure of his embrace combined with his scent, eventually calmed everything until you could take a step back and finally breath. 

“Thank you..,” You uttered. 

“Come on, let’s get you home.” Bucky placed a hand on your back, guiding you down the street towards your apartment building. 

Like every other day, it was silent, but it was a peaceful silence. Bucky’s sense of protectiveness was thick, his musk getting heavier, and it almost made you want to fall asleep for some strange reason. 

As you approached your apartment building, your mind raced before it landed on a conclusion. 

You were going to ask Bucky inside. 

“I..,” You started, Bucky looking at you intently, “Do.., you want to come up?” 

He was frozen in spot and you mentally face-palmed. Was that the wrong question to ask? It didn’t have to lead anything, not that you hadn’t fantasized about this hunk of a man in front you for your entire heat and any little sessions after that. 

“I’m sorry..,” You apologized quickly. 

“No, no, Doll, it’s not like that,” Bucky quickly spoke as soon as he realised why you were apologizing, “I’d love to, I mean, I would but I want to do this right..,” 

“Right?” You questioned, “Bucky, you just saved my life.” 

“Yeah..,” He nodded, “I mean, let me take you out on a date.” 

Your heart swelled at the question, quickly nodding your head before going to pull the jacket off your shoulders. Only Bucky stopped you, readjusting the jacket and keeping it firmly on your shoulders and even zipping it up. 

“Keep it, Doll,” Bucky smiled, “Makes you smell like me.” 

Not only did that make your heart flutter but your pussy did too. 

“Okay..,” Your voice came out small yet excited. 

“How’s Saturday?” Bucky asked, “I can pick you up from the shop.” 

You nodded eagerly. “Saturday is perfect.” 

– 

Steve, Sam, and Nat’s arrival at the Avenger’s tower late Friday afternoon had sent all of Bucky’s plans into the dirt. It was like the two alphas and beta knew Bucky was seeing you and decided to mess them all up with a flurry of questions and interrogation.

“You’re going on a date?” Steve asked as they stood in the kitchen, Bucky messing with his shirt. 

“Yes, a date,” Bucky huffed, “With the omega from the bakery,” 

“The one you went all weird macho alpha on?” Sam teased as he sipped his drink, “Poor lady must have some weird kinks-” 

The snapped Bucky’s attention, making him growl again and glare at Sam. The beta took a step back as Nat entered the room, the only one keeping the cyborg at bay was Steve. 

“You really think she’s your scent mate?” Steve asked, “Buck, that stuff doesn’t exist in these days,” 

“Evolution changed all of that,” Nat spoke up as she grabbed a beer from the fridge, “But then again, you’re an ancient man,” 

Bucky didn’t respond to Nat’s statement. He knew what the red room had done to all those girls and woman that were trained to be Black Widows. They targeted alpha girls as children, trained them and harnessed their senses but made them never able to connect with a mate. Scent glands removed and removal of the reproduction organs. 

At the very least, Hydra hadn’t taken that from him while they had taken it from Nat. 

“You three better not stalk me,” Bucky huffed. 

“We won’t,” Steve nodded, giving his best friend and fellow alpha a pat on the shoulder. 

Sam’s comment made Bucky roll his eyes, “But Redwing might!” 

Bucky had picked the perfect place for your date, it was quiet and not overly busy, so you wouldn’t get overwhelmed. He’d seen the way you got flustered when a lot of people came to the bakery at once, so it was something low-key and you could just focus on each other. 

You had been anxious for the two days before Saturday, Elise had been nothing but excited on your behalf and even tried to give you some pointers but it flew in one ear and out the other. All you knew was that you were looking forward to see Bucky, regardless of the date or not.

But the one setback in your mind was, once again, how unusual you were. 

Could he deal with something like that? He saved people every day as an Avenger. Was this something long-term or just trying to mess around? 

The doorbell chimed and you jumped, turning to see Bucky standing at the door in a black coat and washed out, grey jeans. His hair was tied up for once, but it looked nice. You wore a simple dark blue dress with long sleeves to combat the Winter that was now setting in and hugged your waist slightly. 

“Hi,” Bucky greeted as he stepped forward and that scent filled the space, filling you with ease. 

If things didn’t work out, you were probably going to be spending the rest of your life alone. 

“Hi Buck..,” You stepped out from behind counter, a shy smile on your face while Bucky pulled something out from his pocket. 

“I..I got you this,” He cleared his throat, opening up a little box, “It’s a bracelet.” 

Your eyes shifted to the gold link band, that had a little black star charm on it. No doubt it was made specially to compliment his arm, something matching to remind you of the super soldier. Gingerly, Bucky locked the bracelet around your wrist, while you watched the gold twinkle with awe. 

“Hey, supes!” Elise called out, “Have her back by midnight!” 

Bucky just chuckled as he offered up his arm, something you gladly took, and walked out of the bakery. 

– 

The place is cozy, with vinyl booths and checkered floors, the kind of spot where the air smells like comfort food and old-time charm. The soft hum of background music fills the space, and the low murmur of other diners adds to the quiet atmosphere. The smell of sizzling burgers and fresh fries teases your senses, but it’s the calm, welcoming vibe that makes it the perfect place for a quiet night out.

It was quiet, thankfully. Bucky thanked his lucky stars as you were sat in a booth, watching you go over the menu before you both ordered. You didn’t usually eat too much, making food was a passion but working had you so tired most days that you lived off noodles or leftovers from the bakery. 

You felt a little bit lighter in his presence but deep down, weighing on your soul was the shame you’d been carrying because of your sub-gender. It made you uneasy on how it might progress your relationship with Bucky or stop it all together. 

“So,” Bucky cleared his throat, “How long have you worked at the bakery?” 

A small smile plays on your lips, and you relax just a little bit. It’s easy to talk about the bakery, about the work you do.

“Four years,” you say, your fingers nervously tracing a pattern on the table. “I started there right after I left home. Elise was looking for someone part-time, and it just… clicked. I love it. I love the people. I love baking. It feels like I’m doing something meaningful.”

“I gotta say, the food is amazing and I don’t usually like sweet thing,” Bucky confessed, “And it smells so good,” 

You laugh softly, a light flush creeping onto your cheeks. “Well, I do try to make the best cinnamon rolls in town. People seem to like them.” Your voice falters a bit as the conversation shifts, the weight in your chest slowly building again.

Bucky watches you, his eyes soft with curiosity. He notices the shift, the way your shoulders tense, and doesn’t push, simply waiting for you to continue.

You decided now was the time to be truthful, lay the cards on the table and see what he was dealing with. 

“My parents kicked me out when I was eighteen,” You nibbled on some fries as you spoke, “They couldn’t handle..dealing with me, I barely finished school and no college wanted to accept me, I was nothing but a burden,” 

Bucky’s face hardened, noting the way your scent smelt like candied plums now, an indication of fear and shame. He never wanted you to feel like that. Reaching across the table, his flesh hand covers your own, grounding you in the moment. 

“Listen to me,” he finally says, his voice soft but resolute. “You’re not a burden. Never have been, never will be. And I don’t care what your parents think. I want to build a home with you, one where you don’t have to worry about that kind of shit. I’ll take care of you, and you’ll never be alone again.”

“Bucky,” You placed your fries down, “I’m not like other omegas,” 

“Why’s that?” 

“I’m..an anomaly,” You confessed, “I can smell people’s sub-genders. I’m submissive because my brain tells me to be..I…I get heats, I hoard things!” 

Heats were the most shameful part for you.

It was silent for a moment before Bucky smiled, chuckling even as he took in the information. Fate was a bitch, Bucky Barnes knew that enough but maybe fate was now being kind, giving him an omega that he could help, provide for and please. 

“Doll, I’m from the 1940’s and I’m well over a hundred years old,” Bucky chuckled. “That’s normal where I come from. You’re perfect,” 

You were dumbfounded. 

Bucky grins then, breaking the tension with a light chuckle. “I mean, we all have our weird quirks, right? Like, I’m pretty sure I’m not exactly normal either. I have a metal arm and super human strength”

You raise an eyebrow at him, a small laugh escaping you despite yourself. “Oh really? What’s so weird about you?”

He leans back, pretending to think, then smirks. “Well, I hoard things too. I mean, I’ve got about ten knives at home, and I don’t even cook.”

You can’t help but laugh out loud at that, and Bucky’s grin grows wider. “See? Everyone’s got their thing. What’s yours?”

You bite your lip, the smile fading a little as you think about it. “I… I hoard blankets,” you say, almost sheepishly. “I just feel like I need a lot of them. It’s, uh… comforting. I don’t know, I guess it’s a weird thing, but I don’t like being cold.”

Bucky’s eyes light up, and he chuckles again. “Hoarding blankets? That’s not weird at all. That’s just your instinct, sweetheart. Omegas like to have soft things around them—makes them feel safe, it's your nest.”

“My what?” 

Bucky turned, his arm whirred as he did so and looked you in the eyes. Those blue eyes were filled with a mix of concern and amusement that came out in his scent as an almost citrus undertone. 

“Your nest,” Bucky stated, “Do you not know what a nest is?” 

You shook your head. 

“It’s your.. Safe space,” He explained, “For you to rest, spend your heats…, have pups in,” 

You swallowed thickly at the word pups, it made your instincts suddenly kick into over drive. The thought of pups with Bucky? Divine, you couldn’t think of anything better in this universe. He’d be an amazing father no doubt, you’d let him breed you as many times as it took until you had a full soccer team of kids. 

“Omega,” 

The deep drawl pulled you out of your haze, watching the way Bucky’s eyes seemed to be clouded over and his nostrils flared slightly. He could smell you, no doubt about it. 

“Calm down before things get out of hand,” Bucky managed to cough out. “How have you been spending your heats?” 

“Alone,” You mumbled, “I..I had a boyfriend once, he was an omega like me but.., it just didn’t work,” 

Bucky almost wanted to scoff. Of course, it wouldn’t work; an omega wouldn’t be able to please you like an alpha. No, like he would. This day and age might have lost a lot of the sub-gender characteristics and norms but some things were still engraved in those instincts. 

Specifically with mating. 

“Um, Bucky?” You whispered so softly that he almost didn’t hear you. 

“Yeah?” He spoke back just as softly.

“Can you help me with my nest?” 

– 

The sound of a nest was so lovely and exciting to you that you forgot that your apartment wasn’t best-looking one in New York. It was small, with one bedroom and a bathroom, as it was all you could afford if you wanted to have any money left over from what you earned at work. 

Bucky found the space cute, the mismatched furniture, the blankets piled high in one corner, the cozy rug decorated with throw blankets on the couch, hanging plants, and lots of books. Everything feels like a reflection of you: warm but full of character. The kitchen was tiny and you didn’t have a dining table. The space made him want to provide for you more, a rumble in his chest indicating his intent that he was trying so hard to keep down at the moment. 

This moment was for you, helping you make a nest. 

Nests were so sacred in the 40s. Most homes came with a specific room for omegas to create nests in, you could buy blankets, pillows and a range of other items from nest specific stores that just didn’t exist anymore today. Omega children often learnt nesting skills from their omega parent or siblings. An omegas nest was the most vulnerable part of them and you asking for his help was the most trusting thing you could do. 

After all his years in Hydra, Bucky didn’t think he’d ever be in an omegas nest again. 

Your room was also small, with a massive bed and a set of draws with some bed side tables. It wasn’t too heavily decorated, other than the piles of blankets and pillows that seemed to be thrown around the room. 

Bucky stopped at the door because that smell that hit him wasn’t just your usual scent, it was something stronger. The smell of sugar plums with floral notes, warm caramel and freshly baked cinnamon rolls invaded his senses and he couldn’t help but slump slightly against the door. He could die a happy, happy alpha in this room. 

You rushed to pick up a few of the blankets, moving them into a corner. 

“Um, this is my bedroom,” You uttered out, a lit bit embarrassed as she space was so small, “Sorry it’s a mess right now, I didn’t think you’d be coming over-” 

“Omega,” Bucky’s voice deepened and you went hazy again, empty headed as you just looked at him, “Come here,” 

Trudging along the floor, you stopped in front of him. Bucky was already a big guy but now he looked massive in your tiny apartment. His metal hand softly cupped your chin and the other rested on her collar bone, his thumb moving along your skin. 

A strong scent invaded your senses, that musky pine making your knees weak and lulling all your worry and anxiousness away. It was a time to listen to your instincts, which made you want to find something soft, something warm. 

Bucky watched as you gathered up the blankets, arranging them on your bed and fluffing out the pillows. It wasn’t neat but nests weren’t supposed to be, they were meant to be however you liked it.

At times, you would shake your head in frustration, sending a pillow flying from the bed, only to swap it for a blanket instead. The switch was an intricate ritual of comfort and restlessness intertwined.

His heart tightened with a mix of emotions as he watched you retrieve the jacket he had gifted you just a few days prior. With deliberate care, you tucked it into one of the pillowcases, as if enshrining a precious memory. You arranged it meticulously amidst the sea of pillows, creating a sanctuary of warmth and familiarity.

Finally, you nestled into this cozy haven, curling up with a sigh of contentment. Your face burrowed into the inviting softness, seeking solace in the comforting embrace of fabric and sentiment.

“Will you join me?” 

That jump started Bucky’s brain. 

“You sure?” Bucky asked, “This is a vulnerable place for you to be in.” 

“I made it with the intent of having you in it, A-Alpha.” 

That one word had him spiraling, quickly kicking off his shoes and breaching the collection of blankets and pillows. Bucky had no intention of anything physical today, but a cuddle in your nest was more cherished than sex. 

Bucky laid down slowly, letting you get comfortable. His metal arm whizzed slightly, and Bucky couldn’t help but frown. It was a reminder that he wasn’t whole, maybe if you’d met him back in the 40s, when he had been a young man not yet affected by the war or years of brainwashing, you’d have liked him more.

“I can take it off,” He whispered. 

“The sound is soothing,” You hummed as you laid against his metal arm, cuddling up to the device with content, “And it’s a part of you,” 

There was no way in hell Bucky was ever letting you go now. 

A rumbling sound vibrated from your chest and your eyes opened, confused. Bucky felt a lump form in his throat, letting a deeper sounding rumble from his own chest. 

“What am I doing?” You asked. 

“Purring,” Bucky cupped your cheek, his thumb running over your nose, “You’re purring, doll, you do it when you feel safe and happy,” 

Little tears filled your eyes before you shifted closer to him, the purring louder as you took in his words. The world made you feel like an outcast, something placed out of time and having no place to belong. 

But Bucky had fixed up those feelings in these short weeks. 

As you drifted off to sleep, Bucky silent pulled out his phone and dialed Steve’s number. 

“How’s it going, Buck?” Steve’s voice called from the other end, “All is well, I hope?” 

“Steve,” Bucky swallowed as he spoke, “I need to buy a house,”

– 

The next morning was supposed to be peaceful, calm and loving. Bucky had stayed the night, both of you cuddled up in your nest. But you woke in the early hours before the sun rose, aching and sweaty as you crawled out of the nest and only the cold, hard wood floor. Your dress was discarded as you worked to cool yourself down as the fever was quickly rising.

Bucky must have sensed you move because soon enough, he was awake and next to you on the floor. 

“Hun,” He whispered softly, “Hey, look at me,” 

“It..,” You groaned, “Burns.., It’s so hot,” 

The sweet smell that filled the room was a sign your heat had started and Bucky knew, he knew that if you waited any longer, you’d been in more pain. You were already curled up on the floor, slick coating your thighs while you whimpered. The musk of Bucky’s scent only helped take the edge off a tiny bit, if anything, it made your instincts more heightened as your body screamed for him. 

Bucky shushed you, one strong hand slipping behind your back, pulling you into his lap. His metal fingers ghosted over your bare thigh, leaving a cool trail that contrasted the fire burning inside you. “I know, Omega. I know. Just let go, I’ve got you.”

You mewled, squirming in his lap and fingers digging into his shirt. His scent was thicker now, you could get hints of smoke amongst the musk and pine. 

“You’re doing’ so good, sweetheart,” he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. His voice was thick, laced with the deep rumble of his Alpha instincts, but he held himself back—for you. “Just breathe. Let me take care of you,”

His lips found the sensitive spot on your throat, where his mark should be, and he pressed a lingering kiss there. You melted, body instinctively arching for him, trusting him completely.

“Mine,” he growled, possessiveness thrumming through his scent as he held you closer. But even in his need, he was gentle, letting you set the pace, letting you surrender only when you were ready.

And oh, you were so, so ready.

Bucky hauled you back up into the nest, making sure you were comfortable among the pillows and blankets as he hovered over you. That possessiveness stayed thick in his scent as he kissed you, lips tugging at your own and you melted again. 

The heat was starting to become unbearable. It clawed at your skin, leaving you breathless and aching, every cell in your body crying out for something you didn’t quite know how to ask for.

But he did.

His lips moved down your throat again and when he bit softly, you couldn’t help crying out in pleasure. You wanted that bite mark to be deeper, you wanted his teeth to be embedded in your skin, your instincts wanted to be marked. 

“B-bucky..,” You cried out and he gingerly cupped your face. 

“I don’t wanna hurt you, doll,” He whispered. 

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” You managed to gasp out, “I..I need you,” 

That was the line that broke all reason. 

His metal arm ripped the remaining clothes from your skin, a whimper leaving your throat as Bucky’s hands wandered over your body. The coolness of the metal arm was oddly soothing as it worked over your breasts and his lips wrapped around one of your nipples. 

In your only previous experience, you hadn’t been liked to be touched so much. Your omega ex-boyfriend hadn’t been confident like Bucky was. 

His tongue swirled around the hardened bud, your body writhing underneath him before Bucky proceeded to press kisses down your skin. He could smell your slick, the floral scent filling the room and it was starting to make him dizzy. 

When his fingers trailed down with his lips and collected the slick coating your thighs, you almost screamed when he used the same fingers to swirl around your sensitive clit. 

“Oh god...oh god Bucky!�� you cried out, your body surging at the gentle contact. You were so sensitive, it was almost too much, but it felt so good. Your hands reached out for him, desperate to hold onto anything as he kept teasing you, driving you insane with want.

You could feel his breath ghosting over your aching core, a promise that had your body trembling in anticipation.

“Need this too?” He teased, voice thick.

“Please,” you begged, “please Alpha.”

That did it. His lips latched onto your quivering pussy and the world turned white as your back arched off the bed and into his waiting hands. You came apart with a choked cry as he held you through it, tongue never stopping until he’d wrung every last aftershock from your trembling body.

But it wasn’t enough. The heat still clawed at you, still demanded more.

“Please,” you whimpered again softly, and Bucky bit the inside of his cheek.

Giving you his knot would make everything all better but he wasn’t even sure if you knew what a knot was. From his understanding, alphas didn’t knot their omegas anymore.

Hell, Alphas didn’t even seek out omegas anymore.

“This will change everything,” Bucky groaned, your scent invading his senses and almost making him lose control, “Are you sure, omega?”

His words were fuzzy as he spoke, like hearing underwater. All you knew was that you needed him, all of him, your instincts screaming for Bucky to fuck you and breed you.

“Need you,” you breathed, almost sobbing with it. “Please, Bucky.”

He couldn’t hold back anymore. He didn’t want to. The metal hand pulled his own clothes off while his flesh hand stayed on your thigh.

The next moment, Bucky’s hands were on your hips, pulling you into him as he buried himself inside of you in one firm thrust. You cried out, the mix of relief and overwhelming need washing through you as he filled you completely.

“Oh fuck,” he grunted, his voice raw as he started to move, slow and controlled at first but quickly giving in to the urgency of your heat. “S-so tight, Omega...”

The feeling of him inside you was everything you needed and more. Your legs wrapped around him as he drove into you over and over, each thrust sending a dizzying wave of pleasure through your body.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, clinging onto him like he was the only thing keeping you from floating away.

“Never gonna stop,” he promised, his breath ragged and his movements slow in the beginning.

Bucky's cock inside you was hot and thick, filling you completely and sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

The sensations were dizzying as you felt every ridge and vein of his cock moving inside you, each one adding to the pleasure coursing through your body. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks at the sensation, pleasure erupting through you in a wave.

Bucky’s pace got faster, rougher, his cock pumping in and out of you while his hands remained on your hips. He was guiding your body against his, pressure building with each desperate thrust.

You felt the heat coil tighter, tighter until—

“Oh god!” you cried out, clenching around him again as you came for the second time. The force of it made you see stars and your whole body trembled violently under him.

But Bucky didn’t stop. He knew what he needed to do to soothe your heat entirely. He could feel it in the way your body still begged for more, your slick coated cunt sucking his cock in, in the way your scent still drove him wild.

The grip on your hips tightened and Bucky growled low in his throat as he held you flush against him. His thrusts became frantic, driven by pure instinct and need. And then you felt it—his knot swelling inside you, locking the both of you together.

A feral sound tore from his chest and he bit down on your neck at the same time as his knot stretched you impossibly wide, marking you forever as his omega.

It was the aftershock that had you crying out, fingers digging into Bucky’s broad shoulders as emotions slammed into your body. You let out a sob and Bucky soothed you, a low growl vibrating through his chest as he pulled you upwards until you were sitting in his lap. His knot was still locked deep inside your cunt, but it wasn’t painful.

You felt complete.

“B-Buck..,” You sobbed.

“I got you,” Bucky’s deep voice cooed at you, “Promise..,”

Then a purr began to vibrate in your own chest.

Bucky’s hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your heated cheek with utmost tenderness.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his words thick with affection as your purrs vibrated against each other.

You were wrapped around him in every possible way, mind hazy with the overwhelming sensation of being so completely claimed and content. The heat that had seared through your body was now a warm, comfortable buzz, soothed entirely by Bucky and his knot.

It was everything. It was perfect.

He shifted slightly, careful not to jostle you too much and you whimpered softly at the motion. He had never thought he’d have this, never thought he’d be tangled up in blankets with an omega in his lap and a bond forming between them. After never finding his scent mate back in the 40s, Bucky thought he’d never have this type of happiness.

But here you were.

Your fingers played at the ends of his hair as you calmed down from the high, as reality settled in that this wasn’t a dream for both of you.

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter One

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.

Notes — Welcome to the Radio Silence universe! This chapter is mainly devoted to introducing Amelia as a character, but does have a bit of Lando in it too! Hope you love it.

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

2018

Amelia Brown stared at the new plaque on her dad’s office door.

Zak Brown, CEO of McLaren Racing.

She hated it.

Not because she wasn’t proud of him. Of course she was — her dad was brilliant, and he’d worked for years to get that title. It made sense. It was logical.

But the words looked wrong. Off-balance. Too sharp.

The old plaque had been there for years. Zak Brown, Executive Director of McLaren Technology Group. She knew the exact spacing of the letters, the way the light hit the brushed metal in the afternoon. She’d memorised it without meaning to. It had become part of the hallway, part of the routine. Safe.

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, fingers twitching at her sides.

It wasn’t just a new title. It was everything. 

The MTC felt different now. The air had a new kind of buzz to it — louder, sharper. People looked at her differently, talked to her like she was someone else entirely. Like being the CEO’s daughter had changed her, too.

The rules had changed, and no one had told her what the new ones were.

— 

Her father had been a Formula One fan for as long as she could remember.

V10 engines were her lullaby as a baby; the high-pitched scream of them a strange kind of comfort. Over time, the sound had settled into her nervous system, familiar and grounding.

By the time she was eight, she couldn’t fall asleep without it. Old races playing softly on the TV, the steady rhythm of the commentators’ voices, the roar of the engines, the tension winding through each lap. 

One night, when she was ten, the power had gone out during a storm. No TV. No white noise. Just silence and the wind scraping at the windows. 

She’d curled up in her bed, fists pressed tight against her ears, trying not to cry. 

Then came footsteps in the hallway. Steady. Familiar.

Her dad’s voice followed, soft but certain. “Hey, kiddo. Got something for you.”

He stepped into her room with a dusty old laptop under one arm and a tangle of wires in the other. 

Ten minutes later, her princess-themed bedroom was filled with the warm flicker of a grainy screen. The 2005 Japanese Grand Prix. One of her favourites.

She knew the race by heart. Raikkonen’s last-lap pass on Fisichella, the way Alonso danced through the field like he could see gaps before they even opened. She mouthed the commentators’ lines without realising, her breathing slowly syncing with the rhythm of the engine notes.

Her dad didn’t say anything. He just sat on the floor beside her bed, legs stretched out, back against the wall, holding the laptop steady for her to see.

Eight years later, Amelia thought about that night a lot. 

She wasn’t stupid. She knew what Formula One had meant to her dad before she was even born. But somewhere along the line, it had become more than just his dream. It had become theirs.

For Amelia, it wasn’t just a sport. It was everything.

Formula One was her special interest; the thing that clicked in her brain in a way nothing else ever had. The stats, the strategy, the evolution of car design, the sound of a perfectly timed downshift… it all made sense when so much of the world didn’t. 

It gave her a framework, a rhythm, a language that felt natural.

While other kids played games she didn’t understand, she memorised engine configurations. While teachers scolded her for “zoning out,” she was mentally replaying the 2002 Brazilian Grand Prix, lap by lap.

She could list every World Champion from 1950 onward before she could properly tie her shoes. At recess, when the others were pretending to be superheroes or princesses, she was mapping out imaginary circuits in the dirt with a stick, narrating races in her head with full commentary — down to the tire strategies and pit stop windows.

She tried sharing her passion with her peers, once.

In third grade, she’d brought a die-cast model of a 1998 McLaren MP4/13 to class for sharing time. She’d practised what she was going to say all night, rehearsed the facts in front of the mirror until the words felt smooth. Recited the specs; V10 engine, Adrian Newey’s aerodynamic innovations, Mika Häkkinen’s championship run, over and over.

But when she stood in front of the class, the words tumbled out too fast, too detailed, too much. She was halfway through explaining the brake-steer controversy when a boy in the front row yawned so loudly it echoed, and someone in the back let out a snort-laugh that made her ears burn.

After that, she stopped trying.

Except with her dad.

With him, she never had to translate. She could go on about tire compounds or telemetry data or how ridiculous it was that certain drivers still didn’t know how to defend a corner, and he never told her to slow down or “talk normal.” He just nodded, asked questions, matched her pace.

They didn’t need eye contact or hugs or long emotional talks. They had race weekends. They had side-by-side silence on the couch, watching onboards and live timing feeds. They had post-race debriefs at the kitchen table over scrambled eggs, like it was the most natural thing in the world for an eight-year-old to have such strong opinions about power unit reliability.

It was how they communicated. Racing was their shared language.

Her mom didn’t get it; not really. The noise overwhelmed her. The rules confused her. She once referred to Sebastian Vettel as “the one with the baby face and the weird flag thing,” and Amelia had almost burst into flames on the spot.

But she tried.

She printed out colouring sheets of cars when Amelia was little, even though she could already draw them from memory. She learned to set the TV volume just right; high enough for Amelia to hear the engines clearly, low enough not to overwhelm her. She made snacks on race days and never once complained when qualifying ran late into the night.

Her mom didn’t understand the obsession. But she understood Amelia. 

— 

Amelia walked into her dad’s office and froze, staring at the shelf lined with trophies, framed photos, and mementos from his years in motorsport. It had been that way for months now, ever since he’d taken the CEO position at McLaren, and every time she had to look at it, her ears burned.

Because the items on the shelf were never in the right order.

The memorabilia was all haphazardly placed; drivers she didn’t like sitting too close to ones she admired. There were racing helmets, but the scale didn’t make sense; one was huge, another tiny, a third just slightly off-centre. 

There were photos, too, of her dad with the team, with Fernando Alonso, with the McLaren execs, but none of them were lined up properly.

The shelf, she thought, should be perfect. But it wasn’t.

Reaching up, she slid the first photo frame to the right, just enough to make it parallel with the others. Then the helmet, she shifted it slightly, aligning it with the edge of the shelf. 

One by one, she adjusted the frames, the objects, the odd little pieces of her dad’s world that had once felt like a steady part of her life.

She wasn’t sure why it was bothering her so much today. Maybe it was the way everything felt out of sync. 

When she reached the second shelf, she noticed a small figure of a car. A McLaren MP4/4. Her dad had given it to her when she was younger, one of the few gifts he’d ever picked out himself. She ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the model before she set it down exactly in the middle of the shelf, just below the first row of photos.

For a very brief moment, it was perfect.

Just a small fix. A temporary escape from the feeling that everything else was slipping out of her grasp.

“Wow. Looks much better.”

Amelia tensed at the sound of her dad’s voice from the doorway.

She hadn’t heard him come in. For a moment, she considered turning on her heel and leaving the room, pretending she hadn’t touched anything. But her dad was already smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He didn’t look upset. He never did; that was the problem. She could never tell how he was really feeling because his face always stayed the same. It was like his expressions were stuck, and no matter how hard she tried to figure it out, she couldn’t read him. It made it hard to know if he was happy, worried, or anything at all. Everything just felt... flat.

“You know,” he continued, stepping further into the room, his hands in his pockets, “I’ve never been great at this stuff. Never really noticed how... messy things can get in here. But I guess you’ve got a better eye for it than I do.”

Amelia couldn’t help but feel a small rush of pride.

She nodded quietly, her gaze flicking back to the shelf. There was a strange sense of uncertainty creeping in, though. “Is it still okay, though?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I mean... Does it still... feel like yours?”

Her dad glanced at her, then back at the shelf, his smile fading just a little. “Yeah,” he said after a long beat. “It still feels like me. And it’s you, too, right? Made you feel better to change things up a bit?”

She just stared at him, unsure how to answer that. 

He stepped closer, running a hand through his hair. "I know things feel... different now. I guess I'm still getting used to it, too," he admitted quietly. "But it’s still... McLaren. It's still our world, kiddo."

Amelia’s stomach clenched. She wanted to say more, but the words wouldn’t come. She only nodded, her gaze travelling back to the perfectly aligned shelf.

Her dad placed a hand on her shoulder, his thumb brushing over her skin like a quiet reassurance. She made a small noise of discomfort. He paused, and then tightened his grip. So tight it might make a normal person wince. It just made Amelia let out a relieved breath of air, the pressure good, good, good.

It wasn’t that she hated touch, it was just that it had to be right, had to be just the right amount of force, of contact. Too light, and it felt like nothing at all. Too much, and she’d start to feel overwhelmed, like the weight of the world was pressing in. But this... this was perfect. His hand, firm on her shoulder, grounded her in a way nothing else could.

“Thanks for tidying up,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I think I might leave it just like this for a while. Feels... good.”

She nodded, the pressure of his hand still there, steady, and it was like she could finally breathe again.

— 

The McLaren pit garages smelled of oil and rubber. The fluorescent lights above hummed faintly, and she could still hear them even through the noise-cancelling headphones on her ears. Amelia moved through the space quietly, sharp eyes scanning the flurry of engineers, tire changers, and data specialists working with practiced urgency. Her hands were clasped behind her back, fingers pressed tight against her palms, and her gaze flicked between the monitors, the car, and the teams as they hustled to prepare the MCL33 for its next session.

Her favourite part was always the data. The telemetry displayed on the screens had a rhythm, a language that felt like it belonged to her more than anyone else. The raw numbers, the graphs, the fine-tuned fluctuations of the car’s performance; it all made perfect sense. She knew what to look for. 

Her feet carried her forward. She found herself standing near Fernando Alonso’s MCL33, just a few feet away. The car was a beautiful mess of carbon fiber, heat shields, and wires, and it was just sat there, like a puzzle waiting to be solved. 

Before the season had even started, Amelia had memorised every part of it, from the aerodynamic tweaks to the engine specs.

One of the engineers noticed her as she lingered, her posture attentive, her expression unreadable beneath the headphones. Everyone knew who she was. Zac’s daughter. A genius, in a multitude of ways. 

He approached cautiously, not wanting to startle her. He’d noticed how her eyes narrowed when too many voices clashed together at once, or how she shrunk when people got just that little bit too close. 

"Hey, Amelia," he said, his voice calm, not wanting to intrude. She turned toward him, her face still slightly blank, but he could tell by the way her eyes focused on his that she had heard him. “You good?” he asked, motioning toward the telemetry screens just behind her.

Amelia nodded, then hesitated. Her hand hovered for a second before she slowly, cautiously pointed at the screen. Her voice, when it came, was quiet, careful. “I... I think the tire pressures on the front left might be a little too high for this circuit. The temperatures are different compared to last year.”

She didn’t look at the engineer as she spoke. Her eyes stayed fixed on the data, like if she focused hard enough, she could disappear into it. She knew she was right, she was almost always right when it came to this, but the memory of past times, of laughter or dismissal, tugged at the edge of her confidence. She didn’t want to make it sound like she thought she knew more than the team. She didn’t even have a degree. 

The engineer just blinked. “I’ll pass it along,” he said, eventually.

Amelia gave a small nod, then quickly turned her focus back to the car, to the numbers flicking past on the monitors. She adjusted her posture slightly, shoulders curling inward, trying to take up less space.

As she focused on the intricate lines of the MCL33, another engineer approached her. He was holding a tablet with a telemetry feed of his own, and without speaking, he offered it to her. Amelia looked at the data for a long moment, her eyes narrowing as she absorbed the figures and readouts. Then, her finger gently traced over the tablet’s screen, pointing to a particularly complex graph of the car’s acceleration over the course of a lap.

“Right there,” she said, her voice soft but clear, though it was a bit muffled by the headphones. "You need to adjust the mapping."

The engineer hummed, impressed but not surprised. “I’ll have the team look into it,” he said, before turning to relay her suggestion to the others.

Her dad was always there, of course, close, watching from a distance, his presence a quiet comfort. But Amelia didn’t need him right now. She just needed the machines, the numbers, and the freedom to study it all. 

The engineers moved around her, respecting her space. Always careful not to brush against her, even though she was technically in their way.

When she finally did look up from the data screens, Fernando had stepped into the garage, just a few feet away, in his racing suit, helmet tucked under one arm. He glanced at her, then at the engineers who were quietly working around her.

He approached with a calm, easy presence that didn’t press too hard, didn’t demand anything. “Ah. How is the car feeling, pollita?” he asked, voice light but kind.

Amelia gave a small nod, gaze trained on the Spanish flag on the neck of his fireproofs. 

Fernando smiled. Then he turned to the engineers, who were already passing along her observations. 

“If she said it,” he said, tone warm and without a trace of doubt, “then yes—keep an eye on the turbo mapping. She is the smart one.”

— 

She walked around the paddock often. The garages were fun —fascinating, even— but it could all very quickly become too much. The noise, the flashing lights, the overlapping voices, the sudden bursts of motion. 

So she’d slip away. Not far. Just enough.

There was always a McLaren staff member trailing after her. Not hovering, not bothering, just keeping a quiet distance. Just far enough to give her the illusion of independence, a false sense of freedom she chose to believe in. She didn’t mind. As long as they didn’t try to talk, or worse, touch, she could almost ignore them entirely.

She wandered with a purpose that only made sense to her, eyes fixed ahead, headphones still on, the rest of the world muted and manageable. She liked it that way. The paddock, in the quiet bubble of her own world, was peaceful.

That’s when she spotted him.

Lewis Hamilton stood just outside the Mercedes hospitality suite, sunglasses perched on his nose. Roscoe was with him, tail wagging lazily, nose in something that probably smelled like food. Amelia stopped walking, blinked a few times, then changed direction. 

Lewis noticed her before she got too close. He smiled, lowering his sunglasses slightly. “Hey, Amelia,” he said, crouching a little as Roscoe trotted forward to sniff her shoes. “Been a while. You good?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she crouched carefully, reaching a hand out to Roscoe but not touching him until the dog pressed his nose into her palm. Only then did she give a tiny nod.

Lewis waited, patient. He was always nice like that. 

“How’s Roscoe?” she asked finally, her voice soft and low. One time, somebody told her that she spoke like she wasn’t sure she had permission to do so. Always quiet. Mumbling, if she could get away with it.  

Lewis just smiled, warmth radiating in that easy way of his. She liked Lewis a lot. “He’s good. Living his best life. Had a spa day last week. He’s spoiled.”

Amelia looked at the bulldog again, and her tight jaw felt softer. “Good.”

There was a pause. She didn’t move, didn’t say much, but she didn’t walk away either.

“You ever want to walk him sometime, just ask,” Lewis offered, still crouched. 

Amelia looked up, eyes wide, the corners of her mouth twitching in what might have been the start of a smile. She gave a small nod. 

Then she stood, gave Roscoe one last pat, and turned to leave.

The McLaren staffer fell into step a few paces behind her, still pretending not to be watching too closely.

Amelia looked down at her hand. Grimaced.

Her chest tightened. The feeling started crawling up her skin.

“I need sanitiser,” she said, voice rushed and clipped, a little too loud, a little too sharp. Her hands hovered awkwardly in front of her like she didn’t want to touch anything, even herself.

The staffer blinked once, then immediately fished a small bottle from his pocket and offered it to her without a word.

Amelia snatched it quickly, not too fast, not rude, she told herself, and squeezed a dollop into her palm. She rubbed it in with fast, focused movements. Between every finger. Around every nail. Up her wrists. Twice.

Only when the last of it had dried, leaving that slightly tacky residue behind, did her shoulders drop. The tension in her jaw loosened. The hum in her head began to fade.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes. She turned back toward the paddock walkway, pressing her clean hands flat against the sides of her jeans, grounding herself in the texture.

— 

The MTC’s glass corridors were quiet, filled with the soft echo of Amelia’s footsteps. She liked walking here early in the mornings, before the building filled with noise and movement. The lines were clean, the light was even, and everything had its place.

She turned a corner and nearly collided with someone moving fast; backwards, clumsily trying to zip up his hoodie while juggling an apple and his phone.

Lando Norris. FIA Formula 2 championship runner-up, member of the McLaren Young Driver Programme, widely considered one of the brightest rising stars in motorsport. She knew all of this about him.

He skidded to a stop when he saw her, eyes widening slightly. “Oh, hey. Sorry. Didn’t see you.”

Amelia stared at him for a beat, saying nothing. 

“You’re late,” she said plainly.

Lando blinked, then gave a sheepish grin. “Yeah. Kinda running behind this morning. Slept through my alarm. Happens sometimes.”

She tilted her head, studying him like he was part of a data set, eyes narrowed into thin slits. “You’ll never get promoted if you’re always late.”

The words came out blunt, matter-of-fact. She wasn’t trying to be rude, just honest. Patterns mattered. Timings mattered. Discipline mattered. Racing was full of rules, and being late was not acceptable. 

Lando laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Oh. Uh—do you really think I won’t get promoted?”

Amelia didn’t answer right away. She studied him, eyes narrowing slightly, not in judgment but in analysis. She was already calculating, recalling his lap times, consistency, tyre management, race-craft under pressure. She’d watched his F2 season. Not just watched; studied it. He was aggressive under braking, a little rough on tyres mid-stint, but his spatial awareness was excellent, and his adaptability in changing conditions put him in the top percentile. 

He was a good fit for McLaren, in her opinion. 

“Are you fast?” She asked him, despite already knowing the answer. 

Lando blinked. Let out a short, awkward laugh. “Yeah. I mean, I think so.”

She nodded once, satisfied. “Then you’ll be fine.”

With that, she turned and walked away, her stride quick and purposeful, the conversation already filed away in her mind, concluded.

Lando stood there for a second, caught off guard. Smart. Intense. Kind of pretty, too. But brutal. “Right,” he muttered to himself, watching her go. “Cool. Fast. Got it.”

— 

Amelia sat cross-legged on her bed in her family home in England, the room quiet except for the electrical hum of her phone charger. Her mom was downstairs, making chilli for dinner, and her dad was still at the office. 

She was scrolling through Twitter, quietly, methodically, as she did most evenings. She didn’t get involved much. A few retweets here and there. Articles, stats, insights. She had a good number of followers, mostly people who’d seen her on race broadcasts or encountered her race-day tweets.

But then, her thumb hovered. Lando Norris had tweeted earlier that day. She followed him, of course. She followed every McLaren adjacent account. 

She clicked on his profile.

She knew him. Had obviously studied his race-craft.

She scrolled through his timeline, her eyes tracking his tweets one by one.

"Is it just me or does everyone have a friend who thinks they know how to cook but really just know how to burn toast? 😂"

Amelia blinked. She didn’t get it. Was that supposed to be funny? She wasn’t sure that incompetence was amusing.

She continued scrolling, her eyes scanning through the odd mix of jokes, memes, and race-day updates. None of it made any sense. She was used to tweets that were precise, purposeful — like her own. Her posts were methodical, always carefully planned, always factual. Data, analysis, insights. It was how she communicated with the world.

Another tweet.

“Just watched a documentary on the moon landing. Now I’m convinced I could be an astronaut. 😂”

Amelia frowned. There was no mention of racing, no insights into strategy, no talk of lap times or tire degradation. Just... this. She scrolled past it quickly, her thumb moving with a steady rhythm as she returned to her own timeline, where everything was neatly laid out, logical, and to the point.

Maybe she should talk to Lando about using his social media more usefully. After all, he already had such a large following. He could share insights, data, something valuable for his fans. He was a professional driver, for goodness' sake. It could be a way to connect with people, educate them, make them appreciate the intricacies of racing in the same way that she did.

She bit her lip, feeling a small knot form in her stomach. She wasn’t sure if she could just tell him to change. That would be... strange. Maybe even rude.

Two hours later, Amelia sat at the dinner table, poking at her food absentmindedly. Her mom was talking about her day at work, but Amelia wasn’t really listening. 

Her dad, always quick to pick up on when something wasn’t right, glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on in that head of yours, kiddo?”

Amelia hesitated for a moment, rolling the words around in her mouth. She wasn’t sure why it was bothering her so much, but the thought of Lando’s Twitter kept circling in her mind, unresolved. “Lando Norris is a terrible tweeter. He needs a social media manager.”

Her dad stared at her for a beat, then burst out laughing. “Ah, that’s just Lando! Fans love him for it. He’s... unpredictable, keeps everyone guessing. People follow him because they like seeing the real him. Jokes and all.”

Amelia didn’t find anything about this situation funny. 

She fiddled with her food, the tension in her chest tightening. Why did nobody seem as concerned about this as she was?

Lando was good. A good racer. A worthy driver. 

Late. He was always late. He could fix that, though. 

Fix, fix, fix.

She clenched her hands in her lap, staring at her plate, her thoughts spinning.

Her mom set her fork down, leaning forward slightly. “Amelia, is it really bothering you, honey?”

Amelia’s gaze snapped up, her eyes wide. “Yes! I don’t understand it. He could be doing so much more—he’s just... joking around all the time. He never posts about his telemetry or his tests. It’s such a waste!”

Her mom nodded patiently. “That’s what you would post about?” she asked, her tone gentle.

Amelia nodded, feeling her thoughts settle into place. “Yes. It’s all there, the numbers, the data. It shows his skills. It’s... more useful.”

Her dad hummed thoughtfully. “I could have a chat with him. Tell him to post more of his racing stats. They are impressive. But I won’t tell him to stop being himself. That’s working well for his image.”

Amelia wrung her hands together under the table, taking small, even breaths. It helped calm her, but the unease was still there.

“I think…” she started, her voice softer now, the edges of her frustration ebbing away. “He is a good racer.”

Her dad smiled at her, a little amused. “You care about his success, huh? Well, that’s sweet.”

Amelia nodded. Then she frowned. Sweet? Why was that sweet? She cared about the success of all the drivers in her dad’s team… not just Lando.

Her mom reached across the table and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re not the only one who wants him to do well, honey. But maybe let him be him. It’s working for him in his own way, even if it’s not how you’d do it.”

Amelia hummed thoughtfully, picking up her fork. She liked chilli. It was comforting. Simple. Consistent. 

She missed the look her parents shared — half concerned, half understanding. 

— 

Fernando would leave Formula One at the end of the 2018 season.

Amelia didn’t know how to feel about it, or if she should feel anything at all. The news came as a whisper first; just a passing comment she overheard in the MTC, a conversation between her dad and one of the engineers. At first, it didn’t seem real. Fernando had been a fixture of the sport for as long as she could remember. The idea of Formula One without him felt... wrong. He wasn’t just another driver; he was Fernando.

And then, one afternoon, her dad sat her down in his office and confirmed what she had been dreading.

Fernando was leaving.

She found herself pacing around the house, her mind spiralling as she thought about the future of F1 without him in it.

He’d always been so nice to her, letting her into his garage whenever she wanted, no questions asked. There was never any judgment in his eyes when she stared at data screens for hours or rambled on about telemetry. He just... let her be.

He had understood her in a way few people ever did.

She would miss him. 

— 

Lando Norris and Carlos Sainz. 2019 McLaren Driver Line-up.

She’d expected it. She knew it was coming. Fernando was leaving. So was Stoffel. She’d already processed that. But somehow, seeing it laid out in front of her, seeing it confirmed in black and white, made it feel much more real.

Her dad had sat her down earlier on in the month, his voice soft but steady. He’d said it was a new chapter for McLaren, a step in the right direction.

She put the phone down, the buzzing of it faint in her ears, and stared ahead. The news sat like a heavy weight in her chest. Lando and Carlos. McLaren’s new driver pairing.

— 

iMessage — Lewis Hamilton & Amelia Brown

Amelia Brown

I would like to see a photo of Roscoe. 

Lewis Hamilton

*insert photograph of Roscoe*

You doing okay, kiddo? Lots of changes happening over there at McLaren. 

Amelia Brown

I am fine. 

Lewis Hamilton 

You're always welcome at Mercedes if you need a breather, yeah? 

Toto thinks very highly of you. 

Amelia Brown

Because I am so smart? 

Lewis Hamilton

Exactly. 

— 

Amelia sat in the kitchen, scrolling through Twitter as she sipped her coffee. Her nineteenth birthday had come and gone, quietly, without much fanfare. 

Her gaze drifted across the screen.

Lando had posted something that caught her attention.

"Why do I feel like I need a vacation, but I also can't leave my bed?"

Amelia blinked at the tweet, trying to make sense of it. She tilted her head, her fingers hesitating over the keyboard. She didn’t understand. Was he… hurt? Why couldn’t he leave his bed? He was supposed to be racing a Formula One car in a matter of months.

With a worried sigh, she typed out a simple response to his tweet.

What does this mean? 

She hit send and waited. 

A few minutes later, Lando replied.

It’s just one of those random thoughts. You know, like when you’re too comfortable but you also want to escape, but you don’t really? Classic conundrum lol 

Amelia stared at the reply, processing it slowly. 

She... still didn’t get it. Why would anyone want to leave a comfortable bed just to go somewhere else? 

She frowned at the screen for a moment, her eyes scanning the thread, and then she noticed the replies.

“Lando is so sweet to explain it! 💕” 

“Aw, he’s always so patient with everyone ❤️” 

Amelia’s brows furrowed. Sweet? Patient? She didn’t understand. He was just explaining himself and his terrible analogy. Had nobody else been confused?

She stared at the replies for a moment longer, the confusion deepening. It felt like there was something she was missing.

She felt a small twist of discomfort, the kind she always got when emotions felt too complicated, too layered. 

Amelia clicked away from the thread, unsure what to do with the strange tugging sensation that lingered in her chest.

— 

That night, Amelia sat on the edge of her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. She glanced over at her mom, who was measuring her bedroom window. Amelia had asked for black-out blinds, now that the days were getting brighter again.

“When my chest gets tight— and I’m thinking about somebody, and then I see other people saying nice things about them... and it gets, um, uncomfortable— what does that mean?”

Her mom paused, turning to face her. “Well. It can be a lot of things, honey. Depends on the person. Maybe you’re feeling protective, or it could be jealousy. Sometimes, we can feel a lot of emotions physically, and they don’t always have to make sense.”

Amelia blinked, feeling something stir inside her that she couldn’t quite name. The word felt almost too big to say. “Jealousy?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her mom nodded, sitting down next to her. “Jealousy isn’t always bad. It’s just a feeling. Doesn’t have to mean anything.” 

Amelia’s mind spun. The word echoed in her head, uncomfortable and unfamiliar. 

Jealousy. 

Something about it seemed to fit.

NEXT CHAPTER

[hashiruchan]

Headcanon: What subjects would Primarchs teach in high school?

(Based on subjects I had in high school or am familiar with)

This is my first Warhammer 40k headcanon, I hope you like it :'3 It comes with some quick sketches

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Roboute Guilliman – Economics/Business Administration He is usually strict because it is his duty but he helps his students from time to time, everyone loves him

Vulkan – Civics and Ethics His class focuses on kindness, responsibility, and community service. Everyone gets an A, but he expects you to do your best.

Konrad Curze – Student Supervisor (Hall Supervisor/Dean of Students) No one dares break the rules when he is around. His office is dimly lit and no one knows how he always catches the students before they even think about misbehaving. What could you expect from the Night Haunter?

Corvus Corax – Physics He would make any class interesting, he is sad to fail students and he loves them like they are his children

Lorgar – Religious Studies Somehow, every lesson becomes a sermon and 20 ways to pray to the Emperor

Mortarion – Chemistry The lab always smells funny. An expert in handling toxic gases, the students suspect he is immune to all dangerous substances. Strict

Leman Russ – Physical Education "You're not tired! You're just weak! Keep running!" Gym class is less about fitness and more about survival.

Fulgrim – Philosophy Every discussion ends with an impassioned monologue and the students leave questioning their entire existence thinking what perfection really is. Typical handsome but ruthless teacher

Perturabo – Workshop The assignments are almost impossible. If your project isn't reinforced with adamantium and designed to withstand artillery fire, it's not good enough.

Jaghatai Khan – Biology He loves explaining evolution and animal physiology, he likes to talk about horses a lot, he would be a very funny teacher.

Rogal Dorn – Law/Government Studies He follows everything to the letter, very calculating and always remembers everything he and his students say in every class. Every assignment must be structured like a legal document.

Ferrus Manus – Engineering Very practical. "If you can't build it with your own hands, you don't deserve to use it." Students who present blueprints without actual prototypes are judged harshly.

Angron – Math No one understands why he is so angry when explaining basic algebra, He throws chalk at students who can't solve equations fast enough, don't blame him deep down he is good.

Magnus the Red – Psychology He knows what you are thinking before you say it. "I understand your trauma better than you do" he says. There are very intense debates in class and to calm them down the students leave with mild headaches.

Horus – Language and Literature (English/Literature) Charismatic, good, helps his students and motivates them to be better every day, everyone's favorite without a doubt.

Alpharius – Substitute teacher for any subject "Wait, weren't you teaching biology yesterday?" No one knows how many of them actually exist, I'm actually Alpharius

Lion El'Jonson – History Classes about wars always have a suspicious lack of details about his own past. "We don't talk about certain events. Let's move on…" he doesn't stop talking.

Sanguinius – Fine Arts Every class feels like a divine experience. Students often leave inspired… or in tears. No one wants to disappoint him, he always strives to make his classes relaxing, stimulating and creative for them, he would spend all night cutting out paper flowers to hand out the next day.

[pathologicalreid]

Criminal Minds: Evolution (Recap)

next on CME

providing the people of tumblr with a recap of CME before the episode with Spencer airs, since I know a lot of people are only watching that episode. the goal isn't to have you know everything about the show by the time we get there, it's just so you can watch that episode and understand what's going on without watching the preceding two seasons. spoilers for episode one and two ahead.

Episode 1: Just Getting Started

Written by Erica Messer Directed by Nelson McCormick

Starts in Yakima, WA, we see a man in a storage unit doing some hinky shit with knives. we don’t know him and then we flash forward to 2022. 

Good old criminal minds showing you a crime before anything else. We see a girl get kidnapped from her house.

We then flash forward to Yakima but this time in the present day! My beautiful wife Tara Lewis is here checking out that shipping container.

There are embalmed bodies and stuff but the most important thing they find is a polystyrene case of equipment. There are dead bodies in there that are more recent kills and also skeletons.

The FBI has benched the jet! Rossi is the unit chief! Emily is section chief!

The FBI split the BAU up because they say the agents solve twice as many cases when they’re more individual. they were only supposed to be operating like that for six month but it’s been almost 3 months.

Brief mention Reid and Simmons are NAWT with the BAU at this time.

Rossi is obsessed with this case in Virginia. He’s also kind of lost his shit. He’s living in a hotel with crime scene photos and newspaper clippings pasted to the wall.

He’s the first character to swear in Evolution! He says “holy shit” while watching bodycam footage.

Rossi calls JJ about a case in Silver Spring where a guy has a severed spinal cord, and he’s convinced that his case in Alexandria is serial but he doesn’t have evidence.

He goes to a case in Bethesda! He’s with Luke, the killer left a baby alive and kidnapped the teenage daughter. Killed both parents.

The deputy director (Doug Bailey) wants the whole BAU on the missing girl but Lewis is on the case with the shipping container. Mildly reminiscent of the Linda Barnes plotline.

All energy goes to finding the teenage girl (Chrissy). 

Dave yells at Luke he’s really gone off the rails and tensions are high between the team. Krystall died at some point between the end of the main series and the beginning of evolution, hence his crash out.

We see the UnSub texting someone about $10,000. This is the first inclination that we really see of the main story of the season. He has Chrissy in the trunk of his car.

First Garcia mention while they’re looking at security footage, there are FOUR people trying to do the job that she did.

Back to Yakima! The local police officer proposes that the killer stopped because he died of COVID and Tara wonders if he stopped because the entire world “stopped” during the pandemic—there was no one to stalk or abduct so he simply… stopped. They need a better lab to analyze everything that was left in the container, Tara proposes bringing it to Quantico.

Luke and JJ decide to look into the family and specifically Chrissy, only to find that her only active internet presence is on a website called SOAR “Safe Online Acquaintance Revolution.” Both teenage girls whose families were victimized only used that platform for social media.

SOAR is highly protected, but Penelope is one of the people who designed it to keep kids safe online. Luke proposes asking Garcia, JJ reminds him that they promised they wouldn’t bring her back to the BAU. In the end, Luke goes to talk to Penelope (he lost a bet). He shows up at her apartment and she is less than thrilled to see him.

She tries to get him to leave, but he hits her with a “I don’t know who else can help.” So… she makes her baking club leave.

  She tells one of the members that she and Luke thrive as frenemies. Luke says “We’re friends. Why do I have to be your enemy?”

Luke tells her that her office is still empty, he’s never even met her replacements! (COVID)

The UnSub takes Chrissy to an RV in the middle of nowhere.

They profile why the UnSub befriends the girls first and also the improvement from the first crime to the second crime. JJ proposes it’s almost like he read a manual on how to improve his crime.

Penelope finds someone who communicated with both daughters, a teenager trying to reconnect with his birth family. They use the messages between the boy, RJ, and the daughters to figure out he’s taken Chrissy to a remote area. Garcia then finds a property that was seized by the state and finds that the parents of a young boy, Rory James Gilcrest, OD’d fifteen years ago and the boy was the only survivor.

Chrissy figures out that the person who kidnapped her is the person she’d been talking to on SOAR, she then finds out that he killed her parents, so she attacks him with a hammer. He pulls a gun on her, but thankfully the BAU is right outside. She blames herself for the death of her family and puts the gun to her head. Rossi talks her down.

“None of this is your fault, okay? You hear me? Right now, you can make a choice. You have to choose to fight. You have to want to survive. Listen, I can’t promise it’s gonna be okay, but it’s been almost a year since my wife, Krystall, died, and it still hurts like hell. It’s the little things they don’t tell you. The quiet in the house. I can’t stand it, but in that quiet, I’m reminded of her.”

Ballistics say that the UnSub shot himself, even though he didn’t profile as suicidal.

In the trunk of the car that RJ ended up with, he had a polystyrene case that’s caked in mud like it was buried. JJ says it’s sophisticated for a 19 year old kid. Luke brings up her comment about how it’s like. A how-to manual. The show cuts to Tara looking through photos from the shipping container, including a polystyrene case. The news in Yakima shows that the BAU found the missing girl and in the background, they see an officer moving the case.

Tara sends Rossi photos of the polystyrene case and he calls her, he tells her they need all eyes on this.

The episode ends in Whitfield County, Georgia, where we see someone burying another one of the cases. This person is Elias Voit.

Episode 2: Sicarius

Written by Breen Frazier Directed by Nelson McCormick

The cuck episode <3. As soon as I saw the man being wheeled over on a gurney, the episode came rushing back to me. The UnSub is severing spinal cords, this is the UnSub briefly mentioned by JJ in the previous episode. He places his victims on a massage table and puts his phone on the ground with the front facing camera so he can watch their reactions (he’s also recording, important for later).

We see Penelope, starting the episode in true pandemic fashion with a Microsoft Teams meeting for SOAR. Then we see JJ and Will being domestic and cute, and JJ cancels date night for work and Will says it’s fine but they have a talk about it.

Will has a weird line saying JJ has been really busy “since we got back” and I have never figured out if he’s referencing anything specific or if it’s just an allusion to the pandemic.

Back to Quantico! Rossi is still looking ragged as fuck and living out of the hotel, but they kind of move on from that really quickly and talk about the case. Good looking men in their 30s are being found in Silver Spring, MD with their spinal cords severed. They also both had some apps like Tinder and some more… nefarious (?) apps on their phone.

They are bulls who take part in the kink known as cuckolding and I am not going to explain it to you but they do in the show.

The UnSub took similar steps to the UnSub in the last episode, down to selling his car in a Wal-Mart parking lot. So they’re like we have to take this case and they wonder how it’s connected to the shipping container.

Tara and Emily have successfully gotten the shipping container from Washington state to Quantico, the evidence is being processed. Doug Bailey is displeased.

Back to Whitfield County, GA! Elias Voit is back and he’s fiddling with something in the dirt when he gets an encrypted message and is sent the video from our UnSub of him torturing his most recent victim. There’s a text exchange that follows. Voit asks the UnSub if he followed the rules. This is the first real indication that Voit is the person who has been guiding these UnSubs.

They’re talking more about the case and I don’t have it in me to talk about the kink. They’re led to a politician and decide to bring him and his wife in.

Reid and Simmons mention! Rossi says he misses them.

Penelope gets a message from an anonymous user who tells her how SOAR was compromised, he won’t tell her who he is but sends her details about the case that the BAU is actively working on.

The team questions the couple about the kink. Next.

Emily and Tara try to defend the choice to move the shipping container to Doug Bailey and he’s kind of ridiculous. Tara asks if Emily wants a “friend” from the DOJ to ask around about what’s going on with the brass (It’s Rebecca, her gf).

There is no consistent MO with the shipping container victims, one of them had sicarius spiders poured down their throat. This is how the UnSub gets the name Sicarius.

The cuck couple was sent the same video that Voit was sent earlier, the team watches it. Toward the end of the video, the UnSub accidentally reveals that he has one of those polystyrene cases, the team starts to call them “kill kits.”

Bailey is an expert in “efficiency” and wants to eventually become Attorney General, so he’s marching his way through the BAU and other parts of the FBI in order to get there.

Emily clocks the fact that Tara and Rebecca are dating IMMEDIATELY.

Next stop is Hamilton County, TN, we are stuck with Voit again and he gets a call from the UnSub (Robert) because the UnSub wants to kill again, but since Voit is his serial killer guru, he can’t kill until Voit says it’s okay.

He says he’s in network security, this is also what his family thinks he does.

Luke brings up Penelope again ohhhhh my god he’s obsessed.

When Rossi finds out the lab techs named the UnSub Sicarius he says “I’m not gonna name this jag-off! Fuckhead! Okay? Call him that!”

Okay peepaw let’s get you to bed.

Penelope calls Rossi and gives him the information that the anonymous user gave to her, and Rossi tries to get her to come back to the BAU.

Brief mention, Krystall died from an unnamed disease. Did I say that already?

The anonymous user calls Penelope and she tells him she gave the information to the FBI. He insists she needs to be the one to decrypt it or else people are going to die, so, Penelope comes back to Quantico. Everyone who does her job works from home, so her office is virtually untouched. It’s been 1,009 days since she last logged into the system.

The scene where she first logs in is set to “It’s Tricky” by Run DMC, and it’s just so incredibly Penelope.

The anonymous user has mapped out the locations of thirteen different kill kits. It sets out a homing signal in the kit in Tara’s shipping container. That’s how the UnSubs find the kill kits; they each have a transponder.

An APB is put out for Robert Harris, and Voit sees it. Now he knows that Robert didn’t wait like he said. Robert broke the rules. The rule is that the person who gets caught has to either kill themselves or Voit will find them and kill them instead. In this case, Robert kills himself.

The kill kits slowly shut down, meaning Voit is shutting them off so the BAU has no way to track them anymore.

In her office, Penelope finds the note that she left right before she left the BAU in the series finale and reads it. We don’t get to know what it says, but whatever it says motivates her to remain with the team.

In Seattle, Voit returns to his wife and children. We see that he kidnapped a dog (Freak) and lies through his teeth to his wife.

Fun fact, his TV wife his played by his IRL wife.

JJ asks Will is he thinks “our fears come out in our sex life” (In reference to something Rossi says earlier in the episode) and Will’s immediate response is “Am I in trouble?” They more or less commit to work on their relationship and that’s kind of their theme for the season.

Rossi cleans up (and checks out of his hotel) and then JJ comes in being chipper, leading Emily to ask “is everyone around here getting laid except me?” and Rossi “Oh, I’m not.” (OUCH).

End scene!

the recaps will get a little shorter, but these first episodes are so exposition heavy that this was unavoidable

[monophobix]

INITIAL THOUGHTS ON ARCANE SEASON 2 ACT 1 (EPISODES 1-3)

(i’m not good at putting my thoughts into words so feel free to give your own opinions, i rlly wanna hear them)

SPOILERS AHEAD///

ok so my biggest critique is the pacing. everything is very quick very fast and a lot is going on. i understand that this is immediately after a large event which of course caused a reaction however it was just very intense and a lot to keep up with especially considering the amount of new and confusing things introduced throughout the three episodes with minimal slow down. it was alittle difficult to keep up. the timeline of the show is confusing and i have no idea how long it has been between scenes. viktor was barely in that weird healing chamber for a few scenes before he was emerging as someone new. caitlyn and vi were going from loving to fighting to understanding to fighting again very quickly with little time to develop independently, their kiss and divorce weren’t even 30 minutes apart from each other. also, who the fuck is this kid hanging around with jinx?? why is she following her, why doesn’t she talk, what’s her name, how long has she been with her?? this lack of time to let things develop has caused these episodes to feel rushed.

with this introduction of many new things some have left me with a lot of questions. my biggest issue revolves around the arcane. i literally do not recall it being mentioned or being an important topic in s1 but all of a sudden jayce knows a fuck ton about it as well as heimerdinger? when did he learn this? i assume it’s from viktors notes and research but that still fails to cover the amount of knowledge jayce now possesses.

HOWEVER THE ARCANE IS VERY COOL AND IM VERY VERY INVESTED. i absolutely love the changes to viktor, his weird apathy and changes are definitely rushed but so interesting to see, his design and behaviour are so very compelling and im very excited to see the development. additionally, this group dynamic between jayce, ekko and heimerdinger is soooooo fun. it offers a break from the intensity with some silliness i think is desperately needed, plus it’s super satisfying to see the trio bounce off each other. that final scene of them in ep3 was visually incredible and i loved seeing the effects upon the hextech weapons during the jinx, sevika vs vi, caitlyn fight. the scene of viktor amongst the shimmer infected was very interesting and it was so cool to truly see the severe effects of shimmer and the inhumanity of viktor is making a clear route towards his glorious evolution which is am keen to watch.

that ambessa reveal at the end was INCREDIBLE. i genuinely didn’t see it coming and it made my jaw DROP. the quiet, smart suspicion from mel is always incredible to see, her political mind and morals conflicting is so very engaging and she’s really developing into herself in these episodes which was a joy to witness. the mystery of her brother is compelling and links well through s1 and s2 to make the storyline fun to follow. i also simply must compliment the designs revolving around the noxians and animal-esque (sorry idk what they’re called) people. the absolute variety and inspiration from real life cultures is beautiful to see. i am incredibly confused about the magic and that one lady (amara?) but i assume that’ll be answered in later episodes.

jinx is not looking good lmao. i love her design being so corpse-like and deathly, it really fits well and really embraces the differences between powder and jinx. but i do wish we saw more of her. i see her actions but i lack understanding for some of them, primarily revolving around the child (isha?) and why the kids even there but the newfound bond between sevika and jinx is refreshing to see. the scene of them in silcos old office brought a smile to my face and the design of that fucking arm is soooo cool i love the clownish purely jinx vibe to it.

caitlyn is probably the stand out character so far (plus maybe viktor). her absolute grief and seeing her facade break down throughout the episodes was heartbreaking, the tentative yet conflicting moments of softness with vi were beautiful yet had that perfect undercurrent of tragedy that arcane masters so well. her rage and break up with vi was easy to see coming yet so incredibly jarring to watch, that harsh and merciless behaviour is so different from s1, the development is well done and a morbid pleasure to see. and that final episode. oh my. the shock to acceptance of darkness was fantastic, ambessa truly is a master at manipulating weakness in even the strongest of people and seeing this duo is going to be so soul crushing that i’m itching for more.

vi felt very rushed to me and alittle dry? idk why tho i can’t really explain it. i understand her choices but it felt like something was missing until that final scene with cait. that was an absolute masterpiece. seeing her realising that the horrors of war is corrupting everyone around her and pleading for it to please not happen is so so SO fucking sad and my heart was breaking. i loved seeing her moral strength and solidity to her values which has always been a key part of her character so i appreciate the consistency. idk why something about her was just… different.

the opening scene was incredible. the absolute horror of it was so clear and i was literally shaking the entire time. 10/10 opening.

overall, i hope things slow down alittle but i greatly enjoyed season 2 and im very excited to see the characters develop and to see even more of this beautiful world.

[planesawesome]

A sample of the evolution of Sukhoi Russian design office aircraft.

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

Making Humanoids Less Human

I did make a small post on this, but now I've got the art for a much bigger and more detailed post! so here we go.

I had several anonymous asks that all came in quick succession weeks ago. Every single one of them was basically just a variation on "how would you take (typically humanoid) fantasy being, and make them look less human?"

This blog does not exist for me to just give people original designs for free, my goal is to show off my own personal thoughts about fantasy design and help people figure out how to adjust their own designs to fit their vision better. That means when people ask me questions about how to do something, I want to give them things to think about so they can come to their own conclusion. I don't mind making original designs to illustrate concepts, but a whole flood of "show me how to make this specific thing look different" all at once like that was too much. I'm not answering them all individually, it's just not what I want to do.

But what I can do is show my own thoughts and ideas about how to take any fantasy design and push it further away from "human", and you all can look at my ideas and figure out your own way to do things!

So here are the main 4 methods I've come up with to make humanoids look less human.

(image description: a simplified drawing of a humanoid face surrounded by four altered versions of the same face. clockwise starting from the top left, they are:

Speculative, drawn as a cat person. Additive, drawn with horns, pointy ears, sharp teeth, and a second pair of eyes. Subtractive, drawn with blank eyes, no nose, and no eyebrows. Exaggerative, drawn with a long face and huge eyes, as well as a wide mouth, narrow nose, and big ears.

end description)

I am personally a fan of the speculative route, which means exploring an alternate root of evolution to create a new design. Through this method, I've created monkey elves, frog goblins, and pig orcs.

the additive option is the most common, I think. adding new feature or doubled features to a humanoid form is a very intuitive way to change the design and make it look less human. you see this in most fantasy and scifi designs, like star trek aliens and the dnd player races.

subtractive and evaggerative are the most common options for people that like the uncanny valley. it's really easy to make uncomfortable designs by removing or exaggerating recognizable features, and they're often used together. Slenderman, for example, removes all facial features and skin color but also exaggerates the limbs and body.

Combining the four methods will give you a really interesting design as well! So for practice I decided to explore an alternate design for Tieflings, the part-demon player race in dnd.

(image description: four examples of differnt tiefling designs using the previously described methods. the additive example is just offical dnd art of a tiefling woman with purple skin, horns, and a long tail.

the subtractive sketch looks very alien, with a bald head, empty eyes, and no other facial featuers aside from a small mouth. it has three fingers per hand and two toe per foot.

the exaggerative sketch shows a hunched humanoid figure with huge eyes and big ears. the neck, limbs, and digits are all long with claws at the ends of the fingers and toes, and the limbs are also quite muscular.

the speculative sketch shows a bipedal figure with features similar to a giraffe, including a long neck, ossicones, and hooves.

end description)

now, because tielflings have such a distinct look to them, obviously my new sketches don't really look like tieflings, do they? the only one that comes close is the giraffe. relying only on one type of alteration to the human form has left the designs rather empty and lacking in the more iconic traits of the original concept. so i tried a sketch that combined my ideas! it came out looking like a completely different creature lol, like it could be a kobold or something, still not really a tiefling.

(image description: a sketch of a creature with a giraffe-like head, long tongue, and sharp teeth. it appears to be roaring at something and stands in a half-crouch. it has long limbs with hoof feet and clawed hands, as well as a long tufted tail curled behind it. end description.)

didn't work out. too far into the animal side of the speculative evolution, I think. so I tried again and got a design I liked much better!

(image description: a digital painting of a tiefling leaping back and casting a glowing orange spell. she is wearing a tunic with a corset and detached sleeves, as well as several pieces of jewelry. Her skin is purple with dark patches like a giraffe's spots, and she has a giraffe's ossicones as well as hoof-like hands and two-toed hoof feet. Her tail is long with a tuft at the end. She has glowing eyes and a flat nose, and there is a single sharp tooth visible poking out of the side of her mouth. end description.)

Brought the face back into slightly more human proportions and that helped a lot. Sometimes designs just take a few tries! that's normal.

and hopefully this is helpful to all of you! there are so many ways to alter humanoid designs to come up with something original and unique to you!

[yutorihanzoki]

Hello everyone, I'm here to introduce you to my first OC of Sonic, Cannon the Falcon. I hope you like it.

INFORMETION

Full Name: Cannon the Falcon

Species: Falcon

Gender: Male

Age: 17

Height: 1.11

Affiliation: Ally of Team Sonic (Unofficially)

Occupation: guardian of your dimension

ability: plasma energy manipulation called sparkz

personality: determination and ambition / loner / arrogant / sarcastic / stoic / loyal / ambitious / evolution / redemption / sympathetic

HISTORY

Cannon the Falcon belongs to a superior bird race that possesses an exclusive power called Sparkz, this race is known for having advanced technology mixed with plasma energy power which is Sparkz, Cannon the Falcon was born in a cybernetic city to join a troop of guardians called CG OR Cyber ​​Guardian, the CG or Cyber ​​Guardian are a troop of guardians that keep their dimension safe from threats, and an organization and provides their protection services for important occasions and bodyguard service etc. (CG are like police officers who provide protection and security services), Cannon's objective is to keep his dimension safe since the power of his race is like a deadly weapon that threatens parallel dimensions so the power of Sparkz cannot fall into the wrong hands.

SPARKZ

The power of sparkz is a concentration of plasma energy that allows its user to manipulate it for a limited time, the user can use sparkz to improve technological objects, the user can also create sharp blades, heavy weapons and spears among other white weapons, (but she cannot create a firearm since it consists of using a lot of sparkz energy), sparkz is an exclusive power of the cannon race since it cannot be used by anyone since the power of sparkz was created by their ancestors, and it is also very dangerous to learn, and also not everyone in the cannon race can use sparkz, only those who are well trained and who can also withstand the plasma energy that manifests through the body, sparkz is a limited power so it can only be used at an important moment, depending on the user if he is well trained for example the cannon can last for a long time but if the user is not trained it can last for a very short time.

ABILITY

His ability is precisely his sparkz power, but Cannon has an intelligence and creativity with his sparkz power that differentiates him from other troops, among them are: creating plasma energy saw rings / creating a plasma energy whip / being able to fly at hyper speed / atomic explosion.

(the saw rings)

The plasma energy ring saws are like a boomerang, Cannon the Falcon can create a saw of any size but there is a catch, if he creates a large saw he can only create it once and it can only fall apart when it is in his hands, the other is that when he creates small saw rings he can only create ten of them on each finger on his hand.

ADVANTAGE

The user, when throwing a large saw ring, cannot be defended or stopped, the user can call the saws at will to spin between his arms and legs, where he can focus on his target and throw again, (the cannon does some breakdance-style acrobatics with movement to throw the large saw ring at the target).

DISADVANTAGE

As I said before, the user can only create a large saw ring once, and to get rid of it, it has to go back to your hands. The saws cannot be defended but can be deflected by a strong attack.

CURIOSITY

To create the cannon design I was inspired by Falco Lombardi from Star Fox.

Cannon is the only Sonic OC character I've created that flies at hyper speed.

between the comparison of sonic shadow and silver are, in terms of speed cannon is faster than silver and shadow but cannon loses to sonic, in terms of strength cannon is stronger than sonic and silver but loses to shadow, in terms of power cannon beats sonic and silver but loses to shadow, thus making shadow stronger than cannon, but cannon is stronger than sonic and silver, (remembering that cannon only beats sonic in strength and power and experience in battle but he only loses to sonic in speed)

I hope you like the cannon, I had the idea to create it because of the third Sonic movie that gave me motivation to create it and also so I can like Sonic again, soon I will do more art of the cannon the falcon.

[destiny-smasher]

Outfit #4 for my timeskip Nemona in my fic Operation Comet Punch! Like the others so far, this was commissioned from and drawn by Su1zide. This one is her 'Champion Garb', meant to be what she wears when representing Paldea as a Champion Rank trainer at official events (ex. tournaments). It's got a lot of difference details references different elements of her life.

The star earrings represent Penny. The bracelets are Oran Berry inspired, referencing Arven. The haircomb is inspired by Quaquaval, the star evolution she used in her rivalry with Scarlet in this timeline. The overall outfit is inspired by different Chun Li outfits, evoking a martial artist vibe, due to her training in martial arts and fitness under Bea and Dendra. The flame motif on the top represents her burning passion. The dueling gloves match those worn by the Elite Four and Geeta, a symbol of her status as a top ranking trainer of Paldea. And the wrist whistle is what she uses to efficiently command her Pokémon!

I've posted three other outfits, including a casual look, a combat training look, and a security officer uniform. And I have one more in mind to comm from this artist, but in the meantime, I'd like to get some designs for this fic's version of Penny drawn up, so stay tuned!

[adam--official]

Ok everyone here are mr mods designs for his bad Bible stories 💥💥💥🔥🔥🔥‼️‼️‼️ this is so long I'm adding a readmore

First up we got Mrs Eve ‼️🔥🔥🔥⚡⚡

She's pretty cool. The second image is her artfight red which is why there r words. Modern au she dresses like a mom and knows her way around a firearm. I would die for her

Next up is Adam 💥💥🔥🔥⚡⚡⚡

Artfight ref lol. He's pretty cool. I overestimated the size of ribs when I drew this (and too lazy to fix it) so actually god removed two ribs oops. Anyways if he existed in the modern day he would be a housewife who is shockingly good with a blade

Lilith kinda looks like Adam but not quite. Darker skin and hair but similar features. Has tits and no soul because she was created by Lucifer 😔

We got Seth 💥💥 i kinda hate this drawing but it's ok

He looks like an Oriental shorthair (I ❤️ oriental shorthairs). Anyways I made him a prophet of the Lord except the Lord in question is just the aeon Sophia gossiping to him and spilling family secrets ,since the Christian God that created Adam and Eve is actually the false monolith Yaldabaoth who created them and the angels in order to be worshipped 💥💥because in order to make things make sense I had to kill and taxidermy biblical theology sorry guys. It's ok though because Seth actually narratively parallels Yaldabaoth more than he does Sophia, despite having direct contact with her. So when I do the dramatic reveal that the One God is actually not the one god and is (shocker) evil, there was foreshadowing ‼️‼️Because Seth is his narrative parallel ‼️‼️‼️ Hashtag smartbrained

..Unless I decide i dont want to do gnosticism anymore and want to keep with the standard Jewish/christian stuff. Well see. Gnosticism is complicated guys :-(

Anyways I also have to research the evolution of ancient African hair care to find a natural seeming way for Eve to get cute hairstyles 💔 which is gonna be hard because of colonialism :-( I'll probably give her freeform locs that makes the most sense but also I like her afro so we'll see how much reality I want to acknowledge .

Haha no yeah I'm fucking lying. If you saw my swear words rant you'd know that I love realiity and one (1) logical fallacy would make me actually crash out . We're incorporating so much reality into this fantasy you might as well call me the next, slightly worse jrr Tolkien 🔥🔥 Or a less passionate Robert Jordan. He used feet as a measurement once and I will never forgive him for that

@official--eve @archangel-gabriel-offical hey look

I still gotta design Cain and Abel and Gabriel, and I gotta draw Jophiel and Lilith. Part two?

[ashlynniis-bracketeers]

REBORN KING GREGOR {Limbus Company}

Woe, extremely self-indulgent concept be upon ye. A.K.A. "What if Gregor got an ID where he was both happy with himself (not in the "throws himself into being a weapon" sense) AND more bug?"

I've had this design/concept, through multiple revisions, sitting around for ages. Finally got around to making a colored piece of him after seeing some people theorize that he's going to Bug Out™ at some point after what we've seen in the new Intervallo. So I decided to take this concept back out of the shed to finally post it publicly. The two sketch pages are a hodgepodge of sketches of different ages from multiple other concepting sheets lmao. He deserves to be both happy and more bug at the same time. Most of his "happy" IDs have him lack his bug arm.

Meet Gregor, the Reborn King! He's a funky earwig-mantis-roach thing that runs his own cult of personality.

I'm not going to hash out any coin or Sin Affinity info, because I don't know what to give him for those things. I also don't know if he'd work better as a Bleed + Poise unit or Bleed + Rupture unit. All I know is that his "in-game" gimmick would basically be Dawn-Office Fixer Sinclair and Wild Hunt Heathcliff's "form change" gimmicks taken to the extreme: Progressing through multiple forms where he cannot change back after reaching the next form (kind of like a Pokemon evolution). These forms are Base (1), Chrysalis (2), and Reborn King (3). Base needs to build up enough stacks of a unique status (which I'm calling "satiety" for now), which then makes him enter Chrysalis, which he needs to survive (with special Guard skills) for a specific amount of turns to emerge as the speedy glass cannon that is the Reborn King state. Each state has completely different moves and/or Affinities.

TL;DR for this Greg's story: His bug mutations became more severe, and then one day his body made a chrysalis, and then he came out both as Extra Bug and with both human arms back. Then he founded a cult... or maybe the cult found him. Who knows lmao. Compared to being treated like an animal, a mere tool, a weapon with no humanity, running a cult is a pretty sweet gig. Definitely a better gig than a lot of fates in the City lmao.

(Meta + in-universe) Info:

- His cult is simply known as the "Cult of the Reborn King".

- He's got little mantis feetsies at the end of his big claws! I drew them (and the feet on his legs) simplified.

- He's got the mantis shimmy when walking. You know the one. He prefers to fly when wanting to get anywhere with any good speed.

- The amount of bug limbs he has is asymmetrical. One on the right side of his face, two on his neck, his two big claws, one tiny claw on the right side of his torso, and four legs, making for ten bug limbs in total (not counting wings and tail). If they were symmetrical, then there would be twelve.

- His general body shape/posture and big claws are that of a mantis, while the wings and tail shape/pincers are those of an earwig. Pinchy tail and big fancy wings that fit in a tiny elytra. - (Fun fact: Did you know that roaches, mantises, and termites are all related? They're all Dictyopterans.)

- He probably has a Mouth of a Thousand Nightmares if he fully opens it. Just don't let him catch you catching him cleaning his claw-feet like how mantises do it and you should be fine lmao.

- Unlike earwigs, he has a stinger. No venom or ovipositor, he just Fucking Stabs You. It's retractable, so he generally keeps his pincers closed over it.

- The extra asymmetrical limbs + plating on his face are based off of the G Corp Manager Corporal Gregor ID.

- The thing he's holding is a fancy smoking pipe, its shapes based off of his old pre-chrysalis claw.

I hope you like it!

[lollystocks]

Therapy for the Dead and Buried

A Danny Phantom x The Bright Sessions Crossover

DP Crossover Angst Week Day 6 - Runaway

Summary: Alone and in hiding, Danny is sent to mandatory therapy. It's a bit... strange. And unusual.

Notes: First chapter of a multific! Should be relatively friendly to those unfamiliar with The Bright Sessions, as it's mostly Danny's POV.

AO3

“New patient. Session one. Male, seventeen, no known history of psychological counseling. Referred by school for ‘antisocial behavior’, but no examples given, and strong comments were made about his, quote… ‘unsettling vibes.’ Condition unknown.”

-

It was a very ordinary-looking room.

Danny wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but "boring" hadn't really occurred to him.

The office of Dr. Bright was reasonably spacious, with pure white walls and a thick baby blue carpet. A single sash window overlooked the park, and before it sat a laminate desk - almost certainly IKEA - with precisely organized trays of papers and stationery. No photos or trinkets adorned it. Not even a Newton's cradle, disappointingly.

Towards the center of the room sat two small sofas - firm looking, upholstered in dark blue vinyl. The hospital type, designed for ease of cleaning up bodily fluids. Plump-looking cushions softened their corners. A low coffee table sat between them, sporting a small succulent and a large box of tissues.

Danny had chosen the sofa which faced the window and door, with his back to the blank wall. He got the impression that he'd made the wrong choice, somehow. He didn't give a shit.

The doctor was looking at him, one manicured eyebrow just a micrometer higher than the other. The silence stretched on, awkwardly.

"Um. Sorry. Could you repeat the question, please?"

"Of course. I asked if you knew why you were here, James?"

Danny stared out of the window, into the cloudy sky. There were many ways to answer that question. Classic shrink tactic, probably, to suss out his brain. Most of the answers that came to mind were smartassery - because this is where your office is. Because the bus brought me here. Because of human evolution. Because I'd get kicked out of my school if I didn't come.

What impression did he want to give her? Who did Danny James want to be now? What was most useful to him?

He looked at the doctor's face. "Because people are unsettled by me. I can't help it, but they are. And they want me to stop. Unsettling them, that is. And you're meant to teach me, like, body language techniques or something."

Doctor Bright settled into the sofa a little, like a question had been answered, or a data point obtained. She smoothed the creaseless paper in her lap.

"And what makes you think that?"

"The whole, 'James, there's clearly something deeply fucking wrong with you, and it's freaking out your classmates. Get help,' thing kinda clued me in, Doc."

"I assume you're paraphrasing."

"I'm not, actually. F-bomb and everything. Scout's honor."

"I'm surprised that your principal would use such language with you, James. That must have been disconcerting."

Danny stared at her. That was an unexpected response. "You saying you believe me? That he said that?"

"I do, James. My job here isn't to be a skeptic, or to 'find out the truth'. I'm here to listen, offer advice, and help you learn some skills and techniques to redirect your own behavior and mentality as you wish." The doctor adjusted her glasses. "So yes, James, I believe you. And as your therapist, I will believe whatever you tell me in this room, no matter how... outlandish, you may feel it is. That is my job here."

Danny couldn't help but smile at that, just a little. "That's a sweet sentiment Doctor, genuinely, but you can't mean that seriously. You must get all sorts of compulsive liars or straight-up crazies through here, there's no way you just decide to believe them all."

"Let me rephrase, then. While it's true that many of my patients will tell me things that they know not to be true, I find it best to start from a place of belief. If I decide, after getting to know them, that they are in fact serially lying to me, or are mistaken, I adjust accordingly. But until I can know that? I believe them."

"So if a crackhead told you they could fly. You'd just believe them?"

"I would, yes. Up and until I come to the irrefutable conclusion that they are lying or mistaken. Does that surprise you?"

Danny scoffed. "Yeah, that surprises me. It's nuts. There's no way you can do your job properly like that."

Doctor Bright smiled. "I've found it works best. For one thing, any patients I get through this door will come to learn that, no matter how strange or unusual it may be, they can tell me. I will not judge them, or turn them away, or have them committed."

There was a pause.

"So. You want me to tell you how ' strange and unusual' I am."

"No, James. I want you to tell me whatever you wish to tell me. This is an introductory session, I just want to get to know you."

"Specifically, you want me to tell you outlandish things about myself. Things no one else would believe. Things that make others scared of me."

"James, I merely-"

"Nope. Bye. Tell Principal Khan I failed at therapy, I guess."

He grabbed his backpack, and left.

-

“End of session one. Patient left abruptly.”

Chapter 2 here

Masterpost here

[spacenoirdetective]

At the core of everything happening in California is communist rebellion, and it goes very very deep. The betrayal is unfathomable and the justification is that people do not deserve freedom. It comes from the belief that humans should not be lifted up with spiritual evolution, but rather demoted, degraded, desensitized, and broken down. The Democrat Party has given itself over to authoritarian mindset and it's not just about enforcing will over the populace. It's about deluging them with lies until they beg you to be enslaved and praise you for destroying their homes, destroying their economy, destroying their self sufficiency, destroying their belief system, destroying their peace of mind. It's about creating the perfect obedient drone who will say "Yes, I will conform because I'm doing it to end racism, sexism, homophobia and transphobia." Nothing real is accomplished. Everything is a lie. You give them the power to annihilate everything when you believe their lies. None of this is a coincidence. Do not believe them. Nothing they say is real. Nothing they say they stand for is legitimate.

The corruption of California's elites to plunder the state, take everything for themselves, lie about it, gaslight the population, paint themselves as savior figures, and vocally attack those that criticize them is Communism 101. It's a playbook we've seen before. It must be fought and Gavin Newsom and his entire party must be confronted viscerally, loudly, and thrown out of office. The Democrat Party has created unbridled chaos. It is purposeful. It is total betrayal of our Republic. It is treason and they will accuse you of treason for supporting Trump. No matter how much you love America and want to defend it from evil. They will overwhelm your friends and your family with false allegations and associations. These are not legitimate but rather meant to poison the human mind. Communist allegations are never legitimate. They are designed to inflame passionate rebellion based on fervent emotional responses to entirely fictitious causes.

Communism is an abomination. It is death of the human mind and it is a death cult which reveres destruction of every kind with the excuse that the order it brings in the end is worth the struggle. The communist leftist American rebellion is the largest, most far reaching conspiracy in American history. The CIA and Democrat Party have been compromised to the point of no return because they believe that we can't win a war with China, so we should weaken our own country so that China can take over, giving them sole authority once they have the ability to outlaw all opposition. WW3 under Harris would have allowed them to place our military in harms way and allow the CCP total access to our military decisions and strategy, thus allowing them to win and establish the Chinese communist century.

That is why the state of California is burning. They allowed illegal criminal gangs to flood our country. This has overwhelmed our resources and ability to attend to the needs of our own people. They allowed Chinese nationals to cross the border in untold numbers so they can form sleeper cells. They have been waiting for this moment to attack every part of the American psyche through environmental devastation, infrastructure collapse and encouraging the total breakdown of the American mind through total deceit. Their sabotage was well planned. They are not this incompetent. No one really cared about the smelt fish. None of this is coincidental. The fires are happening because they wanted them to happen. They will do anything to stop the GOP from creating a successful economy and reestablishing order in a country where its youth have been indoctrinated towards cultural self immolation.

Resist their lies. Trump did everything he could to stop this. They ignored him on purpose. Gavin Newsom, Nancy Pelosi and the rest of the Democrat Party of California will do literally anything for power and that includes this unholy and perverse rejection of Western Civilization. It includes framing conservatives for the Jan 6 "riot". It includes the attempted assassination. It includes MSM propaganda at a higher level than any point in our history. It includes murder. It includes "natural" disasters and the coordinated refusal to help those whose livelihoods have been destroyed by floods in North Carolina, fires in Maui and Sonoma County and the plight of those who will have no recourse but to beg the government for scraps in the wake of the planned attack on Los Angeles.

THIS COMMUNIST REBELLION IS AN EVIL WHICH MUST BE CAST OUT AND EXORCIZED OUT OF OUR SOCIETY LIKE THE DEMONIC INFESTATION THAT IS IS.