#Efficient note-taking techniques

[latest-info]

A Beginner's Guide to Researching Like a Pro

Research is an essential skill in today’s information-driven world. Whether you’re a student, a professional, or just someone with a curious mind, being able to research effectively can help you find accurate information, make informed decisions, and solve problems efficiently. This guide will walk you through the steps to research like a pro, covering everything from defining your topic to…

[recsspecs]

Good students, on the other hand, constantly raise the bar for themselves

as they focus on what they haven’t learned and mastered yet. This is why high achievers who have had a taste of the vast amount of knowledge out there are likely to suffer from what psychologists call imposter syndrome, the feeling that you are not really up to the job, even though, of all people, they are (Clance and Imes 1978; Brems et al. 1994).

- How to Take Smart Notes (Sönke Ahrens)

[reasonsforhope]

"Canadian scientists have developed a blood test and portable device that can determine the onset of sepsis faster and more accurately than existing methods.

Published today [May 27, 2025] in Nature Communications, the test is more than 90 per cent accurate at identifying those at high risk of developing sepsis and represents a major milestone in the way doctors will evaluate and treat sepsis.

“Sepsis accounts for roughly 20 per cent of all global deaths,” said lead author Dr. Claudia dos Santos, a critical care physician and scientist at St. Michael’s Hospital. “Our test could be a powerful game changer, allowing physicians to quickly identify and treat patients before they begin to rapidly deteriorate.”

Sepsis is the body’s extreme reaction to an infection, causing the immune system to start attacking one’s own organs and tissues. It can lead to organ failure and death if not treated quickly. Predicting sepsis is difficult: early symptoms are non-specific, and current tests can take up to 18 hours and require specialized labs. This delay before treatment increases the chance of death by nearly eight per cent per hour.

[Note: The up to 18 hour testing window for sepsis is a huge cause of sepsis-related mortality, because septic shock can kill in as little as 12 hours, long before the tests are even done.]

[Analytical] AI helps predict sepsis

Examining blood samples from more than 3,000 hospital patients with suspected sepsis, researchers from UBC and Sepset, a UBC spin-off biotechnology company, used machine learning to identify a six-gene expression signature “Sepset” that predicted sepsis nine times out of 10, and well before a formal diagnosis. With 248 additional blood samples using RT-PCR, (Reverse Transcription Polymerase Chain Reaction), a common hospital laboratory technique, the test was 94 per cent accurate in detecting early-stage sepsis in patients whose condition was about to worsen.

“This demonstrates the immense value of AI in analyzing extremely complex data to identify the important genes for predicting sepsis and writing an algorithm that predicts sepsis risk with high accuracy,” said co-author Dr. Bob Hancock, UBC professor of microbiology and immunology and CEO of Sepset.

Bringing the test to point of care

To bring the test closer to the bedside, the National Research Council of Canada (NRC) developed a portable device they called PowerBlade that uses a drop of blood and an automated sequence of steps to efficiently detect sepsis. Tested with 30 patients, the device was 92 per cent accurate in identifying patients at high risk of sepsis and 89 per cent accurate in ruling out those not at risk.

“PowerBlade delivered results in under three hours. Such a device can make treatment possible wherever a patient may be, including in the emergency room or remote health care units,” said Dr. Hancock.

“By combining cutting-edge microfluidic research with interdisciplinary collaboration across engineering, biology, and medicine, the Centre for Research and Applications in Fluidic Technologies (CRAFT) enables rapid, portable, and accessible testing solutions,” said co-author Dr. Teodor Veres, of the NRC’s Medical Devices Research Centre and CRAFT co-director. CRAFT, a joint venture between the University of Toronto, Unity Health Toronto and the NRC, accelerates the development of innovative devices that can bring high-quality diagnostics to the point of care.

Dr. Hancock’s team, including UBC research associate and co-author Dr. Evan Haney, has also started commercial development of the Sepset signature. “These tests detect the early warnings of sepsis, allowing physicians to act quickly to treat the patient, rather than waiting until the damage is done,” said Dr. Haney."

-via University of British Columbia, May 27, 2025

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Forty-Three

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

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

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, strong language, birth, post-birth emotional disconnect.

Notes — Feeling sentimental. I really love you all so much. Thank you for your support and interest in this fic. It has meant the world to me. That said... TWO MORE CHAPTERS TO GO

2024 

This was not the plan.

Barefoot was not the plan. Leggings soaked through with amniotic fluid and pain spiking low in her back like white-hot wire as her mom helped her out of the car was not the plan.

Thirty-eight weeks wasn’t pre-term. Everyone kept reassuring her, saying that she was full-term. Normal. Fine. But it wasn’t the plan. Her spreadsheet had said forty weeks. Her due date was still two weeks away.

Her brain had been prepped for forty. And this — this was chaos.

The private maternity wing at Northamptonshire General was everything she’d asked for. Calm. Modern. Quiet.

But not now.

Now it was too bright. Too noisy. Too uncontrolled.

Amelia flinched as the double doors to the ward opened automatically, the high-pitched whirring mechanical sound cutting sharp through her head. She shrank in on herself as the fluorescent lights bounced off polished linoleum and made her vision haze.

Her hands fluttered in midair, then pinched hard at the inside of her elbows. Over and over. She knew it was going to leave bruises. She didn’t care.

“Contraction,” she gasped, one hand bracing the wall. “Stop. Wait—”

Tracey was there, one hand between Amelia’s shoulder blades, the other pressing the call bell. “You’re okay, baby,” her mum whispered. “You’re doing so good.”

Amelia shook her head rapidly, breath catching in her throat. The pain wrapped around her middle like a vice and pulled. The floor tilted. The lights burned through her skull. Her mouth opened but nothing came out except a panicked inhale.

“Amelia?”

The voice was low. Calm. Warm, but neutral. Controlled.

Fiona.

Familiar. Early 40s. Irish accent. Quiet shoes. Soft jumper. Smelled like vanilla and Dettol. Amelia had met her a handful of times now, for appointments. She liked Fiona. Fiona didn’t make her feel like she was wrong for needing things said twice, or for needing silence, or for asking for bullet points on birth options.

“Alright. Hi, honey. It’s good to see you. I’ve got you,” Fiona said, stepping in close without touching her. “You're safe. The lights are bright, I know. We’re going to move to a quiet room, and there’s some fairy lights strung up in there. Would that help?”

Amelia nodded so fast her braid whipped against her shoulder.

“Can I take your hand?” Fiona asked gently.

Another nod. Shaky this time.

Fiona’s hand was warm. Dry.

They turned the corner into a private room, and as soon as the door shut behind them, Fiona moved with crisp efficiency — lowering the lights, drawing the blinds, speaking to the nurse in a clipped whisper. The temperature adjusted. The tones softened.

Still, Amelia kept stimming — fingers now tapping the underside of her chin in fast, repeated bursts. The pain was stealing her words.

She needed Lando.

She needed Lando.

“I’m going to say everything out loud before I do it, okay?” Fiona said. “Your blood pressure, then we’ll get you on the monitor. You’re safe. Nothing’s being done without your say-so.”

“Where’s—” Amelia rasped.

“Lando?” Tracey translated from her side, rubbing her shoulder. “He’s coming, baby. Three hours. Your dad just text. They're already on the plane.”

Amelia shook her head again, furious tears springing to her eyes. “He should—he should’ve answered the phone. Why didn’t he—he should have answered my call.”

“I know,” Fiona said softly, and she meant it. “I know. But you’re doing this. And you are not alone. Do you want your headphones?”

Amelia blinked.

“I remember you had sensory overload in your birth plan. I’ve got noise-cancelling ones I can give you. Music, white noise, or just silence.”

“White noise,” Amelia croaked.

Fiona pulled them from the drawer. Slid them on gently. Adjusted them without touching her ears.

The static hum clicked on and it helped.

The room dulled. The air stopped buzzing so loud. Her limbs stopped flinching like she was being shocked.

“Better?” Fiona asked.

Amelia gave a thumbs up.

“Okay, love. We’ll time the next contraction together. You just let it happen. I’ll talk you through everything. Then I’m going to pop your legs up, and we’ll see how dilated you are, okay?”

Amelia nodded.

Squeezed her mom's hand with bone-breaking force.

And held tight to the image of Lando — messy curls, warm eyes, that breathless voice — walking through the door.

He would come.

She just had to hold out until he did.

—

Lando was pacing.

Still in his race suit, hair matted to his forehead, jaw locked so tight it ached.

The garage was quiet—the kind of quiet that only follows an early retirement. It wasn’t peace. It was tension. It was post-mortem silence.

It was stunned mechanics and snapped radio comms and the faint echo of tyres being wheeled away.

On the overhead screen, Oscar was being handed the P2 trophy on the podium.

Lando couldn't even look.

He was still reliving Turn 3.

The outside line. Max. The squeeze. The goddamn nudge.

The second he felt the contact, he knew it was done.

Puncture. Floor damage. Game over.

Both of them out. Two DNFs. No points. Just fury.

He’d thrown his gloves across the garage the moment he climbed out.

Now his hands were still shaking, chest still tight with adrenaline and rage.

“Fucking dickhead,” he muttered under his breath, pacing. “Every time. Every single fucking time—he can’t help himself.”

No one said anything. No one dared.

The media would already be writing the headlines.

‘Norris cracks under championship pressure.’

He didn’t care.

His phone had buzzed three times. He didn’t look at it.

He didn’t want to see who the hell was brave enough to be the first one to call him.

Didn’t want to deal with PR or statements or apologies.

He just wanted to scream. And maybe punch Max in the face.

He spun again—too fast. Nearly walked straight into Zak.

“Jesus, Lando—” Zak grabbed his arm. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I know,” Lando snapped, still breathless, still fuming. “Sorry. I just—Max—he fucking ruined it.”

Zak didn’t even flinch. “Forget Max. You need to listen to me. We have to go. Now.”

Lando’s stomach dropped.

“What?” he said, blinking. “Go where?”

“Home. To England. Amelia just called.”

The words hit harder than the collision.

His face drained. All the heat of his anger snapped to cold panic.

“What—what's wrong?” His voice cracked.

“She’s in labour. Tracey’s with her. She tried to call you—she’s okay, far as I know—but it’s happening. Now.”

Lando staggered back a step, pulling out his phone with shaking hands.

Three missed calls. Two texts. One from Tracey. One from Amelia.

Amelia:

IN LABOUR!

Tracey:

She’s okay. We’re on our way to the hospital. Northamptonshire, as planned. Get here fast.

“Fuck,” he breathed, pressing the phone to his forehead. “I didn’t answer—she called, and I didn’t—fuck.”

The guilt hit like a punch to the chest.

Two weeks early.

Was it the crash?

The stress?

She was watching. She always watched. She was on the comms today too, wasn’t she?

Did watching him get taken out—watching the car spin, the team panic—did that trigger something?

Did he do this?

His throat felt raw. “Is she in pain? Is she scared?”

“I don’t know. All she did was tell me to come and get you,” Zak said quietly. “That’s all. But if we don’t move now—”

Lando didn’t wait.

He ran.

Helmet abandoned. Suit unzipped. Gloves forgotten.

Sprinting down the paddock like the lights had gone green again and everything was on the line.

He nearly collided with Oscar, fresh from the podium, champagne still drying on his suit.

“Lando?” Oscar said, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“Amelia’s in labour.”

Oscar’s eyes went wide. “Wait—now?”

“Yes, now!” Lando barked, eyes wild. “And I missed her call. I missed it. I’m not there, and she needs me—fuck—”

Behind them: rapid footsteps. Heavy breathing.

“What the fuck is going on?” Max, fresh from media, damp curls plastered to his forehead. Still in his suit. Still furious—until he saw Lando’s face.

“Amelia’s in labour,” Oscar said, breathless.

Max went still. “Shit.”

“She’s on her way to the hospital,” Lando said, voice cracking. “And I’m not there. I didn’t answer—I was so fucking angry, and I didn’t check, and she—” He clenched his fists. “What if it was the race? What if we stressed her out so much that it happened early? What if I fucked this up too?”

“Hey—no,” Oscar said quickly, stepping forward. “No, mate.”

Max grabbed his arm. “Fuck the race. I don’t give a shit. We need to go.”

“You just crashed into me,” Lando snapped. “Why are you even talking to me?”

Max didn’t even blink. “Because she’s my family, mate.”

There was a beat of silence. Lando swallowed.

“My jet’s at the airfield,” Max added. “Fastest way to England. No bullshit. Let’s go.”

Zak jogged up behind them, car keys in hand. “You can bring the whole damn grid for all I care. But we leave now if you want to make it in time.”

Lando’s lungs hurt. His heart was racing.

Oscar beside him. Max right behind. Zak in front.

Don’t let me miss her, he thought, over and over. Please. Please don’t let me miss her.

—

The receptionist barely looked up before buzzing the doors open.

Lando didn’t wait. He shoved through them, sprinting.

His shoes squeaked against polished linoleum.

His heart was hammering. His brain was a mess of white noise and guilt and prayer.

He was too late. He was too late.

He should’ve answered the phone.

Should’ve known.

Should’ve been there.

The midwife at the station looked up just as he rounded the corner.

“Norris?” She asked knowingly.

He nearly collapsed with relief. “Yes. I’m—yes. I’m Lando. My wife—Amelia—”

“She’s okay,” the midwife said quickly, already standing. “Room 307. I’ll take you.”

He didn’t hear the rest. He was already moving.

The lights were too bright. The walls too white. His skin itched with leftover adrenaline and travel-sweat. He still wore his fireproofs under his hoodie, and he felt like he might vibrate out of his skin.

You weren’t here.

He turned a corner.

She needed you.

He reached the door.

And stopped.

He could hear her.

Not words—just breath. Short, shallow, uneven. The sound of someone trying not to panic.

He opened the door.

Amelia was there. On the bed.

Half propped up on pillows, her hospital gown pulled tight over her belly. Her hands fisted in the thin blanket. Her face flushed with pain.

A yellow golf-ball in her lap.

Her head snapped up when she saw him.

And for a moment, neither of them said anything.

“You took so long,” she whispered, voice wrecked.

Lando crossed the room in three steps, already shaking. “I know. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I didn’t check my phone—I was—I was pissed off with how my race ended and I didn’t think and I should’ve known—fuck—” He dropped to his knees beside her, pressed his forehead to her arm. “I thought I’d be too late,” he said into her skin.

Amelia reached out—tangled her fingers in his hair—and tugged, sharp. “Stop,” she said, voice hoarse. “None of that.”

His eyes were already red. His cheeks wet. He didn’t know when he’d started crying.

She looked exhausted. Pale under the flush. But she was here. And so was he. Finally.

“You didn't miss it,” she said. “She waited for you.”

“Of course she did,” he whispered. And then he kissed her. “And you. You’re the strongest fucking woman in the world. You know that?”

She exhaled a laugh. “I’m also five centimetres dilated and out of patience, so if you want to be helpful—please hand me that cup of ice.”

He did. With shaking hands.

“My mom braided my hair,” she added after a moment, voice softer now. “You missed that part.”

“I’m not going to miss anything else,” he promised.

He kissed her forehead. Her temple. Her knuckles. Gave her mom a small smile.

Tracey was sat in the corner, near the window, working on a knitting project. They looked like tiny booties from what he could see.

He’d hug her later. Thank her a million times just for being there — even though he knew she wouldn’t choose to be anywhere else in the world rather than at Amelia’s beck and call.

“I ran through the paddock,” he murmured. “Max and Oscar came too. We took Max’s jet. Your dad nearly had a coronary at the airport.”

Her eyes softened. “They came?”

“Yeah.” He brushed her damp hair back. “They’re all downstairs. Waiting. Your dad wasn’t sure you’d want him here, didn’t want to overwhelm you. They’re freaking out. Because they love you.”

“I want them to come and say hi after,” she said. Her face twisted with discomfort. “But— I just it want it to be you and my mom, okay? Until she’s here.”

“Okay, baby. Whatever you want.” His fingers slid over hers. “I— I need to call my parents.”

“I already took care of that, honey. They’re on their way.” Tracey said.

Lando exhaled with relief.

Then he leaned in and kissed his wife and said, “You have never looked more beautiful than you do right now.”

—

It was over.

Except it wasn’t.

There was a cry.

And then hands, gentle, practised, passing something small and slippery and impossibly alive onto Amelia’s chest.

“Here she is, Amelia,” Fiona said softly. “You did it. She’s here. Healthy and pink.”

Amelia couldn’t speak.

She couldn’t think.

Because everything in her brain was screaming: “this isn’t real.”

This wasn’t how she’d rehearsed it in her head. In her spreadsheets. In the checklist she’d kept taped to the fridge.

This wasn’t theoretical.

This wasn’t a due date or a biometric scan or the size of a cantaloupe at 38 weeks.

This was weight. Heat. Movement.

A baby. Her baby.

On her. In her arms.

Not inside anymore.

The disconnect hit her like a crash.

Amelia flinched; only slightly, but enough that Fiona paused, watching.

And so did Lando. And her mom.

Her breathing had gone shallow again. She was blinking fast, trying to recalibrate.

The baby; the baby, the baby — it wasn’t a concept.

It was a person. With skin and breath and a heart that was beating fast.

A heart that had come from her.

Amelia’s whole body trembled. Not from pain, but from the sheer impossibility of it all.

Ada.

Her name had been a theory. A hope.

Now it was a face. A body. Tiny hands.

But faces were hard. Faces moved. Eyes blinked. Skin flushed. Tiny limbs twitched.

And she was touching her. Skin to skin. The warmth was overwhelming.

Every sensory processor in Amelia’s brain screamed. She wanted to dissapear. She wanted to cry. She wanted to understand — and she didn’t.

“You’re okay, baby,” Lando whispered from beside her, voice cracked and reverent. “Just let yourself have a few minutes. Just… just look at her.”

Amelia’s hands hovered uselessly in the air, a few inches away from Ada’s damp, curled back. She couldn’t bring herself to touch.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, voice paper-thin. “I don’t—I don’t know her.”

Fiona gently nudged Ada higher. “She knows you. Smell, heartbeat, voice. She knows you, Amelia.”

But that made it worse.

Because Amelia was so full of love she couldn’t speak — but she was also full of fear, static, disorientation. Her brain was desperately trying to map a new universe with no manual.

Lando leaned in. Rested his forehead to hers. One hand on Ada’s back. One over Amelia’s hand, still hovering.

“You’re doing it,” he said softly. “You’re already doing it.”

Ada made a small sound — nothing loud, just a hum. A nuzzle. A twitch of her mouth.

And Amelia finally, finally, laid both hands over her daughter’s back. Just fingertips.

Ada shifted, rooting instinctively.

“She’s a hungry girl,” Fiona said, voice warm and gentle. “Would you like some help?”

Amelia nodded, but her eyes stayed locked on Ada — this tiny, impossible thing who had been an abstract dream for nine months and now weighed heavy and warm on her chest.

She guided her with Fiona's aid, shaking slightly; and Ada latched like she’d done it in a past life.

“Look at that,” Fiona whispered. “First try.”

Lando made a choked sound. “Daddy’s girl.”

Amelia didn’t even look at him. She reached blindly, grabbed the empty bedpan from the table beside the bed, and whipped it in his direction.

It bounced harmlessly off his leg. He laughed.

“I deserved that,” he murmured.

Amelia still didn’t look away from Ada.

Her fingers, once frozen, were now stroking her daughter’s back. Tentative. Learning.

“I don’t understand how she’s real,” she whispered.

“It’s okay,” Lando said, voice barely a breath. “You’ve got a lifetime to learn her.”

Amelia’s throat closed. A single tear slid down her cheek, hot and sharp.

Ada suckled rhythmically, peacefully. Her skin flushed. Her impossibly tiny hands curled into fists.

And Amelia fell in love. 

—

The room was quiet.

Tracey had slipped out to tell the world that Ada Rossella Norris had arrived safely. That Amelia was okay.

In the soft lamplight and afterbirth hush, everything stood still.

Lando sat half-on the bed, one arm wrapped around Amelia’s shoulders, the other curled around her waist.

Ada lay nestled between them, tiny cheek resting against her mother’s chest, her breath a faint whisper of warmth.

Amelia hadn’t spoken in a while.

Not since the first latch. Not since the bedpan throw.

She was staring down at Ada like she couldn’t possibly look away. Like if she blinked, this would all turn out to have been a dream.

Her fingers moved slowly—carefully. Memorising. Mapping. A tactile inventory.

“She has your nose,” Amelia murmured, her voice cracked and reverent. “But flatter. Less of the Norris ski slope.”

Lando huffed a laugh against her temple. “I don’t have a ski slope.”

“You do,” she said, brushing a finger over the curve of Ada’s. “But it’s endearing. Especially in winter photos.”

She stroked over Ada’s tiny forehead. “And my pouty lips. Poor thing.”

“Baby.”

“It’s okay. She’ll grow into them.” Amelia paused, then added, “Her ears are yours. Exactly. Same tilt. Same soft cartilage. She’s going to hate them in school and love them by the time she’s an adult.”

Lando’s grip on her tightened, just slightly. “She’s perfect.”

“I know.” Amelia’s voice cracked. “She’s so real.”

Ada squirmed softly, stretching a hand, and Amelia caught it — thumb gently placed against tiny fingers.

“She has fingernails,” she whispered, as though it shocked her. “Actual fingernails.”

Lando kissed her hair. “Yeah. She’s a whole person.”

Amelia was quiet again, but only for a second. And then, still not looking up, she began to speak.

“Ada,” she said, voice low and even, like she was introducing the baby to the room, to her own existence. “You were born on a Sunday. In a maternity ward in Northamptonshire. At 38 weeks and three days. You came early because you are, apparently, impatient. Or maybe just a bit dramatic. Your dad swears it had nothing to do with the fact that he and Max crashed and stressed your mummy out. I’m not convinced.”

Lando groaned softly, head tilted back against the wall. “Don’t blame her dramatic entrance on my DNF.”

“I’m just saying,” Amelia murmured, brushing Ada’s cheek, “the timing is suspicious.”

Ada twitched, shifting closer into her chest.

“Well, then, let’s see. You’re part British, part Belgium, part American, but I’m not sure you’ll be jumping to claim that last one. You have a Formula One driver for a daddy. And an engineer for a mummy.”

Lando chuckled. His hand came up to rest over hers, both of them cupping their daughter together.

“You’ll grow up in paddocks. You’ll learn to walk in motorhomes. Your first sunscreen will be whatever your mummy can find in the team stash. Everyone’s going to spoil you rotten. Oscar, well, that’s your Uncle Ducky — he’s already bought you this sweet little onesie with a hundred tiny little cartoon ducks on it. And Max, Verstappen, well, that’ll be your uncle too. I don’t have a brother, but he’s the nearest thing.” She whispered. “But you’ll have another Uncle Max too, and that might get a bit confusing for you, but we’ll be patient.”

Amelia leaned her head on Lando’s shoulder. Her voice dipped lower, like she was confiding a secret to Ada, or maybe to herself.

“You’ll be so loved,” she said. “So much. By people who’ve waited their whole lives to meet you. By a daddy who would cross the continent in race boots to get to you in time. By me, even when I’m tired and anxious and unsure of how to be your a mummy and a person at the same time.”

She sniffed hard, blinking fast again. “You’ve been born into a world that’s chaotic and messy and fast and loud—but it’s ours. And we’re going to make sure it’s yours, too.”

Ada breathed. Soft and slow. Eyes still closed. Tiny fist curled against her cheek.

Lando rested his chin on top of Amelia’s head.

—

Dim afternoon light pooled in soft gold across the linoleum floor, filtered through thick hospital curtains. Machines beeped softly in the background, steady and forgettable.

Amelia was sleeping.

Not deeply — her body too raw, her brain too wired — but enough to rest. Enough for her face to soften, for her lashes to flutter, for her breath to even out against the pillow.

Lando hadn’t taken his eyes off her for hours.

But now — just for a moment — he was pacing near the window, his arms full of something precious. 

Ada.

Swaddled and warm and impossibly small in his hoodie-covered forearms, her tiny head nestled into the crook of his elbow, mouth parted, breaths soft. She smelled like hospital linen and baby powder. Like nothing and everything.

Lando couldn’t stop looking at her.

He kept glancing back to Amelia, as if to make sure she was still there — still breathing, still safe, still his. And then back down to Ada again, like he couldn’t quite believe she’d made it out of someone so extraordinary.

“You know,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper, “I really thought I’d miss it.”

He swallowed. Looked down at the little bundle blinking slowly up at him — unfocused, unaware, content.

“I was so fucking angry. You wouldn’t believe it. Max and I — well, you’ll hear those stories when you’re older. But I was in the garage, ready to murder someone, and I missed three calls.”

He shifted Ada gently in his arms, pacing another slow length of the room.

“And then your grandpa Zak came in and told me your mum was in labour and I…” He laughed under his breath. It cracked in the middle. “I think my heart actually stopped.”

Ada scrunched her nose, then relaxed again.

“I thought you might be born without me there. And I would never have forgiven myself.”

His voice dropped to a hush, as though even the words themselves were too loud.

“And knowing that your mummy was in pain, and overwhelmed, and everything would be moving too fast and she needed me — and I wasn’t there.”

Lando exhaled, slow and ragged.

“But she waited. You waited. And now you’re here.”

Ada shifted slightly, a little sigh escaping her lips like the smallest secret in the world.

Lando smiled, tears pricking at his lashes again. He bounced her gently, rocking her as he gazed out the window, the hospital grounds bathed in quiet light.

“I don’t know if I’m going to get this right,” he admitted, voice barely audible now. “Being your dad. Being your mummy’s husband. Balancing all of it. But I swear to you, Ada—” He glanced down again, kissed the side of her velvet-soft head. “I swear I will love you so much that even on the days I get it wrong, you’ll never doubt that part.”

Behind him, Amelia stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

Lando turned, adjusting Ada one-handed so he could settle into the armchair beside the bed, still cradling her close.

She was falling asleep again.

He watched her eyelids flutter.

“Everyone’s going to want to meet you soon. Oscar and Max and your grandpa Zak. My mum and dad are coming too, and they’re your other grandparents. Nanny Cisca and Grampy Adam. You’ve got a whole army of people who love you already.”

Ada didn’t respond, of course. But Lando smiled anyway.

—

There was a soft knock.

Amelia stirred at the sound, her eyes fluttering open.

Lando was beside her, Ada nestled in his arms, both of them silhouetted against the low amber light from the window. He turned toward the door at the knock, but didn’t speak.

Tracey peeked her head in first. “They’re climbing the walls out here. You ready for visitors?”

Amelia didn’t answer right away — just nodded, slow and small.

The door opened.

Her dad entered first, still in team gear, face flushed and drawn with tension that hadn’t quite released. Max followed close behind, jaw set, eyes scanning every inch of the room. Then Oscar, quietest of all, hovering in the doorway, his hands clenched around the hem of his t-shirt.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Zak exhaled sharply — a sound that came out almost like a sob — and crossed the room in four long strides.

“She’s here,” Lando said, voice thick with emotion.

He was smiling — tired, tearstained, messy-haired, beaming. His hoodie had been peeled back at the chest, skin-to-skin with Ada, whose sleepy face peeked just above the blanket.

Zak made it to them first. He didn’t ask permission — just leaned in, reverent, pressing one palm gently to Ada’s impossibly small back.

“Wow,” he whispered. “She’s perfect.”

His voice cracked.

“She’s healthy,” Lando said. “They both are.”

Max stood frozen for a beat, as if unsure if he was allowed to move — then his whole body softened, and he stepped forward, too. No jokes, no bravado.

He leaned down and kissed the top of Lando’s curls — and just like that, the tension of the day, of the collision and the angry team-radios, were forgotten.

Then, he looked at Ada.

“Dag meisje,” he murmured, voice low and Dutch-soft. Little girl. “What a beautiful girl you are.”

Amelia blinked over at them; Lando, crying silently, Zak with both hands now cradling the baby’s tiny back, Max brushing a finger over her little cap of dark hair.

But Oscar hadn’t moved.

He stood just inside the door, eyes locked on Amelia. Not the baby. Not Lando. Just her.

She gave him a nod.

And in an instant, Oscar crossed the room. No words — not yet — just a deep, shaking breath as he dropped to his knees beside her bed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

He was warm and real and trembling just slightly.

“I thought—” he choked on the words. “I didn’t know if you—”

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”

Oscar nodded into her shoulder.

“Sorry I made you worry.” She told him.

“It’s fine,” he said hoarsely, voice muffled. “Did you see my podium?”

Amelia let out a breathy laugh and nodded. Then she reached for his hand and squeezed.

Behind them, Max was now peppering Lando with questions — rapid-fire Dutch, mostly — about the birth, the midwife, whether Ada had opened her eyes yet.

Zak hadn’t stopped touching Ada, like if he let go, she might disappear.

Oscar still hadn’t looked at the baby.

“Can I see her?” He asked Amelia softly.

Amelia gave another nod. “Yeah, ducky. Of course you can.”

Oscar stood, eyes wide, cautious like she was made of glass; but when Lando held Ada out to him, he took her without hesitation.

She fit perfectly into his arms.

“Hi,” he breathed, eyes going impossibly soft. “Hello, baby Ada. You look just like your mummy.”

Amelia lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes.

Her dad come and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

Max kissed both of her cheeks and told her that she looked beautiful.

And then Ada was back in her arms, all scrunchy nosed and wet-eyed, and the world narrowed down to her.

—

The house was too quiet.

Which was absurd, given they were no longer alone.

But that was exactly the problem.

The silence left too much room for Amelia’s thoughts.

She stood in the nursery, arms crossed tightly over her chest. In a baggy tee and oversized cotton pyjama pants, hair still braided but frizzed at the edges.

She hadn’t let go of Ada in hours — not really.

Even now, with Ada asleep in the crib just a few feet away, Amelia felt like she hadn’t let her go.

Lando stood a few paces behind, leaning against the doorframe in his joggers and a white t-shirt, barefoot and watching her with soft eyes.

“We don’t have to leave her,” he said gently. “Not even for a second. There’s a basket in our room for a reason, baby.”

Amelia didn’t answer.

She rubbed one hand up and down her arm, fast, rhythmic. A stim. Comfort.

“She’s just so small,” she said eventually. “And she was inside me and now she’s not, and my brain hasn’t — hasn’t caught up to the idea that she’s real and separate and still… fine.”

Lando stepped closer, slow and careful, like approaching a scared animal. Not because he thought she’d snap, but because she was stretched thin and too full and too raw, and he knew better than to rush her.

“I know,” he said. “It’s weird, right? How quiet she is? How not imaginary?”

Amelia exhaled sharply, a little laugh catching in her throat. “I keep expecting someone to come take her away. Like — like we’re just the transport team.”

Lando reached out, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. “They handed her to us, remember? In the hospital. And no one looked worried. Not a single nurse said ‘actually, we’ve changed our minds’.”

“I don’t feel qualified.”

“You grew her.”

“I did,” she whispered, blinking hard. “And now I’m supposed to… put her in a crib and go to bed like she’s not still part of me?”

“You don’t have to,” he said again. “We can pull the moses basket all the way next to your side of the bed. You can have your hand in there with her, baby, if that’s what you need to do. And we got those little toe clips, didn’t we? To make sure she’s still breathing. I’ll set up the white noise machine. I can hold her while you shower. Or while you lie down. Whatever feels okay.”

She stared at him.

“I don’t want to close my eyes,” she admitted. “I don’t want to stop looking at her.”

“We can take turns.”

“But you need to sleep.”

“I’ll nap tomorrow.”

“Lando.”

“Amelia.”

She cracked a smile then — barely, but real.

And he took her hand, warm and grounding. “Come lie down. Just lie down. I’ll keep one hand on her and one on you. I’ll be right there.”

Amelia hesitated.

Then nodded.

She let him guide her back to their bedroom. Lando had already rearranged everything — bassinet beside the bed, a lamp dimmed low, muslins folded with surgical precision. He lifted Ada gently from the crib and laid her into the basket with infinite care.

Then he slid into bed, propped up by pillows, and held out his arms.

Amelia didn’t need to be told twice.

She curled into his side, one hand reaching instinctively toward Ada’s sleeping form, her fingers resting just beside the basket.

No blankets. No teddies. No safety hazards.

Just a perfectly swaddled baby in a white onesie, her tiny chest rising and falling in a rhythm Amelia was already memorising. A monitor was clipped gently to one of her toes — nothing intrusive, just a soft band — but if anything changed, even slightly, it would ping Lando’s phone in an instant.

“I’m going to check on her every ten minutes,” Amelia mumbled, eyes already heavy but refusing to close.

Lando kissed her hair. “That’s okay. I probably will too.”

She nodded once, almost automatically, and settled deeper against him — but her fingers didn’t move from the edge of the basket. Her mind was moving too fast to follow, darting down rabbit holes.

“Did you ever get nightmares as a child?” She asked suddenly, her voice a little hoarse.

Lando blinked. “Um. Yeah. A few. Why?”

“I read somewhere they can run in families. It’s neurological. Patterns of sleep. And I just… I want to be prepared.”

He didn’t say 'You don’t have to worry about that right now.'

He didn’t say 'Let it go.'

He knew better.

So he said, “Only when I was overtired. I’d sleepwalk too, sometimes. My mum said I used to go looking for my kart in the middle of the night.”

That made her smile a little — soft and crooked. “Of course you did.”

He chuckled under his breath. “What else do you want to know?”

“Did you have a favourite toy?”

“Plastic steering wheel. I wouldn’t let anyone else touch it. It had a red horn button. I’d sit on the living room rug and pretend I was racing.”

“Were you scared of the dark?”

Lando glanced down at her, at the way her brow was pinched just slightly.

The questions weren’t idle.

They were a defence. A rhythm.

A way to keep the storm in her head at bay.

“I hated the dark,” he said simply. “I used to leave the bathroom light on; on purpose. It used to drive my dad mad, but I didn’t want to admit that it was because the dark hallway scared me.”

She was quiet for a moment, her hand still resting near the basket.

“I need to hold her,” she said finally. Her voice didn’t wobble, but her lip did. “Just for a minute. Just to make sure she’s… she’s okay.”

Lando didn’t even hesitate. “She’s yours, baby,” he murmured. “Ours. We can hold her whenever we want.”

So he got up and placed Ada gently in her mother’s arms, careful not to wake her.

Amelia’s breath hitched as she pulled their daughter close, cupping the back of her tiny head, pressing her lips to soft baby hair and inhaling like she was trying to fuse them back together.

And Lando just watched.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, eyes still locked on Ada.

“I know.”

“But I love her so much I can’t even — there’s no room left in me for anything else, Lando.”

He brushed her curls back from her forehead. “I know. Baby, I know.”

She smiled at him wetly. “Thank you for giving me her.”

He kissed her, soft and sweet and gentle.

—

By day three, the house had softened.

They’d settled into a new kind of rhythm. One shaped around feeds and burps and naps so short they barely even counted. The clock meant nothing anymore. Light filtered in and out of the windows. Lando had stopped checking the date. Amelia had stopped pretending not to be terrified by every sound Ada made.

But the bleeding had slowed. The cramps had faded. The adult diapers were gone — finally, thank God — and Amelia was wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants as she sat cross-legged on the couch with Ada against her chest.

The baby nursed noisily, fingers flexing near her mother’s collarbone, head resting in the crook of Amelia’s arm.

In her free hand, Amelia held her iPad — an older engineering article open, written by Adrian, full of dense paragraphs and complex diagrams about brake duct airflow and thermal optimisation. She read it aloud like a lullaby, her voice soft but steady.

“‘By increasing the front duct’s diameter by 2.3 millimetres, the delta in peak rotor temp dropped below critical thresholds in high-deg circuits, including Catalunya and Marina Bay…’ You hear that, Ada? Heat efficiency. That’s how we stay fast and safe.”

Ada made a small noise — halfway between a sigh and a snuffle — and latched more firmly.

Lando passed through the room with a laundry basket in his arms. His curls were still wet from a rushed shower, and he wore mismatched socks. But he smiled when he saw them.

“She asleep yet?” He asked, pausing.

“Almost.” Amelia didn’t look up from her screen. “We’re learning about regenerative braking.”

“Alright, baby,” Lando said, and disappeared toward the washing machine.

The doorbell rang just as Amelia was settling Ada into the bassinet. Ada didn’t flinch, but Amelia suddenly startled and stared at her little sleeping form with a frown.

Was she too cold? Was her neck at the wrong angle? Had she been burped properly—

“It’s okay,” Lando said, his voice low. “She’s fine. I’ll get the door. You stay and watch her.”

She nodded, stepping back, watching the rise and fall of her daughter’s chest like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth.

And then: voices. Familiar ones.

Max (Fewtrell) and Pietra. Their laughter was gentle, not loud — filtered with care.

“Hey,” Max said, stepping into the living room with a Tupperware box already in hand. “We’ve both antibacced our hands. We come in peace.”

Pietra went straight to Amelia, arms already open. She didn’t say anything, just wrapped her up in a firm hug — grounding, real, warm — and kissed the side of her head.

“You have done so well,” she whispered.

Amelia didn’t cry, but her throat caught. “Thanks. She’s… she’s perfect. I’m just tired.”

“We know.”

Meanwhile, Max clapped Lando on the shoulder, hard. “Mate. You look like you’ve seen things.”

“I’ve seen things,” Lando muttered, rubbing his eyes.

“Go sit down. We’ve got this.”

They didn’t ask to hold Ada. Didn’t hover or coo or crowd. Pietra pulled on rubber gloves and started wiping down the kitchen counters like it was the most natural thing in the world. Max took out the bins. Then he came back in and started unloading the dishwasher without asking where anything went.

Amelia watched all of it from the couch, stunned by how quickly the air changed — less pressure, more breathing room.

“You don’t need to do all that,” she murmured.

“We want to,” Pietra said, straightening up with a dish towel in her hand. “This is the bit no one helps with, and it’s the bit that matters.”

Lando appeared beside Amelia, dropping onto the couch, sliding a hand over her knee. She leaned into him automatically.

“Tell them thank you,” she whispered, eyes half-shut.

He did. She already knew he would.

And for the first time since Ada’s birth, Amelia let herself fully exhale. Not just a breath. A letting-go. Just a moment.

The baby was sleeping.

The house was quiet.

And they were not alone.

—

They took Ada out for her first proper walk on a Tuesday.

The sky was low and soft, pale blue smudged with thin clouds. Not warm, not cold. Just… fresh. There was the smell of cut grass in the air and the quiet hum of summer insects returning to their business.

The pram rolled smoothly along the country trail, thick tyres handling the uneven gravel without so much as a jolt. Lando had triple-checked the suspension before they left the house.

Now he hovered two steps behind Amelia, a muslin cloth draped over one shoulder, spare dummy in his hoodie pocket, checking the pram’s hood every three seconds like the sun might have suddenly grown sharper.

“Do you think it’s too bright?” He asked, squinting up. “Should we have brought the other hat?”

Amelia didn’t break stride. “She’s fine.”

“What if she gets cold?”

“She’s in a fleece-lined sleep suit and the foot muff, Lando. She’s not cold.”

He hesitated. “I just—she’s so little. Doesn’t feel right to have her out here.”

Amelia’s expression softened, but only a little. She didn’t stop walking. “Fresh air is important for newborns. It regulates their circadian rhythm. Improves lung function. Strengthens immune development.”

Lando jogged a step to fall in beside her, peeking into the pram. “I know. I just feel like she should still be wrapped in bubble wrap. Or, I don’t know… a titanium exosuit.”

Amelia side-eyed him. “She’s a human baby.”

“Yeah. But she’s our human baby.”

Amelia finally looked over at him, a tiny smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, eyes still scanning the trail ahead. “Lando. She’s okay. I promise.”

He huffed, shifting closer to peer into the pram again. “I know. I—I do know. But she’s just… so small.”

“She’s also fast asleep.” Amelia nodded toward the pram. Sure enough, Ada’s tiny features were slack with the soft stillness of newborn sleep, one fist curled near her chin and her lips parted slightly, breath feathering.

Lando smiled, almost reluctantly. “She really is perfect.”

Amelia slowed a little, letting the rhythm of her footsteps match the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. Her hand brushed against his, and when he didn’t pull away, she laced their fingers together.

“She’ll be okay,” she said, softer now. “I’m going to be good at this part. The structure. The systems. The planning. Schedules. Routines.”

“You’ve been good at all of it,” Lando said without hesitation.

She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe not all of it.”

“Name one thing you’ve been bad at so far,” he challenged, raising a brow.

“Holding her while she cries,” she replied instantly, too fast and too honest. “I never know how to help. I just freeze.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t count. You can just wear your ear defenders.”

“I think they scare her,” she admitted, glancing away. “She cries harder when I put them on.”

Lando nudged her shoulder gently. “Nah. She’ll get used to them. Babies cry. That’s literally their job.”

She gave a quiet laugh, tugged closer by his steadiness. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

They walked in silence for a minute, the trees rustling softly around them, the path dappled in filtered light.

“You want me to push her for a bit?” He asked.

She nodded and handed over the pram with a small sigh of relief, flexing her fingers. “My arms were starting to ache, and I don’t even know why. I wasn’t carrying her.”

“It’s the new mum muscle fatigue,” he said knowingly. “Totally scientific.”

She snorted, then went quiet for a beat. “I’m so glad I’m not, like, constantly peeing myself anymore. That was weird.”

Lando nodded. “Honestly, I think you handled it really well.”

She gave him a side-glance, almost shy. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He reached out and squeezed her hand again. “I was expecting way more tears. And not from Ada.”

“There were tears. I just cried in the shower.”

He smiled, but it was soft and genuine. “I know.”

Amelia exhaled, some of the tension rolling off her shoulders. The walk, the fresh air, the steady feel of his hand wrapped around hers — it all helped. Ada stirred once in her sleep, a tiny sound escaping her lips, and they both stopped walking for a second, listening.

Still asleep.

They exchanged a glance — equal parts relief and awe — and kept walking.

—

Later that evening, their house glowed with the golden warmth of soft lighting, the scent of something mildly burnt wafting from the oven (Lando insisted it was “crispy” on purpose). The table was already set — half by Lando, half by Cisca, who had taken it upon herself to silently reorganise the cutlery the moment she walked in.

Dinner was simple. Pasta. Store-bought garlic bread. A pre-made chocolate tart that Adam had brought with a proud grin and a whispered, “Don’t let Lando see the packaging — he’ll think his mother spent hours making this.”

Ada had just gone down in her bassinet upstairs.

Amelia hovered in the hallway, half listening, half pacing, fingers twitching at her sleeves. She’d made it through dinner prep, through greeting Lando’s parents and making small talk, but her ears were tuned in a thousand different directions — to the baby monitor, to the creak of the upstairs floorboards, to the faintest imagined cry in the silence.

“She’s okay,” Lando said gently, coming to stand beside her. “She’s asleep.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Amelia said, clutching her elbows. “Or she was and now she’s not. Or she will be and then she won’t be, and then they’ll all want to hold her and I’ll have to say no because she’s finally down and they’ll think I’m rude—”

“Okay,” Lando said, calm and sure and already moving past her.

She blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Getting her.”

“Lando—”

But he was already climbing the stairs. Moments later, he reappeared with Ada bundled in her swaddle inside her moses basket, blinking in that newborn stunned way, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. He paused only to press a kiss to the top of Amelia’s head before disappearing into the kitchen.

Amelia followed him, heart caught somewhere between panic and confusion — until she saw what he’d done.

He’d cleared the centrepiece from the kitchen table. Moved the salt and pepper. And right in the middle, like the guest of honour, was Ada. Swaddled and content, her moses basket taking pride of place between the lasagna and the chocolate tart.

Everyone paused.

Then started to laugh.

“Lando,” Cisca laughed. “You did not just put the baby on the table.”

“We can keep an eye on her,” he shrugged, completely deadpan.

Even Amelia, still frazzled, couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. Her shoulders dropped. Her heart settled.

“Okay,” she said softly, moving closer and brushing her fingers across Ada’s cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe.” He grinned. “But she’s calm. And you’re calm too. So I win.”

The rest of dinner was easy. Light. Ada stayed asleep, safe in the middle of it all. Lando’s parents only peeked at her — no passing her around, no unsolicited advice. Just gentle smiles and hands folded in laps and the occasional, “She’s so beautiful.”

Amelia stared at her daughter as she ate her lasagna.

And there would be photos passed around in fifteen years time. Of a baby in the middle of the dinner table, in different outfits during different times of the year. Easter and Christmas and Birthdays. Newborn and then not.

Ada Rossella Norris, fifteen years old, will blush and squeak and say, “Mum, that’s so weird! Why was I on the table?”

And Amelia will swipe her hand across her daughter’s freckled cheek and say, “Where else would you be?”

—

Amelia sat cross-legged on the couch, one of her old engineering textbooks open in her lap. It was more comfort object than useful now — dense equations and fluid mechanics — but it gave her something to hold, something to do.

From down the hall, the sound of water running filled the quiet.

She turned a page absently. Then another.

Then paused, head tilting slightly.

Lando’s voice drifted out from the bathroom. Soft. Muffled. A kind of singsong narration.

“There’s your little foot… and here’s your other one… look at those perfect toes, Ada-bug…”

Just her husband. Bathing their daughter.

Amelia closed the book, the spine pressing into her palm.

She didn’t need to go check. Didn’t need to see with her own eyes to know he was being gentle, and cautious, and silly, and Lando.

And the realisation landed with no fanfare, no dramatic swell of emotion — just a quiet, settled truth.

She trusted him.

Completely.

With the most precious thing in the entire world.

She tucked the book beside her and got up slowly, padding barefoot to the doorway of the bathroom, where Lando knelt beside the little tub, sleeves rolled up, Ada’s soft, soapy body cradled between his careful hands.

He looked up and grinned when he saw her.

“Hey,” he whispered. “She loves the water.”

Amelia leaned against the doorframe, her eyes soft.

“I like it too,” she said. “And I like you. Like this.”

He flushed a little, smiled wider. “Yeah?”

She nodded.

Ada squealed and splashed her fists in the water.

Amelia smiled at her little girl.

—

The paddock was quieter than it would be on race day — a lull before the storm.

Just the low hum of cameras, the occasional mechanical clatter of a forklift, and the shuffle of early-arriving team personnel cutting through the cool morning air. But even that — the muted version of Silverstone — pressed in around Amelia like static behind her eyes.

Too many overlapping sounds.

Too much motion at the edges of her vision, flickering like faulty headlights.

Ada shifted against her chest with a soft grunt, the wrap keeping her snug and swaddled, the rhythm of Amelia’s heartbeat her steady metronome. One of Amelia’s hands stayed curled protectively around the baby’s back, her thumb tracing a repetitive pattern she didn’t consciously register. A grounding mechanism. Something to keep her tethered.

Her dad met them at the back entrance of the McLaren motorhome, face gentle, voice pitched low like he was afraid to set something off.

“Hello, my beautiful baby girls,” he said, already holding the door open. “We’ve cleared the top floor. Everyone knows to stay out. You’ve got total privacy.”

Amelia gave a small nod. Didn’t speak.

Her whole focus was on getting inside — away from the press of noise, the open sky, the potential germs and the unknowns.

Lando was already there.

The moment she stepped through the doorway, he turned as if pulled by a thread. His whole expression shifted — softened in an instant — as his eyes landed on them. His daughter, safe and warm. His wife, upright and moving, even if she looked like she was carrying the weight of the world and then some.

“You made it,” he breathed.

“I said I would,” Amelia murmured. “I made a plan.”

And the plan was always the comfort.

He didn’t crowd her, just hovered at her side as she allowed herself to be guided up the narrow staircase to the engineer’s meeting room. It had been transformed — not sterile, not chaotic. Just… still.

The blinds were drawn. The harsh fluorescents replaced with soft lamp lighting. A white noise machine hummed gently in the corner, masking the distant clatter of wheel guns and rolling crates. Someone had set up a chair by the window, a footstool just beneath it, a bottle of water and sanitiser waiting on a little table nearby. She didn’t know who had prepared it. Probably more than one person. That thought, strangely, comforted her.

Amelia sank into the chair and exhaled for what felt like the first time all morning.

Lando crouched beside her, fingers light on the edge of the wrap. He didn’t try to take Ada. Just looked at her like he was memorising the details — her milk-drunk mouth, the dusky pink of her cheeks, the faintest tuft of dark hair under her little hat.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispered. “Welcome to Silverstone. A week old and you’re already in the paddock. You know how crazy that is?”

Amelia didn’t smile. Not exactly. But her shoulders loosened slightly.

“We’re only staying for an hour. Maybe less. I just want to go over the strategy notes with Tom. I’ve already emailed them, but—”

“You want to go over them in person,” Lando finished. “That’s fine. That’s perfect.”

She adjusted the wrap slightly, fingers brushing Ada’s tiny back. “It’s too soon for her to actually be here for the full weekend. Her immune system, her ears…”

“I know,” Lando said gently. “She’ll be ready soon.” Then, quieter, “Maybe in a kart.”

Amelia’s eyes snapped to his. “Only if she wants to. Only if it’s her idea.”

He lifted a hand. “Of course.”

There was a knock at the door.

Oscar stood just beyond it, holding two coffees and that neutral expression he wore when he didn’t want to spook anyone.

“Hey,” he said, eyes flicking to Amelia. “I can come back later?”

Amelia glanced at him, then at the room, then back to Ada — still sleeping, undisturbed. She gave a small nod.

Oscar stepped in with careful movements, like he knew what it cost her to allow anyone near the baby (because he did). He crouched beside the chair, not quite close enough to breach her space.

“She’s here,” he said quietly.

“Amazing, innit,” Lando murmured, standing up to take one of the coffees from him.

Oscar didn’t take his eyes off Ada. “You’re a machine,” he told Amelia. “For coming here. Thank you.”

“She slept the whole car ride,” Amelia said. “I packed enough supplies for three days rather than three hours.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You think that’ll be enough?”

“It's fine. My dad’s probably stashed nappies all over this motorhome,” she said dryly. “You can call Zak Brown a lot of things, but you can’t call him unprepared.”

That made both men laugh, the sound low and soft enough not to wake the baby.

Twenty-seven minutes.

That’s how long Amelia stayed.

Long enough for her to sit in on the strategy meeting, long enough to pass off her annotated packet of data to Tom with a few muttered clarifications. Long enough for her to reassure herself that her world hadn’t spun too far off its axis.

She knew it had been twenty-seven minutes because she set a timer on her phone. Not a second longer.

And when they left — quietly, quickly, Lando carrying her bag, Oscar offering to hold the door open — she didn’t look back.

She had a baby girl to focus on.

And Lando would follow her home when he was done.

—

The front door clicked softly shut.

Ada stirred in her basket. Amelia looked up from her book — well, from the same paragraph she’d read six times — just as Lando stepped into the living room, damp curls flattened beneath his McLaren cap and a tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Behind him, Oscar hovered with two takeaway bags and a sheepish shrug. “He called me stupid for planning on going to the team hotel,” he said. “I didn’t fight that hard.”

Lando dropped a kiss to her temple as he passed. “She’s been awake?”

“Two feeds,” Amelia said, adjusting the blanket draped over her lap. “Four nappy changes. She’s settled now.”

Oscar was already crouching beside the basket, peering in at Ada like he hadn’t seen her just a few hours ago. “She’s still so small.”

“She’s seven days old,” Amelia pointed out. “She’s supposed to be small.”

“I know. But like… look at her.” He grinned, voice hushed. “She’s smaller than my forearm.”

Amelia blinked.

Lando had taken the food into the kitchen. She could hear the fridge opening, the rustle of takeaway containers. Oscar was now sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Ada, humming softly under his breath.

The room felt full. But not crowded.

She marked her place in the book — something about fluid dynamics and downforce — and looked around.

Lando came back in with three bowls of food and no cutlery, because he always forgot the cutlery. He kicked off his shoes, dropped onto the sofa beside her, and pulled her close with a casualness that would’ve stunned her thirteen-year-old self.

Amelia rested her cheek against his shoulder.

She thought about being thirteen. About hiding in the corner of the school library, rereading the same paperbacks while her classmates whispered and passed notes about their crushes.

She’d never understood the obsession. Never wanted the chaos of it.

She’d convinced herself she wasn’t built for any of it — romance, affection, softness. She figured she’d grow up and live alone in a quiet flat with neat shelves and a routine no one could break.

And now she was here. Baby in a basket. Working in the sport she adored. Married. Her best friend sitting on her living room floor, humming to her daughter as she slept.

It made her chest ache, a little. With disbelief. With gratitude.

“Hey,” Lando said softly, glancing down. “You okay, baby?”

She nodded. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

She looked at him, her expression unreadable and full at once. “I didn’t think I’d get this.”

Lando’s brows drew together, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I didn’t think I’d ever want it. I thought I wasn’t… wired that way.” Her voice was even. Gentle. “I have never been so relieved to have been wrong about something.”

He kissed her again, this time on the side of her head. “Love you.”

Oscar, still on the floor, looked up with a half-smile. “Is this a bad time to ask if you’re willing to half your naan bread with me?”

Amelia laughed. Then she tore it in half and gave it to him.

Lando passed her a fork.

She hadn’t even noticed him go get it. But of course he had.

And as Ada shifted softly in her basket, a tiny sigh in the quiet, Amelia thought, ‘This. This is what home is.’

And she hadn’t even known to hope for it.

[astrofaeology]

Uranus in the Signs

paid readings | Masterlist

ᡣ𐭩 Please support me by reposting, liking, following me and commenting your placement. Uranus is the planet which rules over innovation and social reform, it can represent where in life you break the rules and reform. Note that since it's the outerplanet it's slow moving and the interpretation for all the signs is mainly because of degree theory.

0º is the degree which doesn't have a coresponding sign assigned to it. It's a fresh new degree and will amplify the themes of the sign that it's in

Aries (1,13,25º) The natives who has Uranus in Aries are driven to take the initiative and act on their own initiative. They are often the first to embrace radical change, eager to defy expectations and forge their own path. This placement may manifest as a restless, impulsive personality that is prone to sudden shifts in focus and a desire to transform their immediate environment.

Taurus (2, 14, 26°) When Uranus is in Taurus, the native's unconventional personality frequently collides with a profound desire for stability and security. They frequently challenge traditional notions of comfort and affluence by expressing their individuality through innovative approaches to resources, money, and personal beliefs. Their material environment may alter abruptly and unexpectedly, or they may devise a unique technique of establishing their worth.

Gemini (3, 15, 27°) Uranus in Gemini is linked to restless curiosity as well as a very imaginative way of thinking and speaking. They can be at the forefront of intellectual or technological advancements, and they are usually drawn to novel concepts and distinctive forms of communication. They thrive on mental stimulation and independent thought, and they are constantly seeking out new information and relationships. Their communication style can be unexpected or surprising.

Cancer (4, 16, 28°) The urge for independence and unconventional living frequently has an impact on the native's home life, family dynamics, and emotional security when Uranus is in Cancer. They may hold extreme beliefs about family structures and rituals, or they may experience dramatic shifts in living circumstances. There is a need to overcome emotional dependence, which can result in creative ways of caring for oneself and other people, or a propensity to defy traditional roles in the home.

Leo (5, 17, 29°) When Uranus is in Leo, the native's creativity, self-expression, and leadership demonstrate their distinctiveness and desire for independence. They could be leaders, artists, or outlier performers who challenge the current quo and inspire others by their unique perspective. This positioning may also signal rapid shifts in their public persona or a rejection of authority figures in order to prominently display their individualism.

Virgo (6, 18° ) A native with Uranus in Virgo tackles work, health, and everyday routines with inventiveness and investigation. They may be at the vanguard of new scientific or technological discoveries in relevant domains, as well as inclined to novel ways to efficiency, organisation, or healing. As they attempt to upgrade and improve systems in their own unique style, there is a risk of abrupt changes in their work environment or health habits.

Libra (7, 19°) If Uranus is in Libra, the native's quest for individuality and distinctiveness has an impact on their relationships, collaborations, and sense of justice. They may be drawn to unique types of partnerships or notice abrupt shifts in their coalitions. There is a desire to challenge traditional notions of collaboration and harmony in order to change social norms and promote equality and justice in their own unique way.

Scorpio( 8, 20°) The native's desire for radical change and liberation is closely tied to their psyche, intimacy, and group resources when Uranus is in Scorpio. They might learn things about power, death, and regeneration that are shocking and transformative. A strong desire to escape control or unconscious psychological patterns may be symbolised by this placement, which could result in ground-breaking realisations and a novel strategy for personal development.

Sagittarius (9, 21°) The natives with Uranus in Sagittarius is driven by a strong desire for philosophical and intellectual independence. Seeking to widen their minds in new ways, they are typically drawn to unorthodox religious systems, other cultures, and revolutionary ideas. This placement may imply dramatic shifts in their perspective, a disregard for traditional thinking, and a strong desire to experience and grow in the realms of spirituality, travel, and higher education.

Capricorn (10, 22º) When Uranus is in Capricorn, a native's career, public persona, and sense of duty typically reflect their drive for originality and independence. They may question established hierarchies and power structures, resulting in significant shifts in their area of expertise. This placement could reflect rapid shifts in one's career or an unorthodox technique for achieving one's goals in an attempt to build new types of structure and order.

Aquarius (11, 23°) When Uranus is in Aquarius, the native's intrinsic drive for individualism and societal change becomes even stronger. Driven by a desire for a more equal and forward-thinking future, they are frequently at the forefront of technological developments, humanitarian causes, and community-building efforts. This placement indicates a strong desire for individual liberty in social settings, as well as a unique, often unconventional attitude to friendships and groups.

Pisces (12, 24°) When Uranus is in Pisces, a native's career, public presence, and feeling of duty usually express their quest for independence and freedom in spiritual or humanitarian endeavours. They may dispute established boundaries and traditional conceptions of empathy and communal well-being, dramatically altering their field of competence. This placement could signify quick changes in one's chosen route in terms of art, healing, or social issues, or an unorthodox method of reaching their aims in order to create new sorts of compassion and universal understanding.

DISCLAIMER: This post is a generalisation and may not resonate. I recommend you get a reading from an astrologer (me). If you want a reading from me check out my sales page.

@astrofaeology private services 2025 all rights reserved

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Detailed Settings

A detailed setting draws your readers into the world you’ve built, allowing them to inhabit the storyline. Learn the core elements of setting, and apply them to your own writing.

How to Create a Vivid Setting for Your Story

Writing vividly is all about evoking clear imagery and detail in the mind of the reader. Here’s how to create a richly textured world for your story:

Use place to your advantage. Place denotes both geographical location and immediate surroundings. A story that unfolds in the hurried chaos of New York is not the same if transplanted to an isolated island in the Pacific. A scene that takes place in a cramped room shifts when it occurs in a vast forest.

Make use of time. Time in setting can be expressed as a time of day, a season or time of year, or a historical time period. Seasonal changes—the advent of winter, a blistering summer—might provide life or death stakes; historical periods define the behavior of all the characters operating within your fictional world.

Show the world through your characters’ eyes. Try to reveal the world as the characters interact with it, since the most resonant setting descriptions are the ones that come somewhat altered through the lens of an individual. If you’re writing historical fiction, for example, you may be pulling from a real place or time. Snippets of accuracy can give palpable energy to your prose. As with anything that requires lots of research, knowing what to include can be a balancing act: too much detail, and the reader is overwhelmed.

Be aware of how setting affects emotions. Allow setting to influence your characters’ actions and moods. Otherwise, they and the world they live in will come across as static and lacking nuance. The lives of humans—or mythical creatures living in fantasy worlds—are intimately tied to setting.

Exercises for Writing Vivid Settings

Try these writing exercises to develop a strong story setting and see where it takes your narrative:

Visit a real-world location you’ve never been to before. This can be an actual place from a setting you’ve chosen or simply a place near you that you find interesting. When you first arrive at the location, don’t record or photograph or write anything down, just spend some time absorbing it through your senses. Pay attention to the things that strike you most. Go home later and write a description of the place. Remember to include the sensory details—what it felt and smelled and sounded like.

Select an important location from your novel or short story. This could be anything—a public building, a business, a famous landmark, a landscape, or someone’s house. Now choose two characters from your story and write a short paragraph describing how they might react to the setting. Explore different points of view of your chosen place.

Choose places and write them on index cards. Organize them according to how you think a story should unfold at those locations. Would it make more sense for your characters to move from one theme to another (e.g. from religious buildings to scientific ones)? What’s the most efficient way to organize them? Would a random route be more interesting?

Focus on memorable details. Keep the details grounded in a character’s sensory experience. Everyone probably knows what a tree looks like, so if you’re describing one, tell the reader what makes it different or why it’s important from your character’s point of view. You’ll want to let your reader know what it feels like for the character, what it sounds and smells and tastes like. No matter what kind of world you’re creating, this technique can bring more vividness to your writing.

On an unlined sheet of paper, create a map of your world. Pay attention to detail: Even the smallest moments can help you visualize a world more clearly. Show landscape features like mountains and lakes and roads; mark cities if you have them, and note regions and counties, too. Try to match the feel of your setting. If it’s a magical world, show features pertaining to this—a dark magician’s fortress, for example.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[lynnie-ee]

Day 10; Fight.

╰┈➤"Your boyfriend's goals were very clear; Make you happy, spend time with you and defend you from anyone who dared to insult you in any possible way."

╰►Gender neutral reader, one-shot, 1.9k words. Kinda based on that one tweet that was like "My girl can wear whatever she want cause I can fight."

╰► Characters: Deuce, Jade, Floyd, Epel.

╰►Note: The prompts are based on words I found interesting and then I put them on a roulette to decide when I would write about them, lol. English is not my first language, so please let me know if there are any grammatical mistakes <3. Not proof read, I haven't written in a long time, so I apologise if anything is out of character.

╰►Masterlist / Inktober Masterlist.

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﹙❥﹚Deuce Spade ❜ ˖ ࣪⊹ ִֶָ

He tries his best, most of the time.

Every time he gets jealous or mad at someone else, he has to remind himself that he’s no longer a delinquent. 'Top students don’t engage in fights', he’d say to himself, even though he was well aware he had been in a few arguments with other students ever since he joined Night Raven College, each time promising himself it wouldn’t happen again.

Until it came to something related to you.

It was Halloween, it was supposed to be fun. You wanted to try a different costume this time, and decided to wear a more eccentric outfit, trying to match the extravagance of the other dorms.

You looked really cute, and Deuce was quick to compliment you, taking your hand with an excited demeanour, walking with you towards the Heartslabyul stand to show the rest of your friends your outfit.

He was really happy, as he walked along you, entertained as he listened to you talking about how you went into town and tried in many costumes before choosing that one, when he was able to hear a comment made by another Hearstlabyul student as they walked by.

"Well, they got no magic and no style, huh? Where did they even get that costume, at the kid's section?"

"Repeat what you just said." Deuce was quick to stop his walk, turning towards the student with a frown on his face.

"I said they look terrible." He answered with a defiant demeanour.

"They look perfect, are you out of your mind?" He got closer to the student with a menacing aura, ready to punch him if it was necessary.

"Not really, I've seen better-dressed scarecrows, why are you even letting them go outside like that?"

That was it.

Before you could even stop him, Deuce threw a punch directly at the guy's face, who wasn't even brave enough to defend himself, instead he just stood there holding his now bleeding nose, seemingly out of words now.

"And just so you know, they can dress however they want! And they got their costume at the adult section, don't say such stupid things!" He screamed as you dragged him out of the place, trying to avoid the small crowd that was starting to form due to the sudden commotion.

"Riddle's gonna kill you if he knows about this, you know?" You commented as you both walked to Ramshackle now, deciding to wait a bit before going to Heartslabyul.

"And It'll be worth it! He had no reason to say that kind of thing about you."

"I don't care, really."

"But I do! No one will insult you in front of me without getting what they deserve."

You giggled softly at his attitude, stopping briefly to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Well, thank you, my Prince Charming." You watched as he blushed, timidly holding your hand.

"Whe-whenever you need it, my love!"

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﹙𖧵ֹֺֽ໋໋݊﹚Jade Leech ❜ ˖ ࣪⊹ ִֶָ

He can definitely fight, but it won't be his first option, unless the other person is the one who starts it, which never happens, because, well, he's Jade Leech.

He prefers to use more efficient techniques to make sure people never bother you again, which is why is widely known around school that no one should mess with Ramshackle's Prefect.

So imagine his surprise when, in the middle of one of his shifts, as you were sitting on one of the stools of the bar while waiting for him to be done, he heard a most unfortunate comment.

"Doesn't Azul always bother everyone about how this is a very distinguished place? I wonder who let them in while looking like that, they look like they came here straight out of bed."

As Jade was walking to a different table, he heard two students from Scarabia, making him promptly direct his gaze towards you, sitting by the bar with your headphones, without being aware of the words directed at you. It was Saturday, and you had stayed at his dorm last night, so you had decided to wear something comfy as you waited for your boyfriend. The outfit of the day was one of Jade's hoodies, which had a small embroidery of a mushroom on the front, along with a loose pair of jeans, as you supposed nobody would look at you in the secluded corner you chose to be.

You looked absolutely adorable in his eyes, and he wouldn't stand for malicious comments about you.

"Is everything alright? Are you enjoying your meal?" He asked politely towards the group of Scarabia students, who froze up immediately when Jade appeared out of nowhere, his smile more frightening than usual.

"Ye-yeah, everything is fine."

"I'm glad to hear that, but..." His smile widened as he got closer to the student who made the comment earlier, whispering so only he could hear. "I wonder if you'd be still fine if Professor Crewel knew about how you cheated on his last exam?" An innocent tone could be heard in his voice.

"How-how did you-?"

"This is a very distinguished place, as you know. It'd be inappropriate to allow patrons with such immoral attitudes to be seen in here."

"Let me talk to Azul, you can't-"

"Uh? What was that? I can't do it, you say?" He raised an eyebrow, a curious expression on his face, as he expected an answer from the nervous student, who knew better than to make Jade Leech angry.

"We-were finished either way, right? Thanks for the service, we'll be going!" The other student interrupted, quickly getting up to get ready to leave.

"Ah, I hope you enjoyed your time here." The vicehousewarden bowed politely. "But I hope you're aware that, if you make such inconvenient comments about my partner, I won't let you go as easily." He added with a close-eyed smile that didn't match his words in the slightest, as the students went away as fast as they could.

"Uhm, Jade? Your shift is about to finish, isn't it?" You asked taking your headphones out of your head to speak to your boyfriend more properly, as he placed one of your favourite drinks in front of you, his smile remaining on his face, but this time being softer.

"Yes, my love, just wait a bit more."

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﹙𖧵ֹֺֽ໋໋݊﹚Floyd Leech ❜ ˖ ࣪⊹ ִֶָ

Some days he fights, someday he doesn't care at all, some days he'll let you defend yourself if you want.

Either way, same as Jade, you weren't bothered often. No one would risk enraging the unpredictable Leech twin, and at first, when you started dating, some people wouldn't even look at you at risk of being misunderstood by the Octavinelle second-year.

It was less extreme now, as you've dated him for a while, but there were still some people who preferred to be more cautious around you.

But of course, there'll be always stupid people who'd make rude comments even when Floyd was near.

"Wish me luck, shrimpy!" Your boyfriend looked at you expectant, an excited smile on his face.

"Good luck, Floyd, score some points, okay?" You kissed his cheek softly, giggling when he accommodated the hoodie you were wearing, before going back to the basketball court.

You were in the stands, waiting for the start of a match between Night Raven College and another school which you didn't much about, you just knew that you were supposed to be there to support your boyfriend, and your friends too.

Floyd played better when you were around, and he liked to find you right away in the middle of the crowd, which is why he gave you his hoodie before the match. A hoodie that he likes to wear loose, and considering his height, you wondered if it'd fit you right when he offered it. You were wrong, and now you were sitting while completely drowning in the piece of clothing, making you look a bit out of place. But you didn't care, as long as he was happy.

The match started and everything went smoothly, as Floyd seemed to be on top of his game, scoring points left and right as he watched you cheer on him.

Until a student from the other school spotted you in the middle of the crowd, laughing to himself and then commenting on it with one of his classmates.

"Did you see that one student over there? I wonder if all the students here dress like such a mess, that hoodie is at least four sizes bigger than them."

"Perhaps they didn't even look themselves in the mirror before coming here, how embarrassing."

Floyd frowned as he heard such a comment about you, quickly deciding his strategy. He wouldn't allow words like that to be directed at his little Shrimpy.

"Hey, Floyd, pass it to me- what are you doing?!"

BAM.

The whole gymnasium fell into silence as Floyd threw the ball in the air. The thing was, that instead of being aimed to score a point, it landed on a different place...On the head of the student from the other school.

You could only watch in surprise, as Floyd turned around to show you a thumbs-up, as if he had solved a problem you had no idea about.

"Floyd! What was that?!"

It was a very effective strategy, at least.

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﹙𑁍﹚Epel Felmier ❜ ˖ ࣪⊹ ִֶָ

He'll fight at any opportunity that he gets.

After all, that's what a good boyfriend does, right? Defending you from stupid people it's his number one priority, and he wants to show you that you can depend on him.

It reaches a point in which Vil has to intervene, as it has been a regular thing lately, something the housewarden can't allow. 'Brutes don't belong in Pomefiore', is what he tells Epel one day as he scolds him, reminding him there are more ethical ways to solve things. Now he's on observation; one more fight and he'll be punished by cleaning all the windows of the dorm.

Ever since, he has been doing good, and you help him calm down when some stupid student from another dorm says something mean, telling him they don't know anything about the two of you.

But one day, as you both hang out in the Pomefiore lounge, he hears some second-years speak to each other across the room, as if you two weren't literally a few meters away from them.

"Did you see that atrocious sweater? No matter how you look a it, it doesn't match their jeans at all. Vil should stop letting people with such bad taste enter Pomefiore, don't you think?"

"What did ya say about (Y/n)?!" Epel startled you as he suddenly got up from the sofa you both were, quickly walking towards the other Pomefiore students, who observed him with a superior demeanour.

"We were talking about how badly your partner dresses. You're a Pomefiore student, Epel, you should know better than to let them walk outside with such ugly clothing."

"I gifted them that sweater! Take back your words, you idiot!"

"Even worse, you're absolutely tarnishing Pomefiore's reputation by-"

"And the next I'm gonna tarnish is gonna be your face if ya don't apologise to them, so hurry up, would ya?" Epel interrupted, promptly getting ready for fighting.

"Epel, let's just go to my dorm, okay? If you get into another fight you'll get punished." You tried to talk some common sense into him, considering that Vil would immediately know if there was an argument in his dorm.

"They're insulting you, ain't no way I'll letting 'em get away from that."

"But Vil-"

"I don't give a damn 'bout Vil-"

"What's the meaning of this scandal?!"

Well...You'll help him clean those windows, would you?

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[exciting-realm-of-wendy]

The Interview- Part Four.

(With pictures).

The lift fed out into a large lobby area. It bore the same colours as the waiting room. If Traci had not thought better, she would have sworn that they had walked a circle and returned to the waiting room.

But, no. This lobby was distinctly different in that, at the far end was a set of large double doors.

Lulu walked over to a wall. There was a panel into which she typed a code. Only then did Traci notice that there were panels all around the lobby; panels similar in size and shape to those she had seen along the corridor.

These depicted the same portraits of gold eye-mask wearing shadowed people.

Whilst Lulu was engaged, Traci - forever fearful of making a good professional impression, even in an examination hall - noted a floor to ceiling mirror. She had no inclination that from the other side, she was being watched and scrutinised. She took the opportunity to ensure she looked her best.

"Yes, your waist-length hair looks so much better in that sweet little hair clasp. So beautiful how it hangs down. I am so glad now that I wore the pencil skirt. It looks so professional and matched so much better with good dependable court shoes. Best to wear flats than make a fool of myself tottering in heels." Those behind the mirror watched as she smoothed her hands over her jacket and down over her pencil skirt. "Mmmm...you look so professional."

"Look closely, Ms. Lord. Tell me what you see."

Not sure as to why ask the sheer obvious, but aware from her help-guide on interview technique that often an interview is not just the face to face interrogation across a business desk in a frightening office, but also can be the pre-amble leading up to such an inquisition, she replied: "People, in shadow, wearing masks".

With obvious disappointment, even fear of failure on Lulu's face, she called, in a deflated tone, "Come this way, Ms. Lord. The examination is about to commence."

Traci stood rigid, fearful. "Examination?"

Lulu moved back to Traci, taking her by a hand. "You have nothing to worry about, Ms. Lord. It is a regular part of all our interviews. It should have said it in the letter we sent you. You are applying for a secretarial post. The examination is just to test the secretarial skills you have; more efficient than trying to cover this in the interview. The interview has more..." Lulu paused, "...stimulating means by which to...get to", she paused again, "...know you".

Traci had read the letter inviting her to interview over a dozen times. No where did it state an examination. She was not ready...she would fail...she would be no good. However, what could she do now? Challenge Lulu about the non-existant mention of an examination? That would really help her success: holding an argument midway through. She re-called how her interview guide, the book she had avidly read, taught her to respond to every negative thing in a positive professional way; to not challenge obvious mistakes, but see them as opportunities.

Traci smiled faintly back.

Lulu took Traci to the door. "Well, this is where I leave you for now, my dear. " She gave Traci a comforting hug. Traci felt their breasts pushed against one another, the warmth of Lulu's lithe body comforting her. Lulu kissed her fleetingly on the cheek, whispered "p**** activate" into Traci's ear and let her go.

As Traci pushed the door open, she felt a re-assuring hand of Lulu, on her back...no, thought Traci... no, that's on my bum. No it cannot be, I am nervous and confused. "Taste you later," called out Lulu and was gone.

Confused, Traci paused from pushing the door. "Did she say that? No, you silly girl, she cannot have said that. It is just my nerves and how I want to..."

She was unable to finish her thought.

Pulling the door fully open was another Chinese girl. She had startled Traci by opening the door from the inside fully. Before Traci could say anything to excuse her embarrassment of standing frozen for so long in thought by the door, she took in the beautiful sight before her.

The young woman wore a faun waistcoat, so expertly cut around the bust, as to frame and emphasise the woman's delightful breasts. A faun mini skirt flowed over generous hips.

"My name is Wai Lynn. Please you step this way. It is Ms. Lord, isn't it?"

"Y..y..yes..Yes, it is...sorry, I did not..." Traci stumbled through her confusion of what Lulu may or may not have said, of the hand that may or may not have been on her bum...and now the sheer elegance of this new beauty.

Wai Lynn directed her over to what looked like an airport security x-ray machine. Wai Lynn explained that the company required all examinees to remove anything that could cause cheating. So the machine was to test for any such objects. Traci was made to remove her watch, ear-rings and necklace. Traci said that was odd, "Unfortunately, our machine is highly sensitive, so many apologies".

Traci entered the portal, nervously. Of course, the machine was nothing of the sort, instead it turned the radio control of the Love Egg, secreted within Traci, on.

At the end of the portal, Wai Lynn joined Traci, handing back her necklace and ear-rings. As watches can be used to cheat, Wai Lynn informed Traci that it would be returned to her after the examination. Subtly altered, unbeknownst to Traci.

Wai Lynn opened a door and ushered the frightened Traci into the examination room.

Traci's breath was taken away. It must have held at least two hundred examination desks and chairs. Half were filled. She joined the end of the queue of other - what she assumed - candidates.

With a dozen staff dressed like Wai Lynn, Traci was finally guided to a specific desk and seat. Everyone was to be seated at precise desks. Some people, like Traci, had come for job interviews, but for the majority, they were here to receive further conditioning.

At the far end, a stage, once everyone was sat, lights came on over the stage, revealing a woman in a black dress and white thigh length boots. She introduced herself as the inquisitor. Her voice was picked up by unseen microphones and emitted from speakers over each desk. She explained to the candidates as to why they were all here, what was expected of them; as well as the types and duration of the examination. Firmly, she spoke of any failure to follow instruction would be punished severely, that she and her invigilators will be on hand to assist but also on hand to punish.

"What sort of attitude is that?" Thought Traci. "When I was at school, taking my 'O' and 'A' levels, invigilators never punished candidates".

The Inquisitor instructed everyone that their individual assignments were on the desks in front of them, all instructions were there also. "...So starting from when the clock reaches the hour..." Here she paused, watching the hand of the clock move gradually closer to the hour. The clock itself was large and could be discerned by everyone in the examination room. Reaching the hour, "...now you may begin".

Traci, feeling a pool of cold nervous sweat, looked down at her desk for the first time. There was a question paper, answer paper and set of pencils. What surprised her was a set of headphones. Ignoring these for the moment, she read the instructions of the examination paper. She discovered that the first task was dictation. Immediately she relaxed. She had come top at her secretarial college for dictation. "That must be why there were headphones. I am supposed to listen and write down in short-hand what is said. " She read on. Finding that she was right, she put the headphones comfortably over her head and adjusted them to fit correctly over her ears.

The examination paper guided her to press a switch on the desk when Traci was ready.

A lilting, beautiful flowing voice, sounded though the headphones. Traci felt as if she had heard the voice before. Instinctively she squeezed her thighs together, feeling a slight but comforting vibration. Taking up a pencil she listened hard to the voice, then began to write.

...

Traci was again in the examination hall. She was suddenly aware of her surroundings again and the paper in front of her. On the answer paper, she noted she has started her notes, but had oddly trailled off into gibberish, the odd word like 'slut' 'obedience' 'obey' 'Lulu' 'lick' here and there.

Ashamed at how her attention had obviously drifted off. ( "I must have been thinking about Lulu, and her gorgeous bum...oh, how unprofessional" she admonished herself), she tore and scrumpled up the answer paper and started again. She nervously looked at clock. To her amazement it was just on the hour. "It has just started. The examination has just started. What a relief. I must pay better attention and not keep wandering off thinking of Lulu".

She pressed the button to start, and settled down again.

...

She realised she was in the examination room. She looked at the clock. "Good. We have not started yet".

As Traci looked intently at the clock, awaiting the examination to start ("Oh, how I simply love examinations".) She noticed maids with canteen trollies moving up and down each aisle of examination desks. Traci's eyes grew wide at the way each maid was deliciously dressed. One was slowly walking up her aisle towards Ms. Lord.

"And what delicacy can I interest you with, Ms. Lord?" Traci realised she had been staring at this new beauty and suddenly focused, "Sorry...what?"

The girl leaned down, close to Traci. Traci breathed in her delicate scent. "What delicacy may I open to you, Mon cheri?" The maid inquired again.

"T...t...err...tea, please", answered Traci swallowing hard and feeling the maid's hand brushing her inner thigh.

Removing her hand, the maid inserted a finger into her mouth "You taste sweet, Mon cheri. I give you the best tea". The maid bent over her trolley and set about arranging the tea. Traci looked away, embarrassed the maid's bum was so close. She saw other maids attending to others in similar fashion. One or two maids' heads bobbing up and down. She noted that, as some form of reward, the examinees cupped the maids' bums. Looking back to the maid attending her, Traci was startled to find her own hand exploring the maid's bum. She felt a jolt of electricity flow down her arm and centre itself between her clenching thighs. Standing, the maid placed a cup of tea on Traci's desk, smiled and walked away, leaving Traci with lingering eyes on her departure.

The tea was as she had in the waiting room. Sipping, Traci re-focused on the clock. As it reached the hour she began.

...

As the clock reached the hour, Traci began.

...

As the clock reached the hour, Traci began.

...

She looked around the examination hall. Traci noted she had not started her tea. She sipped the hot liquid. She noted that her neck was cold. Thinking about it she also realised that there was less weight, as if something heavy had been removed from her head. Absent-mindedly she put her hand to stroke her long raven hair, only to discover it had artfully been cut and shaped into a bob.

"That's odd. I have almost waist length hair." She said thinking. A thought rose from the foggy hazy mind. "How silly. Oh course! I had it cut especially for this interview. I wanted a look that would stop my hair getting in the way when I suck c...No, I had it cut to look professional. Yes, yes, that's it. I had it cut short to look professional. Now where did I go for the new look?" Out of the haze Traci struggled to pin down the salon, or even the town she went to especially. From the mist, her thoughts could just discern a team of beauticians cutting her hair and..."Yes, what the hell. I remember I asked them to sort out my bikini line whilst they were there too". The soft vibrations of the Love Egg seemed to validate her thoughts.

With the clock reaching the hour, she pressed the start button on her desk and commenced the examination.

...

Traci became aware of the examination room as she reached the end of the paper. About to sip her cup of untouched tea, Traci felt she tasted something salty. Putting her hand to her mouth, she felt some sort of gel or something on her lips. Sucking her fingers clean, she felt her jaw aching slightly. She rubbed it and wondered what she must have been eating before coming here to-day.

Extracting a tissue from her jacket pocket, she noted that the lapels, and even some of her blouse had been wetted by the same sort of gel. "What an unprofessional mess!"

The Inquisitor appeared on the stage again. "Everyone cease. The examination is concluded. Await your invigilators for your departure."

Traci took the opportunity of finishing off the delicious tea. She looked around. The girls either side of her were sat, gently rocking in their chairs, eyes closed, and groans escaping lips that Traci yearned to kiss. Being attracted to watch, Traci did not realise that she had begun to also rock gently, until she felt pleasure grow and vibration increase.

...

"Come this way." Wai Lynn broke through Traci's state. "Goodness. Sorry. My mind has been wandering off so much to-day. It must be my nerves."

"It must be", replied Wai Lynn, motioning Traci to follow. Other candidates were leaving. Traci noted some held gold coloured eye-masks. Suddenly, from the stage, the inquisitor shouted an instruction "deploy masks". Traci, not having any mask looked to those who had.

As each turned to look as if to Traci, they donned their masks and instantly disappeared from Traci's perception.

Back in the lobby, Lulu Chu greeted Traci. As Traci followed the shapely swell of Lulu's swaying bum, Traci was grateful that she had decided to change her shoes from professional looking flats to vertiginous high heels that morning, and to make her even more professional, had opted for a micro skirt to ride across her own shapely bum, rather than wear that awful pencil skirt.

"What do you think of the artwork, Ms. Lord?" Said Lulu, pointing to the lobby art she had shown Traci earlier (art of shadowed individuals wearing gold eye-masks.)

"What art? These are just blank panels", replied the assured Traci, enjoying the movement of the Love Egg as they both re-entered the lift. Lulu smiled the smile of success. Traci no longer perceived anyone wearing gold eye-masks. Lulu activated her tiny microphone, "Mistress, examination a success. I repeated examination a success".

As the lift doors drew closed, Lulu donned her gold eye-mask and pulled Traci to her.

Next part: the interview.

[milkoomi]

a guide on becoming an academic weapon. ᥫ᭡

being an academic weapon is one of the top goals for a lot of us. we strive for excellence and hope to achieve top marks in all our classes so that we can continue to reach whatever it is that may be our final goal like getting into a top university, graduating as valedictorian, or getting into the career of our dreams. this guide will be about all the habits of an academic weapon and what tools & methods you can incorporate into your study/school routine!

let’s begin …

୨ৎ — lecture preperation

pre-reading chapters/lecture powerpoints

skim through chapters, make note of important headings, highlight key terms! if you can, look through any powerpoints that will be used for lecture notes as well!

jot down quick notes like vocab terms, key pieces of information, and/or any questions on topics you want to understand further!

read chapter summaries & highlight important headings

set up your notes

if you like to use different note-taking methods, try setting up your pages beforehand! this will take up less time while in class and you’ll come in already prepared to take any notes!

i have a post on note-taking here on my blog that you can refer to for a few different note-taking methods!

begin homework assignments

my professor will publish homework assignments on sunday mornings for each week that we’re learning new material, so if your teacher does something similar or you’re taking an all-online course, start by working ahead on those homework assignments!

getting a head start can …

help with having a better understanding of the material by the time of your lecture

help you apply the knowledge you learned from the assignments into your lecture

help you come up with questions for better comprehension of the topics

help you manage your time better

reduce your work load later on

start creating flashcards

if you’re required to know key terms/vocab, start creating flashcards ahead of time! this will help you get familiar with the vocabulary that’s related to the material and will jumpstart that increase in understanding of what’s to come in your lecture or any required readings!

୨ৎ — smart studying

we’re always told to “work smarter, not harder” and i believe that doing so can help you achieve success more quickly and efficiently! while it’s great to dedicate a lot of time to your studies, it’s not always optimal. spending hours upon hours working with no breaks in between and forgetting to take care of yourself can lead to burn out, so it’s important to find ways to study that not only help you study more efficiently but also work with your learning type!

trial periods

there are a plethora of study methods out there that you can try out to see which ones work the best for you!

posts with study methods ( + how-to’s ) …

how to study effectively - @milkoomi

non-basic study techniques - @glowettee [ this post is PHENOMENAL! mindy includes so many unique study methods— some that she created herself! — that give an entirely new way to study & learn material! 100/10 recommend reading through this! ]

take some time each week to try out a new study method while still incorporating techniques you’re used to! pick one study method for the week & test it out at the start of your study time slot.

trying out new methods/techniques also help with keeping your study routine fresh and it creates a bigger study arsenal for yourself! having multiple ways of studying just means having a variety of ways to learn the material! every method has its benefits, some will help with memorization while others can help with better comprehension!

pick your big 3

amongst all the different study methods out there, you should pick your top 3 techniques that help you the most! they’ll be your ultimate go-to study methods!

factors to think about for your big 3 …

how much time does the method/technique take?

what is your success rate with the method/technique?

how easy was it for you to incorporate the method/technique into your study routine?

your big 3 study methods should help with maximizing your productivity time, help you achieve your desired grades, & be within your limits while studying, meaning it shouldn’t make you feel like you’re stretching yourself thin because, again, we need to study smarter, not harder!

my personal big 3:

Feynman Technique - teaching others

active recall - practice questions & flashcards

knowledge application - making real life connections

textbook tests

i feel like a lot of us view textbooks as these giant, daunting bricks we’re forced to lug around, but they’re required material for a reason! they’re more than just a giant book of “boring” chapters!

a lot of textbooks have mini assessments at the end of every chapter, so take some time to do them! they’re just practice tests and they’ll be extremely useful for active recall (plus, you don’t have to worry about creating your own practice questions!)

୨ৎ — change your mindset

being an academic weapon means having the mindset of an academic weapon. the way you think and feel about your schooling plays a huge role in this!

“i have to” to “i get to”

treating your academics and studies as if they’re chores will make you lose your motivation and passion for learning. getting to have an education is a privilege and i feel like a lot of us forget that. be thankful that you get to pursue an academic career and get the chance to further your education! instead of “i have to study” say, “i get to study”!

getting an education is a beautiful opportunity in life, so practice gratitude when it comes to learning!

self care

i will always advocate for self care because you can’t do your best when you aren’t at your best. being an academic weapon doesn’t mean throwing your entire life away or setting your health to the side to solely focus on your studies. going to the extremes for your academics shouldn’t be normalized.

you don’t need to pull all-nighters every other day to study, you don’t need to work/study for 14 hours, you don’t need to harshly motivate yourself to get back to studying— you need to treat yourself kindly and shoe yourself gentle care.

get enough sleep

shower, do skincare, brush your teeth

keep yourself hydrated & well-fed

get your body moving

make time for your hobbies & things that make you happy

remember to take breaks when your mind & body needs them

don’t sacrifice your well-being to get ahead on your road to success. you’ll only bring yourself farther behind if you neglect your health.

final notes —

becoming an academic weapon is 60% mindset, 40% work ethic. you have to motivate yourself to give your best work, but! you have to take care of your mind and body before you even think about giving your best work. be kind to yourself, affirm yourself that you can do this! you are more than capable of achieving academic success!

the work you put in as an academic weapon has to be work you’re proud of. be sure that you’re using your time wisely, that you free yourself from distractions while studying, that you give yourself enough time to get work done (and take breaks & do something for yourself!), and that you always give it your all when you’re completing assignments, writing notes, or studying.

i know that you’ll be able to truly be an academic weapon! you have what it takes! you just have to remind yourself of your own potential.

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

[glowup-princess]

ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʙʟᴀɪʀ ᴡᴀʟᴅᴏʀꜰ

 1. Curate a Luxurious Study Environment

Choose a study space that feels sophisticated and clean. Think: a home library, a perfectly organized desk, or a favorite spot at a chic café. 

Add luxury touches like scented candles, fresh flowers, and soft, ambient lighting. Blair would never settle for clutter!

 2. Dress Like a Queen Bee

Elevate your look: Blair never slouches in sweats. Choose something stylish yet comfortable, like a cashmere sweater, tailored loungewear, or a polished blouse.

Accessorize with a headband, stud earrings, or a delicate necklace for an effortless, put-together vibe.

 3. Create a Glamorous Study Kit

Invest in elegant stationery: monogrammed notebooks, gold or pastel pens, and highlighters that match your aesthetic.

Use a structured planner or journal to organize your day (bonus points for color-coded to-do lists).

 4. Organize Tasks with Precision

Start by writing out a prioritized to-do list. Divide tasks into categories: "Must Do Today," "Can Wait," and "Bonus Goals."

Break larger projects into manageable sections with clear deadlines for each step.

 5. Schedule Study Blocks

Use a time management method like the Pomodoro Technique (25 minutes of focused work, 5-minute breaks).

During study blocks, turn off distractions (silence your phone, close unnecessary tabs) and commit to full focus.

 6. Use Blair-Worthy Study Techniques

Flashcards: Memorize concepts efficiently and quiz yourself.

Active Note-Taking: Rewrite your notes in a neat, organized manner, summarizing key points.

Study Groups: Engage in intellectual debates or discussions to solidify your understanding. If solo, practice explaining topics out loud.

 7. Stay Energized with Elegant Snacks

Blair wouldn’t snack on junk food. Choose something light and upscale:

Green tea, sparkling water, or artisanal coffee.

A small bowl of mixed nuts, fresh fruit, or dark chocolate.

 8. Refresh with Chic Breaks

Use breaks to pamper yourself or recharge:

Apply a hydrating face mask or spritz facial mist.

Do a quick yoga stretch or go for a short walk.

Play soft classical music or a calming playlist to reset.

 9. Set Ambitious Yet Realistic Goals

Keep your eyes on the prize. Blair's motivator was visualizing success. Remember why you're working hard, whether it’s a test or a career goal.

Reward milestones: Treat yourself after completing major tasks, like indulging in an episode of your favorite show or a mini shopping spree.

 10. End with Reflection and Gratitude

Review your accomplishments for the day. Check off completed tasks and organize any unfinished ones for tomorrow.

Tidy your study space to maintain a sense of order.

Wrap up with positive affirmations: "I am capable," or Blair's energy: "I’m the best, and I know it."

Take care of yourself <3

pt.2?

Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3

[beegalactica]

How to be an A* Student in 2025

2025 is the year of THE academic comeback, but it's not just a comeback, it's a full academic GLOW UP. The best part about these tips is that this is not meant to be short-term, this is meant to help you create long-term hot girl habits that will help you year after year after year.

Imagine being a student is like training in the gym: if you want to see long-lasting results, you don't go to the gym for a while and then drop off and get lazy, so why do we see studying as a long-term chore, when it's a long-term privilege?

So many people worldwide dream of having an education, but do we really want to waste it all by scrolling on social media and rotting in bed? I don't think so.

Get organised: Get your notes in order. Turn a subject topic into a cheat sheet or revision booklet. Update your notes after each class. Get your homework out of the way as soon as possible. Create a list of all your topics for each class and rate each topic Red/Orange/Green based on how confident you feel - when it's time to study, start with the red topics.

Create a schedule: If you like things being super organised down to the last detail, try time-blocking and schedule specific time slots to complete your tasks. If you like being more flexible and fluid, set subjects to focus on each day and write a rough to-do list (I set one main task per subject). Make sure you do the subjects that you hate more than you do the ones you like, revising is meant to be uncomfortable, that's how you train your brain and overcome challenges.

Stick to it: Use the Pomodoro technique if you struggle to sit down and start. Start on a 5-minute break to train your brain to slowly stop what you're doing and get started. I would recommend 25/5 repetitions but if you're like me and can deep work for hours with full concentration, do what works best for you but do not end up working for hours without breaks or water. Make sure you take breaks to move around, hydrate and rest your brain and eyes.

Just sit down to start: if you really struggle with procrastination, set up all your work, put your phone away, and just stare at your work - that always gets me to start working because I get bored.

Prioritise long-term gains: Top students focus on studying little and often rather than cramming the night before. This can be 1 hour a day for 5 days prepping for a test vs 5 hours the night before. If you have a period where you don't have any tests right then, but you know you have a long-term exam coming forward, why not spend just 15 minutes to make sure your notes are organised? Always think about the big picture. The topic might not be the most important thing right now, but you know it will be important in the final exam, so if you have some downtime, why not make sure you're confident in it?

Work-life balance: Whilst it's good to be an academic weapon, your social life doesn't have to suffer at the same time. This is why scheduling is so important - it helps you utilise your time efficiently, and limit how much time you waste trying to decide what to study, so you can have more time to spend on things you love. Dedicate 1 hour a day to something you love to do and make sure you do it!

Find what works for you: Experiment with different techniques. Just because one technique works for one subject doesn't mean it will work for another. Just because it works for even just one topic doesn't mean it will work for another. Don't be afraid to switch things up and curate your study habits to suit your tastes. Always remember - the only person it has to make sense for is YOU.

Let me know if you would like more tips or a more in-depth explanation about any of these! I am really passionate not only about education but also about how we can all harness it to become well-rounded people. I have also been a straight A/A* student my whole life so I have many tips to share!

[bloomzone]

𝟐𝟎 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 !

February is coming and we’re starting small but strong with this one 📢. This challenge may seem easy at first glance y'all but it requires discipline and consistency—and that’s exactly what we need to build.I cut out my 75 Hard Challenge because it was too intense, and I wasn’t motivated enough cuz I fall into a long slump after final exams. Instead of pushing too hard and burning out, let’s start smart and stay consistent. It’s a new semester, the perfect time to get organized, rebuild momentum, and create productive habits that will actually stick.

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟏: 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 & 𝐎𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

1️⃣ Set Your Goals – Write down 3 major goals for the next 20 days.

2️⃣ Declutter Your Space – Clean your desk, room, or digital space.

3️⃣ Create a To-Do List System – Use a planner or an app to track tasks.

4️⃣ Wake Up Earlier – Adjust your routine to start the day productively. [ I will cb from 5:30 am to 5:00 am ]

5️⃣ Time Blocking – Plan your day with specific time slots for tasks.

6️⃣ Limit Social Media – Set app usage limits to avoid distractions.

7️⃣ Plan Your Week Ahead – Outline key tasks for the upcoming week.

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟐: 𝐅𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 & 𝐃𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤

8️⃣ Start with the Hardest Task – Tackle the most challenging task first.

9️⃣ Use the Pomodoro Technique – Work for 25 minutes, then take a 5-minute break.

🔟 Practice Mindfulness – Take 5 minutes to meditate or do deep breathing.

1️⃣1️⃣ Eliminate Distractions – Turn off notifications and find a quiet space.

1️⃣2️⃣ Learn Something New – Spend 30 minutes reading or watching an educational video.

1️⃣3️⃣ Improve Your Note-Taking – Organize class or work notes efficiently.

1️⃣4️⃣ Do a Digital Detox – Avoid unnecessary screen time for a few hours.

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟑: 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 & 𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐭𝐡

1️⃣5️⃣ Exercise for Energy – Do a quick workout or stretch session.

1️⃣6️⃣ Hydrate & Eat Well – Focus on drinking enough water and eating nutritious meals.

1️⃣7️⃣ Reflect on Your Progress – Journal about what’s working and what’s not.

1️⃣8️⃣ Sleep Better – Set a proper bedtime and avoid screens before sleeping.

1️⃣9️⃣ Organize Your Thoughts – Write down your ideas, worries, or creative plans.

2️⃣0️⃣ Celebrate Your Success – Reward yourself for completing the challenge ! and set another one for next week that can be more challenging than this one

@bloomzone

[poemsfor-her]

STUDY TECHNIQUES FOR YOU ✧ ⋆ . ˚

I. PARKINSON'S LAW

— Parkinson's Law states that work expands to fill the time available for it's completion. In a study context, this principle suggests that setting deadlines and time constraints can help you stay focused and complete tasks efficiently.

II. FEYNMAN TECHNIQUE

— Named after physicist Richard Feyman, this technique involves simplyfying and explaining complex topics as if you were teaching them to someone else. This process helps you identify gaps in your understanding and reinforces your knowledge.

III. BLURTING

— Blurting, or active recall, is a studying techinque where you try to remember key concepts or facts without looking at your notes or textbooks. This helps strengthen your memory and retrieval skills.

IV. ENERGY CYCLES

— Energy cycles refer to understanding your own energy levels and working in alignment with your natural rhytms. Some people are more productive in the morning, while others excel in the evening. By scheduling tasks accordingly, you can optimize your productivity and focus.

V. SECOND BRAIN

— The concept of a "second brain" often refers to using external tools like note-taking apps or digital resources to store and organize information. This frees up your mental capacity and enhaces your ability recall and apply knowledge.

VI. SPACED REPETITION

— Spaced repatition is a learning method that involves reviewing information at increasing intervals over time. It's designed to help you remember and retain information more effectively by revising it just before you're likely to forget it.

i looooove the feynman technique soo much! it makes learning fun :)

with love, t

[rottenpumpkin13]

Angeal, please take Sephiroth to Midgar Burger PLEASE!! He deserves it.

Who can deny this expression!

Pleaseeeeeeeeee

List of Things Sephiroth Has Been Overheard Saying at Midgar Burger - Compiled by Angeal Hewley

• "...beesechurger." *visible internal crisis after stumbling over the word cheeseburger*

• "Why do they call it a Happy Meal when it brings no measurable increase in serotonin?"

• "The meat to bun ratio is unsound."

• "That child has been screaming for 8 minutes and 43 seconds. Their guardian remains unconcerned. That is abuse."

• "The plant in the corner is plastic. I find this deceptive."

• *observing someone with many sauce packets* "That man's hoarding suggests previous sauce shortages."

• "The children in the play area are displaying impressive tactical abilities. That one has established a defensive position in the ball pit."

• *watching someone struggle with the soda machine* "One's thirst cannot be quenched without struggle."

• "This table is sticky, which is a biohazard."

• "They claim these are 'bottomless' fries, yet I clearly see the bottom of the container. False advertising."

• *watching drive-thru* "Their vehicle organization system is more efficient than some military operations I've witnessed."

• *staring out the window* "There appears to be a small colony of pigeons establishing dominance over the parking lot."

• *attempting to use touch screen kiosk* "This machine offends me by refusing to acknowledge my finger inputs."

• *analyzing the toy cat that came with the happy meal* "How precious."

• "The straws are not strategically reinforced for optimal liquid transfer."

• "Their security camera has been focused on that empty corner for three hours. It knows something we don't."

• *looking at promotional poster *"Why is this cartoon burger mascot smiling? It's about to be consumed."

• "The ice cream machine is broken again. This cannot be coincidence. I sense sabotage."

• "That man has been trying to connect to the WiFi for 15 minutes. His persistence is admirable but futile."

• "The breakfast menu ends at 10:30. Time restrictions on eggs are a scam."

• "Their 'fresh' lettuce is two days old. I can tell."

• *staring at self in reflective napkin dispenser* "My hair looks acceptable."

• "That family's toddler has escaped containment for the third time. Their evasion techniques are noteworthy. We should take notes."

• "The ketchup packets require too much force. This is a design flaw."

• "That employee's name tag is crooked by 3 degrees. It's bothering me."

• *With his mouth full of burger, chewing* "I appear to have miscalculated the optimal bite radius."

[hallucinateonpaperspines]

if Ashley's for some reasons ever mentions/explains some human torture methods what would the cons thing of it ? Like are we more brutal then them ?

Well... this get dark. FBI Agent, I'm a writer I promise! This is all hypothetical! There is worse out here in the internet wilds!!!

I think for the most part, it's a game of orange-and-blue morality for a bit. There are things the Decepticons pull (Shockwave just existing) that immediately make human prosecutors start prepping the war crime cases and some things that humans do make the cons pause for a minute. At the same time, certain things the cons do, while horrible, just make humans nod because of course they would do that, and most human torture techniques just don't translate well to Cybertronian biology.

Like, the Decepticons would do things that are definitely against the Geneva Convention (and I think they would find our concept of a Geneva Convention laughable) so they would shrug off a lot of similar precedents humans have. Removing limbs, sensory depravation, experimentation, and electrocution are all familiar concepts so it is just a shrug of shoulders and a "why not?" attitude.

And then they look deeper.

In my mind, Cybertronians above all are efficient. Unless it's personal, or you are with someone who has a truly skewed brain module (Yes, Airachnid I am looking at you) the point of torture is to get information as fast as possible. Tortured to death, unless it's an accident, isn't efficient.

Humans, unfortunately, don't always care about efficiency.

They see the Human Centipede and the Terrifier, and bots are praying to primus like they've never done it before. It's entertainment, its art to mankind and it is some of the most protective vomit-worthy levels of shit they've ever seen. They see the Jigsaw franchise and Shockwave is joining discords and emailing directors to get notes.

It's fictional. It's fake. It's an unhinged level of creativity completely separated from ethics and morals, or in some cases leveraging those ideas to better stamp in some emotional torment. It's not just physically taking apart a victim, or trying to manipulate them mentally; it's full-on destruction. Complete evisceration performed in the name of delusional curiosity, sadistic glee, or self-righteous theatrics.

But, again, it's all fake! So what does it matter? Soundwaves says to himself as he bans any vore content from the Nemesis' servers and scrubs his drives

And then someone brings up Vlad the Impaler.

Imagine the horror as it just clicks. While Cybertronains may not produce excrement, they do have scraplets, so the concept of leaving someone in a tub to slowly rot or forcing rats to dig through bodies just sings a song of pain they are vulnerable to. Of slowly dying in a painful, inevitable method that's meant to leave a lasting mark.

And then a human starts thinking.

Art isn't efficient, but a masterpiece is never meant to be so mere as efficient.

Why not remove t-cogs? the element that helps these creatures transform, a crucible of their identity and self-worth?

Wait, that's not meant to be torture, that's just containment.

No. Torture is using small limbs to unwind and peel back layers of wiring. Torture is leaving portions of a frame to decay and rust, poking at the open wound, and flinging acid inside. Torture is pulling limbs off and reattaching them only to do it again. Torture is removing optics and turning sensors to maximum sensitivity before turning them off again.

Torture is taking those old methods and being creative enough to apply them on a blank canvas with new rules and no precedents.

The issue is not our brutality, it is our cruelty and creativity. And that's something that even the most vile Decepticon can respect.

They might even help you find a new muse, or canvas, to practice with.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing a main character who’s a bartender… except I’m a minor with zero experience on alcohol or bars/bartending etc

Do you have any resources that could help me out?

Thanks so much, I love your blog !!!

Writing Notes: Bartender

Bartender - specializes in the art of mixing and serving alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages in bars, restaurants, hotels, or other establishments.

In addition to mixing drinks, bartenders also play an important role in providing excellent customer service.

They engage with customers,

take drink orders,

suggest beverage options, and

create a welcoming and enjoyable atmosphere.

Bartenders must have good communication and interpersonal skills to interact with customers of diverse backgrounds and handle various situations that may arise during their shift.

They may also be responsible for managing the bar area,

ensuring cleanliness,

organizing supplies, and

handling cash transactions.

Types of Bartenders

There are various types of bartenders, each specializing in different areas of the hospitality industry. Here are a few common types:

Mixologists: Highly skilled bartenders who focus on creating innovative and artfully crafted cocktails. They have an extensive knowledge of ingredients, flavor combinations, and mixology techniques to design unique and visually appealing drinks.

Flair Bartenders: Known for their entertaining and acrobatic style of bartending. They incorporate flair techniques such as juggling bottles, performing tricks with bar tools, and creating visually captivating presentations while preparing drinks.

Craft Beer Bartenders: Have a deep understanding of the craft beer industry. They are familiar with various beer styles, brewing processes, and flavor profiles. They assist customers in selecting beers, provide recommendations, and may curate a rotating selection of craft beers on tap.

Tiki Bartenders: Specialize in crafting tropical and exotic cocktails associated with tiki culture. They are skilled in using unique ingredients, tropical fruits, and elaborate garnishes to create visually striking and flavorful drinks.

Hotel/Resort Bartenders: Cater to guests' needs, providing a range of beverages and maintaining high standards of customer service. They may specialize in classic cocktails, signature drinks, or be responsible for managing bars in various areas of the hotel.

Common Personality Traits of Bartenders

Based on a survey of 19,176 bartenders:

They are enterprising and conventional (according to the Holland Codes)

Bartenders tend to be predominantly enterprising individuals, which means that they are usually quite natural leaders who thrive at influencing and persuading others.

They also tend to be conventional, meaning that they are usually detail-oriented and organized, and like working in a structured environment.

They have high levels of extraversion and openness (according to the Big Five)

Bartenders score highly on extraversion, meaning that they rely on external stimuli to be happy, such as people or exciting surroundings.

They also tend to be high on the measure of openness, which means they are usually curious, imaginative, and value variety.

The Workplace

The workplace of a bartender can vary depending on the establishment they work in. Bartenders can be found in a range of settings, including:

bars,

pubs,

nightclubs,

hotels,

restaurants,

resorts, and even

cruise ships.

A typical bar environment consists of a well-equipped bar counter with a variety of spirits, mixers, and bar tools.

The bar area is usually designed to be functional and efficient, with shelves or cabinets to store bottles, refrigeration units for chilling beverages, and sinks for washing glassware.

Bartenders have access to a wide array of ingredients, garnishes, and utensils needed to prepare drinks.

The atmosphere within a bar can vary significantly.

Some establishments may have a lively and bustling atmosphere, especially during peak hours or on weekends, with music playing and customers engaged in conversations.

In contrast, other bars may have a more relaxed and intimate setting, catering to a specific clientele or offering a more sophisticated ambiance.

Bartenders often work as part of a team, collaborating with barbacks, servers, and other staff members to ensure smooth operations. Communication and coordination are essential, as they need to relay orders, share responsibilities, and support each other as needed.

Some previous related posts:

Cocktails ⚜ Literary & Hollywood Cocktails ⚜ Liqueurs

Mixology Tools & Popular Cocktails ⚜ Wine Terminology

Whiskey ⚜ Describing Intoxicated Customers

Words related to Drinking

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Glad to hear, thank you! Sounds like a challenge, but could be quite fun. Choose which of these details you would like to incorporate in your story. For more on the actual drinks, tools, other terms used, and possible behaviour of customers when they become intoxicated, I included some links to older posts. And you can find further information in the sources. All the best with your writing!