#Team Building Tools

[lifes-little-corner]

Empower Your Team with These Collaboration Tools: 9 Essential Softwares for Team Building

In the current epoch of rapid remote work, achieving team goals hinges on effective collaboration. Alarmingly, 86% of the workforce identifies lack of collaboration as a major threat to success. For entities to excel, they are impelled to employ avant-garde collaboration tools facilitating fluid communication, file sharing, task management, and productivity. Key Takeaways Effective collaboration…

[vampiremourning]

anyway as soon as i pry myself off this couch im gonna share some screenshots of bg3 protags on my sideblog. just gotta like. reach the desk first.

[jenkinsknope]

.

[tyrannuspitch]

it's worth sitting down and remembering now and then how cool books are. like why am i crying it's literally just words

[unitedstatesrei]

Automate, Elevate, and Build a Business That Works for You with Caroline Hobbs

Key Takeaways Automating systems and setting clear expectations are the keys to building a scalable, sustainable business. Agents should start with their personal sphere and consistently ask for the business without fear. Leveraging AI and SOPs empowers agents to save time and focus on income-producing tasks. United States Real Estate Investor The REI Agent with Caroline Hobbs https://youtu.be/rpR6yoX4TIg Follow and subscribe to The REI Agent on social Facebook Instagram Youtube .cls-1fill:#fff; Linkedin X-twitter United States Real Estate Investor It's time to have an investor-friendly agent on your team! It's time to have an investor-friendly agent on your team! United States Real Estate Investor From Open Houses to Ownership: Caroline Hobbs’ Rise to Real Estate Mastery In this eye-opening episode of The REI Agent Podcast, Mattias hosts the extraordinary Caroline Hobbs, a powerhouse in real estate, tech, and team building. While Erica is out for physical therapy, Mattias flies solo to spotlight a woman whose story screams resilience, vision, and innovation. Caroline isn’t just a top-producing agent. She’s the founder of Reward Realty, one of California’s youngest-ever brokers, and the brain behind a revolutionary real estate CRM that’s changing how agents work nationwide. “I graduated college in 2009—arguably the worst time in history to try and get a job in finance.” Her story begins with inherited wisdom. As a third-generation real estate expert, Caroline was practically born to build an empire. What started with open houses during college soon transformed into a thriving brokerage, and eventually, a pioneering tech company designed for agents by an agent. Starting Young, Going Big: The Journey of a 21-Year-Old Broker Caroline doesn’t just talk the talk—she’s lived every part of it. At just 21, she became a licensed broker, stepping into an industry most were fleeing during the housing crash. Her mentor, a Keller Williams legend with over 10,000 contacts in her database, gave Caroline the tactical experience to thrive in chaos. “I was probably the youngest broker in the state for a while… because I graduated early and the experience rule hadn’t kicked in yet.” That early exposure to system-building and data management laid the foundation for something bigger: leading her own team, then creating a platform that helps others do the same, faster, smarter, and more profitably. Real Brokerage, Real Growth, Real Results Fast forward to today, Caroline’s team under Real Brokerage has grown from 4 to 9 agents in just four months. Her secret? Monthly masterminds, relentless expectation setting, and systems that allow every team member to build sustainably. “We teach people how to treat us—but we also set the expectations for our clients, our team, and our business.” She’s not just closing deals. She’s mentoring minds and building leaders. From showings to SOPs, Caroline’s influence runs deep in every aspect of her operation. She reminds us that real leadership is built on communication, follow-through, and vision. The Software That’s Reshaping the Agent's Life Caroline’s CRM isn’t just another shiny object, it’s a full-stack assistant that reads documents, transcribes calls, tracks deadlines, and automates client communication. “We help agents build out their SOPs, automate their transactions, and create time-saving systems that actually serve them.” With integrations into DocuSign, Dropbox, Fellow, and custom pipelines, it’s a plug-and-play system that frees up time for what matters: serving people. The CRM even uses AI to summarize phone calls, schedule follow-ups, and trigger marketing automations. It’s the very definition of working smarter, not harder. Train Like a Pro with Caroline’s AI Roleplay Coach Caroline also created a custom GPT tool for her team that roleplays lead conversations, provides feedback, and trains agents on how to confidently convert calls into clients. “It gives them

real-time feedback on what they did well and how they can improve—and it’s trained with Tom Ferry and Phil Jones language.” New agents use it daily to sharpen their skills before ever picking up a phone. She understands that the biggest gaps in success are often confidence and preparation, and she’s built tools to bridge both. Want More Deals? Ask for the Business. When Mattias asked Caroline for one golden nugget for new agents, she didn’t flinch. “Start with your sphere and ask for the business. Don’t be shy to say, ‘Do you know anyone looking to buy or sell?’” Her advice is refreshingly practical—start face-to-face, lean on your community, and build your skills over time. AI and automation are tools, but relationships and reputation are still the foundation. Final Words of Wisdom from a Trailblazer To close out the episode, Caroline recommends the game-changing book Buy Back Your Time by Dan Martell. “You should be out making the sales, not buried in paperwork. Automate and delegate everything else.” From strategy to software to soul, Caroline Hobbs embodies what The REI Agent is all about: building wealth while staying aligned with who you are and what matters most. Want to work smarter, lead better, and live bolder? Start by asking better questions. Caroline did, and it changed everything. Stay tuned for more inspiring stories on The REI Agent podcast, your go-to source for insights, inspiration, and strategies from top agents and investors who are living their best lives through real estate. For more content and episodes, visit reiagent.com. United States Real Estate Investor Create healing and connection within yourself, your family, and your community. Create healing and connection within yourself, your family, and your community. United States Real Estate Investor Contact Caroline Hobbs Reward Realty Linktree United States Real Estate Investor Mentioned References Buy Back Your Time by Dan Martell Tom Ferry Phil Jones Real Brokerage Google Forms ChatGPT United States Real Estate Investor Transcript Welcome to the REI Agent, a holistic approach to life through real estate. I'm Mattias, an agent and investor. And I'm Erica, a licensed therapist. Join us as we interview guests that also strive to live bold and fulfilled lives through business and real estate investing. Tune in every week for interviews with real estate agents and investors. Ready to level up? Let's do it. Welcome back to the REI Agent. It's your friendly local neighborhood real estate agent podcast host, Mattias, an investor. We are not, we don't have Erica with us today. So unfortunately, she had to go to PT. So we will hopefully have her here on the next one. But we did have a great guest today, Caroline Hobbs. Caroline is a team lead. She's an experienced agent, broker, and now a software owner. She has a CRM that she sells that has a lot of automations and stuff built in. It's pretty cool. So definitely check out the show notes if you are interested in hearing more about that. She can, you can see where, you know, in her link tree what all is available. I think that in this business, there's a lot of shiny objects. There's a lot of people that are trying to kind of get your money and can be distracting. Sometimes we get focused or persuaded into something. It could be changing brokerages. It could be, you know, this new tool that's fun. It could be a new system. I'm certainly guilty of this stuff. But I think at the end of the day, if you are focused on providing your clients with consistent, clear communication and you're setting expectations, you're going to do really well. So if you focus on those as the core tenement, and if you are building out systems and processes that help enhance that, I think that's what's really key in business that you already have. That's not necessarily something that will help you gain more business, other than people might rave about your services because they felt like they were taken care of the whole time.

So no matter what you do in this business, no matter what kind of things that you look into, because I think, you know, systems and processes and software, AI, all that stuff can be incredibly powerful. Just don't lose sight of what's really important when you are interacting with your clients. I think that's the key there. But without further ado, I'm going to keep this one short. We're going to go right into Caroline Hobbs. She, again, is out of the Silicon Valley area. She is an experienced agent. She may have been, and she talks about this, the youngest broker in the whole state of California for a couple months. So without further ado, Caroline Hobbs. Welcome back to the REI Agent. I am here with Caroline Hobbs. Caroline, thanks so much for joining us today. Thanks for having me. Hey, Caroline, you got a couple different hats. You have been an agent for a while. You've now team lead and you own a software company, correct? Correct. Yeah, awesome. To get started, I want to dive into all this different stuff, but let's get started by just kind of hearing how you got into real estate to begin with. Yeah, definitely. So I am third generation in real estate. So you could kind of say that I was born into it. My grandfather used to flip properties. He was a contractor. And after my mom graduated college, he encouraged her to go on and get her real estate license, which she did. She worked for Fieldstone down in Southern California, selling new homes for years and years, and eventually moved over to the lending side of things. While I was in college, I got a part-time job. I had no intention of going into real estate, as I have my degree in finance, but got a job hosting open houses for a realtor in Palo Alto and decided that I liked it. So shortly after graduation, I got my broker's license and a few years after that, started my independent brokerage. Nice. Wow, that's awesome. So you jumped right into starting your own brokerage, not just a new team. You went right into being your own broker. Well, so the realtor that trained me, just to give you a little bit of perspective, I started working for her in 2008, 2007, something around right there, and right at the heat of the crash as the market was crumbling. I graduated college. You needed to get into it. I graduated college in 2009, which is basically the worst time in history to try and get a job in finance. I was still working with the agent that trained me, and honestly, I couldn't have asked for a better mentor. The woman who I got to work with, she was internationally ranked as the top-selling agent in all of Keller Williams. She had a database at the time of over 10,000 people, which this is before people used databases. So I was hosting her open houses. I was organizing all of her clients in her database. I got a lot of really tactical, hands-on experience for how to manage contacts, how to stir the pot and turn that into actual business. So I worked with her for the first five, six years of my career, and then I was teaching a lot of classes at Keller Williams. I went off. I became an independent agent with them, but ultimately, I felt like my time was being pulled in multiple directions with being in the bigger office and having my broker's license. I felt confident that I could do it, and so I started Reward Realty in 2011. And I started that in 2013, and I ran it as an independent for 11 years. Wow. That's awesome. Just real quick before I forget, do you have any fun ways of re-engaging a database of that size that you could share? Honestly, the technologies have changed so much. So the tactics I use today to serve databases like that versus the tactics I used 10 years ago are very different. I am really big on utilizing tags and client types. I'm also pretty big on utilizing pipelines to analyze your business, kind of scoping out a little bit. I think the most important thing is to make sure that your contacts are always properly categorized.

And then when we talk about my software, I can kind of talk about ways that we have built our system to help agents keep those things top priority as they're working in their database. So that way, it's easier to identify those low-hanging fruit. Okay. Yeah, we'll have to get into that. I do want to talk a little bit about team building first. So when you got your brokerage, did you already have agents that were going to join you or were you just kind of at that point going to be a solo broker agent? Or did you hire an admin? What was that process like? For most of the time that I ran my brokerage as an independent, I had just an admin TC and a couple agents with me, like two or three for most of the time. So it was never, I was always the top producing agent. I was in some cases feeding other agents that were with me. Being independent was great. It was really lonely at first because I went from a team in an office environment to being on my own. And so having that assistant really helped with bridging the camaraderie gap and the social gap. And then it's honestly just recently that I really started getting involved more with the associations, the boards, things like that locally. At the time, real estate wasn't trendy to get into because the market was crashing. It was the worst time in real estate. So I was much younger than anybody else in my office or really in the industry that I knew at the time. When I got my broker's license, I had just turned 21. I was 21. Wow. There's a good chance I was probably the youngest broker in the state for a while just because you had to either have a degree in finance or economics or have five years sales person's experience at the time. And since I was younger than everybody in school and I graduated and got my broker's license right away, they changed it a few months later to require the five years experience. But at the time, they didn't have that in place. I was wondering. I think here it's three years of experience. I don't know if we have that finance loophole. There's no loophole anymore. But there was. This is in 2009, so a long time ago. So when you were bringing agents on or when you had a couple of agents, were they just selling independently or were they designated to help you in certain ways like having a showing agent or something like that, listing specialist? I did have one showing agent. The others worked independently. Okay. Yeah. And how's your, you said sales team earlier. How's that structured now? So my sales team has grown a lot. So one year ago, I made the switch from operating my business as an independent to coming on with Real Brokerage as a part of their white label program. So under their white label program, I've been able to grow quite a bit. We have an agent locally that is a huge attractor. And but he doesn't quite have the capacity to give training and things like that to agents. So I started doing monthly masterminds for agents with my lending partners where I kind of take a look at all the different ways that agents generate business, whether we're talking about social interactions, you know, their kids, the parents at their kids schools, whether we're talking about online marketing, purchasing leads, converting leads, whether we're talking about social media, being an influencer, direct mailing, farming, all of these different kind of tried and true, so to speak, ways. We kind of rotate and dive into each of those things on a monthly basis. Usually the trainings are about two to three hours long. And it has grown my team from four of us to nine of us in the past four months. Wow. Now, again, is that structured kind of like you were before? Do you have any designated people helping you directly? Are they all just kind of independent agents that are there to help or to be mentored by you, et cetera, and work together as a team? So we work together as a team. So I help not as much on like the paid lead side, but like I go on listing appointments with my agents and secure the transaction for us.

I've been in this business for so long. I understand the ins and outs and how to problem solve on the spot. There's not much that somebody could throw at me that I wouldn't be able to take a second and give them good guidance on. Not to say that I'm perfect. It's just when you've been in the business almost 16 years and you've been on as many inspections and things like that, you retain it. And I honestly, I live by the mindset that there's always something new to learn with every transaction, with every interaction that we have with people. So I kind of utilize that. Yeah. Cool. Yeah, it definitely helps. And things don't phase you quite as much as they may have in the beginning. A hundred percent. When a problem comes up or whatever, like each time. I kind of remember the first year that really my business really took off, skyrocketed. It also came with a lot of problems. And there was one time where I was just like down. I was just like, you know, kind of overwhelmed and just like, oh my gosh. So many problems, so many issues. And, you know, a good friend of mine kind of took me aside and was trying to give me like a pep talk and all that kind of stuff. But another friend was telling me, you know, whenever this kind of stuff happens, like it's just, you know, once you get past it, like you feel unfazed, like you're going to be unflappable. You're not going to be able to be bothered by little things anymore because you just got through this like really tedious time. But on top of that, the next time something like that happens, it's not as big of a deal. And so like looking back at the things that like phase you at the beginning versus now, just it's kind of, it's almost funny. But you can share that with your team as well if they're not quite as experienced as you. You know what, I tell my team this all the time and I can't say it enough is not only do we teach other people how to treat us, but we also set expectations for our clients, for our team members, for any interactions that we have. And so I feel like as an agent, more than anything else, that is our number one role is setting expectations. Because it's when those expectations are not met that people start getting frantic and they start making emotional choices. And so if you can just stay ahead of that and provide communication, then the problems stop popping up. 100%. There is somebody on here, I think he was an investor actually, but he was talking about how kind of everything boils down to setting clear expectations and communicating effectively. And if you can do those two things, even with your kids, with your family, it's just like, you know, you're a little kid and they're in the middle of a TV show or middle of playing in the park and all of a sudden you're like, we're going, we're leaving, bye. And just rip them out of that. They're going to be pissed. They're going to be very mad. But if you set the expectations that A, you're going to be here for this long and then kind of check in with them, communicate that, you know, 15 minutes, 10 minutes, five minutes, one minute, whatever, and we're going to leave, then that whole process goes a lot more smoothly. And that's the same for, you know, clients. Like if you are proactively communicating throughout the process and, you know, setting the expectations that they're going to get that email, that call, that whatever at this time, they're not going to be anxious. They feel that they're covered. And yeah, so I agree. Agents are the same way though. And I think that's one reason why I've been successful in stepping from, because in a lot of ways I run my team and my downline with Real in the same way that I ran the brokerage. Setting expectations with your agents. I think, you know, let's talk about marketing for example. People think that they're going to send one postcard and suddenly the phone is going to start ringing and everyone is going to be offering them their house to sell. Right.

That's just not how it works. It's stacking those good behaviors every single day to get closer and closer to your goal. And so it's about building that consistency. And so part of my job as a team lead is setting that expectation from the beginning. Okay, you want to start a farm. That's amazing. Let's go ahead and determine the farm. But to be clear, you should not expect anything to turn from this farm for at least the next three to six months. Don't start Google marketing and think that all of a sudden your phone is going to ring off the hook. No, you're going to have to build up that SEO credibility. You're looking at at least six months before you're really starting to get things, the algorithms and everything, getting to know who you are. And so I think that's where a lot of miscommunication goes into it. I think a lot of people are afraid of the truth or they're afraid of rejection if they give somebody the whole truth. And so it's kind of just it goes back to setting those expectations from the beginning. Yeah, that consistency too is huge. I have a house under contract that I've been mailing postcards to that community as a farm for two years, I think. And this is the first actual deal to come from two years. Yeah. And now the result of this sale is great for everything that I've been saying that I'm doing. I did in this deal and we got an amazing above asking price offers that I can now market to that community and just hopefully that will continue to snowball the results from that marketing that I've been doing. But that's hard for people. I mean, that's a lot of money. You know, it's hard to see the forest for the trees. Like if you're spending a lot of money on Google ads, you're spending a lot of money on postcards and nothing's actually come from it. You just feel like, you know, what's the point after a couple months you just spent. So in some ways it's easier to sign a contract or to just send the money to an agency that says, I'm going to commit to this for a year and I'm going to put it up front and it's done. And because you're going to just be spending money pointlessly otherwise, probably. Well, and honestly, I think the same thing goes when you're starting a team as well is people think this is going to be great. I am going to start a team. I'm going to check in with my team and they're going to go off and then I'm going to get a piece of the commission and it's going to be great. Right. Well, starting a team is a huge time investment and time is money. And, you know, I feel like so much of this business is kind of like a chess game and understanding where you move your time and money. And oftentimes I use those synonymously because, you know, we need both. Yeah. Succeed. Yeah, totally. Tell us a little bit about the software now. We were talking a little bit beforehand and how the software you're creating is all about automation and kind of freeing up people's time. So then I'm definitely super interested in. So tell us about what your software does. Well, so something that I have learned in mentoring agents and running the brokerage and going to conferences and meeting people from across the country. Realtors are social beings. Yeah. They are great at meeting people. They're great at forming relationships. They're not good at the back end stuff, but not everyone can afford an assistant. And a lot of people don't have the skill set to really articulate what it is that they're how their process goes, how it's laid out. And the reason is, is they don't have a standard operating procedure for how they transact. They kind of do it on the fly. Yeah. And say, well, every transaction is so unique. But is it because we have the same deadlines? You have the same paperwork that's needed. Hopefully you're getting the same level of customer service to each of your clients. So one thing that I really love about our software, like straight out of the gate from the time that we onboard you is there's several different modules that you go through.

And really what these modules are aimed to do is to build out those SOPs for your listing and buying process from deadlines to communications, to marketing, to gifting. Even we are one of our things is we're really big on building out integrations for all of the different tools and everything that you're using. If you're using something with an open API, our dev teams will actually build a custom integration with that company. We have a priority list based on request, but that's something that we're doing to constantly make our software work better with the tools and everything that agents are already using. We're not trying to... So many of those. Exactly. There is, there is. So for example, we're just finishing a two-way integration with Fellow, which is a home valuation software. And the reason why we're building out a two-way integration with them is they have some really great data enhancement tools where you can look up phone numbers and email addresses and things like that. And it's no, it's not helpful if you get a data enrichment in another software program and then it doesn't update clients in your database. Right. And so we want to make sure that we're working smarter and not harder. So things like that. So we have the transaction management process that is automated as far as deadlines and communications go. We also have an app with DocuSign and a client portal with Dropbox that kind of organizes all of the paperwork for each client as it's completed. And then as far as like the marketing goes, we have some postcard automations set up. We have from the time that people come into the database and that first call is made to them for like your online marketing leads, that call is actually transcribed and sent through chat GPT to determine what type of client it is. Is it a buyer? Is it a seller? Did you set up an appointment on the call? Because if you did, it's going to set the calendar appointment in your system. Nice. If you collect that email address from them over the phone, it's going to save that email address for them in the system so that when you're driving between appointments or at your kid's soccer game and you're taking a call and you don't have a pen and paper and you're like, oh, could you please text me your contact? Yep. You don't have to do that anymore. Just utilizing the smart number in the system will help you collect all that information and make sure that it's setting things off appropriately. So when different types of appointments are made, different types of communications are going to go out as far as reminders or even email communication, preparing them for an inspection. One of my favorite things is once the inspection is complete, the inspection appointment, it's going to send a text to your client saying the inspection is complete. Use the link below to schedule a review of the inspection documents with your agent. And it sends them the next calendar link. So that way you already have your next appointment being booked with your clients to follow up without you having to sit around and wait for it. Nice. So is this a CRM or a plugin to anybody's CRM? It's a CRM. Okay, cool. Although it can sync with other CRMs, it doesn't make sense. Right, you're doubling up. Yeah, cool. Yeah, I like that. It's, there's a lot that, a lot of time people can spend in that, in those rabbit holes of like automating and stuff. And so it is nice when somebody is already creating those for you and kind of setting up a system that they can follow. So that's really cool. Yeah, we, like throughout the onboarding process, they actually order the communications and everything like that. You can actually change the emails that are going to go out. So you get full privileges over that. You can add emails to sequences. And then our software will automatically build those workflows in there for you. Yeah, that's awesome. So I imagine then you would have kind of like a work phone

number that would be integrated with a CRM that then have those automated texts coming from and that you would have like those phone calls, the recording, et cetera, happening through. Yeah, yeah. And so one of the things that I've found in CRM searches and stuff is there seems to be a lot of separation. Like people like prefer maybe to have their personal stuff and their like work stuff separate. And I've kind of always operated off of like, it's all one for me. You know, like all my contacts are just kind of my sphere. So one of the things that I've had to do with some of the CRMs I've worked with is then kind of sync my contacts. And that has to be like through a Zapier or something like that. But that's been one little thing. But I do like the fact that you can have, you could build out, especially if you're doing, I could imagine if you're doing like online lead generation, which is not something I've done much of, that you might feel bombarded with a bunch of people you don't know well. And so like having that separation could be nice until maybe you get them into like that, you know, they're actually an active client. And then, you know, you might use your own phone as well. But yeah, I could see why there's a lot of people that their CRM wants to be very separate from their personal life. I see that. But honestly, I feel like it's a lot misguided. And the reason for that is like those people, those friends and family members are some of your biggest supporters. Oh, absolutely. And sometimes they need reminding that you're an expert in the field that you're in. You're not just the default because you're family. You're default because you're the smartest person they know about real estate. Yeah. You know what I mean? Yeah. And you want them to be shouting your name from the hilltops anytime they hear anybody breathing about moving. Exactly. So for me, like identifying the client type, and we have a lot of automation set up like this, where it's like when you add a lead source, we add it into the workflow, and we say, okay, leads coming from this lead source. What are they? Are they buyers? Are they sellers? Are they so like, for example, we use Google Forms. And so I know that when somebody fills out the buyer Google Form, that they are a buyer. Yeah. And so I think it's just making sure that you're appropriately labeling your contacts. And so, you know, you asked me the question earlier, like, what do you do to stir the pot? Yeah. Well, again, as a part of the onboarding process, and it's available like in our learning center as well as we talk about how to use tags, we talk about how to use the client type, we talk about how to create new opportunities to keep the end filters to be able to find the people that you've communicated with most recently, the newest leads, the how to put them in groups where you know that this is like a warm nurture, like you know that they're going to transact in the next six to 12 months, and they should be on your like bi weekly call list. Right, right. You know. So those are kind of the things that I specify and we use automation to automatically add certain tags when they hit different milestones, so to speak, or have reached out in a certain way. We can automate removal of tags or addition of tags. So that way, we're making sure that our data is constantly staying up to date as well. Yeah, yeah, that's, it's always embarrassing. If, like I have, I have a lender that sends me a happy birthday message every year on the wrong date. And that's why, like, you know, this stuff is great if you have good data, and that's why it's so important to like you have to really work your data, your sphere to make sure that you're getting, you know, you're not doing something like that. Exactly. Yeah. That's cool. What other ways have you used AI to integrate with this system? To integrate into the system. The phone is probably the most impressive right now. The

other ways that we're using it is going to be in reading the transaction documents that part isn't going to be ready for probably the next six months. But we are working on actually being able to extract fields from like the purchase contract and whatnot to update fields in our different transaction files. That's cool. We also use it for, we do have AI like assistance that can help with texting back and things like that when calls come in. It's a last minute, it's like a last ditch effort kind of thing for us to use the AI agents. I prefer human voice. So most of my smart numbers bring to multiple people on my team. Okay. What other ways are we using? I have a market analysis. So I know the smart number thing that you just said to me really quickly, like, so that would, everybody's phone would ring or would it go to like different people at different times? If somebody doesn't answer, then it goes to the next person. I can set it up either way, actually. So that would be round robin. It was going to go around the circle. Um, usually it just rings to everybody all at the same time. So the first person that picks it up, that's my preference because then you don't have somebody sitting on the phone thinking that nobody's going to pick up the phone. Two minutes. Yeah, that makes sense. That's cool. Yeah, that makes sense. And obviously having somebody answer is the best option. Yeah. That's the number that I use on every single marketing piece. If you look on Google, it's going to be my smart number. If you look on anything, um, being a woman in this industry, I stopped putting my phone number out there a little while ago. Sure. Um, and that's been helpful. Yeah, no, that's, that's great. And that's one of the beauties too, of, of having something, uh, a number in a CRM that's not, you know, your personal number. Um, sorry, then I interrupted you about, you were saying something else. Um, I can't remember what it was now. Um, oh, we also use AI for a market analysis each month. So, um, I used a prompt that uses data from like, what's going on with the fed and news and whatnot to, um, help give insight as to the factors that are affecting our local marketplace currently. Oh, that's cool. Yeah. I think, I think, uh, anybody listening to this, that isn't using AI much. Um, I think it's just really important to start, uh, just, I heard somebody say, put a sticky note on your desk that says, how can I have AI do this? Um, or how can I use AI? And, and it's just really about figuring it out. Like if you haven't, you don't even have to figure it out. Ask, ask chat GPT why you're using it. The point is that you have to actually like use it. Like you have to be, uh, constantly trying to engage it because if you're not, then you may not think, oh, oh, this could be done by a chat GPT. Cause like, once you start, you know, using it for more and more things, it just becomes like obvious, like, oh yeah, that's something I'm definitely going to have chat GPT do. Um, my personal favorite right now, uh, this is really small, but one thing that's been pretty impactful is, you know, I have a Mac and Apple intelligence is kind of built in or whatever. Um, what I did was I, uh, made keyboard shortcuts for a proofreading and for a rewriting so that wherever I'm in, in my Mac, um, if I'm writing something, I can just kind of word vomit and just like get something out there that's not that clear, but it has the key points in it and then boom rewrite. And it's perfect. And that can be in a text message or that can be in an email. My email has built an AI too, but, but yeah, it's, that's been, that's been really nice, uh, to just kind of be more effective of a communicator. Cause I think, you know, often through when you're not on the phone, I mean, the way you communicate is very, very key. Absolutely. I, um, one thing that I did for my team is I built a custom Jack, uh, GPT for role playing with them, which is so easy to do.

Honestly, it's not rocket science, but, um, the thing I like about it is I built in like randomized questions for it. Um, and the reason why I love utilizing this tool. And so like on my agent's weekly check-in sheet, one of the questions is how many times did you use the chat GPT module this week? And the point is, is they'll come up with a scenario, they present it and you need to respond. And then it's going to give you advice on like what you did well, where you can improve and what the perfect answer would be. That's cool. And, um, I pro I trained it using Tom Ferry and Phil Jones language. Okay. Um, yeah, that's awesome. And it goes really, really nice. And so, and I really, you could do like the voice to text for it, or even just do the voice role play with it. But honestly, I prefer people doing the written version because I find that when you sit down and write and you're really thinking about it, your brain makes deeper lasting changes than if you're just to talk, you start thinking about the cadence and how you want to put these different words together, um, in a more thoughtful way that I feel like can stick and become more of a script. Yeah. Yeah. I love that. That's awesome. Um, I do have some, I have some questions about like, uh, if you have any golden nuggets for real estate agents, uh, that maybe are getting started or, um, have been at it for a while. I mean, is there anything that comes to mind that you'd want to share? Ask for the business, start with your sphere and ask for the business. Don't be shy to say, do you know anyone that's thinking of buying or selling this year? Okay. I love it. And is that, would you recommend going by calling, uh, emails? What, what's the best route for, for doing that? Um, I think for newer agents also honestly being like face to face with people, like throughout your day to day life, that's going to be your best bet. Um, I don't think newer agents have the skills on the phone to fully convert. I think that's a skill that's acquired over time, which is absolutely something you should work on, but do a month of my chat GPT bot first and then go and talk on the phone. Um, cool. Ask for it, like get involved with the community and ask for it. Yeah, no, that's great. I love it. Um, what about any books that you'd recommend? Do you have any favorite books that are fundamental for everybody to read or ones that you're currently enjoying? Yeah, I, I am a serial reader, so I am constantly picking up new tips and tricks. I think pertaining to this conversation, um, Dan Martell's book, buy back your time. Um, that really focuses on making sure that the activities that you're putting the most time into activities that only you can do. So in real estate, that's making the sales. You should be in phase showing homes. You should not be organizing your paperwork and spending hours on doing that when you could be out going and finding your next transaction. Yeah, no, that's awesome. Um, and, and like you were saying, like, you know, with your CRM, um, there's some of those automations, like if, if you're doing it yourself, it takes a lot of time. And that might be, again, where you can buy back your time by having somebody else do it by using your software. Um, but yeah, what a great way to free up, um, bandwidth too, is to automate a lot of the things that are just kind of repetitive. Yeah, absolutely. I'll, um, I'll send you my link tree to put in the description that has information on both my software, but it also has, um, access to our chat GPT module. So if anybody wants to give it a shot and try and sharpen their skills, um, it's there for you to use. Oh, that's awesome. Thank you. And that was going to be my next question is, is what's the best way to reach out to you or find more information about this stuff? Yeah, absolutely. Um, use that link. It's got all of my contact information, my social handles, um, and information on our, on our software.

Cool. Awesome. Well, I really appreciate your time. This has been a fun conversation. Yeah, absolutely. Thanks so much for having me.

[olivergisttv]

Virtual Reality for Business: How Companies Are Using the Metaverse to Train and Connect Teams

Welcome to 2025, where the metaverse isn’t just for gamers and crypto enthusiasts—it’s transforming how companies train employees and foster team connections. Virtual Reality (VR) has evolved from a flashy gadget into a practical business tool that’s changing the game in remote work, training, and collaboration. Virtual Reality for Business: How Companies Are Using the Metaverse to Train and…

[belfrysol]

A golem without explosion is like an angel without its wings

been playing pokemon emerald seaglass recently. pretty darn good

[staff]

A message from a few of the trans staff at Tumblr & Automattic:

We want trans people, and LGBTQ+ people broadly, to feel welcome on Tumblr, in part because we as trans people at Tumblr and Automattic want it to be a space where we ourselves feel included. We want to feel like this is a platform that supports us and fights for our safety. Tumblr is made brighter and more vibrant by your presence, and the LGBTQ+ folks who help run it are fighting all the time for this, for you, internally. 

A few days ago, Matt Mullenweg (the CEO of Automattic, Tumblr’s parent company) responded to a user’s ask about an account suspension in a way that negatively affected Tumblr’s LGBTQ+ community. We believe that Matt's response to this ask and his continued commentary has been unwarranted and harmful. Tumblr staff do not comment on moderation decisions as a matter of policy for a variety of reasons—including the privacy of those involved, and the practicalities of moderating thousands of reports a day. The downside of this policy is that it is very easy for rumors and incorrect information about actions taken by our Trust & Safety team to spread unchecked. Given this, we want to clarify a few different pieces of this situation:

The reality of predstrogen's suspension was not accurately conveyed, and made it seem like we were reaching for opportunities to ban trans feminine people on the platform. This is not the case. The example comment shared in the post linked above does not meet our definition of a realistic threat of violence, and was not the deciding factor in the account suspension.

Matt thereafter failed to recognize the harm to the community as a result of this suspension. Matt does not speak on behalf of the LGBTQ+ people who help run Tumblr or Automattic, and we were not consulted in the construction of a response to these events.

Last year, the "mature" and "sexual themes" community labels were erroneously applied to some users' posts. An outside team of contractors tasked with applying community labels to posts were responsible for this larger trend of mislabeling trans-related content. When our Trust & Safety team discovered this issue (thanks largely to reports from the community), we removed the contracted team’s ability to apply community labels and added more oversight to ensure it does not happen again. In the Staff post about this, LGBTQ+ staff pushed to be more transparent but were overruled by leadership. The termination of a contractor mentioned in the original ask response was for an unrelated incident which was incorrectly attributed to this case. We regret that the mislabeling ever happened, and the negative impact it has had on the trans community on Tumblr. 

Transition timelines are not against our community guidelines, and weren’t a factor considered by the moderation team when discussing suspensions and subsequent appeals. We do not take action against content that is related to transitioning or trans bodies unless it includes violations of the Community Guidelines.

When it comes to the experience of trans folks on Tumblr encountering transphobic content, and interacting with bigoted users, we understand and share your frustrations. Tumblr’s policies, and Automattic’s policies, are written to ensure freedom of speech and expression. We prohibit harassment as defined in our Community Guidelines, but we know that this policy falls short of protecting users from the wider scope of harmful speech often used against LGBTQ+ and other marginalized people.

Going forward, Tumblr is taking the following actions:

Prioritizing anti-harassment features that will empower users to more effectively protect themselves from harassment.

Building more internal tooling for us as Staff to proactively identify and mitigate instances of harassment.

Reviewing which of the tags frequently used by the trans community are blocked, and working to make them available next week.

We’re sorry for how this all transpired, and we’re actively fighting to make our voices heard more and prevent something like this from happening again in the future. We know firsthand that having to deal with situations like this as a Tumblr user is difficult, particularly as a member of an already frequently targeted and harassed community. We know it will take time to regain your trust, and we’re going to put in the work to rebuild it.

We appreciate the space we have been given to express our concerns and dissent, and we are thankful that Matt’s (and Automattic’s) strong commitment to freedom of expression has facilitated it.

We will continue to fight to make Tumblr safe for us all.

— This statement was authored by multiple trans employees of Tumblr and Automattic.

[ellipsus-writes]

(Read on our blog)

Beginning in 1933, the Nazis burned books to erase the ideas they feared—works of literature, politics, philosophy, criticism; works by Jewish and leftist authors, and research from the Institute for Sexual Science, which documented and affirmed queer and trans identities.

(Nazis collect "anti-German" books to be destroyed at a Berlin book-burning on May 10, 1933 (Source)

Stories tell truths.

These weren’t just books; they were lifelines.

Writing by, for, and about marginalized people isn’t just about representation, but survival. Writing has always been an incredibly powerful tool—perhaps the most resilient form of resistance, as fascism seeks to disconnect people from knowledge, empathy, history, and finally each other. Empathy is one of the most valuable resources we have, and in the darkest times writers armed with nothing but words have exposed injustice, changed culture, and kept their communities connected.

(A Nazi student and a member of the SA raid the Institute for Sexual Science's library in Berlin, May 6, 1933. Source)

Less than two weeks after the US presidential inauguration, the nightmare of Project 2025 is starting to unfold. What these proposals will mean for creative freedom and freedom of expression is uncertain, but the intent is clear. A chilling effect on subjects that writers engage with every day—queer narratives, racial justice, and critiques of power—is already manifest. The places where these works are published and shared may soon face increased pressure, censorship, and legal jeopardy.

And with speed-run fascism comes a rising tide of misinformation and hostility. The tech giants that facilitate writing, sharing, publishing, and communication—Google, Microsoft, Amazon, the-hellscape-formerly-known-as-Twitter, Facebook, TikTok—have folded like paper in a light breeze. OpenAI, embroiled in lawsuits for training its models on stolen works, is now positioned as the AI of choice for the administration, bolstered by a $500 billion investment. And privacy-focused companies are showing a newfound willingness to align with a polarizing administration, chilling news for writers who rely on digital privacy to protect their work and sources; even their personal safety.

Where does that leave writers?

Writing communities have always been a creative refuge, but they’re more than that now—they are a means of continuity. The information landscape is shifting rapidly, so staying informed on legal and political developments will be essential for protecting creative freedom and pushing back against censorship wherever possible. Direct your energy to the communities that need it, stay connected, check in on each other—and keep backup spaces in case platforms become unsafe.

We can’t stress this enough—support tools and platforms that prioritize creative freedom. The systems we rely on are being rewritten in real time, and the future of writing spaces depends on what we build now. We at Ellipsus will continue working to provide space for our community—one that protects and facilitates creative expression, not undermines it.

Above all—keep writing.

Keep imagining, keep documenting, keep sharing—keep connecting. Suppression thrives on silence, but words have survived every attempt at erasure.

- The Ellipsus team

[pebblegalaxy]

Unlocking the Secrets of Kokology: Exploring the Japanese Art of Personality Analysis Through Games

Unlocking Secrets of Kokology: Exploring the Japanese Art of Personality Analysis Through Games #Kokology #PersonalityGames #PsychologicalTools #SelfDiscovery #JapanesePsychology #MindGames #PersonalityTest #TeamBuilding #MentalHealth #JungianPsychology

Introduction to Kokology Kokology, a fascinating intersection of psychology and play, offers insights into the deeper recesses of the human mind through simple quizzes and scenarios. The term originates from the Japanese word “kokoro” which means “heart” or “spirit”. This psychological game involves interpreting people’s responses to hypothetical situations to uncover hidden aspects of their…

[just-aake]

Flustered Crushes

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: The Black Widow does not get flustered. So why is it that Natasha can’t seem to stop embarrassing herself in front of you?

Warnings: fluff

Words: 2795

At the edge of the bustling hangar bay, Natasha leans against the cold, metallic wall, her arms folded tightly, a faint frown etched across her brow as her sharp gaze observes the scene unfolding before her. 

Near the base of the Quinjet’s ramp, you are engaged in animated conversation with Carol Danvers, who happened to arrive at the compound for a quick visit precisely when you returned from your mission.  

You've been with the Avengers for a few months now, a former SHIELD agent seamlessly adjusting to the team dynamics. 

Over time, you've connected with everyone—including her. 

So, Natasha’s made an extra effort to help you feel welcome. 

Clint often teases her about her behavior, insisting her attentiveness borders on something more personal, something like a…crush. 

Natasha dismisses his comments each time with a roll of her eyes. 

She’s just being nice. 

After all, it's only natural to want a solid, dependable relationship with a new teammate, especially someone she'll be working closely with.

That’s the only reason why she came to greet you when you return from your mission.

At least, that’s what she tells herself as she stands there, alone, on the sidelines…not with you. 

Natasha watches Carol say something that makes you laugh, causing her faint frown to deepen.

The flash of amusement in your eyes as Carol grins back makes Natasha roll her eyes and look away, unable to take the sight anymore as a pang of irritation tightens in her chest.

She tries to shake it off, but it doesn’t disappear.

After all, it’s not like she got here an hour before your scheduled return and waited to see you…just to end up watching as the blonde space beauty swoop in, effortlessly captivating your attention.

Deciding she’s had enough, Natasha pushes herself off the wall, preparing to leave.

However, her abrupt movement catches others around her off guard, and she ends up bumping into a passing cart loaded with tools and equipment. 

A clattering sound echoes across the hangar as wrenches and bolts spill onto the floor. 

Natasha curses softly under her breath, a mix of pain and embarrassment coloring her cheeks as she drops to gather the scattered items, apologizing hastily to the technician she collided with before quickly exiting the area.

In her haste, she doesn’t notice your gaze, the subtle smile tugging at your lips as you follow her with amused eyes, tracking her every flustered move across the hangar bay, even as she slips away without a backward glance.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“So, how’s it going with your crush?” Clint asks, a playful glint in his eyes as he watches Natasha.

Natasha shoots him a warning look that would strike fear into the most fearsome of villains.

Without a word, she grabs the coffee pot, filling his mug before pouring some for herself. She replaces the pot with a decisive click.

“There is no crush,” she states firmly, taking a sip as though punctuating her denial.

“Are you sure about that?” Clint asks skeptically before continuing, “Whenever Y/n’s around, it’s like you lose all of your charm and coolness.” 

Natasha gives him an unimpressed glare. 

“Really? Coolness? That’s the best you’ve got?”

Clint smirks, raising his mug in mock salute.

“Ask me again after I finish this coffee.”

She rolls her eyes, holding her mug close, feeling the warm comfort seep into her hands.

Just as she brings it to her lips, the doors swing open, and Tony strolls into the kitchen, spotting them with their drinks. 

“Oh, coffee! Pour me a cup, Romanoff.”

“Pour your own,” Natasha mutters, savoring her next sip. 

Tony feigns hurt, pressing a hand to his chest in mock shock. 

“FRIDAY, remind me, who owns this building?” 

“You do, sir,” the AI replies smoothly. 

Tony gestures upward triumphantly at her before pointing towards the kitchen. 

“So, technically, that machine is mine, the beans are mine, and...oh, right, that pot of coffee is also mine.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes but eventually reaches for the pot, lifting it begrudgingly.

Tony holds out his mug with a victorious grin. 

But just as she hovers the pot above his cup, she stops short.

“A ‘please’ once in a while wouldn’t hurt.”

Tony’s eyes widen, and he gasps in exaggerated disbelief as Natasha raises a brow in expectation.

Huffing, he mutters, “Can I have some coffee, please?”

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Natasha quips with a smirk, preparing to pour him his coffee.

At that moment, the elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal you, fresh from your morning workout, dressed in your training gear.

You walk by the kitchen, spotting the other Avengers gathered around. 

A delighted smile spreads across your face. 

“Ooh, coffee! Can I have some, too?” 

Natasha’s response is instant. 

“Sure, I’ll make you a new pot.” 

Her tone is warmer than usual, surprising even herself.

You beam at her, and Natasha feels herself pause, momentarily captivated by the sight. Distracted, she almost misses your following words. 

“Thanks, Natasha! Let me change, and I’ll be right back.”

You slip through the doors, leaving Natasha blinking, still trying to regain her composure. 

Tony watches with raised eyebrows. 

“Wait a second—she didn’t even say ‘please,’ and you’re making her a whole new pot?”

Natasha’s eyes narrow as she holds the pot just out of reach of Tony’s mug. 

“Do you want coffee or not?” 

Tony grumbles before muttering a grudging “Yes, please.” 

Satisfied, Natasha pours the coffee, keeping her focus steady. 

“Natasha?” your voice catches her off guard, and she glances up to see you poking your head back into the room. 

“Yes?” she replies a little too quickly, immediately focusing on you. 

Both Clint and Tony fall silent, watching the two of you with curious eyes. 

“Steve’s got a mission tomorrow,” you explain. “Would you mind if I train with you in the meantime?”

Natasha’s mind races for a moment before she steadies herself to answer.

“Uh—yeah, sure. Anytime you want.” 

“Great!” you say enthusiastically before glancing worriedly at the counter. “I think that’s enough coffee.” 

Natasha follows your gaze, eyes widening as she realizes Tony’s cup is overflowing, dark liquid pooling across the counter. She yanks the pot away with a muttered curse. 

“Oh sh—!”

Tony steps back just in time, glaring down at his soaked countertop.

“Really, Romanoff? This is a new suit!” 

Rolling her eyes, Natasha grabs paper towels, unruffled by his dramatics. 

“Calm down, it barely even touched you.”

You let out a small laugh. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, shooting her a smile as you exit.

“Okay,” Natasha murmurs, her attention lingering on the door.

Clint chuckles as he takes another sip, eyeing her knowingly. 

“You’re right, Nat. It’s not a crush,” he says, leaning back with a smirk. “It’s way worse.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha flashes one of her most charming smiles, leaning just slightly forward as the receptionist fumbles through her files, cheeks tinged with a rosy hue under Natasha’s intense gaze. 

“Here you go!” the receptionist says, her voice soft as she hands over a key card. “I’m sorry again for the mix-up.”

Natasha’s fingers rest lightly over the receptionist’s hand as she accepts the card, her eyes warm and a playful smile tugging at her lips. 

“No problem at all,” she replies, her tone smooth. “I don’t mind the delay with such lovely company.” 

The receptionist blushes deeply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and giving Natasha a flustered smile. 

Natasha’s confident smirk grows as she watches her charms take effect. 

Quick and efficient, she slips the USB drive from the computer, seamlessly hiding it under her palm as it rests over the key card. For a moment, she feels pleased with herself, effortlessly pulling off her usual charisma.

See, she thinks to herself, Clint has no idea what he’s talking about—she’s got plenty of charm.

“Nice job, Natasha,” your voice suddenly crackles in her earpiece, startling her. 

Her hand slips in surprise, almost knocking over the items on the counter. She turns it into a casual adjustment, but not before the receptionist gives her a curious look. 

Natasha quickly smiles, grabbing the key card and offering a polite nod before walking away toward a secluded corner of the lobby.

Pressing a finger to her comms, she mutters, “Y/n? Where’s Clint?” 

“He had to step out for a minute,” you answer. “He asked me to take over. Is that okay?” 

“No–I mean—yes, of course,” Natasha says, the words tumbling out a bit too quickly. 

She straightens, running a hand through her hair as she tries to regain her composure. It’s not like she hadn’t expected you to assist with missions, but the thought of you watching her…

She tamps down the sudden flutter in her chest and forces herself to stay focused.

“Your next target is on the same floor as the key card you just picked up,” you continue, your voice warm and steady in her ear. 

“Got it.” 

“I’ll explain what you’re looking for.”

Natasha nods and begins striding toward the elevators, hoping her sudden focus will drown out the distraction of your voice in her head. 

She tells herself it’s just a mission—professional, routine.

But now, with you guiding her through the next steps, each word falling from your lips makes it harder for her to maintain her usually calm, steady demeanor. 

Her heart beats a little faster, and her cheeks feel a bit warmer than they should. She brushes off the thoughts and keeps walking, determined to stay cool and collected.

“Um…Natasha?”

She stops mid-step. “Hmm?”

“You’re…going the wrong way.”

Natasha freezes, blinking in surprise. She glances around, realizing she’s heading in the opposite direction from the elevators.

A wave of embarrassment sweeps over her as she lets out a quiet curse under her breath.

“Right,” Natasha says, turning with as much dignity as she can muster, her face heating as she finally heads in the correct direction.

Oh, she thinks to herself, she’s definitely going to kill Clint.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha steps out of her room, her leather jacket slung over one arm as she adjusts the zipper. 

Your voice calls her name from down the hall, catching her off guard and making her slam the door shut in a startled motion. She spins to face you, only to be tugged back by an unexpected resistance.

Natasha looks down with a sigh, spotting her jacket sleeve caught in the door. Tugging at it proves ineffective, as it stays firmly wedged in place.

Hearing your footsteps approaching, Natasha hastily shoves the jacket behind her back, trying to appear composed. She leans casually against the door, hoping the awkward moment has gone unnoticed.

“Hey,” you greet with a warm smile as you reach her.

“Hey, Y/n,” Natasha replies, attempting a relaxed tone.

You eye her with a hint of curiosity. “Are you…okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine!” Natasha says quickly, forcing a casual smile. “Just, um, examining the door. Thought it could use a closer look.”

Your brows raise in amused surprise at her peculiar explanation, but you let it go. 

“Well, once you’re done with that,” you say, playing along, “I made a reservation at that new place downtown. I was wondering if you’d like to join me?”

“Just the two of us?” The words slip out before Natasha can stop herself. 

A flicker of excitement and amusement crosses your face as you nod. 

“Yeah, just us,” you say softly.

Natasha’s heart gives a small flutter, but she maintains her composure. 

“I’d love to,” she says, a smile slipping through despite her best efforts to stay calm.

“Great, it’s a date,” you say, grinning. “I’ll meet you in the garage.” With a playful smirk, you add, “After you finish your ‘inspection,’ of course.”

As you walk toward the elevator, Natasha watches you with a lingering smile.

Once you’re out of sight, she finally frees her jacket and heads to the garage a few minutes later, finding you waiting by her motorcycle.

You hop on behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist in a snug embrace. 

The warmth of your presence makes her feel a fluttering sensation in her chest she can’t shake. Distracted, Natasha blindly reaches for her helmet and slips it on—only to be met with complete darkness.

With a soft sigh, Natasha’s head drops to her chest, realizing she put it on backward. 

The chuckle that escapes your lips behind her is quickly muffled as you clear your throat, your hands reaching to help her. 

You gently remove the helmet, your fingers brushing her cheek as you pull it off.

When Natasha glances back, she catches the playful look in your eyes as you bite back a grin.

Seeing this, Natasha lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“Can we just pretend the last few minutes didn’t happen and start over? I swear, this doesn’t usually happen to me.”

You laugh, unable to hold back anymore. 

“Oh, I know all about the smooth and charming Black Widow,” you say, your gaze warm and teasing. “But I think this side of you is pretty cute too.”

A faint blush spreads across her cheeks at your words, and Natasha takes the helmet, this time slipping it on correctly, with a soft smile she can’t quite hide anymore.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

It’s another one of Tony’s famous parties, where glittering lights reflect off polished floors and music pulses softly through the spacious hall. 

In the middle of the dance floor, beneath the warm glow, Natasha sways with you, her hands resting gently on your waist as you move together to the rhythm of the soft melody. 

You wrap your arms around her neck, leaning in and drawing her closer until your lips meet hers in a tender, lingering kiss. 

Natasha smiles softly against your lips, and as you pull back, she rests her forehead gently against yours, eyes half-closed in a moment of quiet contentment. 

Even as the music fades into the background, her hands remain firm on your waist, as if she has no intention of letting go.

“Why don’t we get something to drink?” you suggest, glancing over at the bar lined with sparkling glasses.

Natasha only pulls you closer, her fingers brushing lightly along the small of your back as she murmurs, “Or…we could stay right here and have another dance.” 

Her voice is a soft suggestion, and she leans in slightly, her green eyes filled with warmth and alluring charm.

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing smile spreading across your lips. 

“It’s cute how you’re trying to be smooth.”

Natasha’s expression shifts, feigning innocence. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, though the faintest blush colors her cheeks.

With a playful glint in your eye, you tilt your head at her in challenge. 

“How long has your bracelet been stuck to my dress?” you ask, giving her a teasing look.

Natasha glances away, the blush deepening as she realizes she’s been caught. She’s spent the past few moments subtly trying to free her wrist from your dress, but to no avail.

“In my defense,” she murmurs, attempting to deflect, “you distracted me with how beautiful you look tonight.”

You chuckle softly at her excuse, reaching up to pull her even closer. With a playful grin, you press a gentle kiss to her lips before leaning in to whisper against her ear.

“Think of the bright side—if you can’t get it loose, I’m sure you could just rip this dress off me.”

Natasha’s breath catches, and for a split second, she’s utterly still, her mind stalling at the suggestion. 

You pull back just enough to watch her expression, and a delighted smile grows on your face as she stares at you, wide-eyed and flustered, clearly caught off guard.

It only takes her a moment to catch on, her eyes narrowing in realization as she shakes her head with a playful huff. 

“You’re trying to embarrass me on purpose,” she accuses, a hint of a smile breaking through.

Unashamed, you bite back a laugh and nod. 

“It’s nice to see the calm and collected Black Widow all flustered for once.”

Natasha’s lips curl into a smirk as she pulls you flush against her, her free hand sliding up your back, fingers grazing along your spine. She leans in, her lips just a breath away from yours, the warmth of her gaze intense.

“Only for you,” she murmurs, her voice a hushed promise before closing the distance, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that makes you forget the world around you, the room fading away as you melt into each other’s embrace.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: just a short fluff with a soft Natasha that I had finished some time ago. after everything that has happened yesterday and today, I wanted to give some kind of happier distraction, even if it may be only a temporary escape from everything. I’m still going between disbelief, sadness, and anger myself about the situation while also trying to be prepared to continue on. But hopefully, this was able to bring some of you some sort of break from everything else.

[kitteninabunker]

thinking about constructionworker!toji who's at your house, working on renovations for the first story flooring since he’s gotten hired by your father. though he had little to no knowledge about how to actually build anything, the money was good so he took the opportunity.

you're woken up by the sound of a drill and hammers banging nails into the walls. groggily, you raise yourself to sit up in your bed, rubbing your sore, puffy eyes as the piercing sound of tools makes your ears ring loudly from all of the noise. why the hell would they come so early to work on the house?

slamming your head back against your pillow, you pick your other pillow up and press it against your ear, trying to drown out some of the noise coming from downstairs, but it's no use.

instead, you roll of bed and slip on your silk robe, wearing nothing beneath it. you’re gonna give whoever’s making all the noise a piece of your mind. walking out of your bedroom and up to the railing of your upstairs balcony, you see a team of men in yellow hats and orange vest doing random handiwork as you look down. you spot the one black haired man placing wood tiles onto the floor, and doing a horrifc job at it—toji.

"do any of you know what time it is???" you yell over the noise of the men working, your voice is barely audible over the noise but some of them turn their heads toward you at the sound of your voice before turning their attention back to their work. toji lifts his head to see you standing above him, your arms folded across your chest with a scowl on your face. your disapproval is obvious which makes him chuckle.

"i can't hear you!" he yells back at you, waving you to come downstairs. "maybe you should come down here so we can talk!" you roll your eyes and sigh at his request, walking to the staircase to step onto the first stair as you descend down. you approach toji as you stand there above him, looking down at him as he raises his head, the corner of his scared lips curling up into a smirk as his green eyes meet your piercing stare.

"why so cold, little lady? i'm just doin' my job." he says, looking back down at the wooden tiles as he places them on the floor. it's not like you knew the first thing about construction, but you could tell his technique would definitely cause more issues with the floor than it already has. "8:00 o'clock in the morning is a perfect time to come over and do construction.” you barked, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you look down at your imaginary watch on your bare wrist.

toji stands up from his haunches, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with a gloved hand as if he's actually done anything worth sweating over. he places his hand on his hip as he looks over at you, his towering height looms over you which makes the scowl you have on your face even cuter. "your dad's out so i assumed the house was empty, let me apologize for waking you up." his voice is genuine, but you don’t catch it because you’re eyeing him up and down.

he's clad in a white thank top, speckled by dust and dirt from hours spent working on the floor. his tools hung from a worn, brown belt strap slung low around his beige work pants. maybe toji stood out to you the most because he's the only one half dressed for construction—not that you were complaining.

each time he raised his tank to wipe his face, the sharp cut of his abs and the trail of dark hair leading below his waistband became impossible to ignore. your eyes shamefully locked into the utter perfection he didn't bother hiding.

"w-well you see that i'm still here..." you whisper, your eyes glued to toji's frame as he tugs his tank back down, muscles rippling through the fabric. he runs a hand through his slick hair, his sharp eye catching the way you're eyeing him.

"you're staring." he says, his voice low and edged with amusement.

his voice breaks you out of your trance, and your eyes snap back to his face. heat crawls up your neck as you realize your expression had softened while you were ogling at the man's chest, so you scowl at him again. "whatever," you snap, quickly looking off to the side.

toji pivots on his heel to stand in your line of sight, forcing you to crane your head up at him to meet his gaze. his broad frame towers over you, casting a shadow over your face, and you swear his smirk grew wider as your breath catches in your throat.

"are you going to straighten up," he murmurs, his voice dropping, “or do i need to fuck that attitude out of you?"

before you know it, you're bent over on your bathroom countertop, legs trembling as your cunt gushes around toji's cock, slick dripping out in thick strings down your thighs. toji's hips snap against your ass with brutal precision, each trust feels like his dick is pushing into your stomach. "look at you," he growls, his voice dripping with mockery as he roughly cups your face with a large hand as he grips your slack jaw, forcing you to look up into the bathroom mirror at your face "all it takes is a good fuckin' to shut that dumbass mouth of yours, huh?"

your vision blurs as you keep staring at yourself—your hair sprawled out over your head, tears streaking your flushed cheeks and your nose red from crying—your lips are parted, trembling from the endless stream of broken moans and breathless gasps. toji leans in, his scared lips brushing the shell of your ear as his free hand slides up your belly and grabs your tits, rolling your nipple between his calloused fingers. "c'monnn, keep watchin', he sneers, his voice low and taunting. "see what you look like getting your slutty little pussy stretched out."

the guttural slap of skin fills the room, being drowned out by the muffled noises of the workers outside. the very sound you were cursing earlier now served as a shield for your shame, you thanked whatever force or luck was keeping the men oblivious—to the fact you're being fucked silly by a stranger in your own house before you even got a chance to eat breakfast, and toji's absence. though it's not enough to conceal the shameful squelch of your pussy taking him in so deep. you bite down on your lip, trying to stifle the soft whimpers spilling from your throat, but toji doesn't let up.

his fingers curl into the plush of your hips, his nails digging deeply into your skin, dragging you back to meet his trust. the tip of his cock kissing your sensitive and bruised cervix that has your legs shaking uncontrollably.

"you're so fuckin' tight," he groans, his eyes glued to the sight of his cock disappearing into you as your entrance flutters around his thick shaft. "shit, you're squeezin' me like you're beggin' me to fill you up." he lets out a low laugh, teeth scraping against the side of your neck before biting down hard enough to leave a mark. the sting makes you cry out, your walls clamping down on him like a vice. "oh, you like that, huh? filthy little thing—this the kinda shit you've been waitin' for?"

you can barely breathe, your vision blurring as tears keep spilling over. the pressure builds unbearably fast, heat pooling low in your stomach. "i-i…fuck, i can't," you gasp, shaking your head as the intensity of toji’s fast thrust overwhelm you.

"you can, and you will," toji growls, his hand snaking down to your clit, rough fingers circling the sensitive nub with just enough pressure to send you hurtling toward the edge. "ain't lettin' you off that easy."

your knees buckle, but he keeps you upright, his cock drilling into you mercilessly as you fall apart around him. the lewd squelch of your release gushes around his length, soaking his thighs and the counter beneath you. "shit, look at this mess," he mutters, gripping your ass with one hand to spread you open, his thrusts growing sloppier as he chases his own high.

"since your squirtin' on my dick—fuckkkk...—maybe your daddy doesn't have to pay me. he'd be horrified enough to know his daughter's got off on my dick." toji goans deeply into your ear as your pussy squirts out the rest of your cum, your slick coating his shaft as it bubbles in a ring around the base of his cock. your head dips to the side before toji roughly grabs your jaw again.

"keep that fuckin' pretty mouth open," he snarls, tilting your head toward the mirror again. "gonna make you watch when I fill this pussy up. that's what you want, isn't it? my cock buried so deep you feel me for days?"

you let out a loud, helpless whimper at the mere mention of toji cumming...inside of you? you'd really be carrying a stranger's baby without an ounce of shame, and the idea of him filling you up right now doesn't sound to bad, especially when his cock is spitting you open so good, fucking you so deep and hard you can hardly form a coherent sentence.

"talk to me, girl." toji growls, his voice sharp and commanding as his trust grow more punishing. the heavy slap of his swollen balls against your soaked pussy echo in the room, their weight tightening as his cock twitches inside of you.

"y-yesss, daddy—aaahh—fuck, i-i want your seed...!" your trembling words slip through your mouth. toji groans out as he feels your walls clamping down onto him tighter and tighter, milking him harder as he struggles to hold himself back.

toji's hand comes down hard on your ass, slapping the fat of your cheeks as he grips your ass, spreading you open wider so you can take him even deeper. "mmm, that's what i wanna hear." his pace turns sloppier than before, each pump of his dick pulls another nasty squelch from your soaked cunt. "gonna pump ya so full my cums' gonna be dripping outta ya for days."

your head lolls forward, lips parted in a daze. but toji's grip doesn't let up, you feel him wrapping both of his strong arms around your waist to keep you in place, fucking your vaccum of a pussy in long, drawn out strokes as he cums deeply inside of you. your walls clamp down on him violently, spasming around his pulsing cock, milking every last drop of his cum. he stays buried inside, groaning as his cock twitches, warmth spilling deep into your womb.

"shit, you're squeezing me dry." he groans, his cock pulsating violently inside of you as your body jolts in his arms. you can feel each squirt of his seed spilling out from his fat tip, his heavy chest vibrates against you as his lets out another throaty groan. "bet this load's gonna be leaking out of you for hours, isn't it?" you give him a shy nod, your head barely moving against his chest, your body too spent to do anything else.

he smirks, feeling the slight motion. one of his hands snakes down to your ass as he kneads it possessively. toji presses his nose against your hair, inhaling your sweet scent deeply as his cock gives you another lazy throb inside of your sensitive slit. "greedy little thing," he groans as he slowly pulls out, a lewd squelch fills the room as his thick cum begins to leak out of your tiny hole.

his hand gives your ass a sharp slap, making you wince as you pussy tightens from the sudden movement, pushing more of toji's cum out as it drips down your thighs. "now go take a shower," he demands, pulling his pants back up without cleaning your juices off of his dick.

[arkaiveofurown]

he was harsh to you

Pairings: Crocodile x Reader, Ace x Reader, Law x Reader, Mihawk x Reader

Word Count: ~1,000 - 2,000 words each

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

my masterlist here ♡

----

Crocodile

The tension between you and Crocodile had been building for days. He had been aloof, and his sharp, biting remarks were starting to wear on you. It wasn’t like you couldn’t handle his bluntness—hell, you were used to it by now—but today, it felt different. It felt personal.

You had just come from a successful mission for the Cross Guild, but the celebration was overshadowed by Crocodile’s attitude. You were standing near the map room, reviewing your next move, when he stormed in with that familiar scowl on his face.

“Don’t you have something better to do than stand around wasting time?” Crocodile snapped, his tone cold and dismissive. “I don’t need a babysitter. Get your act together.”

You felt your blood boil at his words. “Excuse me?” you shot back, unable to hide the irritation in your voice. “I’m doing my job just fine, thank you very much. Maybe you should stop trying to belittle everyone around you.”

Crocodile’s eyes narrowed, his gaze sharpening as he stepped closer. “Belittle? I’m trying to get through to you. You’re so damn distracted, it’s pathetic. You’re wasting your potential.”

“Wasting my potential?” You clenched your fists, holding back the sting of his words. “How about you stop trying to micromanage everyone around here? I’m getting things done, but you just don’t want to see it, do you?”

“Getting things done?” Crocodile scoffed, walking over to the table and slamming his hand on the map. “You’re dragging your feet. We’ve got a Guild to build, and you’re too busy pretending everything’s fine. If you think this is going anywhere, you’re living in a fantasy.”

His words stung more than you cared to admit. “I’m not pretending anything. I’m doing exactly what needs to be done. But if you think I’m just here to be your damn soldier, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Crocodile’s eyes flashed with something darker. “Soldier? Don’t flatter yourself. You’re part of the team—if you can manage to act like it. But from what I’m seeing, you’re more of a liability than an asset.”

You felt your chest tighten at his words, the anger bubbling up in your throat. “A liability? I’ve been working harder than anyone on this ship, and you can’t even see it. Maybe it’s easier for you to blame everyone else for your own failures.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping low. “What failure? I’m not the one who’s failing here. It’s you, with all your whining, trying to act like this is a charity. This is a Guild, not a damn playground.”

You could feel the heat rising in your face, but you stood your ground. “You’re impossible. You always think you’re right and that the world revolves around you. Maybe you need to take a long look in the mirror and realize that you’re the one who’s out of line.”

Crocodile didn’t flinch. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. You either get in line or get out of my way.”

That was the breaking point. You took a deep breath, fighting back the urge to lash out. “I’m done with this,” you said, your voice shaking with frustration. Without another word, you turned and stormed out of the room, the slam of the door echoing in your wake.

----

The silence in the ship’s quarters felt suffocating. Crocodile’s harsh words echoed in your mind, replaying over and over, and the weight of the argument was crushing. You hadn’t expected it to escalate like that, but there was no denying it now—you were hurt, and you couldn’t pretend otherwise.

You hadn’t bothered to leave your room, locked in your thoughts, lying on the bed with your back to the door. The sting of Crocodile’s words felt like a constant pressure on your chest. You’d been part of the Cross Guild for so long, fought alongside the others, but why did it feel like Crocodile just saw you as a tool? A tool that he could discard when it suited him.

You hated the feeling of weakness that crept in with the tears you’d been trying to hold back. But when it all became too much, they finally fell. Quietly at first, then in desperate, broken sobs.

You hadn’t realized how much you needed to cry until you did.

Hours passed, and you thought you’d hear the sounds of Crocodile’s usual cold demeanor at your door. But it never came. No knock, no footsteps—nothing.

You sat up from your bed, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. Crocodile might not have said anything more, but his absence was almost worse. It felt like he didn’t care enough to even check if you were okay.

----

The next day, things were still quiet between you and Crocodile. He wasn’t avoiding you, but he wasn’t making any overt moves either. The silence felt heavy, like there was more left unsaid, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to approach him first.

It wasn’t until you were sitting alone in the ship’s main hall, watching the crew go about their usual duties, that you saw him again. He was standing near the door, scanning the room as though he was looking for something—or someone. His gaze fell on you, and for a moment, you thought about getting up and leaving.

But then, something unexpected happened.

He walked toward you, his steps deliberate, his usual air of command unmistakable. But there was no arrogance, no cold indifference. Instead, there was something almost… hesitant, as though he was unsure how to approach.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice lower than usual. Not demanding, but more… tentative.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. Crocodile sat down beside you, but there was a clear distance between you two. Still, he didn’t break the silence. Instead, his eyes flickered to the floor and back to you, unsure of how to even start.

“I’ve been thinking,” Crocodile began, his voice unusually soft. “I don’t do ‘soft’ well. I never have. I push people away because it’s easier than getting close. But with you… I shouldn’t have done that.”

You stayed quiet, listening. This wasn’t the Crocodile you were used to, and it threw you off. But you could hear the sincerity in his voice.

“I treated you like you were disposable. Like I could just push you aside because I don’t know how to handle emotions,” he continued, his words laced with the rare honesty he usually kept buried. “I’m not saying I can change overnight, but I… I can try. I can do better. For you.”

For a moment, the room felt too quiet, too heavy with the weight of his confession. You weren’t sure what to say, but you couldn’t deny the effort he was showing. It wasn’t just words. It was him trying—genuinely trying—to be someone better for you.

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” he added, his gaze meeting yours directly. “But if you’ll let me, I want to show you that I’m not just some heartless bastard.”

You exhaled slowly, feeling a strange mix of emotions—relief, confusion, and something else you couldn’t quite name. Crocodile wasn’t the type to offer grand gestures, but this... this was different.

He shifted in his seat, as if he was fighting the urge to stand up and walk away. His usual confidence was tempered by something more vulnerable, and it made the tension between you two feel palpable. Still, there was something unspoken in the air, something you both knew needed to be addressed.

After a moment, Crocodile pulled something from his pocket, a small, worn notebook. He placed it between you two with a rare hesitance, as though it was heavier than it appeared.

“I don’t usually carry things like this,” he started, his voice rough but not harsh. “But... I thought you might find it useful.” He tapped the notebook once. “It’s full of notes—things I’ve learned, strategies, things about our crew that could be useful. Not much, but it’s something I’ve kept for myself. Thought it might help you... since we’ve been working together.”

There was no flashy gesture, no grand promises—just this small act of vulnerability. Crocodile wasn’t one to share his notes or insights with just anyone, much less someone he had been pushing away. It was his way of showing he trusted you more than he had before.

You stared at it for a moment, processing what he’d done. It wasn’t grand, it wasn’t over-the-top, but it was honest. It was him offering something personal, a piece of his world that he didn’t usually share.

“I know I’m not great with words,” Crocodile continued, looking away, his usual guarded expression back in place. “But I can do this. I’ll show you I’m not just some cold bastard.”

You let the silence stretch between you as you reached for the notebook, running your fingers over the pages. It was simple, but it meant something—he was trying. And that was enough for now.

"Thank you," you said softly, glancing up at him. "This is... more than I expected."

His eyes flickered to yours for a moment, something unreadable in them. "It's just a start," he muttered, standing up. "I’ll keep trying. But you’ve got to meet me halfway, too."

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief. It wasn’t perfect, and there were no sweeping gestures, but this... this felt real. And that was a good place to begin.

---

Ace

The sun was setting on the horizon, casting golden hues across the ship. You and the rest of the Whitebeard Pirates were enjoying a rare moment of calm as the ship slowly drifted across the sea. The deck was lively with the crew, but you found yourself chatting with Thatch, who was always kind and welcoming.

The conversation was lighthearted, the two of you laughing over some silly story. But through the corner of your eye, you noticed Ace’s figure standing by the mast. His eyes were fixed on you and Thatch. You didn’t think much of it, assuming Ace was just being his usual quiet self. But then, you saw his expression—dark, his jaw clenched, fists tightly gripping the railing. His eyes narrowed as he watched you, and it felt like a cold gust had suddenly blown through the deck.

Before you could finish your conversation with Thatch, Ace stormed over. You barely registered his approach before he grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from Thatch.

“Hey! What the hell, Ace? What’s going on?” you said, trying to pull your arm from his grasp.

“Don’t hey me,” Ace snapped, his voice low and seething. He was angry, and it was obvious. “What the hell was that about?”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, confused. You looked back toward Thatch, who was watching the exchange, a slight frown on his face.

“Don’t play dumb,” Ace growled. “You’ve been all over Thatch today. Laughing, touching him, flirting like it’s some fucking game. What, am I not enough for you?”

Your heart dropped at his words. “Flirting? Ace, we were just talking. It’s nothing like that. You’re making it into something it’s not.”

“Really?” Ace scoffed, his eyes darkening. “Don’t act like I’m blind. I’ve been watching you. The way you’re acting with him, it’s obvious. You think I wouldn’t notice? You think I wouldn’t see it?”

You felt the heat rise in your chest. “Are you seriously accusing me of something right now? You’ve known Thatch for years, and now you’re acting like this over nothing?”

Ace’s grip tightened on your wrist, his face flushed with anger. “Nothing? You think this is nothing? You think I’m stupid? You’ve been laughing with him, leaning into him, all damn day! It’s like I’m invisible to you when he’s around!”

“Ace, calm down!” you snapped, pulling your arm from his grip. “You’re overreacting. This isn’t about Thatch! I’m not doing anything wrong!”

Ace stepped closer, his voice growing colder. “Don’t tell me to calm down. You don’t get it, do you? I’m standing here, and I’m watching you smile at him, touch him, like I don’t fucking matter. And what the hell am I supposed to think?”

You couldn’t believe it. “You’re acting insane. You know I love you, right? You’re my partner. But you can’t just jump to conclusions like this—this isn’t jealousy, this is possessiveness. It’s not fair to me.”

“I don’t give a damn what you call it,” Ace sneered, crossing his arms. “It’s not just a little joke anymore. It’s like you’re fucking ignoring me every time he shows up, and I’m tired of it.”

You clenched your fists, feeling your frustration boil over. “How many times do I have to tell you? You’re the one I want. Not him, not anyone else. I’m not some fucking flirt, I don’t need your jealousy getting in the way of everything. You’re acting like a child.”

“A child?” Ace barked out a laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. “Look at you. You’re so fucking perfect with everyone else. But when it comes to me, I’m the one left questioning if I even matter to you.”

“Ace, you’re being ridiculous!” you yelled, your anger flaring. “This isn’t how you should be acting. You’re pushing me away with this shit!”

“I don’t care if you think I’m ridiculous!” Ace shot back, his face turning red with fury. “I can’t fucking help it. It just hurts to see you giving attention to someone else when you’re supposed to be mine. What am I supposed to do with that? Just ignore it like you’re not doing anything wrong?”

Your chest tightened at his words, and you couldn’t even find a response. You stared at him in disbelief. The person you knew, the Ace you loved, wouldn’t talk to you like this. He wouldn’t accuse you, wouldn’t twist everything into something ugly. “I can’t believe you’re saying this to me,” you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief.

Ace ran a hand through his hair, his expression shifting from anger to frustration, but his tone was still harsh. “I’m just saying what I feel, alright? Maybe I should just stop caring. Maybe I should just let you do whatever the hell you want without giving a damn.”

You felt a sting in your heart at that, but you didn’t let him see it. “Fine. If that’s how you want to be, then go ahead. Push me away. Make me feel like I don’t matter. Do what you need to do.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you!” Ace snapped, his voice getting louder. “I’m just tired of feeling like I’m not enough for you! Like you don’t need me anymore!”

“Ace, stop acting like I’m the one who’s wrong here,” you said, stepping back from him. “This is about you—your insecurities. You need to figure this shit out before you start blaming me.”

“I don’t need your lectures right now,” Ace spat, his eyes wild with frustration. “I don’t need you to tell me I’m the one with a problem. You’re the one making me feel like this!”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel the tension between you two, thick as smoke. You didn’t know what to say anymore. His words hurt more than anything, and you could feel the emotional distance growing between you.

“Ace,” you began, your voice quieter now, though still edged with anger. “I’m not going to keep fighting with you like this. If you want to think that I’m the problem here, then fine. Do whatever you want. But I won’t be dragged down by your jealousy. I won’t.”

You turned to walk away, but Ace’s harsh voice stopped you. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? Don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m trying to make sense of this! Don’t pretend like you’re innocent in all of this!”

You didn’t stop. You kept walking, not giving him another glance. If he couldn’t see how much you loved him, if he couldn’t get over his own jealousy, there was nothing more you could say.

And in that moment, the distance between you and Ace felt wider than it ever had.

----

The moment Ace walked away, everything felt cold. You didn’t know how long you stood there, just staring at the spot where he had left you. Your hand was still aching from his grip, but it was the sting in your chest that hurt more. He didn’t trust you, and it felt like a punch to the gut.

You didn’t want to cry, but the tears started anyway. It wasn’t just that he’d been angry—it was the way he’d accused you, made you feel like you weren’t good enough for him. His words burned like fire in your mind, and they refused to go away. You rubbed your eyes furiously, wishing it would stop, but it didn’t.

You made your way below deck, avoiding anyone’s eyes. But even in the silence, the weight of Ace’s accusations pressed against your chest.

The sound of footsteps on the wooden floor interrupted your thoughts, but you didn’t look up.

“Ace…” you whispered, voice barely audible, as you heard him stand in front of you. His figure towered over you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

He stood there for a long moment before letting out a long sigh.

“I messed up.” His voice was quieter now, filled with regret.

You didn’t answer right away, the hurt still raw. He continued, as if to reassure you.

“I know I was harsh,” he said softly. “I don’t know why I reacted like that. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you.”

You finally looked up, his face full of guilt. It wasn’t the same anger you had seen earlier, but it didn’t make it better.

“Ace, I don’t deserve that,” you said, your voice shaking. “You’ve been treating me like… like I’m the one doing something wrong. You don’t trust me.”

“I know,” Ace muttered. “I was jealous, and it made me stupid. I didn’t think. I just… acted.”

“You can’t just accuse me like that, Ace. I thought you knew me better than anyone.”

“I do,” he said quickly, kneeling in front of you. His voice cracked slightly. “I do know you. And I’m sorry. I… I don’t know why I overreacted like that. It’s just…” He paused, staring down at the floor, lost in thought. “I get scared sometimes, you know? That you’ll leave me. Or that I’m not good enough.”

His words were quieter now, as if speaking them made the weight of them hit him too.

You swallowed hard, still trying to hold yourself together. “It’s not about you not being good enough, Ace. But you made me feel like I was the problem.”

“I didn’t mean to do that. I promise. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ll make it right, I swear.”

He reached out then, carefully pulling you into a hug. His arms were warm around you, and despite everything, it felt like home.

“I’ll prove it to you,” Ace whispered against your ear. “Just... please don’t leave me.”

----

Later that evening, Ace approached you once again. He wasn’t going to let this slide with just words. This time, he was determined to show you how much you meant to him.

He found you on the deck, staring out at the sea. The sunset had painted the sky in shades of orange and pink. He hesitated for a moment, but then walked up to you, standing still for a few seconds before quietly sitting beside you.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. About how I’ve treated you,” Ace started, his voice calm but serious. He wasn’t going to let this be a quick fix. He had to prove he was serious. “I was an idiot before.”

You didn’t respond right away, but you didn’t pull away either, so he took that as his sign to continue.

“You deserve better than me just saying ‘sorry,’” Ace continued, looking at you with those soft, apologetic eyes. “I want to show you, not just tell you.”

Without waiting for a response, Ace stood up and reached into his jacket, pulling out something small wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped it carefully, revealing a beautiful hand-carved wooden pendant—one shaped like a flame, a piece of his own soul carved into it. He placed it in your hand, his palm warm against yours.

“I made this for you,” Ace explained, his voice low. “It’s not much, but it’s a reminder. Every time you look at it, I want you to remember that I’m here. I’m trying to be better. For you.”

You stared at the pendant, surprised that Ace had gone this far. He wasn’t known for his sentimental side, and seeing him take the time to make something so personal was a first.

But that wasn’t all.

Ace lowered himself to one knee, taking your hands in his, his usual cocky grin gone, replaced by something deeper. “I’m not perfect. Hell, I’m far from it. But I’m gonna fight for you, every damn day, if it means showing you that you’re mine and that I don’t take you for granted.”

His eyes held sincerity, not just for a moment but for what felt like eternity. He wasn’t asking for immediate forgiveness; he was showing you that he understood the weight of what he’d done, and he was willing to carry that burden.

“I’ll be better. I’ll prove it to you, one step at a time,” Ace added, squeezing your hands gently. “I’m not gonna run from it. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You felt the weight of his words settle between you, but it was the actions—the carving, the kneeling, the rawness of his apology—that made the difference.

And in that moment, something shifted. His effort wasn’t just in the words, but in the way he had approached everything differently. The care, the vulnerability, the openness—it was something you hadn’t seen from Ace in this way before.

“Thank you,” you whispered, finally meeting his gaze.

Ace’s face softened, and he pulled you into his arms gently. “I’ll never stop showing you, okay? I’ll never stop trying.”

You could feel the warmth of his embrace, but it was different now—sincere, unwavering, and full of effort. He wasn’t perfect, but this was the Ace you had always known, the one who, when he cared, gave everything he had.

“I know you won’t,” you murmured, resting your head against his chest, knowing that even in his flaws, Ace’s heart was real and his effort was exactly what you needed.

----

Law

You were in the medical bay, carefully organizing the supplies, running through the routine tasks that kept you busy and, for the moment, kept your mind off the chaos of being aboard the Polar Tang. The quiet buzz of the ship’s engine was a subtle backdrop, almost soothing, but it wasn’t long before Law entered, his heavy boots echoing in the small space.

“Are you seriously doing this now?” His voice cut through the silence like a blade.

You turned, surprised to see him standing there with his arms crossed, a frustrated look on his face. "What? I’m just getting the medical supplies organized," you said, trying to keep your tone neutral. You had been with him long enough to know when something was off, and you could feel the tension in the air.

Law didn’t even spare a glance at the supplies. Instead, his eyes were fixed on you, sharp as ever. “It’s a waste of time. Don’t you have something more important to do?”

You blinked, taken aback. “What’s wrong with organizing the medical supplies? We can’t afford to let things get disorganized—especially if someone gets hurt. You should know that.”

His lips curled into a sneer. “This again? All you ever seem to do is waste time in here. We have real problems going on, and here you are, playing nursemaid.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you tried to stay calm. “I’m not just playing nursemaid, Law. This is a crucial part of the crew’s well-being. You might not see it, but when someone gets injured, we need everything in place.”

Law snorted, walking further into the room with no regard for the way his presence weighed on you. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been the one patching up the crew for years. I don’t need some reminder of how ‘important’ this is.”

His eyes glinted with something cold, making you feel like you were the one being irrational. “And yet, every time I come in here, I see you fiddling with bandages and vials like it’s some hobby. Maybe if you spent more time actually being useful, we wouldn’t be in half the mess we’re in now.”

You felt a rush of heat flood your face, your patience wearing thin. “Useful? I’m always useful, Law! You’ve never seen me just sit around and do nothing. I’ve been with you through thick and thin. What the hell is your problem today?”

Law didn’t flinch, his gaze cold and hard. “You’ve been off lately, not getting your hands dirty, avoiding the real work. Every time I turn around, you’re in here with your head buried in paperwork or fiddling with stuff that doesn’t matter. Are you even trying to help anymore, or is this your way of slacking off?”

You felt your pulse quicken, the sharpness of his words stinging like a slap across the face. “You know what? I don’t need this right now. I’m trying to do my best, but I guess that’s never good enough for you, huh?” You crossed your arms, pushing back the feeling of betrayal that crept up your throat.

“I don’t need your excuses,” Law replied, his voice colder than before. “You know what this crew is like, and you know what’s at stake. The sooner you stop pretending like this is all a game, the better.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “I’m done here.”

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving you standing in the middle of the room, stunned. You stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.

You sat alone in your room, staring at the wooden floorboards, your mind replaying the harsh words from earlier. His anger had caught you off guard, and it stung in ways you didn’t expect. You’d never seen him like that—so cold, so dismissive. What had you done wrong?

You hadn’t meant to upset him, not at all. You were only trying to help, to get through to him, but it seemed like he didn’t want to hear it. The more you thought about it, the more it hurt. Was this how he really saw you? Was everything you did so easily misinterpreted?

The tears came, slowly at first, then in a rush, spilling down your cheeks as the weight of the argument settled in. You wiped at your face, trying to push back the emotions, but it was useless. His words lingered in your chest, heavy and suffocating.

You felt small in that moment. Small and insignificant. He wasn’t the kind of man who wore his feelings openly, but you thought—no, you hoped—that maybe, just maybe, he’d let you in. Now, all you had were the fragments of a conversation that had broken everything apart.

You stood up abruptly, wiping your eyes and trying to pull yourself together. There was no point in crying, not now. But the silence in the room felt like a weight you couldn’t escape, and your heart ached in a way it never had before.

----

The next morning, the air between you and Law was thick with silence. It felt like a weight neither of you wanted to lift, but both of you knew it needed to be addressed.

You walked down the corridor of the ship, your mind replaying everything that had happened last night. His words, his cold tone, and how they made you feel—like an afterthought, like your feelings didn’t matter. You needed to shake it off, but it lingered.

As you neared the deck, you saw Law standing near the railing, staring out at the horizon. His usual composure was gone. There was something about the way he stood there—quiet, almost brooding—that made your chest tighten.

You stopped a few paces away, unsure whether you should approach or just walk by. But you didn't want this hanging over you any longer. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and made your way toward him.

Law didn’t acknowledge you at first. His gaze remained on the horizon, but there was a noticeable shift in the air as you got closer.

“You were right to be angry last night,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. The words caught you off guard.

You blinked, surprised by his bluntness. “What do you mean?”

He exhaled slowly, his hands gripping the railing a little tighter. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I was out of line. I made you feel like your feelings didn’t matter, and I… I don’t want to make you feel that way again.”

There was no excuse, no deflection. He didn’t try to rationalize it. The rawness of his admission made something in your chest loosen.

“You fucked up,” you said, voice low but steady. “It wasn’t just about the words, it’s about how it made me feel. Like I wasn’t… important to you.”

“I know,” Law replied quietly, his voice carrying more regret than you had ever heard. “And I don’t want you to feel like that, not ever. I don’t want to make excuses… but I’ve been so caught up in my own shit that I couldn’t see what I was doing to you.”

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond. His words were hard to process, but there was something in them that felt different—something that wasn’t typical of Law.

He met your gaze, and for a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of the waves. “I won’t pretend I know how to do this right, but I will try. And I’ll show you through my actions, not just words.”

You hesitated, still feeling the weight of everything. “Actions? Like what?”

Law's gaze softened, and he stepped away from the railing, facing you fully. “Tonight… let’s take a break from the ship. No work. Just us. We can go somewhere quiet, somewhere we don’t have to worry about anything else. I’ll listen, I’ll be present. You deserve that, and I want to show you I can do better.”

The sincerity in his voice made you pause, the hesitation in your chest slowly melting away.

He didn’t need to explain it further; you could see the change in his expression, the way his eyes weren’t as guarded. The rawness of his apology spoke volumes, and his willingness to make an effort, to actually show you, made you feel something different—hope, maybe.

The night came, and as promised, Law took you somewhere away from the hustle of the ship. The moment felt intimate, unspoken, and just… peaceful. You didn’t have to say much; the quiet between you two now felt like understanding, not tension. No grand gestures. Just time spent together, away from the chaos, showing each other what words sometimes couldn’t express.

----

Mihawk

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale light across the castle grounds as the night stretched on. You stood near the balcony, overlooking the vast, quiet expanse of Kuraigana Island, trying to ease the tension that had been building between you and Mihawk for days. You didn’t understand it. He had always been quiet, always withdrawn, but this... this was different.

You had tried to speak to him earlier, but each time, he shut you down.

You walked up to him now, your voice breaking the silence of the night. “Mihawk,” you started softly, “we need to talk.”

Mihawk didn’t even look up from his sword. His posture was perfect, as always, but his eyes were distant. “I’m not in the mood for a conversation.”

Your stomach twisted. “You’ve been like this for days. I don’t even know what’s going on with you anymore.”

“I told you, nothing is wrong.” Mihawk’s tone was clipped, cold.

You stepped closer, frustration rising. “That’s not true. You’ve been shutting me out. You barely say anything when I’m around. It’s like you don’t even want me here.”

He sighed, setting the sword down on the stone table, the movement deliberate, almost as though he was choosing his next words with care. “I’ve been thinking.”

You crossed your arms, taking a step toward him. “About?”

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze dark and contemplative. “About this whole… situation.” He gestured vaguely toward the castle, as if the whole life they led was part of the problem. “About us.”

You frowned, stepping closer still. “Us?”

He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with where this conversation was headed, but he kept going. “I’m not the kind of person who… needs company. I don’t need someone hovering over me, asking questions all the time.”

Your chest tightened, and you could feel the sting of those words more than you cared to admit. You’d always known Mihawk was a man of few words, but hearing him say it like this hit harder than expected. “So, what? You’re saying I’m annoying?”

Mihawk’s gaze flickered briefly to your face before he looked away, uncomfortable. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean, Mihawk?” you pressed, trying to keep your voice steady. “Because that sure as hell sounds like you’re pushing me away.”

He stood up straighter, his eyes hardening for a moment, but there was a flicker of something beneath the surface—something raw, something almost vulnerable. “I’m not pushing you away,” he muttered, though the words sounded like they were meant more for himself than for you. “I just… don’t know how to let people in.”

You stepped back, a sharp breath leaving your lips. His words were a dagger in your chest. “You don’t have to be perfect, Mihawk. But this… this is just too much.”

His face hardened again, the vulnerability disappearing behind that familiar, cold mask. “I didn’t ask for your sympathy.”

You recoiled, shaking your head. “It’s not sympathy, Mihawk. I’m trying to be here for you, but you won’t let me. You keep pushing me away.”

There was a long silence between you, the kind that stretched out too long, too thick to ignore. Mihawk stared at the floor, visibly struggling with something you couldn’t quite understand.

Finally, he sighed, his voice barely a whisper. “Maybe I’m better off alone.”

Your heart shattered with those words. The finality of them, the coldness, the impossibility of it, made it harder to breathe. You turned quickly, not wanting him to see the sting of his words on your face.

Without another word, you walked off, your steps heavy and purposeful.

----

You didn’t wait for him to speak. You didn’t need to. Mihawk’s words hung in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating everything between you. “Maybe I’m better off alone.”

You walked away before the sting of his words could settle, the sharp edge of them cutting through your chest. You didn’t care that he was still standing there, staring after you.

Your feet took you to your room in the castle, but even as you closed the door behind you, the world outside seemed to close in. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at your hands, trying to push the burn behind your eyes. But it was useless. The tears came, slow at first, then faster. You pressed your palms against your face, desperate to stop them, but they kept coming.

Why? Why did he say that?

Your heart ached, and you couldn’t figure out what hurt more—the words themselves or the realization that he didn’t want you around. Mihawk. The man who had kept everyone at a distance. The one who had never once asked for anything. And you—you—had thought maybe you could be the one person to change that. But you were wrong.

----

Meanwhile, Mihawk sat in his study, his mind tangled in his own thoughts. He stared out at the night sky, trying to drown out the regret gnawing at him. What have I done?

He had never been good with people, never good with emotions. I didn’t mean it. She shouldn’t have to feel like that.

His words had come out too easily, without thinking. He had pushed you away when all you had done was show him care, patience... love.

He let out a frustrated breath, the weight of his mistake pressing harder on him. She doesn’t deserve this.

He rose from his seat, walking to the window, gripping the ledge with clenched fists. What now? He had always been alone, but the thought of you not being there, of losing what little connection he had with you, hurt more than he could admit. He wasn’t sure how to fix it. He never knew how to fix things.

She’s not going to forgive me easily, is she? He sighed, the silence in the air heavier than the night sky before him. I have to make this right... somehow.

----

The following morning, Mihawk woke with a single thought in mind. He couldn’t stand the tension, the silence between you two. The words from the night before echoed in his head, but now all he could focus on was the idea of making things right.

You were still distant, and he knew he couldn’t just speak his way out of it. He had to show you, to prove that he cared, even if he had never learned how to express it properly.

He moved to the kitchen of his castle early that morning, preparing a quiet breakfast, his hands methodical as he selected fresh ingredients from his garden. He was no stranger to cooking—having lived alone for so many years meant he’d developed the skill, even if he didn’t often share it with anyone. But this time, it wasn’t about the food. It was about showing you, in his own way, that he didn’t want to lose you.

Mihawk worked in silence, chopping vegetables and herbs, carefully preparing a dish that, though simple, was made with genuine effort. He took his time—something rare for him, but he knew it was necessary.

Once everything was ready, he set the table, the soft clink of porcelain and silverware the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

After a long moment, he took a breath, walked down the hall, and knocked on your door.

“Y/N,” Mihawk’s voice was quieter than usual, almost tentative. “I’ve made something. For you.”

You were sitting at the small desk by the window when you heard him. You turned slowly, your expression unreadable, and saw him standing there with a plate of food in his hands.

For a moment, there was silence between you, and Mihawk seemed to hesitate, unsure how to approach you. Then, finally, he stepped forward, setting the plate down on the small table beside you.

“I... I don’t know if this is what you wanted, but it’s what I could do,” Mihawk said, his voice steady but softer than usual. “I’m not good with words, but I wanted to show you I’m sorry.”

You stared at the plate for a moment, then back at him. You could see the subtle shift in his demeanor—his posture was less rigid, his expression more vulnerable than you’d ever seen before. You hadn’t expected this. He was never one to cook, and yet, here he was—offering you something he had prepared himself.

Tentatively, you reached for the fork, your fingers brushing against his as you took a bite. The taste was simple—fresh vegetables, some herbs—but it was good. Better than you expected, considering Mihawk's usual reliance on swords rather than culinary skills.

“It’s... really good,” you said softly, your gaze lifting to meet his.

Mihawk’s features softened, and for the first time, a small smile played at the corners of his lips. “I wanted to do something... something more than just apologizing. Words aren’t enough.”

You set the fork down, your hand resting on the table between you. “Mihawk,” you began, your voice barely a whisper, “I know you don’t always know how to show it. But you don’t have to shut me out. I just... I want to be here for you.”

Mihawk stood still for a moment, looking at you, taking in your words. It wasn’t easy for him to admit his feelings, but here, now, in the quiet of his castle, he finally let his guard down, even if just a little.

“I... don’t know how to do this,” he said slowly, his voice low. “But I don’t want to lose you. Not like this.”

You smiled, reaching out to touch his hand gently. “You don’t have to be perfect. Just be honest with me. That’s all I want.”

For the first time, Mihawk let out a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing as he sat down beside you. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes.

“I will,” Mihawk said, his voice steady now. “I will try, Y/N. I’ll try harder.”

And in that quiet moment, surrounded by the warmth of a simple meal and the weight of unspoken promises, you both knew that this was just the beginning—Mihawk, for the first time, letting someone in, and you, ready to stay by his side, no matter how hard the journey ahead might be.

[ifourtechnolab-nl]

REMOTE WORK - OPPORTUNITIES AND CHALLENGES FOR DEVELOPMENT COMPANIES | iFour Technolab

One of the challenges that remote employees of Software Development companies face is overwork. It becomes difficult to balance work and life when it is under the same roof. Even though working from home means working on different days or hours, and being flexible. But some employees tend to spend more time on work during the day which is not required. Due to this, they feel exhausted, sleep-deprived, and lack of personal time.

The workload does not allow the employee to focus on the essential tasks and leads to a significant decrease in productivity.

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

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

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, emetophobia warning, domestic fluff, birthdays + Christmas, some emotional instabillity.

Notes — I hope you guys love this one. It's so full of sweetness. A bit of frustration too, but mostly sweetness.

December 2023

The lights in the MTC's build bay always felt too bright. Amelia squinted up at them in annoyance, then turned her gaze back to the car.

Her car.

Not hers in any legal or possessive way — it belonged to the team, to the season, to the wind tunnel and CFD modellers.

But the final profile of the MCL38-AN was a shape that had lived in her brain before it ever existed in carbon fibre form. It had existed exclusively within spreadsheets and flow charts and headaches. Whiteboard scrawls at two in the morning. Phone calls to her dad. Arguments with aero. Hours of simulations. Hours of starting over.

And now it was real. Sitting right in front of her.

Orange and black, sleek and hungry, its chassis caught the overhead lights and glowing.

Amelia didn't move. She needed minute. She just stood beside the rear wing, arms crossed tight over her chest, soaking in the project that had consumed every spare hour of the past two years of her life.

She had half a muffin in her bag from breakfast four hours ago. She'd forgotten to eat it.

The name on the spec sheet was just technical: MCL38-AN. The suffix had started as a quiet claim — her way of signing something no one could take from her. Years ago, her father had passed off one of her ideas as his own. "AN" for Amelia Norris, scribbled on a draft after too much coffee, felt like insurance. But the department kept using it. Zak hadn't stopped them. And now it was printed on the official build list, black ink and daring her to believe it was really hers.

Her name. On a car.

"Staring at it won't make it disappear," came a voice from the other end of the garage.

Amelia didn't look over. "I'm aware," she replied flatly.

Anthony, one of the build engineers, chuckled and walked closer, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. "Just never seen you stand still this long before. Thought maybe you'd short-circuited."

"Internally," she replied. "I'm experiencing the Blue Screen of Emotion."

He laughed again. "Hell of a machine you designed."

She didn't correct him.

Instead, she stepped forward and laid one hand on the side-pod. The material was cold and smooth under her fingers. She could feel the vibration of the building, the faint hum of tools and voices and fluorescent life, echoing back through the structure.

"This was all in my head once," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "And now it's... this."

Anthony, thankfully, didn't say anything saccharine. Just gave a nod and let her stand there.

Amelia walked slowly around to the front of the car, fingers trailing against the bodywork. Her brain was already scanning for imperfections — minor details to flag, alignment to double-check, tolerances to run again. But beneath that, buried under years of ruthless professional calibration, was something quieter.

Pride.

Not loud or dramatic or showy. Just a quiet click of recognition.

This was good work. And it was hers.

"Can we run power systems later today?" She asked.

Anthony nodded. "Soon as Oscar finishes his lunch."

"Tell him I said no mayo on the telemetry."

"I don't even know what that means."

Amelia didn't clarify. She just smiled faintly to herself and stepped back, surveying the car one more time.

MCL38-AN.

Not bad for a girl who used to line up her Hot Wheels in exact weight-to-downforce order as a kid and got sent home from school for correcting her teacher's physics formulas.

She pulled out her phone, snapped a picture of the car, just for herself, then typed out a message to Lando.

iMessage — 14:33pm

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

Almost ready for testing. I'm so proud it's making me nauseous.

A second later, another text.

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

Or maybe that's just the pregnancy.

—

Amelia sat cross-legged across from Lando, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands despite the lingering warmth in the air. Lando was barefoot, legs stretched out, half a grin on his face as he finished the last bite of cake she'd awkwardly cut with a plastic knife.

They were on Max's boat, rocking gently in the Monaco harbour. They'd stolen it for the day.

"Bit late," he teased, licking frosting off his thumb. "Birthday was like... three weeks ago."

"You were busy," she said simply. "So was I. And also I needed time."

"Time?"

"To figure out what to give you." She said. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a small, square box; plain brown kraft paper, tied neatly with black ribbon. No card. Of course there was no card. She hated cards — never knew what to write in them.

Lando raised an eyebrow as he took it. "Not socks?"

"No."

He peeled the ribbon open and lifted the lid.

Inside was a tiny frame. Minimalist. Neutral. Inside it, a single page torn from a notebook — lined paper, slightly smudged pencil. On it: a series of racing lines drawn from memory. His best qualifying lap from Silverstone. Annotated in her handwriting with tiny notes. Brake here. Open throttle earlier. Turn-in felt cleaner than expected.

He stared at it for a long moment before speaking. "This is..."

"You told me you wanted to frame that lap. I had the data sheet, but I wanted to draw it from memory," she said, eyes on the water instead of him. "That way it's both yours and mine. More special."

Lando didn't speak. Not right away. Just set the frame down carefully and crawled across the cushions to kiss her — soft, deliberate. One hand cupped her jaw; the other rested over her heart like it was helping him breathe. When he pulled back, his eyes were suspiciously glassy. "I think that might be one of the best birthday presents I've ever received," he said. "And I love it."

She gave a tiny shrug. "Good. You're really hard to shop for. You buy everything you want as soon as you decide that you want it."

He laughed, pulling her into his chest.

The boat rocked gently, and the sun sank lower, and for once there was nothing they needed to do, nowhere they needed to be. Just a belated birthday, and a perfect lap, and the girl who knew every corner of it better than anyone ever would.

—

The ultrasound room was dim, lit mostly by the soft blue glow of the monitor and the faint flicker of winter sun bleeding through the frosted windowpanes. The air smelled faintly sterile, like clean cotton and antiseptic.

Amelia lay back on the table, her t-shirt folded up over her stomach, the thin paper drape rustling every time she shifted. One hand was clenched tightly in Lando's — not out of nerves, exactly, but out of that taut, quiet focus she always wore when she didn't have full control of a situation.

She eyed the plastic bottle in the technician's hand with thinly veiled suspicion.

"What is that?" She asked flatly.

"Just ultrasound gel," the technician said, chipper and entirely unprepared.

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "What are the ingredients?"

The woman faltered, eyes darting to Lando and then back to Amelia. "Um..."

Lando looked at his wife.

Amelia didn't look at him. "I just feel like if we're going to lather something all over my body, I should know whether it contains...you know, petrochemicals or carcinogens or hormone disruptors."

The technician blinked. "It's... mostly water-based," she said finally. "And glycerin. No dyes. No perfumes."

Amelia stared a second longer, then gave a short, diplomatic nod. "Fine."

Lando leaned over and whispered, "You sure?"

"Yes," she muttered.

The technician, clearly deciding she'd earned the right to proceed, gently pressed the probe to Amelia's stomach. She flinched, not from pain, but from the cold smear of the gel, and made a disgruntled little noise in the back of her throat.

Lando squeezed her hand once, smiling.

And then the screen flickered. A faint, grainy image bloomed into view, shadow and static and light, and the whole room seemed to still.

"Ah, a very easy one. There we are," the technician said softly, her voice shifting into something gentle. "One very small someone."

Amelia blinked at the monitor. "That blob is a baby?"

The tech chuckled. "That blob is your baby."

Lando's breath caught in his throat. He shifted closer to her side, eyes locked on the flickering movement onscreen — a heartbeat, tiny and fast and impossibly loud once the audio kicked in. It sounded like wings. Like something about to take off.

Amelia didn't speak for a long time. Just stared. Her mouth parted, eyes wide. She looked stunned, like her body had already figured it out, but her brain hadn't quite caught up.

"Is that..." she finally whispered. "That flicker, is that... the heartbeat?"

The technician nodded.

Amelia's mouth wobbled. Her fingers clenched tighter around Lando's. "It's going so... fast."

"Perfectly normal at this stage."

Lando, who had been quiet until now, suddenly straightened and leaned in closer, eyes glued to the screen. "Wait—how fast? Like, beats per minute?"

The technician glanced at the monitor, tapping a few keys. "Right now, it's about 170. A bit faster than an adult's, but that's exactly what we expect this early on."

Lando's eyes widened. "One seventy? That's incredible. Is that—like—normal?"

"Yeah, perfectly normal. It usually starts slower around five weeks and then speeds up."

Amelia's voice was quiet, but steady. "How many weeks are we exactly?"

"About seven weeks from the last menstrual period," the technician replied, smiling gently.

Lando glanced at Amelia, then back to the screen. "So... when's the due date? When can we expect... I mean, when—?"

The technician switched the screen to a small calendar. "Based on measurements, your due date should fall somewhere around August 14th."

Amelia exhaled slowly, eyes still on the grainy image of that tiny flickering heartbeat. "August 14th," she repeated. "Between Spa and Zandvoort, then."

Lando grinned and squeezed her hand. "That's... just over six months away. Feels proper real now."

Amelia's lips twitched in a tired smile. "Yeah, it's a bit overwhelming."

Lando's voice softened. "Overwhelming in a good way?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I think so."

He looked at her with such tenderness that it made her throat tighten.

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Maybe," Lando said softly, "instead of letting this make us feel out of control, we need to learn how to trust that our little person is just... doing its own thing."

Amelia closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, the flickering heartbeat was still there — small but unmistakably alive. "Okay," she said quietly, "yeah. Okay."

The technician smiled again, dimming the monitor as she packed up. "You're doing wonderfully. We'll schedule your next scan in three to four weeks time, but for now, just try to enjoy this moment."

Lando squeezed Amelia's hand.

—

The Norris house was full of noise — crumpled wrapping paper on every surface, half-eaten mince pies on plates, Christmas music playing softly in the background, and the fire crackling with the kind of persistent warmth only a real log burner could offer.

Amelia sat on the arm of the couch, a mug of peppermint hot chocolate in her hands (the only thing that didn't make her nauseous that week), watching Lando and his siblings messily construct some kind of Christmas LEGO set on the floor.

It was chaos. The good kind. Lando was wearing a Santa hat and trying to boss everyone around. Cisca was curled up in the other armchair watching them fondly, and even Adam was getting involved, despite pretending he was "too old for LEGO" about twenty minutes earlier.

Amelia felt warm. Not just from the fire, or the hot chocolate. But that kind of rooted, grounded warmth she hadn't felt since childhood.

Lando glanced up at her from the rug. His cheeks were flushed, curls a little wild, still in pyjamas. He grinned that stupidly wide grin of his; the one she could never not return.

"Okay," he said suddenly, clapping his hands together. "We've got one last gift."

His siblings groaned dramatically. "You're just trying to win Christmas," Flo said, already suspicious.

"No," Lando said, glancing up at Amelia. "This one's from both of us."

He got up and walked to the tree, pulling out a small box, about the size of a mug, wrapped in deep green paper and a lopsided gold bow. He handed it to Flo, gesturing for her to open it.

She peeled it back, frowned... and then blinked.

Inside was a tiny McLaren onesie, size newborn, folded neatly next to a photo printout of the ultrasound. On the front of the onesie was a little stitched helmet — and underneath it, "Team Norris. Arriving August 2024."

There was a beat of silence.

Flo stared.

"Shut. Up."

Adam whipped around, eyes wide. "Oh my god."

"No way," Flo said, already scrambling up from the floor.

Cisca covered her mouth, eyes wide and glassy. "Are you—? Are you serious?"

Amelia nodded, quietly overwhelmed by the whole thing, but smiling anyway, caught in the centre of a hug from Lando's siblings as they collapsed into her, cheering and yelling and somehow knocking her mug over (Lando caught it just in time).

Flo kept staring at the ultrasound photo like it was a sacred relic. "I am going to be the best auntie."

Adam walked over to Lando and gave him a tight hug, a forehead kiss, and a pat on the back.

Cisca hugged Amelia gently, brushing her hair back. "I had a feeling," she whispered. "You've had that glow."

Amelia laughed. "The glow is just sweat from the constant nausea. But thanks."

Lando wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, chin on her shoulder, warm and soft and safe."Merry Christmas," he murmured.

She leaned her head back against his. "Merry Christmas."

—

January 2024

The new apartment smelled like fresh paint.

It was bigger, with big windows and tiled floors and way more space than their old place. But in that exact moment, it mostly looked like a war zone. A mess of cardboard, bubble wrap, and various limbs sticking out from behind furniture.

"Why does your wife own so many pairs of shoes?" Max asked, squinting as he pulled box after box labelled Amelia: Shoes from the back of the moving van.

"She likes having options, Max," Lando replied from inside the apartment. "You wouldn't get it."

"I've already seen three pairs of the same sneaker!"

"Sometimes she wants them to look newer, sometimes she wants them to look worn!"

Amelia stood frozen in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped tightly around a single lamp. Not because it was heavy, it was from IKEA, but because she'd very quickly reached her max input for the day.

People talking, laughing, doors slamming, someone (probably Charles) putting a Spotify playlist on the TV at full volume, Celeste asking where the boxes marked kitchen - fragile had gone (answer: behind the miscellaneous - Lando's gamer shit), and her mom trying to organise snacks that everyone had insisted they didn't need but everyone was happily eating.

It was chaos. Warm, well-meaning chaos. But chaos all the same.

"Breathe, baby," came Lando's voice, suddenly right behind her. His hand gently closed over hers, guiding the lamp to the floor. "Let go."

"I'm fine," she said quickly.

"You're vibrating."

"I'm self-regulating."

"You're about to pop like a champagne bottle on the podium."

She blinked at him. "Lando."

"It's fine," he whispered, kissing her cheek. "Go sit. I'll turn down Charles' shit music."

She nodded once and retreated to the kitchen, or, well, what would be the kitchen, once all the boxes weren't stacked like a cardboard skyline.

Her dad followed her a moment later, holding a garbage bag full of what looked like packing peanuts. "Need anything, sweetheart?"

Amelia, dazed, looked up at her dad. "A new brain."

"I meant, like, a juice box."

"Oh. Do we have any?"

"I'll ask your mom." He laughed and kissed the top of her head before disappearing to the balcony.

Celeste popped in with a stack of throw pillows and collapsed beside her. "Remind me never offer to help anyone move again."

Charles, sliding by with a box labeled guest bathroom, raised his hand. "You're all weak."

"You hired movers," Max called from the hallway.

"Because I am smart," Charles countered.

Eventually, they made enough of a dent in the chaos to pause; boxes stacked in corners, the couch unwrapped, the kitchen sort of navigable. Everyone collapsed onto furniture, floor cushions, or each other.

Lando dropped next to Amelia with a thud. "Jesus," he said. "I'm never standing up again."

Tracey passed around bottles of water.

And then, without thinking, because she was tired, overwhelmed, and slightly frantic, Amelia looked at the empty room across the hall and said aloud. "Oh, cool. I'll be able to start putting the nursery together."

The silence was instant.

Zak froze mid-sip. Tracey turned so fast she almost knocked over Celeste. Charles blinked once, then again. Celeste slowly tilted her head like a confused golden retriever.

Only Max continued scrolling on his phone. Lando looked suspiciously casual, but his eyes had gone wide.

"Sorry," Charles said slowly. "Did she just say nursery?"

"She did," said Tracey, standing like she was ready to break into dance or faint, unclear which.

Amelia, blank as ever, looked up. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

"You're pregnant?" Celeste screeched, immediately launching across the couch.

"About eight weeks," Amelia said matter-of-factly.

"Oh my gosh—"

Lando, grinning now, tugged Amelia into his side. "We were gonna wait a while. But she's obviously forgotten the whole secrecy part."

"Not forgot," Amelia said. "Just... didn't filter."

Tracey shrieked. Charles stood and clapped. Celeste immediately demanded to know every detail. Her dad was just staring at them, his jaw slightly ajar.

Max looked at Lando and deadpanned, "Told you she'd blurt it eventually."

"You knew?" Tracey barked.

"Of course I did." Max said.

Celeste swatted him. "I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

Amelia rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, buried in a couch cushion, legs tucked under her, chaos all around her, but warm. Safe.

Loved.

"I'm going to have to help you build nursery furniture, aren't I?" Charles asked.

"Yes," said Lando.

—

Amelia sat on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter, wearing her comfort pyjamas and cupping a warm mug in both hands. Her mom was rifling through a drawer looking for teaspoons and her dad was standing far too close for someone who'd said "I'm not gonna hover."

"You're hovering," Amelia said without looking up.

"I'm not," Zak replied, absolutely hovering.

Tracey gave him a look as she passed. "Sit down, Zak."

Amelia smirked faintly.

Zak pulled a stool out beside her but didn't sit. He just sort of... rested one hand on the counter and stared at her in that way dads do. "You keeping anything down?" He asked.

"I'm eating a lot of toast," Amelia said. "And drinking ginger tea."

He looked vaguely panicked. "Should we be calling someone? We have dietitian's, or—?"

"Dad."

"What?"

"I'm pregnant. Nausea is normal."

Zak muttered something about "precautionary measures" and "just checking" and "your iron levels, you never know," and finally Tracey grabbed his sleeve and tugged him to the other side of the kitchen.

"Let her breathe," she said, soft but firm.

He sighed but relented, pouring himself a cup of tea and stealing a look at Amelia like he still couldn't believe it. Like some part of him was seeing her as a baby again in his arms; not a woman, not a race engineer, not someone capable of growing a human. Just his daughter.

"I'm going to be a granddad," he said eventually, more to himself than anyone else. He blinked a few times, then smiled like he'd just realised it wasn't a prank.

Amelia raised her eyebrows, lips twitching. "Has he only just realised that?"

Tracey chuckled. "Oh no, honey. He's already ordered some books on newborn safety."

Zak tried to look insulted. "One of us has to be prepared."

Tracey ignored him and turned her attention back to Amelia, warm eyes softening. "You know," she said gently, "that first night at dinner, when you got all worked up about Lando... I just knew."

"Knew what?"

"That this was going to be something magic," she said. "You had that look on your face. Not the 'I'm in love' one, not yet. But that one you get when you've found something you'd fight for. And I thought, ah. There it is."

Amelia blinked, caught off guard. Her mouth opened, then closed again, unsure how to respond.

Tracey smiled knowingly. "You've always been complicated. Precise. A little special in a systemised way. But with him? You were safe. Not smaller, not quieter; just... steadier."

Zak, finally sitting, looked from his wife to his daughter, then back again.

Tracey walked over and touched Amelia's hair, smoothing it back without thinking. The kind of motherly gesture that was muscle memory. "We're very proud of you," she said softly. "Not just for the baby. For the life you're building. For letting yourself build it."

Amelia didn't answer right away. Just looked down into her tea and let that sit in her chest like a warm ache. "Thanks," she said finally, quiet.

Tracey smiled. "Now come sit with us in the living room and let your dad lecture you about your fiber intake."

"Oh no."

"I made a PowerPoint," Zak added helpfully.

Amelia stared at him. "I—I eat enough fibre. I swear. I promise. Don't make me sit through one of your terribly constructed PowerPoints."

—

Five hours later, the apartment was finally quiet.

The kind of quiet that only came after the storm; post-laughter, post-chaos, post-Max dropping a full pizza box face-down on the kitchen floor and Charles chasing Celeste with bubble wrap around his head like a helmet.

Everyone was gone now.

Some boxes still weren't unpacked, the dining table was holding an array of loose screws and takeout containers, and there was one singular sock hanging off the new lighting fixture that neither of them remembered installing.

But it was quiet. And theirs.

Lando lay stretched across the couch in sweats and a hoodie, one leg propped up on a box labeled BED LINENS???. Amelia was curled on top of him like a blanket folded in half, her cheek resting against his chest, arms wrapped around his middle.

She was half-asleep, her body finally relaxing after hours of overstimulation and problem-solving and people asking where things were that she did not know. "Is it weird I don't feel like this is real yet?" She murmured.

Lando looked down at her. "The apartment?"

"All of it. The space. The nursery. The fact I told everyone because I accidentally emotionally short-circuited. I mean, who announces a pregnancy like that?"

"You," he said, brushing his fingers through her hair.

She huffed a breath that was half-laugh, half-groan. "My brain was tired. My mouth just... decided."

"Hey." He tugged gently on a loose strand of her hair until she looked up at him. "It was perfect. So you. I mean, Tracey looked like she was about to cry and throw you a baby shower in the same breath."

Amelia groaned and buried her face back into his hoodie. "She's going to buy so many pastel things. I'm not emotionally equipped for pastel."

Lando laughed. "We'll make a blacklist. No tulle. No gingham. No text that says 'Born to race' or anything cringe like that."

Amelia was quiet for a moment. "Do you think it's okay we're doing this now?"

He didn't ask what this meant. He knew.

The baby. The life. The shift. The permanence of it all.

"I think it's us," he said simply. "And I think whatever that ends up looking like is okay."

She let out a breath. "I don't know how to do any of it. Not even the parts people think I'm supposed to be good at. I couldn't find the dish towels today."

"That's what the box labels are for."

"And you?"

"I'm just here to kiss you when your brain melts and tell you you're brilliant anyway."

She finally looked up at him again. Her eyes were tired — not with sadness, just the fatigue of too much change all at once. But they were also soft. "You're annoying," she said.

"What, being emotionally intelligent and devastatingly handsome is annoying now?" He teased.

"You're a good human weighted blanket, so I won't argue with that."

He smiled and kissed her forehead. "It's a privilege, honestly."

They lay there for a while, the hum of Monaco outside their windows, the buzz of city life just distant enough to feel like background music. Inside, it was soft. Warm. Familiar.

Eventually, Amelia whispered, "We really live here now."

Lando tightened his arms around her. "Yeah, we do."

"And we're gonna have a baby here."

"Mmhm."

"I have to start nesting. Like... soon."

"Tell me what you want built. I'll blackmail Charles and make him do it."

She laughed quietly against his chest, a sound full of exhaustion and affection.

Then, softer, almost to herself, "I think I'm happy."

Lando didn't say anything right away. He just turned his head and kissed her temple again, slow and sure, before whispering into her skin, "I know."

—

The morning had not been kind.

Amelia had thrown up twice before she even made it out of bed, once more in the sink when the smell of coffee drifted through the apartment. Her stomach had settled into that weird, hovering nausea, not quite sick, but never okay, and everything around her felt a little too much.

Too bright.

Too loud.

Too far from stillness.

The apartment was still full of half-unpacked boxes. One of them had exploded into a mess of packing peanuts by the bookshelf because Lando had tripped over it while trying to carry a lamp. That had made her laugh, for a moment. But now even that memory felt distant and staticky.

She hadn't eaten anything. Her body felt too heavy and too floaty at the same time.

So she wandered into the room off the living room and stood in the doorway, barefoot and still in one of Lando's shirts, staring at the swing.

The sensory swing hung from a reinforced hook in the ceiling, an enclosed hammock-style cocoon of soft dark grey fabric.

She hadn't used it yet.

But now... now she needed to be held by something.

Amelia walked over slowly, pulled the soft stretch of the fabric down, and climbed inside like she was folding herself into a shell. It wrapped around her shoulders, her hips, her knees. A full-body compression hug.

She let herself swing gently, letting the quiet motion do what words and plans and spreadsheets couldn't. The light filtered through the gauzy curtain. The outside world muffled. The only sound was her breathing.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

Her muscles finally, finally relaxed.

And then, maybe because the relief was so sharp in contrast to how awful she'd felt all morning, or maybe because everything just hit all at once, Amelia cried.

Just soft tears slipping down the sides of her face into the swing's fabric as her body unclenched. She didn't even try to stop them. Didn't need to understand them. Her hands cradled the soft swell of her lower belly as she rocked gently in the cocoon, the comfort so complete it almost hurt.

The motion, the weightlessness, the compression; it was like someone had pressed a reset button on her nervous system.

"I love you very much," she whispered, hand on her stomach, words falling into the soft dark of the swing. "Even if you are already making me throw up five times a day." She gave a little wet laugh. Then sniffled. Then rocked some more.

Eventually, Lando peeked his head around the doorframe.

He didn't say anything. He saw her there, bundled up like a sleepy moth, puffy-eyed and peaceful, and his whole expression softened.

"You good, baby?" He asked gently.

She nodded, still sniffling, half-smiling. "It works."

He smiled back. "Good" He walked over and pressed a kiss to the fabric where her shoulder must've been, still swaying. "Want toast when you come out?"

"Only if it's with the nice jam. The apricot one we got from the market last weekend."

"Anything you want. We're celebrating the swings debut, after all."

"Dramatic." She said.

"I know," he grinned.

And then he left her to swing, warm, wrapped up, and for the first time all day — completely okay.

February 2024

Amelia woke to the smell of espresso and something sweet (cinnamon, maybe) and the distinct sound of someone failing, very quietly, not to clatter around in the kitchen.

She blinked, groggy, and rolled over to find Lando's side of the bed empty. A sliver of warm morning light streamed in through the curtains. The apartment smelled like flowers and coffee and... possibly burning toast.

By the time she made it out of bed, hair a mess, t-shirt halfway sliding off one shoulder, she found him standing in front of the kitchen island, proudly staring at a tray of slightly overdone croissants, a half-burnt omelet, and a mug that said engineers do it with precision.

He turned the second he heard her. "Don't say anything," he warned, waving a spatula at her. "This is a labour of love."

"I can see that," she said, amused. "How's the toast?"

"Charcoal adjacent."

She padded over and leaned into his side, arms looping gently around his middle. "Morning."

Lando pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Happy birthday, baby."

He guided her over to the table, where a small stack of wrapped gifts sat beside her laptop — one of them unmistakably from Oscar if the cartoon scribble on the tag was anything to go by. Another looked suspiciously like it had been wrapped by Max's girlfriend Celeste, given the glittery ribbon and note that just said DO NOT OPEN NEAR ZAK.

"Did you do all this this morning?" Amelia asked, eyeing the slightly lopsided croissants.

"Well," he said, handing her the mug, "I tried to sneak out of bed early. But then you curled up in the blankets and made that sleepy sound you make and I lost, like, twenty minutes just watching you sleep."

Amelia sipped the coffee. Ugh. Decaf. "Weirdo."

"Your weirdo."

They sat together, eating what they could salvage of the breakfast. Lando gave her a small, leather-bound notebook for scribbling car notes (with custom embossing: A. Norris, Race Strategist / Best Mummy Ever). She rolled her eyes, but she didn't stop smiling.

Later, while she was cleaning up plates, he appeared behind her with one last gift, this one small and velvet. Her breath hitched when he opened it. A pendant: a tiny silver disk with a barely-there engraving.

A heartbeat. The one they'd seen on the ultrasound.

"I wanted you to have something that was just... for you," he said quietly.

She touched the charm gently, thumb brushing the engraving. "I love it," she said, voice slightly wobbly.

He kissed her temple again, arms wrapping around her. "I love you."

The rest of the day was full of small joys; visits from friends, a video call with her mom, cupcakes delivered from a café Oscar insisted was life-changing. Max and Celeste swung by with a gift bag full of baby-safe skincare and a framed photo of the four of them.

At one point, her dad had messaged her.

Happy birthday, kiddo. Love you so much. See you soon.

To which Amelia replied.

Love you too.

That night, after the guests had left and the candles had flickered low, Amelia found herself curled up in her sensory swing by the window, legs folded up under her, pendant resting in the middle of her collarbones. Lando lay on the sofa nearby, watching her with quiet contentment.

"I think this was one of my best birthdays," she said softly.

He smiled. "Even with the burnt toast?"

She nodded. "Especially with the burnt toast." And then, after a pause, "Next year, we'll have someone else around to help us celebrate."

Lando's eyes softened. "Next year," he echoed.

—

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2024 F1 Grid

George R.

Welcome to the 2024 rookies!

Oh wait.

LOL.

Nevermind

Lando N.

Someone get this man a rookie asap

Charles L.

Bro we are all still here 💀

Alex A.

Just the same 20 people trying not to crash into each other

Esteban O.

Consistency is key 😂

Oscar P.

George is out here welcoming imaginary friends

Carlos S.

Rookie of the year is the Ferrari catering team

Lewis H.

I vote my physio as rookie of the year tbh

Yuki T.

I still feel like a rookie emotionally 😮‍💨

Fernando A.

I feel younger every season 😎

George R.

Ok ok I made one mistake

I was being polite

What if someone snuck in overnight. Like a stealth rookie

Pierre G.

Bro this isn't among us

Max V.

Let him live he tried ✋

Lando N.

He tried and failed. Spectacularly

George R.

Blocked. All of you. I'm blocking all of you.

—

The main presentation hall at the MTC was cold, the hush of anticipation a physical thing. Staff, engineers, drivers, media teams, and execs milled around in soft clumps, all eyes drawn to the shrouded figure on the platform. Silver satin draped across carbon fibre; sleek, taut, and humming with promise.

Amelia stood off to one side, arms crossed over her chest, one foot tucked behind the other like she was bracing herself against something invisible.

It was familiar, this room. She'd stood in it a dozen times. But this time was different.

This was her car.

She heard footsteps and didn't have to look to know it was Lando. He came to stand beside her, hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, gaze fixed on the covered car like it might move if he blinked.

"It looks like a spaceship," he murmured.

"It's as complex as one," she said simply.

He grinned. "I'm gonna drive a spaceship."

"You're going to win in it."

Her dad walked out onto the stage, some carefully crafted speech on hand, but Amelia barely registered it. Her ears rang with something heavier; a low, surging pressure that sat in her chest and refused to settle.

She heard her name, heard Zak referencing her as lead technical design engineer on the project, and the soft ripple of polite applause. She didn't move. Didn't blink.

When the cover was pulled back and the MCL38-AN was finally exposed under the lights. Lean, mean, shimmering with graphite and papaya — the room went reverently silent.

It was beautiful. Sharp and elegant and mean in all the right places.

And hers.

Her hands trembled slightly where they were folded. Lando noticed. He reached down, laced his fingers through hers without saying anything. She didn't look at him, but she held on.

Oscar appeared at her other side, chewing a protein bar. "It looks fast," he said through his mouthful.

"It is fast," Amelia replied, deadpan.

He nodded. "Good. I hate slow cars. Bad for my numbers."

Lando snorted. "Your numbers are fine."

"I want more numbers."

Amelia ignored them both. Her eyes were fixed on the low spoiler, the curve of the side-pod, the subtle detailing near the rear suspension she'd fought tooth and nail to implement — backed up by three sleepless weeks of CFD simulations and one argument with the floor design team that she'd very nearly won with sheer stubbornness alone.

"Do you want to go look at it up close?" Lando asked, gentle.

Amelia shook her head. "Not yet."

He didn't press. Just stayed beside her as people filtered forward. Cameras clicked. Flashbulbs strobed. Somewhere, someone asked Oscar to smile more. Zak was already doing a walk-around with Sky Sports.

But Amelia stayed back, hand in Lando's, watching as her car, her beautiful, terrifying, finely-tuned monster, greeted the world for the first time.

Finally, Lando leaned in, voice low against her ear. "I'm so proud of you."

Her mouth twitched, just a little. "I know," she said.

Then, after a beat, "I'm proud of me too."

—

There were two weeks until they were due to fly out to Bahrain for testing.

The smell of carbon composite and metal dust still clung to the air. Most of the lights had been dimmed in the engineering wing of the McLaren Technology Centre, but not in Bay 2. Bay 2 was lit up like a crime scene — bright, clinical, unrelenting.

And Amelia was pacing.

"You changed the front wing flow guide without flagging it to me." Her voice was flat, but her tone cut sharp enough to peel paint. "It's not a minor tweak. It alters the pressure delta across the entire front third of the car."

Across the table, three senior aero engineers; experienced, respected, and visibly nervous, stood their ground, albeit quietly. One of them, Benji, cleared his throat.

"We didn't go behind your back," he said carefully. "It was discussed at the Friday meeting—"

"I wasn't at the Friday meeting," she snapped. "I was with Oscar for simulator calibration. You knew that."

"We had to lock a version in for pre-season aero scanning," said another engineer, trying to be the reasonable one. "You were behind schedule finalising the nose cone parameters—"

"I was behind schedule," Amelia repeated, eyebrows arching dangerously, "because I was rewriting your cooling duct schema so it wouldn't explode in Bahrain."

Silence.

Lando stood quietly just inside the doorway, arms crossed, watching. He wasn't saying anything — yet. But his eyes never left Amelia.

"You've added drag," she said after a beat. "I ran the updated airflow map through CFD myself after I saw the render. It introduces wake turbulence at high yaw, and we already struggle with straight-line pace. You've made us slower on the straights to gain — what? Four points of front downforce?"

"Four points could help balance in the high-speed corners," Benji offered.

"At the expense of the entire overtaking window!" Amelia barked. "You want Lando and Oscar to defend for twenty laps in DRS zones with a car that drags like a parachute because you like the numbers it spits out on paper?"

Someone muttered something; too low to catch. Amelia's head snapped around like a hawk.

"Say it louder," she said. "You clearly thought it was clever enough the first time."

The engineer paled slightly. "I just said... maybe you're too attached to this design."

Lando stepped in before Amelia could respond.

"No, see, here's the thing," he said, tone deceptively easy. "You don't get to say that. Because her attachment? That's why this car is visibly better than last year's. She is the reason why we had the third-fastest chassis on average post-Zandvoort last year. Because she gives a shit. And if Amelia says it's wrong? Then it's wrong."

The room froze. One of the engineers swallowed hard.

Amelia, though, didn't say anything for a full five seconds. She just stood there, arms folded, staring down the table like she was willing the numbers to change.

Then, calmly, "You're reverting to the previous design."

"We can't. Not until—"

"I'll update the approval file myself," she continued. "I want the renders sent back through me. If you're going to make changes to a car with my name on it, you'll run it by me first. Not the group chat. Not Zak. Not the test team. Me."

Stillness.

Eventually, Benji nodded, his jaw tight. "Alright."

She left the bay without another word, her footfalls even, deliberate. Lando followed a few paces behind, catching up only once they hit the corridor.

"You didn't have to jump in," she muttered.

"I know," he said. "But I wanted to."

They reached the elevator. Amelia punched the call button too hard.

"They're not wrong," she said quietly, not looking at him. "I am too attached."

Lando nodded. "Yeah. And that's why you're the only one I trust with it."

—

The hum of the wind tunnel was a low, constant growl behind the soundproof glass. Screens lined the wall of the operations room, flooded with live data — airflow vectors, pressure maps, drag coefficients, temperatures.

Amelia sat perfectly still in the front row, staring at the monitor.

The numbers were wrong.

Not wildly, not catastrophically. Just... wrong enough.

Behind her, the aero lead, one of the few who hadn't been at the shouting match in the engineering bay days before, was going over test notes in a too-cheerful voice. "And that's run twelve with the revised front-wing guide and standard rear beam. A bit of turbulence in the crosswind scenario, but nothing unmanageable."

Amelia's fingers twitched against the armrest of her chair.

Zak stepped in beside her. "They've already locked the transport containers for Bahrain," he said in a low voice. "The old spec wouldn't make it through the scans in time."

"I know," Amelia said without looking at him.

"We'll revert before Melbourne," Zak added. "That's the plan."

"I know."

She said it again, like repetition might dull the edge.

Zak hesitated. "I get it. I do. But it's one race."

"It's the first race," Amelia said quietly. "It sets the baseline. The whole development curve starts from that data. Every upgrade, every refinement — it's all going to skew unless we compensate."

Zak didn't argue. He didn't need to. They both knew she was right.

But it didn't matter.

Because the parts were packed, the plane was leaving in 48 hours, and the wrong spec was going to touch asphalt in Bahrain.

She stood abruptly. The chair creaked as it slid back.

"Amelia," Zak said. "I know this is hard for you."

She turned, her voice clipped but steady. "It's not hard. It's inefficient."

And she left the room.

—

The lights were low. Her desk lamp cast a soft amber glow across a table full of design sheets and scribbled notes, crossed-out margins, red-circled flaws, annotations that no one else in the department could read but her.

Her iPad was open to the Bahrain track layout. She wasn't crying — not even close. But her jaw was clenched hard enough to ache. Her hands flexed, restless, unable to do anything.

She hated that feeling.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Go away," she said without looking.

It opened anyway.

Lando leaned in, holding two takeaway drinks. "I come bearing peace offering. Decaf vanilla chai for my beautiful, smart wife."

She didn't move.

"I know," he said gently. "It sucks."

"I'm not angry anymore," she said.

He gave her a look. "Don't lie to me, baby."

She finally looked up, and he crossed the room to set the drink beside her keyboard.

"I spent a year making it perfect," she murmured.

Lando touched her shoulder. "And it still will be."

Amelia looked back at her notes. "I hate being forced to let something go when I know I'm right," she said. "Just because I'm one person versus an entire team — and I know that it's not fair to expect them to just blindly trust everything I say, but it makes me so mad.'

"Okay," he whispered. "Time to go home, I think."

—

"Do you need six pairs of sunglasses?" Amelia asked, holding Lando's McLaren duffel open.

Lando didn't even look up from where he was rolling socks. "Yes."

"You only have two eyes."

"It's called fashion, baby."

She rolled her eyes and shoved the sunglasses back in, making sure the soft case separated the orange-tinted pair from the purple ones, because God forbid they get scratched.

Their bedroom looked like a tornado had touched down; open suitcases, half-folded clothes, a stack of electronics chargers that Amelia had labeled with colour-coded cable ties two seasons ago and still didn't trust Lando to keep organised.

Her own packing was... slower. More deliberate. She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her own suitcase, a checklist open on her iPad and a faint, lingering wave of nausea rising every few minutes like a passive-aggressive tide.

"Are you sure you're okay to fly?" Lando asked for the third time that afternoon.

Amelia clicked her Apple Pencil against her teeth. "I'm pregnant, not ill."

"Still."

"I have packed ginger chews and compression socks."

He looked up. "You hate ginger chews."

"I also hate throwing up at 30,000 feet. Sometimes compromise is necessary."

He grinned. "That's very mature of you."

Amelia waved vaguely in the direction of the ensuite. "Can you grab the skincare bag? Not the one with my regular stuff — the one with the unscented moisturiser that doesn't make me gag."

"Yes, your highness."

She threw a sock at his head.

The packing process stalled every few minutes for various reasons: Amelia needed a snack; Lando forgot where he'd put his phone; Amelia remembered she hadn't downloaded the Bahrain telemetry files onto her personal iPad; Lando insisted on reorganising his racing gloves by colour.

Eventually, Amelia sat back with a soft groan, rubbing a hand over her belly. Not that there was much to feel yet, no bump, just the persistent hum of her body shifting quietly into something new.

She felt... heavy. But not in a bad way. Just full of lists, of responsibilities, of life. Literally.

"Hey," Lando said gently, crouching in front of her. "You okay?"

She nodded, slow. "Yeah. Just... tired. Everything feels like it takes twenty-percent more effort."

"You want to skip testing?"

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "Lando."

"I'm just saying—"

"No. Don't even suggest that. I need to be there for Oscar and I want to be there for the cars first proper run. I have to see how it holds up."

He smiled softly. "Just checking. That's my job now, remember? Worrying about you."

Amelia's expression softened. "I'm fine. I'm just slower than usual. I'll sit. I'll drink plenty of water."

Lando stood and offered her a hand, helping her up off the floor with the ease of long practice. They zipped the last suitcase together, and she stared at the organised chaos around them with a long, contemplative sigh.

"Think this baby is gonna like Bahrain?" She murmured.

He shrugged. "Hot. Loud. Feels like it's already genetically predisposed that baby is not going to have a good time."

She laughed, quietly, the sound curling in her throat.

They were flying out in the morning. Testing started two days after that. And in a few more weeks, the  2024 season would roar to life; full throttle, no mercy, no brakes.

But for now, there were just bags and chargers and familiar, cluttered rhythms. And them.

Just them.

For now.