#The Six Labours

[dreamconsumer]

Theseus and Aegeus. Unknown artist.

[monsieurenjlolras]

you've heard of "quiet quitting," now I'd like to introduce you to the next level, The French Work Ethic:

Do exactly what you're paid for and nothing more

Absolutely refuse to be available to contact when you're off the clock

Never prioritize work over your own health, wellbeing, or family because that would be insane, it's just a job.

Have a little glass of wine

Take as long as you feel like for lunch

Deeply understand that work doesn't matter

Make sure your boss knows they're always your second priority ❤️

[old-habits-die-screaming]

the way i just had to make this (the voices told me)

kdhxkys on tiktok if you want to see more ᯓᡣ𐭩

[chardwic]

It's not an act of love, if you make her.

You make me do too much labour.

[thebirdandhersong]

also im gonna need someone to forcibly hold me down so that i do not acts of service myself to death for boys who literally don't care!!!!!

[uwmspeccoll]

Shakespeare Weekend!

On the tail of our Limited Edition Club thirty-seven volume The Comedies Histories & Tragedies of William Shakespeare series, we are delving back into our Shakespeare Collection to explore Nicholas Rowe’s (1674-1718) The Work of Mr. William Shakespear; in Six Volumes. Published in London in 1709 by Jacob Tonson, this second edition holds an important place within Shakespearean publication history. The Work of Mr. William Shakespear; in Six Volumes is recognized as the first octavo edition, the first illustrated edition, the first critically-edited edition, and the first to present a biography of the poet.  

Rowe, having been a dramatist and poet himself, was able to divide the plays into scenes and include notes on the entrances and exits of the players. He also normalised the spelling of names and included a dramatis personae preceding each play. The only chronicled critique of Rowe’s momentous editorial endeavor is his choice in basing his text on the corrupt Fourth Folio.  

This week, we present you with the first volume of The Work of Mr. William Shakespear; in Six Volumes. It includes The Tempest, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, The Merry Wives of Windsor, Measure for Measure, Comedy of Errors, Much Ado About Nothing, and Love’s Labour’s Lost. A full-page engraving precedes each play with an additional frontispiece engraving of the Stratford monument. The illustrations are by the French Baroque artist and book illustrator François Boitard (1670-1715).

View more Shakespeare Weekend posts.

-- Jenna, Special Collections Graduate Intern

[kiwipit]

mildly related why is it that only ppl way above my acceptable age gap FUCKING TALK TO ME . IM TIRED . I AM 22

[sapphia]

USA please listen to me: the price of “teaching them a lesson” is too high. take it from New Zealand, who voted our Labour government out in the last election because they weren’t doing exactly what we wanted and got facism instead.

Trans rights are being attacked, public transport has been defunded, tax cuts issued for the wealthy, they've mass-defunded public services, cut and attacked the disability funding model, cut benefits, diverted transport funding to roads, cut all recent public transport subsidies, cancelled massive important infrastructure projects like damns and ferries (we are three ISLANDS), fast tracked mining, oil, and other massive environmentally detrimental projects and gave the power the to approve these projects singularly to three ministers who have been wined and dined by lobbyists of the companies that have put the bids in to approve them while one of the main minister infers he will not prioritise the protection of endangered species like the archeys frog over mining projects that do massive environmental harm. They have attacked indigenous rights in an attempt to negate the Treaty of Waitangi by “redefining it”; as a backup, they are also trying to remove all mentions of the treaty from legislation starting with our Child Protection laws no longer requiring social workers to consider the importance of Maori children’s culture when placing those children; when the Waitangi Tribunal who oversees indigenous matters sought to enquire about this, the Minister for Children blocked their enquiry in a breach of comity that was condemned in a ruling — too late to do anything — by our Supreme Court. They have repealed labour protections around pay and 90 day trials, reversed our smoking ban, cancelled our EV subsidy, cancelled our water infrastructure scheme that would have given Maori iwi a say in water asset management, cancelled our biggest city’s fuel tax, made our treasury and inland revenue departments less accountable, dispensed of our Productivity Commission, begun work on charter schools and military boot camps in an obvious push towards privatisation, cancelled grants for first home buyers, reduced access to emergency housing, allowed no cause evictions, cancelled our Maori health system that would have given Maori control over their own public medical care and funding, cut funding of services like budgeting advice and food banks, cancelled the consumer advocacy council, cancelled our medicine regulations, repealed free prescriptions, deferred multiple hospital builds, failed to deliver on pre-election medical promises, reversed a gun ban created in response to the mosque shootings, brought back three strikes = life sentence policy, increased minimum wage by half the recommended amount, cancelled fair pay for disabled workers, reduced wheelchair services, reversed our oil and gas exploration ban, cancelled our climate emergency fund, cut science research funding including climate research, removed limits on killing sea lions, cut funding for the climate change commission, weakened our methane targets, cancelled Significant National Areas protections, have begun reversing our ban on live exports. Much of this was passed under urgency.

It’s been six months.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"LABOR TO DEMAND THIRTY-HOUR WEEK," Hamilton Spectator. September 19, 1933. Page 7. --- Resolution Passed in Convention at Windsor ---- Attack on Minimum Wage Board's Officers ---- Windsor, Ont., Sept. 19. - (CP) Labor took a definite stand to-day in favor of a 30-hour week-without reduced pay. With a minimum of discussion, the Trades and Labor congress, in convention here, passed a resolution whereby it went on record as requesting the government to put in force a six-hour day in all industries with a corresponding increase in pay "to Increase the purchasing power of the masses as it is only by this means the economic conditions of all classes can be improved."

With this resolution, the convention adopted a second one asking the government, "shall make it compulsory for all employers to adopt this principle under heavy penalty for infraction of same."

It defeated, however, a proposal for a 30-hour week with a minimum of $1 per hour in all classes of male labor and a minimum of 75 cents an hour for female workers.

Immigration Act The Winnipeg Trades and Labor council submitted a resolution which urged immediate abolition of "obnoxious sections" of the Immigration act and urging the immediate stoppage of all deportations, but this was defeated after some discussion. It was pointed out the resolution clashed with the announced policy of the congress and the resolutions committee, which had recommended non-concurrence, was upheld by a vote.

Four resolutions listed under fair wage acts and regulations were passed. They sought the observance of the eight-hour day for all building trades; enactment of legislation prohibiting abuse of fair wage regulations and insertion of such clauses in all government contracts.

Then the convention turned to hours of labor and working conditions and discussion raged loud and long. Joseph Tomkins, of Toronto, claimed women were being exploited by employers in his city. Department stores were paying girls $1.89 per day and requiring them to work from 8 a.m. to 6 or 7 o'clock at night. If the girls complained, he said, they were dis- charged. Statements of Frank Wilson, M.L.A., at yesterday's session, were characterized by Mr. Tomkins as "the bunk."

Wilson's Statement Mr. Wilson had told Mayor David Croll he would place a list of violators of the Minimum Wage act before the attorney-general if the mayor would obtain such a list. Mr. Tompkins said lists were useless: what the most needed was "a government inspector who would en- force the act."

Miss Mary MacNab, of Toronto, claimed charges she had made with regard to exploitation of girl workers at last year's congress had been denied by a Toronto inspector despite her offer to produce proof. She attacked officials of the mini- mum wage board of Ontario, claiming they were lacking in their duties.

[berrymeter]

i do think its crazy that at least here you need to do like 6 months' worth of work before qualifying for unemployment benefits AND you need to like. have An Account on that one job website for that

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

main take aways from Halloween (1978) rewatch:

michael myers is canonically 21??? this bitch should be at the club

*sees tiddies* ***MURDEROUS RAMPAGE NOISES***

that's it that's the movie

outside of the fact that everyone who has sex is murdered by the narrative, this is a surprisingly chill portrayal of female sexuality? these teen girls are horny and actively enjoying Getting It On with their boytoys. no pushy boyfriends sneaking in through their bedroom windows--these ladies are taking the initiative to sneak out and GET SOME. one of them gets laid and then immediately orders her boyfriend to get her a beer. (yes she gets Slashered soon afterward, but so does the boyfriend so honestly, gender equality.) yes the Final Girl is the only one not having sex, but she's not bullied for that, nor are her friends slut shamed except possibly by being murdered by the narrative

actually the only character who is shown being morally condemned on-screen is michael myers. specifically FOR his violent overreaction to other people's sex lives. (people he is spying on). metaphorically, the villain is American Puritanism sticking its judgy nose into other people's business.

aka Michael Myers Is A Republican

but actually the real villain is the doctor. guy's a judgemental, shaming, pathologizing asshole. and he's been in charge of michael's care since he was SIX YEARS OLD? kid never had a chance. i'd go on a killing spree too

also the parents. where are the parents? it's halloween night and all the teenage girls are home babysitting their younger siblings? come to think of it, michael's first victim was his own older sister, whom he killed while she was babysitting him. teen girls are really shouldering a labour burden here. maybe parentification is the true villain

side note: mike commits his first murder wearing a clown costume...which is never referenced again? his 'iconic' costume is a generic mask and wig and jumpsuit, when we coulda had a Killer Clown Michael Myers??? travesty

i like how the Final Girl and her friend casually smoke weed in her car. yeah she's an honor student and her friend is the sheriff's daughter. yeah they smoke weed. so what it's 1978

(to reiterate, mike is 21 and should be at the club. im not saying he shouldn't be rampaging, im saying it's sad that he broke out, tasted freedom for the first time in his life, and immediately snuck back into his childhood home to go rampaging. let's have a remake where he goes to a nightclub and has a few beers. maybe some slutty dancing. then rampage)

oh no he's hot

[mzcain27]

My brother is posting on instagram asking if he should get a mic and make gym videos blah blah blah and I desperately wanna comment “how about you do some shit around the house” like if you’re asking for opinions I am THIS CLOSE to giving it bruv

[gods-favorite-autistic]

Shoutout to Sciron my guy just kicked random dudes off of cliffs into the mouth of his giant turtle for funsies

[matthewmoorwood]

Me vs the urge to create a whole new culture/civilisation that is a more ethically advanced / equitable society but is also pre-industrial revolution.

spoiler I am losing

[jamminvroomvroom]

big dad vibes.

dad!ln x fem!reader

in which lando becomes a dad, and a series of moments that follow

back with more brainrot! this time it’s for dad!lando bc the baby fever is fevering and lando just had to go and talk about having kids on that podcast. my first time using social media elements as well so i hope you enjoy! ALSO! huge thank you for 3k, love you all and i cannot thank you enough for your support! 💘

warnings: minors pls dni with my work! mentions of pregnancy, children, minor angst, super duper fluff, suggestive jokes here and there, dilf!lando

1. the birth

lando’s legs couldn’t have carried him any faster than they already were. the hospital rooms disappeared past in a flash, his eyes scanning the hallways for one door. everything he’d ever wanted waited for him on the other side of that one door.

it was typical, really, that the one time he’d left your side since the season ended, you went into labour. he’d begdrudgingly listened when you told him to go to his meeting, despite the feeling in his gut that told him not to. lando knew, now, that his instincts were right.

the second he’d seen your face flash up on his phone, he was out of the conference room. you wouldn’t have called him unless it was an emergency. everything seemed to be moving in slow motion when he put the phone down, but then he was sprinting, through the double doors before him, past the line of cars, and out towards his car, speeding away from the MTC. the traffic fine he knew he was in for was worth it.

your words rang in his ears.

“lando… it’s time.” you’d breathed down the phone, accompanied by a shaky laugh.

and now he was looking at the door. it opened, slowly, and there you were, draped in a hospital gown, tired eyes bloodshot and soft. you were smiling, crying, and he fell to his knees before you.

“someone wants to meet you.” you cooed, and then he was crying too.

lando squeezed your knee, trying to pull himself together but it was futile. the most precious ray of light stirred in your arms, how would he ever be able to stop crying? you’d created that, you and him, and now she was here.

“can i…?” lando stood from where he was worshipping you, hoodie sleeve mopping up his tears.

“take all that off.” you replied.

“trying to get me naked already? i thought it would be at least six weeks-“ he teased.

“no, you sod. skin on skin contact.” you groaned, grinning helplessly at the man that had made you a mother.

he laughed along with you quietly, stripping the layers and sitting beside you on the hospital bed. you searched his excited eyes, melting as you placed your little girl in his awaiting arms.

and then he was falling in love.

the winter sunlight streamed through the window, a soft glow encapsulating your little family. lando sat next to you in dead silence, counting ten little fingers, ten little toes, memorising the dimpled curve of two lips, the crease between two softly shut eyes. his heart was bursting in a way it never had before, a new lease of life breathed into his body that fulfilled him more than anything ever had.

“are you okay, baby? i’m so sorry i wasn’t here.” lando mumbled, kissing your shoulder. he looked up at you, scanning your tired face, knowing that you’d never looked so beautiful. you cupped his cheek, pressing your forehead against his.

“the pain was worth it.” you quirked your lips, tilting your head so that you could kiss him. you felt his fresh tears wetting your cheeks, and you smiled into the kiss.

“i got here as quick as i could, i’m so sorry i wasn’t here to hold your hand.” lando was heartbroken to have missed the birth of his first child, guilty even, but you wouldn’t let that feeling linger.

“i’m just happy that you’re here now, i promise. we’ve gotta name this little love.” you pecked his lips again, cuddling into his side.

you’d been backwards and forwards on names for months, never landing on anything that seemed to fit. you’d read countless lists of names, brainstormed names of people you loved, but you just couldn’t agree.

“can we talk about it later? just wanna look at her for a bit longer. like, forever.” lando mumbled, and as if she recognised her daddy’s voice, your baby’s grey blue eyes fluttered open.

“oh.” he gasped.

you watched in pure adoration as they stared at each other, neither of them willing to look away first. a bond was forming before your eyes, and you felt like the earth was moving under your feet.

lando knew, staring into big blue eyes, that nothing would ever be the same again.

landonorris via instagram

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landonorris: welcome to the world, the one and only matilda norris ❤️

-

2. the race

“lando, you cannot take her into the bloody media pen!” you scolded, ignoring the bark of a laugh he let out in response.

you were midway through changing matilda’s nappy, dressing her in the tiny mclaren t-shirt that the team had gifted you when you welcomed her to the world.

she was nearly six months old now, with the cutest smile and a laugh that could bring an entire room to tears. you were at your home in monaco, preparing to descend down the hills towards the marina where the race would be. this would be her first race weekend, and lando couldn’t have been more excited for her to make her debut at the track.

he also couldn’t have been more nervous.

the idea of putting your baby into such a hectic environment made lando sweat, which was why you’d left it until monaco, so that you had a home base to sneak away to if it all got too much.

“are you nearly ready to go, baby?” lando came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. he was peering over your shoulder, gazing at the giggling baby on her changing mat. “and what about you, matty? you ready to watch daddy drive?”

“i’m sure you’ll have her undivided attention.” you joked, turning your head to kiss his jaw. “can you put her in the car?”

lando scooped up his daughter, placing her gently into the baby carrier. you grabbed the changing bag and followed him out of the apartment, smiling hard at the quiet nursery rhyme he was singing. you locked up and trailed behind the duo, watching intently as he secured matilda’s car seat.

“see something you like?”lando called behind him, shaking his ass at you cheekily.

“you know i do, that’s how i got pregnant.” you stuck your tongue out at him.

-

the entire weekend was hectic, lando having the time of his life. he’d put his mclaren on the front row, the race flying by where he claimed second place and a rightful spot of the podium. you’d kissed him hard, matilda’s grabby hands tugging at his curls when he’d dipped down to press his lips to yours. he smirked, scheming something, and then he took the infant from under your arm, whisking her over to his interview.

“lando norris, what a race that was for you!” jenson button bellowed into the mic. “and it looks like you’ve been busy off track, too! who’s this little one?”

“the one and only matilda norris.” lando replied, pearly whites on display. he’d never looked happier, and you could feel your eyes welling with tears. lando grabbed her little hand softly, making her wave at the camera. “proud of daddy, matty?” he cooed, and you were a wreck.

landonorris via instagram

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landonorris: matty’s first race 🏎️ 🧡

-

3. that time matilda crawled

“babe!” lando’s voice echoed through the house, up into your bedroom. you were fresh out of the shower, wringing your hair dry with a towel, nearly jumping out of your skin when he called.

“what is it, honey?” you shouted back, grabbing your (his) robe from the back of the door.

“you gotta come see this.” he sounded giddy and you bounded down the stairs, speeding into the living room.

“what’s going on?” you asked him, watching him practically jumping up and down with excitement.

“matty crawled.” lando beamed.

your eyes flitted to your daughter, sat quite casually on her play-mat.

“uh…” you said slowly. you wanted to believe him, but the evidence was not lining up. she was getting closer each day, but still seemed to be a tad far off of going the full stretch.

“she did! i swear!” he turned his attention back to matilda, dropping to the floor beside her. “c’mon matty, show mummy! i know you can do it, sweetie.” lando cooed.

“can i finish getting ready?”

“baby, she’s gonna do it again and you’re gonna miss it!”

“okay, just shout if she starts spitting bars.” you teased, turning to leave.

lando was pouting, but as if she sensed her fathers frustration, matilda had a point to prove. she pushed herself up from her tummy, fighting her way towards you.

“oh, my love.” you cooed, hand splayed over your mouth. she was growing up way too fast, but that was eclipsed by the pride bubbling hot in your chest.

“see?” lando pulled you into his side, gleeful. you moulded into him, lip quivering as you watched her wriggle around. “oh, baby, don’t cry.” he pressed a kiss to your hairline.

“happy tears, i promise.”

“she’s so clever, just like her mama.”

-

5. the backlash

the clips circulating online made you feel ill.

lando had just done another podcast, and the topic of his family had come up. they’d set the trap, and he’d fallen right into it, pressuring him about how he approached racing and being a father. he’d tried, bless him, but the way they’d cut the interview made it look like little matty played second fiddle to daddy’s racing car.

you’d been in the studio while your baby slept peacefully beside you, you knew exactly what he’d said, and now the tweets circulating about your boyfriend made you want to scream.

you were no stranger to the occasional landogate, but he’d gotten a lot better over the years. lando didn’t care much for the way the media twisted his words anymore, but when it came to his family, his flesh and blood, he quite simply couldn’t take it.

lando hadn’t come out of his gaming room all day. you’d let him marinate for a few hours, but you hadn’t seen him in too long, and you were starting to panic. matty kept spitting out little strings of words, dadadada spluttering out her little mouth. she wanted him, and you needed him, so you swept her up in your arms and carried her up the stairs.

you tapped on the door, pushing it open before you got a response. he was slumped in his gaming chair, hood up, spinning around aimlessly. he looked so deflated, staring at nothing, manufactured guilt eating him up.

“hey, honey. matty wants her daddy.” you called softly, wading into the room. lando sighed, but took her out of your arms immediately.

“better take what i can get, before she realises what a terrible father i am.” he mumbled sarcastically.

“hey, no. don’t do that, lando. don’t fall into this mindset. you and i both know that you’re a fucking amazing father.” you wagged your finger at him as you spoke. he just slumped further into his seat, letting matty pull at the drawstrings of his hoodie.

“maybe they’re right, though. i was always so scared of this part. what if she grows up and is ashamed of me?” he whispered, eyes honing in on his daughter.

“oh, baby.” it physically hurt you to see him so down on himself. you were ready to burn twitter to the fucking ground. “you’re the best father i could have wished for. she’s literally a little lando! god, honey, she loves you so much. and of course she would - you’re her whole world.”

“when she won’t sleep with me, ten seconds in your arms, and she conked out. when she’s bored, she only wants her dad. don’t even get me started on that annoying stubborn streak she’s showing. lando, she could never be ashamed of you. she is you.” you continued.

lando sighed shakily, pressing a kiss to matty’s forehead before placing her carefully on the ground. some of her toys were scattered there, so she made a beeline for her orange teddy, without a care in the world for you and lando. he spread his arms for you, ushering you in and you sat on his lap, cuddling into him.

“i love you, baby. you don’t know how thankful i am that you gave me this life.” he said into your chest, kissing right over your heart.

you knew everything would be okay, anyone with eyes could see how much he adored his little girl. and anyway, it didn’t matter what anyone else thought; all that mattered was that you had each other, and that was more than enough for lando.

-

5. matty’s first birthday!

your house was full of laughter, shades of pink, purple and yellow decorating every surface. balloons covered the ceiling, a big 1 taking up half your kitchen. and in the middle of all the colourful chaos, your boyfriend held your one year old daughter, bouncing her on his knee.

they were a picture, a truly stunning one, two identical sets of eyes crinkling at the corners while they laughed together. your heart was bursting, nothing able to contain the butterflies in your stomach as you watched the two greatest loves of your life.

stuffed toys and little pairs of shoes covered every surface, wrapped up with big ribbons. all of your favourite people were in one room, your families coming together with all of your friends to celebrate 365 days of matilda.

matty had spent her day playing with sylvie, george’s young daughter, while lando took photos from every angle humanly possible. then there was the cake, which lando had let the little girl smash all over her face. you’d scold him later, the moment was far too precious.

you were caught up watching lando play with matilda, when max came up to you.

“never seen him happier.” max beamed, pulling you into a side hug. you ruffled his hair in response.

“can’t believe we made her.” you muttered, head falling against his shoulder. you were awestruck.

“when are you having another one? he’s gagging for it.” max was joking with you, but the look you gave him made him do a double, triple, quadruple take. you were smirking. “wait… wait what?”

“sooner than you might think.” you patted your tummy slyly. “he doesn’t know yet, i only just found out last night. wanted matty to have her day and then i’ll tell him when she’s gone to sleep.”

max was staring at you, bewildered. you may have even seen a tear in his eye.

“oh, i love you guys. so fucking happy for you.” he whispered.

you caught sight of lando watching, his head tilted in confusion. you just winked at him.

-

“she went down easy. think today really took it out of her.” lando said as he walked into your bedroom. you were sat waiting for him, hands resting behind your back.

“thank you for today, it was perfect.” you beamed when he leaned down to kiss you.

you watched him get ready for bed, stripping down to just his sweats, and then he joined you, lounging across the foot of the bed.

“hey, what were you talking to max about, babe?” lando asked.

“a gift that i got you.” you replied coyly.

“a gift?” lando looked confused, and the confusion only grew when you pulled your hands from behind your back, placing a little gift bag in front of him.

“yep. hope you like it.” you kept your expression neutral.

he picked up the bag, rustling through the tissue paper, and then he found it.

a little white stick.

lando stared blankly, eyes flitting rapidly between your face and the pregnancy test in his hand.

“baby…” he started, but he lost his train of thought. instead, he launched himself at you, cuddling you into the mattress. you were laughing while he pressed his lips all over your face, your neck, ending with your belly.

“good gift?” you giggled, watching as his hand smoothed over the soft skin of your tummy.

“the fucking best.”

landonorris and youruser via instagram

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landonorris: for matty’s first birthday, we’re giving her a sibling 🫶

-

6. family sized

lando norris, father of two, reporting for duty.

leo norris was born under the english sun, the late august heat making your labour a difficult one.

from the minute he was born, leo had a personality, angry, passionate eyes glaring at you and lando, a cry tearing from him that could end wars. he was gonna be a force, that little boy, not that you were complaining.

lando had fallen in love again, only having a few days to adjust before he was racing around europe, but he always found a way to slip into bed with you in the early hours of monday mornings, leo sprawled across his tanned chest. he’d watch the two of you sleep, listening out for matty down the hall.

and then she’d wake up, and lando would lay leo by your side, padding next door to your daughters bedroom. the pitter patter of her little feet and lando’s big laugh would wake you up. mornings were the best part of your day, all four of you tucked up in bed together before the chaos began.

it was hard sometimes, but life was bliss. you had the most wonderful partner, two gorgeous children, happiness that you couldn’t have ever fathomed right at your fingertips.

lando finally realised how big the world was, now that his family was often on the other side of it. he ached every second his heart was away from his kids but watching them grow, getting to see them smile, matilda clinging to his legs the second he came home, made it all worth it.

and god, coming home to you, whether you were waiting with open arms at the door or tucked up in white linen bedsheets in one of his t-shirts, was fucking delightful. you were his person, the one that gave him a reason to get up and smile, and he’d do quite possibly anything to keep you happy until you were old and grey by his side.

“matty, what do you say when we say goodbye to chat?” lando asked his little girl.

he was wrapping up a stream, matilda finding her rightful place as his new cohost - max was hardly coping with being replaced but that was a separate issue.

lando bowed his head, looking at matty encouragingly and she beamed hard at the screen. she was two years old, with the bubbliest personality and the brightest eyes in the entire world.

“gg boys.” she grinned toothily at the camera, and lando’s squawk of a laugh summoned you into the room.

lando was logging off when you walked in, watching from the doorway. leo was down for his nap, and matty was soon due hers.

“what are you two getting up to?” you chimed in, leaning into the wall.

“matty’s gonna be a gamer.” lando said in his sing-song voice, the one he reserved for when one of his kids did something that made his eyes sparkle.

“no call of duty.” you said sternly, looking at him pointedly.

“don’t worry, baby. f1 game only, she’s gonna be a racing driver.”

“just like her daddy.” you whispered, watching the duo high five in their matching hoodies.

landonorris via instagram

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landonorris: @/mclaren i’m gonna need a bigger car

-

youruser via instagram

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youruser: big dad vibes 💘

-

7. long time coming

lando held his son tight, watching you and matty examine tiny sea shells in the little rock pools that were forming. the sun was setting over the monegasque beach, beams of pink and orange light bathing your family as it bounced off the soft waves.

leo was wriggling in lando’s arms, the two year old boy desperate to join his mother and his sister splashing around in the shallows, but lando kept a hold of him. leo was too mischievous for his own good, cheekier than the average two year old. perhaps it had something to do with who his father was.

“daddy, come look.” matty called, so lando waded into the water, ankle deep. that little girl had him wrapped around her finger. he cast his eyes over matilda’s inquisitive face, glancing at you for just a second, and that’s all it took for you to steal the air from his lungs.

you were more radiant than ever, as beautiful as the day he’d met you and fallen so helplessly in love. he hadn’t stopped falling in love since. you’d made him a father, you’d given him a family, you’d taught him what it was to be truly, unequivocally happy.

and now all you had to say was yes.

“that’s lovely, sweetie.” lando cooed at matty, eyeing the handful of seashells she’d collected. “wanna go play on the sand? we have that gift to give mummy.” lando winked at the little girl, who took off running, splashing sea water over you both.

once she was out of earshot, you turned to lando.

“you’re not pregnant, are you?” you teased, thinking back to the gift you’d given him those years ago, who was now tucked sleepily into lando’s chest.

“how did you know?” lando joked back.

he grabbed your hand, toes sinking into the sand as you made your way towards matty, who was fidgeting on the picnic blanket you’d laid out earlier. as soon as you reached her, lando gave her the sly nod, the signal that he’d taught her over the last few days, and her sweet little voice called out to you.

“mummy?”

“yes, my love?” you kneeled down on the blanket, eye level with your daughter.

“daddy wants to ask you something.” her doe blue eyes twinkled in the setting sun, and you whipped your head around to look at lando.

lando, who was down on one knee, balancing his son in one hand and the biggest fucking diamond ring you’d ever seen in the other.

“should’ve done this about four years ago, but we were busy popping out kids.” lando breathed, his eyes watery. you were already in tears. “my love, where do i even begin? i’m nothing without you, and every time i leave you, i leave my entire heart behind, so please, will you marry me?”

tears streamed down your face, and lando sat the squirmy toddler down next to his sister, who was bouncing on the balls of her feet.

you surged forward, the force of your movement leaving you both in the sand. you clung to him, lips meeting his with sweet urgency. you mumbled a million yes’s into the kiss, no one left in the world but you and him, and your two beautiful children.

and when you pulled away, you scooped your babies into your arms, holding them tight, knowing that you were in the presence of the purest form of love.

your little family, complete…

…for now.

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youruser: family day out 🥹🫠❤️‍🔥

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i don’t know how to write fluff lol

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[nylqnder]

DOROTHEA LUKE HUGHES

pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: luke's sophomore season is far from what he had imagined. the weight of expectations, buried by the grueling pain of a long season begins to weigh on him. so, when the mid-season break rolls around, instead of going to four nations to watch his brothers, luke heads back to michigan in hopes of finding his love for hockey again.

warnings: vague mentions of anxiety, luke being extremely self critical, poor self-conscience, a bit of swearing, fictionalized events (e.g, how the devils season is going, games that haven't happened yet)

wc: 8.40k

notes: based on ‘dorothea’ by taylor swift. this one will may or may not tug at your heart strings. also quite a bit of this is made up. i know luke isn't having a bad season whatsoever + the devils aren't doing that bad. it's for the sake of the story!

“That’s not fucking good enough Hughes!”

Luke barely registered the assaulting tone of his coach’s voice above his labouring breaths. His chest heaved as he bent at the waist, gloved hands braced on his knees, lungs screaming for oxygen that never seemed to come fast enough. Every inhale burned, every exhale was shaky and ragged. Sweat dripped in a relentless stream down his temples, pooling in the collar of his jersey and turning his pads into a suffocating prison.

Just twenty-six more minutes of hockey, Luke reminded himself. Just twenty-six more minutes until thirteen, blissful hockey-free days.

The Four Nations break, a reprieve that couldn’t come soon enough, felt tantalizingly out of reach. It felt like time had slowed during this game, making it even more painful for Luke.

It wasn’t just his joints that ached or his lungs that burned; it was deeper than that. It was bone-deep. Soul-deep. It was the kind of ache that didn’t go away after a night of icing and a couple of ibuprofen. This was exhaustion — not just of the body, but of the mind.

This wasn’t the way Luke’s sophomore season was supposed to feel.

Luke entered the season with expectations stacked high enough to scrape against the rafters. Media outlets had anointed him the next big thing — another Hughes boy destined for stardom. His debut season had been solid; a Calder finalist-worthy season, in fact. Flashes of brilliance here, mistakes there, but he was still a kid learning the ropes. They’d forgiven him then. But now? Now they wanted dominance. Consistency. Leadership. They wanted him to be everything.

And he was coming up short.

The cold, hard fact of it was written across the scoreboard: 3-1 Canadiens, late in the second. The Devils couldn’t sustain any pressure in the offensive zone, the power play was sluggish, and the defensive breakdowns were enough to make Keefe nearly burst a blood vessel on the bench. Luke knew he wasn’t solely to blame, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was still somehow on him. That he wasn’t doing enough. That maybe he wasn’t enough.

“Get your head out of your ass and look like you’re trying to do something, Luke!” Keefe said from the other end of the bench.

Luke didn’t look up. He couldn’t. He simply absorbed his coach's words, shoulders sagging as he grabbed a towel to wipe his face. The damp fabric felt cool for a fleeting second before the heat radiating off his body rendered it useless.

“Hey, shake it off man,” Nico said from a few people down. The captain leaned forward, hands wrapped tightly around the edge of his stick. “Plenty of time left.”

Luke nodded mutely, not trusting his voice. Plenty of time. Sure. That’s what they always said until the buzzer sounded and it was too late. He stared down at the ice in front of him, tracing invisible patterns with his eyes, trying to block out the noise of the crowd, the critical eyes of the coaching staff boring into him, and the sharp stab of self-doubt that never quite went away.

He felt like he was moving underwater. Every shift was a struggle to keep up, every decision a split-second too late. Passes he’d made effortlessly when he was playing college hockey were suddenly bouncing off the heel of his stick. He hesitated when he should attack. He pinched when he should hold back. And he knew — God, he knew — the more he overthought it, the worse it got.

The crowd erupted as the Canadiens scored again. Luke didn’t need to look up to see the damage. The groan of the goal horn, the flashing red light, and the collective exhale from the bench told him everything he needed to know.

Luke gripped his stick tightly, knuckles white beneath his gloves. Twenty-six more minutes.

Blissful, hockey-free days loomed in the distance like a mirage. But would they really feel that way? Would he be able to shut it all off — the doubt, the pressure, the lingering echoes of every misstep? Would time away help him get his head back on straight, or was this just the start of something darker?

A few weeks ago, Luke had turned down multiple invitations from his teammates for getaways to white sandy beaches and crystal-clear waters. Nico was going to Cancun, Timo was going to the Bahamas. All of them were going on getaways for some much-needed rest and relaxation. But Luke couldn’t. He needed something more than just the sun. He needed a mental reset. A return to something grounding.

When the final buzzer blared, signalling yet another disappointing loss, Luke didn't even glance up at the scoreboard. The sting of defeat was something he’d grown uncomfortably familiar with, but it didn’t hurt any less. As he skated off the ice and into the tunnel, his legs felt like lead, his mind clouded with frustration and exhaustion.

He went through the monotonous routine of a loss; pulling off his sweat-soaked equipment one piece at a time while hearing a berating speech from Keefe outlining every single mistake they made, then spewing the same PR rehearsed answers to the media as he was forced to do availability yet again.

As soon as he was out of the arena, Luke pulled out his phone, scanning his notifications. While Jack took to pestering his brother in person, Quinn had messaged him earlier in the day, asking if he’d changed his mind about coming to watch them at Four Nations. It was the first time Quinn and Jack would be on the same team again since their younger days, and they’d been excited about the chance to represent Team USA together.

Quinn: It’s been a minute since we’ve all been in one place. Would be good to see you.

Luke sighed. A younger version of himself would’ve jumped at the chance to be there. To be around his brothers, the guys who’d been his idols growing up. But now, the thought of sitting in the stands, watching them thrive, only highlighted the weight of his own struggles. They deserved his support, but Luke wasn’t sure he could handle being there, feeling like the odd one out in his own family. The longer Luke thought about what he needed to do and where he needed to go, the clearer it became.

Michigan. That was where he needed to be. Not Cancun. Not the Bahamas. Not at Four Nations, no matter how much he wanted to see Jack and Quinn dominate together. Luke had made his decision. Back home was where he needed to be.

As he settled into his seat on the plane, the distant hum of the plane engines and the chatter of fellow passengers faded into the background. His thoughts settled on Michigan. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew it was there. The pull was inexplicable and undeniable, like gravity tethering him to a place he used to call home.

The wheels touched down with a jolt, and Luke pulled his coat tighter against the January chill as he stepped out of the terminal. The air smelled of snow and wet pavement, a scent so distinctly winter in Michigan that it stirred a pang of nostalgia in his chest.

He drove the winding roads back to his childhood neighborhood, the landscape coated in a blanket of fresh snow that shimmered under the streetlights. When he pulled into the driveway of the Hughes family home, the familiarity hit him like a slap. The dented hockey net at the end of the driveway and the porch light his mom insisted on always staying on, even when no one was home — it was all the same. And yet, it wasn’t.

Inside, the house was silent. Ellen and Jim were already in Montreal for Four Nations, cheering on Jack and Quinn as he’d known they would be. The usual warmth of his mom’s laughter, the clatter of pots in the kitchen, and his dad’s voice offering quiet encouragement were all absent. Instead, Luke was greeted by an almost eerie stillness.

He dropped his bag in the hallway and stood there for a moment, taking it all in. The framed photos lining the walls, the scuffed wooden floors from years of indoor hockey games with his brothers — it was like stepping into a time capsule of a simpler life. A life before contracts and endorsements, before fans and expectations, before the weight of the NHL threatened to crush him.

Luke’s footsteps echoed as he made his way to the den. The fireplace was unlit, the room cold. He collapsed onto the couch, running a hand through his hair and staring at the ceiling. His chest still felt tight from the game, his body aching in a way that told him he wasn’t just physically tired but emotionally spent.

Luke had expected something — comfort, nostalgia, maybe even peace. Instead, he was met with an odd hollowness, a space in his chest that Michigan didn’t instantly fill. Maybe that was the point. He wasn’t the same kid who had once called this place home. Still, despite the emptiness inside him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his path back to himself began here. He didn’t know when or how he’d feel whole again, but he was certain it wouldn’t happen overnight. It wouldn’t happen in Cancun, the Bahamas, or even on the ice in a Devils uniform. If it could happen anywhere, it would be here — in Michigan.

The next morning, hunger and boredom pushed him out of the house. He didn’t have a plan beyond grabbing coffee and then hitting the grocery store. He drove aimlessly through the familiar streets, his heart pulling in two directions — nostalgia and unease. Every corner, every turn, held memories of the life he’d left behind.

He parked outside a coffee shop he vaguely remembered from his college days. It was a cozy spot nestled between a record store and a florist. The bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped inside, the scent of fresh coffee and pastries wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

Luke stood in line, scanning the menu even though he already knew he’d get a black coffee and maybe a bagel. Habit, plain and simple. Once he ordered, he scanned the room for a table to sit at.

That’s when he saw you. At first, he wasn’t sure. The years had softened and matured parts of you, but there was no mistaking the way your hair fell or the way you were chewing on your lip as you stared at your laptop, the way you always did when you were deep in thought. The sight of you hit him like a puck to the chest — unexpected and jarring.

He hadn’t thought about what he would say if he ever saw you again. and yet, there you were, just a few feet away. For a moment, he considered slipping out unnoticed, but the thought disappeared as quickly as it came. Some invisible force propelled him forward, just like it always had when it came to you.

The two of you had been inseparable growing up. You knew each other better than anyone. Your bond had always been easy, natural. But it had never been simple.

Luke remembered the stolen glances, the way his chest tightened whenever you laughed at one of his dumb jokes, and the electric charge that sparked whenever your hands accidentally brushed. It was a relationship constantly teetering on the edge of friendship and something more — a delicate balance neither of you dared to upset.

He remembered the time when you were both sixteen, sitting on his front porch while the post-game party buzzed inside the house. Luke’s team had won in overtime, securing a state championship and the celebration had carried over to the Hughes’ home. Despite the noise behind him, all he could focus on was the way your cheeks flushed from the cold, the way your breath formed soft clouds in the crisp night air. He had been on the verge of telling you how he felt when the front door burst open and his brothers and their friends came bursting out, effectively breaking the moment.

Following that, Luke shoved his feelings down deep. You stayed close, intimate friends, remaining his one constant. Until you weren’t. He was at the University of Michigan, and you were at Boston University. At first, you two had tried. Long phone calls after late practices. Texts full of inside jokes and encouragement before exams. Plans to visit that always fell through because his schedule was relentless, and yours wasn’t much better.

Eventually, the calls got shorter. Then they stopped altogether. Luke remembered how, one night, he’d stared at his phone with your name highlighted on the screen, his thumb hovering over the call button. Michigan had just lost in the Frozen Four semifinals, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone else except for you. It was always you Luke spoke to after the bad games. But the weight of his exhaustion, the pressure of his family’s expectations, and the overwhelming chaos of his life had pressed down on him until he just put the phone down and rolled over in bed. He never called.

He told himself it was mutual, that life had just gotten in the way. But seeing you now, he wondered if he had been the one who let go first.

Then, as if you felt a pair of eyes on you, you looked up to find the familiar set of green eyes looking back at your own. Your eyes widened in recognition, and for a second, neither of you moved. It was like the air around you both had shifted, growing heavier with the weight of unspoken words and time lost.

“Luke?” you said, your voice a mix of surprise and something softer, something harder to place.

He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey. It’s been a while.”

That was an understatement. It had been more than a while. It had been years. Years since late-night study hang-outs turned into whispered confessions, since your laughter echoed in his ears as you teased him about missing his fifth straight penalty shot during pond hockey. Years since he’d kissed you in the downstairs bathroom at Isaac Howards' house during a round of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Years since he left, and the texts and calls dwindled into nothing.

“Yeah, it has,” you said, shifting your coffee cup between your hands. Your voice was tinged with something he couldn’t quite place — bitterness? Sadness? Maybe both.

“Yeah. Too many.” He looked down at the table, suddenly unable to meet your gaze. “I’m sorry about that. I should’ve—”

“Called?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

He winced but nodded. “Yeah. I was an idiot. No excuses. I just… I don’t know. Things got crazy.”

You let out a soft laugh, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, I noticed. A tiny screen’s the only place I see you know.”

Luke looked up, and the warmth in your smile soothed some of the guilt still gnawing at him.

“I guess I deserve that,” Luke admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He shoved his hands into his pockets, unsure of what to do with himself. “I’ve missed you, though. More than you probably believe.”

The tension lingered for a moment before your expression softened. Something about the way Luke's shoulders slumped, the weight he seemed to carry in his eyes, made you ease up. He wasn’t the confident kid you remembered, always ready with a joke or a smirk. He looked… tired. Like he’d been through the wringer and hadn’t quite come out the other side.

You gestured to the empty seat across from you. “What brings you back to Michigan? Shouldn’t you be playing right now?”

Luke hesitated momentarily but that same pull sent that thought out quickly and Luke sunk down into the chair. “Yeah, I should. But we’ve got a mid-season break and uh… I needed to get away for a bit.”

You nodded knowingly. “Rough season?” you asked, even though you knew all too well how the season was going. Despite the no contact and the years between you, you still found yourself watching his games, keeping an eye on the number forty-three that zipped around the ice.

“You could say that.” His eyes flickered down to his cup, fingers idly picking at the paper sleeve. “Just trying to figure some things out.”

You nodded slowly, studying him. It wasn’t like Luke to open up so easily, but the strain in his voice, the way he seemed smaller somehow, told you he needed this — needed someone to just listen. “How long are you in town for?”

“A week, maybe a little longer. Depends.” he shrugged, attempting a casual tone, but you caught the uncertainty beneath it.

“Well,” you said, your voice lightening, “since you’re here and since it’s been… well, too many years, do you want to grab dinner tonight? Catch up properly?”

His eyes widened slightly like the suggestion had caught him off guard. For a second, he looked like he might say no, but then his lips curved into a small, genuine smile — one that reminded you of the old Luke. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Dinner plans were settled, and a quick double-check that you still had each other's current numbers followed before parting ways temporarily. Luke had a small smile on his face as he walked out of the coffee shop, his coffee forgotten in his hand. You had been the last person he expected to see, but somehow, it felt like exactly what he needed.

The restaurant you’d picked was a cozy spot you’d discovered a little bit ago that had become one of your favourite places to eat out — nothing fancy, just good food and a relaxed atmosphere. When Luke arrived, the nervous energy radiating off him was palpable. It made him seem much more approachable than the polished player you thought he’d become.

“You clean up nice,” you teased as he slid into the booth across from you, his cheeks reddening slightly.

“Thanks,” he said, laughing softly. “You too. Not that you didn’t already look nice earlier.”

“Smooth,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow as you glanced at the menu. “You always this good at compliments?”

“Only with you,” he quipped, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The banter came easily, flowing like it used to in the days when late-night conversations over pizza were a regular occurrence. You found yourself slipping into old habits — teasing him about his inability to order anything outside of his comfort zone and laughing at his stories about Jack and Quinn.

Luke, for his part, couldn’t stop watching you. It wasn’t just how much you looked the same, though you did in so many ways. It was the way you carried yourself, the way you smiled and laughed like no time had passed at all. And yet, there was something different, too — a confidence that hadn’t been there before, a quiet strength he found himself drawn to even more than he had been back then.

But the laughter and lighthearted conversation couldn’t completely drown out the nagging thoughts in his mind. As you talked, Luke found himself thinking about how much he’d screwed up. He’d let the distance between you two widen, let life pull him in one direction while he let go of the thread that connected you both. He’d told himself it was just how life went — people grew apart. But now, sitting across from you, he couldn’t believe how wrong he’d been.

“You okay?” Your voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present.

Luke blinked, realizing he’d been staring at you a little too long. “Yeah. Sorry. Just… thinking.”

“About?”

He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. How did he even begin to explain? That he regretted letting you slip away, that he’d been an idiot for not fighting harder to keep you in his life?

“Just… how crazy it is to run into you like this,” he said finally, skirting around the truth. “I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to catch up with you.”

You smiled, but there was something wistful in your eyes. “Yeah. Life has a funny way of throwing surprises at you.”

The conversation shifted back to lighter topics after that, but Luke’s mind lingered on his regret. Every laugh, every shared memory, every glance reminded him of what he’d lost — and what he didn’t want to lose again.

As the night wore on and the restaurant emptied out around you, neither of you seemed eager to leave. The conversation deepened, and the teasing gave way to more heartfelt exchanges. You talked about what you’d been up to in the years apart, the struggles and triumphs, the paths you’d taken that had led you back to Michigan.

When the server finally dropped off the check, Luke reached for it before you could. “I got this.”

You frowned. “Hey, it was supposed to be my treat. It was my idea to get dinner anyways.”

“And I’m saying I owe you one,” he countered, his expression soft but firm. “Please. Let me.”

You relented, watching as he handed his card to the server. “Fine. But next time, it’s on me.”

Luke froze for a moment, the words “next time” ringing in his ears. He looked up at you, a small, hopeful smile playing on his lips. “Next time, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said, your tone light but your meaning clear. “Next time. You’re here for a few more days, right?”

Luke couldn’t bite back the smile that tugged on his lips. “Y-yeah. Next time.”

The next few days passed in a blur of shared moments. You carved out time from your busy schedule, meeting Luke for coffee, going on impromptu drives through your old favorite spots, and even hitting the gym together. He insisted he couldn’t slack on his training, and you, eager to spend more time with him, agreed to join.

At the gym, Luke was in his element, focused and disciplined, but there was an ease to his demeanor when you were around. He showed you proper form on certain exercises, his hands brushing yours occasionally as he adjusted your grip or stance. Each time, your heart skipped a beat, though you tried to hide it behind playful jabs about his “personal trainer” persona.

But amidst the laughter and lighthearted moments, you also fell back into the habit of sharing quieter, heavier conversations, confiding in one another once again. One evening, after a long day, the two of you sat on your couch, an old movie playing in the background as you nursed glasses of wine. Luke had been quieter than usual, and you could tell something was weighing on him.

Luke, despite his mood significantly lifted as he spent time around you again, couldn’t shake the weight that followed him from New Jersey. The doubts gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, even in moments of laughter and ease. Being with you was a welcome reprieve, a chance to remember a version of himself that wasn’t defined by statistics or expectations. But deep down, he couldn’t ignore the voice that questioned if he’d ever truly get his groove back — if the player he once was was still in there, waiting to be found, or if he’d lost that spark for good.

“You wanna talk about it?” you asked, breaking Luke from his incessant thoughts.

Even after being apart for a few years, you could still read Luke like a book. He got no better at hiding what was running through his mind as he got older. That, or you got better at reading people as you aged. Though you were always good at it.

“No, no… It’s a lot, don’t worry about it.” Luke answered, focusing back on the movie playing, though he had missed so much of the plot he wasn’t sure what was happening anymore.

“C’mon,” you said, sticking your foot out and nudging his thigh with your toe. “It’s me.”

It was you. You had always kept his secrets, even his deepest darkest ones, like when he confided in you about how he didn’t know if he wanted to pursue hockey, despite it being practically expected of him. You also always knew what to say, giving the best advice, like when you told him he was being irrational because hockey was all he thought of and what he had dreamed of since kindergarten.

He hesitated, his eyes fixed on the deep red liquid in his glass. “It’s just… hard, you know? This season. Everything feels off. I keep messing up, and it’s like no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake it. The comparisons to Jack and Quinn — they’re constant. And the worst part is, I feel like they’re right. Like I���m not good enough to be in the NHL.”

Luke’s voice cracked slightly as he continued, his grip tightening on the glass. “It’s like I’m not even me anymore. I’m just… Jack and Quinn’s younger brother. The one who hasn’t lived up to the hype. The one who’s just an extension of them.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m so tired of it. Of being seen as this kid who only got here because of who he’s related to.”

You placed your glass on the coffee table, shifting to face him fully. “You’re tired of being known for who you know,” you said gently, watching as his eyes flickered toward yours, the weight of your words visibly landing.

Luke nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. Exactly. I just want to be Luke. Not someone’s little brother. Not some placeholder. Just… me.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “Then start there,” you said. “Stop letting other people’s opinions decide how you see yourself. You’re not Jack. You’re not Quinn. You’re Luke — the guy who’s passionate, hardworking, and ridiculously competitive.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “I’ve seen that side of you, even when you were a kid. You always wanted to carve your own path. And you’re doing that now, whether you feel it or not.”

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “It’s hard to believe that sometimes.”

“I get that,” you said, your tone soft but firm. “But Luke, your brothers didn’t get you to the NHL. You got you there. They’re part of your story, yeah, but they’re not the whole story. You’ve earned this. You belong here. And I know it feels like you’ve lost your way, but maybe this slump is just part of figuring out how to be the player you want to be.”

Luke looked at you for a long moment, his green eyes filled with a mixture of doubt and something softer — hope, maybe. “You really think I can turn it around?”

“Luke. You really think your entire NHL career is over after one bad season?” you said, snorting at your own words. Luke couldn’t help but chuckle at his own over-dramatics. “I know you can turn it around… I have no doubt. But you need to start believing it yourself.”

A faint smile replaced his troubled expression, and he set his glass aside, leaning back against the couch. “You always know what to say.”

You grinned, nudging his knee with yours. “That’s because I’ve always believed in you, Luke. Even when you don’t believe in yourself.”

For the first time that evening, Luke let out a quiet laugh, the sound lightening the mood. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice soft. “For being here. For… everything.”

“Always,” you said, meaning it more than you realized.

The rest of the night passed quietly, the two of you lost in conversation and shared memories. And as Luke left your place that evening, he felt lighter, the weight on his shoulders not entirely gone but more manageable.

The next day, the realization that it was Luke’s last night in Michigan crept into every shared moment. It added a bittersweet edge to the laughter and easy camaraderie that had blossomed between you over the past few days. You both avoided bringing it up during dinner, the unspoken knowledge settling between you like a silent companion.

After the meal, Luke suggested going for a walk. The winter air was crisp, and the stars shone brightly in the clear Michigan sky as you strolled down familiar streets, your breath visible in the cold. You pulled your coat tighter around you, glancing at Luke as he walked beside you, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Thanks for spending so much time with me this week,” he said after a while, breaking the comfortable silence. “I know you’ve got a lot going on.”

You smiled softly. “I wanted to. Besides, it’s been nice… like old times.”

Luke chuckled, though there was a wistfulness in it. “Yeah, it has. Better, even.”

The two of you fell silent again, the sound of your footsteps crunching on the snow-covered pavement filling the void. You turned onto a quieter street, where the houses were dark, their occupants already tucked away for the night. You glanced at Luke, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his mood having shifted from a moment ago.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you teased lightly, hoping to coax him out of his silence.

He stopped walking, turning to face you. His expression was serious, his brows knit as though wrestling with something he hadn’t planned to say. “I think I’ve been running from a lot of things,” he began, his voice low and steady, “but especially you.”

The words hung in the air between you, raw and unexpected. Luke took a step closer, his green eyes searching yours. “When we drifted apart, I told myself it was just the way things had to be. That the distance, my career — it was all just part of life. But I see now… I could’ve fought harder. I should’ve fought harder. For us.”

His admission made your chest tighten, a mix of emotions flooding through you. You had spent years wondering if he regretted letting you go, if he missed you as much as you missed him. And now, hearing the regret in his voice, it felt both validating and bittersweet.

“Luke…” You took a breath, steadying yourself. “It hurt, you know? Losing you. But I understood why you made the choices you did. Your career — it’s everything you’ve worked for, and I didn’t want to be the one holding you back.”

“I never thought of it that way,” he interjected quickly, his tone earnest. “You were never holding me back. If anything, you grounded me. You believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself. And I’m sorry. For not saying that. For not fighting harder to keep you in my life.”

You nodded, emotions welling in your chest. “I won’t lie — it was hard. But I’ve always rooted for you, Luke. Even from afar, even quietly. Even if it meant letting you go.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a fragile cocoon. Luke’s gaze softened, and he nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t deserve you,” he said softly.

“Enough with what you do and don’t deserve,” you said shaking your hand. “Cause you’re stuck with me anyways.”

The walk back to your car was quieter, but the silence wasn’t heavy. It was filled with a sense of understanding, of unspoken words that no longer needed to be said.

The next morning, as you drove Luke to the airport, the mood was bittersweet. He promised to keep in touch this time, and for once, you believed he might actually follow through. When you hugged him goodbye, he lingered for a moment longer than usual, as if reluctant to let go.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” you said, pulling back to meet his eyes.

“You too,” he replied, his voice softer than usual. “And thank you. For… everything.”

After Luke returned to New Jersey, something shifted within him. The heaviness of expectation and self-doubt hadn’t completely vanished, but your words lingered in his mind like an anthem: You’ve earned this. You belong here.

For the first time in months, he started seeing his struggles not as failures but as opportunities to grow. Instead of obsessing over his brothers’ accomplishments or the weight of media scrutiny, he set smaller, personal goals. Maybe he wouldn’t assist on every goal scored in every game or win the Norris, but he could focus on winning his battles in the corners, improving his breakout passes, and becoming a reliable presence on the ice.

That renewed mindset brought subtle changes to his game. At first, it was just flashes — an extra step to break up a play, a crisp pass that led to a goal. His confidence grew with each small victory, and while the slump didn’t disappear overnight, it didn’t feel insurmountable anymore.

Through it all, you and Luke became each other’s anchors. Despite the distance, your late-night conversations became a constant. You’d talk about everything — your classes, his games, old memories, and future dreams. Sometimes, the chats were lighthearted, filled with laughter as you teased him about his weird superstitions, like tying his left skate before his right. Other times, they were raw and vulnerable, as you vented about the pressures of school and fear of what came beyond graduation.

It wasn’t always easy. There were nights when his games ended late, or you were swamped with assignments, but both of you made the effort. The bond you shared was undeniable, and as the weeks passed, Luke found himself thinking about you more and more. The idea of a life without you felt incomplete — like something vital was missing.

One night, after a grueling loss to the Washington Capitals, Luke couldn’t shake the disappointment. He had played well, but the team had faltered, and the sting of another defeat hung heavy in the air. Sitting in his car outside the arena, he found himself dialing your number.

You answered on the second ring, your voice warm and familiar despite the late hour. “Hey, everything okay?”

Luke hesitated for a moment before sighing. “Not really. I’m getting better at handling the pressure, but…something still feels off.”

“Want to talk about it?” you asked softly.

He leaned back in his seat, staring at the dashboard. “I hate that I’m here and you’re there,” he admitted. His voice was raw, tinged with frustration. “I hate that I keep letting distance get in the way of us. It’s like, no matter how well I play or how much I try to focus on hockey, it doesn’t feel right. Not without you.”

His confession hung in the air, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You had felt the distance too, in quiet moments when you wished he were there to share a laugh or hold your hand. But hearing him say it made the ache more real.

“I miss you too,” you finally said, your voice quieter now, but steady. “More than I can put into words. But Luke…this, us — it’s worth fighting for. Even if it’s hard sometimes.”

Luke closed his eyes, letting the weight of your words sink in. He’d known it deep down, but hearing you say it gave him a renewed sense of clarity. “I know it is. I just… I don’t want this to feel like something I’m waiting for. I want it to feel like something we’re building.”

“And we are,” you reassured him. “Every late-night call, every text, every moment we make time for each other — it’s not just waiting, Luke. It’s us figuring it out together. And as much as I’d love for things to be easier, maybe this is how we know it’s real. Because even when it’s tough, we still choose each other.”

His chest tightened, not with sadness, but with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. You always had this way of grounding him, of reminding him what mattered most. “How are you so good at this?” he asked with a soft laugh, the edges of his frustration beginning to melt away.

“Good at what?”

“Making me feel like I’m not completely screwing everything up,” he admitted.

“Because you’re not,” you replied firmly. “You’re trying, Luke. That’s more than enough. You’re enough.”

A few weeks later, as the regular season wound down and playoffs loomed, you found yourself on another late-night call with Luke. This time, he seemed lighter, more at ease, even as the intensity of the season ramped up. It was a stark contrast to the stressed, self-critical tone he’d had earlier in the year.

“You ready for the playoffs?” you asked, genuinely curious. The way he’d been playing lately, it seemed like he’d turned a corner, but you couldn’t help wondering how he was handling the weight of it all.

“Yeah,” he said simply, without hesitation.

His answer caught you off guard. “You’re not nervous?”

“Nope.” He chuckled, and you could practically hear the shrug in his voice. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited. But nervous? Not really.”

You smiled to yourself, a wave of pride and relief washing over you. “That’s new.”

“It is, isn’t it?” he admitted. “I don’t know… I think I finally realized that worrying doesn’t help. I’ve spent so much time obsessing over being perfect, over trying to measure up to everyone else, that I forgot to just enjoy playing the game. And honestly, I’m tired of carrying all that pressure around. Hockey’s supposed to be fun.”

Hearing him say it so confidently, so matter-of-factly, made your heart swell. For months, you’d watched him wrestle with self-doubt, pushing himself to the brink in search of validation. Now, he sounded like someone who had finally made peace with himself — or at least started to.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” you said softly. “It’s not easy to let go of that stuff.”

“It’s easier with you,” he replied, his voice tinged with warmth. “You’ve always been in my corner, even when I wasn’t in my own. That means everything.”

The playoffs arrived sooner than Luke anticipated, and with them, a surge of pressure that made it harder to focus on anything outside the rink. But Luke stepped onto the ice for Game 1 with a steadiness that surprised even him. The crowd roared, the energy was electric, and though the stakes were higher than ever, he didn’t let it overwhelm him. Instead, he focused on the little things — staying composed under pressure, trusting his instincts, and playing the way he knew he could. Game by game, he chipped away at his self-doubt, leaning into the mental resilience he’d been building all season.

The Devils clawed their way through the first two rounds, overcoming grueling battles and earning every victory. Luke’s performance was a reflection of his growth. While he wasn’t the flashiest player on the ice, he was reliable, steady, and clutch when it mattered most. He had a knack for breaking up key plays, making smart decisions under pressure, and even contributing a few timely assists and goals that had the crowd on their feet.

Through it all, you were there, albeit through a screen. You found a way to catch every game, even the ones that happened in between your exams, forgoing studying to watch Luke zip around the ice. Your support grounded him, a reminder that no matter how chaotic things got on the ice, he had someone who believed in him unconditionally.

By the time the conference finals arrived, the Devils were a team to be reckoned with. Facing off against the Carolina Hurricanes, the series was a war of attrition — fast-paced, physical, and emotionally draining. Luke felt the pressure mounting, but he refused to let it control him. Instead, he leaned into the same mantra that had carried him through his struggles earlier in the season: You’ve earned this. You belong here.

The series stretched to six games, with each one more intense than the last. Luke played some of his best hockey, blocking shots, setting up plays, and doing whatever it took to keep his team in the fight. But in the end, the Hurricanes proved too strong. In Game 6, with the Devils down by a goal late in the third period, Luke was on the ice for a final push. They came heartbreakingly close, but the buzzer sounded, and just like that, the run was over.

The locker room was heavy with silence afterward, the weight of the loss pressing down on everyone. Luke sat at his stall, still in his gear, staring at the floor. It hurt — of course it did. But this time, the pain wasn’t accompanied by the same crushing self-criticism he’d once felt after losses. Instead, he felt a deep sense of pride. They had made it this far, farther than many had expected, and he knew he’d left it all on the ice.

Later that night, he called you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm.

“Hey,” you replied, bracing yourself. You’d seen the loss and expected him to be devastated. “How are you holding up?”

He surprised you with a small chuckle. “Honestly? I’m okay. Don’t get me wrong, it sucks, but… I feel like I gave it everything I had. That’s all I can do, right?”

Pride swelled in your chest. This wasn’t the Luke you remembered from a year ago, who would’ve let the loss consume him. “I’m so proud of you,” you said sincerely. “For how you’ve handled all of this. You’ve grown so much, Luke.”

Your words stayed with him long after the call ended, echoing in his mind like a steady drumbeat. You’ve grown so much, Luke.

Your graduation day dawned bright and warm, the campus alive with energy as classmates, friends, and families gathered to celebrate. You felt a swirl of emotions — pride, excitement, and a faint wistfulness. While you were thrilled to be closing this chapter, part of you couldn’t ignore the ache of someone missing. You had tried to manage your expectations, knowing Luke's NHL schedule and how taxing the playoffs had been. But as you slipped on your cap and adjusted your gown, you couldn’t shake the quiet hope that maybe, somehow, he’d be there.

The ceremony itself was a blur of speeches, applause, and cheers. Crossing the stage, you accepted your diploma with a wide smile, the weight of your hard work finally lifted. Afterward, you joined the throng of graduates filtering toward the quad, where your family had promised to wait. Spotting them amidst the crowd, you waved, your heart swelling with love as you saw your mom, dad, and younger brother standing together. But then, your eyes caught on something — or someone — else.

Luke was standing behind them with a bouquet of fresh daisies, baby's breath, and soft pink roses tied with a satin ribbon. His boyish grin was unmistakable, and it softened the moment your eyes met. The disbelief must have been written all over your face because his grin widened as he gave you a small wave.

Your legs carried you forward without hesitation. First, you hugged your parents and brother, exchanging congratulations and laughter, but your gaze kept darting back to Luke. Finally, you stepped toward him, your voice catching as you said, “What…? You’re here?”

He held the bouquet out to you, a little sheepishly. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” he said, his voice low and warm. “You’re one of the most important people in my life. I had to be here.”

Your chest tightened with emotion as you accepted the flowers, their sweet fragrance mingling with the warmth of his presence. “Luke, I didn’t think—”

“I know,” he interrupted gently, his eyes steady on yours. “And I’m sorry for making you think I wouldn’t come. But I wanted it to be a surprise. Your mom helped me with it, actually.”

You glanced over at your mother, who wore an undeniably large grin that stretched across her lips, her eyes practically sparkling with the kind of knowing satisfaction only a mother could have. She had always harbored a soft spot for Luke, often claiming he was the one boy you’d never quite forget. She firmly believed, with the quiet certainty that only years of maternal instinct could provide, that no matter how far life took you, he was the one you’d eventually find your way back to in the end.

Luke pulled your eyes back to his as he spoke again. “You’ve been there for me every step of the way, even when I didn’t deserve it. This is your moment, and I wanted to be part of it.”

Tears prickled your eyes, but you blinked them away, laughing softly as you shook your head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” he teased, his smile making your heart ache in the best way. “But seriously, I’m so proud of you. You did it.”

You didn’t think, you just stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. He pulled you close without hesitation, his embrace grounding you in a way that only he could.

As you pulled back from the hug, you caught your mother’s subtle signal—a raised brow and a little nod toward Luke. She knew, of course. She always knew. With a quick glance at your dad and brother, you gave them a look that clearly said, I need a minute alone with him.

“Why don’t we grab some photos?” your mom suggested, steering your dad and brother toward a picturesque spot by the fountain. You mouthed a quick thank you before turning back to Luke.

“Want to take a walk?” you asked, motioning toward the quiet pathways that wove through the campus.

“Lead the way,” Luke replied, his hands slipping into the pockets of his suit pants.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while, the hum of distant laughter and celebration filling the air. You made your way toward a shaded grove near the library, a place where you had spent countless hours studying. Today, it felt almost sacred, a fitting backdrop for this moment.

“I’m glad you came,” you said finally, breaking the silence.

“I’m glad I’m here,” Luke replied, his voice earnest. “I’ve been thinking about this day for a while.”

You glanced at him, your heart skipping at the way his jaw tensed like he was working up to something.

“Listen,” he began, stopping in his tracks and turning to face you. His green eyes, usually bright and playful, were serious now, searching yours. “I’ve spent the last year trying to figure out how to say this without screwing it up, but here goes.” He took a breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “You mean the world to me. You always have. And I know I didn’t always handle things right between us — I’ve made mistakes, I’ve let hockey, distance, and my own insecurities get in the way — but you’re the one person I can’t imagine my life without.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done. “I don’t want to keep pretending that what we have is just history or that I’m okay with being just friends. Because I’m not. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for years, and I don’t want to waste another second not saying it.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and electric. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The honesty in his eyes, the way his voice trembled just slightly—it was everything you had once hoped to hear from him and more.

“Luke,” you said softly, taking a step closer. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll give me a chance,” he replied, his voice steady despite the vulnerability etched into his features. “Say you’ll let me show you that I can be the person you deserve. Say you’ll be with me.”

A smile broke across your face, and before you could overthink it, you nodded. “Okay,” you said, your voice catching on the emotion swelling in your chest. “Yes. I’ll be with you.”

Luke’s smile was a mixture of relief and joy, as though he had been holding his breath and could finally exhale. He took a step toward you, his hands reaching out, and for a moment, it felt like everything in the world had paused — just the two of you, finally on the same page.

He gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek, and you felt the weight of the moment settle between you. Then, his gaze shifted upwards, and he chuckled softly. “Can’t kiss you with this thing on,” he teased softly.

Luke carefully slid the cap off your head, setting it aside on a nearby bench. The small gesture felt oddly intimate, like he was making room for something even more meaningful.

When his hands returned to your face, the warmth between you both felt undeniable. He leaned in, this time without hesitation, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was tender at first, like he was savoring the moment. The way his lips moved against yours was more sure, more confident, and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, realizing just how much better he was at it now than when he was 16.

When he finally pulled away, you both breathed deeply, as though trying to catch your bearings after such a powerful kiss. A small laugh escaped your lips, and you smirked, your heart racing. “You’ve definitely gotten better at that,” you said, your voice light with amusement.

Luke chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m glad you noticed,” he said, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “But I’m just getting started.”

You walked back toward your family, hand in hand with the boy who had always been a part of you. It was a moment to savor, but also one to look forward to—a future that felt just a little bit clearer, and a little bit brighter, because of him.