#home cleaning montreal

[snapbackslide]

if anyone got tips pls share with the group 🫶🫶🫶🫶

[chebaentretien]

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[bunny-jpeg]

kink-o-ween - day twenty

lance stroll - brat

cw: smut/pwp, brat taming, brat tamer!lance, brat!reader, dom/sub, punishments, spanking, dirty talk, mean!lance, kitchen sex

kink-o-ween masterlist <3

"you've been a bad girl." lance's words curled into your brain. it made you feel hot all over. how could you not feel the heat? because when you were a bad girl, you got the punishments that you craved, "honey." he said after the montreal grand prix, "i'm going to enjoy taking you apart tonight."

you bloomed under his stern gaze. everyone knew him as a pretty boy. but, when you two were alone and you got under his skin just right. you saw a totally different side of him. the brat tamer

his place in montreal was where you lived most of the year while in university. lance expected for you to keep it clean. so imagine his surprise when he returned from the grand prix and found his apartment in a bit of a mess.

so after the first round of spankings. his heavy hand up against your achy ass, leaving it a bright shade of bruising. he made you clean up in just your panties. pick up the laundry, vacuum the floors, put away the dishes and even wash them.

lance waited by the couch, hard in his jeans as he admired you. you were living in his home, rent free. he made sure you were taken care of while he was racing around the globe. he watched your breasts jiggle with each of your movemennts. you almost looked like a housewife. that made lance twitch in his jeans.

"missed a spot." he said.

you looked aty him then to the mop. you muttered something under your breath that made your love perk up.

he asked, "what did you say?"

"nothing." you replied as you continued to mop the floors.

lace got up and crossed over to you on the wet floor. he grabbed you from behind and said. "oh no, honey. i think you said something." he groped your bare beasts, he even gave your nipples a hard tug.

you whined, "fuck, lance." then whined louder because he rubbed himself up against you. he then got you over to the kitchen island. there were now footprints all over the freshly washed floors.

lance slapped his hand across your ass, "you're a brat. you know that right? i take care of you all the time and you give me attitude?"

"fuck." you gasped as your panties were yanked down past your hips. your achy cunt was exposed to him. the wetness clung to your pussy lips. you enjoyed this. of course you were. you were a dumb little slut.

'you're such a brat." he said, "a huge brat. but you love it. you love being a stupid slut for me. no amount of education is going to fix that."

your ass was smacked raw, for sure bruised come morning. not that lance cared, too bad you won't be able to sit when you visited friends in the afternoon. hopefully you'll be finally good for him.

"are you sorry?" he asked. his voice was low and twisted your stomach into knots. there was such a mean streak to him. and the deepest parts of you yearned for it. for your mean lance.

you nodded and before you could form words, you heard the buckle of his belt. and before you could form a different sentence, he was pushing his cock into your quickly. he gave you little time to adjust to the size.

your back arched as you tried to find some support on the counter. but found none. your cheeks against the granite countertop. you almost yelled when he started to fuck your needy cunt. you liked it, you liked acting out and the consequences.

"this is so much better, don't you think? that you can take me so well with little prep. made perfect for me and only me. from your head down to your toes. you are mine." his pace was bruising. he loved you deeply, especially when you became his stupid little slut. when you acted out, it only gave him fuel to put you back in your place.

you whined.

he continued, "you're such a stupid little slut." which made you moan louder, his words were venom and it paralyzed you from fighting back. he pulled your head back from the counter and pressed a searing kiss against your lips.

he had you in a painful position as he fucked your poor pussy. no matter how much you squirmed or whined, he didn't let up. you gasped when he groped your bruised ass tightly. he was making such a mess out of you all over the expensive counter.

"if i need to spank you every day, i will. i'll leave your ass bruised and your pussy full." he said almost like a promise. if you were going to be a brat, then he'd simply treat you like a dog that needed to be trained. maybe he'd even throw a collar in.

you loved his words. it was commanding in a way that left your knees shaken. your could feel the pleasure of it all the way down to your core.

no one made you feel like that. not so sexually shaken that you almost came right on the spot. you whined to your lover, "lance." everything fel like as sexual blue as your body craved more of it. more of the bruising affection lance gave you.

it left you pathetic, letting lance run his mouth and it felt like you were on another planet. he pressed against you perfectly, hit all the right spots as you felt the drum of excitement course through you.

"please, lance." you near begged.

"my stupid brat. you're always try to get the upper hand but you never will. you'll always have to be a good girl for me." he pressed further into you further and made your back arch, "because i pay for everything, don't i? from the apartment to your schooling to your vast collection of toys to keep you busy while i'm away."

you didn't have a response. you knew he was true. you barely contributed, maybe lance was right to punish your bratty behavior. your bruised ass, your debauched pose over the counter, your slick cunt. you had potential to be the perfect woman for him. your ass jiggled as he continued to fuck you with heavy thrusts that bruised your hips against the counter. he was trying to fuck the brattiness out of you. to make you perfect for him.

"ah, fuck, lance!" this was the taming of the brat in lance's eyes as he continued to fuck you. you apologized so pretty.

he groaned as he helf onto you tightly, bouncing you on his thick cock. the kind of cock that made you mouth water at the sight of. you were at his mercy.

"fuck, this is what i like to hear, you could so sorry. you know how to behave. i want a good girl. not a massive brat." he was met with your sweet moans which only spurred him on further to fuck you up against the counter.

you arched your back a little and gripped onto nothing for some kind of leverage while your sweaty breasts stuck to the countertop. you whined, "lance, fuck, it feels so good!"

he kissed the back of your neck which made you shudder. your nipples grew hard and your pussy clenched. it didn't stop, the pleasure rocked your world. your noises became louder and more pathetic. your panted were animalistic. you were hanging on by a thread.

"that's it, honey." he groaned. the thrusts were uneven. his pace was erratic and fucked the breath out of you.

you soon came around his cock, your mouth hung open as he felt the crash of pleasure through your body. you tensed up and then relaxed. tour sweaty skin pressed against the counter as lance fucked you harder. he slammed his entire length into your as he finished. his pulse jumped as he came up against your softest parts.

lance stopped his movement, but kept his cock snug inside of you. he grabbed at your bruised ass and kissed your neck. between the heavy pants he asked, "are you going to behave from now on? be the good girl i know you can be."

you nodded dumbly, his words didn't fully register. whatever lance wanted, he got. you swallowed and raised your head from the counter. and lance patted your heated cheek.

-

the followed week, lance was at the track early. he was surprised to hear your voice when you called his name. when he looked over, he was in a bit of shock. there you were in a t-shirt that showed off more than lance wanted you to show off, and a skirt that was painfully short. your lips were glossed to perfection. and as lance looked at you for a moment longer, he wondered, would your mascara run if he choked you on his cock? <3

[libraryofloveletters]

Daddy’s Biggest Fan

Lance Stroll x Fem!Reader

Warnings: surprise baby!, babygirl is the star of the show and the gem of the stroll family, grandpa Lawrence is besties with his granddaughter, mentions of labour and giving birth (nothing graphic!), the vettel family is the cutest, soft uncle mick, uncle estie and auntie elena, some cheesy comments from lance, auntie chloe and uncle scotty for the win! 

Word Count: 6,210

Author’s Note: prompted by this video and this photo :)) enjoy soft dad lance! // also y’all know I cannot write lance without some mention of Canada lmaoooo forgive me please 

--- 

Weekend of the Canadian Grand Prix, 2022. 

The hallways were empty considering it was nearly midnight. Lance’s bag hung off of his shoulder, hitting his back as he ran towards the desk. “Y/n l/n, where is she?” He asks, fingers drumming against the counter as he waits for the nurse to tell him. 

“Who are you?” She asks and he huffs a sigh. “Her boyfriend.” 

“Oh, yeah okay. Uh, one sec,” she checked the charts to her left, “room 209.” She tells him and with that he’s off again, scanning all the door numbers before he finds the room. 

He walks in quietly, silently hoping he hasn't missed it. “Did I miss it?” Lance asks.

He finds you still very much pregnant on the bed. “You didn’t,” you smiled, your hand stretched out for him. 

The Canadian Grand Prix was this weekend which meant Lance was home in Montreal so the baby picked the perfect time to make their appearance into the world. The fact that you two were expecting was a bit of a secret, no one except your families, the Vettels along with Esteban, Elena and Mick knew. 

Seb only found out because Lance went shopping with him to pick up a few things for his kids and Seb was curious as to why he was so interested in baby clothes all of a sudden. As for Esteban, Elena and Mick, the 3 drivers were close and Esteban is bad at keeping secrets so that was that. 

Sunday was rolling into Monday and your contractions were closer together. Your sister in law was asleep on the chair next to your bed, Lance didn’t wake her but your groans did. 

“When’d you get here?” She yawns, looking at her brother. 

“An hour ago. Can you get the doctor though? Her contractions are closer together now.” Lance asked his sister, you and Chloe share a glance before laughing. Chloe squeezes her brother’s shoulder, “yeah, I'll go.” 

It was a few moments before Chloe returned, your sister in law beside your boyfriend as the doctor checked how far along you were dilated. “Alright, you’re just about ready to push.” The doctor gets up, letting the sheet back down. “We’ll get you prepped, who’s staying?” 

“I am.” “He is.” Chloe and Lance answer at the same time. 

You smile at the Stroll siblings, Chloe comes over to kiss your forehead. “I’ll be waiting outside. You've got this,” she tells you, and you nod. “I’ll see you after.” 

Chloe gives her brother a hug before stepping out.  

The doctor and nurses come in, it’s an overwhelming scene to anyone on the outside but you were relaxed, surprisingly. 

The room door was shut, the drape up between your lower half and you with Lance standing by your side, holding your hand the whole time. Your boyfriend whispered sweet nothings to you, praising you on what a good job you were doing. 

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, kissing your forehead. “Doing so good, baby. Just a few more pushes.” 

“Almost here,” Your doctor calls up to you, “few more.” She confirms your boyfriend’s theory.

Within the next few minutes, you had given birth. You looked a mess, hair matted to your forehead from sweat, your eyes teary and you were beyond exhausted and yet, he looked at you like you held the sun and the stars.

“So proud of you,” Lance whispers, pushing your hair away from your face as he kisses your forehead. The doctor was right next to you two, cleaning up the baby and doing her initial tests before wrapping the little baby in a white and pink blanket.

“Congratulations,” She smiles, placing the baby in Lance’s arms. “It’s a girl.” She tells you both, giving you a moment to coo over her.

The floodgates have broken, Lance’s face covered in tears as he sits by your bedside, resting the baby on your chest gently. This was probably the first time you’ve seen Lance cry this much, it’s quite sweet to see his daughter reduce him to a puddle to tears. His arm over the top of the pillow, the two of you looking at the baby you created.

Both of you crying, the little thing on your chest had her eyes shut. “She’s got your eyes,” Lance whispers, as if he would be disturbing the baby’s rest by being any louder.

“Her eyes are barely open.” You chuckled, looking over at your boyfriend. 

It was a little while with just the 3 of you. Lance already has a million and one pictures of his baby girl on the phone, changing the home screen from you to one of you and her. 

There’s a knock on the door, the nurse sticking her head in to let you know that you have visitors. Lance tells her to let them in, you were sitting on the bed, a baby wrapped up in a blanket being cradled to your chest with Lance sitting on the edge of the tiny hospital bed. 

Chloe held the first bag, a little stuffed lion and blanket in it and Scotty followed behind, some outfits for the baby in the bag. “When’d you get here?” you asked Scotty, the two of them coming over to see the newest addition to the Stroll family. 

“Chloe called me as soon as it was time for you to push.” He asks, watching as you hand the baby over to your sister in law. 

“You guys,” Chloe whispers, holding the baby like she was the most precious thing in the world. “She’s so beautiful.” 

Scotty and Chloe sat on the bench next to the window, the two of them cooing over their niece. 

“We didn’t tell you her name,” you look over at them, Lance snuggled in next to you on the bed. The older couple looks over, waiting for you to tell them. 

“Meet Elizabeth Chloe Stroll.” You tell them, glancing between Chloe and Lance. 

“Chloe?” The blonde asks, looking down at the baby in her arms. 

“Mhm hm, after the best auntie in the world,” you hold Lance's hand, the woman smiles. Scotty grins at his fiancé, you and Lance chuckling at her reaction.  

“Lizzie for short,” Lance says, a smile on his face. 

The two of you had wanted to name her with a name that started with L but you couldn't settle on any so you went with Elizabeth, Lizzie for short. Also because Lance wanted her to have L. Stroll like him. 

“She’s beautiful,” Chloe says once more, “like her mom.” 

“Wow, no credit for me?” Lance asks his sister, she shrugs. “Don’t worry, mate. I think you’re handsome.” Scotty says to his brother in law, earning a few laughs. 

--- 

The next few days had been a whirlwind of emotions. Lizzie was born on Tuesday just past midnight and you were released on the Thursday. Lance refused to leave you two, telling the team that he’d be missing media day and decided to opt out of practice on Friday as well. 

Perks of your dad owning the team you drive for I suppose. 

Lizzie was laying against her father’s chest, her little hand wrapped around his finger as he rubbed her back softly. You had gone to take a shower before Lance had to leave but the man was still on the couch, dressed for the track but he’s yet to move from his spot. 

“Lance.” You called, your hands on your hips. “C’mon, you can’t miss qualifying.” 

“Do I really have to go?” There’s a pout playing on his lips when you come over to take Lizzie from him. 

You’ve got the little girl in your arms when you stand between his legs. “Yes, you have to go.” 

Lance gets up, a pout on his face and you reach up to give him a kiss. You can feel his hand over yours, the one resting under Lizzie, holding her up in her little roots onesie. 

“Go on,” you nudge him towards the door. Lance begrudgingly makes his way to the door, picking up his keys and his phone before turning back to face his girls once more.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” 

“One hundred percent,” you smile at your boyfriend. You’ve got Lizzie tucked into your chest, an arm under her as your other hand rests on your boyfriend’s jaw. “We love you, now go.” 

“I love you,” he smiles before giving you a kiss. Lance leans down a bit more, kissing Lizzie’s head, “I love you the most.” 

You smiled at the man and his daughter, rushing him out the door before he missed the session. 

Lizzie was but a few days old, much too little for you to be taking her to a race. You’re certain there were rumours floating around that you and Lance had split after you not being there for a few months. Once you hit your 5th month of pregnancy, it was hard to find the bump under clothes and your doctor suggested staying in one place or only go to races that are much shorter flights. 

It was killing you to miss his home race this weekend but there was nothing you wouldn’t do for this little girl. 

You two sort of lay around for a bit. You take a million and one photos of her; new parents and not wanting to miss a moment. You had the tv on, watching as the sky sports crew made their way through the paddock, asking around while they set up for qualifying. 

Lizzie stretches in your arms and you decide to change her into the little outfit her grandfather had gifted her. 

The day after you two told Lawrence you were expecting, you received a basket of baby things; onesies, hats, shirts, little jackets and hoodies, a blanket and even a little car stuffie all in Aston Martin green with the little logo on it. 

The little girl was now in a onesie, the Aston logo across her tummy and the back had a number 18 on it. 

You put her to lay on the couch so you can take a photo of her. You send that on to Lawrence with a message attached; future aston driver ? 

Your father in law replied with a yes and a million emojis that he’s newly discovered and had come to love. 

“Your grandad is so cheesy,” you tell her quietly, picking her back up. You held her in your arm carefully, watching as they were doing last minute checks before the cars would be pulling out for quali. 

The two of you take a selfie, both you and Lizzie have on Aston Martin shirts with the matching 18 on the back. 

To Lance: good luck!! <3 *1 Image Attachment* 

From Lance: miss my biggest fan. 

To Lance: awh you miss me? how sweet. 

From Lance: you’re funny, you got booted. Lizzie is daddy’s biggest fan. 

To Lance: it’s not cute when you refer to yourself as daddy. 

From Lance: you love it mommy. 

To Lance: you’re sooooo gross. go race, we love you. 

Setting the phone down, you rocked the sleepy baby softly. The volume was low but the sound of the zooming cars and the rumbling engines lulled her back to sleep. 

You managed to stay awake through qualifying; Sebastian and Lance were starting one after another with the German in P17 and the Canadian in P18. 

Not the best but hopefully tomorrow will be better. 

Lizzie woke up at some point after qualifying. You changed her diaper, fed her, rocked her and sang to her until you two found your way back to the couch. It had been a repeat of the same thing for the last few days; sleep, eat, sing to her, take a million photos, change her and repeat. 

You tried to get a few minutes of sleep when she did which is what you were doing when your boyfriend walked into the apartment. The door shuts quietly, the man setting the keys down on the entry table softly before making his way over to his girls on the couch. 

Despite changing his clothes, you could still smell the burnt rubber and gasoline on his skin. “Hey,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss Lizzie’s head before sitting next to you. 

The girl in your arms and your head back against the couch cushions. Your eyes were shut but you open them when you feel him take her from you, giving you a break. 

“Weren’t you sleeping?” He asks, Lizzie’s little hand wrapping around his finger when he gently rubs over her hand. 

“Resting my eyes,” you hum, snuggling into his side. 

The man smiles, there’s nothing better than having his two girls with him. He rocks the girl in his arms back and forth ever so softly, calming her when she stirs. “Shh, go back to sleep angel. Daddy’s here.” 

You looked up from his shoulder at him, “what did I tell you about that daddy thing?” 

“I was talking to Lizzie, you freak.” He chuckles, kissing your head. 

---- 

Weekend of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, 2022. 

You and Lance have finally decided to take Elizabeth to her first Grand Prix. It only made sense to take her to Abu Dhabi, seeing that it was the final race of the season, and that you would get there early enough to give her time to acclimate to the environment.

Also, you had sweet talk Lance into thinking it was a good idea because you wanted to be there for Sebastian's final weekend.

Lawrence had been asking when he was going to see his granddaughter at a race and all the things just aligned, it made the most sense to go then rather than wait for the start of next season. 

Lizzie was now six months old, and she was starting to hit a few milestones. She can roll over and sit up on her own, starting to pull herself up and make efforts to crawl. She's starting to babble and make funny faces at you. She also is starting to recognize people and she loves when her auntie Chloe and uncle Scotty come over because Scotty spends 98% of the time making funny faces at her, and it causes the sweetest little giggles you’ve ever heard in your life. 

You had given her a shower, getting her dressed for the day and you were about to get dressed yourself, thinking you’d be leaving her with her dad but the man was knocked out in the arm chair, the baby bottle sat on his lap and dripping on his shirt. 

It was too funny to ignore so you set Lizzie in her playpen, taking a photo of Lance before posting it to your Instagram story. 

It’s the first post of him you've made since you suddenly vanished from the paddock. Of course you cover the baby bottle with a little heart emoji and tagged him before setting your phone down.

“Sweetheart,” you nudged him softly. Lance stirred a bit but didn’t open his eyes. You take the baby bottle off of his lap and sit on him. “Lance, c’mon.” 

The man finally opens his eyes, a scowl on his face. “Why’d you wake me?” He groans.

“You have dinner with the guys tonight.” 

“Noooo,” he whines, his arms wrapped around you. “Let me stay.” 

“I’ll give you Lizzie and have her drool on you if you don’t get up.” You give him a look and his brows raise, “you wouldn’t.” 

You get off his lap, going to get the girl out of her playpen. “Fine!” He shouts, grabbing you by the waist when he rushes over you, his arms around you once again as he hugs you from behind. Lance's chin rests on your shoulder, “I love her but she drools soooo much.” He sighs, earning a laugh from you. 

“Go change,” you wiggle him off of you. Lance nods, leaving you two to go change for dinner. 

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” He yells from the bedroom and you roll your eyes; you know he means well but sometimes you swear he forgets it’s just the two of you when he was away racing. 

“Chloe is coming over, we’re gonna catch up on our gossip.” You tell him, picking up Lizzie and swinging her around. The little girl giggled, her big brown eyes wide and her gummy smile on display. 

Lance comes out of the room, “and what do we plan to do with little missy when you two are catching up on your gossip?” 

There’s a knock on the hotel door and you walk over to open it, Chloe and Scotty arriving together. Lizzie babbles when her uncle reaches for her, smothering her cheeks with kisses when you hand her over. 

“Voila!” You show your boyfriend, his sister and her fiancé enamoured with their niece. 

Lance shook his head, “you’re something else, babe.” 

“It's called delegating, Lance.” 

“Whatever,” the man nods, giving you a thumbs up with a look of fake disappointment. He gives you a kiss goodbye before saying hello to his sister and Scotty. He takes Lizzie from Scotty for a minute to say goodnight to her, knowing she'd be sleeping by the time he got back from dinner. 

“I love you, sugarplum.” He whispers to his daughter, “sleep well.” He kissed her temple gently before handing her back over to her uncle. 

----

The final qualifying of the season and you two had just returned to the paddock after almost an entire year of you not being there. 

This time with a special guest. 

Lizzie was in her dad’s arms, pulling on his sunglasses every other second as he walked through the paddock. 

The little girl looked out into the swarming photographers then back to her dad who was whispering something to her. His other hand was holding yours, the obvious fact was that this was why you had vanished from the paddock. 

You make it to the garage and while you two settle in, Lizzie is going from hand to hand, basking in all the attention she was getting; she gets that from you, her father wasn’t the most sociable with people he didn’t know, while you were a social butterfly. 

Lizzie’s got a pair of clunky green headphones over her ears, protecting her little ears from the loud noises. She was currently on Seb’s side of the garage, Britta holding the little girl as Seb showed her something he had in his hands. 

“I think Hanna’s gotta prepare herself for the ‘I think we should have one more’ talk,” you joked with Lance, nodding towards Seb who was clearly enthralled by the little girl. 

Lance laughed, “Seb just loves kids, babe. He’s been asking me to bring her around.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” You smacked his arm lightly, “I would have brought her.” 

“Sometimes I think you like Sebastian more than you like me,” he gives you a pointed look and you smile, “I do.” You walked off to get Lizzie before the session started.

“Hey,” you wiggled your fingers at the girl, getting her attention.  Seb turns to see you, pulling you into a side hug, his arm over your shoulders. “She’s so cute, y/n.” He tells you, Britta had bent down so Seb’s daughters could talk to her. 

“Thank you, Seb.” You smiled, “I think she looks like her dad.” 

“No way, she's your carbon copy. She just has his eyes.” He says, “that’s why she’s cute, if she looked like him... well..” 

“Sebastian!” You laughed, taking Lizzie back from Britta. 

The German laughs, “I'm kidding. Hanna’s upstairs and that’s where you two are going, right?” He looks over at his daughters, the little blonde girls nod and hug their father before turning to you. 

“Can we play with her later?” The oldest asks and you nod, “of course. I’ll bring her upstairs in a few minutes.” 

The girls ran down the hallway hand in hand, back upstairs to their mother and little brother. 

“Good luck,” you tell Seb, “say good luck to uncle Seb,” you tell Lizzie, lifting her chubby hand to wave to the man before returning to Lance’s side of the garage. 

Lance takes the girl from you the moment you walk back over, sneaking in as many cuddles he can before he was needed in the car. You took a few photos of the two; Lizzie’s little green dress matches the colour of her father’s race suit and her chunky hands rested on her daddy’s cheeks, smacking his face softly as he pretended to bite her chubby cheeks. 

One of his engineers gives him the signal, time for him to get in the car. “I love you sugarplum,” he whispers to the girl, handing her back over to you. 

The moment Elizabeth is back in your arms, she starts crying. It was safe to say she was a daddy’s girl through and through, she had that man wrapped around her finger; Lance had a pout on his face like you had ripped his heart out and stomped on it the moment she started crying. 

“Don’t,” you warn him, your hand on his cheek when you kiss him. 

Neither of you seemed to notice the cameras flashing or the fact that they had gotten the whole sweet moment before Lance and his girls in camera. 

“Go before she wants you again.” You tell him, shooing him off while Elizabeth was looking over your shoulder, away from her father. He blows his girls a kiss once more, walking off to get his helmet and get in the car. You bounce Lizzie in your arms until the car pulls out of the garage and then you head upstairs to find Hanna and the kids. 

-- 

Quali had finished faster than expected but neither you nor Hanna were really paying attention; the woman was letting you in on the secrets of motherhood while the children played. 

The little boy was laying on his mum’s lap, his eyes shut and his blonde curls all over the place. You were sitting on the floor, Elizabeth on your lap while the girls showed her their toys, putting on a show for her. Lizzie had no idea what they were on about but the expressions on their faces along with the colourful toys captured her attention enough to get her to babble along, swinging her hands happily.  

Sebastian and Lance found their way upstairs to see their kids before having to go off to press. 

If you had asked Sebastian if he thought both he and Lance would be going up to see their children by the time he retired when he first started at Aston, the man would have laughed in your face. 

But it’s funny how life works and children change you for the better. Sebastian told his teammate as much. 

Lance find his way to sit behind you and you lean back on his legs. Sebastian is next to Hanna, sinking into the couch when he lets out a big breath. 

“How’d we do, boys?” You asked and Seb shrugs. “Could be better.” 

“Says the man in P9,” Lance laughed, his hands coming down to rest on your shoulders. “And you?” You leaned back, your head on his knee as you looked up at him. 

“P14.” 

“Tomorrow will be better.” Your hand comes up to rest on his, giving it a soft squeeze. 

“Ah young love,” Seb sighs, nudging Hanna. “Remember when we were like that?” 

“You’re still like that, Sebastian.” The woman gives him an exasperated look, earning a few laughs. 

Elizabeth was looking around now, instantly wiggling from your grasp and trying to turn when she heard Lance’s voice. You lean to the side, letting Lance hunch over and pick her up. She’s standing on his lap, hands on his face to keep her balance as she looks around. She sees Sebastian to her left who was making faces at her. 

The little girl babbles, her father’s hands being the only thing keeping her up when she reaches for Sebastian. Lance hands her over to Seb, Elizabeth sitting comfortably on his lap when you lean back to take a photo of her, Seb and Hanna. 

“Can’t believe both of my girls prefer Sebastian over me.” Lance grumbles, making you laugh. 

“He has 4 championships, how many do you have?” You asked your boyfriend, the man rolling his eyes at your comment. 

Sebastian looks down at the little girl, her hands tugging on the bracelet on his wrist. “Remember when the kids were this little?” He asked his wife and she smiled. 

“You could always have one more,” Lance suggests to the older couple. 

“No.” Hanna says, while Seb had a whole other answer; “yes.” 

You and Lance exchange a look, laughing at them. 

“Feel free to babysit Liz anytime you want another kid, she’ll change your mind.” You tell them and Seb shakes his head, lifting the girl when he looks up at her. 

“Mum says you’re naughty,” he gives her a look and she giggles. “Yeah, you’re not bad, you're a good girl.” He smiles at her, “I know you are, sweetheart.” He sets her back on his lap, facing him. 

At some point, Britta comes looking for Seb, both of the drivers having to up and leave for press. There’s lots of smooches, the kids wanting their fathers to stay and promises of sweets upon return. 

----

P8 for Lance and P10 for Sebastian. 

The Astons finishing off the season in the points and almost beating Alfa Romeo for 6th in the constructors was a good position to be in. 

You had joined the mechanics on the pit wall for the final lap, watching the cars cross the finish line. Lizzie was a few feet away, her chunky green headphones over her ears as her grandfather held her. 

Sebastian was currently doing his final donuts of his F1 career and you could see Hanna and the kids to your left, watching with the proudest looks on their faces. You smiled at them, a hand on your back pulling your attention away from the family. 

Lance stood beside you, his arm over your shoulders and his race suit rolled down to his waist. “Back so soon?” You asked, assuming he would have still been in parc fermé and yet he was here. “Wanted to see my girls.” He smiled, letting you lean in to kiss him. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered against his lips and he kissed you once more. 

“Where’s sugar plum?” He looked around when he realized you didn't have her. 

You nod towards the pit wall; Elizabeth was banging on all the buttons on the table, Lawrence laughing as he watched the little girl. 

The chaos on the track died down, everyone returning to their respective garages or off to watch the podium. The paddock was still packed; fans, crew, drivers, families, celebrities despite the fact that it was nearly 10pm. 

The two drivers were in the garage, the Vettel children running circles around their grandparents as Seb and Hanna made the rounds, Sebastian getting into a conversation with everyone he stopped to talk too. You and Lance were soaking in the last few moments of the season on track. Elizabeth was with her granddad, the little girl being carried around the paddock as he said his goodbyes and small talk with the other team principals. 

“Can I get a picture?” The photographer asks when he sees Sebastian and Hanna with you two. 

The 4 of you manage to find yourselves together after the few drinks you’ve had, all adorning dopey, happy grins on your faces.

It was a bittersweet moment; the start of a new adventure for both drivers.

Sebastian navigates retired life while Lance figures out how to be a father - something he knows he’ll be turning to Seb for when he’s at a loss. 

You two say your goodbyes to Sebastian, Hanna and the kids, as well as Seb’s parents and his brother. Lawrence catches the Vettels on the way out, letting Lizzie say bye to her new friends before they head out for the night. 

“Can I have my baby back?” Lance asked his father and the older man shook his head, “no. She’s my granddaughter.” 

“But she’s my daughter.” He bickered with his father. 

You let them bicker, quietly taking Lizzie from Lawrence without either of them noticing. When they finally stop fighting and notice you’re holding the girl, you smile. “You forget she’s still my girl before either of yours.” 

Lance packs up the rest of his things shortly after saying goodbye to everyone else in the garage. You three were on your way out when you got stopped by Elena shouting for you. 

“Y/N!” She starts running to you three. 

“ELENA!” you shout back, rushing over to give the woman a hug. Lizzie was squished between you two, Elena taking her from you. “Mon amour,” she fixed the bow on the little girl’s dress, “you’ve gotten so big.” She kisses her cheek. 

Esteban and Mick weren’t far behind. The Frenchman coos over the little girl with his girlfriend and Mick joins in. 

The 3 of them had come to meet Elizabeth post Canadian Grand Prix along with Sebastian. The 4 of them and Hanna, were the only ones aside from your families that knew you two had a baby hence her instant connection when she saw them again. 

Once again, Elizabeth is the star of the show. Esteban is forced to take a million pictures of her and Elena. One thing with Lizzie was that she loved the attention, she always found the camera in the room. Mick was passed the phone next, taking one of Esteban with the girls. You and Lance joined the couple, all of you smiling for the camera. Elizabeth was getting fussy so you took her back but she started wiggling, her little arms stretched out for her uncle Mick. 

Mick was holding the girl now and you asked one of the Alfa Romeo crew members passing by to take the photo for the 6 of you. 

You smiled, watching as Mick spun around with the girl in his arms. He was telling her something, tickling her side as he did. 

“We’re headed to the club, you guys want to come?” Elena asks, her fingers interlocking with her boyfriend’s. 

“Uhh,” Lance looked at you and you shrugged. “We’d have to get someone to watch Liz first.” He tells his friends. 

Esteban nods, “the joys of being parents.” He jokes. 

“Well, I'll text you where we end up, text me if you’re coming!” Elena tells you, saying goodbye as they head out. Mick joined them once he passed Elizabeth back to Lance, giving the girl a kiss on the cheek before leaving.

“Do you want to go?” He asks you, the three of you heading out. “It’d be nice but who’s gonna look after Lizzie?” You looked over at him and he paused, literally stopped in the middle of the parking lot. 

“I know exactly who.” 

It’s a short walk back to the hotel, you two pack up whatever you think Elizabeth would need for the night, putting her in the stroller before heading back to the elevator. Lance hit the button for the 16th floor and you know exactly what he’s thinking. Once you got off, you followed the man to the door. 

He knocks and Chloe opens the door. “Hey,” she smiles, leaning on the door frame. “Everything okay?” 

“I was wondering..” Lance starts. “Since you’re my favourite sister and all-” “Your only sister but go on,” she folds her arms, waving him on. 

“Can you watch sugar plum tonight? I know you two don’t have plans and we wanted to go out.” 

Chloe gives her brother an obviously look but she nods, “of course we’ll watch her. Do you have her stuff?” 

“Everything’s in her baby bag, thank you guys.” You tell her when Lance pushes the stroller into the suite. “No need to thank me, I know you two needed a night to relax. Go have your fun, we’ll see you in the morning.” She gives you a shove out of the room. 

“You’re sure you’ll be okay ?” Lance asked his sister and she smacks his shoulder, “duh, I used to look after you. We’ll be fine, I'll call if anything but I won’t need to, so go.” 

The two of you were a little hesitant to leave Elizabeth without either of you  for the night, seeing that it was the first time that you've actually done that but you knew she’d be in good hands with her auntie Chloe and uncle Scotty. 

You two ended up meeting Elena, Esteban and Mick at the club and had the time of your lives; dancing, doing shots, singing along to the horribly loud music that was playing.

It was the type of night that you wanted to remember forever that won’t be fully remembered. The best kind of night. 

It was nearly 8am when you found yourselves back in the elevator and on your way to get your daughter. Lance wanted to go back to the hotel room and sleep off the hangover he knew was incoming but you at least wanted to see Elizabeth first.

You knocked on the door quietly, Scotty opened it with a wide awake Lizzie in his arms. 

“You two look like hell,” he laughed, bouncing the girl in his arms. “Sorry we’re late,” you tell him, smiling at the girl who was still sleepy and drooling all over his shirt. 

He steps aside. “It’s okay, c’mon in.”

Chloe was knocked out on the couch, the baby bottle in her hand. “Lizzie put her to sleep?” You chuckled and Scotty nodded. “It’s hard work but it's worth it, isn’t it?” 

“So worth it.” You smiled. 

Lance has found himself to the spot next to his sister, dropping down and his eyes already shut. 

“You should stay for breakfast.” He says, sitting on the couch across from the one Lance and Chloe were on. “I doubt we’ll be having breakfast anytime soon,” You nod towards the sleeping siblings. 

“That's okay,” he smiles, “you should get some rest too. I can watch her.” 

“Are you sure? You guys had her all night.” 

Scotty waves you off, nodding towards the bedroom. “She slept through the night like a champ, woke up like 30 minutes ago. Go get some rest.” He sends you off. 

It was maybe 3 or 4 hours later when you felt the little hands on your side. Lance in bed with you and Lizzie between you two. “Hi sugar,” you picked her up, kissing her temple. 

“Sleep well?” Your boyfriend asks and you nod, “good enough.” 

“We ordered lunch, should be here by time Chloe gets out of the shower.” He rubs your leg, “she left some clothes for you.” He nods towards the t-shirt and pants at the end of the bed. 

After a few minutes, you got out of bed and changed, making sure to wash your face and brush your teeth before joining Lance, Elizabeth and Scotty in the living room. Chloe joined a few minutes after you just in time for lunch to arrive. 

All of you settled in around the table and started having breakfast, chatting away and you took a moment to make a post on Instagram for the first time in a long time. 

It’s a couple photos from the last few days in Abu Dhabi. 

The first one from race day, you and Lance leaning on his car with Lizzie peeking out from under the halo of the car while she sat in his seat. 

The next one is Chloe, Scotty and Lizzie. The three of them laying on the floor from the night they came over while Lance was at Seb’s retirement dinner. 

The next 3 are from post race before you went out; one of Elena, Esteban and Elizabeth, one of Mick and Elizabeth and finally one with all 6 of you in front of the Aston Martin garage. 

Lawrence had sent you a photo of Lizzie and him sitting on the pit wall that one of the engineers took, her big chunky headphones being tugged on while her granddad tried to fix them. 

The last group photo was on you, Lance, Seb and Hanna in the Aston garage before you all headed out for the night; arms wrapped around each other and big goofy grins on your faces. 

There were the final two pictures; One of you and Lizzie, she’s on your lap while you do your makeup and one of her and Lance in the pool, he’s holding her while they’re laughing at each other. 

The set was captioned with a perfect end to the season <3. 

You set the phone down, looking back at the people sitting around the table. Your boyfriend, your daughter, your sister in law and your brother in law.

The little unit made some of the best memories and had some of the most important people in your life there. 

It truly was the perfect end to the season. 

----- 

taglist: @timetoracewrites @diorleclerc @lickmeleclerc @dragon-of-winterfell @benedictscanvas @elisaa-shelby @hnmaga-blog @czechoslovakiandisco @dr3lover @troybolton14 @Lovingroscoee @compulsiveshit @somanyfandomsbruh  @damnyoulifee @barzysreputation @vickyofalltrades @yeolsbubbles @barzysreputation @thybulleric @valkyrie418 @ricsaigaslec @idkiwantchocolatee  @sessgjarg @molliemoo3 @bisexual-desi @sunf1owerrq @alwaysclassyeagle @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ + @lovelytsunoda​ because i know i love lance <3

[ctimenefic]

I know the admins have probably already driven the joke into the ground but if anyone wanted a short meditation on Oscar Piastri, Charles Leclerc, daddy kink and a side of landoscar and carcar, boy, do I have that under the cut

Lando should’ve had enough of thinking by 1am on the Monday morning after the Monaco GP. There hadn’t been much to do but think during the race - ask about the gap to George, think, gain half a second on Carlos, think, catch a glimpse of the battle for 12th somehow two whole laps behind him, think. And in the end, cross the line exactly where he started, because it was fucking Monaco on zero pit stops, and Charles was never going to gamble, so neither could anyone else. 

Maybe it’s too much time spent playing percentages without ever taking a fucking risk, but as he flops back into a VIP booth he finds himself weighing the odds again. Charles is soaking wet for the third time that day - first champagne, second the harbour swill, and now some rank mix of vodka, sweat and liquid fucking joy oozing out of his with every flail. It’s disgusting and adorable and Lando will not be accepting any comparisons to Miami. Not home before sunrise, Lando reckons. Four piss-stop strategy, hah.

Oscar slides in opposite, a clutch of beers in hand, because he’s still super fucking awkward about bottle service at Jimmy’z coming via girls with tiny skirts, even though Lando has explained, like, four times by now, that is kind of the point of bottle service.  “Not taking a spin on the decks?” Oscar asks, because he’s secretly fifty years old. 

“Nah, tracks were mid. Not dancing?”

Oscar shoots a look over his shoulder at the increasingly large space around the second prince of Monaco. “Ah, no. Might’ve had a boring race but I don’t need to take my life in my hands.”

And that’s when it happens. The line just materialises in his brain, as instinctive as correcting for understeer. 

Not even with your new daddy? 

He barely gets ahead of it, teeth slamming shut after an inhale. And his brain starts racing, harder than he raced all fucking weekend. He’s got a rep for saying stupid shit off the cuff, but this one he thinks about. 

Maybe he says it, and Oscar snorts and drinks his beer, plays it off with a joke about his brother Leo, his uncle Arthur, whatever six new permutations of the joke have evolved as everyone with so much as a sniff at a paddock pass gets shitfaced in the same club.

Maybe he says it, and Oscar’s eyes widen, too taken aback to laugh, but weirded out, and there’ll be a few stilted messages before Montreal wipes the slate clean. And Lando will play things straight, in all senses, til at least summer break.

Maybe he says it, and Oscar’s freckles disappear into the flush across his cheeks. He’ll dart another look back at Charles, shove his beers into Lando’s reach, and stride across the dancefloor to Charles and Carlos and Pierre. He’ll get his hands on Charles’ shoulders to steady him, when he beams back drunk and sloppy, and he’ll share some twist on Lando’s joke, wry and quiet and yet perfectly clear over the thump of what is objectively a mid remix. And Charles will listen and blink as the words leak through to what little remains of his conscious brain six hours after the fucking win of his life. Maybe then he’ll laugh, so loud Lando can hear it, and Carlos and Pierre too, and Oscar will look back at him and grin and sure, the remix is mid, but Lando kinda wants to dance actually. 

Maybe Charles won’t laugh. Because that’s another set of odds - Charles isn’t going home alone, he’s going to slip-stagger through the streets that love him in someone’s arms, maybe many someones. Maybe Charles won’t laugh, but he’ll hook a sweaty elbow round the back of Oscar’s neck, and get a grip in Oscar’s hair, and they’ll dance like they just got 1-2 in Monaco. Lando will be stuck in the fucking booth watching as Charles’s bracelets catch the lights when he winds his arms round Oscar’s neck, catch the flash of the stupid sponsor watch when Oscar puts a steady hand on his waist. And he can’t read lips, can’t know, but Oscar will lean close to say something in Charles’ ear, and Lando will know it’s “Daddy” a few hundredths before Charles gasps.  And it’ll be too public, Jimmy’z on a fucking GP Sunday, Carlos might let Charles burn alive but Pierre’ll keep it clean, but Lando will know, Charles will know, Oscar will know - il predestinato and the rookie who could, on a fucking collision course. 

Or maybe Charles won’t laugh, and he’ll get a grip in Oscar’s hair, and Oscar will lean close, and Pierre will steer them to the door, pull in George and Alex to run interference, because they understand appearances, and Charles will take Oscar back to his flat, the only place any of them have in Monaco that feels truly like a home (no offence to Kelly, but her decorating is straight out of Pinterest’s Most Wanted). Oscar’ll fit there, among the knick knacks and family photos and all the shit Charles still has because he didn’t move every six months of his teens; Oscar’ll earnestly compliment some quilt or throw that was made by Charles’ 107-year-old grandmother and Charles’ll look at him with those huge doe eyes, and the fog of alcohol will clear but the intent will still be there, hot and possessive. Maybe Oscar doesn’t need to call him daddy now because Charles is smart enough to see a trophy when it’s in his hands. So he’ll press him up against his piano because what neighbour is going to complain about noise the night Monaco’s man won the GP, even if chords turn to the half-shouts of a beautiful boy being fucked out, the squeak of sweat-soaked skin on polished ebony. Lando will wake up with his mouth tasting like death and a short message letting him know he’ll be alone on the McLaren jet, unless he offers George a lift, and he’ll have to decide what’s worse, styling it out or feeling George look at him every few minutes, long fingers on the executive-suite sick bag they hide down the side of the seat. 

But maybe Charles will laugh, and Pierre will laugh, but Carlos won’t. Carlos’s jaw will work like he’s taking a grid place penalty for a racing incident, and then he will laugh, but low, mocking. Osc’ll turn, already annoyed, shoulders rising, but Carlos will drop a lazy hand on the nape of his neck and squeeze as he gestures with the other, back and forth, a two-fingered point and shake at Charles, then tapping twice on his own chest for emphasis. He’ll tug Oscar in closer, and there’ll be some of their usual animosity in it, too much strength, Oscar’s chin tilted forwards. Carlos will set his mouth against Oscar’s ear and say “he can’t be your daddy”, or whatever, the smooth operator equivalent, except Carlos is never smooth, just raw and fucked up and hot enough to blast through anyone’s higher brain function. So Oscar will follow when Carlos saunters out, and only someone who knows him well will be able to see beyond that blank expression that he’s practically shellshocked. Carlos won’t notice; Carlos will take him to a hotel room, tease him about putting him on his knees in the parking garage, in the elevator, somewhere where the cold could seep through Oscar’s unbearably thin trousers, but only really send him down once they're behind a locked door with plush carpet underfoot, because Carlos is a bit of a bastard but really good at casual, considerate without it coming across as anything so frightening as real feelings. He’ll tell Oscar to say it again, say it until he’s hoarse, and if Oscar chokes on the word that’ll be nothing to Carlos’s dick, not when Carlos has something to prove and three hours of staring at Oscar’s rear wing to motivate him. And Lando won’t fly out alone, but Oscar’ll be quiet and rumpled and he’ll ask for extra lemon in his fucking ice water and that’ll be worse, so much worse. 

So maybe he doesn’t say it. Maybe that’s it, and they dance and they drink and nothing changes. Seventy-eight laps and he finishes where he started, Oscar one position out of reach. 

Or. 

Or he says it, and Oscar says, “What.”

He says it, and Oscar says, “Sorry, repeat that?”

He says it, and Oscar says, “I don’t think you want me calling Charles daddy.”

He says it, and Oscar says, “Say that again. No, just the last word. Say it to me.”

And Lando will- he’ll- he’s going to-

His race stutters out. He blinks, and the mid remix hits the chorus again. 

Oscar’s looking at him, a half smile on his face. Slightly expectant, like he’s learnt to anticipate one of Lando’s jokes. 

Lando opens his big fat mouth. 

[nurse-floyd]

How to Smile Again - Chapter 2

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x driver!reader

Warnings: mentions of injury, sadness and depression.

Despite Rhett trying his best, your first day on the ranch doesn’t go as planned.

Rhett Abbott tag list: @vivwritesfics (thank you for your feedback and help with the flow of this chapter!)

Rhett didn’t see you for the rest of the day. He had dropped off some staples for you in the kitchen to tide you over until you got settled, but other than that, the last he saw of you was when you were limping back to the cabin later that evening. 

After he had settled the horses for the night and finished cleaning tack and packing it away, he made a quick stop at the mare you had befriended earlier that day. “Hey girl,” he said as she nuzzled against the hand in her mane. “You really like her, don’t you?” As if she had understood him, she let out a snort and nodded her head up and down. Rhett let out a laugh. “She’s hurt, Pea. I don’t know how we’re gonna help her, but we’re going to do our best, right? Are you up for it?” 

He then returned to his own home, also located on the ranch, exhausted from the day’s work. As he sat there with his laptop and a hastily made sandwich, he began replying to emails to various clients. Then his curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to know a bit more about you and see what you really did and loved. So he went on a deep dive. He started by searching your name on YouTube, wanting to see you in action. 

Of course, the first thing he saw was a video of your crash, the thumbnail showing what looked like a car in pieces with the caption ‘horror crash for y/n at Montreal.’ 

He couldn’t bring himself to watch it, not yet. Instead, he found videos from your team with a thumbnail of you laughing with another man called Logan. He clicked on it. The pair of you were doing a silly challenge but couldn’t make it through without wheezing with laughter. You were bent over, hand on his shoulder, giggling away at something he had said. Rhett’s eyes lit up; God, he wanted to get you smiling like that again so badly. After a few more videos—ones of you doing donuts in your car, the smoke billowing around the vehicle as your tires left black circles on the tarmac, and ones of you leaning into your team’s arms as you celebrated a podium—he returned to the video of your crash. He hesitated, his cursor over the video. He didn’t want to intrude or invade your privacy, but he also wanted to understand just what you had been through. 

He watched as 20 cars raced around the track, names he didn’t know were called out as one colorful car overtook another. He waited for the inevitable to happen. The cars sped around the track, around tight bends, and squeezed between each other in gaps Rhett thought were way too small, but they proved him wrong. The commentator called out your name, the camera focused on your car as they described the race. 

Then it happened. 

The crash was sudden. Another car clipped the back of yours and sent you spinning at a terrifying speed. Metal crunched and tires screeched as you desperately tried to gain control of your car and avoid others. Your car slammed into one wall before spinning again and slamming full force into another barrier before it came to a halt. 

“And that’s a horrific crash for y/n,” he heard the man commentating. 

The radio crackled to life. “Y/N, are you okay?” a man’s voice asked. 

His heart broke as he heard the muffled cries and gasping breaths come through the radio from you. He held his breath as the voice over the radio asked again. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen. The coverage from your radio stopped then. 

“Jesus,” he muttered to himself. 

He continued to watch as stewards and medics rushed to your car. They didn’t get you out right away, though. He knew why. He knew the extent of your injuries from your trainer and physio. They kept replaying the clip over and over. He flinched every time he saw your car practically crumple around you, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. They seemed to show every angle, and each time it seemed worse. 

He could hardly breathe as the camera zoomed in on your car, now a crumpled wreck. The commentator’s voice was somber, his voice cracking as he tried to relay any information on your condition. The video then cut to a series of images and videos from people who were obviously there and watched the accident. Scenes of you being extricated from the wreckage and the ambulance pulling away from the track where he knew you went through more pain. Rhett swallowed the hard lump he felt rise in his throat, the reality of the crash just now hitting him. 

He found your Instagram account then. Now, Rhett had never had an interest in Instagram, nor did he want to create his own account. His brother and a few of his staff had suggested he make one for the ranch, but he didn’t have time to run it (and secretly, he didn’t know the first thing about Instagram). It was eerie; there was your name, the name of your team, and then the last post. A picture of you in a race suit and helmet by your car he had just seen in bits moments before with the caption, “Montreal GP, let’s go!” 

“Shit…” he muttered to himself. He closed his laptop, eyeing the time. It was late and he knew he needed sleep because, after seeing those videos, he was even more determined to get you back to racing, back to that happy girl he had seen in those videos goofing around and smiling. 

He opened up his emails again, sending a quick email to your trainer and physio asking if there was anything more he could do and if they had any tips for dealing with a hot-headed and stubborn F1 driver. 

The next morning he was up early, helping his staff feed the horses and get them ready for the day’s work. He tried not to act surprised as he saw you stepping down from the porch and making your way over to the stables. 

“Morning,” he called. 

“Hi,” you replied as you looked up and gave him a tight-lipped smile and held up your hand in a small wave. 

Some sort of cattle dog ran up to you as you approached him, jumping up at your side, his head licking against your hands as he excitedly greeted you. 

“Scout, down,” Rhett called as the dog jumped down and sat at your feet, tail still wagging. 

“Well, you’ve met Scout.” 

“Hi bud,” you cooed slightly, as you rubbed between his ears. 

“So, we’re going to try and get you on Peanut today if you’re up for it.” 

You gave him a tight-lipped smile and a nod. 

“Perfect, let’s find you some gear,” he said as you followed him toward the tack room to get fitted for a helmet and some boots. 

He picked up a sleek black helmet and handed it to you. “Try this one on.” He slipped the helmet on, adjusting the straps under your chin for you before he stepped back to get a look at you. “How does it feel?” 

“A lot more comfortable than my racing helmets.” You were used to people helping you in and out of your helmets and gear, but something about the way Rhett’s hands brushed underneath your chin had butterflies fluttering in your stomach. 

“Good,” he exaggerated with a small tap to the top of your helmet, “now for the boots.” He guided you to a line of boots, varying styles and sizes; all well-worn. You settled for a pair of long riding boots, and with Rhett’s help, you tugged them on, trying to ignore the pain that jolted in your thigh. 

As soon as you had both, you looked at yourself in the dirty mirror, Rhett standing just behind you. 

“There, now you look the part.” 

As you stepped out of the storeroom, you saw Pea being led out by one of the stable hands and passed off to Rhett as you approached. She nuzzled into your hands again, which you reciprocated with a scratch underneath her chin, “alright, let’s do this.” 

With a leg up from Rhett, you managed to mount Peanut, the familiar twinge of pain shooting through your leg despite the stretches you had completed that morning from your physio. The first few steps were weird, the positioning and the new angle sent a burning through your leg, but it was a good kind of pain. Or so you told yourself. It was pain, but pain was needed if it meant you were going to get back to where you really wanted to be. You gritted your teeth against the new sensation as Rhett walked beside you, his hand resting on Peanut’s bridle until you got used to being on her. 

Rhett led you out into the riding ring, Pea’s steps slow and gentle to begin with. For a while, it was manageable. As you get used to the sensation, Rhett clicked his tongue as he encouraged Pea to pick up the pace. The motion sent a jolt of pain shooting up your leg and soon your frustration built beyond your limit of tolerance. You tightened your grip on the reins and took a deep breath to try and focus on the rhythm of Peanut’s hooves on the ground. But it was useless, the pain was getting too much and the same feelings of anger and helplessness you had felt during your first few weeks of physio bubbled back up. 

“You’re doing great,” Rhett said, his voice low and soothing, not at all condescending, which you appreciated. 

“I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t,” your words choked in your throat as your frustration bubbled to the surface. 

Rhett immediately pulled Pea to a halt, “It’s okay. We can stop. It’s your first session and it’ll take time. Riding uses different muscles than you’re used to and you’re doing better than you think.” 

But in the state you were already in, his words did little to soothe your frustration, “it’s pointless. I’m never going to get better. Just…help me down.”  

Before you could take your legs from the stirrups to dismount, a sudden gust of wind caused a barrel to fall over and crash to the ground outside of the school. Pea’s ears flicked back as she spooked. She took a few galloping steps forward before Rhett could react, “Hold on!” he shouted, but it was too late. 

You lost your grip on the reins and toppled off the side of the saddle, hitting the ground hard. The pain in your leg doubled and you lay there, tears of frustration spilling over. You hit the ground with your fists and let out a scream of frustration.  

Rhett was by your side in an instant, his hands firm but gentle as he attempted to help you sit upright. “Are you alright?” 

In your anger, you pushed his hands away from you with a shove. “No, I’m not alright,” you snapped, “this is never going to work!” 

Rhett’s face softened as he sat back on his heels, his hands up in surrender. He gave you a minute to cool down and feel whatever it was you were feeling in the moment as you buried your face in your hands, feeling utterly deflated.

You felt a nudge at your arm as Pea’s hooves came into view. You sniffed and wiped your face as you opened your arms and allowed her to nuzzle her face against yours. “I’m sorry, girl,” you whispered into her neck before you turned back to Rhett. “I’m sorry.” With a sniffle, you slowly picked yourself up, dusted yourself off, and limped out of the riding ring, ignoring Rhett as he called your name.

[glennk56]

Jefferson Mappin in 1980s & 1990s.

Jefferson Mappin is a Canadian actor born in Montreal. His film career started in 1978 with a small role in the Canadian/UK crime drama Tomorrow Never Comes starring Oliver Reed and Raymond Burr. I had never heard of him until I saw him in The Freshman a couple of weeks ago. At 6'5" he is always able to find work.

Jefferson Mappin

Most of Mappin's early work was in small roles in Canadian films that as of yet haven't been digitalized. The above stills are from the 1988 Canada/US Sitcom about a professional wrestler, Learning the Ropes, starring football player Lyle Alzado and often real professional wrestlers of the time made guest appearances. Only 13 episodes were produced. The first photo was from the pilot episode and it looks like it was from somebody's old VHS home recording. The next photo is a little better. Jefferson Mappin played a wrestler called Cheetah. It isn't known how many episodes he appeared in.

In 1990 Mappin played a pro wrestler again on an episode of the US/Canada crime drama, T and T, starring Mr. T of course.

Jefferson Mappin played an insane asylum resident in the film Beautiful Dreamers based on true events in 1990.

The Freshman, 1990, starring Marlon Brando and Matthew Broderick would fit in right here but Jefferson was barely visible in his scene, so I left it out any photo.

In 1991, Jefferson Mappin plays a real estate agent in the fantasy/drama White Light.

and Mappin as a dry-cleaning employee in an episode of Tropical Heat (nee Sweating Bullets).

Here is Jefferson Mappin as Fatty Rossiter in 1992 in Clint Eastwood's western, Unforgiven.

Here is Jefferson Mappin as a gun shop owner being questioned about a gun purchased in an episode of the TV series Counterstrike in 1993. I like the way he is pressed up against the counter.

Jefferson Mappin is a suspect responsible for a missing girl and human trafficking in this TV movie Spenser: Ceremony in 1993 made 5 years after the series Spenser for Hire ended.

Jefferson again as a gun shop owner in 1995 in an episode of the comedy/drama Due South.

Jefferson Mappin as a tech scientist who loses his memory in an episode of TekWar in 1995.

Jefferson Mappin as a Little League Coach in the TV Movie Shining Time Station: Second Chances in 1995.

Jefferson Mappin plays a Federal Agent in the Sci-Fi Action film Expect No Mercy in 1995.

[fuzzkaizer]

Montreal Assembly - Worng Side Of Uranus

"If you’re a regular Cabinet peruser, you’ve joined me as I waxed nostalgic for time periods I’ve never lived in, you’ve noticed me orating some company and component history, and you’ve almost certainly seen me talk about the best effects in their respective classes. And while there are plenty of classes and there is certainly enough love to go around, today I present you with my favorite pedal of all time: the Montreal Assembly Wrong Side of Uranus.

While many of you know Scott Monk and his amazing company for the Count to 5, he’s been in business for much longer than you think, and he’s made more things than most people know about. I first found out about him in 2009 while chasing wares by one of pedal history’s most sought-after builders, Etienne Blythe of Sonic Crayon.

If you were as into pedals as I was in the late-aughts… well, there’s a chance you still may never have heard of Sonic Crayon. However, at one time, Sonic Crayon’s wares were in extreme demand, with resellers ransacking the limited inventory and flipping the pedals for four times the price. His most famous may have been the Hollow Earth. His most unobtainable may have been the Anti-Nautilus. The one I wanted was the Moth.

The Moth was Sonic Crayon’s bitcrusher, and back in 2008 and 2009, that wasn’t an effect you could get just anywhere. However, Sonic Crayon had an old-school way of doing things: When he felt like making a batch, he did. Then he put 10 or so up for sale on his blog, and by word of mouth they’d sell out in minutes. One time, when checking his blog for a potential drop, I saw a new post where he said that if you’re tired of waiting for a Moth, there’s another Canadian guy making bitcrushers and that his were admittedly better. Who am I to argue? Let’s go.

That company was Montreal Assembly. At that time, Scott had only released two pedals, the Uranus and another insane device called Probability of a Fax Machine. When I heard the crude “basement demos,” I was sold. The problem: the sales tactics were exactly the same as Sonic Crayon—made and sold whenever. I never caught one. But my friend did.

My friend had gone off to college and left a present for me. I took a train and met their dad at a station in the suburbs, retrieved the box and opened it right there on the train. The Uranus was inside. When I got home I plugged everything I could into it. I messaged its creator, Scott, on Gmail Chat and geeked out when he answered.

I asked him if it was possible to add a mix circuit to the Uranus and Scott took time out of studying for signal processing exams to draw me up a somewhat complicated add-on schematic. Being somewhat intermediate with prototyping board, I hadn’t done a whole lot of my own stripboard layouts. Be that as it may, I cobbled it together. It worked. Now, I could blend the clean signal in with the bitcrushed one.

Despite being housed in a spray painted computer project box and featuring a barren aesthetic landscape, the Uranus is an impeccably engineered piece of sonic kit. Like most bitcrushers, there are knobs for bit rate and sample rate reduction. The third is volume. However, the bit rate knob is a pushbutton rotary encoder; as you turn it, it displays the bitrate in the seven-segment display. When the pedal is in bypass, the display flashes “bypass,” one letter at a time. Pressing down on the rotary encoder cycles through a slew of modes—ten to be exact—called things like “Dialup,” “Hostile” and more, including an incredible bitcrushed trem called “Blipo'' and a modulated sample rate mode called “Plunger.” It’s total labor-of-love stuff and I am here for it.

Mine is labeled 2010 and is one of a handful known to exist, and the only one with this mix knob. You may have seen one in a promotional photo that Strymon posted of its El Capistan being used in the studio by Godspeed! You Black Emperor, with the Uranus riding sidesaddle. Many, many people have never heard of it, and some of you may have never heard of Montreal Assembly before now. I urge you to change that.

At NAMM 2020, I actually saw Scott walking by our booth and I recognized him from some old demos. I ran down the aisle and tapped him on the shoulder. He looked right at me, then read my name badge, looked back up and said “Heyyy, Kula, how’s that bitcrusher treating you?” What a legend."

cred: catalinbread.com/blogs/kulas-cabinet/montreal-assembly-wrong-side-of-uranus

[petit-papillion]

FP1:

Several drivers already cutting it very close to the barriers and ripping off advertising.

ZHO ripped off more than that and lost his end plate.

Which Charles promptly drove over and then got it stuck under his car, before a red flag could be called to clean up the debris.

Pierre was having PU issues and ended up being able to put in only a handful of laps

P1: HAM | P2: PIA | P3: RUS

FP2: Charles was 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 !!

P1: LEC / P2: HAM / P3: ALO

FP3:

Charles was again on fire and finished at the top of the list. I honestly can't recall anything else happening!

P1: LEC / P2: VER / P3: HAM

Quali:

In Q1 plastic from advertising had wrapped around Charles's front wing end plate, messing up the aerodynamics and leading to much slower laps than anticipated.

Shock exit for PER as he placed P18 with only the Saubers behind him.

GAS managed to make it to Q3 much to Pierre's delight as he was shouting on the radio when told he was P5 in Q2. Teammate OCO ended in P11.

Bad luck seemed to follow Charles again as he reported something moved in the pedals, but he still took provisional pole.

Another super lap in the final stages of Q3 gave Charles his third pole in Monaco with an incredible 1:10:27.

Haas drivers HUL and MAG qualified P12 and P15 respectively, but ended up getting disqualified because they changed their wing and did no measure the height correctly. This meant a pit lane start for both of them.

Petit's Race Notes:

Ah, where to begin? Oh, I know!

CHARLES LECLERC WINS THE 2024 MONACO GRAND PRIX!!!!!!

Fingers and toes crossed at the start, but Charles was quick off the line. But behind him chaos unfolded...

Carlos bumped into Oscar and got himself a puncture which led to a yellow flag.

Next Checo and Kevin collided as K-Mag tried to squeeze through and Perez did not give him any space. PER hit the wall, got hit by MAG again, and then HUL also got hit for good measure.

The end result was that PER's car was reduced to the survival cell, debris was scattered all over the race track, both Haas's were out, and we had a 45-minute red flag for clean up and barrier repairs.

Meanwhile elsewhere on track OCO drove into GAS launching himself in the air and damaging both Alpines in the process. Gasly's car was repairable, but Ocon was out. He also received a 5-place grid penalty for Montreal and 2 points on his license. And Alpine is even rumoured to be considering having him sit out the next race...

With the red flag thrown before all cars entered sector 2, the order was reset for a second start.

Which meant Carlos (who'd been able to make it back to the garage) started again in P4, and Charles had to have another good start to keep his position.

This time all went well, and we were in for 75 laps of anxiety (Charles fans) / boredom (everyone else).

George (in mediums) backed up the pack, so it was 🔴🟡🔴🟡 at the front (McLarens in their special yellow Senna livery).

ALO led his usual DRS train - under the assumption he was P10 (found out after the finish that he was actually P11).

The remaining 16 (!!!) cars all made it to the finish line without further incidents.

Pierre Gasly scored his first point of the season.

There were only 6 pit stops the entire race.

After much nail biting and some lovely team radio sound bites, Charles came across the finish line and FINALLY won his home Grand Prix! 🙌

Not a dry eye in the house at the podium celebrations! The royal family was elated, with Prince Albert II crying, Charles's football buddies pumping their fists in the air, and the Prince also getting in on the champagne spraying.

Oscar was the only non-Ferrari man on the podium, but having been recently "adopted" by Charles, he was part of the family!

Watching on below the podium: girlfriend Alex, Mum Pascale, brothers Lorenzo (with girlfriend Charlotte) and Arthur, Joris, John Elkann, Andrea, Nicolas Todt, and the entire Ferrari team, with Ale lifting the P1 sign over his head! The Monaco/Italy anthem combo hadn't sounded like this since Monza 2019! 😍

Charles has already told Bryan over team radio that he wanted everyone to stay for celebrations, and celebrate they did - well into the night!

Fred and Charles also made good on their agreement to jump into the harbour (originally from 2018 when it was about scoring points).

Charles continues his streak of top 4 finishes this season, and is now only 31 points behind Max in the WDC.

Top 3: P1: LEC | P2: PIA | P3: SAI

Fastest lap: Lewis Hamilton

Driver of the Day: Charles Leclerc

Fastest pit stop: Red Bull/Max Verstappen (2:10)

📷 Scuderia Ferrari, F1

[magicaleggplant]

extremely belated montreal worlds impressions, part 2

part 1 (pairs and women recap)

finally finishing this a whole month after worlds... i'm traveling again over the next couple of weeks and i've barely recovered from montreal! anyways, here's the (very rushed) ice dance and men recap.

———————————–

ICE DANCE

...is a fake sport, but i enjoy the vibes? i don't know a lot about the technicalities of ice dance despite having watched it for many years, so it mostly comes down to whether i like a team or not. overall i enjoyed the event, the free dance more than the rhythm dance (there are only so many 80s RDs i can take...) there were a lot of enjoyable free dances, even in the early groups! i actually enjoyed them more than the final group, in a way. the podium in ice dance tends to be too predictable.

chock/bates: i've never had much of an opinion on this team. i liked them best when they were doing character pieces like the snake charmer fd, but i also found myself enjoying their rhythm dance at worlds. they skated it very well and it was fun and engaging. the free was a bit of a question mark... i thought they had a lot of interesting positions throughout, especially in the lifts and choreographic elements, but the whole program felt a bit disjointed to me. it was fine, it didn't leave much of an impression. the whole did not feel like more than the sum of the parts... their speed was also not the best.

gilles/poirier: i can't remember much from their rd except that piper's costume was amazing, i loved her holographic leggings. their free was a MOMENT, though. wuthering heights has been one of my favorite free dances all season, and it was so good to see it live in front of a home crowd. they are such good storytellers, and when their choreo hits, it really hits. i love when they do something unusual like this program - it doesn't always work, but in this case, it did. the placement of that curve lift was perfect. i will note, however, that they are also not particularly fast.

guignard/fabbri: nearly swore out loud when her dress caught on her skate right in front of me. that was a nerve-wracking few seconds until the end. their free dance was beautiful and suited them really well, i especially loved the choreo assisted jumps near the beginning. their skating skills are clean and precise. i just wish their rhythm dance didn't have such a godawful music cut. none of their RDs have suited them well in the last few seasons.

fear/gibson: no thoughts, head empty, vibes only. in all seriousness, i enjoyed their rhythm dance, it's fun and it's a great fit for them. i did not enjoy rocky. i would have loved it as an exhibition, but not as a competitive program. i can see how it's a crowd-pleaser, though. they were definitely popular with the audience.

lajoie/lagha: probably one of, if not the most popular team with the audience! they are one of the teams i'm most looking forward to seeing in the coming years. i became a fan when i saw them live at last season's skate canada. they skate big and fast, they have good skating skills and both programs were well-choreographed. their rd is a lot of fun - that's how you incorporate a theme and commit to it! i love how most of the dance moves are choreographed into the step sequences instead of stopping and posing. the fd music is a little one-note and i still prefer last season's white crow fd, but their skating quality makes up for it. i'm so glad they were still able to skate at worlds after marjorie's concussion earlier in the season.

carreira/ponomarenko: loved both of their programs, especially their fd. i never knew they could pull off drama so well. their growth in the last two seasons has been phenomenal. it was hilarious that the audience kept getting faked out by the music in the end and clapping before the program ended. i probably would've had them a place higher in the standings.

other notes:

i came out of worlds with an unexpected appreciation for lopareva/brissaud. i never paid much attention to them before, but their skating skills were impressive. i don't think the audience really "got" their rd, but props to them for choosing to do something different. the fd was a snooze, though.

i also enjoyed demougeot/le mercier's free dance. some really interesting choreo moments.

turkkila/versluis: enjoyed their free dance as well, it's a nice look on them.

lim/quan's fd was another Moment! i am super excited for this team and how far they've come in their first senior season. hannah's acting and expressions are god-tier... they need to work on speed and SS, but their fd was gorgeous and one of my favorites of the event.

felt so bad for the taschlers' fall in the rd. i think they were the fastest team in the whole ice dance event, it's so impressive how powerful their skating is. i have questions about their packaging sometimes but i really like this team, and i hope next season goes better for them.

orihara/pirinen's fd was another favorite of the event. they are both SO expressive and fun. in any other team, yuka would outshine her partner, but juho not only keeps up with her but complements her perfectly!

———————————–

MEN

this was the event i was most looking forward to at worlds, and it did not disappoint. as chaotic as i was expecting it to be, i did not anticipate that it would be quite that chaotic. men be menning, as always.

ilia: i wish it were otherwise, but his competitive performances were just not doing it for me. his weaker skating skills were very obvious live when compared to many other top men. i like his sp choreo but i feel like he's put less performance into it with every competition. it was disappointing to see how much he slowed down during the step sequence. (granted, he did have an undisclosed injury at worlds, so that could have been an exacerbating factor.) the free was...historic. i genuinely wish i felt something while watching it, because the audience was losing their shit with every jumping pass lol. and why shouldn't they! like...what the fuck! this is the most incredible jump drill the world has ever seen! who knows when or if he can replicate it again! ...but it's still a jump drill. (side note about how irrationally annoyed the choreo sequence makes me. it's just randomly tacked on the end, the music cut is so abrupt, it has nothing to do with the rest of the program, shae lynn why.) and then i watched him in the gala and he was like a completely different skater. complete 180. the difference was so stark, i could hardly believe it. he can perform! he was giving more in that teenage-angst-ridden exhibition than i've seen in all his competitive programs combined. i can only hope that he brings more of that energy to competition someday, because that's the kind of skating i want to see, that's a skater really connecting with the music and the audience.

yuma: i'm about to heap an embarrassing amount of superlatives on this kid. it was my first time seeing him live, and he was everything i'd hoped for. jumps light as a feather, running edges for days. (you should have heard my ungodly shriek when he landed his 4F in front of me! it looked so easy.) skating skills - sublime, every stroke effortless, excellent speed. but what i'm most impressed with is his artistic improvement this season. he's always been an incredible technician (and i have a lot of thoughts about how ilia is being branded as The Technician and yuma The Artist now, when in fact yuma's technique is just as good, only with lower base value, and his SS are far superior, but i digress) but he has really put in the work to become a better performer and fine-tune everything from his body movements to his interpretation of music. jokes about making me like imagine dragons aside, i think his sp helped him explore music and sharp movements that were out of his comfort zone. loved that step sequence. (the only criticism i have is that he needed more swagger. he needed some more of what adam was serving in his sp, a certain cockiness and suaveness. but yuma has always been a more introverted skater. i think that kind of expression is still difficult for him.) the free was simply glorious. i didn't think i would like yet another rain in your black eyes program, and i was side-eyeing lori nichol for giving yuma this music after she used it for sui/han. but yuma made it his own. there were so many beautiful moments perfectly timed to the music. (ina bauer! spiral! and the step sequence, ahhh) he was so close to being clean, there was an audible groan in the audience when he fell on the 3A, but then they cheered him on until the end, which was heartwarming. what an incredible comeback season from yuma. i'm so excited for his future, i think he has so much potential and many bright moments ahead. now i've written a goddamn novel already, but i haven't even mentioned werther yet. i'll just say that his exhibition is one of the most beautiful programs i've ever seen, competitive or otherwise, and it shows off everything good about yuma's skating. perfect. no notes.

adam: where the fuck do i even start. honestly...if i could only remember one moment from all of montreal worlds, it would be his free skate. it was THE skate of the event. the mounting excitement as he landed all his jumps. the way i said "oh my god" out loud as he set up for the backflip, then landed it in front of me. the audience in complete hysterics. i can't even describe what the arena was like after his free skate. it was. insane. it genuinely felt like there was electricity in the air. the screams were deafening. my heart was pounding. it took me an entire group of skaters to come down from that adrenaline high, lmao. meanwhile, adam sat there in the green room...for hours and hours...and then ended up getting bronze because why the fuck not lmao. it was kind of the perfect conclusion of a chaotic season and a chaotic worlds. yeah, that free skate was THE moment. on another note, i don't actually like his free that much from a choreo standpoint. i think he's one of the most expressive and unique skaters in the field today, and he can pull off a lot of benoit's weirdness, but this free just isn't one of my favorites. it's extremely memorable though, for sure. his sp, on the other hand, was a disaster, but i really appreciated how he kept performing despite the messy jumps. he skated the step sequence like the jump mistakes didn't even happen. that's the sign of a committed performer. i'm very excited to see what else adam has to bring in the future, though i hope he doesn't start throwing in backflips too often - they're only fun when they're infrequent and unexpected.

shoma: shoma has a particular way of moving that is so unique to him. where yuma's skating is springy and light, shoma's skating has weight. it's very difficult to describe, but i mean it in a good way. it's the way everything he does feels so deliberate. he has excellent upper body carriage and his movements really project out into the audience. his sp step sequence was a highlight. he has an innate musicality that is natural to him. truth be told, i haven't liked his programs as much since he moved to stephane, but it was good to see his skating live again. i don't know if shoma will retire soon or keep competing, but if that was his last competition, i'm glad to have seen it, jump issues aside. i first heard of him as a novice skater back when i was first becoming a skating fan. i've been through quite a few generations of skaters' retirements, at this point. still an odd feeling when it might be someone you first saw as a tiny child, though. i also enjoyed his exhibition, it was a different style for him.

i wrote way too much about the top 4, so i'm going to try to keep the rest of this short:

jason: i'm just glad he's still skating. the world needs more of him, for as long as he's willing to give it.

lukas: very fun, i enjoyed him quite a bit.

deniss: finally! a clean short! more of that and fewer quad attempts, please.

kao: ugh. the collective wince in the arena on those falls... i wanted him to skate a clean attack on titan so badly, i love that program for him. he's very talented and INSANELY fast (cannot stress this enough, his speed is mind-blowing) but still lacking in control, and his performance skills need work as well. i hope this worlds was a good learning experience for him.

nikolaj: he's...so tall lmao. amazing lines. good musicality. terrible spins. looking forward to his improvement.

junhwan: the way i put my hands to my face as he fell on the 3A right in front of me... i just hope next season is healthier for him. he's a very, very quality skater and he deserves better.

don't talk to me about boyang

last but not least, shoutout to donovan for those incredible personal best skates! he still needs a lot of work on his SS and speed, but i really hope his jump consistency keeps improving.

———————————–

all in all, worlds was just...a tornado of emotions. some bad, most good. it was my first time seeing the world championships live, and i'm really glad i had the experience. for anyone thinking of going to worlds in the future, please be aware that the days are LONG. i skipped all the practices and some earlier groups of the short programs in order to explore the city, and i was still completely wiped out after every day of competition. it took me several weeks to recover, lol. thanks montreal! i definitely won't forget that week.

[rowdyhughesy]

Remember that I love you - Thomas Bordeleau

Content warning: mention of self inflicted death, mental health and angst. If you or anyone you know are dealing with mental health know that there is help available, you’re not alone and there are people that love you. Please do not read if you know this is something that will trigger you.

“ And high up above, or down below. When you're too in love to let it go. But if you never try, you'll never know. Just what you're worth “

- fix you, Coldplay

October 6th 2020

Looking over at the boy beside her, an anxious and nervous look plastered on his tanned face. She can practically feel how his body is shaking from the nerves even if she’s not touching him. He’s told her time and time again that if he doesn’t get drafted it’ll be alright but they both know that’s not true. This is his dream and he’s so close he can practically touch it and not reaching it now would crush him. It would crush her too because everything he feels she feels with him. Thomas has never said it out loud that he hopes for Montreal but she knows it’s in the back of his mind, this is his home and to play here would be the greatest thing ever.

“Hey.” The girls voice snaps Thomas out of his trance that is staring at the TV screen. He forces a small smile at her that doesn’t reach his eyes but it lets her know she has his attention. “No matter what happens today, remember that I love you okey? You’ve got this I know you do.” This time a real smile forms on his cheeks as he reaches for one of her hands grasping it with one of his, intertwining their fingers. “I love you too.”

August 12th 2025

Packing up his first ever own apartment felt weird. Seeing the place he’s called home for the last couple of years blank, most of his stuff put away in moving boxes. The only thing left untouched is his bedroom. Brendan, William and Jacob having left 30 minutes ago to get food for the group, leaving Thomas alone in his apartment.

Standing in the middle of his apartment living room the hockey player decides that he might as well get started on his bedroom. The 23 year old not loving the idea of his three close friends snooping inside his drawers just to get a rise out of him. They do that enough so adding gasoline to the fire is something he’d rather avoid. He loves the boys but they sure can be a pain in the ass if they want to.

Trudging across the room he pushes open the door of his bedroom. It’s messy, blanket and pillows thrown around on the mattress. Clothes scattered over the floor and about three pair of shoes laying around. Thomas let’s out a huff of air at the sight, he really needs to start cleaning up more often. Grabbing one of the boxes marked bedroom he starts packing.

After another 30 minutes the front door of the apartment opens, the voice of Truss loudly reenacting a story breaking the silence.

Not moving from his location in the bedroom Thomas continues with his task thats currently putting all of his picture frames in tissue paper before they go inside a box. “Need any help Bords?” Brendan sticks his head in from behind the door. Two wrapped burgers in one of his hands and bottles of coke tucked under his arm. Bordeleau nods his head at the question, a wordless invitation that Brendan is allowed inside the room.

The brunette steps inside, handing one of the burgers to his friend as he sits down next to him on the floor. They sit in a comfortable silence taking bites of the food, listening to Will and Jacobs conversation in the other room.

Brendan finishes first, throwing the trash away he grabs a couple of frames that’s placed on a shelf standing against the wall. Taking in the image in one of them a sad smile forms on his lips. Softly brushing a finger tip across the girl in the photograph. Blinking away his tears Briss sits down again, unsure he offers the picture to Thomas who’s been looking over at him since he grabbed the frame. Both of the boys sit there for a while just looking down at it.

The image showing Thomas and Y/N, the former standing with his arms wrapped around her. A San Jose jersey covering his upper body while Y/N has a SJ hat on her head. Both of the teenagers flashing wide smiles and eyes almost shining from the happiness coursing through their veins. “That’s probably one of the best days of my life, Y/N screamed so loud when my name was called I think she almost busted my eardrums.” Thomas’s breath growing shaky as he lets out a watery laugh. His eyes glossy from tears.

“I bet she told you how she never doubted you for a second right?” Nodding in response Thomas rises up from his sitting position. Walking over to his wardrobe he reaches up on the highest shelf, grabbing a shoebox. It’s dusty, like it hasn’t been touched in a long time but the material is faded and worn from years of usage. Brendan giving his friend a questioning look as Thomas hands him the box. “She saved memories from every date, every game, every holiday since we were 17. It’s all inside.”

Taking off the top of the box Brendan is met with printed out pictures, souvenirs, small merchandise from hockey teams and every other thing Y/N could’ve seen as important. But the one thing that really catches Brendan’s attention is the white envelope. The word Thomas written in scribbly handwriting across the paper. “It was taped to the box when I found it outside my door, the day that she uh- you can read it. It’s alright Briss.” Opening the envelope Brendan pulls out a sheet of paper. It’s stained with what he can only picture being tears, maybe they’re from Y/N but also Thomas. Taking a deep breath he starts reading.

Hi Baby.

I’m sorry, I know it sounds bad to just say I’m sorry but I really really am. You can be mad at me, I won’t judge you. It’s okey. You have every right in the world to be mad at me. I know I should’ve said something about how I’m feeling, how nothing really matters to me anymore. The only thing that feels like it matters is you, but that just wasn’t enough anymore. I don’t wanna keep fighting it anymore. I’m so tired Thomas, so tired of feeling like this. I hope you’ll understand why I’m doing it someday but I know you probably won’t. I’m just happy I was still here to see your first game with the sharks. I’m so proud of you and I always will be. You’re going to do amazing things in the league I just know it. Never doubt what you can achieve in this world my love you are the most loving, smart, talented, charming and best person I’ve had the chance to know. Do what I can’t, live. I might be leaving but know you made my life better for the last two years. You loved me in every way you could but I just can’t love myself. This might be a goodbye but we’ll meet again in another life. Just remember that I love you Thomas Bordeleau, with everything I have. Yours forever, Y/N

November 14th 2023

One year after the day that turned everything Thomas knew upside down he stepped foot inside the tattoo shop his girlfriend had talked about for months prior. Always saying how she wanted to get a tattoo there but never having the courage to do it.

Looking at the fresh ink on his chest, above his heart is the words I love you in her handwriting forever imprinted. Tears start running down his cheeks but he makes no move to wipe them away. “You and me forever mon ange. I’ll never forget about you.”

[shanie]

Because we need some goodness in our lives right now...

A fully drafted/written but not finalized scene of "A Great Big (Little) Hunk Of World" I have done that's meant to happen not in the next chapter, but the one after that.

AKA... The part where Kevin shows up.

(And Beef. He's there too.)

Chapter 8 – A New Friend

It was only two weeks after Generico moved in before he had his next show.

Generico had always thought wrestling was great. Ever since he was a little kid introduced to it by his Papá. They would go to the local arena and watch the luchadors, and then whenever possible, watch them on TV. Their TV was never the biggest, but it didn’t matter to Generico. He’d sit right in front of it, wanting to get as close as possible to the action.

When they would go to the arena, the luchadors always felt so far away. Also, the people in the arena would shout so loud, and sometimes it bothered him. But on TV, it felt like he could almost touch them.

And he wanted to. He dreamed of it.

He wanted to be right there with them, in the ring, grappling and flying. The crowd shouting, he’d always thought, wouldn’t be so bad if they were shouting for him, right?

He was right.

And every time he got to wrestle in front of the albeit much smaller crowds of Montreal, it was the biggest thrill. He wanted to give them the best show every night. They sounded so happy when he did his best, even if he didn’t win.

It was so nice of them, that they appreciated him trying. Some people in his life only cared about results. The manager in the kitchen he’d worked at never cared how hard he tried, only if he’d succeeded. But the fans at Le Skratch were different. As long as he tried his hardest, they cheered for him, and sometimes, when he tried REALLY hard, they would sing for him.

He loved it when they sang for him.

But… not all wrestling made him happy.

He hated when he had to fight Kevin.

He didn’t want to fight Kevin ever. Kevin was like the rain and Generico loved rain. Especially with his eyes. Generico could get lost in them. Stormy grey clouds with the most beautiful silver lining. And sometimes, when Kevin was quiet, his voice reminded Generico of a thunderstorm passing in the distance. Just rumbly enough to excite you but you knew you were safe because he wasn’t aimed at you.

But he never wanted to fight Kevin. Because when Kevin was angry, and the storm grew closer…

So, showing up at the arena and finding out that he’d been scheduled to wrestle a tag team match alongside Beef Wellington vs Kevin and SeXXXy Eddy, Generico felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. And chest. And his head was kind of dizzy, really he didn’t like fighting Kevin at all.

Maybe, though… Maybe if he could convince Kevin to swap out for someone else?

It was worth a shot. Or, at least, worth him trying.

Kevin was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the room everyone was waiting in before the show, drinking a Coca-Cola. It was surprising to Generico, most people in Montreal liked Pepsi. It made sense to Generico; he didn’t really like cola much, it made his mouth feel funny and his head a bit sleepy, but Pepsi to him was way better than Coke.

He drank so much Coke back in Mexico that he’d grown sick of it. It was one of the few ‘memories’ of home he wanted no part of. Coke was so easy to come by in Mexico, in a way that practically anything else wasn’t. Somedays, when it was really hot, Generico would dream of the cleanest, purest glass of water. Something that would cool him off and refresh him without making his head feel funny.

But no. If there was ever any fresh, clean water to spare, it went to his siblings. They needed it more than he did. He happily drank the warm sodas that the twins were able to steal for him from the corner store.

And, since the store always left a display of coke outside of the door, it was the easiest to steal.

He drank so much Coke in Tijuana. So, when he was given the choice, he would always choose Pepsi.

Because if Coke reminded him of everything he’d gone through in Tijuana, Pepsi represented everything he dreamed of in Montreal.

And that made it amazingly better.

But no, strangely, Kevin was drinking Coke.

Generico decided he would remember that for later, in case Kevin ever came over. Maybe he could have some cold for Kevin.

But that was for later. At that moment, he needed to find a way to convince Kevin to swap out for his match.

Carefully, like approaching a really beautiful stray tabby who you weren’t sure if it would scratch you or not, Generico walked up to Kevin.

Kevin’s eyes were on him immediately.

“What?” Kevin asked.

Ok, Generico thought. ‘What’. That means ‘qué’. I can do this…

“Kevin…” Generico began carefully, trying his hardest to remember his English, “Match.”

“Yeah, what about it?” Kevin returned, “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Generico frowned. That wasn’t…

“No,” Generico tried again, “Us. Match. No… match.”

Why was English so hard?

Also, why was Kevin getting so angry?

“What the fuck are you getting at?” Kevin demanded, rising to his feet to stare Generico down, “You’re already getting a match, and if you piss me off, it’s just gonna go worse for you.”

Kevin was getting even more angry and using more and more words that Generico didn’t understand.

It wasn’t working. But it HAD to.

“Kevin,” Generico tried one more time, “No match… Please.”

The thunderclouds in Kevin’s eyes flashed with lightning.

“Are you chicken-shitting out or something? Because it won’t make me hurt you any les—”

“WHOA!” A voice came from behind Generico and, as Generico turned, he saw Beef Wellington appear beside him… and then push in front of him, positioning himself between Generico and Kevin who was getting angrier every second.

“Whoa,” Beef said again, putting a hand against Generico’s chest. “Whoa. Hold on. Generico? Back off. Kevin, just… can we do the, uhh, reasonably decent thing and not get into a fistfight here? Maybe save it for the ring?”

The lightning didn’t stop glowing in Kevin’s eyes.

“Who the FUCK said I was decent?” Kevin barked back, “I’ll kick the shit out of BOTH of you in the alley out back if I feel like it! Hell, why don’t we—”

“STEEN!” A stern, demanding, and no-way-to-be-ignored voice boomed from across the room, “KNOCK IT OFF!!!”

Generico’s head jerked quickly towards the sound.

It was Manny.

There was a breath tangled up in Generico’s lungs as Manny strode over.

“All three of you,” He said to them, “Break whatever the hell you have going on here up. Beef, Generico,” Manny gestured to the other side of the room, “go over there and stay out of the way.”

Generico tensed up at the confusing English.

“Hey, Generico,” Manny said, turning to him, and switching to the simple, but always so much appreciated Spanish he would use for him, “Calm down. Sit. It’s good.”

Generico nodded. He understood that.

“And Steen?” he said, his voice much harsher than a moment earlier, “Calm down NOW. You’ll get your shot in the ring with Eddy.”

Generico watched as the cruelest smirk formed on Kevin’s face.

“Sure thing, boss,” Kevin sneered and, as he took a half step back, Generico could breathe again.

“Good,” Manny said. “Is everything good here?”

Generico wasn’t sure good was in the building. He didn’t understand a lot of the words everyone was saying, outside of the little bit of Spanish Manny had used, but there was a lot of anger in everyone's tones.

Well, mostly Kevin’s.

And that was bad enough for everyone combined.

Still, Beef was still standing at least partway between him and Kevin, so it wasn’t too bad.

The storm could still pass. For the moment.

“Yeah, I think we’re good here,” Beef said. “Everything’s fine, right Kevin?”

“Yeah,” Kevin replied darkly, “Everything’s great.”

“Shit,” Manny muttered, almost as though he didn’t believe what Kevin said which probably made sense. “Just don’t kill each other until you get out there alright?”

“Sure thing,” Kevin said and the funny feeling in Generico’s chest returned at Kevin’s words. They seemed far more believable.

“Right,” Manny said and, looking between the three of them, something weird came over his face and he rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered, before walking away, muttering several more things that Generico didn’t understand under his breath.

Manny didn’t seem very happy with them. Generico didn’t like it when Manny was angry.

But he liked it even less when Kevin was angry and, as Kevin stepped closer once more, he gave an angrier look and took an even angrier sip of soda… which a second later he spat back out onto Beef’s chest.

A twisted grin crossed Kevin’s face.

“I’ll see you two in the ring,” he said and, turning, picked up the steel chair he’d been sitting in, along with his gear bag, and pointedly moved it into the far corner of the room before sitting down once more.

Generico heart and face fell.

Kevin was so angry with him. All he’d wanted was to avoid a fight and he knew, he could just tell he’d made it so so much worse.

He began to sniffle.

Beef took one last look at Kevin before turning to face Generico.

“Hey, we’re ok,” He said, taking Generico’s shoulders, “We just…” Generico couldn’t keep from hiccuping in despair, “Jesus, will you just calm down? He’s always like that, here, sit down. Come. Seendatay. Relaxico, whatever. Just over here.”

Beef’s Spanish was much less, well, Spanish. But Generico understood enough and allowed himself to be led to a chair on the other side of the room.

“OK? No problaymo?” Beef asked, crouching in front of Generico. “Hey. Don’t cry. You’re upset? Kick his ass for it. Kick, Kick… uhh, violencia! That.” Generico couldn’t help but smile as Beef’s Not-Spanish shifted into Actual-Spanish “Very good violence, OK? Together. On Kevin. You comprehend?”

Generico’s chest was feeling funny.

None of the other wrestlers had ever tried to speak Spanish to him before. Nobody except Manny.

He didn’t even know any of them knew how.

But… The way Beef had stood between him and Kevin. Had tried to make it better. Had stood up for him.

Had gotten hit with the soda and didn’t even care because Beef was more interested in making sure HE was ok than worrying about how sticky his shirt would be later.

It was almost like…

“Beef...” Generico said softly as he felt his chest glow, “¿Friend?”

But Beef wasn’t paying attention. His focus was on Damian and Viking, the tag champs, who had just barged into the room making a commotion.

There was always something going on in IWS.

Beef rolled his eyes at the noise.

“Whatever,” he groaned, before returning his attention to Generico, “Just be ready ok? Umm… shit… You prepared for us. I think that’s it. Got it?”

Generico understood well enough.

“Yes,” he said in Spanish before adding in English, “Yes.”

“Great. See you out there.”

And with that, Beef stood up, grabbed his bag, and left the room. If Generico had to guess, Beef wanted to change in the bathroom. He always seemed so nervous when there was trouble going on.

Generico understood. More than he wanted to.

But, as Beef was leaving, Generico caught a glance at Kevin, still sitting across the room.

Sitting there and watching him... and looking…

Whatever it looked like was gone the instant their eyes met, with Kevin’s rolled up at the ceiling and another angry sip of soda taken as his attention shifted to Viking who was being loud in the corner (and that Generico was trying to ignore).

What that was, Generico didn’t understand.

Because so much was confusing about people. The way they felt, the way they acted, the things they said in whatever language that he didn’t understand.

But Generico could swear, somehow, almost impossibly, and only for a split second…

Kevin had been looking at him with concern.

[alwayschasingrainbows]

Twenty two Teddy Kent's headcanons and semi-headcanons (created in a great hope that they will make him a little less of a stale piece of toast):

When he was a little boy, he used to have imaginary friends to play with; he believed that they were living in a garden near his house and were able to shrink in size to fit into the flower buds.

He used to draw pictures for every book he had read, because he thought the books were much better that way.

He made up stories, but instead of using words, he used illustrations.

He loved the myth of Vega of the Lyre and imagined the star as a land with two shining suns (one red and one blue). He imagined that he lived there before he was born (it's canon - quotes below). That was the reason Vega of the Lyre became Emily's favourite star.

He saved his allowance money to buy paints and pastels.

He made many pictures of Emily, but was too shy to show them to anyone.

He had no idea why most of Blair Water girls wanted to shake his hand, but he was too nice to refuse. In fact, they followed Rhoda Stuart's idea to count nine stars for nine nights, so that the first boy they shook hands with was going to become their husband. Emily was the one who told him about that custom. He laughed it off as silly, but secretely counted the stars and proceeded to shake Emily's hand. He told himself it was unrelated.

He sometimes wondered what his father looked like. His mother never showed him any photographs until she came to live with him. He was twenty five when he saw his father's picture for first time and he had to fight the tears down.

He really loved ice-skating and was pretty good at it. The first winter he and Emily were married, he insisted they go ice-skating at least once a week.

He painted old Mr. Morrison, standing on the church steps, with longing in his eyes. He felt very sorry for the man, after he stopped being angry at him for scaring Emily.

He learnt how to cook when he moved to Montreal. During his scholarship in Paris, he invented countless ways to cook beans (because they were cheap and filling - couldn't resist The Blue Castle reference).

He felt really ashamed during nude-painting classes. He couldn't talk to the models afterwards. His classmates laughed at him for being such a prude.

When he was studying in Paris, he used to sneak behind the guards into the Louvre, to stare in awe at the paintings of great artists (that is not my headcanon - it was in a fanfic entitled "Pine Trees and Pigsties" by Dhobi ki Kutti (dhobikikutti).

During his separation from Emily, he wrote her many letters, but never send them. He gave her these letters after they were married.

He took Emily to Paris for their honeymoon. They visited every single art gallery. It was Emily's idea, because she loved listening to him talk about art.

He never made any comments about Emily's dresses, because he thought she had looked beautiful all the time. He told her that after she got angry at him for not helping her choose an outfit to wear at one of the parties.

On the first day The Smiling Girl was being exhibited, he gave a speach about "the first girl who had believed in me". He never mentioned Emily's name. It hurt too much.

After he and Emily got married, he made illustrations for her books (again, the idea is from an amazing fanfic by hardlygolden - no pictures of him squarely).

He often thought that if he had ever had a daughter, he'd call her after his favourite constellation (I am obsessed with the name Lyra, so...).

He was good with the kids and really enjoyed playing with them. They usually created a huge mess that took ages to clean afterwards.

He liked painting pictures on the walls. He painted a Blair Water landscape on the walls of Emily's writing room in Montreal, so that she felt more at home.

He always bought chocolate bars for Ilse's and Perry's kids and told them in secret "not to tell mommy". Ilse pretended not to have noticed.

I borrowed @daydreamingandprocrastination tags, because they are just so amazing! I hope you don't mind, but if you do, please let me know and I'll be sure to change them!

"Teddy says that before he was born into this world he lived in another one where there were two suns, one red and one blue. The days were red and the nights blue. I don’t know where he got the idea but it sounds atractive to me. And he says the brooks run honey instead of water. But what did you do when you were thirsty, I said. Oh, we were never thirsty there. But I think I would like to be thirsty because then cold water tastes so good. I would like to live in the moon. It must be such a nice silvery place." (Emily of New Moon).

"Look at that star, Teddy—the one just over the youngest Princess. It's Vega of the Lyre. I've always loved it. It's my dearest among the stars. Do you remember how, years ago when you and Ilse and I sat out in the orchard on the evenings when Cousin Jimmy was boiling pigs' potatoes, you used to spin us wonderful tales about that star—and of a life you had lived in it before you came to this world." (Emily's Quest).

[lovesosweeet]

KNOW IT ALL x THE BAND CAMINO

part 10

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9

a calum hood songfic

the end!!!

Michael drops Tillie off at Calum’s home after he forces her to take a shower and put on clean clothes. He watches from his car as she knocks on the door, ready to drive her back home in case Calum refuses to speak to her. He’s proud of Tillie for finally facing a mess that she’s left behind. 

Tillie nervously rings the doorbell, even though she still has a key to Cal’s house. She knows walking in after their conversation last week wouldn’t go well. 

Calum is surprised to see her, and while he’s still mad, seeing her on his doorstep gives him hope. 

“Tillie?”

“Hi, Thomas,” she says, doing her best to smile at him. 

“What are you doing here?”

She nervously squirms under his intense gaze. “I have something to give you.” 

He doesn’t say anything. He keeps staring at her, waiting for her to give him whatever it is. He assumes it’s something he left behind at her place after the party, but if that was it, why didn’t she just leave it on the porch or give it to Michael to give to him? 

Tillie sighs, reaching into the black belt bag she carries as a purse. She pulls out a small ball of blue paper and smooths it out. It's a blue sticky note. It’s a note from the same pad as her breakup note she left for him. She hands the paper to him so he can read it.

I need some space. I’m sorry. I love you.

“Tillie, what is this?” He asks. The final three words burn into his mind. 

“It’s the first note I wrote that morning,” she explains. 

She wrote it and kept it. That has to mean something, even if she didn’t leave it for him to find that morning. 

Calum is stunned, staring at the black ink and reading it over and over. It’s strange how different the note feels with just three more words. 

“Can I come in?” She asks. Her voice is shaky and nervous. He hasn’t heard her speak like this much. 

He nods and breaks his stare from the piece of blue paper. He opens the door wider so Tillie can walk in. He’s fantasized countless times about Tillie telling him she loves him, but this is a version even his wildly imaginative brain didn’t conjure up. 

Tillie, in a somewhat confident way, walks beyond the threshold of Calum’s house. She spins around, expectantly, to determine whether they should talk outside or inside, depending on if Roy is home. 

As Tillie steps inside, Michael smiles to himself from the driveway inside of his car. He reverses out of the driveway. If she’s inside, he’s confident they’ll make up and he won’t need to drive her home. Cal is such a sucker for Tillie and everyone knows it.

“Uh, the couch should be fine,” Calum speaks, shutting the door behind her.

She nods and walks to the couch, nervously sitting on the edge of it. Calum is surprised to watch her like this. She’s never so timid.

Calum sits on the opposite side of the couch, but his eyes stay focused on the note. She said that she loves him. She didn’t say it out loud but she said it, and she said it back when they were sort of together. She’s kept the evidence with her the whole time.

“I wasn’t lying the other day, Cal,” Tillie speaks. “I do miss you.”

He sighs, looking up at her. She means it. He knows she does, but it doesn’t change the facts. “Tillie, why did you leave like that?” He cuts straight to the point. 

Then it’s her turn to sigh. She has to finally talk about it. She knows she has to talk about it and the thought alone makes her want to throw up. She clears her throat and stares into his warm brown eyes that are so skeptical of her. 

“Do you remember that night in Montreal?” She asks. 

Calum has to hold in a laugh. Of course he remembers that night. It was one of the best nights of his life. It was the night they became… more than nothing. “Yes, I remember that night.”

“And you remember what I told you about my sister?”

He nods. 

“The morning I left, I got a call from the police department in Raleigh. North Carolina, I mean.”

Calum nods again. Nothing that she’s saying has justified anything that she’s done. Not yet, at least.

“Um, so, my sister — Madison — she…” Tillie trails off and her eyes get teary faster than she expected. She looks away from Calum, not sure how she can look him in the eyes and tell him the truth. 

Calum stays quiet, giving her the space to figure out what she wants to say. What she needs to say. 

“Fuck,” Tillie mumbles, wiping under her eyes as the tears start to fall.

Calum wants nothing more than to reach over and wipe the tears away, but he’s supposed to be pissed at her still, so he doesn’t. But god, does he want to make her feel safe and okay and not whatever she’s going through mere inches away from him. 

“Madison committed suicide,” she finally says. 

He’s been silent the whole time, but now he really has no idea what to think or say. What she’s just shared isn’t something he ever could have imagined. His heart breaks for her.

“I just… didn’t — hell, I don’t know how to… deal… with it. It’s my fault.”

That’s all it takes for Calum to move closer to her, pulling her into him in a tight hug. Tillie collapses against him, breaking down fully for possibly the first time in her life. She feels safe in his arms and she’s grateful for him being understanding above all else. 

“It’s not your fault, Tillie,” he whispers to her. 

“It is! And then I hurt you, and then everything got so bad, and now everything is all messed up, and she died because of me, and I just… I don’t know.”

“I knew I was going to get hurt when I started anything with you, Tills,” he says. He’s partly joking and trying to lighten the mood, but he also knows he’s really not kidding.

She looks up at him with teary eyes. “Cal—“

He cuts her off. “And that’s okay with me.” 

“That’s not fair, Calum.”

Calum is thinking everything over. Tillie left him because of a true tragedy in her life. She ran because of something awful that had nothing to do with him. She truly just needed space. She didn’t let him back in once everything was back to normal, but still. He’s not as angry or hurt by the whole thing now after learning about the real reason.

“Tillie, you know I love you,” he starts and he watches as his words make her flinch. 

“I’m really sorry to hear about your sister. I can’t imagine how badly going through that alone must have felt. I wish you felt safe enough to let someone in back then. None of us heard from you for… months. Not even Michael.”

“I knew everyone would hate me,” she says. 

“Nobody hated you.”

Tillie shrugs in response, which surprises Calum. She doesn’t believe him and she knows that people were upset when she disappeared. Nobody knew how to ask her about her absence because she came back and picked up her life like nothing had happened. She had lied and said she went on an ayahuasca retreat in Mexico and disconnected from the world to connect with her spiritual side.

Rendering Matilda Sloane Beckett speechless isn’t something that happens often. It’s certainly never happened in Calum’s presence. 

Calum doesn’t know what to say either, so they just sit on the couch, the dust settling around them and a somewhat comfortable silence falls over the room. 

“If there’s anyone I should’ve told, it was you. And I’m sorry.”

They stare at each other, blue eyes pouring into brown.

“I love you, Calum. I should’ve told you that, too.”

Hearing the words out loud feels even more crazy. Calum’s heart is rattling in his chest, moving so fast it feels like it might explode. He wants to kiss her so badly, but he’s holding it in, trying to give Tillie a chance to talk about her feelings, something she basically never does. 

“Can you forgive me?” She asks.

Without hesitating, he answers.

“Of course I forgive you. I love you.”

“Even knowing the truth?” 

“I forgive you for running away and I still love you. That’s all there is to it, T.” He’s holding her close to him still, rubbing small circles on her back. 

Tillie shakes her head. “I’m a murderer, Calum.”

“It isn’t your fault at all.”

She wants to yell at him and tell him he’s wrong, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t need to make things worse. Everything is coming back together, slowly, in this moment, and she doesn’t want to mess it all up again.

“Have you thought about talking to someone?” Calum asks. Of course he wants to talk about them and where they stand as a couple, but Tillie’s sanity trumps their relationship any day. 

“I’m talking to you right now,” she replies. She doesn’t actually understand what Cal means. 

“No, T, like… talking to a therapist.”

Tillie raises her eyebrows before she shakes her head. “No, no, I don’t think that’s necessary.” Therapy was for crazy people and depressed people. She wasn’t either.

Calum sighs loudly, looking at the girl he loves who’s broken. She appears fine from far away. She’s still whole, but when you look closely, really closely, you can see the hairline fractures in the porcelain. It’s only a matter of time before it crumbles. 

“You know, I go to therapy,” he says, trying to keep the subject on this as long as he can. He really does want her to talk to someone. 

“You do?”

He nods. They’re not hugging anymore, but they’re still pressed close together. Tillie’s leaning her head against his chest and his arm is wrapped tightly around her.

“I do, and so does Mike. Luke does, sometimes, and Ash went a lot for a while there. We all go.”

“Why do you go?” She asks. 

Calum coughs and clears his throat. For the past year, it’s mostly been talking about Tillie. Before that, it was his parents’ separation and just general trauma recovery after being essentially a child star. He wouldn’t have traded his teenage years for anything, but he definitely went through a lot of things a lot earlier than he should have.

How does he tell the root of his emotional turmoil that she’s the reason he’s needed therapy?

“Just anxiety and stuff,” he says. He doesn’t tell her. That’s not a conversation for right now. “I think it would be good for you, Tillie. Even just to go one time and determine if it’s right for you.”

She thinks it over for a second, but realizes that if anyone would be able to gauge Tillie’s need to go to therapy, it is Calum. He loves her so much and knows more of her deepest, darkest secrets than anyone else. 

She nods. “Okay, if you think I should, I will.”

Calum is floored. He expected far more fight from the stubborn woman. Of course, it’s nice that there wasn’t an argument, but he’s not sure how to act. This isn’t something he could’ve prepped his brain for. 

“That’s… that’s good,” he finally says. 

Tillie nods again. Calum doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods in response.

“Can I ask you something crazy?” Tillie says, cutting into his thoughtful state.

All Calum knows how to do is nod.

“Can we… can we be, like, an ‘us’?”

He’s floored again, and his throat is full of cotton. How does he reply to that? How does he answer the question he’s wanted to hear for forever?

“Sorry, I mean… I guess, can we… actually try this? Like, boyfriend girlfriend, or partners, or, I don’t know, like… a relationship?”

Calum’s jaw drops open, but he nods quickly. Everything he’s wanted to hear is coming from the girl in his arms that he’s missed being this close to. This is what he’s dreamt about. 

“Tillie, I haven’t wanted anything more in my life. Ever.”

--

a/n: we made it to the end, y'all! I've loved bringing tillie and calum to life and hope you've enjoyed this short-ish songfic. if you haven't listened to know it all by the band camino it's TRULY a song that begs a story and i love them!!!

[sunskate]

the Verdun rink where they had Worlds practices is one of the home rinks for Montreal's PWHL team, so there were little press huts set up above the seating and signage for them. it's an old building built in 1938. the wood is nice - idk if it's the organic materials, but the place smells like old sweat. at first i kept thinking it was coming from someone near, except that figure skating fans are a pretty hygienic looking bunch of mostly ladies ☺️

Verdun has a rink side and a newer attached building where the change rooms were. skaters were coming and going, people asking for pictures as practices ended. Madi Chock is very petite, with her hair teased a mile high for the RD, so are Lilah Fear and Holly Harris. no two roller suitcases for their skating gear seem alike

coach life is wrangling skate guards, jackets, water bottles and tissues, no matter who you are. the cold must make skaters's noses run, because they constantly are blowing them. and then someone, sometimes the coach, has to dispose of the wadded up tissues. i've seen MF look skeptically at ones her skaters have left in front of her on the boards lol Scott took a second tissue to swipe up Anthony's leavings. was wondering if Marina used to clean up after him and Tessa 😅 also wonder if everyone brings their own tissue boxes, or if competitions provide them bts, because so many of the coaches have them sitting on the boards, and they seem too cumbersome to fly with lol

[yuriplisetsky-rp]

Otabek Altin Halfway to Impressive Fourth World Title

Leroy, de la Iglesia in the hunt

Thursday, March 21st

MONTREAL, CANADA – Defending and three-time champion Otabek Altin of Kazakhstan is halfway to an incredible, and not often done, fourth world title. The 26-year-old skated a clean and fantastic short program to score 113.45. “I would, of course, love to end it on a fourth world title,” said the three-time Four Continents Champion. “I will accept any placement as long as I skate well. It’s a tough competition, so I know I am going to have to skate my absolute best.”

In the hunt, currently in second, is reigning Olympic Champion Jean-Jacques Leroy of Canada, seeking to earn a medal skating at home. He scored 110.87 for his short program. “I’m from Montreal; I was born and raised here; I train here,” said the nine-time Canadian National Champion. “Skating well at this Worlds is very important to me. I want to do well in front of all my family and friends. Worlds has not been a good competition for me, but I’m going to keep trying until it’s my last one.”

Three-time world medalist Guang-hong de la Iglesia of China is also in the hunt, less than a point behind Leroy with a score of 110.22. “It’s such a close competition; anything can happen!” said the reigning Grand Prix Final Champion. “I know I beat Otabek once, but that doesn’t mean it will happen again. I’m just going to do my thing, and let the chips fall where they may.” When asked about having a fourth world medal be gold, he said, “That would be great, of course! I just want to do two skates that I’m proud of.”