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pitlanepeach · 2 months ago

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Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

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

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

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

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

December 2023

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

Her car.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her name. On a car.

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

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

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

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

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

She didn't correct him.

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

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

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

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

Pride.

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

This was good work. And it was hers.

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

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

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

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

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

MCL38-AN.

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

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

iMessage — 14:33pm

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

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

A second later, another text.

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

Or maybe that's just the pregnancy.

—

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

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

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

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

"Time?"

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

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

"No."

He peeled the ribbon open and lifted the lid.

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

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

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

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

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

He laughed, pulling her into his chest.

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

—

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

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

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

"What is that?" She asked flatly.

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

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

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

Lando looked at his wife.

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

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

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

Lando leaned over and whispered, "You sure?"

"Yes," she muttered.

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

Lando squeezed her hand once, smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The technician nodded.

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

"Perfectly normal at this stage."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded. "Yeah. I think so."

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

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

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

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

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

Lando squeezed Amelia's hand.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a beat of silence.

Flo stared.

"Shut. Up."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

January 2024

The new apartment smelled like fresh paint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm fine," she said quickly.

"You're vibrating."

"I'm self-regulating."

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

She blinked at him. "Lando."

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

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

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

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

"I meant, like, a juice box."

"Oh. Do we have any?"

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

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

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

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

"Because I am smart," Charles countered.

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

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

Tracey passed around bottles of water.

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

The silence was instant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh my gosh—"

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

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

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

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

"You knew?" Tracey barked.

"Of course I did." Max said.

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

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

Loved.

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

"Yes," said Lando.

—

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

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

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

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

Amelia smirked faintly.

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

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

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

"Dad."

"What?"

"I'm pregnant. Nausea is normal."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Knew what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh no."

"I made a PowerPoint," Zak added helpfully.

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

—

Five hours later, the apartment was finally quiet.

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

Everyone was gone now.

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

But it was quiet. And theirs.

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

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

Lando looked down at her. "The apartment?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mmhm."

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

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

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

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

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

—

The morning had not been kind.

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

Too bright.

Too loud.

Too far from stillness.

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

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

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

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

She hadn't used it yet.

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

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

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

Her eyes fluttered shut.

Her muscles finally, finally relaxed.

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

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

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

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

Eventually, Lando peeked his head around the doorframe.

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

"You good, baby?" He asked gently.

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

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

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

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

"Dramatic." She said.

"I know," he grinned.

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

February 2024

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

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

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

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

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

"Charcoal adjacent."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your weirdo."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At one point, her dad had messaged her.

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

To which Amelia replied.

Love you too.

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

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

He smiled. "Even with the burnt toast?"

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

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

—

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2024 F1 Grid

George R.

Welcome to the 2024 rookies!

Oh wait.

LOL.

Nevermind

Lando N.

Someone get this man a rookie asap

Charles L.

Bro we are all still here 💀

Alex A.

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

Esteban O.

Consistency is key 😂

Oscar P.

George is out here welcoming imaginary friends

Carlos S.

Rookie of the year is the Ferrari catering team

Lewis H.

I vote my physio as rookie of the year tbh

Yuki T.

I still feel like a rookie emotionally 😮‍💨

Fernando A.

I feel younger every season 😎

George R.

Ok ok I made one mistake

I was being polite

What if someone snuck in overnight. Like a stealth rookie

Pierre G.

Bro this isn't among us

Max V.

Let him live he tried ✋

Lando N.

He tried and failed. Spectacularly

George R.

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

—

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

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

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

This was her car.

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

"It looks like a spaceship," he murmured.

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

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

"You're going to win in it."

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

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

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

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

And hers.

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

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

"It is fast," Amelia replied, deadpan.

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

Lando snorted. "Your numbers are fine."

"I want more numbers."

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

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

Amelia shook her head. "Not yet."

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

And Amelia was pacing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lando stepped in before Amelia could respond.

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

The room froze. One of the engineers swallowed hard.

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

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

"We can't. Not until—"

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

Stillness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

The numbers were wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

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

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

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

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

But it didn't matter.

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

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

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

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

And she left the room.

—

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

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

She hated that feeling.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Go away," she said without looking.

It opened anyway.

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

She didn't move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

"You only have two eyes."

"It's called fashion, baby."

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

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

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

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

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

"Still."

"I have packed ginger chews and compression socks."

He looked up. "You hate ginger chews."

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

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

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

"Yes, your highness."

She threw a sock at his head.

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

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

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

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

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

"You want to skip testing?"

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "Lando."

"I'm just saying—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just them.

For now.

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capturecharlesau · 6 months ago

Text

…..Hi! ….it’s been a while :) … Guess who’s back from hibernation hehe… I’m sure your all curious where did I go- buuut

Have these doods of the emotional man himself- Danny flippin Felizima :D He’s strong no matter WHAT emotion he’s feeling :)

Look I suffered something in December and I’m gonna be honest it was so BAD… I barely could get out of bed some days and I’m finally getting over it and long story short I kept my promise I feel much better it’s a new year and I’m READY to show Stick love! Also Tumblr was being so buggy with a glitch that kept kicking me out and it seems it’s gone :D

The only bad knees is that due to me needing to pass tests and stuff I cannot show my newest comic until somewhere Mid March or April since again it depends on all the studying imma do to pass the tests hehe! BUT I WILL BE SHOWING SNEEK PEEKS until then - since legit I worked so HARD on the storyline during my hibernation and I’m super proud of my work!

What I’m gonna do:

Is show my Prequel? Finding my Path Comic staring Triple Threat in March around there that will end literally as my MAIN COMIC starts aka the one you see on my pinned post I did in 2023!

Then finally I get to show you the ACTUAL well written polished version of The Original Captured Charles Story where Terrence breaks free! Some things are CHANGED and some stuff you saw in the draft in 2023 will remain the same AND the ENDING OF the Captured Charles story has CHANGED (Terrence died another way)

I’m so happy you all loved my DRAFT for my original story and I just know with this better written and a little toned down on the exaggeration you will love it just like you all did in 2023! It means a lot ♥️

The charecters personalities and relationships are more polished now during my break I wrote everything down in a notebook! Asks will be active again on my blog! I’m so happy to be back!

HELLO STICKMIN FANDOM IM BACK ♥️

#thsc #the henry stickmin collection #henry stickmin collection #captured!charles au

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yamball · 11 months ago

Text

In the summer of 2022, the players of the Seattle Kraken were asked for a summer song. One player chose “Fortunate Son,” a wartime critique of nepo babies, of easy-living, and a puffed-chest declaration that the singer is not one of those fortunate sons of America.

Great choice.

Will Borgen

My standard primer disclaimer: this is not exhaustive, but instead curated. If there is a detail that is missing a direct source and you would like that source, feel free to DM me! I'd be happy to point you in that direction. Some sources have been repeated for multiple points, so I didn't put them in each time. Others are from more random interviews but I'd be happy to find them for you. I hope you enjoy it; this one means a lot to me.

📸 Will Borgen is born December 19, 1996 in Moorhead, Minnesota.

And right away, RIGHT NOW, we have to get something straight: Will Borgen does not volunteer anything about himself.

So even though his Team USA Hockey profile tells us he has two younger brothers, and stops there…that’s just not the whole truth. I’m truly not sure who wrote that. So, sure, yes, he does have two younger brothers, likely stepbrothers.

We also know he has a sister, Jae, with whom he is very close and has bought an off-season house.

We know Bill, his father, farmed wheat and sugar beets north of Moorhead, and his mother, Lori, was a teacher.

His parents divorced at some point, and his stepmother has also been present at many games. We know he’s been raised closely with his cousins and a bunch of his mom’s friends that he calls “bonus moms.” There’s a funky family network, though the details are murky to an outsider.

And we are very much outsiders. What we do know of Will Borgen is that he doesn’t say much, remembered fondly and with some amusement from his high school teammates for being unflinching, even unblinking, at times of great emotion.

One reporter, who interviewed a number of people closest to Will, concluded by saying “There's a baffling calm to Will Borgen.”

He shrugs off everything, comfortable with just putting his head down and doing the work, uncomfortable but not squirmy with attention.

Trey Greene, a teammate and best friend of Borgen since first grade, has spoken in interviews about Borgen silently being by his side during difficult times. Calm and quiet.

Borgen also broke Trey’s rib and thumb during a practice but um. Anyway. High school hockey. 📸

Anyone who has seen Will Borgen has seen the scar. Before it began to heal in earnest, it was 3 ½ inch gash on his neck that starts below his Adam’s apple and runs horizontally.

Because on March 22, 2014, Borgen was at an invite-only hockey game when he was taken down on the ice. And as the opposing player moved again, that player’s skate blade cut his neck.

The blade was just millimeters away from his carotid artery, miraculously stopping as it cut through muscle.

Borgen skated off, knowing he’d been hit, but unaware of anything else.

According to himself and teammates, he calmly asked those next to him, “Do I have a cut on my neck?”

His teammates exclaimed in horror that he had a big hole in his neck, a gaping wound that required immediate emergency attention.

Lori was present and watched the entire thing. Surgery went off without a hitch. There’s gnarly images of the wound out there though.

Of the scar, Borgen says “It wasn’t squirting or anything. I have a scar there from a birthmark, so one more wasn’t bad.” Ok.

Writing this now, of course, feels extremely different than if I were writing this before October 2023.

Adam Johnson was also a college opponent of Borgen, and a close friend of future teammate and friend Carson Soucy.

This sport is fucking dangerous. Will Borgen was lucky. He did not give interviews in the aftermath of Johnson’s death, though his name was thrown out as another example of this sport’s very real danger.

His scar got to heal.

The Draft

If you were to think of the most significant pick for the Buffalo Sabres in 2015, you would be forgiven for not thinking of Will Borgen.

2015 is the McDavid Sweepstakes. Everyone knows it. Buffalo knows it, too, with the way they tried their hardest to tank.

It didn’t work. We all know it didn’t work.

They get #2. They choose Jack Eichel.

We don’t have time to go into all that. But it’s important context to recognize about the organization because…

The Buffalo Sabres choose Will Borgen in the 4th round.

He’s watching at home with his friends. When his name is called, he stands up and calmly says, “Let’s go to the lake.”

His mom says she knew he was excited because he hung up his draft jersey, but that's it.

That’s all. As he enters the next chapter of his career, as he enters an organization full of hope pinned on a talented new prospect, he turns to his inner circle and suggests they go to the lake.

College

📸 Will opts to go the NCAA route, and attends St. Cloud State University.

He’s noted there for his physicality and his gifts on the penalty kill, especially.

He’s still Will, though. An article written about him at the start of the 17-18 season says he walks into the interview and immediately asks, “Why am I here? I didn’t do anything,” referring to the most recent game’s score sheet.

Pls will never change

During college, he gets the notice of the right people as he’s playing the best hockey of his life. And then something unexpected happens.

📸He’s named to Team USA’s roster for the 2018 Olympic Games.

Media coverage explodes over him, for some complicated reasons. The first is that he’s an unexpected pick. He gets on the roster in no small part due to injuries to those ahead of him.

The second is that he’s just so Will about it. He’s out to dinner with a friend when he gets the call, and his friend describes him calmly thanking the person on the call, hanging up, telling his friend he was going to the Olympics…and continuing to eat.

There’s a lot of articles around this time excitedly written about him because this is huge! A fourth rounder! Heading to the Olympics in the middle of college!

Everyone is so excited for him for good reason.

I wish I had more to tell you.

But Will Borgen was the only member of the roster to never play a single game in the Olympics.

So, without the prestige of an Olympic performance, Borgen will have to find another way to rise the ranks.

Up and Down Again

📸 Borgen signs his ELC in March of 2018 but it’s not a clear-cut route for him.

He spends time in the AHL, with the Rochester Americans, but very rarely making many ripples. A young shutdown defenseman isn’t really expected to make much of a splash either.

Of this timeline, Borgen has said: “My career has been pretty steady-paced. The whole time, I was never like a top guy or anything. For me, it was always about putting in the work to get there. I’m a pretty quiet guy, I’m told, so it was always easy to just kind of put my head down and do the work. I think that’s the biggest thing every player has to do – top guy or not. Work hard for what you want.”

He puts in the work when he can, but when he gets the reward of a call-up, he usually sits in the press box as a healthy scratch.

When he can finally play with the Sabres, he ends up breaking his arm and sitting out even more.

Even for a guy who’s okay with a slower pace and working hard, this was frustrating, but he was able to see it as an opportunity for growth.

“I needed those years in the AHL to just develop. And then the last two years of pro were kind of up and down. It was the COVID year, and then I broke my arm, and last year I was scratched for the majority of the season,” he said.

He wouldn’t stay in the same place for too much longer, though. While neither the Olympics nor Buffalo were the place he was able to rise, the next chapter had some promise.

Seattle Kraken

📸 Will Borgen is the Seattle Kraken’s choice in the 2021 Expansion Draft from Buffalo.

There wasn’t too much speculating around the choice from Buffalo. It wasn’t a super flashy pick. The flashier options were in Buffalo’s exposed forwards, like Jeff Skinner, but that option wouldn’t have come cheap.

So Will signs with Seattle, has a pretty good training camp, and is assigned to the roster.

However, he spends most of the first season scratched.

Of that time, he said, “[That] year stunk, the beginning of the year. But that’s part of it.”

When he does play, he’s assigned to the third pair, with Carson Soucy. They’d been college rivals, and during one of their first meetings, per Soucy, Borgen pulled out his phone and showed him a video. It was a video of Soucy taking a penalty while defending against Borgen.

Will, pretty noticeably, is able to play the time of game he likes to play. He fights during his debut; he plays a shut-down role with Soucy. He says “A quiet night is a good night for us.”

He becomes a regular around the same time as another milestone: his first goal.

Will Borgen scores his first NHL game on New Year’s Day 2022 against the Islanders. It’s lovely.

As the Kraken finish their first season, they lose many games but they also lose key players, including Mark Giordano and Jeremy Lauzon, key parts of the defense.

The door is wide open, more open than it’s been before, for Will Borgen.

Around the same time, Matty Beniers signs his ELC and starts playing for Seattle. He’s clearly ready for the NHL, so he’ll be staying up.

They talk.

2022-2023

Matty and Will move in together in the summer of 2022 📸. Is this important? For some people, no, it doesn’t matter.

But for Will Borgen? Who has an extremely strong boundary between his inner circle and everyone else? This is very important.

By all accounts, they become inseperable. They do social media videos together; they spend their off-days together; their families have become incredibly close; they talk about each other constantly. Yanni Gourde has trusted them to babysit his daughter since they live so close.

So he has his inner circle comfortable and close. But in the beginning of 2022, some questions remained about Will’s game.

Everyone knew he wanted to come up to the Kraken and actually play. That was clear from his comments in the previous season and is always the obvious goal for players. But for Will especially.

In preseason and in the start of the season, though, some fans noticed a bloody pattern📸. Will was fighting. And not even at the normal Will Borgen level (which was already pretty high for fighting). This was a lot.

Some Reddit and Twitter posters wondered if he was making a gesture towards being an enforcer-like player, proving his worth early with his willingness to fight.

We’re still not sure if it was a conscious choice or something he was trying out, but he did cool off as the season went on. And he did well. The Kraken did well!

Of note, Will Borgen gets the Davy Jones on the night they clinch their franchise’s first playoff berth. He knew that he was heading to the NHL playoffs for the first time in his career, and he’d done a great job in getting them there that night.

In a now famous moment for the fanbase, Borgen raises his arms above his head and simply exclaims, “Playoffs!”

He scores his first NHL playoff goal in the first series against the Avs, in a rare time of being paired with Adam Larsson.

Over the summer, he gives a rare interview to a local MN guy, in which he shares his feelings on scoring some notable goals and how it’s been in Seattle. He notes that his mom is very often present at games, and some of his teammates tease him for it.

My beloved mama’s boy.

Anyway.

2023-2024

The Kraken lose Soucy in free agency to the Vancouver Canucks.

Borgen picks a play-fight with him in preseason. It’s excellent but I was sobbing, I’m fine.

He gets paired this season with Jamie Olekskiak 📸, mostly. It’s a good pair and fairly reliable. The Kraken needed a shutdown pair and got it.

One of the other differences this year, and I’ll fully own if people have different opinions because this is truly my opinion: Will gets more comfortable with interviews. He cracks smiles. He doesn’t just give one-word answers, though he definitely still does.

One notable example of a Will Borgen interview is his episode of Uncharted with Alison Lukan. Lukan is a consummate professional at this stuff; she was able to get several long answers out of Adam Larsson, remember, who is infamously guarded in front of media.

But Will, in his episode, tends to revert back into stiff, one-word answers whenever he can. But then Alison gets him by asking about Matty, which prompts real reflection and expanding on his answers. It’s worth a watch, for sure. It’s very Will Borgen.

Another memorable moment is the Winter Classic 📸. On the Road to the Winter Classic, the Kraken were positioned as the true underdogs to a regularly winning Vegas squad. While I can appreciate that Vegas was not at the place they were during their Cup Run, I don’t think it’s a jump to say the narrative of this television show was that the Kraken were not supposed to win.

Borgen certainly doesn’t expect to do well. Matty asks him before the game if he’ll do a special celly if he scores a goal and Will tells him it doesn’t matter since he won’t score a goal.

The thing is, the Kraken do win.

And they win in a shutout performance by a goalie who was just that season called up to the NHL full-time for the first time, including a highlight reel save against Jack Eichel.

If you were to guess which of Buffalo’s draft picks in 2015 would have a goal in a historic first shut-out win in a Winter Classic, you would be forgiven for not thinking of Will Borgen.

But that’s who scores.

Present and Future

📸 Will Borgen’s story isn’t done yet, but we can see a trajectory here. He will likely play an effective shutdown defensive role for the rest of his career.

Where that career will go remains to be seen. The Kraken kept him on a bridge deal during the 2023 off-season when he was an RFA, but this is a contract year for him.

If the Kraken aren’t playoff contenders this season, expect to see Borgen’s name floated around a lot for trade deals.

We will also see how Borgen does with a new defense coach, since he credited Jay Leach for quite a bit of his success, but Leach has departed from the team.

Not to mention that the Kraken added Brandon Montour and Josh Mahura onto the defense roster for this coming season, said goodbye to Brian Dumoulin, and will likely see if Ryker Evans can stay up on the roster. Many wonder if Borgen will be Evans’ partner, with the Kraken hoping to make a second Larsson-Dunn-esque pair. We will see.

What will stay the same is likely what has always remained: Will, as he is.

In his mom's words: "I always told Will I don't need a good hockey player. I need a good man," said Lori, his mom. "Really, he's just Will."

While some may inherit star-spangled eyes and silver spoons and all the rest with a steady rise to the top, that was never going to be the story for the quiet son of a sugarbeet farmer and a teacher in Minnesota. He was never going to be the one exciting those who live and die by the eye test, and he doesn’t really want to be.

Quiet and almost bored-looking much of the time, with a more energetic spirit to those he loves the most. When he smiles, it's been described as almost "devious," like he knows an inside joke others don't. But at the end of the day, Will Borgen really does seem to just want to go to the lake.

We’re lucky to watch his steadiest rise yet. 📸

Some fun facts and required viewing

The Christmas series: For some reason, Will has been conscripted into every year's Christmas video. First, it was with Soucy. Then the last two years, it's been with Matty.

He is especially beloved by kids. Yanni Gourde's daughter has him saved on her ipad to Facetime, with the only other contacts being Matty and her grandparents. Alex Wennberg's son also mentioned his goal for the off-season was to "See Borgy," even though Wenny isn't even on the Kraken anymore.

He is a sports fanatic. He just. Really loves sports of all kinds. During one Vikings game, he was heard in the background of an interview with Hakstol just yelling in the locker room.

Very intense about Mario Kart, and even went to Nintendo headquarters to play with Matty, and former CV Firebird and former college hockey teammate Jimmy Shuldt. You'll notice Piper Shaw is in this one, too, and she deserves a mention since they ran in some of the same circles at St. Cloud and can sometimes be included in the little inner circle of Will Borgen.

He is really afraid of being late or missing his alarm, so he used to ask Carson Soucy to wake him up if he wasn't down to breakfast in time. But he was never late? Soucy thought it was so weird but Will was insistent.

Forslund took to calling him “diligent and belligerent” and “Belligerent Bill” this season and it’s become very important to me.

Here's his silly little wholesome Mic'd Up. What's funny in here is that he really isn't forgetful, per almost all his teammates. So him telling everyone how he locked himself out...oh, Will. What a day for him.

There are many more. Thank you for getting this far if you have! I love you!

#will borgen #seattle kraken #kraken lb #yam stuff #kraken lore #PHEWWWWW #this was a LONG ONE #i hope this makes sense bc jfc does this one mean a lot to me #ny rangers

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therentyoupay · 8 months ago

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Hii kris can you give us a teeny tine spoiler for More thank you know finale 🤣? I just really can't wait for you to post the final chapter 😭😭

a TEENY TINY ONE?? i'm not sure i can 🤣🤣🤣🤣 but here's what i CAN say:

calli had the original vision for all of mtyk from the very beginning of everything (premise, ending, final scene), which was inspired from a single "what if...?" scenario from our list on our brainstorming google doc from like summer 2023; calli had always had One Very Specific Moment mind for the ending-ending of the whole mtyk series... however, in the end, we didn't actually end up using That Specific Moment in the story (kris ended up changing it to SLIGHTLY MORE ANGST because we both like to suffer)

on that note, kris ended up adding like 15k words after That (Revised) Specific Moment oops sorry not sorry

pretty sure we've mentioned this before, but before any of the Heroes' Journey arc was imagined for the project (i.e., the bulk of act iii), calli had literally just written in the google doc: 'kris add jelsa adventure stuff here!' under "act III" header, and then a series of our whatsapp audio messages and brainstorming chats spawned all of parts i-vii oops 😂

kris LITERALLY wrote most of the entire mtyk story (parts i-vi) in the span of literally like two and a half weeks near the end of summer, and then together we relentlessly fine-tuned/proofread/edited/beta'd each part, week by week as we posted each to ao3; the whole time, we left the final part (part vii) unwritten until part vi was being written, to make sure we had the full scope of jack and elsa's journeys before writing any of the final scenes

once part vi was posted on ao3, kris started writing and fine-tuning vii in earnest; calli literally beta'd the whole "finished" final chapter and then kris had a stroke of inspiration like two or three weeks later and wrote 12-15k more words and calli had to beta the whole thing all over again 🤣

part vii is WRITTEN, and is BETA'd, and is FINISHED, and exists on ao3 as a DRAFT, complete with full author notes and end notes! as soon as the final part of the youtube series is finished, the final chapter shall be posted simultaneously and we shall click that little "Post" button 💕 all that's left is the youtube video! but kris and calli are in final year of PhD program/the first year of med school, respectively, and we are LOCKED INto career responsibilities this month, so we are hopeful for an ✨(early??? mid????) December final-chapter release✨

GO SHARE SOME LOVE WITH CALLI, who is literally, i repeat, TRAINING TO BECOME A DOCTOR AND IS VERY BUSY AND AMAZING 🤣

(A CHRISTMAS TREAT PERCHANCE???)

the final chapter is 19,111 words 👀

LOVE YOUUUU THANK YOU NONNY 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

#therentyoupay ask #therentyoupay anon #therentyoupay callimara more than you know #therentyoupay more than you know #callimara #calli calli

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emmi-hayes · 6 months ago

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This is a dumb ramble about 2024, and how the year went, and how I have @hamspamandjamsandwich to thank for a lot of the happiness I found throughout the year. I just wanted a space to journal and look back on in years to come.

As December 2023 was coming to a close, I was a bit overwhelmed and burntout.

I didn’t want to write out goals for 2024 (which I honestly regret looking back) but I did say out loud to myself that I deserved to get back into things I enjoyed. I’d stopped watching my shows, was out of fandom spaces, and did nothing creative with my time. It had been like this for a number of years.

So I told myself I would seek out fandom spaces, and that I would write fanfic.

I thought I’d just scroll tumblr and finally write a fic I’d drafted for The Raven Cycle back in….2015?

Instead I found a wonderful community over on Discord. Puck had created the Kurahi Server, and honestly it’s been such a joy for me this ENTIRE YEAR.

Then, Puck inspired me to try writing. So I did. I was so happy when I’d reached 1,500 words in one of my og fandoms. I was doing the thing! But it didn’t stop there. I’ve gone on to participate in my first Big Bang hosted by @yyh-revival, publish multiple fanfics, and I’ve written over 230k words. 🥹

I have surpassed my wildest dreams. I never anticipated finishing a fic. I’ve finished eight! Closing in on nine! After a ten year writing hiatus, I’m amazed at what I’ve accomplished.

I have met so many wonderful people through the YYH fandom, and I’m beyond grateful. I so thankful I told myself to just try! I’m so thankful for Puck, she really was the person that got me started down this path. I’m so glad to have met so many others, including Batch, and Morgankit, and Cris, and many many more.

There’s not a real point to this post other than just try! Just do the thing you want, even if life’s not perfectly set up for it at the moment.

#I just want to look back at this in a few years and remember that I did it #personal #thank you to everyone that’s been involved in the yyh fandom spaces I frequent this year #you’ve all be so lovely

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smithebrini · 2 months ago

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Hello! Ive decided to make a post talking about myself a little bit since ive realised ive never revealed like anything about me other than the fact im British lmao.

Im smithebrini, but you can call me q if you want. No, that has nothing to do with my actual name but i dont feel comfortable revealing my actual name since it isnt very common 🫠. Im a female, and i’m 19. I was born in england, and lived here ever since. Unfortunately i live in the part of england that doesnt have a hockey team within 2 hours so ive never even watched an english hockey game smh. But hopefully next season i’ll be going to one!

I watch ice hockey, formula 1, indycar, and i used to watch football!

Ice hockey:

This is what i mainly talk about on here, obviously. I started watching hockey in December 2023, so not very long lol. Im still learning some things, but im getting there, and tumblr has helped a lot with that honestly. I got introduced by one of my Canadian friends who showed me a photo of jack hughes and i was kinda in love (🫠🫠). So then i started watching the devils. But then at the end of the 23/24 season i discovered the sharks. And i loved them. And then macklin celebrini (who ive been a fan of since i started watching hockey) got drafted and it was inevitable. I become a sharks fan alongside being a devils fan. Ive only ever watched one sharks game because the time difference between san jose and the uk is like 8 hours so they play at 3am for me. Not a chance. And willmack really set that into stone. Then i renamed and reconstructed this blog and now its about willmack! So thats great!! Anyway, my favourite players currently (changes all the time) are probably; will smith, macklin celebrini, luke hughes, joey woll, jack hughes, quinn hughes, nick moldenhauer, luca fantilli, and many many more!!

Formula 1:

I started watching f1 in march 2023 after i saw a video of lando norris and max fewtrell on my fyp and i found them hilarious. So thats when i started watching f1. BUT. I knew ollie bearman and kimi antonelli since the end of 2022. They came up on my recommended on instagram and i followed them, but i never really thought much of it. I only realised when i started watching f1. I started as a ferrari fan (ew) and then converted to mclaren, and then converted to mercedes and aston martin. I am still a merc and aston girlie for life. My favourite drivers are: antonelli, stroll, bearman, ocon, hadjar, lawson, hulkenberg, russell, and verstappen. So like uh i guess i like the hated drivers.. anyway! I also love f2. A lot. An unhealthy amount. Campos for life.

Im not going to talk about indycar since i dont watch it too frequently and im not talking about football since i f*cking hate that sport with a passion now lol.

I hope you guys enjoy(?) this and hopefully i make some new friends! 🩵🫶🏼

#ice hockey #nhl #sharks lb #san jose sharks #will smith hockey #f1 #macklin celebrini #willmack #tyler toffoli #devils lb #smithebrini #moots?#if theres anything else you want to know just lmk and i can add it #i feel like this isnt enough idk #oh i also overthink everything lmao

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theroseiswithoutawherefor · 2 years ago

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Well, first of all, I have to thank @yridenergyridenergy for selling me the ticket! It was literally the best experience I had throughout the year; I really, really, sincerely appreciate it.

As promised, this is my repo of the gig in Wakayama. To be honest, I’m really a bad recorder as I can only recall the sensation or vibe in general and forget the details every time. Am I the only one?? Anyway, I guess my drawings may not be precise at all and it would be more like a summary of the year.

And this repo will be focusing on Kaoru, Toshiya and Kyo. I’m sorry but I stood on the left in both times.

Kaoru

It’s so strange that I can easily feel my love for him grows with time and what a coincidence! I visited them twice this year and I was right in front of him every time. I always assumed that I would be in front of Toshiya when I checked the hall map in December, but no! It was Kaoru again! It kinda shocked me the time I located my seat and noticed his microphone stand was there, just about 2 meters away.

I think probably it has been known by all of you, the show started with a semi-transparent screen showing some AI-generated footage(sorry, I hate this part). It covered most of the setting but just revealed some shadows. I could only see Kaoru, his side profile, priest-alike gown and silver hair. He looked so focused and indifferent and so good-looking…my hands are still sweating as I recall it now.

That was my first time listening to Rinkaku on-site. I got caught up in emotion when you could easily compare themselves in reality and their sketches in the video. You could see how much they have changed and it also just reminded me a lot of moments, staying at home and staring them on the screen. The real vs the virtual.

Also, at the beginning from the distance, I could only see some sort of marks on his chin that looked pretty much like piercings? It turned out to be his makeup; so brilliant.

Kyo

I didn’t see Kyo that much this time, but I feel he is that kind of vocal that you would fall in love with once you’ve actually seen him in the venue. He looked so nostalgic to me this time, maybe bc of the ghost face makeup or the fact that I have seen him too much this year. I also went to HK for sukekiyo this year.

The gig of sukekiyo was more emotional, floating and spacey (and less aggressive, obviously). Kyo’s dedication was so contagious. Although he looked a little bit nervous at the beginning of the Day1, forgetting the lyrics now and then lol.

It is interesting to see the similarities and differences between Diru and Sukekiyo, like looking at different reflections of the same mirror.

Btw probably he is the most inspiring Diru member to me I guess. Idk why drawing kyo always begins with a pretty satisfying draft then it becomes a big challenge to my expertise and patience ahhhh. But yeah, I can improve a lot after finishing it. So, kyo, thx? lol

Toshiya

I’m not quite a fan of his white outfit that day(the one worn in the pic of their tweet on 16th Dec). Actually I even failed to recognize him the first, waistcoat and palazzo trouser are ok but definitely not the most stunning look of him. It seems that his style is becoming more gender-neutral this year, with hair dyed brown, pearl jewelries and feminine makeup.

But I still quite enjoyed his performance, his body language was so beautiful (ugh! It’s such a shame that I can’t recreate it)and he was the first one going to the left terrace and saying hi to everyone. Toshiya is always the sweetest person in Diru to me.

I prefer his encore look more and he took off the shirt and threw it to the gift right in front of him

（and a random sketch）

That’s it! I could have drawn more but, sorry I’m a perfectionist, these pics really took me some time, but I may keep going if I have spare time.

And I’m not used to talking so much on the Internet, it is embarrassing somehow.

The year of 2023 has treated me rly good, I hope it would be the same for all of you and Diru members, see you next year.

#dir en grey #sukekiyo #kaoru #kyo #toshiya #A repo? maybe?

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duchessonfire · 6 months ago

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Savior Carl!AU re-read Part 2 Chapter 1

Follow-up of my re-read of Part 1 Chapter 4. If you're not interested and don't want to have your dashboard spammed, you can block the tags Duchess reads and Savior Carl AU reread.

Commentary for Part 2, Ch 1 below the cut (spoilers for part 2 ahead):

I posted part 2 just a little over a year ago on December 20, 2023. I still remember what if felt like opening my word document for the Savior AU, which I had been adding to little by little during my 3-year hiatus between parts 1 and 2. I started part 2 while in the middle of a creative rut. My last fic (for the Marvel fandom) had been posted in May of that year and I had written nothing at all since. Stucky and Stony (my main Marvel ships) had lost a bit of their appeal to me creatively. I still liked them, but I had no desire to read or write about them. I knew I wanted to write a fic and be creative, so I thought: 'Hey, I have this amazing TWD fic that is just waiting for me to pick it up again, maybe now is finally the time to write that sequel'. So, I did.

It was not easy getting back into a universe I had barely touched in 3 years, especially when I was so afraid of messing up a story I cared about so much. In the end, I took the leap by telling myself that if 2021 Duchess could post a TWD fic for the first time, then 2023 Duchess had no excuse not to do the same. I told myself to keep my expectations low and to enjoy the writing process without putting any pressure on myself. So, I wrote the first chapter and kept it short and pretty much posted it without overthinking it (something that was especially difficult to do on my own, because I had grown used to having Beta-readers in the Marvel fandom).

I always knew I was going to start part 2 in medias res, immediately after Carl had killed Shane, picking up right where part 1 left off. I also knew I wanted part 2 to have flashback entirely focused on Shane and, more specifically, the good sides of Shane. After all, Carl had just killed his stepfather/abuser. What better way to make things as angsty as possible than to make him remember all the ways Shane had been good to him in the past? I do love a good angst, it has to be said.

One thing I was also excited to share was the AO3 summary for this sequel, which I had written years ago and which had been patienly waiting in my word document. To this day, I still love it:

Shane has been a lot of things throughout Carl’s life. In the old world, he was his godfather and his uncle and his best friend. When the dead started rising, he became his protector, his step-dad, the only thing standing between the Grimes family and the things that wanted to destroy them. Then, when his mother died, Shane became his drill sergeant, his commanding officer, the one person whose orders Carl had to follow without question, to ensure his sister’s survival. Now, with Shane gone, it feels like Carl is untethered, floating adrift in a dark sea with nothing left to guide him. Nothing but Negan.

Honestly, looking at part 2 now, I can't believe how quickly I wrote it. I posted chapter 1 on December 20 and chapter 7 on February 10. Which means I wrote 70k in less than 2 months. It's insane. But at the same time, it also makes sense, because I knew I wanted a part 3 and I knew I wanted part 3 to focus entirely on Carl and Negan's sexual relationship. Being a horny writer, I wanted to be done with part 2 as quickly as possible so I could finally enter my smutty era for good. However, at the same time, I really wanted part 2 to honor all the heavy lifting I had already done in part 1 and keep going with the slow burn. I was eager for the smut to start but I also didn't want to rush a process that had been 3 years in the making. I wanted Carl and Negan's relationship to grow organically from mentor/student to lovers and this meant a slow burn.

Because my draft for this sequel had started years ago, I already had big events highlighted which I was excited to get to (Negan threatening to cut off Carl's arm, the almost-kiss in the cell, or the Claimers for example) so a lot of times my problem with part 2 was about filling in the blanks between those very exciting moments. One of those filler episodes was the panic attack that Carl had in his room after killing Shane. I knew Carl had to grapple with the enormity of what he had just done. This was Shane, the most important person in his life since his mom died. There was no way Carl could just walk away from his murder unscathed. So I knew I wanted Carl to freak out, to be horrified at what he had just done, what Negan had talked him into. What I hadn't really planned, howver, was the hug:

He could die here, he realizes in a moment of clarity that hits him like a lightning bolt. He could suffocate in this room and no one would know, not until it's too late, not until he’s turned and started roaming the halls for warm flesh to eat. Please, don’t let me die here, he begs silently. He doesn’t even know who he’s talking to. He doesn’t believe in God, doesn’t believe that some higher power might be listening, but like an answer to his prayer, a warm hand materializes between his shoulder blades, and an arm wraps around his torso, making him recline against an even warmer chest. When Negan speaks, the smell of peppermint candy on his breath grounds Carl back to the here and now: “Shhh, it’s alright, kid. You’re alright, I told you that. Just relax, you’re golden.” The man keeps whispering, his voice a low rumble that Carl feels against his back. “That one’s on me. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I swear, Carl, you keep impressing me so much I keep forgetting you’re not like the rest of the psychos in this place. That’s my bad. But to be fair, you really do know how to hide that soft lil’ heart of yours behind your cold-hearted, badass, takes-no-prisoner-motherfucker exterior.” Negan chuckles and tightens his arms around Carl’s stomach. Pressed so close to Negan’s chest, Carl can feel every single one of his inhales and exhales. He doesn't know how long they stay like this but he realizes he's instinctively started to match his breathing to Negan’s, until he finally regains control of himself, his heartbeat slowing down and his shoulders relaxing. Distantly, Carl wonders who last held him so close. Maggie, probably, long before Glenn died. “There you go,” Negan says, patting Carl on the chest one last time before letting him go. A cold shudder runs through Carl without the warmth of the man at his back, and he is immediately ashamed of this thought.

I have to confess, I'm still unhappy about this moment. To me, it feels a bit rushed. Every physical contact between Carl and Negan has been so sparse until now, so heavy with meaning, that this panic attack/hug still feels a bit too easy for me. But I didn't know how else to make the story progress and, even now, I still don't know what else I could have put as a filler to move the plot along. At least people have told me they like the hug so I'm comforted by the thought that even if *I* don't like it, other people still do.

“Hey. Who are you?” he barks. The feel of Negan’s fingertips against his jaw is strange. He is used to Shane’s hands. Big, calloused hands clasping the back of his neck or slapping him playfully over the head. Hands that locked around his throat and wrists when he trained him to fight. Hands that wrapped around his own when he taught him how to hold a gun and shoot. He knows Shane’s hands more than he knows his mother’s or father’s. Those were the hands that molded him, shaped him, turned him into who he is now. He doesn’t know how he feels about Negan’s hands, his long and thin fingers that the man likes to hide under leather gloves to better grip the handle of his baseball bat. These hands are foreign to Carl. But then again, it’s not like he’s got anyone else left. “I’m Negan,” Carl answers obediently. “That’s damn right. You’re Negan. And Negan’s got nothing to be ashamed of. So stop hiding your eye like a pussy and fucking own it. You took a bullet to the head and you survived. Anyone who’s got a problem with that, you have my permission to kick their ass. Got it?” Then, when Carl doesn’t answer fast enough, Negan’s hand tightens its grip, forcing Carl to relax his jaw to avoid pain. “I said, did you get it?” “Yes, sir.” Negan scrutinizes him, looking for a lie, or a flicker of doubt. When he finds none, he releases him but doesn’t lean back, staying so close to Carl that his head starts to spin from the smell of him, peppery and sour and animal-like. Negan never made direct physical contact with him before, not without layers of leather between them, not until he pressed Lucille's handle between his fingers. Now, to have the man's bare hands on him, to be so physically close to him without the threatening length of the bat between them, it throws Carl off his axis. Unaware of his confusion, Negan keeps going, “I don’t want to see that bandage again. And tie your hippie hair back. You just made the rest of the guys piss themselves back there, which is the only way you’ll survive this place. Shane’s not here anymore. You’re on your own, so you need to make sure that everyone else is too scared of you to even think about starting shit. You can’t afford to look weak. You get me?”

This was really the moment I was building to, that pivotal scene in chapter 1 that starts the whole of part 2. Shane is gone. Negan has now replaced him as the most important person in Carl's life. And it's now Negan's turn to mold Carl into who he wants. Shane wanted a soldier but a quiet one. He taught Carl to be invisible and to follow orders silently. Negan, however, is, like in everything he does, showy. He doesn't want Carl to be quiet or invisible. He wants him loud and proud and with his scarred face on full display. This, of course, is directly linked to what the scar means for Negan: it's a proof of what Carl did for him, saving his life and sacrificing his own; it's the visual symbol of Carl's loyalty for him, as well as the mark of Carl's resilience. Of course Negan wants Carl to show it proudly.

Conclusion; tldr: This chapter is very much Negan telling Carl that things will be different now that Shane is gone, but that Carl isn't alone in spite of this. He has Negan, and Negan will watch out for him, but Carl also needs to make an effort. Negan is fully aware that Sanctuary is a dangerous place filled with dangerous people, because he built it that way. Gone are the days of Carl hugging the walls, avoiding the market place, and being a loner. Negan wants Carl to embrace his place as a Savior of Sanctuary and by his side.

You can read the commentary for the next chapter here.

#duchess reads #savior carl AU reread #cegan #carl grimes #negan smith #twd #carl x negan #negan x carl #cegan fic

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puckpocketed · 7 months ago

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Sharks 2024 11OA draft pick Sam Dickinson got featured in NHL.com’s CHL roundup. I’m putting it here for archival purposes <3 if you have a minute, please enjoy reading about Dickie bullying the shit outta children in the OHL during his D+1 year!!

Published December 1st, 2024 (link) CHL notebook: Sharks like what they see in London defenseman Dickinson, by Adam Kimelman.

No. 11 pick in 2024 NHL Draft 'just wants to be the best that he can be'

photo credit: Wild Ave. Photography

Sam Dickinson certainly had a solid season in 2023-24, finishing fourth among OHL defensemen in scoring and helping London reach the Memorial Cup championship game.

But he also had to deal with the pressure every player feels in his NHL draft season. But those feelings were alleviated when the San Jose Sharks selected him with the No. 11 pick in the 2024 NHL Draft.

A more relaxed Dickerson has his focus solely on playing, and the result has been a dominant start to the season.

Dickinson leads OHL defensemen in goals (13), assists (27) and points (40) in 23 games. He's tied for third in the league in scoring among all players, and is tied for the OHL lead with eight power-play goals.

"It's obviously a little bit of a different season, maybe a little more relaxed not having to worry about some of those [draft-related] things," Dickinson said. "But for me, it's always just been about focusing on hockey and kind of not really trying to let the outside noise and the outside stuff kind of get into my head.

"So I think that's been a big focus for this year, leaving the outside stuff for a different time, not worrying about it, especially when I'm showing up to the rink for practices, for games, whatever it may be. Just kind of leaving the outside noise, focusing on myself and on the team, and just kind of worrying about hockey and the London Knights and how I can help the team win as many games as possible."

Dickinson has done most of that with his offensive ability. He had 30 points (eight goals, 22 assists) during a 13-game point streak that ended Nov. 24. He has at least a point in 20 games, including a six-point game (one goal, five assists) in a 6-5 win at Saginaw on Nov. 23; it was the first six-point game by a defensemen since Pavel Mintyukov for Saginaw on March 11, 2022.

It also was one of Dickinson's 10 multipoint games, and he has two hat tricks.

But more than the offense, the Sharks have been impressed by other details in Dickinson's game.

"Obviously you want players to put up numbers and be successful," San Jose director of player development Todd Marchant said, "but it's some of the little things that we've been working on with Sam, with going back for pucks, on retrievals, shoulder checking and those sorts of things that you really need to have if you want to play in the National Hockey League."

Marchant and the Sharks development staff were able to but a plan in place for Dickinson earlier than other prospects because they were able to watch him last season.

"In a player development role you don't get a chance to see the players a lot usually in their draft year, but we did because we had another player in London in [forward] Kasper Halttunen," Marchant said. "So when he was available to us at No. 11, we were ecstatic. We were very, very happy."

Dickinson is just as happy to be part of what San Jose is building with a young core that includes forwards Macklin Celebrini, the No. 1 pick of the 2024 draft, and Will Smith, the No. 4 pick of the 2023 NHL Draft. He got a preview during training camp, when he got into two preseason games, and is hungry to do what it takes to get even more as soon as next season.

"Getting in those preseason games and all that, it was an unbelievable experience, and kind of gave you a bit of a realization of really how close I could be to potentially playing in San Jose and in the NHL real soon," Dickinson said. "I think the big thing for me when I was getting in those games was taking everything in, seeing the speed, the strength, the physicality, how fast the game is played at that level. It was huge for me to kind of play at that speed and play at that level. A big thing for me was when I came back [to London] was continuing to play at the speed and at the level that was played in those preseason games."

The Sharks have seen that and more from Dickinson and are just as excited about his future.

"The National Hockey League has the best players in the world, and that's something that every young player strives to get to," Marchant said. "Sam is no different. You look at some of the things that he's able to do, both from an offensive standpoint and a defensive standpoint ... he's one of those guys that just wants to be the best that he can be every single night. And we're seeing that firsthand."

#sam dickinson #san jose sharks #london knights #obsessed with the way he says he realised how CLOSE he was to playing in the NHL…. usually they say how far right??#like ‘oh it just makes me realise how far i’ve got to go. i’ll put my head down and work hard’ etc.#your usual canned media response or whatever #and he’s like. well i would like to keep playing with the same speed when i go back. CRAZY #anyway he’s very charming in media if no one has taken a look at the ldn knights socials #he’s like. their entire feed i swear 😭#p!res:archiving #puck!research #p!res:defenders #edit: is it ethical that i left in the typos??

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toasttt11 · 1 year ago

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December 9, 2023

Cameron looked up just as she saw a player on the other team coming at her and she was smashed into the board but that wasn’t what hurt, it was the large other player that smashed her tiny hand with his knee against the boards.

Cameron immediately felt something crack and knew something was wrong as she leaned against the board holding her dominant hand to her chest, “Ow.” Cameron quietly whimpered biting her lip from letting any tears fall not wanting that to be caught on camera.

Fraser froze as he watched everything in front of him before quickly snapping out and hurrying over to her and pushing the other player away from Cameron and towards their team so they could make sure he stayed away from Cameron.

Fraser wrapped his arm around her shoulder hoping it might help her a little as he watched the trainer rush across the ice and towards them, “Your okay.” Fraser whispered softly rubbing her shoulder softly.

Fraser grabbed onto her hand gently as the trainer started looking at her injured hand and he frowned seeing the uneasy look on the trainers face and knew it wasn’t good.

It did not help the hand she injured is her dominant hand, an injury is something you never want but for Cameron this is her draft year so an injury is a lot worse right now.

Cameron gave Fraser a reassuring nod as she skated over to the bench, there was only a few minutes left of the period.

Cameron was guided to the trainer room and immediately they looked at her hand and could see the swelling and bruising starting and they knew she would must likely need to get to the hospital, they took a an x-ray and saw multiple breaks and fractures in her hand.

The trainers helped Cameron get dressed into comfortable clothes just as Fraser was dressed after the game and knocking on the door.

“How bad?” Fraser questioned in concern the second he walked into the room and straight over to Cameron.

“I have to go to the hospital, they found a few breaks and fractures.” Cameron quietly told him, she knew she needed to call her dad.

“Let’s go then.” Fraser nodded determinedly and stepped out of the way so she could get off the exam table.

“You don’t have to-“ Cameron tried to protest even though she knew it would be easier if Fraser came with her.

“I want to.” Fraser sternly reassured her and she nodded reluctantly and stood up as she gingerly held her hand to her body trying to not groan at how much pain she was feeling.

Fraser wrapped an arm around Cameron’s shoulder as they walked out, he guided her making sure no one accidentally brushed against her, he led them to his car and they luckily carpooled for the game that day.

He opened the passenger seat and put a tentative hand on waist as he helped her into the car and he grabbed the seat belt pulling it across her and clicking it shut, he shut the door and walked around the car hopping into the drivers seat starting the drive to the closet hospital.

Fraser drove them and stayed silent as Cameron called her dad to let him know about her injury as she saw all the worried texts from him as Sidney was watching his daughter’s game.

Sidney promised he would be there in a few hours as he is going to head right now to the airport and luckily he didn’t have any games for three days but it’s not like he wouldn’t miss a game for Cameron especially with her hurt.

Fraser could tell Cameron was in a lot of pain and was trying to stay strong but he had no doubt it was a lot of pain.

They finally pulled up to the hospital and he immediately parked and hopped out of the car rushing to open the passenger door and helping Cameron out of the car.

Cameron was brought into a room and the doctors did another round of x-rays and it was determined she needed surgery immediately especially with how delicate hands are and how many of the bones in her hand was broken.

Cameron was given a room and she changed into a gown getting in the bed, she was biting her lip nervously, she has never had surgery before and by the time her dad gets here she will be done with the surgery.

“Hey.” Fraser spoke softly gently grabbing her non injured hand and squeezing it softly, he could tell she was nervous, “I’ll be here the whole time okay.” Fraser gently reassured the girl who he fell in love with at first sight.

“Ok.” Cameron nodded and took a deep breath trying to relax and focus on the fact Fraser is holding her hand rather than her upcoming surgery.

Fraser gently caressed her knuckles with his thumb watching as she slowly relax little by little.

The nurse came in to grab Cameron to take her to her surgery and Fraser could not follow her.

“You are going to do great Cam and before you know it you’ll be awake and it will over with and your Dad will be here.” Fraser softly whispered to her and Cameron slowly nodded sending him a small smile, Fraser leaned down and pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead and squeezed her hand once more before stepping back and watching her get rolled away.

Fraser headed to the surgical waiting area and he sat down looking at his feet not moving for a very long time until he heard someone rushing and Cameron’s name being said.

Fraser looked up and saw a frazzled Sidney Crosby at the counter, he took a deep breath as stood up walking over, “Mr. Crosby.” Fraser called out softly.

Sidney turned around at sound of his voice and hoped for once it was not a fan he was to stressed with Cameron to deal with anyone.

Sidney narrowed his eyes and immediately knew who called his voice, his daughter’s crush.

“Mr. Minten.” Sidney nodded his head.

“Just Fraser please. Did they tell you about Cam.” Fraser questioned gently noticing how Sidney has some of the same quirks as Cameron when she is anxious.

Sidney nodded his head as the nurse had just informed him everything, he knew his daughter would not be playing for awhile especially with the fact she hurt her shooting hand, selfish Sidney didn’t hate the idea of her not playing because she would be home for a bit.

“Good.” Fraser nodded and before he could say anything else a doctor walked of doors and into the waiting room.

“Family of Cameron.” The doctor called out and Sidney started walking and noticed Fraser staying put and gestures for Fraser to come too, Sidney may not personally know the boy but his daughter likes and trusts him and that is important to Sidney, Also Fraser stayed the whole time with Cameron something Sidney couldn’t be there for.

“Mr. Crosby.” The doctor nodded, “Good news is the surgey went very well, the not so great news is we had to a few more screws that we originally planned so we will have to monitor that as she heals to see if she will be able to keep all of them in permanently or some may need to be removed.”

 Sidney let out a sigh, the news could’ve of been a lot worse.

“Thank you.” Sidney thanked the Doctor shaking his hand, “What would the recovery time be?” Sidney questioned.

“With how much she broke in her hand the recovery time will be a bit longer than a normal hand break, roughly around two months.”

Sidney nodded but felt pain that his daughter would be gone for so long during her season.

“And is she free to travel on plane?” Sidney questioned again, he planned to take her home as soon as possible.

“She will be, and we can coordinate rehabs and appointments for where she is going.” The doctor told him.

“Thank you.” Sidney smiled grateful and shook the doctor’s hand once more before a nurse told Sidney and Fraser they could go to her room as she was brought back and should be waking up soon.

Sidney grabbed his bag and followed Fraser as they walked through the hallway towards Cameron’s room.

“Thank you Fraser.” Sidney spoke up after quite a bit of silence, “For being there for my daughter today and all of the other days since she has met you.”

“Oh of course Mr. Crosby.” Fraser started talking but was politely cut off by Sidney.

“Just Sidney.” Sidney nodded, he knew how important Fraser is to Cameron and knew he needed to be kind with him.

“Of course Sidney.” Fraser smiled softly as they reached her door and they walked in seeing her still sleeping.

Sidney let out a long sight of relief seeing his daughter and dropped his bag walking over to her and gently kissed her forhead and brushed her hair out of her face.

Fraser walked around to the other side of her bed and gently grabbed onto her hand.

Fraser and Sidney stayed in silence for a good hour before Cameron’s eyes started to fluttered open.

“Hey CamBug.” Sidney softly whispered smiling down at her.

“Dad.” Cameron breathed out in relief feeling her shoulders loosen having her dad with her now.

“How are you? Are you in pain? Should i get the nurse?” Sidney started frantically asking looking exactly like a very protective father.

Fraser smiled softly as he watched the two, he knew Cameron has a very close bond with her father especially as it has just always been them but seeing them it was very sweet to watch.

“Dad. I’m okay. We can call the nurse in a bit.” Cameron softly cut off her father from asking more questions.

Sidney nodded letting out a breath.

Cameron seemed to just realize her hand was being held and turned seeing Fraser standing there, “Fras.” Cameron softly smiled feeling very touched that he was still here.

“Hi Cam.” Fraser softly replied back squeezing her hand.

“You stayed?” Cameron questioned in disbelief but the smile on her face was very olease something neither Sidney or Fraser missed.

“You were here.” Fraser simply answered back making Cameron’s face soften in complete fondness for the boy.

Sidney nodded slowly, any reservations he may of had about Fraser were gone then. He saw immediately how Fraser looked at his daughter like she was the stars in his skyline and Sidney knew Fraser was perfect for his daughter.

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