#mcgill college

[tincanfish]

Who you gonna call? >:) Poster for Better Call Saul! I had to do it for class, so I decided to have some fun with it

[gretagator]

I think they're the same picture actually

[thekimspoblog]

Changing the subject, if Jimmy and Kim were given a standardized IQ test, how do you think they would score? The reason I mentioned Iris to my professor is because we keep talking about the interaction of biological, psychological, and sociological factors which contribute to criminality. And my professor really likes to emphasize the biological aspect; he talks a lot about twin studies and adoption studies; how children commit the same crimes as their biological parents, regardless of environment, at a rate which cannot be easily explained away by coincidence or other factors. And I mean you want to talk about hereditary factors contributing to criminality, Iris would be the perfect case study if they weren't... you know... fictional.

Articles I've read suggest con artists tend to have overactivity in the frontal and temporal lobe, possibly because previous behavior has trained those hemispheres to be more active, but it's a chicken and the egg thing where if genetic factors cause those hemispheres to be more active, it could explain why someone compulsively lies and makes up elaborate stories in the first place. Intelligence among criminals tends to follow the bell curve of intelligence among the general population, but I do have an article open about the behavior of criminals with IQs of 130 or higher. Not that the methodology of such tests has ever been flawless. But assuming the test taker isn't hungry or tired and the questions try to be as background-neutral as possible measures of logic, abstract reasoning and creativity...

I mean our class talks about case studies of "criminal careers", which is a measure of the age range from when a person begins committing crimes to when they generally stopped. Sometimes delinquency and deviant behavior which preceded the felonies is included in that range. Obviously the definition of "crime" is highly subjective and political. But for the sake of this discussion I'd define it as "willing or knowing harm to other people, which is penalized in at least some countries". On average, most criminals (the blue-collar ones, at least) start at adolescence then usually age out into slightly more responsible behavior by their late 20's. If the textbook discusses the age ranges of white collar criminals, I haven't gotten to that chapter yet.

But Kim is such an outlier case if I was to try to psychologically profile her for class. Has an alcoholic mother, and I wouldn't be surprised if the mother regularly got in trouble with the law, even if it never was anything serious. A handful of incidents of delinquent behavior when Kim was 14 (I hc that she's shoplifted more than once and probably had a phase of trying to fit in with the cool kids: trespassing, underage smoking and drinking), and her mother encouraged this behavior.

Then she goes no-contact with her mom and moves several states away. Is a law-abiding citizen and ultimately becomes an accomplished defense attorney. Then in her mid-30's, she starts associating more and more with a boyfriend who also has a criminal history and together they become co-conspirators in minor acts of fraud. Sometimes for financial gain, sometimes just to circumvent the bureaucracy and win her cases, but clearly the rush of exerting power over her situation is somewhat addictive. Ultimately culminating in an elaborate scheme to frame a colleague/business rival for drug use. Then, due to a tangentially related matter of the husband being threatened by the Juarez cartel, the colleague dies.

The death itself wasn't legally her fault even if it philosophically was, but she did participate in the obstruction of justice afterwards, I'd argue somewhat under duress. Then out of some combination of fear and remorse, she moves again and spends another six years as a law-abiding citizen. And the canon timeline cuts off around 2010, but the last we see of her is, as I've stated, steeped in what we know are her triggers for recidivism. And unless we are given any follow-up on what becomes of her, the fans can just argue in perpetuity whether the regret or any mainstream therapeutic interventions would be enough to resist falling into old patterns.

[froggingthyme]

hello all!! I’d like to introduce you to my ERB inspired series - Uber Rap Battles of Randomness! (yeah, cuz who doesn’t have an ERB related series at this point?) anways, this is just a lighthearted rap battle series that I write in my free time, if you’d like to know more about any of the battles, feel free to ask!

WAVE 2

Oversimplified vs Sam O’ Nella

Dana & Julia vs Beavis & Butthead

Candace Flynn vs Chuck McGill (ft. Jimmy Falcone)

Anne Boonchuy vs Kiff Chatterley

Impractical Jokers vs Fantastic Four

Jesus Christ vs Anti Pops

Dan Mandel vs Douglas MacArthur

Walter White vs Macbeth

Mordecai & Rigby vs Katie & Sadie

Whitney Foxtrot vs Rick Sanchez (ft. Doc Brown & Marty McFly, Ben Duncan & The Doctors)

[dailymontreal]

[alexjcrowley]

I thought I had grown out of the "stops being normal when fandom thing is mentioned" but today my housemate was telling me about her Canadian friend who studies in Montreal and I almost spit the water I was drinking when she said this girl went to McGill.

All my eyes could see was Wilson in that fucking sweater I swear to God. Both my mum and my housemate asked me if I was okay. 0/10 would not recommend.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"A l'Ecole française d'été de McGill," La Presse. August 11, 1943. Page 3. --- Cet instantané a été pris pendant la collation des grades de l'Ecole française d'été de l'Université McGill, ce matin, au Royal Victoria College, rue Sherbrooke ouest. On voit M. LOUIS ALLARD, professeur émérite à l'Université Harvard, au moment où il remettait la Médaille d'argent du lieutenant-gouverneur à Mme Dora Helen Smyth, de Belleville, Ont., qui a conservé la plus haute note dans la section supérieure du cours de français. Dans le groupe des professeurs présents, on remarque, de gauche à droite: Mile YVONNE JUGE, Mile EDITH GARTLAND, M. LOUIS ALLARD, président d'honneur de la collation des grades; M. J. HOUPERT, M. J. DARBELNET, directeur de l'Ecole française d'été et du département français de l'Université McGill; Mme TOUREN-FURNESS et Me MADELEINE BODIER. (Cliché la "Presse".)

[cjlothecastle]

POUNDING the streets

yesterday concordia and mcgill students stiked and marched througj downtown montreal to fight against the racist fucking tution hikes the quebec governemnt threw at us and demanded free education for all. fuck the ethno-national state. fuck legault. and fuck the whole CAQ y''all are all pigs.

quick facts: it basically doubles tution for out of province and international students, but only for english speaking universities (concordia, mcgill, bishops). this is because montreal is becoming ""too anglicized"". does not apply to french or belgium students (white francophones). does apply to other international students coming from other non-european (white) francophone countries. yes did i mention its racist? it's very racist. this extra money goes to quebec gov to go to french universities. this tuition hike kicks concordia and mcgill in the balls because no one wants to pay that much and these unis will lose So Much Money (concordia already broke). so uh yea. its kinda rly fucked.

broadcasted live on december 1st

full episode here ;;; full playlist here

sadder badder cooler (y2k remix) - tove lo, y2k us ephemeral (george clanton remix) - vitesse x, george clanton WORKING - cartel madres, jide xxx nuggets (ft bonzai) - mura masa, bonzai big pharma - yes*, hubert lenoir, prinzly d’hardest - shadow BOY FEELINGS - CHEEYA black rainbow / uncanny valley - myst milano halt (tension) - jump source, patrick holland, priori promiscuous - nelly furtado, timbland backstabbed - kesha xxx ACAB - ĀMRTÜM BIPP - SOPHIE ha ha ha armageddon - the julie ruin boys wanna be her (tommie sunshine remix) - peaches, tommie sunshine

[libraryben]

Literature, literacy, and citizenship took on new and contested meanings in early twentieth-century Canada, particularly in frontier work camps. In this critical history of the reading camp movement, Jody Mason undertakes the first sustained analysis of the organization that became Frontier College in 1919.

Employing an interdisciplinary approach, Home Feelings investigates how the reading camp movement used fiction, poetry, songs, newspapers, magazines, school readers, and English-as-a-second-language and citizenship manuals to encourage ideas of selfhood that were individual and intimate rather than collective. Mason shows that British-Canadian settlers' desire to define themselves in relation to an expanding non-British immigrant population, as well as a need for immigrant labour, put new pressure on the concept of citizenship in the first decades of the twentieth century. Through the Frontier College, one of the nation's earliest citizenship education programs emerged, drawing on literature's potential to nourish "home feelings" as a means of engaging socialist and communist print cultures and the non-British immigrant communities with which these were associated.

Shifting the focus away from urban centres and postwar state narratives of citizenship, Home Feelings tracks the importance of reading projects and conceptions of literacy to the emergence of liberal citizenship in Canada prior to the Second World War.

[the1920sinpictures]

1923 The Royal Victoria College Hockey Team at McGill University, Montreal. From My Vintage Dreams, FB.

[kaytheday]

This idea has been bouncing around my head for the last few days so I thought I'd write it out and see if it's worth anything. I might write it when I have more time but I'd like to hear everyone's thoughts on it. It would be a long fic and it would start two-three yearsish after canon. Anyway... let me know what you think!

It starts when Sodapop gets his draft letter. From there, we get to see all the goodbyes and the heartache. Ponyboy is in college and he starts becoming part of protest groups. During this time in the Vietnam war, college campus protest groups were popping up all over the place. He joins one after meeting this girl in his political science class. Partly because she’s kind of cute and partly because he’s thinking of Soda getting shot at. Meanwhile he's sending letters back-and-forth with his brother anyway. 

As we know in American history, these protests quickly turn violent. For example, the Kent state shootings where four kids were murdered and nine were injured. These kinds of things are happening all over the country. Protests are becoming very violent as fights break out and kids get arrested. Ponyboy keeps going with it, thinking of his brother over in Vietnam. 

The first time he gets arrested is because of a protest. It got rather violent and he was trying to stop a cop from bludgeoning a friend of his to death. They take him down to the station and tell him to cool off in a holding cell. He figures he’ll call Darry in the morning or something because he doesn’t want to bother him. Darry finds out where he is through sheer worry because he never came home. Darry yells at him and stuff and Pony apologizes and promises not to do it again. 

Spoiler alert, he keeps protesting and Darry is always the one picking him up so there's some contention there between those two. Darry is obviously very scared for him and also for the person he is becoming and Pony wants to fight because Soda is still in Vietnam and he feels like it’s the only thing he can do. 

Then Soda dies, he gets shot and killed and that about kills Darry and Ponyboy. Ponyboy goes a little nuts goes a little nuts and Darry doesn’t see him for two weeks. In this time, Ponyboy tries to put together some sort of bombing/very violent protest. It fails and he ends up getting beat half to death and thrown in a jail cell. Darry picks him up from jail and breaks down crying begging Pony to stop throwing his life away. 

Ponyboy nods and smiles and sleeps off whatever acid tablet he popped the night before and gets it in his head that Darry would be better off without him. Realizing he hasn’t been to a single one of his college classes in nearly three or four weeks, he decides to drop out of college and move to New York. He tells Darry his plan and of course there is a full blown argument. 

“You’re just trying to give me what you never had-” and “My future isn’t yours-” Anyway, it ends with Ponyboy storming out and hopping a bus straight to NYC. 

He goes to Woodstock. He takes some acid off some guy and has a really bad trip during Jefferson Airplane's set. Maybe he sees Soda being shot over and over or sits with Johnny while he’s covered in burns. Possibly even seeing those two begging him to save them as they’re covered in blood and burns. Either way, it’s really bad. Some guy drags him to the medical tent where he is taken care of this really nice woman with a child that is three years old. He gets really freaked out by how much the kid looks like Soda. The kid's name? Rainbow Pepsi McGill. He quickly realizes that the woman taking care of him is Sandy. She did have Soda’s kid all those years ago. She never cheated, she just needed to go where Soda couldn’t follow. Maybe they go to lunch and talk about everything and Ponyboy deems it too painful to continue talking to her. Because of all the acid in his system, he keeps getting freaked out because of how much the kid looks like Soda. He ends up running out of the lunch and leaving Sandy alone.

After this, he heads back to NYC, crashing at some drifter friend's house to sleep off whatever happened to him. The next day the friend kicks him out because he wants to spend time with his girlfriend or something like that and Pony is left to wander the city. 

He’s wandering around (not using his head) when he wanders into a black neighborhood. He starts getting weird looks and even a couple of stray comments when he notices what he walked into. Right as he’s about to get beat up a woman runs in and intervenes. Who is it? 

Ace freaking Evans. Because apparently I can't write a story without incorporating her anymore because I love her so much. I literally wrote 60,000 words as a testament to how much I love her. 

Turns out she has been living in NYC since she graduated high school with a couple of girls she met at a church on the corner border of Oklahoma and Missouri. She just got back from none other than the Harlem cultural festival. She looks good in her mini skirts with a big afro and her girl friends surrounding her. She pulls Ponyboy into a tight hug, squeezing the living daylights out of him before promptly smacking the shit out of him.

“You know Darry is worried sick about you!” She yelled at him before he looks up at her meekly and doesn’t say anything. Ace then notices how bad he seems to look and she tells her girlfriends to take a hike before pulling him into some restaurant to cool off. They spend time reconnecting and catching up. They both didn’t know that the other made it out of Tulsa. Ponyboy didn’t think that Ace would take Soda’s death as hard as him but she did. I mean… she basically cuts off contact with the entire gang except for Steve at the point. 

Ponyboy hasn’t talked to Darry in about six months at this point, disappearing off the face of the earth. Darry had been tracking down every hood on the East Side to try and find him because we forget, Darry lost Soda too and he’s struggling. Right now Ponyboy is his only blood family left. Ace knows this, Darry calls her weekly to make sure he hasn’t seen him and also to make sure Ace is doing okay. He misses her a whole hell of a lot, even if she won’t tell him where she is. 

But anyway, Ponyboy stays at Ace’s for the night and she manages to put his head back on straight and get him to call Darry. He finally does, Ponyboy apologizes for arguing and disappearing and immediately Darry wants to see him. From here, it all gets wrapped up really nicely. Maybe Ponyboy goes back to Oklahoma or maybe Darry comes up to NYC. Either way they see each other and everyone can start to heal. 

[tomorrowusa]

These are the tech bros dismantling democracy in America at the behest of unelected Elon Musk. Basically a bunch of spoiled rich brats.

Elon Musk’s team of young DOGE disruptors have been unmasked, much to the ire of the billionaire and other MAGA figures. One is a 19-year-old college freshman and heir to a popcorn fortune. Another was hosting Model UN sessions in 2019 and a third was given money by his parents to invest in stocks while at his high school in Silicon Valley. [ ... ] Musk’s team of youngsters, as first reported by WIRED on Sunday, is Akash Bobba, 21, a student at the University of California, Berkeley; Edward Coristine, 19, a student at Northeastern University in Boston; and Ethan Shaotran, 22, who said in September he was a senior at Harvard. The ones who actually have degrees, or at least have left college, are: Luke Farritor, 23, who attended the University of Nebraska without graduating; Gautier Cole Killian, a 24-year-old who attended McGill University; and Gavin Kliger, a 25-year-old who attended Berkeley; The group’s relative lack of experience—especially no previous positions in government work—has Democrats crying foul they were granted access to sensitive records while remaining largely in the shadows, away from public scrutiny. All six desperately tried to cover their digital tracks recently, almost all of them deleting LinkedIn profiles, X accounts and even Facebook.

The most peculiar one, Gavin Kliger, is a Matt Gaetz groupie.

But what Kliger really wants the world to know about is his belief in male MAGA warriors Matt Gaetz and Pete Hegseth’s brilliance, using his Substack to post about them both. Gaetz, who was investigated over allegations of teenage sex trafficking, was, according to Kliger, a victim of “the deep state.” Hegseth, a serially unfaithful former Fox News star accused of sexual assault, drunkenness, and receiving lap dances while in uniform, was, he wrote “the warrior Washington doesn’t want but desperately need.” Kliger, whose Cornell graduate father is an attorney for Experian, appears happy to monetize his DOGE experience: he has made the entry about DOGE on his Substack for $12-a-month subscribers only.

Kliger even looks like an aspiring Matt Gaetz. Maybe he'll use the fees from his Substack to finance Gaetz-style cosmetic surgery.

^^^ The "Gaetz gaze"

Here they are, The Elon Youth. Rich boys engineering the destruction of your future.

[cheeeeseburger]

Sweet like tiramisu, bitter like coffee Part 1

Part 2 Part 3

Lance Stroll x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: I don't know how I feel about this one, but I wrote it in honour of the Canadian GP! English is not my first language, apologies for the mistakes!

“Lance, I think you should call security. Look who’s here!” Your older brother pointed at you, acting like you were some kind of crazy fan who sneaked in.

You glanced at your brother “They really let you in? Even with your ugly face? It’s going to be bad for their PR, I tell you.” He only sticked his tongue out to you in response.

“Hey, kid,” Lance simply said.

You grinned at Lance, and when he smiled back, it was like you were fourteen again, trying to impress him when skiing at the Mont Tremblant, sneaking glances at him. Gosh, he still had that boyish look that used to make you stutter in front of him.

“Salut, Lance. It’s been a while” you said. He pulled you closed to give you a kiss on each cheek. He smelled like that one hoodie of his that he gave you years ago when you were cold at La Ronde. Embarrassingly, you still wear it sometimes, probably more than you should.

“I know, you’ve changed, kid. You used to be so small. I guess you grew up, huh?”

To prove his point, you gave him a little spin, with your sundress flowing around your thighs. Lance looked at you up and down, noticing that you had grew in all the right places. He flushed a little.

“I guess I did,” you answered, looking right into his eyes. For once, it was him who seemed more affected by your interaction. Your cheeks were only coloured a light pink, a clear amelioration from the tomato look you used to rock whenever you talked to Lance.

Your brother put a stop to the moment you two shared. “Alright, quit showing off. She is still the same as before, only without the braces. Don’t be fooled, Lance, she is still an airhead.” You smacked him on the arm.  “An airhead with a uni degree, dumbass. You’re a college dropout.”

That was a low blow, but still, your brother deserved it. You got a middle finger in response. Lance chuckled, seeing that you hadn’t changed completely.

“You’re still as quick as you were before, kid,” he said, laughing. “What’s your degree in? Engineering, right?”

“Yeah, I just graduated in mechanical engineering. But I’m starting my master in the fall, at McGill.”

He looked impressed at your degree and at the famous Montreal school you attended. “Damn kid, you’re not the type to take it easy, huh? Unlike your lazy ass brother over there.” He lightly punched him on his arm. Your brother pretended to be offended. “Come on guys, do I really deserve all this verbal abuse?”

He saw you laugh, and decided he could not let that slide. “You, shut up, or I’ll tell Lance you had his picture in your locker in high school.”

You gasped. Oh no he didn’t.

Lance laughed, blushing a little. “That’s cute. What about college? Do you have a picture of me at McGill?” He looked way too smug.

This was bad. Very bad. Still, was he just flirting with you?

At the same time, his father entered the paddock. You jumped at the opportunity to change the subject.

“Lawrence, mon Stroll préféré!” You smiled at him. The older man opened his arm to give you a hug.

“Mon sucre d’orge, how are you?” He always had the best hug, making you feel safe and loved.

Lawrence Stroll was like an uncle to you, a father even. Your family and the Stroll family were very close, and you grew up side by side with the Stroll children, even though you were a few years younger than them. You went skiing together during the winter break. You went on vacations together. Your summers were filled with meals at each other house, and you ended up begging to sleepover every single time. To this day, the smell of chlorine always takes you back to endless afternoons spent playing in the pool at the Stroll house.

“I’m doing great, I’m happy to be here!” you replied. You had seen the man only a few weeks earlier, at your graduation dinner, so there wasn’t much catching up to do.

Lawrence exclaimed: “Mon sucre d’orge, you should be at every races! After you finish your master, you should work for us!”

You beamed at the man: “I would like that very much.” It’s true, you would love it. And you had the degree for it.

“So would I. And I wouldn’t be the only one,” he added in a whisper, gesturing towards Lance.

You turned a deep shade of red. Typical you. Lawrence always knew you had a thing for his son. Luckily, Lance did not look like he had heard what his father just said. If he did, you’d have to leave Montreal to live in a country where there are no races.

You brother shook hands with Lawrence, talking for a while. You listened with one ear, too busy sneaking glances at Lance. He was doing the same thing, admiring the silhouette that your dress gave you, the way your hair was framing your face, your slightly parted lips. He surprised himself and started daydreaming about how it would feel to push you against the wall, lifting one of your legs while he stunned you with kisses all over your face.

Lance was pulled out of his fantasy when your brother said it was time to go.

“Bonne chance, Lance,” you wished him good luck shyly, then followed your brother out of the paddock. Oh, your massive crush was so back.

He watched you leave, mesmerized by you, your presence, the way you carry yourself. You were no longer an awkward teen, but a beautiful young woman.

“Poor girl. You know she had a crush on you for years, right? Good on her for moving on.” Lawrence said to his son, sighing. “She really has a heart of gold, and she’s way too bright for her own good. The man who will have her heart will be a lucky man. A very lucky man indeed.”

Later during the day, you received a message from Lance. This was unusual. The last time he had texted you was to wish you a happy birthday three months ago.

Hey kid, it’s me.

You replied quickly, not wanting to bother with pretending to be too busy to answer. When it came to Lance, you were too weak to play hard to get. Also, this afternoon was the first time he had shown signs that he did not see you as your brother's sister, but as a pretty girl. You would be a fool not to jump at the opportunity, if the opportunity came.

Hi, what’s up?

Have you eaten yet?

Yeah, why?

Let me bring you some desert.

What???

Text me your address. Nvm I got it.

Lance, what’s going on?

He didn’t answer after that. Realizing that he was probably on his way, you started tidying up your appartement. It was pretty neat already though, so you mostly did it to distract you. From the corner of your eye, you saw his hoodie and quickly threw it in your wardrobe. If he did come to your place, this was the kind of things that he should not see, like your F1 calendar from last year that was still hung up to the month of January, because he was the picture of the month. But why the hell would Lance show up at your door?

A knock on the door made you jump. You opened it to find Lance on your doorstep, carrying a bag.

“Hey, I brought you a sweet treat”, he announced, letting himself in. You were too shocked to speak. Chat, is this real? He noticed your appearance. You were wearing a silk nightgown. “Are you ready for bed already?” he asked, confused.

Finally, he seemed real enough for you to gain back the ability to speak.

“Uhhh, yeah?”

“What are you, 90? It’s not even 9 yet!”

“So what? I like to be comfortable,” you responded, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

He stared at you and your short nightgown, letting his gaze linger on the sight that was the strap sliding of your left shoulder. He wanted to leave a kiss on that exact spot.

“No, no, you’re good, I just expected you to be ready to go out or something,” he said laughing, while walking in your apartment. “You got a nice place.”

“Thanks,” you replied. “Why did you expect me to go out?” You followed him around in your apartment. It was weird to see him there, but he looked so good in his Boss hoodie that you let it slide for now.

“Gee, uh, I don’t know, maybe because it’s a Thursday night and you’re young and in Montreal?” he answered like you had asked the dumbest question. He finally settled in your kitchen, leaving the box he was carrying on the counter. “Where are your plates?”

“Over here,” you opened the cabinet door at the same time he made a move to grab the doorknob, leaving him towering over you. The last time the two of you had been so close was before puberty. Internally, you were screaming. He grabbed two plates.

“What did you bring? And what are you doing here?” you asked, trying to hide the affect that his proximity had on you. “And I do go out, sometimes.”

“Having dinner with my dad and your parents doesn’t count. I bought you your favourite tiramisu, from that Italian restaurant you always dragged us to when we were kids.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Don’t worry, I do go out to shake my ass.” He raised an eyebrow at that, his eyes widening a little. You hoped he was imagining you in a tight dress, dancing in the club. You got out two spoons and a knife out of your cutlery drawer. “Thanks for the sweet treat, but why though?”

Lance opened the box to reveal a gorgeous tiramisu. He was right, this dessert really was your favourite, specifically the recipe they used at this restaurant. You both sat on the stools hidden underneath your countertop. “Can’t a guy do something nice?” he said sarcastically.

You looked at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Lance, come on, be for real. We haven’t seen each other in years, then you show up unannounced at my place.” You cut the dessert and placed it on your respective plates.

He put his hand in the air: “What! I have no bad intentions, I swear. I just thought you could use some sugar.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. Against your wish, you let out a small moan as you took your first bite out of the tiramisu. It really was that good. You turned beet red and surprisingly, so did he. Cute.

“Lance, you know I used to have a crush on you, right? But that was years ago, so if you expect me to fall at your feet and sleep with you, you’re in the wrong place, buddy.” This was a lie. He could have you anywhere he wanted, and you would say thank you.

His eyes shuttered a little when he took his first bite. “I’m flattered that you used to have a crush on me, but also a little insulted. How come you don’t have one right now? And is your opinion of me so low that you believe I could really use you like that?” He really did look insulted.

You took another bite of the tiramisu, this time fulling embracing the moan coming out of your mouth. He looked positively flushed now.

“Lance, I saw the way you looked at me earlier. It was like you finally realized I was a grown woman now.”

He took a bite, and he let his head fall back a little. So two can play this game. You were feeling hot all over. It was like a tennis match between the two of you, a duel. All of this over a sweet treat.

“It’s true that you made quite the impression on me earlier. It must be the lack of braces,” he said sarcastically.

You made a show of licking your spoon when you finished your portion. He looked jealous of the spoon.The ball is in your court, sir.

“Oh really? It wasn’t my curves that my dress showed off nicely, or how long my legs looked with those heels? It’s weird, every other guy there seemed to notice my body. I even got the number of an engineer. I think I’m going to go out with him, I might even sleep with him, all that good stuff.” The look on his face was priceless.

It seems you had won this round. He didn’t touch his tiramisu, only bit his bottom lip. He was blushing hard but wanted to maintain his poker face.

“None of these things crossed my mind,” he answered, though it was a very obviously fake answer. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. It was very good for your ego. If your seventeen years old self could see you right now, she’d be proud.

You hit him with quite the shot when you picked up some tiramisu with your spoon off his plate. The simple gesture had quite the effect on him. His gaze followed your spoon from his plate to your mouth. In your face, sir.

“That’s too bad. I wanted you to notice them,” you said innocently.

He did not take this shot well, and immediately went into attack mode. He pulled your stool closer to his and started massaging your calf. He was not playing anymore.

“Don’t worry, kid, I can see them very clearly now.” He stared at you and the generous cleavage your nightdress gave you. The innuendo in his eyes was very clear. You could cut the tension in the room with the same knife you had cut the dessert with.

You moaned softly. This time, it had nothing to do with the tiramisu, and everything to do with the way his hand was slowly getting higher and higher on your leg. Yeah, it was over. He definitely won the match.

You looked at his eyes, which were now a nice shade of bedroom eyes. You felt all the hesitation you had leave your body, and so did your judgement.

“Lance. I really want to have sex with you right now.” How embarrassing to say this out loud. But it wasn't your fault, really. His face and the tiramisu were a deadly combo.

He smirked at your admission. “I thought you said I shouldn’t expect to sleep with you earlier.”

You responded quickly. “Screw what I said. Wait, no, screw me instead,” you leaned from your stool to pull his hoodie off.

He let you take it off, but he was wearing a shirt underneath. He smirked. “In a hurry?”

“Yeah, and for a guy that drives fast for a living, you’re slow as hell.” He laughed at that, and you took off his shirt too. It was sight to be seen. Niagara Falls is nothing compared to Lance Stroll shirtless. He should be on Canadian postcards instead of Lake Louise.

“Don’t worry kid, I can go fast if need be.” You were getting very turned on, and he had not even made a move yet. “So that means you’ll sleep with me?” You leaned to give him kisses all over his neck. 10 years of wanting him made you desperate like that. He shivered at your touch, and he felt your smile against his neck. How flattering to get a reaction out of him. He gently lifted you off your stool and picked up you like a doll so you could sit on his lap. You immediately resumed your activity and went back to kiss his neck, occasionally leaving a mark.

“You seem to want it so bad, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint you. Our friendship means the world to me,” he said, teasing you.

“Uh uh. Can we add “with benefits” to the title of our friendship? Because I really want to get to the benefits right now.” You said in between hickeys. He was holding your waist to keep you close. How you both fitted on that tiny little stool, you had no idea, but this stool was now considered blessed in your mind.

“Since you asked so nicely. Your brother told me you had a boyfriend though.” His grip on you tightened.

“He’s not my boyfriend, and I don’t care about him. He’s probably in a bar somewhere, talking to other women, which is fine, since we are not together.” It was his turn to give you attention. He made a trail of kisses all over your neck and jaw, stopping near the corner of your mouth.

“That’s good. Do you have sex with him sometimes?” he asked possessively, which was very unlike him. Lance had never shown an interest in you, and he now wanted to know who you were sleeping with.

“Yeah.” It’s hard to form complete sentences when your crush of the last 10 years is busy leaving marks all over your neck.

“Is he any good to you?” He stopped to look you in the eyes, but kept you distracted by playing with the strap of your nightdress.

“I guess. But I hope you will change my opinion of what is good sex and what is bad sex.” You put your hands behind his neck and started kissing him. It quickly turned into a make out session. He tasted like tiramisu. This was an Oscar worthy kiss. A painting should be made to commemorate the moment. A page in history books should be dedicated to it. Still kissing you, Lance stood up and lifted you with him.

“Where’s your bedroom?” You must have done something good recently. You felt like one of God’s favourites.

You did not sound like yourself when you answered, “The next door to your right.” It was a very surreal moment. He opened the door and gently put you down on your bed. He was standing up, shirtless, and it looked a lot like the teenage fantasy of him you had for years.

Your hair was spread all over the pillow, and your nightdress had ridden up. Playboy magazine would have loved you back in the days. “You’re gorgeous. You look like an angel,” Lance said. “How come I’ve never noticed it before?”

You blushed. “You were too busy thinking of me as a sister.” Your propped yourself on your elbows to get a better look at him. The sight took your breath away. “Don’t move, I’m taking a mental picture of you. You look so fucking hot right now.”

It was his turn to blush. “Thanks.” He pulled you by your ankles so you could sit on the edge of the bed. He then got on his knees, and ladies and gents, that nearly did it for you. You felt very, very hot. His hand slid under your nightdress so he could take of your underwear. It was hard to remember to breathe.

“Gosh, are we in porn movie or something? No guy has ever gotten on his knees for me before, but they sure as hell expect me to.” You said, laughing in embarrassment at your lack of experience.

“Boys are stupid.” All of Montreal probably heard you when he first touched you with his tongue. It was too much: his touch, the sight of him between your thighs, the grunts he made, you had to grip the sheets to stay still. By the noises he made, he seemed to enjoy himself too.

It took an embarrassing short amount of time for you to shake and scream in pleasure. No guy had ever made you come so quickly, and it had never felt as good. Sadly, it would probably never feel so good ever again. He got out from your nightdress and smirked when he saw you panting.

“You’re the one out of breath, huh?” He licked his lips, and you nearly came again.

“Shut up” was all you had to say. Lance laughed: “Real mature.” He once again took you by the ankles, this time to push you back to the center of the bed. He got on top of you.

“Is this the part where you get inside of me?” He smiled. “You’re so eager. It’s cute. The Aston Martin cap you have is cute too,” he said, referencing the baseball cap on your dresser.

“It’s for Alonso,” you replied, blushing. Lance smirked and whispered in your ear “Yeah, right.” He started kissing your jawline. The whole block probably heard you moaning. Having him on top of you felt so good. Your nails were probably hurting him from how hard you were gripping his back, but he didn’t complain. “Too bad it’s not him in your bed right now.” You shut him up with a kiss.

“Please, Lance, you have to get in me,” you whined. You unzipped his pants and palmed him. “Please, please, please.” He was making pained noises too, and he got out a condom from his pocket. So he had come to your place expecting to get laid. You decided to put the thought aside for now.

You stopped thinking anyway the second he got inside of you. The feeling was nearly overwhelming, and every time he moved, you couldn’t help but moan.

“Lance, goddam, why didn’t we do this earlier?” you asked between screams. He seemed pleased. You arched your back and it was his turn to let out grunts. “Well, we’re doing it now,” he sounded in pain.

“You’re going to ruin me for every other guy”, you complained. Not long after, Montreal heard you scream his name as you came undone for the second time that evening. He copied you a short while later. Both of you were panting, too stunned by what just happened. It was definitely the best sex of your life, but you were too shy to ask him if it was any good. You hoped it was.

You were just about to ask him if he wanted to spend the night when he suddenly got up.

“What are you doing?” you asked, confused. He pulled his pants back up and zipped them. “I gotta go. Don’t tell anyone we did this.” You pulled yourself to sit against your headboard. You wanted to cry. “Are you serious?”

All he said was: “Yeah, I am. I’ll see you around.” And he left, leaving you speechless in the bed where he just had you. When you heard the door close on his way out, you broke down in tears. How could he be so cruel? He had just used you, ruining years of friendship for this. You felt hurt and humiliated.

After a few minutes of crying hysterically, you suddenly could not stand having his smell on your sheets. It was nearly midnight, but you started ripping them off your bed, and you threw them in the washing machine. There were signs of his passage everywhere in your apartment, and it hurt too bad. You started cleaning manically, from scrubbing the floor to washing your entire silverware. After, it was you who needed to be rid of him. His touch lingered on your skin. You scrubbed your skin until it turned red and shampooed your hair about 5 times. As expected, you broke down crying in the shower. Lance was your friend; he had been since you were kids. Did none of that matter? Were you just a quick fuck to him? A one-night stand that did not even last a night?

You didn’t recognize him. He was such a kind soul. How could you ever face him again? And the fact that he asked you to not tell anyone? The worst thing is, you knew you would never tell anyone, because the humiliation would be too bad.

Eventually, you passed out in exhaustion on the couch. You had to attend the whole weekend, otherwise it would be suspicious, since people expected you to be there. You put on your best dresses, your brave face and you showed up Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. You talked with Lawrence, hanged out with your brother and some friends, you even made small talk with some of the drivers. Your heart hurt like a bitch the whole time, but at least you managed to avoid Lance. That engineer who gave you his number came to see you again, and you made plans for later in the week. Any distraction was welcome.

By the late afternoon on Sunday, you had had enough. You felt tired, heartsick and exhausted after a weekend of fake smiling. Leaving was the only thing you wanted to do. Perhaps you should book a vacation, give your heart a break. Or at least get extremely drunk with your friends. Maybe do both.

You were hiding in a corner, waiting for your brother when a shadow appeared. It was Lance, of course, towering over you. Immediately, your heart started beating fast. Stupid heart. His hair was all ruffled and he was sweating lightly. He had the same look when he was on his knees for you.

“Hey, kid,” he sounded so casual, like nothing had happened between the two of you, like he didn’t have half of your heart.

“Allô. Good job on the race today.” You hoped your voice was not trembling. You did not even attempt to look at him in the eyes, afraid of revealing your pain. The guy you had liked for years made you feel wanted then crushed you in a matter of hours. Of course, that didn’t seem to matter to him.

He put his hand under your chin to force you to look at him, then caressed your cheek with his thumb. “Thanks. Listen, I hope you did not expect anything more than what we did last night. I’m leaving Montreal soon anyway.” Tears started to sting your eyes, but you tried your best to hide them, but Lance was not a fool.

“Not at all. This was just a one-time thing.” You smiled, but tears were running down your cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumb.

“You’re cute when you lie. I’ll see you around.” Lance kissed your cheek, then left you in shock, hiding in the corner. His gaze did not betray any sign of regrets. Your heart was shattered in million tiny pieces that he could crush between two fingers. It was cut into bite-size pieces that he could eat, like that damn tiramisu.

That night, you went home and tried to drown any thoughts of him with ice cream and sad music. It did not work.

A few glasses of wine in, your phone buzzed. It was the man of the hour.

I’ll be at your place in 10.

Against your better judgement, you opened the door to him in your cutest nightdress with mascara tears running down your face. He didn’t bother with tiramisu this time. Nor did he the next time. And the next time.

To be used by him was better than not having him at all.

[importantwomensbirthdays]

Maude Abbott

Dr. Maude Abbott was born in 1868 in St. Andrews East, Quebec. Dr. Abbott graduated from McGill University, but was not allowed to study medicine there because of her gender. She ultimately received her medical degree from Bishop's College in 1894. Dr. Abbott is remembered for her contributions to the field of cardiology. She wrote about roughly 1,000 heart anomalies over the course of twenty years. Dr. Abbott's 1936 Book, Atlas of Congenital Cardiac Disease, paved the way for modern heart surgery. She also served as curator of McGill University's medical museum, where she devised a classification system for uncatalogued medical specimens.

Dr. Maude Abbott died in 1940 at the age of 72.

Image source

[goodnightbirdy]

i hope and pray for a timeline where i meet rsl and just so happen to be wearing my McGill sweatshirt. I dont go to McGill. Ive never even been to Canada. But i do own bootleg merch for a real university that i made on custom ink dot com bc my favorite fiction husband went there and wore that sweatshirt a lot.

proof of me owning it - also proof of me wearing it consistently at a college that is most definitely not McGill. (i have had 3 professors ask if a family member went there or smth and i just have “uh no- a character i like went there and has this sweatshirt”)

[daisies-on-a-cup]

On February 19th 2024, a group of students at the McGill University began a hunger strike demanding the university's divestment and academic boycott of genocide and apartheid in Palestine. Amine (one of the strikers) was hospitalized as doctors told them that they were reaching dangerous levels of starvation during their hunger strike. As of right now, "Chadi" is the last remaining student involved in this hunger strike, living off of water, broth, and electrolytes. @/mcgillhungerstrike regularly posts updates on Instagram.

Separately, on March 18th 2024 at the University of South Florida, 18 unaffiliated students began to hunger strike as well, demanding that the president of USF call for a ceasefire, the open publication of investment portfolios of USF from 2013-2023, establish a student investment oversight committee, and for USF to immediately divest from all companies supporting Israel's ongoing genocide in Palestine. Several of the strikers have been hospitalized so far. @/usfhungerstrike regularly posts updates on Instagram.