one day marly is over and shane and ilya and him are playing like call of duty or some shit and marly is like “my mom would kick everyone’s ass at this game growing up and mami hated that we bonded over a killing game.” and ilya and shane stop and turn to marly at the same time who is just clicking away at buttons and shane is the first one to speak like “did you just say mom and mami?” and marly is like “yeah bro im adopted i got lesbian moms. mom is from boston, represent haha! and mami is from ecuador. roz never told you?” and ilya gives wide eyes and raised brows “marly you literally have never told me this.” and marly is like “oh my bad cap haha crazy.” and just goes back to playing the game
I don't upload my fics here but ao3 is down and I found a copy of this old work, it's not the best but hope you have fun!
Shane was the most boring person on earth, Ilya decided.
They had a free evening in New York after beating the Admirals (3-1, thank you very much), and his husband wanted to go watch a musical.
They had the entirety of New York, and this fucker wanted to watch a musical.
Jesus fucking christ, Ilya was so in love with him.
So this is how Ilya found himself in Broadway next to his giddy husband on a Saturday night while their teammates hit club after club.
Looking at his husband’s excited face, Ilya couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
Christ, he’s going soft.
Ilya paid 0 attention to their surroundings, instead choosing to focus on the way Shane’s dress pants hugged his ass. He wasn’t a religious man, but by God, his husband's ass had to be an act of divine creation.
He let himself be pulled up the stairs to a balcony with a small sofa. Shane pulled him down and leaned on him, looking down at the stage with shining eyes and a frivolous smile.
Ilya had to admit those seats were really good. You could see every small detail on stage, but they themselves were out of plain sight, free to do whatever they wanted.
“So, what’s this ‘musical’ about?” Ilya asked as he wrapped an arm around his husband.
Shane facepalmed at him. “You did not listen to me when I told you where we are going.”
“No, I heard musical, then I saw your ass and the rest went ‘poof’,” Ilya grinned.
Shane shook his head, failing to hide an affectionate grin. “It’s about the princess Anastasia. I remember you telling me about her a while ago, so I thought you’d enjoy this.”
Ilya had told Shane the legend of Princess Anastasia about a year ago when Shane had a high fever and couldn’t get out of bed. Ilya’s mom used to tell him stories when he was sick as a kid, and he did the same thing from habit when his husband was sick.
He had no idea Shane remembered that.
God, he fucking loves that man.
Ilya had to restrain himself from grabbing the man sitting next to him and dragging him to bed, and instead pulled him in for a deep kiss.
Not long after, the lights in the theater began to dim, and the curtain was lifted. Shane settled comfortably against him, wrapping Ilya’s arms around himself, letting the Russian bask in the beauty of the fact that they can do that now.
It had been almost 20 years since the last time Ilya heard the legend of Princess Anastasia, but he was pretty sure that it did not include that much singing. Nevertheless, he found himself enjoying the show, relishing in the familiarity of the music and the names.
It was nice, watching something about a place he knew so well. Hearing names that were not foreign to him, watching people sing about his mother’s St. Petersburg, the city he heard so much about, and talking in an accent similar to his.
The songs were also pretty damm good, not that he’ll ever tell Shane that.
Ilya found himself being swept into the story, rooting for Denitri to kiss the girl and crossing his fingers that the gang would be able to make it to Paris, and hoping this glab guy won’t kill them in the process.
Glab was actually pretty similar to Alexi, now that Ilya thought about it, but he will dwell on that later.
As Vlad, Anya, and Demitri entered the train station, Ilya was attacked by a wave of longing, his own goodbye to his homeland burning bright in his chest, trying to escape the cage he stuffed it into all those years ago.
And then that fucker ‘Count Ipolitov’ started singing.
How can I desert you?
How to tell you why?
Fuck.
Coachman, hold the horses
Stay, I pray you
Ilya felt his throat close up.
Let me have a moment
Let me say goodbye
He never said goodbye. Even tho he told Shane on the phone that he is never coming back, Ilya didn’t actually believe that he’d never go home again. He left without saying goodbye, without knowing that this was the last time he’d see his homeland.
To bridge and river, forest and waterfall
The lake where his mom taught him how to skate.
Orchard, sea, and sky
The park where He and Alexi used to have tea parties when he was little.
Harsh and sweet, and bitter to leave it all
The cafe near Gorky Park where he used to meet his friends
I'll bless my homeland 'til I die
To Ilya’s horror, he felt his eye welling up with tears.
How to break the tie?
We have shed our tears and shared our sorrows
He will never visit his mother again. She must wonder why he stopped coming to see her. Ilya absently wondered if Alexi was taking care of her grave. He hoped he did. Irania Rozanov deserved to rest in clean surroundings.
Though the scars remain and tears will never dry
I'll bless my homeland 'til I die
It was stupid. It was just land. But Ilya will bless his homeland until he dies; he knew that without a doubt.
Never to return
He will never return
Finally breaking free
He did, didn’t he? Then why did it feel so wrong to be happy about it?
You are all I know
You have raised me
She did. Ilya would not be who he is today if it weren’t for his homeland. He would forever be in debt to her.
How to turn away?
And how did he repay his debt?
How to close the door?
He left without saying goodbye to the ground on which he took his first steps. Without kissing the Ice that taught him everything he knows and shaped who he is today. He left, deserting the soil in which his mother was buried, turning his back on his homeland.
How to go where I have never gone before?
Ilya was sobbing uncontrollably.
How can I desert you?
He could feel Shane’s arms around him, holding him tightly.
How to tell you why?
His husband was talking to him in a hushed tone, but he couldn’t hear a word he said.
Coachman, hold the horses
‘Please do,’ Ilya wanted shout. ‘Please stop and let me say goodbye’.
Stay, I pray you
His shoulders were shaking with sobs now.
Let me have a moment
Shane stood and tried to take Ilya outside to the hall.
Let me say goodbye
Ilya didn’t move.
Harsh and sweet, and bitter to leave it all
It WAS harsh. It was sweet. It was bitter. It was all the emotions humans were capable of expirencing all mixed together to create the lump in Ilya’s throat.
I'll bless my homeland 'til I die
‘I did not forget you’, He closed his eyes.
I'll bless my homeland
I'll bless my homeland
I'll bless my homeland 'til I die
Ilya barely noticed as the crowd rose to their feet and applauded. He registered Shane’s arm covering his own, the other cradling his cheek and wiping away tears with his thumb, but everything sounded like he was underwater. He pulled away from Shane and aggressively wiped away his tears with his palm, thanking his lucky stars that the theater was dark and no one could see them.
“Ilya, dorogaya, ty menya pugayesh,” Shane whispered. “Pogovori so mnoy.”
His Russian had gotten really good. He still had a strong accent, but the words rolled off his tongue a lot easier than they did a year ago.
Ilya wanted to roll into a ball and cry for the rest of the show, but knowing he was scaring his husband shook him out of his pity party. He managed a smile, pulling Shane close to him.
“I’m ok,” He said, clearing his throat. “I’m ok.”
“Do you want us to leave? We can-”
“No,” Ilya gave him a little smile. “No, I want to watch this.”
Shane looked at him with concern, but relaxed as Ilya pulled him close, leaning his chin on his shoulder.
“You can talk to me if you want. You know that, right?”
“Shhh,” Ilya shooshed the Canadian. “There is show going on. Have respect, Shane.”
He didn’t need to see Shane’s face to know the other man was rolling his eyes.
And as he sank again into the story, watching Anya and Dimitri bickering on stage, he knew that this, what he had right here, was worth every pain and longing he had. He would leave Russia a thousand times more if it meant he could be here, with Shane. Not because he did not love his homeland, but because this? This was worth everything.
His mother would want him to be happy. She was not bound to one spot, she couldn’t stay put while she was alive, and she surely wouldn’t now that she was with god.
The trees, the ice, and the sky would be in his heart forever. He was shaped by them, molded into the man he was today, and nothing, no distance or time, would ever take that away from them.
And Russia? Russia will wait for him. This was not the end; things won’t be the same way forever. One day, he is going to bring Shane home with him, walk the grounds of his homeland, and be free. Because Russia will wait for him, and he will wait for her, for as long as it takes.
‘It’s not goodbye,’ Ilya thought to himself. ‘One day, you’ll be free.’
Has anyone done a hollanov somnophilia fic yet? I’m picturing something where they want to meet up, maybe during the gap between the cottage and tlg, but because of scheduling stuff it just doesn’t make sense. Ilya could get to his place by late that night but Shane’s got something really important in the morning he can’t be sleep deprived for.
Ilya’s like damn, that’s so sad. Half heartedly tries to convince Shane to do it anyway and fuck whatever hockey morning thing it is but is resigning himself because that’s not going to ever work.
Shanes like “um. 🫣🥺🤭 what if you came over anyway.”
Ilya’s like “awww to cuddle? So we still get a little forehead kiss and sleep together for a few hours before you leave?”
Shane’s like “oh. No. Or actually yes that sure.”
Ilya: 🤔🤔😛 ooh you will blow off hockey thing for me?
Shane: wtf no I would NEVER do that you know this
Ilya: …
Shane: …(very red, very awkward)
Ilya:…???
Shane: I need to sleep and be well rested for hockey but what if we still fucked?
Ilya:…????…Time Machine?
Shane: no silly, what if you just fucked me anyway while I was asleep and had your way with my unconscious body and used me like a toy and then I woke up with your cum leaking out of my ass and no memory of how it got there🫣🤭🥰
Ilya: 🫨🤯😵💫🤤
Idk is this anything?? Is this out there yet?
Edit: okay also what if they both end up liking it so much that it becomes a regular thing for them. Ilya, critically, forgets to mention to Shane that this is in fact very kinky and perhaps not the most common thing in the world. Cut to some conversation years later with the centaurs or maybe just chatting with Rose or Hayden after a drink or two and Shane casually mentions that this is a regular part of their sex life. Ilya is making frantic cutting motions across his throat but it’s too late. Shane doesn’t understand why everyone is looking at him like he’s got horns growing out of his head, or pulling him aside to make sure he’s “safe at home”. Ilya’s trying to convince well meaning friends that Shane is actually the world’s biggest freak and this was HIS idea and they really don’t need to be side eyeing him like this. He’s all pissed people are ruining everything by breaking it to Shane that he’s freaky as hell because the just KNOWS it’s going to set them back like six months on his long-term goal of Shane letting him hunt him through the woods like a bear.
“Ilya am I 🥺😭😣 slutty???”
“Noooooo bb you are so normal please put the nipple clamps and the leash back on 🤥😁”
Post-Long Game, you know Yuna is in her Momager Bag to a truly nasty degree—because sirs/ma’ams/gender neutral peoples, my once-in-a-lifetime hockey phenom son is married to another once-in-a-lifetime hockey phenom. Call me Thanos, because I’m clearly collecting generational talents like Infinity Stones.
Shane and Ilya start shooting ads and promotions together based on Yuna’s carefully curated list of LGBTQ+ and POC-inclusive companies. Shane maintains the same requirements he’s had his entire career—tasteful and nothing too corny, Mom, please.
Ilya? He won’t agree to shit unless he has a say in the music that ends up in the final cut. Yuna doesn’t see anything wrong or weird about that, and the companies they work with seem to love Ilya’s input. The ads are, per Shane’s requirements, tasteful and well done.
Then the Levi ad happens.
Shane’s unsure about it at first. He spends 90% of his time in athletic-wear—shorts, compression shirts, sweats. He owns maybe 2 pairs of jeans that he hasn’t worn in so long, he’s not sure they fit anymore (which he tells himself would be because of his intense training to build and maintain muscle, not the 5-10 pounds he’s gained since being happily married and easing up on his diet). Any reservations he has go up in smoke when Ilya murmurs a low, breathy “please” against his neck and tells him which song he wants in the ad.
You call me pretty little thing
And I love to turn him on
Boy, I’ll let you be my Levi Jeans
So you can hug that ass all day long
And please don’t get it twisted—Shane’s not exactly well-versed in Beyoncé or most songs outside the chart top 50s he familiarizes himself with for the sake of small talk, but he knows this song. Ilya’s a certified Beyhive member and has had Cowboy Carter on repeat since the album came out. This song, though?
This is the song Ilya plays when he wants to remind Shane how sexy he is. That he’s not a hockey machine or a poster boy for gay, Asian, or gay Asian athletes. That he’s a real person who is also his beloved husband and fine as fuck.
Come here, you sexy little thing
Snap a picture, bring it on
Know you wish you were my Levi Jeans
Way it’s poppin’ out your phone
I love you down to the bone
It’s the first ad the married couple does together that’s overtly sexual. It’s shot from Ilya’s point of view: watching Shane jump to get a pair of figure-hugging jeans over his ass and smile at himself in the mirror. The audience doesn’t know that smile is partly him realizing that he still fits in the same size and just fills them out a bit better. The other part? It’s when the point of view shifts and Ilya moves into the frame to grab his ass, lifting him off the floor and carrying him off in a fit of breathless giggles.
I love you down to the bone.
Once they’re both out of frame, the jeans get tossed in front of the mirror. The ad ends with a close-up of the label.
Ilya doesn't know if he'll ever post the video, but he takes it anyway, thrilled with the surety of being able to.
He can have this.
"Whoa, is that Shane Hollander, 2nd best hockey player of MLH, eating cake for breakfast?"
Shane doesn't jump, but he does hunch a bit more over the open bin of cupcakes, left over from yesterday. "Shut up," he mumbles through a mouthful of spongy vanilla cake and raspberry jam. There's a smear of white chocolate buttercream on his cheek, crumbs on his chin and left pec. He looks soft in the morning dawn, mostly naked in their kitchen. "It's my wedding cake."
Shane's sensibilities are so skewed, even with guests in the house, he has no issues walking around in just his underwear, too used to dressing rooms and photo shoots and existing at a lakefront cottage. But that Ilya has caught him with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, that makes him duck his head.
Ilya loves him so much he could scream.
They're the only people crazy enough to be up this early. But, of course, they're also the only ones who left the reception at what Shane would call a reasonable time. When Ilya finally let him relax into their ruined sheets, they could easily hear the party still continuing on the dock.
"What, you can't tell time? We got married months ago, Hollander."
Shane tilts his head in a way that Ilya just knows means he's rolling his eyes. "And we didn't have a cake."
Maybe that's why he keeps the video going. So Ilya can keep this piece of Shane, this one moment forever. Talking with his mouthful, leaning against the island, happy, glowing.
"No, we had the apple - thing from the bakery across from the court house," the name eludes him, a German loan-word. The apples had still been warm, spiced and soft, with sugared oats on top.
"Crumble," Shane supplies, not at all the word Ilya was looking for.
"No, more like -"
"It was a crumble," Shane insists. "We walked 3 blocks from the courthouse, in our suits, in June, because you read about this café that made desserts I could still have on my meal plan. You paid way too much for it like you always do because you never look at the prices of anything and I didn't say anything because it was our fucking wedding day."
If Ilya pressed, Shane could tell him what the name of the café was, the exact address, and probably the weather report for that day.
Licking the left over icing off his fingers, Shane tilts his head toward the counter next to him. "I made you a coffee, babe."
"Is it - "
"Honey salted cinnamon double shot over ice. Yeah. I know. Bougie bitch."
Ilya barks out a too loud laugh - somehow still surprised when Shane sneaks in something a little too bitchy to be a chirp.
No, really, he was going to throw up. He could feel the bile rising in his throat as his panicked breaths came out faster and faster.
He had just left the meeting with coach Theriault, Marcel, and Greg Vance, in which he was basically told that he shouldn’t bother coming back to finish the season, and that he should get his things and go.
It wasn’t like Shane thought they’d renew his contract next year, but not letting him finish the season? That was a new low.
A voice in his head, one that sounded suspiciously like Ilya, wanted to smile and wish Theriault good luck winning this year without him. But Shane simply swallowed his tears and left the office without saying anything.
Fuck, he needed to get his shit together. He was still the team captain, no matter what Theriault and Vance said, and he needed to talk to the team. Explain, let them know what’s going on.
Fuck, they’re going to hate him.
All he wanted at the moment was to curl into a ball against Ilya back home, block everything and everyone else. He wanted his fucking fiancé, wanted to hold his hand and rest his head against his chest, wanted the feeling of safety that came from being near Ilya.
Jesus, he wanted Ilya so bad right now.
His fiancé had offered to accompany him, but Shane declined, knowing that having Ilya there would only make things worse with his team. Hayden had tried to make it sound better than it probably was,but Shane knew they were furious with him.
Fuck.
He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t breathing right, his head was pounding almost as hard as his heart, and his limbs felt like they were stuck in cement.
He was going to die right here. What a shame to die so young. Shane had always taken care of his body, careful not to eat or drink anything that would harm it, and yet he was going to die at 28 years old right here in the hallway.
Shane hadn’t noticed that he had sunk to the floor, back pressed against the wall, until he felt two arms shaking him lightly.
“Shane?” Hayden’s worried voice reached his ears. “Shane, can you hear me?”
Shane managed to nod lightly, his head tucked between his knees.
“Ok. You- You are having a panic attack.”
No shit.
“Do you want me to call-”
Shane shook his head. As much as he wanted Ilya to be here right now- and god, he wanted that so bad, he didn’t want to worry the other man more than he already had. Besides, he can handle this. He will handle this, the moment he stops breathing like a cat with asthma.
“Ok, did the-” Shane could hear the hesitation in Hayden’s voice. “Did the meeting not go well?”
Shane struggled to hold in a choked sob. When had he started crying? He needed to get his shit together.
“I am done here,” He managed to say through panicd breathes.
“Don’t be ridiculous, they won’t-”
“They told me not to come back,” Shane let his anger fuel him, managing to lift his head from between his knees to look at his best friend, who was kneeling beside him. “I can’t even finish the fucking season.”
Hayden stared at him as if Shane had grown a second head. “No way, that’s- that’s insane-”
“Apparently, they really don’t want to have a fag on the team,” Shane let his head drop back against the wall. “Fuck, I- Hayden, I don’t know what to fucking do.”
“Hey,” Hayden grabbed his arm. “No. That’s- They are just being stupid right now, ok? They’ll- they’ll realize that they made a mistake in no time. You are the best player this team has ever seen. They will not let you go so easily. Vance is a dick, but there is no way he is that stupid.”
Shane knew that Hayden was wrong. Vance was that stupid. He would rather let Shane go and cost the team this season than allow him to play after what he had learned.
Nevertheless, having Hayden there, talking to him and grabbing his arm, helped Shane calm down a bit and ground himself.
“Vance would rather kill himself than have a fag play on his team.” Shane’s voice was a bit steadier now. “But that’s- that’s ok. I mean, not ok ok, but, I- we thought it might happen. I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t say that,” Hayden said instinctively. He looked torn between anger, guilt, and sadness. The three emotions battled for their place across his face before he shook his head, as if trying to throw them away. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll probably go play for Ottawa,” Shane confessed. “Andlauer had already reached out to me earlier this year. They are three players short of their cap, and they can definitely afford me. It’ll be... It’ll be nice, playing with Ilya. Together.”
Despite the shity situation, Shane felt a ghost of a smile tug on his lips at the thought of playing with Ilya, of waking up next to him every single day.
As if he could read his mind, Hayden smiled at him. “Shit, man, I’m happy for you. I mean- this is a shit situation, and this whole thing is fucked, but you and Rozanov on the same line?” He shook his head. “Maybe Ottawa will finally win for the first time in forever.”
He smiled when his joke dragged a laugh out of his best friend. “So, how do you want to do this? Do you want me to talk to the guys, or-”
“No,” Shane took a deep breath and lifted his head to meet Hayden’s eyes. “I’ll do it. Still the captain for now, right?”
“Damm straight,” Hayden agreed. “Or, I mean, not straight, but you know-”
“Hayden.”
“What?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“On it!” Hayden stood and offered Shane his arm to pull him up. “Hey, you know that I’ll always be here for you, right, man? Like, even if you’ll play for Ottawa or fucking Boston, you’ll always be my best friend.”
Shane blinked away his tears before giving Hayden a small grin. “You’re just afraid of losing your best babysitter.”
“That too,” He smiled at him as they started walking to the locker room. “So, how do you want to do this?”
That was a great question. The truthful answer was that Shane absolutely did not want to do this and would have preferred very much to just go home to his fiancé. However, he couldn’t run away from this. His team deserved an explanation.
“I’ll be honest with them. There really is nothing else to do, I mean, at the very least I can explain myself to them.”
Hayden frowned. “You don’t have to explain shit to them.”
Shane sighed and shook his head. “Feels like I do.”
They walked together silently until they reached the locker room. Shane drew a big breath.
In. Out. In. Out.
“Wish me luck,” He attempted to copy one of Ilya’s signature smirks, but the expression on Hayden’s face told him that it probably looked more like a grimace.
He opened the door.
The room was silent.
Wow. Great. Wonderful start that 100% helped ease his anxiety regarding this situation. Fuck his life.
Shane cleared his throat as if to draw everyone's attention, but there was no need for that. All eyes in the room were already on him.
Hayden slipped quietly behind him and took a seat near his locker, looking at Shane with an expression that was probably meant to be reassuring, but at the moment made Shane feel like a prisoner on death row awaiting execution.
“I, uh,”
Great start.
“I didn’t mean for you to find out this way,” He started. “I wanted to talk to you before, but...”
“Sure you did,” Andropov snorted.
Shane Elected to ignore that.
“I didn’t want you to find something else through the news, so,” Shane fidgeted with his hands behind his back, staring at the wall above Wilson. “I will not be finishing the season here.”
The room was still silent.
“I want you guys to know that it was not my decision. I have been... It was an honour, playing for this club, playing with you. This decision was made for me, and I truly wish you guys the best of luck.”
Olsson mumbled something.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
“I said, Finally, some good decisions from Vance.” Olsson stared at him with hatred Shane had never seen on his teammate’s face before.
“Olsson, shut the fuck up,” Hayden interjected.
“Of course, you stand up to the fag. Probably bends over for you, too, huh?”
“That’s out of line,” Shane interfered before Hayden started throwing punches. “You are allowed to be upset, but-”
“Upset?!?!” Comeau stood up. “You have been throwing away games for your little boyfriend just so he could fuck you in the ass, and you talk about being upset?”
Wow. Fuck no.
“I have never thrown a single fucking game,” Shane began to feel angry. “I never have, and I never will. Just because Ilya and I are together does not mean we go easy on each other on the ice, and you of all people should know that, Comeau. Or did you conviniently forgot that your girlfriend’s brother is Cale Wagner?”
“That’s different, and you know it. I don’t suck her brother’s dick.”
Maybe you should, you might inherit some of his talent through his dick, that will be helpfull you talentless motherfucker. The voice in his head, Ilya’s voice, said.
Shane ignored it. “I don’t see why it is. I have played against Ilya countless times, just like you played against Cale. No one has ever accused you of letting him win, so what’s the difference here?”
“Oh come on, do you think we’re stupid?” Drapeau threw his arms in the air. “We have eyes, Captain. You want us to believe that, what, you suddenly don’t know how to skate when he’s around?”
“Excuse me?” Shane blinked, becoming furious. “I still have the highest scoring rating and puck possessions than all of you. I have more assists this year than in any year before at this time, and I have scored multiple times against Ottawa, while Rozanov was playing.”
“And yet we don’t win against him,” Drapeau rolled his eyes. “You think we are stupid? You get dicked down at the beginning of the season, and suddenly you can’t play against Rozanov?”
Shane was getting tired of this bullshit.
“I play against Rozanov the same way I always have. He is one of the best players this league has ever seen, and yes, when you play against someone that good, sometimes you lose. Saying he needs me to throw away a game for him to win is not only ridiculous but downright stupid.”
“Oh, please, we all saw the difference.”
Shane was so done. He did not care anymore, not about this team, not about those people, not about what they thought about him.
“Saw what exactly? Because I have been ‘dicked down’ by Rozanov since before our rookie season, you dense, idiotic asshole.”
You could hear a pin drop.
“Rookie season?” Laine asked. “But that’s-”
“Almost ten years, yeah. So, if you want to accuse me of misconduct, that means the three cups I won for this team are invalid. Because it has always been him. It was never anybody else, and I still managed to drag this team to the top.”
Shane looked around the room at the people he had called his friends not very long ago, and felt nothing. No sadness, no shame, just... Empty.
“There isn’t a single person here who knows a version of me that isn’t in love with Ilya Rozanov. I have loved him since before I joined this team, and I’ll love him much longer after I leave it. So you can be upset, you can call me a fag and decide that everything I have given for this team means nothing, but deep down, you all know that I never lost on purpose. Deep down, you know I love this team. You know I chose to stay here instead of moving to Boston, even though they offered me a whole lot more money. You know I stayed here instead of living with the love of my life. You know I have sweated and bled for this team, so don’t pretend like you don’t know me, because I am the same person I have always been.”
“I just don’t understand why you had to go and fuck Rozanov of all people,” Berkes shrugged. “Like, there were no good men here?”
“Berkes, you are married to a woman from London. You are literally moving there at the end of the season to be with her. You of all people should know that you don’t get to choose who you fall in love with. It just... Happens. And for me, it was Ilya.”
“I just-”
“No, I’m not done talking,” Shane cut him off. He no longer felt shame or embarrassment, but instead, a red-hot fury coursed through his veins.
“Every single one of you is able to go home to your wives and girlfriends. You have a safe space, a person who knows you better than you know yourselves. And if you don’t have one yet, then you have the freedom to go out there and find them. You get to have a life outside of hockey. You get to be happy and fall in love and live. Why the fuck shouldn’t I? I have given everything for this team, and you want to tell me that... what? I should live the rest of my life lonely because that would make you more comfortable? Fuck no.”
“You could have told us-”
“Wilson, you don’t know shit about what I could or couldn’t do,” Shane cut off the defence player. “Even if I wanted to- and I didn’t, because I was afraid you would react the same fucking way you are reacting now- did any of you think for a single moment about the fact that Ilya is from fucking Russia?”
The room was silent.
“Huh? No? That’s weird. What, Wilson, you are telling me you wouldn’t share a secret that would endanger Roby’s life? How weird.”
Shane looked around the room, staring each and every player in the eye. He was done being afraid; he was done being ashamed. They should be the ones cowering their gaze, not him.
“Come on, Stedlund, you wouldn’t tell us you are dating Thalia if it meant she could never go home again without the threat of dying? That’s not friendship.” He shook his head in mock offence. “What about you, Berkes? Would you share your secret with us, even if it meant Shila would never be able to visit her mother's grave again? And you, Comeau,” Shane paused to make sure the goalie was looking at him. “You would feel safe sharing a secret that could very well mean Katie would be kidnapped and killed? Because I sure as shit hope you wouldn’t.”
“none of those things would have-”
“No? Abdulmezhidov Adam Isaevich. Abdulkerimov Side Ramzan Ramzanovich. Alimhanov Islam Aliev. Tsikmaev Sultanovich Ayoub. Yusupov Shamhan Shayhovich.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Olsson asked.
“Those are five people who were kidnapped, tortured, and killed for being gay in Russia. Five out of hundreds, and those are just the ones that were reported. You want to tell me again how I’m overreacting? Because I would like to believe that none of you would risk having your wives and girlfriends endangered like that.”
Shane was breathing hard, and for once in his life, he didn’t hold back.
“The love of my life could be taken from me at any moment. Russia can revoke his right to be here, kidnap him, take him away from me and everyone who loves him- and I wouldn’t know. They could charge him for being gay, take him to prison where-” Shane felt the tears in his eyes, and let them flow. They have already seen him raw and broken. What’s the harm in letting them see him cry? They couldn’t possibly hate him any more than they do now. “Where people don’t fucking come back.”
Shane stared at the stunned faces around him, at the men who never saw him so emotional and real in their 9 years of playing together, and started laughing. He could see Hayden eyeing him in concern, but he couldn’t possibly stop, now that his laughter was mixed with sobs.
“What the fuck am I doing?” He said between fits of laughter. “Why the fuck am I even explaining myself to you? I don’t owe you shit!”
While he dubbled over laughing, Shane absently wondered if he had finally lost his mind.
“Ilya, the love of my fucking life, could be taken from me at any moment. I left him at home, knowing he is not safe, to come talk to you guys. Why the fuck did I do that?” Shane wiped away his tears, unsure if they were tears of laughter or sorrow. “I spent years on this team. I met every single one of your girlfriends and wives. I babysat your kids. I have sweated and bled for this team- hell, I won us three fucking cups. Why am I talking to you like I owe you something? This team owes me everything they have!”
And the thing was, that they did. That the Voyageurs were nothing before Shane, and would be nothing when he leaves. Why should he fight for a spot on this team? They should fight for him. They should be the ones feeling scared and embarrassed. They should be the ones begging him to stay after what he had just been through, not the other way around.
If they want to ruin it for themselves, who was he to interfere? Let them dig their own graves; he will spend next year making sure they’ll never leave it.
Shane turned to leave the room, but turned around and looked at the rookies who were sitting there in shocked silence. “I’m sorry you were drafted here. I know you had big expectations, dreams about winning the cup and making friends. I am really sorry that this is what you get instead.” He looked around the room one last time, allowing a bitter smile to curl on his lips. “Good luck next season, huh?”
And with that, Shane Hollander left the Montreal Voyageurs’ dressing room for the last time.
Shane broke down before he reached his car.
Usually, he found statistics comforting, reassuring. But knowing those statistics about Russia, about what very well may happen to Ilya if he ever goes back there? Shane sometimes wished he could forget them, just to be able to sleep through the night.
He managed to drag himself inside before collapsing against the steering wheel and crying uncontrollably.
Despite everything he tried to tell himself, he did care. It did hurt. Those people were supposed to be his family, and...
His shoulders shook with the force of his sobs.
“Shane,” A familier russian voice spoke softly.
What was he doing here?
“What are you doing here?” Shane managed to choke out.
“Apparently, Pike is not completely useless. He text me that things don’t go so well.” Ilya said in a soft voice, lifting his hand to caress Shane’s cheek.
Shane leaned into the touch. “They told me I can’t finish the season.”
“What?!?” Ilya exclaimed, looking furious. “Which debil told you that? I kill them.”
This managed to get Shane to smile. “You can’t kill people, Ilya.”
“Yes I can. Am scary Russian. Very easy.”
Shane chuckled.
“It was management. I was basically fired.”
Looking at his fiance’, Shane could see the internal war in him. On one hand, Ilya was enraged, and probably did want to march straight into the training center and deck Vance in the face. On the other hand, Shane was still shaking, and he knew Ilya wouldn’t leave him like this.
Shane was correct, of course. Ilya shook his head and kissed Shane, giving him a little smile. “Very good that Metros are stupid.”
“Why?”
“Because now I get you with me. Now you don’t need to think about where you want to play next season. Metros are stupid so I get to have you.”
Shane gave him a small smile. “Well, I still have options. I was thinking about the Chicago Bears-”
“Not funny.”
“A little funny.”
“Zero funny. Very boring joke. Because I know even if you don’t like being second best, you will still will come play in Ottawa.”
“Second best?” Shane raised his eyebrow.
“Da. Will be difficult, going from being the best by far in team to second best, but you’ll be ok. We will get cups so you feel happy.”
“Oh, yeah? How many cups are we gonna get?”
“All of them,” Ilya said confidently, wiping Shane’s face clean with his sleeve. “You and me? We will win everything.”
“Sounds good.” Shane smiled. “Come on, let’s go home.”
“You sure you don’t want me to kill them? Will be very fast.”
“Ilya.”
“I can also just scare them. Say I have big russian friends coming to say hello.”
Post public relationship someone asks Shane and Ilya who made the first move and, without thinking, they both go "I did" which leads to them being outraged at the other one and any witnesses finding out way more than they ever wanted to know about how they got together.
Shane's like, "I was the one who introduced myself to you!" With Ilya replying "yes, but I made it romantic!" And normally Shane would never admit this under penalty of death but Ilya just engaged his competitiveness over who's responsible for their relationship so he immediately throws back, "romantic? Oh, please, you jerked off in front of me and you only did that because I was already hard." Ilya then, of course, comes back with, "you wouldn't have even been in that shower if I hadn't booked you for that commercial! And you were ready to pretend to forget it until I came to your room and kissed you."
And everyone else is just sat there thinking... I'm sorry, what happened??
Eddie legitimately liked his job. Most wouldn’t expect it, but it was actually a pretty leisurely gig. He was part of the night cleaning crew for a cushy corporate office in the heart of Chicago. Since his shift started well after the office closed, he never had to actually deal with any of the corporate pencil pushers, and the schedule really worked for his borderline nocturnal mindset. Eddie would just pop in his earbuds, and the time flew by. His crew would split up among the various floors, so usually Eddie was completely alone during his shift.
Usually.
Unless some random desk jockey had passed out in his cubicle on Christmas.
“Hey, man, you gotta wake up. You can’t sleep here,” Eddie tried, before kicking the guy’s chair.
He startled awake, whipping his head around until he settled on Eddie, squinting up at him. The guy was looking rough- dark circles, messy hair, tie pulled loose. All that aside, he was an attractive guy.
“What? Sorry- shit. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Fuck, what time is it?” The guy rubbed at his eyes, looking around at the empty room.
“Only nine, but I need to vacuum.” Eddie glanced down at the machine.
The man stared up at him. “Wait, did you find me earlier…and just let me keep sleeping until you needed to vacuum?”
Eddie nodded with a slight cringe. “Yeah, you seemed really out, and I figured if you’re here sleeping on Christmas, you probably could use the peace.”
There was a beat of silence. Then the guy’s eyes were welling up as he let out a broken sob.
“Oh fuck,” Eddie panicked. “Oh I’m sorry- please don’t cry. Shit, are you okay, man?”
Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, the guy slowly caught his breath. “Sorry… it’s just been a hard week. It was very nice of you to let me sleep.”
Eddie genuinely felt bad for the guy. Letting him sleep wasn’t exactly some grand act of heroism. He seemed to really be in need of some kindness.
“Wanna talk about it?” Eddie offered, settling into an office chair.
“You don’t wanna hear about my stupid sob story,” the guy countered.
“Try me. First- what’s your name? Mine’s Eddie.”
“Steve.”
Eddie would normally scoff at some run of the mill office worker, with his drab khaki pants and light blue button down, but Steve’s hazel eyes were red-rimmed and shining. His hair had clearly been styled meticulously a long while ago and was now sticking up at odd angles from where he’d slept on it. He curled in on himself in a way that seemed contrary to the usual confident bravado these business types held.
He settled in and listened to Steve’s tale of woe.
Turned out, Steve got dumped by his fiancée on Christmas Eve. They’d met five years ago here in Chicago, and they’d built a whole life together. They were both pretty focused on their careers, but Steve had always thought that was what she wanted- especially since she’d always been so adamant about her ambitions.
She went home for the holidays, and by the time Steve came to join her a few days later, she’d rekindled things with her old high school flame, decided she was moving back to her home town, and apparently had ‘learned the true meaning of Christmas.’ Whatever that meant.
According to her, Steve was obsessed with his work and their relationship was bullshit and built on avoiding anything real.
This was news to him, but-
“Who am I to tell her not to be with the guy that apparently makes her happier than I ever could?” He sobbed. “So… I wished her well, caught a flight home, came back here to do what I do best, apparently, and drown myself in some mind numbing work; but I guess the exhaustion finally caught up with me.”
Eddie thought Steve’s fiancée sucked, and he must be some kind of saint to just let her go like that.
“So, what do you want?” Eddie asked.
Steve blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You said you were both focused on your careers, but it seemed like she pressed that more than you did. If you don’t actually feel like that, what do you want?” Eddie leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles as he stared expectantly at Steve.
His brows pinched together, eyes focusing on his hands in his lap. “I… guess I’ve always wanted a family. It’s pretty cookie cutter, but the whole house with a picket fence and a few kids running around always sounded like a dream to me. My folks were… they were career types. Not around a lot. I don’t want that. I want to be there for all the milestones, coach their little league, go to the PTA meetings- all that stuff. I want to build a home that feels safe, somewhere they want to bring their friends to.
“I think that’s why I didn’t question her decision. Yeah, it hurt, but she always made me feel like someone I wasn’t. And, if she’s willing to throw away our entire life together without even talking to me- clearly she wasn’t happy. Maybe I wasn’t either.” Steve sighed like a weight had been lifted from him. He looked up to meet Eddie’s eyes.
Eddie smiled. “Sounds like it was for the best.”
“Thank you for this. I didn’t realize how much I needed to say all of that out loud. Maybe it’s a silly dream but-”
“It’s not silly,” Eddie interrupted. “It’s a great dream. Very… warm. I think it sounds really nice.”
Steve’s expression softened. “Thanks,” he said quietly.
Eddie looked back at him for a moment that seemed to stretch on… until he suddenly blinked and pulled back. He got to his feet and clapped his hands together. “Well… I uh. I’ve got work to do, so I should probably… do that.”
Steve straightened, nodding. “Yeah, uh. I should let you get to that. I probably should go home.” He grabbed his jacket, slipping it on and running his fingers through his hair to smooth it the best he could.
He looked lighter now. Eddie leaned on the vacuum and watched Steve gather his messenger bag.
Steve walked down the row of cubicles before hesitating at the doors to the elevator. He turned back. Eddie watched him curiously.
“Do you maybe wanna get a drink sometime?” Steve asked across the room.
Eddie’s heart hammered in his chest. “Really?”
“Really,” Steve assured.
“Why?” was all eddie could think to say.
Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “You let me sleep, listened to my insane story, said my dream sounded nice, and you’re really cute.”
“Oh,” Eddie replied.
“Is that a no?”
Eddie shook his head adamantly. “No- I mean yes. I mean, no that wasn’t a no. It was a yes.”
Steve blinked. “So…?”
“I’ll get a drink with you,” Eddie clarified with a wince.
Steve beamed. “Great!” He walked over as he dug around in his bag and retrieved a white business card. “Here’s my cell. Don’t use the office line. It won’t work next week.”
Eddie’s brow furrowed. “Why won’t it work?”
Steve’s smile was blinding. “Because I’m quitting this hellhole first thing Monday morning.” He stepped into Eddie’s space, giving him a moment to pull away before kissing him.
Damn if he wasn’t hearing bells by the time Steve pulled back.
“Merry Christmas,” Steve said before turning and heading back over to the elevators.
Eddie stared back at him in a daze.
Steve held his thumb and pink up to his face. “Call me!”
The doors closed, leaving Eddie alone in the silent office.
My favourite thing about the Steve-Dustin friendship is that Dustin randomly stole Steve from the streets in broad daylight one day, and he's been stuck mothering a number of children ever since...
early stages of friendship are Soooo embarrassing like yea sorry....... it's me again............ i enjoy talking to you and spending time with you....... you can shoot me point blank if you want i dont mind
really truly in need of steve harrington putting murray bauman on blast. joyce is there, so steve can’t beat murray up with his fists, but he absolutely will do so with his words.
I want steve and eddie to be at dinner with joyce and the lot and murray makes a comment like, “oh, how long have you two been at it?”
and steve, busy devouring whatever joyce made that night, is like, “how long have you been at being in people’s business?”
anyways I think murray, eye twitching, would be asking more and more personal questions and steve just keeps deflecting him with increasingly bitchy responses.
eventually, steve's like, "I'm not gay, but if I was, I would've told you if you'd just asked nicely." and murray's humiliated by now and he's like just nodding silently.
and then steve kisses eddie's cheek and says, "I need to grab something from the car, I'll be back." and leaves.
murray's like wtf ??? didn't he just say he wasn't gay ??? and eddie's like, "it's 1986, murray, bisexual people exist."
(they are dating. everyone knows this except murray.)
Steve spends the summer after they defeat Vecna teaching El how to make noise
It starts one day in his kitchen, when she catches him whistling. Brows furrowed as she tries to copy him, she asks him how to do it. For a minute, Steve is surprised; what kid doesn't know how to whistle? And then he remembers - El hadn't gotten to have a childhood. Not really. He thinks about all the normal kid stuff she was denied, and his chest aches just a little. He forgets whatever he'd been doing and spends the whole afternoon teaching her how to whistle
Once she has a pretty good grasp on whistling, he asks if she wants to learn how to do it really loud, and teaches her how to whistle with her fingers
Showing her how to snap her fingers is easy, and after she masters that, he shows her how to make a popping noise with her fingers tucked under her chin
He spends one afternoon showing her how to make a hooting noise with her cupped hands, and another how to whistle with two blades of grass. Sometimes he'll find something the other kids in the party don't know how to do, either, and he'll gladly show them, if they'll listen long enough
He draws on every little trick he'd learned growing up, from his friends, from summer camp, from his time in the Scouts. He learns that El has never gotten to play a kazoo, so he makes her one with wax paper and a comb, the way his grandad had shown him so many summers ago, and lets her go to town
By the end of summer, Hopper is ready to murder Steve - except El looks so happy, so pleased with herself, making popping noises with her lips, snapping her fingers, giggling as Jonathan and Will try and fail to copy the bird call Steve showed her. For that smile on her face, Hopper guesses he can put up with it
(He gets his revenge by teaching El how to whistle the Andy Griffith theme song and unleashing her on Steve. It takes a week for Steve to get the tune out of his head)
Baby punk El this and baby punk El that. I love her to death but she's blossoming into someone else. So what about baby punk Steve?
Imagine Steve who's grown so much he feels like he's outgrown most of his previous interests and likes. Its hard to really fixate on cars and sports when every time you look at a car you remember hitting Max's brother with one, and baseball bats will forever remind you of fighting with one. Steve isn't remotely the same person he used to be, so who is he now?
Imagine Steve trying on all manners different ideals and outfits, flitting from one friend's style to another as he tries to find where he fits.
Nothing really clicks though. Nancy is too similar to what he already was, Robin's style only really suits her, Jonathan's is kinda... basic, Argyle just isn't the vibe really, and the kids are still coming into their own too.
That leaves Eddie.
Eddie who Steve could not be more different from, ostensibly.
But when Steve tells Eddie about what he's going through and what his goal is, Eddie takes him under his wing immediately.
He starts taking Steve into more metalhead spaces, lets him get to know what the community is actually like (They're mostly old friends of Wayne's, a biker group he used to ride with that pretty much adopted Eddie when he was younger too. They're also largely responsible for how Eddie is today). Steve is surprised by how welcoming they are, and how easily he gets along with them all. Since he's still relatively young and new to the scene, he's the group baby for once.
They become another pseudo family to him, though one that he doesn't have to constantly worry about protecting, rather one that protects him (Finally the baby instead of the baby sitter.) Especially after the night they got him drunk and he shared a "funny" anecdote about his parents forgetting him at home when they went on a two week vacation (They all silently agreed that if they ever meet the Harringtons, its on sight). They're the ones that help him really come to terms with how shitty his home life actually is, the ones that help him channel the anger that comes with that revelation.
Its still not quite what he was aiming for but he loves his new found family. And hey he does actually like this. Even some of the music, to Eddie's utter delight.
Steve slowly begins collecting bits of clothing that suit this new change in his life some of them he's stolen from Eddie and it makes him feel more settled in his skin.
But the first moment he finds what he's been looking for comes from what was supposed to be a joke.
One day when they're hanging out, Eddie sings David Bowie's Rebel Rebel to Steve, jokingly, but Steve immediately resonates with the lyrics. He begs Eddie to play him the whole song (he has a Bowie vinyl stashes under his bed, what kind of gay would he be if he didn't??) and when he does he wants to listen to it over and over again.
He starts picking up bits of Bowie's style too. Starts using Robin's eyeliner to doodle a couple little stars by his eyes when she's around, sometimes he'll borrow Nancy's a lip gloss and dab a little bit on his lips. Eddie starts calling him "Pretty Boy" instead of "Big Boy", and Stevie instead of Steve and he loves it.
The second huge revelation comes when he sees an actual punk in real life.
The spikes, the color, the attitude, the makeup, all of it calls to Steve like a siren song. It takes everything he has to calmly walk up to the punk in question and ask them about their style, about their scene. They happily explain (punks and metalheads are practically cousins, and Steve is dressed almost exclusively out of Eddie's closet that day) and Steve falls in love with it immediately.
Its such a good mixture of the bright, energetic style that’s Steve's underlying personality, along with the sharpness hes taken on since the Upside-Down invaded his life. Something about having spikes on his clothes is comforting to him, like having his nailbat close at hand without the implicit threat it carries.
The first thing he does is transform his letterman jacket into a punk jacket. Eddie helps him design it, and its an elaborate testiment to the things Steve has done and has been through. The kids help make buttons and pins and patches for it too, each new one like a medal bestowed on him for his bravery and his service to them over the years.
He then swaps out his running shoes for combat boots which take a little getting used to since they're heavy but it feels right. They sit tighter on him and he finds it reassuring. He could also knock out a fucking window with them, which he finds out by accident so that's a definite plus.
He keeps his blue jeans but stops replacing them when they rip and tear. Its part of the style and Eddie loves to play with the little bits of skin that peak through the holes.
He starts wearing actual makeup here and there and finds that he really likes it. The eyeliner makes his eyes pop in a way that everyone finds distracting and its fun. Plus Robin and Eddie both sit in his lap when they apply it for him which is a bonus.
The only thing that stays the same is the hair (give or take a couple streaks of color here and there). It suits him and the change in aesthetic doesn't really affect his hair. If anything it actually kinda makes more sense. He looks like a greaser but more aggressive and he loves it. (Steve might not have chosen to become a warrior, but its definitely a part of him by now, and a part that has kept his loved ones safe over the years. He can grieve what it cost him and still love it for what it gave him too.)
His parents however do not love it. Not that he sees them often enough to really care what they think anymore, but the one time they catch him home his mother nearly faints and his father gets so angry it takes Steve back to being a helpless child again for a moment.
He accuses him of all kinds of things, (ruining their reputation, embarrassing them, disappointing God, you name it) but its not until he starts blaming Eddie for the changes to Steve's persona and attitude that he snaps.
Steve lectures his father like he would one of his kids, because he's acting like one of them. He doesn't even realized he's gone into full Babysitter mode until he sees his Mother's face. He's just so used to being the mature adult in any given situation it came naturally.
His mother to his endless surprise takes his side, tells his father he's clearly a grown man now and he can make his own choices. His father somehow looks even more shocked than Steve feels.
Steve doesn't rekindle his relationship with them, but they have an understanding. Which is better than he'd dared hope they'd ever have.
Steve Harrington is a punk, and he absolutely loves it. He has a family of metalheads that adore him and herd of children are somewhere in the middle and forming their own identities. He has a best friend who makes up her own damn rules, and a handful of friends who probably wouldn't mind the rules even if they knew what they were. And he's got a boyfriend who's helped him grow into his favorite version of himself yet.
I firmly believe that punk!Steve and babygirl!Steve can and should coexist together.
Punk has never been about following rules and being what you're expected to be. And for that reason it houses a lot of queer folk.
As he gets more accustomed to the scene, he finds himself meeting more and more people with unusual gender presentations. Things he didn’t really think of as an option. He learns that not only is how he feels valid, but its okay to feel that way. It takes him some time, and support (Robin takes point on this one, she's had a biweekly appointment to fist fight gender out back of the McDonald's parking lot since 7th grade, she gets it) but he lets himself explore.
He finds out that maybe his father's riged definition of what "being a man" is was wrong. He thinks maybe he can make his own definition. He enjoys what hes doing, and he's not hurting anyone so really its no one's business and that's that.
He learns that he likes lace, but fishnets pull on his leg and chest hair so he tries shaving that. He likes the feeling of being soft and smooth but its a lot of work so he really only does it as a treat. He puts baby pink laces in his combat boots instead of his regular ones. He tries mascara and immediately adds it too his standard makeup kit (its just a little thing but he got tired of stealing everyone else's.) He tries baby pink lip gloss and adores it. He paints his nails whatever color he feels like and leaves them until they chip off. When he jeans tear in awkward places, he patches them with pink plaid patches.
Even his jacket evolves with him. He cuts the sleeves and stiches them back up with the black lace hes cannibalized from a cast off shirt he stained. The back, which is made of music lyrics and nicknames of his scrawled messily across it (King Steve is there but its been proudly graffied over by Baby-Sitter), gets a new nickname added. "Babygirl".
Eddie took to calling him that when Steve took the time to get prettied up to this new level. He almost walked into a stop sign the first time and Eddie apologized profusely. Steve had asked him to say it again, which he did. Steve liked it, no, he loved it. It spoke to some place he hadn't known existed inside of him and quickly became one of his favorite petnames to be called.
When Pretty in Pink comes out, Pretty in Punk joins the phrases scrawled on Steve's back.
Clueless, buff Steve falling into subspace during his weekly HIT cardio workout sessions without even realizing.
There's just... something about the voice of his trainer that motivates him to do more reps. His whole body's alight with the passion to reach his goals.
"A little faster, c'mon!"
"That's it, keep going... just like that. Beautiful form in the back!"
"Y'all are doing great, I'm so proud of you– two more, then you've earned yourself a break."
Sure, there comes a part when Steve's muscles are screaming in agony. He feels like collapsing on the floor, but after the initial pain, something alway seems to shift in him. A blissful wave of warmth washes over his body from head-to-toe and Boom–
Suddenly, his priorities are set straight again.
He's on the verge of giving up but then his trainer shouts a few encouraging words and some praises directed right at Steve.
"Keep pushing Steve, work those thighs, c'mon!"
It's like magic.
It's also pretty.. intense, but it's cool, really cool because he's able to push his body to its limits and really work for it.
'Gets him in the zone,' like some always say.
Little does he know that it's not even remotely the same thing they mean.
However. Steve can't quite put his finger on it, but this is the only time during the week that it happens. Nothing like this when he's lifting weights or when he's jogging on the treadmill. Not even before, with his previous cardio group.
Maybe.. shit, it's gonna sound pretty sexist – is he sexist? Fuck, he hopes not – but it only ever worked if the trainer was a man.
Really though, Steve thought his previous trainer was wonderful at her job. She just had a different style and approach – a little too strict for his liking. Less generous with jer praises. Steve was a regular in that group until it disbanded cuz she moved away but–
... it turns out, Steve loves gentle but firm more.
The new guy sometimes even gets up in his space and corrects his posture which, fuck, makes him sweat even more.
But really, anything for better results.
And since exercise gets the blood pumping, it's not unheard of for a man to get a little hard after a good session.
Steve, who shows up with impressive stamina and dedication that's enviable by many, is rock hard by the end.
Every. Single. Time.
But that's just his body, right? Nothing weird about it, and since Tommy used to have this thing too sometimes, Steve doesn't feel weird about it. It's normal. Sometimes you just gotta help a bro out in the showers after everyone else left.
Guys will be guys.
So having a boner after training is not unfamiliar to Steve. It's the inconvenient frequency of it when it's cardio day.
The more he thinks about it, the more he comes to the conclusion that the secret's in the authoritative voice.
Like... it scratches an itch he didn't know he had. Steve wants to be good. Less and less for himself, and more so he receives praise from others.
Almost like when that one time, a girl whispered 'good boy' into Steve's ears as she was bouncing on top. He came so hard he nearly blacked out.
Except, this time... it just can't be sexual.
If he really lets himself dwell on the roots of the topic, – which he'd rather not, it's dumb to question stuff that works – this whole thing? It feels strangely connected to his childhood traumas.
Anyways.
After much convincing, Eddie joins Chrissy at her cardio sessions. He tells her it's solely to scare off any gym bros who might shower her with unwanted attention.
But shit, the end couldn't have come any sooner. Eddie's drenched in sweat, his bun has come loose and his limbs feel like spaghetti.
Fuck, maybe he really should exercise more.
The view was pretty hot, so that's something at least. Not to mention, Eddie's pretty sure he's seen the trainer... around. He's a total daddy dom though, so while the man's easy on the eyes, he's not exactly Eddie's type.
His heart rate takes some time to go back to normal after all those fucking mountain climbers or whatever the fuck they were called.
Suddenly, the floor is pretty inviting to Eddie so sitting there for a good 5-10 minutes becomes inevitable, before he's able to reenter the men's changing room.
By then, many people have already left, only a few of them are still lingering by the door. How the hell everyone got their shit together so fast, Eddie doesn't know. He feels like a truck has run him over.
There's one guy, however, who seems a little... off, to Eddie.
He's sitting on the bench, elbows on his knees as he's staring at the floor with a spacy expression. He doesn't even realize that Eddie's stopped in front of him. Weird, this reminds Eddie of–
...nah, that couldn't be.
Could it?
Still, Eddie's instinctively gentle when he tries to get his attention. The man, finally after a few soft 'hey's, tilts his chin up and graces Eddie with the most gorgeous face he's ever laid eyes on.
Shit, his pupils are blown out. His lips are so pouty and–
Eddie's trying really hard to feel normal about this unfairly pretty stranger, who may or may not be neck-deep into subspace.
------
If anyone wants to continue or write a fic based off this idea, please, PLEASE, do!!! Whether here under this post or on Ao3, I'd be delighted to read, just tag me and let me know, friends ❤️
Add your thoughts and comments, I wanna explore this idea so bad
Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Where the Wild Things Are pop-up event.
i want you to love me like my parrot does, honey
Where the Wild Things Are Pop-Up | Word Count: 3,000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Fade to Black Sex | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Steddie, Eddie & Gareth | Tags: Modern AU, Flirty Flirting, Mutual Attraction, Getting Together, Animal Shelter Worker Steve Harrington, Exotic Animal Foster Eddie Munson, Annoyed Roommate Gareth Jones
Also on ao3.
Eddie looks down at the phone in his hand, and turns off the running water in the bathroom sink he'd used to muffle his conversation. If you have to hide it, you're doing something wrong. That's what Uncle Wayne always said.
But, he's doing it anyway.
Heading towards the door, he casually reaches to get his leather jacket. Maybe Gareth won't notice. Maybe he can slink out of here unnotic—
"Where are you going? Where are you going?"
Fuck. Jimmy Buffett the goddamn parrot is a misses-nothing tattletale.
Gareth turns, looking, "Hey, Jim's right. Where are you going?"
"Just, you know, out."
"Eddie."
"Google, play Master of Puppets," Jimmy Buffett demands, and the bluetooth speaker fires up. Plays the opening riff, and then Jimmy asks all over again. Head bobbing back and forth the entire time. He only wants the intro, over and over.
"Great," Gareth says, "just great, Ed. This is a fun loop to be in."
"Hey, we got him over the M-A-R-G-A-R-," he pauses, trailing off.
"No, no, keep going," Gareth goads.
"I-T-A-V-I-L-L-E obsession," Eddie finishes. There's no way in hell he's saying that word out loud. "This is an improvement and you know it."
"Unplugging the damn thing, not giving a bird the option of dictating our lives would be an improvement too, and yet."
"Where are you going?" the grooving parrot asks again, Master of Puppets blaring.
"Good question, Jimmy," Gareth concurs.
"The shelter."
That lights a fire under Gareth's ass, and he's up off the couch.
"Eddie, no, we don't have room for anything else!" Gareth snaps, waving his hands around the living room that's already full of cages, aquariums and other various habitats.
"But Steve called," Eddie says, and Gareth huffs out a breath of annoyance.
"Steve's taking advantage," Gareth insists, and Eddie knows that's not true. It's just not easy to find someone qualified to foster all the weird and exotic animals. "Goodie won't even come over here anymore, you know. Wait. Go ahead. Get something else. Alligator? Komodo Dragon? Anaconda?"
Eddie laughs. Goodie hates to be in the same room as the snakes, but if Eddie covers their habits, Goodie can sometimes pretend they aren't there. Sometimes.
"What are you getting this time?" Gareth asks, and then waves his hands around, "No. Wait. Don't tell me. I'll be surprised."
Oh, and surprised he'll be.
Mainly because Eddie doesn't even know. Steve just called, said he had something Eddie needed to see, and that was all the info Eddie needed.
Eddie snags Gareth around the neck, shaking him around in a rough thank you hug.
"If Jimmy keeps it up longer than thirty minutes, you can unplug the speakers, okay?"
"How generous," Gareth sasses, but crashes back onto the couch, "I'm really fucking sick of this, you asshole."
He'll live. He always does.
But, well. Eddie can't resist. He pokes his head back in the door, and croons, "Strummin' my six string, on my front porch swing."
Jimmy Buffett squawks and flaps his wings.
"Google, play Margaritaville," he demands, Master of Puppets forgotten. If looks could kill, Eddie'd be dead. Gareth throws up his middle fingers, both of them, before sliding his noise-cancelling headphones over his ears.
Eddie cackles as he closes the door, leaving Gareth in Margaritaville hell.
When Eddie pulls up at the rescue, Steve's out front with a family, rolling around in the lush, green grass as he's introducing a dog that's wagging the shit out of its tail, thrilled to be out of the dog run.
Fair enough. Eddie'd be thrilled if he was getting that kind of attention from Steve, too.
Steve gets animals adopted, and it's pretty cool to watch in action. Dogs, Steve can find homes fairly easily. Same with cats. Eddie swears half the time the adopters are turning up just to see Steve. He features heavily on all their social media, and has an amazing track record for facilitating successful adoptions.
He's an animal whisperer, through and through. So, basically catnip to Eddie.
Unfortunately, he's made the shelter very popular, and as a consequence other animals have been dropped off that are far less easy to adopt out.
Those are the critters that dictate calls to Eddie.
At least they aren't being released into the wild, which is a real goddamn problem. If they end up with Steve, they've got a chance.
Steve sees him, and hands the leash of the overly happy pup over to Robin. Eddie gives her a wave, and then shoves his hands in his pockets as Steve approaches, grinning.
"Hey, man. Thanks for coming," Steve says, slinging his arm around Eddie's shoulders, walking him towards the shelter. "It's been a while."
And it has been a few months. There's no rhyme or reason to when they might get something they can't take care of at the shelter. But when they call, Eddie gets to see Steve and nurse his pathetic crush that's been building over the past two years.
Eddie hates that this is the biggest reason he keeps saying yes. Getting to be near Steve, feeling helpful, and yes, all the friendly touches. He definitely doesn't hate those.
Steve lets go to open the door, and leads Eddie through the maze of the place. Past all the run-of-the-mill animals, to the dungeon. At least, that's what Eddie calls it.
In a too small saltwater tank, is an octopus.
"Oh hell no," Eddie laughs, "you want me to be the jailer for that brilliant escape artist?"
Steve giggles, "Hence the rocks on the lid. This is Houdini. We know what she can do. Apparently, she kept breaking into all the tanks near her, eating the inhabitants, then slinking back into her own tank like nothing had happened. It was a real aquatic mystery, until they set up a camera and caught her in the act."
Eddie grins, and looks at her, watching her flash, changing colors and then back again, "Smart little asshole. You're resourceful, ain't you, honey?" Eddie asks her, watching as she moves through the water.
"You'll take her?" Steve asks, looking hopeful.
"Of course," Eddie answers, "you'll just have to let me get something set up for her. I have a saltwater tank cycled that'll be big enough, which is lucky. I'm sure you don't want to keep her here for three months. But I'll need to do some shuffling, and reinforcing. They're like cats. Liquids that cannot be contained."
Steve laughs.
"How old is she?" Eddie asks, because they don't live long, as sad as that is. He wants to be prepared. She's definitely not a long term commitment, not like Irv the tortoise, or Jimmy the parrot or Heqet the African clawed frog. Those are decades long commitments, if the right home never comes along.
Steve isn't sure, which isn't uncommon for the things that they sometimes just find dropped off on their front step.
At least Houdini has some backstory. That's not always a given.
Gareth comes home, still pissy. Margaritaville isn't playing, so that's a plus. Eddie prepared for this, though. Bribes work on Gareth.
"There's booze in the blender," he teases, at least this time out of Jimmy's earshot.
"Okay, I might forgive you. Show me what you've got first. Direwolf? Slimer? Harry from the Hendersons?"
Eddie laughs, "I don't have her yet. It's an octopus."
"Oh. That's not so bad," Gareth says, salting the rim, then pouring himself a margarita that Eddie was heavy handed with the good tequila in as an apology.
"We have to move Pennywise and pals," Eddie admits, and Gareth groans. He hates fish tank business.
"We can do it," he reassures, "eat a taco. You'll feel better."
Eddie stopped and picked up the tacos they both like, and they sit and eat, splitting the pitcher of margaritas until they're both tipsy.
"I just," Gareth says, "I don't mind the animals. But women don't want to come here."
Eddie can't be mad at him for telling the truth. He knows. Men don't want to come here either.
"Goodie said I could move in with him," Gareth says, and Eddie feels his stomach drop, "for a price."
"You'll kill each other," Eddie says.
"I know," Gareth answers, "I'm not going anywhere. But this house is a real cockblock."
"Tell me about it," Eddie sighs, "I'm not doing any better."
He knows Gareth knows that, too. But these animals don't have anywhere else to go. He doesn't want them destroyed just because their previous owners didn't take good care of them.
"At least you have Steve," Gareth says, poking at him over his crush.
"I wish," Eddie says.
He wants Steve, but that's a pipe dream.
Eddie rolls over, blinking. Trying to reorient. He picks up his phone, and peers at the screen. The security camera notification woke him up. David is sitting on the back patio. Waiting.
So, Eddie crawls out of bed. Throws on a t-shirt over his boxers, sliding on shoes.
Pulling open the sliding glass door, he asks, "Hey, buddy, where you been? It's been a few days, let me get you some food," Eddie tells the plump raccoon and heads back to the kitchen to make peanut butter sandwiches, and fetch fresh water as well as some other snacks. He isn't technically Eddie's, but he can't stand to see any creature go hungry.
So, fed he'll be.
Even if he shows up at three in the goddamn morning.
A few days later Eddie calls to let Steve know his saltwater tank is ready that Gareth nearly killed him for trying to set up the first time. Too much chemistry.
"Want me to deliver her?" Steve asks, and Eddie pauses. Steve wants to come to his house? He's never been to his house before. Eddie comes to him. That's the deal. Nobody wants to come here.
"I mean, if you want, but if you don't have time, I can make my roommate come with me to come get her," Eddie offers.
Steve insists, so Eddie starts to tell him his address, before he realizes Steve knows. It's on every application, every foster agreement he's ever signed.
"But you already know that," Eddie laughs.
"I do," Steve answers, "but it's less creepy this way."
Two hours later, Steve's on his doorstep with Houdini. They start the process to get her drip acclimated into the bigger tank.
"Wow. This is," Steve says, and Eddie can see him looking all over the room and the rest of the sentence goes unsaid. It's a lot to take in. Aquariums, cages, habitats all over the place. Steve had to know. He's the one that keeps calling Eddie to pick up these exotic and hard to place animals.
"Pretty, pretty," Jimmy Buffett coos, dancing in his cage, looking at Steve.
Well, he's not wrong. Just embarrassing Eddie for fun, undoubtedly. Like an unruly five-year-old.
"C'mere, dingus," he mimics, and Steve tosses back his head and laughs.
"He sounds just like Robin," Steve says, and approaches her cage, "I can believe you remember me. Hi, Jimmy."
"Hi, Jimmy," the bird mimics back, "Get me a beer."
"No beer. Want a full tour?" Eddie offers Steve. Just as well show him all the crazy.
And he does, guiding Steve room-to-room.
When he sees the large enclosure in the corner of the spare bedroom, he stops, "Holy shit."
It's kinda crazy. Half water, half land, home to the dwarf caiman Steve though was a baby alligator when it was dumped on their step.
Eddie couldn't house an alligator. He doesn't have the space, or experience. But a dwarf caiman? Totally doable, after a small construction project that Gareth, Jeff and Goodie bitched about the entire time.
Goodie hates her, but she does like to grumble and hiss, especially at him.
"She's a bitch," Eddie says with affection, but he's sure he's stuck with her for the rest of her life. Which is fine. He wants to find nearly everything that turns up here a good fit for a permanent home, elsewhere. That doesn't always work out.
Most, if not all of them, were pets somebody got in over their head with. It's sad.
Steve doesn't seem scared, or disgusted, like a lot of people. Not even annoyed, like Gareth. Who honestly rolls with it better than most. He's not scared, at least. Eddie knows this funhouse of creatures is why he's single. Like, he can hookup with a guy here and there, but as soon as they get to the point that he needs to bring him home, shit goes south, quick. Nobody wants to sleep in a room with a frog singing, or watch TV with a chatty beach bum parrot.
He can't have everything, he's chosen this, and that's okay.
Steve is looking in each enclosure, and then he comes up to one of the enclosures in Eddie's bedroom, peering down inside, "Oh, wow. Hi, there, I don't believe I know you."
Eddie grins, looking down into the tortoise enclosure, "That's Irv. He was my grandpa's. My first experience with reptiles. I inherited him when my Uncle Wayne declined the opportunity to raise another beast," Eddie says with all the affection in the world. Wayne raised him. A tortoise, though? Not for him.
Steve laughs, and Eddie smiles at him.
"How old?" Steve asks.
"Forty-ish?" Eddie answers. Older than Eddie, definitely, but he's not a hundred percent for sure. He's just been able to trace photos back that far, at least.
"Amazing," Steve says, and Eddie's even more smitten. Steve doesn't seem grossed out by anything he's been confronted with so far in this house. Eddie shouldn't be surprised. He knows how much time Steve puts in at the shelter, Eddie just assumed he preferred the fuzzy, domesticated pets. Most people do.
Houdini is ready to be released into the bigger tank, and she immediately inks. It's expected. Eddie skims it out of the water, not wanting her to suffocate, and then secures the heavy lid. Flipping the new latches. She's sure pretty.
Steve meanders back towards the front door, and Eddie is sorry to see him go.
"Stop by again, if you want to visit. I'm sure Jimmy would be thrilled to lay eyes on you," and if on command, Jimmy gives a wolf whistle. They both laugh, "See?"
Then, Steve steps out onto the front porch, seems to change his mind, and steps back inside, "Okay. If I'm off-base, ignore me," Steve says, and Eddie feels the blood rushing to his cheeks.
No way.
"But. Would you maybe want to go out sometime?" Steve asks, and he looks so shy. Steve's never looked shy.
"Yes," Eddie says, taking a step closer, "fuck. Yes. Of course."
And Steve laughs, seemingly relieved. Eddie can't believe this guy wants to go on a date with him, especially after seeing his little shop of horrors.
"Thank god," Steve says, "I've felt the vibes. I thought? But I didn't want to scare off my best shelter ally if I was wrong."
"You weren't wrong," Eddie reassures, and Steve smiles, big and bright. Eddie wants to lock this down. "Tomorrow night?"
"Tomorrow night," Steve agrees.
Drinks, dinner and now Steve's standing in Eddie's bedroom shedding his shirt.
"Pretty, pretty," Eddie says, mimicking the parrot, and Steve giggles.
Then he drops his jeans, and scoots up Eddie's bed.
Eddie just stares. He's gorgeous, and so fucking confident that Eddie's going crazy. He wants him, he needs him, fuck, maybe he loves him.
He damn well wants to find out if this could be something. Something great, maybe.
So, he pulls his own clothes off, and then crawls on top of Steve, pressing him back into the sheets.
After, they lay shoulder-to-shoulder, Heqet singing a mechanical underwater buzzing sound.
"That's soothing," Steve says, and yeah. Eddie's heart is gone.
Steve bolts upright, startled, and Eddie lays a hand on his back, "Sorry. It's okay. I'll be back. Another animal to feed."
But Steve slides out of bed behind him, and Eddie is so goddamn smitten by this man.
"What is it?" Steve questions.
"David. My big dirty raccoon," Eddie explains, and doles out the snacky snacks he brought out to the patio.
Steve giggles, quoting, "Eww, David."
And Eddie grins. Exactly. Steve gets the reference, and Eddie's fucking enamored with this man that crawled out of his bed in the middle of the night to watch a raccoon wash his finger sandwiches in water.
Steve hugs him from behind, chin on his shoulder, and Eddie's so goddamn happy.
In the morning, Steve helps him feed and tend to all the different animals.
"Gareth's gonna be jealous," Eddie teases, "he can't find a woman to come back here to feed his snake."
Steve snorts, then makes a thinking face, looking over at Eddie, "You know. I actually know someone at the shelter. Dr. Dawlsen."
"Robin?" Eddie asks.
Steve cackles, making Jimmy squawk, "No. She's a lesbian. And not a vet."
"Oh. That all tracks," Eddie says, and Steve just grins.
Gareth comes out of his room, sees Steve, and rolls his eyes.
"Hey!" Steve demands, and Gareth looks at him. Steve snaps a couple pictures on his phone.
"What the fuck was that?" Gareth asks.
"Smile. He thinks he might have a lady doctor to set you up with that wouldn't run screaming from our menagerie."
"Vet, not gyno," Steve clarifies.
"Don't care. Carry on," Gareth says, preening like he's the fancy bird in the room.
Then, Steve's gotta go, "Well, I had fun. Let's do it again. And again."
Hell fucking yes.
"You're not gonna run for the hills?" Eddie teases, slinging his arms around Steve's neck, pressing their lips together again.
"Not a chance," Steve answers, nuzzling into Eddie's neck, "I like your wild kingdom. Kindness towards animals? Especially these animals? Such a turn on."
When Steve pulls back, Eddie grins, pulling his hair over his mouth.
"Tonight?" Steve asks.
And Eddie nods. Tonight. Absolutely.
And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the Where the Wild Things Are prompt!
Notes: Title is a play on the lyrics from the Jimmy Buffett song Like My Dog, and obviously his Margaritaville played a role in the fic itself.
please help me- i used to be pretty smart but i’m having so much trouble grasping the concept of diegetic vs non-diegetic bdsm!
gfkjldghfd okay first of all I'm sorry for the confusion, if you're not finding anything on the phrase it's because I made it up and absolutely nobody but me ever uses it, but I haven't found a better way to express what I'm trying to say so I keep using it. but now you've given me an excuse to ramble on about some shit that is only relevant to me and my deeply inefficient way of talking and by god I'm going to take it.
SO. the way diegetic and non-diegetic are normally used is to talk about music and sound design in movies/tv shows. in case you aren't familiar with that concept, here's a rundown:
diegetic sound is sound that happens within the world of the movie/show and can be acknowledged by the characters, like a song playing on the stereo during a driving scene, or sung on stage in Phantom of the Opera. it's also most other sounds that happen in a movie, like the sounds of traffic in a city scene, or a thunderclap, or a marching band passing by. or one of the three stock horse sounds they use in every movie with a horse in it even though horses don't really vocalize much in real life, but that's beside the point, the horse is supposed to be actually making that noise within the movie's world and the characters can hear it whinnying.
non-diegetic sound is any sound that doesn't exist in the world of the movie/show and can't be perceived by the characters. this includes things like laugh tracks and most soundtrack music. when Duel of Fates plays in Star Wars during the lightsaber fight for dramatic effect, that's non-diegetic. it exists to the audience, but the characters don't know their fight is being backed by sick ass music and, sadly, can't hear it.
the lines can get blurry between the two, you've probably seen the film trope where the clearly non-diegetic music in the title sequence fades out to the same music, now diegetic and playing from the character's car stereo. and then there are things like Phantom of the Opera as mentioned above, where the soundtrack is also part of the plot, but Phantom of the Opera does also have segments of non-diegetic music: the Phantom probably does not have an entire orchestra and some guy with an electric guitar hiding down in his sewer just waiting for someone to break into song, but both of those show up in the songs they sing down there.
now, on to how I apply this to bdsm in fiction.
if I'm referring to diegetic bdsm what I mean is that the bdsm is acknowledged for what it is in-world. the characters themselves are roleplaying whatever scenarios their scenes involve and are operating with knowledge of real life rules/safety practices. if there's cnc depicted, it will be apparent at some point, usually right away, that both characters actually are fully consenting and it's all just a planned scene, and you'll often see on-screen negotiation and aftercare, and elements of the story may involve the kink community wherever the characters are. Love and Leashes is a great example of this, 50 Shades and Bonding are terrible examples of this, but they all feature characters that know they're doing bdsm and are intentional about it.
if I'm talking about non-diegetic bdsm, I'm referring to a story that portrays certain kinks without the direct acknowledgement that the characters are doing bdsm. this would be something like Captive Prince, or Phantom of the Opera again, or the vast majority of bodice ripper type stories where an innocent woman is kidnapped by a pirate king or something and totally doesn't want to be ravished but then it turns out he's so cool and sexy and good at ravishing that she decides she's into it and becomes his pirate consort or whatever it is that happens at the end of those books. the characters don't know they're playing out a cnc or D/s fantasy, and in-universe it's often straight up noncon or dubcon rather than cnc at all. the thing about entirely non-diegetic bdsm is that it's almost always Problematic™ in some way if you're not willing to meet the story where it's at, but as long as you're not judging it by the standards of diegetic bdsm, it's just providing the reader the same thing that a partner in a scene would: the illusion of whatever risk or taboo floats your boat, sometimes to extremes that can't be replicated in real life due to safety, practicality, physics, the law, vampires not being real, etc. it's consensual by default because it's already pretend; the characters are vehicles for the story and not actually people who can be hurt, and the reader chose to pick up the book and is aware that nothing in it is real, so it's all good.
this difference is where people tend to get hung up in the discourse, from what I've observed. which is why I started using this phrasing, because I think it's very crucial to be able to differentiate which one you're talking about if you try to have a conversation with someone about the portrayal of bdsm in media. it would also, frankly, be useful for tagging, because sometimes when you're in the mood for non-diegetic bodice ripper shit you'd call the police over in real life, it can get really annoying to read paragraphs of negotiation and check-ins that break the illusion of the scene and so on, and the opposite can be jarring too.
it's very possible to blur these together the same way Phantom of the Opera blurs its diegetic and non-diegetic music as well. this leaves you even more open to being misunderstood by people reading in bad faith, but it can also be really fun to play with. @not-poignant writes fantastic fanfic, novels, and original serials on ao3 that pull this off really well, if you're okay with some dark shit in your fiction I would highly recommend their work. some of it does get really fucking dark in places though, just like. be advised. read the tags and all that.
but yeah, spontaneous writer plug aside, that's what I mean.
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