In the Dales light

Vicki, thirties, she/her. Buddie, Aaron/Robert, Bernice/Andy,

[dailyhudsonwilliams]

Hudson and Connor for the New York Times in December 2025 (via hudconupdates_)

[regainingparadise]

When #myshane retires, he doesn’t go into coaching or podcasting or whatever.

He becomes a consultant who shitty teams trying to not suck, good teams who want to last further into the playoffs, great teams who want to finally win the cup, call to Fix Them.

He is paid absolutely bonkers amounts of money to watch a team play for five minutes and immediately diagnose what’s wrong with them. He is always right.

Ok 5 minutes is probably an exaggeration. The coaches send him a bunch of tape to review in advance. They probably focus on their best players or the ones they think need the most improvement, but half the time Shane requests more, focusing on players they hadn’t paid much attention to before. Then one day at practice, the players look up into the stands and are filled with awe, terror, and wonder, because Shane Hollander is sitting there staring directly at them with a scarily thoughtful look on his face.

He meets with the coaches and gm and reports his conclusions. Who to trade and for who , how to get better results from certain players, how to run power plays and penalty kills, changes in line makeups.

Some lucky players get to meet with him. He takes about five minutes to list off or demonstrate everything they need to do to stop sucking. He has no time for chit chat or hero worship. Focus, listen, learn, and do exactly what he says and you will be good. Fail to do what he says and you will shame your entire bloodline.

I think that, if he’s not the one actually playing, this would be a dream job. It involves Knowing Things About Hockey, Judging Shitty Hockey Players, Getting Recognized As The Best at Hockey, Being Correct, and Making Hockey Better. He should get to do all these things

[mylordshesacactus]

Please make a post about the story of the RMS Carpathia, because it's something that's almost beyond belief and more people should know about it.

Carpathia received Titanic’s distress signal at 12:20am, April 15th, 1912. She was 58 miles away, a distance that absolutely could not be covered in less than four hours.

(Californian’s exact position at the time is…controversial. She was close enough to have helped. By all accounts she was close enough to see Titanic’s distress rockets. It’s uncertain to this day why her crew did not respond, or how many might not have been lost if she had been there. This is not the place for what-ifs. This is about what was done.)

Carpathia’s Captain Rostron had, yes, rolled out of bed instantly when woken by his radio operator, ordered his ship to Titanic’s aid and confirmed the signal before he was fully dressed. The man had never in his life responded to an emergency call. His goal tonight was to make sure nobody who heard that fact would ever believe it.

All of Carpathia’s lifeboats were swung out ready for deployment. Oil was set up to be poured off the side of the ship in case the sea turned choppy; oil would coat and calm the water near Carpathia if that happened, making it safer for lifeboats to draw up alongside her. He ordered lights to be rigged along the side of the ship so survivors could see it better, and had nets and ladders rigged along her sides ready to be dropped when they arrived, in order to let as many survivors as possible climb aboard at once.

I don’t know if his making provisions for there still being survivors in the water was optimism or not. I think he knew they were never going to get there in time for that. I think he did it anyway because, god, you have to hope.

Carpathia had three dining rooms, which were immediately converted into triage and first aid stations. Each had a doctor assigned to it. Hot soup, coffee, and tea were prepared in bulk in each dining room, and blankets and warm clothes were collected to be ready to hand out. By this time, many of the passengers were awake–prepping a ship for disaster relief isn’t quiet–and all of them stepped up to help, many donating their own clothes and blankets.

And then he did something I tend to refer to as diverting all power from life support.

Here’s the thing about steamships: They run on steam. Shocking, I know; but that steam powers everything on the ship, and right now, Carpathia needed power. So Rostron turned off hot water and central heating, which bled valuable steam power, to everywhere but the dining rooms–which, of course, were being used to make hot drinks and receive survivors. He woke up all the engineers, all the stokers and firemen, diverted all that steam back into the engines, and asked his ship to go as fast as she possibly could. And when she’d done that, he asked her to go faster.

I need you to understand that you simply can’t push a ship very far past its top speed. Pushing that much sheer tonnage through the water becomes harder with each extra knot past the speed it was designed for. Pushing a ship past its rated speed is not only reckless–it’s difficult to maneuver–but it puts an incredible amount of strain on the engines. Ships are not designed to exceed their top speed by even one knot. They can’t do it. It can’t be done.

Carpathia’s absolute do-or-die, the-engines-can’t-take-this-forever top speed was fourteen knots. Dodging icebergs, in the dark and the cold, surrounded by mist, she sustained a speed of almost seventeen and a half.

No one would have asked this of them. It wasn’t expected. They were almost sixty miles away, with icebergs in their path. They had a responsibility to respond; they did not have a responsibility to do the impossible and do it well. No one would have faulted them for taking more time to confirm the severity of the issue. No one would have blamed them for a slow and cautious approach. No one but themselves.

They damn near broke the laws of physics, galloping north headlong into the dark in the desperate hope that if they could shave an hour, half an hour, five minutes off their arrival time, maybe for one more person those five minutes would make the difference. I say: three people had died by the time they were lifted from the lifeboats. For all we know, in another hour it might have been more. I say they made all the difference in the world.

This ship and her crew received a message from a location they could not hope to reach in under four hours. Just barely over three hours later, they arrived at Titanic’s last known coordinates. Half an hour after that, at 4am, they would finally find the first of the lifeboats. it would take until 8:30 in the morning for the last survivor to be brought onboard. Passengers from Carpathia universally gave up their berths, staterooms, and clothing to the survivors, assisting the crew at every turn and sitting with the sobbing rescuees to offer whatever comfort they could.

In total, 705 people of Titanic’s original 2208 were brought onto Carpathia alive. No other ship would find survivors.

At 12:20am April 15th, 1912, there was a miracle on the North Atlantic. And it happened because a group of humans, some of them strangers, many of them only passengers on a small and unimpressive steam liner, looked at each other and decided: I cannot live with myself if I do anything less.

I think the least we can do is remember them for it.

[mylordshesacactus]

I can’t begin to describe how happy and flattered and a little teary I am that this just broke 100k.

I may be the actual only human being on Tumblr with a post this popular that I not only don’t regret making, but am actually HAPPY whenever I notice a surge in its circulation. 

I never intended this to gain any traction at all (you’ll notice there’s no sources or anything–this was a personal ramble, prompted in good humor by a friend after I jokingly said that I wished someone would give me an excuse to cry about Carpathia on Tumblr so I could get it out of my system.) I literally expected to get, like, maybe 20 likes and a reblog, from friends, indulging me in my nonsense.

It just….means a lot to me that it’s touched so many people. I see a lot of tags to the effect of “HOW DARE YOU HURT ME LIKE THIS AND MAKE ME CRY ABOUT A BOAT” that are often really funny, but overwhelmingly the tags on this post are from people saving it for a rainy day, or remarking in a sort of quiet awe that they never even really thought about her role in the story–and God knows I never did, I learned it by complete accident much as most of the people who’ve found this post. 

And so many of you guys are taking strength and reassurance from the reminder not only that people are capable of amazing things together, but simply that kindness matters and that a simple, tiny act of compassion is never wasted. I’m just really glad to have been able to do that for some folks.

If I can just add one personal note. I need to emphasize something I only touched on in the original post.

I need to emphasize that Carpathia failed.

A lot of the tags and comments have a tinge of…despair, or guilt, or wistfulness about things like this happening so rarely. Or inadequacy, or just being overwhelmed or unhappy about not being in a position to step up in a comparable way. And I want to gently bring up the fact that this is still the sinking of the Titanic. 

They did not get there in time. They did not save the ship. It can be argued that they may not even have saved a single life; we have no way of knowing. This was still a horrific maritime disaster mired in arrogance and incompetence and a lack of care.

If the response to this story shows anything, it shows this: It matters that they tried. 

Even though they got there too late, even though the ship still sank. It matters that they tried. The difference between making the best reasonable speed after confirming the seriousness of the situation, and the miracle they pulled off–it matters. It makes all the difference. Even if it made no difference at all. Not one of you read this and concluded that I was stupid for caring so much when the Titanic still sank and all those people still died.

You don’t have to fix the world. You’ll likely be cold and sick and miserable and testy and scared, and unprepared, and in over your head, and entirely too small to be of any real use. It feels stupid, passing out blankets and coffee in the middle of an ice field knowing what just happened. It’s hard to feel anything but useless when all you can do is tap a wireless transmitter and promise help that you know will come too late.

It matters that they fought for those people. It matters that they cared, and it matters that they tried. It matters that they didn’t stop. If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t have read this far.

[transthatmasc]

They had talked about telling close friends. Shane was thinking about telling Hayden, and Ilya had tossed out Cliff’s name to have someone to consider, but he hadn’t actually been planning to tell anyone. It felt like too much to admit and, as much as he tried to hide it, Ilya was scared of the reaction. He only had the rest of this year left in Boston, why could he not just finish strong with the same lies he’d started with?

Marlow was in Ilya’s hotel room after an away game. They had practice the next morning before their flight, so most of the older players had headed to the hotel instead of out on the town. Ilya had the tv turned to a movie channel, paying only vague attention to the Star Wars movie that flickered by as he waited for Shane’s text that he was back at home from his game that evening. At the commercial break, Ilya turned the tv to mute and let his head loll back against the head board, analyzing the aches left over from the game.

Marlow’s voice was low like a confession in the quiet room but it still surprised Ilya, “What if I’m not cut out for a real relationship?”

Ilya’s head turned to see Marlow’s expression, ready to laugh, but he found a look of true concern on his friend’s face and recalibrated. “What do you mean, Marley? Have you tried?”

Marlow sighed, sounding more defeated than Ilya had ever heard. “I mean— yeah? I think so? But I don’t even know, man. This is the third girl I’ve tried to get serious with in the last six months. And it’s only been a couple weeks but I can feel it slipping away again. I just don’t know how to fix it. We’re always on the road and I guess I’m a shit texter but even if I wasn’t— who wants to deal with a schedule this fucked?? But I’m 30 and I keep going to clubs like my dream girl will stumble drunk into my arms and surprise me with a happy ever after. I just don’t think it works that way.”

Ilya wasn’t sure what to say, or even if he was meant to say anything at all. Clearly this had been eating at Cliff for a while, and Ilya wasn’t even sure this was something he was qualified to discuss.

“Being 30 is not the end of the world, Marley. Your dick has not fallen off, and your face has not gotten any stupider.” Marlow huffed a little, but he had a smile on his lips. “There are lots of nice girls who would love to date a hockey player. Even St. Vic has had a girlfriend for several years! Clearly there is someone for everyone.” This actually drew a laugh, but Ilya was not done. “But maybe you should ask one of the guys who is married about how they got there? I’m not sure I’m the person to ask in this department.”

“I just thought…” Cliff started, but then paused, seeming to parse through a decision. “Well, you have been seeing that Montreal girl for all these years—“ Ilya tensed and started to defend himself, but Cliff waved him off. “I know, I know. But it seems serious with you two now, right? You aren’t taking girls home any more, and you’re always smiling when you check your phone. And I know I’m not supposed to know about her, but I just thought that if you had finally made it out of the hook up stage you might have some tips for me. I always figured you met her at a club or something, but you were always different about her than other girls.”

And suddenly, Ilya is torn. He had gotten permission from Shane to tell Marlow about them. Marlow clearly thinks that Ilya is in a committed, if secret and long distance, relationship and wants to know how he’s made it work. He tries to come up with a lie. A convincing one, not just a cheeky deflection, because his friend is being vulnerable and he doesn’t want to reject that show of trust. But then he lets himself imagine for a moment telling the truth. The relief of lying to one less person.

Before he has even really decided the words are out of his mouth, quiet but sure. “He is different from the girls I met in clubs.”

Ilya stops then, letting the words hang in the air as he can almost hear the gears turning in Cliff’s brain. He will start small, though it feels ridiculous to call coming out to an NHL player small. But Cliff had just explained how he saw Ilya’s joy about Shane. They were friends. Best friends, maybe. Could he really not accept that Ilya was happy with a man?

“How did you meet him?”

So it was that simple. There was a timid lilt to his tone that Ilya could recognize as unsteadiness. But he had acknowledged and continued. So here was the harder part.

“We met through the league.”

Cliff’s eyebrows scrunched as though trying to do complex arithmetic. When he didn’t add anything, Ilya pushed further.

“Did you ever notice that my Montreal girl was always in town when we played against Montreal?”

This was an admission, spoken with the hushed fear of a man on his deathbed. This was how the pieces clicked into place. All the smiles at his phone and the staring from the bench and the excuses to leave the hotel whenever they were in Montreal.

Cliff huffed in disbelief, “You’re in love with a staff member for the Voyageurs? Is he a trainer or something? A coach?”

Oh. Ilya hadn’t even considered a different conclusion, but it was true, there were actually lots of people who traveled with the team every game. Coaching staff, medical staff, media managers… and players.

“Something like that… He gets the schedule thing. Though I will admit, the only thing worse than one NHL schedule is two. I would not recommend this if you’re as bad at texting as you say. But when you find the right person, you figure out eventually that you have to make it work because not having them is worse than any compromise.”

Ilya can see that Cliff is looking at him now, really looking, as though seeing him for the first time.

“Do you think maybe he could come work for Boston instead? Cutting the scheduling down to half would at least help, and if he travels with the team in Montreal, he should be able to do so here too.”

Ilya smiled wryly, relaxing at Cliff’s obvious support. “I don’t know that he’d like Boston. Besides, there’s no way the pay cap would let us both pl—“

Cliff stiffened beside him and Ilya froze. He had not really planned on explaining further, but he had been so ready to joke about it that it had just slipped out. He wasn’t going to deny it though, so he just sat and waited.

Quietly, as though trying not to spook a bear, Cliff breathed “I thought you had a huge crush on Rose Landry. I was just sure that you two had secretly dated or something. I wouldn’t have ever thought…” he paused for a moment of consideration before continuing, “wait, was he fucking cheating on you???” There was a sudden measure of outrage in his voice as he spun to face Ilya.

The tension fell from Ilya’s shoulders for a final time and he started to laugh. It built and built until he was doubled over, laughing so hard he could hardly breathe. He only stopped when he saw Cliff’s face slide into hurt.

“Are you punking me, Rozy? I thought you were being serious about being with Hollander!” Marlow was upset for seemingly the first time in this crazy conversation and Ilya couldn’t allow that.

“No, no. I am not punking you. And he did not cheat on me. I was going to ask him out and he freaked out, ran off, and then started dating Rose Landry. I was furious and hurt, but it was not cheating. Not like that at least.” The hurt had slid back off his face, but Marley still seemed confused. “I just appreciate you being willing to defend my honor, though I think you did enough when you laid him out last year.”

He went chalk white, “Oh fuck, Roz. I could have killed your boyfriend! I wouldn’t have ever known!!! Holy fuck you would have killed me in my sleep!! I’m so fucking sorry holy shit please forgive me it was supposed to be a clean hit, we were just playing like normal!!”

Ilya laid a hand on his arm, “It’s okay, Marley. Shane’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was shit luck. It happens. It’s not like I don’t check him during games too, and he seems to like me just fine.”

Cliff seemed to relax a little, though he still looked stricken with guilt. Ilya was distracted as his phone buzzed with a text.

Jane <3 : Home! Shower then snack then bed. Can you call in like twenty?

He smiled as he read it. When he looks up, Cliff has a peculiar look on his face. “I’m glad you’re happy, Roz.” Sincerity. Ilya doesn’t see that from Cliff often, but that’s clearly what it is.

Ilya’s smile stays on his face. “Thank you, Cliff.” He pauses for a moment, deciding there’s been enough seriousness for the night. “Now get out of my room I have hot NHL super star to talk to about very sexy hot NHL super star things you wouldn’t know about.”

Marlow chuckles as Ilya starts to shove him off the bed. As he grabs his phone and his shoes he tosses back, “Should have known it wasn’t a trainer. You always shoot for as hot as they come, and no one is as hot as Hollander.”

“No!! I am! I am hottest NHL star! He is second hottest, so I must aim below my level because no one is above me. Do not forget!! And do not tell anyone. This is secret only for friends and you will keep it so that one day I can set you up with third hottest NHL star!” Ilya gestures wildly at Cliff as he follows him.

“Isn’t Scott Hunter already taken?” Cliff asks, grinning as he opens the door.

Ilya makes a sound of disgust, ready to fling another comment, but Cliff is already slipping down the hallway, leaving him alone with a smile on his face and a weight off his shoulders.

[sunnypeachyy]

Ember & Ice - Hudson Williams and Connor Storrie

[letnirvanarain]

I love how all the men fall so hard for Aaron and would burn the world for him whilst Aaron is kinda oblivious reading the paper with his feet up and avoiding work.

this is so real & relateable bc I too would burn the world for him 🥰

I think part of his draw is his resoluteness in Being Aaron. I've tried to describe this before but I never know if it's making much sense! He just has such a sense of self. Aaron is always Aaron regardless of circumstance. He couldn't chameleon even if he tried (chas is very similar!). He's grounded in such an interesting way. Even the longest lies he told (his sexuality, his childhood abuse) found their way out in other ways (as they so often do). But even young aaron running from his own sexuality and lashing out is still so recognisably aaron to present day him. He has this way of being so effortlessly undiluted that can be endlessly intoxicating (and also he's been beautiful forever which doesn't hurt 💅)

Relating to this i do also think we must examine the TYPE of men he attracts so deeply and frequently. Predominantly men with identity issues (robert: spent so long defining himself by his father. Who did Jack want him to be? Who would jack NOT want him to be? How could he spite Jack? etc. John: why did Jack never claim him? How could he make his mark? How could he control the narrative?...in fact perhaps jacks funky sperm and wild parenting is the ACTUAL culprit here but I digress. Even BEN to some degree, tho ofc that couldve just been dull writing for his character lmfao). Having such a sense of self is endlessly enticing to people like this. Imagine you've spent your whole life chameleoning around and here is this unchanging golden statue of a man who is so himself in whatever situation you throw him head first into. What an enigma! How fascinating! Maybe you should devour him forever!

(I got onto lots of weird tangents here but I ALSO feel the need to clarify that I don't think aaron is AWARE he has this quality. In fact I think he likely thinks the opposite...self loathing'll do that to ya. But then the moon has not the eyes to see her own beauty and yet that doesn't mean others cannot!)

[dragon-in-a-fez]

Martina McBride didn't win Country Music Association Song of the Year for a song about how burning your house down with your abusive husband still inside it is good, noble, and an allegory for the American Revolution for people to act like the genre belongs to bootlicking fucks

[dragon-in-a-fez]

other things people didn't do for you to act like country music belongs to bootlicking fucks:

Garth Brooks winning video of the year at the ACMs for a song about how none of us are free as long as there's racism and homophobia

Reba McEntire charting with a gothic horror song about an innocent man being executed by an incompetent judge and a corrupt sheriff

Willie Nelson being, well, his entire self tbh

Dolly Parton recording the hating capitalism banger of all time

Kacey Musgraves telling everyone to ignore the haters, smoke weed, and be a bisexual slut

[dragon-in-a-fez]

how the hell did I leave Morgan Wade off this list. wrote a song about being depressed, alcoholic, and suicidal and how mental illness stigma sucks, saw how much people connected with it, wrote a Part II of that song about how she's doing better now but you're never totally free of the risk of relapse. fucking icon.

[dragon-in-a-fez]

I specifically curated this list so people couldn't be like "ah yes but you see here is my simple binary of good and bad country music which always works", I made sure to add different genders, eras, subgenres, etc and y'all are still pulling that shit in the tags!

listen. Alan Jackson, the archetypal mister big hat man sitting on a tractor singing about a pickup truck, wrote a shockingly normal song about 9/11 that was like "yeah I don't know jack shit about politics but my copy of the bible says we're supposed to love everyone" and then went on the radio and explained how he specifically wanted to write a song about that day that "wasn't vengeful". Miranda Lambert took the southern leftist slogan "y'all means all" and made it the title of a corny ass pop-country song for the Queer Eye soundtrack. Kenny Chesney stole a horse from a cop and Tim McGraw put the cop in a chokehold defending him, and I know that's not about their music but it is, and this is very important, fucking sick as hell

it's fine if you only listen to female country artists or pre-1990 country artists or whatever the fuck you want but stop acting like you've cracked the secret code to dividing a whole genre of art into good pure anti-establishment folk songs vs bad corrupted right-wing sellout pulp

[dragon-in-a-fez]

updating this post for 2025:

Luke Combs covering Fast Car and keeping the line "I work in the market as a checkout girl" and doing an interview about how he couldn't change a single word because it's not his story. king shit

Morgan Wallen doing I Had Some Help, literally the first song that spoke to me as a male survivor of domestic abuse. also shoutout to the guy for getting caught saying a racial slur and responding by specifically telling his fans not to defend him and raising a bunch of money for the Black Music Action Coalition. bro had an engraved invitation to the culture war and said "nah I'd rather be normal"

Shaboozey just absolutely obliterating the drunk roadhouse anthem glass ceiling

Maren Morris and Brothers Osborne with a song that okay, released in 2019 but I didn't hear until recently, about how good friends mind their own business and let you love whoever you want and also get high with you when you're broke

Kimberley Perry! If I Die Young Part 2!! "actually I'm glad I lived, bitch" ass song that I bet is gonna mean a LOT to kids fighting depression

Kelsea Ballerini and Noah Kahan with Cowboys Cry Too. okay it's shallow and corny but genuinely a shallow and corny song about how men shouldn't be afraid to have feelings is what a lot of men need

[dragon-in-a-fez]

bringing the full version of this post back around because people are pissing me off today

[maybe-a-robron-blog]

A VERY small group on this planet hears the words 'Super Soap Week 2016' and understands? 😌

[penandinkprincess]

laughing about the idea of ilya doing one of those puppy buzzfeed interviews and then anya sniffing him when he gets home and feeling SO betrayed

and shane meanwhile is having a great time pressing the accelerator on this guilt trip

cuddling anya and just, "i know, huh? papa left and played with WHO KNOWS HOW MANY other dogs, and the whole time you were here missing him"

ilya, who is lowkey devastated: "hollander, this is not a joke."

"no, it isn't, huh, anya? you're so, so sad now."

"...hollander PLEASE. anya, i am sorry-"

"it seems like he's saying something, but we can't hear cheaters, can we, anya?"

"HOLLANDER"

[isolabellz]

equal opportunity thieves

[chewbacca]

Connor Storrie and Hudson Williams at the 83rd Annual Golden Globe Awards

[dogsdayilya]

Loyalty (1869)

— by Briton Rivière

Loyalty (2025)

— by Ilya Rozanov

[tinylilemrys]

Just thinking about Ilya making the playoffs for the first time with the Cens and getting texts from Yuna and David about it.

Yuna's one is like, "HOLY SHIT THE CENTAURS ARE IN THE PLAYOFFS! I never thought I'd be so excited to say that. 😂 This is such a huge achievement and I couldn't be more proud of you! This means I'm finally going to have to cave and by an Ottawa jersey. Don't tell David I told you, but he's still drying his eyes about it. Bubbly when you and Shane come over on Saturday for SURE, okay? Love you lots. SO proud."

And David's is like, "You did it, Cap! I know how hard you worked for this and it's paid off. We'll be cheering you on for every game. I am so unbelievably proud of you, kiddo. Love you lots - can't wait to see you and Shane on Saturday."

And Ilya just sits there unable to breathe because he's never had a text like this after making the playoffs except maybe from Svetlana. He replies to the messages, eyes blurry with tears, and spends the rest of the night opening them at random times, just overwhelmed by how loved he truly is.

[marz-rm]

Domestic Buddie for my weak lil heart ❤️

Remind you of the 50% sale off on my patreon till the end of June!

[jewishmomdean]

i'm trying not to let it show that i don't want to let this go is there somewhere you can meet me?

heated rivalry x is there somewhere by halsey

[sunnypeachyy]

Ember & Ice - Hudson Williams and Connor Storrie

[monlvssnoopy]

this is my roman empire

[lavenderprose]

Actually FUCK IT list of times Shane calls Ilya baby:

- Ilya gets a sunburn during the first cottage summer and neither of them realize it until Ilya is taking his shirt off that night and Shane sees the lobster-red flush across his shoulders. He sucks in a hiss through his teeth and says, "Oh, baby, ouch," and presses the big, broad pads of his fingertips so tenderly to Ilya's shoulder and Ilya has to close his eyes because he feels like he's going to crack apart.

- When he answers the phone and he's alone. "Hi baby," said so softly if it's been a long day. Or a hard one. Or if it's late. "Hey baby," more energetically, usually in the morning, in a way that reminds Ilya of how his teammates answer the phone to their girlfriends and wives. Masculine and jockish and very North American in a way that makes Ilya feel pleased for Shane, in a weird way.

- Glass on the floor in the kitchen. Ilya blindly following the sound of the shatter and not really even thinking about it until he's standing amongst the shards and Shane is gesturing frantically with the broom. "Put on some fucking shoes, baby, please! Fuck, where are your slides--no, don't move, I'll get them--"

- Said gently, as a question, on days when he perhaps stays in bed longer than can be justified by sleepiness.

- "Hey, baby," said some mornings when Ilya comes downstairs dressed for the day and Shane really likes his outfit. Usually an indication that Ilya will not be wearing those clothes for very long.

- In bed less often than you'd think. Really a vanilla sex only thing, because being called baby can sometimes bring Ilya out of it when he's really in the groove. But Shane will lose it a little sometimes, when Ilya says, "Tell me you like it," and Shane says, "Yes baby fuck fuck I like it fuck please don't stop fuck baby please let me cum" and that's. Very good. Obviously.

- Said with a very particular warning lilt and only AFTER Shane has already said, "Ilya." and then, "Rozanov." In the same tone. This is actually one of only two circumstances where the very elusive 'babe' comes into play. If Shane REALLY wants Ilya to stop whatever he's doing or saying, it's a hand around the wrist and the word, "Babe," quiet but firm. And it does shut Ilya up approximately 100% of the time.

- Other instance of 'babe': Any sort of crowd. 'Ilya' is three syllables (Because Shane...pronounces it a bit wrong.) and unique enough that Shane sometimes worries about drawing attention. 'Babe' is one syllable and can be barked above the crowd in the Captain Hollander voice loud enough that Ilya will have no choice but to hear him if he's within the surrounding 500 feet. They have Marco-Polo'd themselves back to each other with 'BABE' and 'SHANE' multiple times in multiple countries.

- One time someone accidently brings several bottles of fortified wine to the barbecue. It's quite high proof for wine and several people get tipsier than normal, including Shane. Halfway through the evening he puts his head on Ilya's shoulder and plays with his fingers and murmurs, "My baby," into the seam of his shirt and Ilya, looking down at him so fondly, says, "Yes. Yours. Drink some water for me, sweetheart."

- "YES BABY." Yelled directly in Ilya's face during goal cellies. Obviously. This is also the first thing Ilya hears when the ringing in his ears stops after he scores the game-winning goal in overtime in game seven of the Stanley Cup finals. Knees on the ice, sobbing, screaming, laughing, and his husband barrels towards him at damn near light speed, tackles him, skids onto his knees and sends them sliding along the ice together, knocks Ilya's helmet off and puts his hands on his face and yells Yes baby! Fuck yes, baby! We did it!