missheidiknows

[darlingofdots]

let's think of some Bits in the Hollander-Rozanov household because every good relationship needs incomprehensible and insufferable Bits:

the random Russian nouns as pet names, obviously

turning to Anya to arbitrate who won the race/loads the dishwasher correctly/scored a sexier goal etc

Ilya. Ilyusha. Ilyushenka. Ilyushenkechka.

and who won Rookie of the Year????

"I have never said this in my life"

threatening to tell Yuna

"pass me the remote?" — "come and get it" — [wrestling]

butt slapping. at every opportunity.

"we will have to shoot you like lame horse" when one of them gets so much as a papercut

idioms translated literally into the wrong language

"this is not hall of fame behaviour"

"who should I bring as my plus one" and listing random people while the other pouts

[starklyrogers]

This economy has me considering drawing furry art 😭

[melongifts]

Hey anyone notice how google translate is being pretty liberal with their translations as of late? Takin some real liberties to infer tone.

[melongifts]

ask and ye shall receive: When I write in Japanese I usually also throw it in google translate to double check that I'm not using the wrong kanji by mistake, and two years ago it gave me very dry and literal translations.

I was doing it today and noticed it had a pretty strong voice added to the output

For reference, to give a dry translation I would put: Lately I'm into in Hanafuda. Nobody seems to know anything about it here, so they probably wouldn't understand my brilliant jokes. I guess you guys will never be able to understand "Mister November and the Scary Cave".

I have a fluent friend who is able to check my work for me and give me tips on hitting the correct tone (I was going for a comically casual feeling), so I'm confident that I'm expressing the feeling I'm intending. While Google is also hitting the same emotion, I really don't like knowing that it's assigning tone in the first place.

To check if it was editorializing based on informal grammatical choices, I formal'd up the writing to be more polite and remove any non-standard vocabulary.

I'm just like... what is anyone who is translating what I'm thinking into their own language going to think when a translation app decides that it knows my intended tone? When online communication is already so complicated and nuanced? I'm a non-native so I'm spending ages agonizing over 117 characters, but when I'm chatting in English I'm not being so deliberate. How likely is it that tools that 'naturalize' are going to make choices that don't reflect reality and lead to insulting misunderstandings? I spoke with an English learner just yesterday who thought they were being bullied (they were not, the commenter in question was just excitedly infodumping about sociology) because something was lost in translation, and I wonder if it's because of tools making choices like this. I'm just a luddite I don't trust stuff like this. stinks of ai asking me if it can rerwrite my email in a more quirky style.

[melongifts]

What do you mean I'm just using the browser versi-

I AM SO SICK OF DEFAULT AI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[not-close-to-straight]

This is fine

Totally fine

[icantspellthings]

Im sorry but it is so funny how people outside of tumblr view us. Like why are the tiktokers treating tumblr like some professional ass website you need to do extensive prep before you begin posting on. And the follower farming advice is so fucking funny to me when this is the website where people actively hate getting new followers

[queen-of-hobgobblers]

Tumblr is the website where you ramble to yourself like a madman until someone decides they like you and put you into their pocket like a shiny rock. That's how you get followers

[vaspider]

Yell about things until you find the other nerds that like to yell about the same things.

Don't treat this like a job or it shows.

[bauliya]

so women are supposed to grin and bear the books, the comics, the movies, the plays, the tv shows, the stories, the sci-fi, the translated ancient poems, the fucking millennia of men writing about their self inserts torturing women and it being declared as High Art by other men, we’re supposed to read it in our free time, study it in classrooms, include their styles in our own writing, accept their cultural influence as natural, watch it in the cinema, write about it, talk about it, accept it, aspire it, but men can’t tolerate three seconds of female wish fulfilment of a woman snapping the wrist of a creep without feeling personally kicked in the balls.

[darkshrimpemotions]

This reminds me of something I observed in college while I was doing my honors thesis on women in modern horror films. I watched a LOT of horror during that time as part of my research, and sometimes that was done with my family around.

And my dad and brothers? Were deeply disturbed by the movie Jennifer’s Body. I was flabbergasted. It’s not scary! It’s not even that gory. But they were horrified by it. These men who grew up on 70s slashers were legitimately shook by 90 minutes of Megan Fox eating a few teenage boys, mostly off-screen.

Similarly, my all-male reading panel for my thesis? Were so disturbed by my synopsis of the film Teeth that they couldn’t even talk about it. One of them said he couldn’t look at his wife for a week after reading it.

Again, grown-ass men who study and teach media for a living. Who definitely watch and enjoy horror movies. One of whom was a huge Tarantino buff. We watched and read worse in his intro to mass media class! But one movie about a girl whose vag could bite was enough to haunt him.

Then of course you have things like the Gone Girl backlash–men yelling that Amy Dunne is evil and women clamoring to assure everyone that they know she is not someone to emulate–the backlash against Carol Danvers, and, more recently, the griping from MRAs against the upcoming film Hustlers, which is about strippers scamming their Wall Street clients.

My conclusion? Most men–at least most straight, cisgender men, who are both my sample population and most of the ones whining that Carol is a “villain”–are perfectly fine with, and desensitized to, media where men do violence to women (horror movies), or men do violence to men (horror and action movies). They’re even sort of fine when women do violence to women (“ooooo cat fight!”).

But they get intensely uncomfortable when women are depicted doing any kind of violence to men, especially in films that tilt the balance of power to the other side of the m/f gender binary beyond a single moment or scene.

So woman as flesh-eating monster with men as her preferred cuisine? Woman who responds to unwanted sexual contact by biting it off? Woman who frames her cheating husband for murder? Woman whose response to harassment–behavior that many of the loudest whiners know is both creepy and reflective of their own thoughts/actions–is to break something?

Too scary. Unacceptable. Disturbing. These men hate being presented with the idea, even in fiction, that their position of power is socially constructed, that it could easily be flipped the other way. It terrifies them.

In feeling that terror, they experience a tiny modicum of what living, existing, moving, being perceived as a woman in the world is like.

And they flinch every time.

[tzikeh]

Here have a newspaper comic from 1993

[not-close-to-straight]

IS THE FAMINE OVER.

IS AO3 BACK.

CAN I BRING MY FIC OFFERING TO THE TEMPLE SO THE PEOPLE CAN PARTAKE IN THE ROMANCE.

[wheretheheckismyjello]

Don't be an idiot! Download and read these Hollanov fics before AO3 goes down tonight or I'll come after you

Hollanov Fics you would read immediately if you trust me and why wouldn't you I have impeccable taste (my favorites in red): Free Rein by Anonymous - FUCKING READ IT JUST DO. This is the best one I have read so far. Mind the tags.

enforcer by moonlitgarden - some lovely prose on racism...uh...I don't really know how else to put that

clear to a hedgehog by magneticwave - knocked me off my feet with the light touch on smut, wonderful world-building in just one chapter

so close by sweetiejelly - You don't need a lot of words. Big brown eyes will do. Short, but devastating.

The Night Shift by thecouchsofa - a story about slowing down, and we're happy to do it with the fine eye for details

green mark by radialarch - the BEST take on the Vegas suite scene I have read

make much of time by leiascully - I like fics that focus on these two in intimate ways like this

Too ripe not to split by Charlotte_Stant - my favorite The Dildo fic

don't leave me high (don't leave me dry) by emonlispenardstreet - The plot-heaviest of all my recs; balanced in every aspect imo.

grindstone kaleidoscope by TheMalapert - the best time loop fic I've read for...really...any fandom

+Hudcon RPF: Carterhaugh, Ontario by Charlotte_Stant - if I wrote Hudcon RPF it would look something like this

[hudkarma]

Since AO3 is down and I have about 10 fics I want to read with nothing else to do, I figured I'd post a sneak peek at the new Hollanov fic I'm working on. It's a corporate/office au with CEO Ilya and IT guy Shane. I've never written an office-setting fic before so I'm excited!

Admittedly this is a very long sneak peek. I'd love to know what y'all think!

• • • • • •

Ilya Rozanov is a romantic.

He’d deny it to his grave, if asked, but it’s something that he knows to be true. Maybe it’s inherent to him, or maybe it is a learned thing. He remembers the novels his mother read to him as a child. Not just the Russian classics of Dostoevsky and Tolstoy, but also the romances that his father never would have allowed if he knew. Irina Rozanov saw a different future for her youngest son than what her husband had planned, patiently ensuring he learned English all while Grigori Rozanov paraded his elder son around as his heir apparent to the family corporation.

For all the good it did him, since Andrei is exiled back to Russia to avoid serving a twenty-five year sentence in an American prison while Ilya sits in what was meant to be his office doing a job he never wanted.

It’s only the Harvard business degree that was forced upon him that saves him from drowning entirely. He has no help from his father, whose mind is all but lost to dementia now, and the shareholders seem to be waiting for Ilya to fuck up so that they can rip into the company like lions over a bleeding carcass. Ilya knows that he can leave it all behind at any time. He’s wealthy enough on his own now, and can live comfortably with his personal investments for the rest of his life, if he so chooses.

But his father’s hard work is poured into this company, and Ilya isn’t in Moscow to help him through these final stages of his life. Andrei is the one taking care of him every day, not out of duty but out of a desire to see Ilya’s money deposited into his account every month.

Ilya may not like his father, but he’s beholden to the obligation he feels as his son to keep the one good thing he did in his life alive.

So here he sits, in a perfectly tailored suit behind a broad, heavy oak desk with a perfectly made cup of coffee within reach and a brewing headache behind his eyes. In his short time as CEO of Rozanov Incorporated, Andrei did everything he could to ruin everything their father built. There was no true intention in his actions, only impulsive stupidity. Now Ilya is cleaning up his messes, one meeting at a time.

Speaking of…

“Mr. Rozanov,” the ever-anxious voice of his executive assistant comes over the speaker of his phone. “Your next appointment is here.”

Ilya takes a long drink of his coffee before pressing the button to answer.

“You can call me Ilya, Luca,” he reminds him for what must be the hundredth time even though he knows the young man never will. “Send them in.”

He doesn’t have to wait long, and he navigates to the employee file already opened on his computer just as the door to his office opens and he hears the quiet tread of footsteps over the carpet. Tearing his eyes from the computer screen, Ilya is struck by the appearance of the man that hovers between the door and his desk with his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his pants and an expression torn between uncertainty and irritation.

Ilya is a romantic man.

He’s read novels and he’s seen movies and there’s a part of him that has always wanted to believe in love at first sight.

As he takes in the dark-haired man dressed in a perfectly pressed light blue shirt with a slightly furrowed brow and a constellation of beautiful freckles scattered over his nose and cheeks, Ilya is nearly struck dumb. He has to recover quickly, because this is an employee of the company that now belongs to him and he scheduled this appointment for a reason. It isn’t the time, place, or occasion to openly admire him. 

“Mr. Hollander, yes?” Ilya sounds out carefully, glancing at his computer screen to make sure he gets it right.

The man nods his head slowly, eyeing Ilya almost as if he’s a predator waiting to close his jaws around his throat. It’s not an entirely unearned suspicion. Ilya knows the reputation he’s earned over the last several weeks. He can’t deny that he’s cultivated it purposefully, or that he’s enjoyed the resigned expression of every person who walks through the door into his office knowing what fate awaits them.

That isn’t the case here, and Ilya knows that he’ll quickly have to correct the course of the meeting.

“Shane.”

Ilya blinks, not expecting that.

“What?”

“I prefer to be called Shane, not Mr. Hollander,” the man says, tilting his chin up ever so slightly. 

Ilya has to bury the urge to grin, a warm delight stirring in him at the subtle show of defiance. For someone who thinks he’s about to be fired, it seems that this Shane Hollander has no intention of groveling. Still, Ilya isn’t all that good at doing what he’s told, and there’s a part of him that wants to see just how much he can rile up this perfectly put together man. He’s been bored, handling meeting after meeting and being forced to give up a good chunk of what used to be his life. If he wants to have fun where he can find it, who can stop him?

“You can sit if you want, Mr. Hollander.”

An eye twitch is the only reaction he gets, but Ilya will take it.

“I’d rather stay standing, if you’re just going to tell me that I’m fired.”

It’s getting harder and harder to fight a smile, and Ilya knows that his amusement must be shining in his eyes regardless.

“Who says you’re fired?”

Shane’s frown deepens, and he looks away from Ilya as he seemingly gathers his thoughts.

“Well, you fired my boss and then you fired my boss’s boss a few days later,” he recounts, glancing at Ilya again. “I’m pretty sure I saw the chief techology officer being escorted out by security yesterday. Some people think you had him arrested.”

It isn’t a bid for gossip. Ilya can tell the difference. This man may be curious, but he isn’t trying to pull information out of Ilya. He simply seems to be stating the facts as he knows them.

“I did,” Ilya says simply.

Shane’s eyes widen ever so slightly but he doesn’t say anything. Ilya stares back at him, wondering how long they can endure this stand-off before one of them breaks.

“You’re not being fired, Shane Hollander,” he finally says with a sigh. “Now, will you please sit?”

There’s no mistaking the relief that sweeps over Shane’s face as he finally steps closer to the desk and takes one of the chairs across from Ilya.

“Can I ask why I’m here, then?” he asks, clasping his hands in his lap and sitting with a board-straight spine.

Ilya has to wonder if he’s ever relaxed a day in his life.

“Your boss was fired for incompetence,” Ilya informs him, sitting back in his chair. “You shouldn’t need to hear more. Your complaints against him are very… detailed.”

“He had no idea what he was doing,” Shane says as if he has to defend his well-documented emails that were sent to HR. “I’m not even sure he has a background in IT.”

He didn’t. Andrei met him through a friend of a friend at a party and offered him the job without bothering to determine if he knew how to do it. Ilya is surprised that the IT department managed to run in spite of the incompetence of its manager, but he knows that is almost entirely due to the man sitting in front of him bouncing one leg anxiously.

“I am fixing mistakes that happened before my time here, Mr. Hollander. Now that I am left with good people in the company, I need to fill the empty roles.”

Shane gives him a speculative look.

“You need a new IT manager.”

“Yes, eventually,” Ilya says, nodding his head in agreement. “I need a CTO more.”

Shane’s dark, expressive eyes grow wide in an instant and his lips part in a disbelieving gape. Ilya is equally surprised at himself, in truth. The suggestion isn’t one he planned to make prior to this meeting, but the words slipped out before he could help it. He’s happy to blame it on the freckles.

It takes several long moments for Shane to recover from his shock with a singular word.

“No.”

Ilya blinks at him once, twice, and a third time just to make sure he didn’t hear incorrectly. While he didn’t inherit his father’s effortless command or his brother’s brutal demand for the same, he isn’t quite used to hearing the word ’no’ in his adult life. Ilya certainly isn’t internationally famous but there are two cities in the world where his name and face grant him certain privileges. Many privileges in truth.

One of them is Moscow.

The other is here in Boston.

Yet here this man sits, wearing neat but cheap clothing that probably wouldn’t even equal the price of Ilya’s preferred brand of socks, rejecting an offer he has yet to make with a stone-faced expression. Not that he wasn’t going to make it, but it’s discomfiting to be turned down before he can put any of it into words.

“No?” Ilya echoes, raising his eyebrows.

“Absolutely not,” Shane says with a shake of his head. “This is insane. I’m twenty-seven years old. I haven’t even been at this job for two years.”

One could argue that Ilya is a thirty-one year old who didn’t worked in the corporate world at all until three and a half weeks ago, but he doubts that it would help.

“You’re already running the IT department on your own and without being asked,” he says, as if it’s a reminder that Shane needs. “You graduated near the top of your class, I can see it in your file, and you put in more hours than anyone else. Your current position isn’t even the job you applied for.”

Shane looks taken aback, ducking his head to pick at some invisible lint on his pants.

“They didn’t have an opening in research and development,” he says, his cheeks filling with a lovely flush.

Ilya knows for a fact that isn’t the truth, since he has multiple memos in his inbox complaining about how short-staffed they are. Wisely, he doesn’t say as much. Not when he doesn’t have any answer for why Shane wasn’t given one of the many entry-level positions in the R&D department when he first applied, much less when he requested a transfer on multiple occasions.

“I’ve made a name for myself here for firing people that weren’t good for the company,” Ilya says, thinking through his words carefully. “That’s mostly done now. I know that this has not been a nice work environment and I want to change that. It starts, I think, with rewarding good employees.”

Shane seems conflicted, his eyes sweeping the spacious office with its floor to ceiling windows and luxury furnishings before reluctantly looking at Ilya again.

“What you’re offering isn’t really a reward,” he says warily, as if he’s expecting that his words won’t be received well. “Everyone will wonder how an IT grunt made his way up the ladder that quickly, and the answer they come up with will follow me for my entire career even if it isn’t true.”

Though he’s speaking in vague terms, Ilya understands the meaning behind his words. He may not have spent much time in the corporate world, what Shane is suggesting isn’t limited to large companies. The entire world works the same, and people will always scrutinize success for what holes they can find just to bring a good person down.

“I understand,” he says, and there’s no mistaking the relief that crosses Shane’s face. “Who, then?”

The relief turns to confusion, and Ilya curses his heart as it does a little flip in his chest at the small pout that forms on Shane’s lips.

“Who, what?”

“Who should be the CTO?” Ilya asks, sitting back in his chair with his hands folded over his stomach. “I’m not foolish, Mr. Hollander. I know how to run a company but I know nothing about your world. You must have your head to the ground, yes? You know someone who could fill the role?”

Shane hesitates, his eyes searching Ilya’s face as if he’s expecting that it’s some kind of trick.

“Ear to the ground,” he corrects Ilya without a trace of maliciousness in his voice. “You’re serious?”

Ilya nods his head, content to wait him out because he knows that Shane has an answer for him without having to hear it.

“Harris Drover,” Shane finally says, his voice unwavering. “He was a few years above me at MIT and he’s a genius, but he’s also a good person.”

Without hesitation, Ilya scribbles out the name on a post-it note as a reminder for himself.

“He’s local?”

Shane nods, “Yeah, he’s lived in Boston since he graduated.”

A beat passes, and Ilya lifts his head to see that Shane is looking at him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. He isn’t sure why until Shane opens his mouth to speak again.

“His boyfriend plays for the Raiders.” 

Ilya understands in an instant, and the challenging tone in Shane’s voice makes it all the more clear. It isn’t difficult to figure out exactly who this Harris Drover is dating. There are only so many players in the NHL who have come out since Scott Hunter notoriously kissed his now-husband after winning the cup, and only one of those players is in Boston. 

“He’s dating Troy Barrett?”

Shane blinks at him, seemingly taken by surprise that he would know the name.

“You like hockey?”

“Yes,” Ilya says, even though that is a vast understatement. “I’ve followed the Raiders since I moved to Boston. You?”

It’s subtle, but Ilya sees a different light form in Shane’s eyes as he nods.

“Yes. Well, not Boston. My family are all Voyageurs fans.”

Ilya exaggerates his frown, setting his pen down and shaking his head in disappointment.

“I take it back. You are fired.”

It’s a barely there thing, but Ilya knows he isn’t imagining the smallest uptick of Shane’s lips or the way his shoulders relax ever so slightly. He takes advantage of it, steering the conversation to a resolution.

“You want to work in R&D, then you will work in R&D,” he says decisively.

Shane looks a little bit like he’s been slapped and then handed a box of chocolates, his expression wavering between pure shock and uncertain hope.

“Really?”

“Really,” Ilya confirms, already putting the pieces of the transfer together in his mind. “You’ll have a new contract by next week.”

Somewhat like a deer in headlights, Shane stays frozen in his chair and stares at Ilya as if he’s waiting for another shoe to drop.

“That’s it? I don’t need to… do anything else?”

Ilya wishes that he could say yes, because he very much wants to invent a reason to keep Shane Hollander in his office for the rest of the day. He’s struck by the need to create distance, because Ilya knows that the rules are different here. He can’t enjoy the same casual relationship with employees as he has in the past. Owning a club is one thing. Running an entire corporate business is another.

Rozanov Incorporated can’t suffer another scandal without being at risk of a hostile takeover.

“No, there’s nothing else,” Ilya says, trying to pull a mask of professionalism even if he thinks that it’s far too late for that. “Thank you for your hard work.”

Shane regards him for another long moment before he jerks his head in a single nod and rises to his feet.

“Thanks for not firing me.”

He spins away before Ilya can respond, all but power walking out of the office, and Ilya fails to hold back the smile that breaks over his face once Shane is out of sight. He can see Luca reaching for the phone through the blinds, and Ilya knows he has to recover his facade of hard-hearted CEO quickly because this next meeting won’t be quite as pleasant.

Still, he finds it hard to push the encounter from his mind, even hours later when he’s making his way towards his private elevator long after most people have left the building.

Ilya is a romantic.

And Shane Hollander seems to be a perfect blend of torment created just for him.

[okoyestrainee]

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.

I love you down to the bone.

[phoenixyfriend]

I feel like a good shorthand for a lot of economics arguments is "if you want people to work minimum wage jobs in your city, you need to allow minimum wage apartments for them to live in."

"These jobs are just for teenagers on the weekends." Okay, so you'll use minimum wage services only on the weekends and after school. No McDonald's or Starbucks on your lunch break.

"They can get a roommate." For a one bedroom? A roommate for a one bedroom? Or a studio? Do you have a roommate to get a middle-wage apartment for your middle-wage job? No? Why should they?

"They can live farther from city center and just commute." Are there ways for them to commute that don't equate to that rent? Living in an outer borough might work in NYC, where public transport is a flat rate, but a city in Texas requires a car. Does the money saved in rent equal the money spent on the car loan, the insurance, the gas? Remember, if you want people to take the bus or a bike, the bus needs to be reliable and the bike lanes survivable.

If you want minimum wage workers to be around for you to rely on, then those minimum wage workers need a place to stay.

You either raise the minimum wage, or you drop the rent. There's only so long you can keep rents high and wages low before your workforce leaves for cheaper pastures.

"Nobody wants to work anymore" doesn't hold water if the reason nobody applies is because the commute is impossible at the wage you provide.

[robotlyra]

“My hot take on “15 minute cities” is if you can get to the coffee shop within fifteen minutes, but the barrista who makes your drink can’t afford to live closer than a half-hour away, then you live in a theme park.” - Gareth Klieber

[eosofspades]

i didn't have "i'm broken" teenage asexual angst i had "i'm literally being the only reasonable one about this concept and the rest of you are behaving like fucking freaks" perception issues

[lightshadowverisimilitude]

You, the Garden

For anyone in need of something to read while our beloved archive is in the hospital, I am providing a reader link to my newest Heated Rivalry soulmate fic!

Summary:

Ilya takes Shane's hand. In the delicate webbing between thumb and forefinger, he feels the seed of Shane's soul take hold to build a home in his skin.

He's just not sure that Shane has been seeded in turn.

Complete. Explicit, soulmates/soulmate-identifying marks, angst and fluff, Grigori's A+ parenting, David and Yuna the collective badasses, happy ending

Enjoy!

[northisnotup]

Far-future snippit I like too much not to post

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.

[angee1011]

reading about the gay hockey show on ao3

ilya just desperately seduced shane

i hit next chapter

“archive is down for maintenance”

i want to die

[kikheatedrivalryficrec]

More Than Pretty by ashes0909 - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 5,001)

Shane has never thought of himself as pretty. Ilya has always known better. When Fabian makes a suggestion, Shane agrees to try something new. Shane’s confidence hits hard, and Ilya forgets how to function.

'Cause, Baby, I'm Jealous by haveagreatday - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,536)

Logically, Shane Hollander knows Ilya would never cheat on him.

But, something about this guy is setting off Shane's insecurities like the Eiffel Tower on New Years' Day.

Ilya makes up for it, of course, in the best way he knows how.

Still, don't fucking do it again.

Multi-POV story.

calls to you like the wild geese by you-cant-spell-subtext-without (ayreisha) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 7,205)

Ilya’s feeling a little silly about the thought in and of itself, because everyone owns black t-shirts. This is a perfectly normal, ordinary article of clothing, and there is no reason for Ilya to be so magnetized by it that he is now reaching inside Shane’s suitcase to remove what is a completely innocuous black cotton tee that is clearly something Shane has always owned. The same kind that Ilya also owns, and ‘casually’ tossed at Shane when Shane was lying delectably shirtless in his bed a few months ago that godforsaken day in Boston Ilya can't bring himself to stop thinking about.

Chert, Shane hasn’t just infected Ilya with his boring, his never-ending stream of consciousness mind-babble must be contagious, too.

Ilya picks up the folded shirt and immediately forgets to be concerned about The Hollander Effect on his nervous system, because - yes, that’s definitely the scent of Ilya’s fabric softener lingering on those cotton fibers. He knows that for a fact because he can’t ever find his favorite brand in the US, so he always brings a case from Russia when he returns from a visit.

Okay, so Shane kept Ilya’s shirt.

And neglected to wash it.

That’s hot, right?

Do you want a house tour? by frozen_applesauce - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,579)

Hayden's first thought after opening Shane's bedside drawer is: That’s a lot of condoms. His second thought is: I thought Shane was a virgin. The third thought doesn’t come because Hayden sees something dick-shaped and his brain shuts down.

— Snooping through Shane's drawers, Hayden finds more than he's prepared for.

Can I Dream For A Few Months More? by Swirlingdust - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 4,203)

Ilya is depressed, suicidal and lonely. After a few too many drinks he gets the courage to drown himslef in the filthy river that flows through Boston. The world is cruel and Ilya was done with it.

Shane shows him the kindness that he thought was dead and helps him.

a different kind of love by illegaltofu - (Rating: G, Words: 1,820)

"None of what you have gone through is your fault, do you hear me?”

He knows his voice is going to break as he speaks his next words, but he says them anyway. “But my fa-my father-“

“Was wrong.” She scoots just a bit closer to him, and when he doesn’t pull away, she wraps her arms around him so fiercely he can’t help the sob that escapes him, and he clings to her like she’s his mother. or

Yuna tells Ilya it’s not his fault. Because he needs to hear it.

The Mysterious Mrs Jane Rozanov by Frostberry - (Rating: G, Words: 3,500)

When Ilya signs with the Ottawa Centaurs, everyone wants to know why he moved. Turns out, he married a Canadian. Her name is Jane. 

Or so the team believes - because Ilya never bothers to correct them.

don't you need me like i need you now by if_not_now_tell_me_when - (Rating: T, Words: 1,375)

"'I’m not going to shave your head. Unless you keep moving. But you need a trim, your hair is turning into a mullet.” Shane runs his fingers through the silky strands again, inhaling the citrus scent of Ilya’s shampoo. For a moment, he’s tempted to bury his face in Ilya’s curls rather than cut them.

'What is mullet?'

'It’s uh - you know, business in the front, party in the back. Short in the front, long in the back.'

'This sounds terrible. Why would anybody want this?'

'They don’t. That’s why I’m saving you from it. So, stop squirming.' Shane gently tilts Ilya’s head back to center, his fingers lingering against Ilya’s jaw."

Stupid Canadian Wolf bird... Wait No, That's a Russian Werewolf by Ineffable_Rivalry (I_Ineffable_Idiot_t) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 4,420)

The glint of metal caught his eye and he looked down then froze at the golden crucifix hanging from the creatures neck. He knew that necklace, and he realized why the wolf felt familiar. He knew those eyes. “... Ilya…?” he whispered, it sounded stupid even to his own ears, but the way his husband had disappeared? The fact that this wolf had his eyes and his mother’s necklace? It had to be. The wolf, Ilya, nodded. Once, hesitant. Another soft whine.

Or... Ilya is turned into a werewolf and Shane finds out

Hollanov RPF by Lune_Bleue22 - (Rating: Mature, Words: 1,206)

Lily: You read Hockey RPF? Jane: I don’t think so? Is it about strategy? Lily: Yes, strategy to suck other player’s dick Jane: ???

Ilya discovers Men’s Hockey RPF and realizes that Hollanov is a popular pairing. He would love to laugh it off, but some of the stories are making him… feel things. Very inconvenient, that.

[military-newsboys]

In which Shane Hollander yells at the metros

Shane was going to throw up.

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.

“Don’t go to Russia.”

“Wasn’t planning on doing so,” Ilya frowend. “Sladkiy, what’s going on?”

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.”

“Ilya.”

“Ok, ok, sweetheart. Let’s go home.”