Uh, I pretty much just reblog things I like. This is a ladies appreciation blog. I've been in various fandoms over the years, but atm, gay Canadian hockey (Heated Rivalry) has bewitched me body and soul. I'm also currently invested in Taylor Fitzpatrick’s You Could Make a Life universe and the 9-1-1 universe. I overtag everything and use a lot of parentheses. I try to keep things as spoiler-free as possible. I used to not get too explicit here, but Heated Rivalry has definitely changed that. I would classify this space as 18+.
I reblogged this last month, tagged it, and said “might as well see if it works.” I used this video as a reference to find all the forms that i needed (which is A LOT, especially if you’re a dependent) and sent them through the mail, not really allowing myself to hope.
dude.
$2,714 of medical debt from my top surgery - gone. im shaking this was such a weight on me for 2 years and it fucking worked. what the fuck.
Hospitals like to hide these policies under a lot of successive links in obscure places, so if you don't see anything right away, keep looking! Get friends to help! Make it a scavenger hunt. A game where you're assassins sent to slit capitalism's throat
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kinda need a hangover-esque au where the raider's 2014 cup win coincides with ilya's 22nd birthday so the team parties in vegas and connors, marleau and ilya wake up in a hotel room they did not book with no memory of last night a baby in the bathroom an exotic bird eating bar peanuts out of ilya's designer jeans and 34 angry omnious texts that ilya can't figure out the context of from shane
Ilya slowly blinks into consciousness. His head is pounding. He sits up, and realizes that he'd fallen asleep on the floor, with a woman's underwear stuck to his right cheek. Ilya peels it off, makes an interested face when he also realizes its sticky, and tries to survey the damage from last night.
The first thought he has is this is not my hotel room.
Connors is already up, fully dressed and anxiously pacing back and forth. He seems to be distressed about something in the bathroom, shouting unintelligibly, English too panicked and incoherent for Ilya to make out what he's saying. Marleau is still facedown, also on the floor, completely naked.
Ilya looks down. Miraculously, he has clothes on. They are not, however, the clothes he started the night in. He's 99% sure he's wearing a woman's crop top. And women's pajama shorts. He's also fairly sure they are bedazzled on the butt.
"Guys! Wake the fuck up!" Connors shouts again.
Ilya starts feeling his way around the floor for his clothes, phone, and wallet. His search gets him to peek up from the suite's coffee table, which brings into view a gorgeous exotic bird, almost as tall as the men in the room, voraciously eating something from Ilya's jeans, which hang suspended on the hotel's chandelier.
To put it bluntly, the room is trashed. Furniture that isn't broken is overturned to its side. Strange stains that smell alcoholic in nature pervade the hotel floor. Women's thongs, bras, and other undergarments scatter themselves all across the room, with their owners nowhere in sight.
Ilya walks up to the exotic bird. The bird stops his eating, turns a yellow, predatory eye in Ilya's direction. Ilya pets the bird once, twice, and then spots his phone hanging out of his back pocket, to his relief. Ilya fishes it out of the air, and finds a charger conveniently strewn to the side. He plugs his phone in. He leaves the bird so it can keep eating at his jeans.
While he waits for his phone to power up, he walks over, nudges Marleau in the ribs. "Wake up," Ilya orders. Marly groans. Ilya nudges him again. "Captain's orders," he says, deadly serious.
Marly, on command, slowly comes to.
"Jesus fuck, what happened last night?" Marly groans. He realizes he's not wearing any clothes, looks at Ilya, then shrugs. He then checks the ceiling, at the chandelier, and the bird stretching its long magnificent neck to feast on Ilya's designer jeans. "Yo, who's bird is that?"
"We can worry about the bird later!" Connors shouts, flying back in from the bathroom. "We are three grown men with a fucking baby that isn't ours in our bathtub! We are going to get arrested if we don't identify who it is right now!"
Ilya and Marly make eye contact with each other, making a face, before joining Connors to head back into the bathroom. Ilya almost trips and falls on an empty Svedka bottle that he kicks to the side with a disgusted sneer.
Three grown men peek over the edge of a bathtub. There is indeed a baby in there.
Well," Ilya says, cheerily. "It has brown eyes, so it cannot be mine."
"Is it like a dog situation?" Marly asks, genuine. "Where they like, come with identification tags?"
"Maybe we should take it to the police," Connors says. "And we leave out the fact that it was here all night surrounded by drugs and booze."
Ilya ignores both of them as he walks back into the suite's common room. His phone blinks to life--10 percent battery. It helpfully reminds him that his flight to Moscow is in 12 hours. Ilya swipes the notification away. He dials Svetlana's number.
She doesn't pick up. He calls again.
"Bluh," Svetlana answers.
"Where are you?" Ilya asks.
Shuffling. "Our hotel room?" Svetlana grumbles. "Where the fuck are you?"
Ilya switches to FaceTime. Svetlana picks up. She looks terrible.
"Look," Ilya orders. He swings his phone around the room. He holds for a couple more seconds on the bird, so Svetlana can get a good look at it. Svetlana hums appreciatively, so Ilya takes her into the bathroom.
"Hey Svetlana," his teammates chime. Svetlana grunts in greeting.
The three of them, plus digital Svetlana, peer over the bathtub.
"Do you guys remember anything from last night?" Ilya asks the room.
"Nothing," Connors says, despondent.
"Nothing," Marly confirms.
"Nothing," Svetlana says, cheerily. "I do know who's baby that is though."
All three of them swing their heads to Ilya's phone. "What?" Connor asks, hopefully.
Svetlana smirks. "Yeah, it's Marly's."
Silence. Then--"Fuck off Svetlana," Marly responds.
"No, I'm being deadass," she says, somber. "Marly married a stripper last night, and that's her baby."
Even more silence. Ilya, Connors, and Marly look at each other, stunned.
"You two shut the fuck up!" Marly orders. "I didn't marry anybody--"
Connors' face is white. "Marly, your hand."
They all look down. There's a cheap, chapel ring on his fourth finger. Ilya starts laughing so hard he almost falls over.
"Svetlana," Marly begs, desperate. With fatherhood on the line he's locked back into life. "Do you remember anything else from last night? Do you know how we got here?"
"Literally no," Svetlana says, already burying her face back into the hotel pillow. "I only remember you getting married because it was so fucking funny. Then, we got back in the limo, I blacked out, the next thing I knew I am back in my hotel room," she waggles her eyebrows. "Seems like you guys had fun without me though."
"Come over," Ilya demands. "Help us solve the mystery of the missing baby. We can get burritos after."
Svetlana laughs, indignant, "Fuck that. You guys are halfway across The Strip from me. You come here."
"We literally cannot leave this room," Connors says, panicked. "Until we absolve ourselves of all guilt for everything that happened here last night."
Ilya sighs, starting to get irritated. "This is not a big deal, okay?" Ilya says, to the room. "I wake up to worse when I party in Moscow. Fix is very simple. We talk to hotel, tell them we do not know where we are, they insist we pay for damage we pay damage and leave and someone comes in to clean everything up. We tell call girl service about Marly's wife and tell them we have her baby, we call police about bird, and I head to airport. Easy peezy, as you say in your country."
"You aren't curious about what happened?" Marly asks. "You don't want to find out how we got here?"
"What is there to find out?" Ilya says, easily. "We have fun fucking night on my birthday and we black out. Is price of doing business."
As he says this Ilya opens his phone, reads through more of his messages.
His heart sinks into his asshole when he sees 1 new message from one Jane.
To start, everything from their text thread has been wiped from his phone. This is horrible news to Ilya, whose nighttime ritual the past six months had been reading all of Hollander's messages, jerking off to the memories of when Hollander let him fuck him, before continuing to not reply to any of his correspondences.
Also, it means he has no explanation for the single text that remains in their conversation.
Jane: goodbye, rozanov.
Ilya hasn't responded to Hollander in over six months. Yet, this singular message is enough to get him type, panicked--
Ilya: lol wtf are you talking about
He hits send. The message doesn't go through. Ilya's heart starts pounding in his ears.
He does something desperate. He calls Hollander.
The call doesn't go through.
Ilya has pissed off enough hook ups to know exactly what this is.
Hollander's blocked him.
The little fucking asshole.
"We must retrace our steps," Ilya announces, out loud to the room. "Starting with pregame bar."
"Yo, are you serious Cap?" Marly asks, hopeful. Connors looks equally relieved that Ilya has decided to take charge of the situation.
"I'm going back to sleep," Svetlana says, definitive, and hangs up.
"Men," Ilya says gravely. He clutches his phone tightly in his hands. He's already brainstorming ways he will try to get back in contact with Hollander. "We need to solve the mystery of what the fuck happened at my 22nd birthday party."
the first time shane & ilya spend ilya’s birthday together i think the vibe really is ‘saying all of my dog’s favorite words in the same sentence’ because shane wants to make sure its ilya’s best birthday ever & doesn’t know how to do anything by half . shanevoice ilya pay attention i have a plan (nooo hollanderrrrr i want to fuck you NOW is my birthday :((((( how could u be so cruel to me) ok we’re taking the ferrari to mcdonald’s for mcgriddles (ilya visibly perking up) you are allowed to go 125 km/h but only if the coast is clear (imaginary tail beginning to wag) & you have to slow down if you want road head . when we get home we are taking a pot gummy & going swimming & i am grilling for lunch (ilya, his eyes huge, in the apron i bought for you?) yes ilya in the meat daddy apron . then shower, nap, one beer, dinner at my parents’ house, home by 6, and then i’ll give you your birthday present 🙂 does that sound good ? ilya, crying, shane this is my best birthday ever (shanevoice ilya it’s 9 am we haven’t even done any of it yet) MY BEST BIRTHDAY EVER WITH MY BOYFRIEND WHO I LOVE . & after they fuck (because obviously that was the first thing on the agenda shane just likes when ilya whines & begs for it & ilya does too) shane is back-to-business rustling around the bedroom putting their clothes out & talking about nothing while ilya watches from the bed w the big dopey smile of a man enamored with the bus that just ran him over
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ilya courting shane like is everything you dreamed of?/ montreal is nice yes? boston is nice too?/we will be seeing each other a lot/ you look pretty like yes he was hunting that boy for sport but he was also just a young man with a crush.. he just thought shane was soooo cute and wanted to connect with him and be near him and get in his head and haunt him and eat him alive wait who said that
We (rightfully) make fun of shane for putting on a suit before their first hookup but we should also be making fun of ilya for wearing a fashionable denim jacket. They were staying in the same hotel. he put that jacket on just to down the hall and up the elevator. he only wore it because he thought shane would think it looked cool (he did) and that shane would love a sexy little striptease (he did). Embarrassing!
3.8K words | mature
sexuality crisis | arguing and making up | developing relationship | feelings realization | idiots in love | relationship negotiation via passive aggressive cake
Cake or Death [on AO3]
Eddie's phone vibrates in his pocket as he's unlocking his front door. He doesn't check it right away, because there's an anxious pit in his stomach at the sound of his text notification and has been for the past week, even though Buck hasn't actually texted him since Wednesday. It's Friday now, his Kelly day, and he's stepping through his own front door at ten-fifteen in the morning with a bag of groceries in his hand and nothing planned while Chris is at school but to marinate the chicken he just bought and do a load of laundry and maybe take a nap and absolutely not agonize over the chain of unanswered texts sitting in his phone like a silent accusation.
He takes his shoes off, lines them up on the rack, sets the grocery bag down, locks the door behind him. His phone vibrates again. Eddie finally pulls it out of his pocket, reminding himself that people other than Buck text him and he can't just become a hermit until his next shift, tempting as it is. It could be one of the guys on his basketball team. It could be Hen, or Chim, or even Pepa, who prefers to call but has been known to text him screenshots of upbeat inspirational posts she finds on Facebook.
It's Buck, though. Of course it is. Eddie looks at the preview of the most recent message, which just says, enjoy :), and then sighs and opens up their text chain even though Buck will know he's seen it and not replied just like he has every message since the one he got at 8:13 last Thursday morning asking, hey, where'd u go?
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its so wild like “this generation with no fucking money is learning to prioritize essentials” and all these chucklefucks can write is advertisements for these companies
AND FUCK DRYER SHEETS LITERALLY NOBODY EVER HAS ENOUGH OF A PROBLEM WITH STATIC TO WARRANT PAYING OUT THE ASS FOR THAT SHIT
DO YOU WANT CLEAN CLOTHES? YOU DON’T EVEN NEED TO BUY FUCKING DETERGENT JUST MAKE YOUR OWN* IT’S SO GODDAMN EASY AND 80X CHEAPER
FUCK THE ENTIRE LAUNDRY INDUSTRY
*Fuck The Entire Laundry Industry Recipe
1 cup Washing Soda (not Baking Soda. Different things.)
1 cup Borax (not Boric Acid. Also a different thing.)
½ cup - 1 cup grated bar soap (you can use literally anything. I often use Ivory because it’s easy to get and I find it works well, a lot of people like Fels-Naptha, which is an actual laundry bar. Some people use Dr. Bronner’s. Really does not fucking matter.)
After grating your soap, combine all ingredients. That’s it. That’s the whole thing. Use maybe a ¼ cup per load.
Also you can MAKE your own washing soda very VERY cheaply.
Step one: acquire $5 bag of baking soda from Costco.
Step two: lay that motherfucking baking soda out on a baking tray.
Step three: bake the baking soda on a tray in an oven at 400° for 1 hour (to make the moisture evaporate, leaving washing soda)
Step four: revel in how easy and cheap it is to make your own washing soda, and maybe take a moment to be angry that the industry upcharges the fuck out of something that is so easy to make.
I see some of y'all complaining about static and/or wanting nice smelling laundry. Go to a craft store, find 100% wool yarn balls. If it doesn’t come in a ball, ask an employee to make it into a tight ball for you. Wash in the washing machine to make it felted. Remove from washer, add a few drops of essential oil to the ball, allow to seep in. Dry with clothing. Doesn’t need to be rewashed ever, and if it stops smelling, add few more drops of essential oil. Bam, reusable dryer sheets.
"Boring, you know, when Ilya calls Shane boring, he's saying he's in love with him. And he's not boring, [Ilya] is endlessly fascinated by Shane. And the only way he can communicate that is by making fun of him and calling him boring, because anything else would rip his soul out through his face." - Jacob Tierney
My favourite trope is Person A rambling for way too long about their hyperfixations fueled by neurodivergency and caffeine and Person B just looking at them, barely comprehending their words, with the biggest heart eyes ever oh my god the imagination is killing me.
Bonus points if you can't decide which part of your otp is Person A and Person B
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god he has all the stupid little tuna melt ingredients prepared in containers in a neat stack in his fridge. he's losing the idgaf war in ways no one has ever lost before. "I was gonna make one for me I can make two" shut up you FREAK with your temperature controlled ginger ale. do you think this is the first time in his life he's actually tried to get someone to stay at his house. like I'm sure sveta has stayed over for a few days or whatever but it's just. baby's first crush. he logicked shane into a corner so he'd run out of excuses to leave and then he put everything in little containers right next to the ginger ale so he could get it all out quickly and smoothly and shane would think he was so nonchalant and wouldn't notice that he just accidentally got a husband. memorized his stupid little schedule. he was pacing around the house before shane got there, putting on his suit in the mirror. he whipped that shirt at Shane so quick HE WASNT EVEN WEARING A SHIRT he put it by the bed so he could put shane in his clothes. oh my god he cleaned his room and left a tshirt casually by the bed. picked out the one he wanted shane to wear. mayor of yearntown. king of yearnia. i think i hauve covid
