My Wings Are On Wheels

who controls the netflix account and what have they dominated the suggestions with by watching

who snores

who has an embarrassing ringtone that the other calls them in public just to get to go off

who sleeps on the top bunk if given the chance

who plays the piano at 6 in the morning to wake up the other 

"But!" she said:

People who see a clean, trash-free river are more likely support laws to curb more harmful "systemic" forms of pollution. People who participate in river cleanups take pride in their work--their river!--and become evangelists for protecting it.

Summary:

Mother's Day has always been difficult for Ilya but this year he finds comfort from someone unexpected.

Read below or on Ao3!

****

Ilya was drunk.

It took a lot to get a buzz going for a Russian who had been drinking vodka since he was fourteen, but Ilya had passed buzzed three drinks ago. He was sitting alone at some shitty bar in New York. They had lost 3-2 to the Admirals in overtime, which sucked, but that wasn't why he was drinking.

He was drinking because his heart ached.

Fuck Hollander's Instagram post with his stupid beautiful mother. Fuck the video they'd shown at the game of the players with their moms. Fuck this whole stupid holiday.

And fuck his Mama for leaving him.

He bit back a sob.

"Rozanov? You ok?"

Ilya groaned into his glass. Of course. Scott fucking Hunter.

"Go away, old man. Is past your bedtime," Ilya slurred.

"Yeah, I'm not leaving you like this."

"Is not your problem."

"No," Scott said, sliding onto the stool next to him. "But I am curious why you're alone and crying in a bar."

"Was not crying. I got vodka in my eye," Ilya lied.

"Sure you did."

Ilya scowled and lifted his glass, ready to tell Hunter exactly where he could shove his concern, but then Scott let out a long breath and scrubbed a hand down his face.

"God, I hate today."

Ilya gave him a strange look.

"Mother's Day," Scott said quietly. "Everyone always makes it such a big deal and it hurts. I lost my parents when I was twelve and it still hurts every day."

Ilya froze. The glass stilled in his hand.

"I lost my Mamochka when I was twelve."

Scott smiled at him sadly. "It's the shittiest club to be in, isn't it? The dead parents club."

Ilya let out a wet, broken laugh and sniffled. "Sometimes I am angry at her. I know this is not fair, but I miss her so much."

"I think it's okay to be angry. The anger comes from pain and loneliness." Scott said thoughtfully. "It's always there, like a dull ache. But on days like today..."

"Is a gaping wound," Ilya finished quietly.

Scott nodded.

"I am usually not like this," Ilya said, "but everything was so in your face this year. This whole big tribute, and I just sat there. Tried to hold it together. My teammates were all smiling and..."

He shook his head, unable to finish.

"It's hard," Scott said. "You don't want to bring everyone down, but it's just too much. I almost asked my coach to healthy scratch me, but it's the playoffs."

"Yes, I thought the same. Usually hockey makes me feel better." Ilya stared down into his glass. "I don't know why I am so sad. She has been gone longer than she was with me. I feel like she has missed so much."

He swallowed hard.

"I wonder if she would like the person I've become."

"What was your mom's name?" Scott asked.

"Irina," Ilya said quietly.

"Mine was Mary." Scott was quiet for a moment. "I don't know where she is today. I'm not a religious person. But I know she'd be proud of me."

He nudged Ilya's shoulder gently with his own.

"And I think Irina would be proud of you too."

"Why are you being so nice to me, Hunter?" Ilya asked.

"Because motherless lost boys stick together." Scott shrugged. "We don't have to like each other to understand each other."

"I like you," Ilya said softly.

Scott raised his eyebrows.

"Do not get smug. I will probably not remember saying this tomorrow, and if I do, I will deny. But I like you, Hunter. You are good person. Good captain."

He paused, then added, quieter:

"Good...friend."

"Thanks, Rozanov. That means a lot," Scott said.

"No, no more sappy. Have a drink and we...what is the phrase...trauma bond," Ilya said.

Scott laughed.

Ilya raised his glass. "To the shittiest club in the world."

"The shittiest club in the world," Scott echoed.

"For Mary," Ilya said.

"For Irina," Scott replied, and they clinked glasses.

They sat in silence for a while, but eventually Scott set down his empty glass and clapped a hand on Ilya's shoulder.

"Come on, Rozanov. Let's get you back to your hotel before you get more vodka in your eye."

Ilya muttered something in Russian as he stood and pulled out his phone to order an Uber.

"Hunter."

"Yeah?"

"If you tell anyone about this, I will kill you."

Scott grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it. See you around, Rozanov."

"Bye, Hunter."

Ilya opened the gallery on his phone and scrolled to the picture he was looking for. His Mamochka grinning, blue eyes shining, her arms wrapped around him as she kissed his cheek.

"I miss you," he whispered. "I love you."

ilya destroying that plate of spaghetti right before this sweet moment is so fucking funny to me. especially since the actor was actually eating the spaghetti

also idiots in the comments claiming a bra is different bc its functional, hair coverings protect your hair from the elements (you should see my long carly hair after riding with the windows down in a car), they keep it clean for longer, they can keep you warm, provide UV protection, list goes on

Yes, it is finally summer, and yes, it's supposed to be hot too here. Except our hot temperatures are still way below that. The average temperatures at that period between 1991-2020 are 15-20°C below what we're experiencing. It's 41°C in Paris, Bordeaux, Toulouse, when it should be about 25, 42°C in Rennes when it should be 22.

On Tuesday 23rd, France was hotter than 99% of the planet. Only some specific zones in the Sahara, Arabian, and American deserts were hotter.

In the night between Monday and Tuesday, temperatures only came back down to between 21 and 28 degrees. Those are supposed to be the temps at day.

We're used to maybe 3-5 days of 30-35°C at the end of July or beginning of August.

This is ten consecutive days of 35-40°, with 25° at best during the night, so you couldn’t even open a window during the night without risking to heat up your house, at the end of June, with more to come.

This is not Summer. This is a literal death trap natural disaster.

Our harvests are dying, our drinking water is evaporating, our traffic lights are melting, and so are our streets and railway tracks, and the famous German Autobahn is cracking open, to the point where eleven Autobahnen have become unusable over the past few days. Our hospitals are overheating. People are literally dying from this.

—

PBS: Language as Prejudice - Myth #6: Women Talk Too Much (via misandry-mermaid)

Every EVERY women’s studies class I’ve been in has had this problem and failed to address it. 

Shane is like no! It’s embarrassing! And this is public! And you wouldn’t make me actually do that to Rose would you? You know the answer, I’m gay!

Only Rose thinks the whole thing is hilarious and gives Shane the go ahead so there’s no real reason to resist Ilya’s begging anymore, still he holds out to the day before the interview.

“Fine! Fine! You can ask about Rose, but I get to ask about anything I want too!” And Ilya’s like yes yes of course my love. His boring Shane would hardly ask anything damning.

Fast forward to the day of the interview Shane is fondly exasperated with Ilya’s Rose questions, and Ilya is being a cocky bastard so happy with how it played out.

Until they switch sides and Shane breaks out his first question:

“Is it or is it not true that despite famously calling Scott Hunter ‘a nearly extinct fossil’ you think he’s hot?” The blood drains from Ilya’s face pretty quickly after that.

“Do you think Hayden Pike is a good hockey player?”

“Do you consider Hayden Pike a close friend?”

“Who do you love more: me or Anya?”

“Besides me who is your favorite teammate?”