Home to various queer fiction that has captured my heart (CheckPlease, Heartstopper, Transatlantic, Schitt's Creek, etc) and random ramblings. She/her, Canadian, supposedly a Real Adult but fandom is far more fun. AO3 icon from: http://jackzimmerdex.tumblr.com header from: http://jacksbits.tumblr.com/
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
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One thing that worries me about the use of AI is whether or not it can worsen people's dementia and alzheimer's in the future. When my grandmother was first diagnosed, we got her math activity books. Now, my grandmother never had a formal education, but we did our best to keep her sharp, get her to do math and writing activity books, sudokus, playing board games that required some level of strategizing with her. Her family is prone to alzheimer's and dementia (both her siblings had it and deteriorated very very very quickly, which yeah, scares the shit out of me being her granddaughter) but she was the one whose mind lasted the longest, she only passed away two years ago, at 88, ten whole years after her initial diagnosis and sure, she had forgotten things, recipes and where she put her glasses and appointments, but she never forgot any of us, ten whole years in, she still remembered us. Now, this may have been luck, but doctors always said the constant mental work + companionship + medicine helped her a lot. So I'm thinking, these people who are now relying on AI for everything, from email-writing to thinking what's for dinner to casual conversations, I've even seen people rely on it to calculate what time they should leave their house if they need to be at a place at a specific time and their commute lasts X number of minutes. As if that's not... the simplest math operation possible? You shouldn't even need a calculator for that!!! Idk I don't know how long it'll take us to see the effects of this + exposure to brain-rotting short form content that is completely meaningless + people addicted to right-wing conspiracy style media. Idk I'm very worried. Please, read, read complicated books! Take up a book on philosophy and try to decipher it and make your own opinions on it, please buy a maths activity book and relearn how to do math, please get a hobby that involves lots of thinking and concentrating. PLEASE!!!
As a neurologist, I’ll give you the pretty name for it: cognitive reserve.
The way I explain it to my patients is that our neurons don’t regenerate. They make connections with each other and that’s it. If you don’t use your brain, they make fewer connections and, if one of them dies, you’re gonna miss it, because that was the only one that knew how to do X. Now, if each one of them has many, many connections, you won’t notice the difference when one of them dies. The others pick up the slack.
As of 2024, 45% of dementia risk factors are modifiable. Relevant to this conversation, 5% for less education and 5% for social isolation.
We absolutely are going to see the reflection of this, but it’s gonna take decades and it’ll be too late. So, for the love of your brain, pretend that it’s a muscle and make it work. People complain about “when am I ever gonna use this maths formula in my life?” You’re not. You’re teaching your brain to think logically. Those sinapses will be there for when you need to figure out your week’s schedule. English classes taught me how to interpret data and how to convey it in this text so it’s clear and you understand what I’m saying, not because I needed to justify why the curtain is blue.
Make your brain know how to do different things. Logic games, puzzles, taking care of a garden even if small, planning a church’s event or birthday, learn a new instrument, learn a few words in another language, look at a calendar every day, do some manual labor if possible. Do not, I repeat, do not let your brain get rid of sinapses by letting AI do everything. Your brain uses 20% of your body’s energy — do you really think it’s going to maintain connexions that aren’t in use?
Most cases of Alzheimer’s are sporadic, meaning no family history. Family history of a first-degree relative with Alzheimer’s starting before they were 80yo increases your risk in 2-3x on average.
TLDR: Yes. From the knowledge we have today, AI will increase the number and severity of dementia cases.
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I love that four different people on my feed scheduled this joyous person to reblog by 8am on June 1. I look forward to seeing this a dozen more times today.
Poulin was 18 at her first olympics. Team canada wanted her to stay with a host family during training because she had never lived on her own before. So caroline ouellette, charline labonté, and kim st-pierre took in this teenage prodigy so she'd have exactly the mentors she needed, and 20 years later poulin is a five-time olympic medalist, captain of team canada, and captain of a champion team in a women's professional hockey league bigger than anything her mentors had. And caroline is on the ice to celebrate with her and be part of the future she worked for.
I love women supporting and uplifting and mentoring and creating the next generation of groundbreaking women in sports, and I love it when they're lesbians.
I need a fic where Hayden’s youngest, Amber Pike, is Shane’s flavor of autistic, and as soon as they realize, Ilya is like, oh, step aside, I’ve got this.
Like, he’s generally fab with kids anyway but he has a near lifetime of knowledge figuring out what makes Shane tick (and twitch) and this is just a child who isn’t able to control their environment or modulate their responses to things in the way that Shane can.
So when they’re having dinner with the Pikes and Jackie is tiredly recounting the ongoing process of getting Amber tested and how lost they’re feeling, Ilya is like, oh, I have been training my whole life for this. And when 3yr old Amber inevitably starts having a meltdown, Ilya jumps up and says, “Here. I will fix. You stay.”
And they’re like, you know what, sure, have at it.
Within a few minutes of Ilya disappearing with Amber, the crying stops. When they track the two down a half hour later, they’re in the basement on the rug with all the lights off. Amber is wearing a pair of Christmas Pjs (notably a bamboo/cotton mix) despite the fact that it’s February, and she’s laying on Ilya’s chest, ear to his sternum, alternating tapping along as he hums, spinning his ring on his finger, and rubbing his shirt (also a Nice Fabric since obviously Ilya’s whole wardrobe is Shane-approved).
And when Amber sees the family + Shane trooping down the stairs and starts to get riled up again, Ilya is immediately like, “Turn off hall light. It is Dark Floor Time. Only quiet people allowed to join, okie?” And Amber lets out this relieved, shuddery little breath because she has someone who understands and can advocate for her which nearly ends Ilya’s life but also Shane is like, oh shit, yeah, I’m the the best at floor time, I love being quiet and grounded and aimlessly touching my husband, lets fucking go.
So even when the other Pike children get antsy after a few minutes, and their parents take them upstairs, Shane and Ilya stay, letting Amber crawl all over them and get chill before they get her ready for bed.
Afterward, Ilya gives Hayden and Jackie an exhaustive rundown of all the various things they might want to consider for clothing and food and overstimulation and regulation and they’re very grateful but Shane is listening to this going, okay some of this I obviously knew about myself but some of these things I didn’t even notice? Holy shit? He pays such close attention to me?? Hold on, some of these things I haven’t done since middle school. Ilya, did you talk to my mom about my childhood behavior?? And yes, Ilya gives Jackie Yuna’s phone number for additional consult until they get Amber’s official diagnosis and are provided with more resources.
(And maybe at first Shane wants to be annoyed about the fact that Ilya has been, what, researching and compiling some sort of manual on how to handle him? Right up until Ilya reminds Shane that Shane has an Ilya Spreadsheet that now contains over a dozen tabs of Ilya’s likes and dislikes, injuries and recovery protocols, training and diet and supplements, depression treatment with behavioral red-flags and mitigation techniques, and even sexual preferences. And Shane is like, oh yeah, okay, that’s fair)
But anyway. As the Pike kids grow up, Ilya tries not to be obvious about it, but it’s just Known that Amber is Uncle Ilya’s favorite. And everyone is mostly okay with that.
His doting is so quietly impactful for Shane, though, because here is a child who reminds Shane of his own younger self: a little odd, who struggles to articulate what she feels and needs, who gets overstimulated easily and has obsessive interests, but even so, Amber is a favorite and so loved and accommodated by his husband. That’s gotta be healing.
Also, as much as they try to get Amber to hyperfixate on hockey, I think it’d be hilarious if she became a horse girl and Ilya literally buys her a pony.
(Hayden: Oh my god, Ilya. Do you know how expensive horses are??
Ilya: Yes, yes, maybe for 15th best player on the Metros with one hundred other children, horse is big cost, but not for best player in the league married to second best player in the league with Yuna Hollander in charge of sponsorship deals. I set up fund for board and train. Is couch money.)
(Shane is unavailable for comment because he is feeling a velvety horse nose for the first time and realizing that maybe he is also a horse girl).
Also the best relationship building skill you can master is the follow up question. Being able to ask something that says you follow enough to do that is amazingly satisfying for the person who is sharing. Even if the question b is what a term means or how something works.
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For the 5 facts au prompt: canon-based Time Traveller's Wife. Tommy is unstuck in time.
This is funny because way back when I first joined the fandom in 2024, I started writing a time traveler's husband au where Buck was the one who got unstuck in time. Maybe I'll do a wip amnesty post of it one day.
If I had planned this better and had a better sense of the inevitable passage of time, I would have posted this on you birthday. But I don't and I didn't. So belated happy birthday, my beloved rc. I hope you enjoy time traveling Tommy.
1. Of course Buck only learned about it after they broke up. God forbid Tommy share a single detail about his life. God forbid Buck notice how little he know about Tommy’s life. God forbid they try to fix it.
There was someone waiting on his front steps. Buck knew that silhouette, that nose, that build. He about fell out of the truck, bag full of the overrun muffins Chimney refused to take bouncing against his leg.
“Tommy,” he said.
Tommy lifted his head. It was all wrong.
If this was Tommy then it was a Tommy missing twenty years. He had the height but none of the muscles, so lean and thin that Buck might actually have a shot at winning a Muay Thai match. His face was sharp and made sharper by his buzzed hair, even sharper than the few photos Chim dug up from when Tommy was a probie. His ears were pierced, and he couldn’t be older than twenty.
“Oh,” Tommy said, grinning so wide that his nose, still the same, scrunched, “I’m so glad it’s you.”
2. Twenty year old Tommy ate the muffins, most of a chocolate pumpkin loaf—“I really like pumpkin," Tommy had said like it was a secret, as if Buck didn't already know—and was on his second piece of lasagna. Buck remembered being that young and perpetually hungry, and he hadn’t been trying to get survive a tour of Afghanistan.
“So you're unstuck in time," he said when Tommy came up from air.
“It doesn't happen a lot. I just slip.” Tommy shoved another forkful of lasagna in his mouth. “This is really good.”
“It’s one of your favorites,” Buck said. When they were dating, Tommy had been so quietly thrilled to eat Bobby's cooking again that Buck collected the few recipes Bobby hadn't already shared. He paused. “Wait, should I be telling you that?”
“You can’t cause a time paradox,” Tommy said, scooping up another huge forkful. “What happens is gonna happen, no matter how hard you wish it didn't.”
The last part was said in a tone Buck knew well: Tommy was trying to pretend he wasn’t bleeding hurt everywhere.
“But I’ve never tried,” Buck said. “I bet I could do it. I’m a firefighter. We help people.”
In the twenty years between this Tommy and Buck’s Tommy, Tommy had perfected his inoffensivelu bland mask. This Tommy was still learning and wore it poorly, and what slipped through broke Buck’s heart.
“You won’t have to put up with me for long,” Tommy said, a subject so obvious it nearly made Buck laugh. “I usually snap back in an hour or so.”
“What’s the longest you ever been unstuck?” he asked.
Tommy diverted his entire attention to scooping up the last of the lasagna. “Most of day, once.” He smiled, such a small and tender thing. “It was nice.”
Buck knew better than to ask where Tommy spent that day, and instead said, “Can you take anything back with you? I can load you up with loaves.”
Tommy regretfully shook his head; the only thing he could take was himself. Buck better feed him while he was there. He reached for the brownies.
An hour later when he went to pull out the chocolate chip cookies he was saving for Jee, displaced air sent his ears popping. When he turned around, Tommy was gone.
3. Buck spent the new week drafting texts to Tommy he never sent:
you were a string bean back in the day
why didn’t you tell me
what does it feel like being unstuck
how long have you known me
In the end, he sent none of them. If Tommy wanted him to know then Buck would know. He was tired of giving Tommy chances to tell him.
4. Buck was halfway home when he saw a Tommy walking down the sidewalk, head down and missing his shoes. Buck cut across a lane of traffic, ignoring the angry car horns, and rolled down the window. “Need a lift?” he called.
Tommy’s head jerked around and he said, hopeful and soft, “Evan?”
Buck reached across to fumble the door open. “Get in.”
Tommy climbed in with a wince. His feet were lightly abraded rather than torn up, although Buck wished they had time to take him for a tetanus shot. This was a slightly older Tommy, late twenties rather than early twenties, his hair grown out enough he could brush it into a mohawk. His ears were pierced.
Buck reached into the back and pulled out a container of leftover french toast casserole. “It’s not exactly warm anymore but you’re welcome to it. Oh, wait.” Another rummage unearthed his travel utensils, and he passed those over.
“Thanks,” said Tommy, and wasted no time in digging in. “Fuck, this is so good. I spent my entire tour in Afghanistan thinking about that lasagna. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“My captain taught me,” Evan said as he carefully pulled back out into traffic and carefully did not think that Tommy had known that the entire time they were together. “He’s, uh, really good.”
Tommy twitched. “Captain?”
“Firefighter captain. I’m a firefighter, remember?” Buck glanced over to invite Tommy in on the joke. “I would not have made in the army.”
Tommy’s gaze darted away and then back again. Buck used to think Tommy was simply avoidant, but he knew better now; he was shy. “You wouldn’t have.” Tommy said it like that was a good thing.
Buck cleared his throat. “I like the earrings.”
“My dad would hate them.” Now Tommy’s was inviting him in on the joke. “It’s why I got them.”
“That’s the same reason I once bought a motorcycle,” Buck said, and was so pleased by the way Tommy smiled. “Hey, do me a favor and finish that. I don’t want to deal with the leftovers.”
By the time he pulled into the driveway, Tommy was gone and Buck was left with an empty container.
5. He limped out of the 118. It had been a long, grueling shift and Buck was very worried that if Chimney made one more joke at his expense he might actually let loose and pop him one. What a fucking awful feeling. Was this how Eddie spent his days, skin so small he had to work to keep from scratching it off? He could almost see the appeal of a secret fight club.
There was someone standing by his truck. Buck’s stomach curled up small and scared. It was Tommy dressed in that black tank top and button up shirt, his date outfit from their anniversary.
“Tommy,” Evan said.
“Jesus Christ,” Tommy said, eyes red and wet, voice hoarse like the tears had scoured his throat. Tommy had only just started to cry when he opened the door and stepped out of the loft. “Why is it always you?”
“I don’t know,” Buck said, body betraying him by locking down. “Why is it always you?”
“I wish I fucking knew,” Tommy said, and was gone.
6. Buck was so furious that he had to take fifteen minutes to calm himself down before it was safe to drive, which meant he got stuck in the morning rush hour., and that meant he was in a truly foul mood when he got home and saw a kid sitting on the giant tire in his background. Most of the neighborhood kids—who called him Mr. Buckley and made him feel so unbelievably old—had gotten used to cutting through the yard when the house was empty. Most days Buck was happy enough to remind them it wasn’t safe, especially when he wasn’t around, and unloading some cookies or brownies or a loaf or two for their parents.
But this wasn’t most days. He threw open the back door and snapped, “You can’t be here.”
The kid scrubbed the hoodie cuff over his face. “I’m not doing anything,” the kid said, mustering a defiant glare. He couldn’t be older than thirteen. “I don’t even want to be here.”
“That makes two of us,” Buck muttered. There was something about the way the kid was dressed—beat up sneakers, baggy pants, baggy hoodie—that softened his irritation. He had only the passing knowledge of what kids thought was cool, and that only came from the few times he saw Denny, but the clothes were off. Old, maybe.
And then the kid lifted his head, and there was no mistaking that nose or that chin, even if they were now on a face still round with baby fat.
“Tommy,” he said.
Tommy popped up, gaze darting around the yard. There were no visible bruises, but Tommy was holding himself so careful and still, the same way Buck had after the bombing and the tsunami and the lightning strike; Tommy was hurt.
“You know me?” Tommy asked, sour wariness seeping from him.
“Yeah, I do. I’m Evan.” That wasn’t strictly true, but he could no more explain they were ex-boyfriends to thirteen year old Tommy than he could to twenty year old Tommy. “I’m Evan.”
Tommy impossibly grew more suspicious. “Do you know why I’m here?”
“Well, I’m guessing you got unstuck again,” he said. “Are you hungry?”
Hunger beat wariness, and Tommy sat at the island and ate everything Buck put in front of him. Buck remembered being that young and hungry all the time, but he got the feeling his parents provided a lot more regular meals than Tommy’s did.
“Do I show up a lot?” Tommy asked after polishing off a second slice of french silk pie. Good to know Tommy always had a terrible sweet tooth.
“More lately,” Buck said.
Tommy sighed a sigh much too heavy for someone who hadn’t hit his first big growth spurt. “Sorry about that.”
Oh, so Tommy could break his heart more than once.
“Hey, I’m not.” He waited until Tommy looked at him. “I like hanging out with you.”
Tommy ducked his head too slow to hide his smile.
I’m gonna love the hell out of you one day, Buck thought, but said, “So what do you want to do while you’re here?”
What Tommy wanted to do was play Pokemon—like the very first Pokemon game—but his Gameboy, an old black and white one his friend Ellis gave him when he got a colored one, was back in 1998. Lucky for him, Chris wasn’t too cool for Pokemon yet, and Buck had picked up the latest Switch game.
“This is gonna blow your mind,” he said, and Tommy’s mind was blown.
They played Pokemon and Buck made them lunch and then dinner. As night crept in, Tommy’s face went pinched and tight.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Buck said, digging out his phone. This was the longest Tommy had hung around. Maybe some cellular degradation was happening, like in that one animated Spiderman movie Chris made him watch. This wasn’t the way he wanted to talk to Tommy, his Tommy, again, but he might be the only one who could help.
“I’m supposed to go back.” Tommy set his baby soft jaw. “I want to stay here.”
There went his heart again.
“I know,” Buck said. “It’s going to be okay.”
Tommy shook his head wildly, hands balled up into fists on his thighs. “It’s not. You don’t know what it’s like.”
Buck ducked his head and met Tommy’s gaze. “I do. It’s going to be hard for a little longer, but you’re get out and it gets better. It gets good.”
“You promise?” Tommy asked, desperate and hopeful and so achingly trusting.
“I promise,” Buck said, and his ears popped as air rushed into the void Tommy left behind.
7. why didn’t you tell me, he texted Tommy.
The bubble appeared. The bubble disappeared.
Buck threw his phone across the room.
8. It was suffocatingly hot, and Buck kicked one leg free from the covers and rolled over into the lee of Tommy’s body. That’s why he was burning up; Tommy was his own personal heater.
“Hot,” he muttered, draping himself along Tommy’s side. “Your fault.”
He had mostly dropped off again when Tommy, so lightly he barely felt it, brushed knuckled along his shoulder and then down his spine. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He burrowed closer, sighing happily when Tommy hesitantly touched the curling hair at the nape of his neck. “I still like you.”
“I like you,” Tommy said, hushed and quiet like it was a secret, but Buck was already asleep.
He woke up with the sheets neatly tucked around him, last night’s dream already slipping away.
9. Buck frantically tugged at the duct tape. He was not going to die in this desert. Eddie was not going to die in this desert. He was going to get free and he was going to find Eddie and they were going home. They were—they were—the tape didn’t give and a howl clawed at his throat.
“Evan.”
Buck blinked. There was Tommy crouched before him, but this was a Tommy he’d never seen before. This Tommy was at least twenty years older, hair gone completely white, those beautiful laugh lines now dug deep and permanent, skin spotted and thinner, jawline softened with age, that cleft still just as devastating.
“What are you doing here?” Buck asked, the fever burning up all this thoughts. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I’m right where I’m supposed to be,” Tommy said. Even his voice was older, still with that bitchy lilt, but softened the same way his jaw had softened.
“Wait,” he said as Tommy pulled out a pen knife. “You gotta leave me. They’re gonna kill Eddie. You have to save him.”
“Sweetheart,” Tommy said, “we both know there is absolutely no timeline where I leave you here. Hold still.”
Tommy sawed through the tape. Buck was free, and Tommy helped him to his feet.
“I gotta get to Eddie,” Buck said, swaying.
Tommy gently cupped his cheek. His eyes were still so blue. “I know.”
Buck forced himself away and out into the harsh light. He had to save Eddie. They had to live. Tommy was wearing a wedding ring.
10. Buck woke in the hospital to Tommy holding his hand. His body was muffled and far away; maybe he left it back in Derek’s room.
“Hey, honey,” Tommy said, his smile creating even more breathtaking lines and furrows. “You’re safe now.”
“Safe,” Buck repeated. He touched Tommy’s wedding ring. “Can I?”
“Of course,” Tommy said softly.
It took two tries but Buck slid the ring down over the knuckle. There was a band of pale skin where the ring had sat. Tommy had been wearing it for a very long time.
“Is it me?” he asked, only for remorse to sour his mouth. “Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” He didn’t know what would hurt more, if Tommy married him or if he hadn’t.
“I won’t,” Tommy said, sliding his ring back into place and gathering Buck’s hand in between his wrinkled ones.
“You’re so old,” Buck said, too tired and hurt to keep the tears away. “You got to grow old.”
Tommy leaned forward like he was sharing a secret. “Someone told me it was going to get good. Turns out he was right. He’s a pretty smart guy.”
“Not that smart,” Buck said, wishing he could move over and Tommy could lay beside him. “I let you get away.”
Tommy laughed at that, and then pressed an apologetic kiss to Buck’s knuckles. “You’ll also find that funny when you get to be my age.”
Oh. They could grow old together.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked. “Did you think I would leave? Is that why you left?”
His Tommy carried sadness like an old friend, but it sat poorly on this Tommy, like he had so much happiness in his life he forgot what it was like to be anything else. “I couldn’t believe it was you when I saw you at Harbor,” Tommy said, cradling their joined hands to his chest. “I’d been waiting years to find you and then there you were. But you didn’t know me. We were out of sync.” Tommy paused to press another kiss to his hand, his knuckles, his palm. “You were this beautiful, kind man who always made sure I had enough to eat and who stayed with me. I was already half in love with you and you didn’t know who I was, even after six months. That’s why I left.”
“You asshole,” he said, furious. “That’s not fair. You could have tried. You could still try.”
“I know,” Tommy said with all the infuriating knowledge of twenty years that Buck didn’t have. “Would you believe me if I tell you it gets better?”
“No. Tell me anyway.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Tommy said, so tender that it hurt. “It gets so fucking good.”
He was crying now. “I miss you so much.”
“I miss you, too.” Tommy sweetly thumbed away the tears. “When you see me next, ask me why I keep going to you.”
“Okay,” he said, and tucked Tommy’s hand to his cheek. “Can you stay? Just for a little while.”
“Of course.” Tommy kissed the corner of his mouth, and Buck would give up just about anything if it meant he got to keep that. “I’ll stay.”
Buck held his hand until he fell asleep.
10. Tommy answered the door in bare feet and slung low sweatpants, hair tangled in great tufts, and Buck knew what he looked like at thirteen and twenty and sixty-five. He was beautiful.
“Why do you always find me when you get unstuck?” Buck asked.
Tommy sighed. There was the sadness that he always carried, but there was hope, too. “Because,” Tommy said, “you make me feel safe.”
I’m gonna love the hell out of you, Buck vowed, for as long as you’ll have me. But he said, “Can I come in?”
Tommy stepped back and held the door open.
11. Buck finished weeding their small vegetable patch and stood with a wince. Another year, he promised himself, and then Nichols would be ready to take over as captain and he could join Tommy in retirement.
“For someone who wanted a victory garden,” Buck called as he entered the kitchen, taking care that his gloves didn’t snag on his wedding ring as he tugged them off, “you sure do weasel out of taking care of it.”
There was no sarcastic retort how Buck had been the one to draft literal plans. His ears popped from displaced air.
His husband leaned against the island, looking like he hadn’t slept all night. Tommy was older now, they both were, and even if he no longer carried the same muscle mass from his youth and even if his hair was thinning in the back and even if he was gaining new wrinkles every day, he was still the most beautiful man Buck had ever seen. Buck loved him endlessly.
“Where were you?” he asked.
“The same place I always am,” Tommy said with the smile that scrunched his nose and sent Buck’s heart tripping. “I was with you.”
tumblr is the funniest social media bc when you get a follower on tumblr your reaction isnt "oh cool a follower" its "wtf someone followed me¿¿ 🤨 sus... time for a background check"
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Give me Shane awkwardly trying "queer culture" things that Ilya and Harris try to introduce him to and hating it.
Give me Shane "hates clubbing and bars" Hollander not minding Kingfisher in the afternoon but refusing to go at night. Give me Shane never understanding the slang (he's never online) and being overstimulated by drag brunch (it's so LOUD and nothing fits his diet even once he loosens it a little and brunch as a concept throws off his entire routine) and utterly bored by any TV show that isn't the latest game replay (is this reality TV? Is it a drama? He can't remember and he can't tell the difference but honestly he'd rather be watching hockey) and unable to remember the difference between Lady Gaga and Cher (he never listens to music anyway) and completely disinterested in changing his wardrobe (for fancy events he wears whatever his stylist tells him to but not anything adventurous, because he just wants to look acceptable not make a statement).
Give me Shane feeling alienated from gay culture the way he sometimes feels alienated from Japanese culture and being so frustrated that being himself, exactly as he is, still isn't good enough for anyone.
Give me a Shane Hollander who doesn't want to be "the gay hockey player" the same way he doesn't want to be "the Asian hockey player" but he'll suck it up because he's such an inspiration, don't you know how many kids look up to you? Don't you know how much it matters to them to see you out there loud and proud?
Give me Shane finally snapping at Ilya that clearly he's not "super gay" if he's so bad at it, because he's sick and tired of everyone being disappointed that he's not up on whatever the latest queer culture trend is and he does not want to be a "gay icon," he just wants to play hockey and love his husband, and he's not magically a different person now that everyone knows he's gay.
Give me Ilya reckoning with how coming out has only put more expectations on Shane's shoulders and noticing the roles Shane is always forced into - the Asian player, the gay player - and understanding a bit more why privacy seemed like a better guarantee of freedom to Shane than openness.
Give me Ilya promising Shane that he loves him exactly as he is, jocky and offline and dedicated to hockey, that he never has to change anything about himself to seem more palatable to anyone, and fuck anyone who thinks Shane isn't *anything* enough, because he's always been perfect for Ilya.
nimble, a border collie-papillon mix, wins the 12” class in the 2024 masters agility championship. the first time a mixed breed has won at westminster ever.
