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I want every ad on the subway to be this one. And then I want this also posted elsewhere. And then I want people who don’t use earbuds or headphones while listening to music or watching their videos in public to have their phones explode in their hands and faces. Or they get shunned and banned from public spaces.
i’m sort of begging the general tumblr population who considers themselves against/above sports to think about why exactly that is. actually i think that there’s a lot that the Average Tumblr User would like about, say, baseball or hockey or basketball or football or volleyball or figure skating, etc etc etc. this goes for playing but doubly for watching. why do you preclude yourself from something you might enjoy. have you ever actually engaged with it or have you stereotyped yourself out of it. what would happen if you sat down to watch a game or competition of any given sport and enjoyed it. what if you found a bunch of other people that also enjoyed that sport. what if you picked a player or a team to follow. what if you let yourself get swept up in playoff season or the world championships. what if you allowed yourself to feel a little devastated when your favorite player loses the title or gets traded to another team. what if you experienced the full spectrum of human emotion and connection that sports could offer you. what then
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i have recently decided to shave my head. surprisingly good experience. have been given far more professional defference than i actually deserve as a result. but. slight hazard. my coworkers are very kind and they have insisted on complimenting my skull shape. they are very insistent that i have a very nicely shaped skull. this is a perplexing and mildly unsettling compliment. i feel like a hot twink at the gay phrenologist bar. a lot of people have walked up behind me and simply gripped my head like a bowling ball too, which i personally have enjoyed, but suspect the average person would not. also, unless i shave my head every day, it becomes surprisingly hard to take my hoodie/beanie/hat off. its like having my head wrapped in grip tape. overall 9/10 experience.
Shane gets super turned on by Ilya speaking to him in Russian while they are fucking. Ilya is more than happy to oblige him, it’s easier for him to speak in his native language anyway. And Hollander can’t understand him. And it turns Shane on like nothing else. It’s a win, win, win.
So he does, but he says everything he can’t say. He says everything he wants to, but knows he can’t. He says “I love you, I need you, you are everything to me” over and over again until he is breathless. He says everything he loves about Shane. Everything that kills him about Shane. He talks about his freckles, his eyes, his stupid fucking grin he gets when they’re on the ice together. He says it all, knowing Shane can’t and won’t understand, but wishing he could. Ilya wishes so bad he could say this all to Shane in a language he understands. But he knows he can’t. So he says it in Russian instead.
Shane loooooves listening to Ilya speak in Russian. So he starts learning it slowly. The first time he and Ilya meet up after Shane has gotten somewhat proficient at Russian he doesn’t know what to expect. He’s always assumed Ilya was dirty talking when they fucked but then he hears what he actually says. And he is stunned. Ilya whispers “ya tebya lyublyu” into Shane’s lips and Shane freezes. Because he knows those words.
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really fond of humans just from an appearance standpoint. the long legs. the manes of hair that can come in practically any colour and texture. those crazy high-contrast eyes with the white scleras and colourful irises. the fingers being so much longer than the toes. there's a lot to love. solid 10/10 animal species
Imagine, if you will, that you're Shane Hollander. The year is 2016 and you know that you are Down Bad for Ilya Rozanov. There is no escape. You also know you're just another name on his roster. You are suffering in silence, because that is what you do best.
Then, out of nowhere, he invites you to his actual house for the first time in 7 years of whatever the hell you two have going. He makes sure you come over early for the first time. He says it's because you flew in the day before the game. He gives you a tour and fucks you slow and sweet and sappy. He convinces you to stay the night, which you have never done before. This pattern of quick meaningless fucking is broken. He is being way too nice, and something about this gives you hope. Hope that he cares.
You take a little cat nap together in the sun. You wake up and he cooks for you, which he has never ever done. It's starting to sink in. This is a date. He cares about you. He wants you in his life. This is real and requited and you might even be able to have him for more than a couple hours in a hotel room 3 times a year.
Then he looks you in the face and says "Do you like girls?" Hold up, what the fuck?
When you deflect any further questions, he takes the opportunity to begin telling you how much he loves fucking other women, especially one he's known way longer than you.
So you jumped the gun. He doesn't feel the same, clearly. You're another name on a list, which you already knew. You let some dumb hope get the better of you and that's fine. Remember your place, this is all you can get. Take it gracefully.
Then this motherfucker moans your first name (again with the fucking firsts today), and all you can think is how amazing that fucking sounded and how you want to do it right back. You do, and fuck that felt perfect rolling off your tongue. You want to do it over and over and over again.
And then it all comes crashing down. You are another name on his list. He is your everything. You can't fucking do this. It's going to fucking kill you. You have to fucking leave. So you do.
The Tuna Melt Disaster wasn't a Classic Shane Hollander Freak Out. It was Ilya Rozanov's Fumble of the Century.
I keep thinking about what could have happened, if Ilya had managed to convince himself that Shane was just high when he asked him to come to the cottage. This boy has never felt wanted anywhere. Sure, Shane has been the sweetest thing ever recently, there for him in every way he could have been. But normally, when something feels too good to be true, it is, right?
So he packs up his things as normal. He takes the annoying series of flights back to Moscow, making sure to bring the things for his niece. He finds somewhere to stay for a few nights, now his brother has his apartment. The usual heaviness he feels whenever he's here settles in his chest, and he greets it like an old friend. Resigning himself to feeling off for the next few months.
But it's so much harder this time. And within two days, he's done everything he wanted to do. He's seen his niece, made sure that everything is sorted for her future, and given her the gifts. He's seen his mama. Made sure the flowers are her favourite. Told her about the last few months. And suddenly, he realises there are almost 2 months stretching out in front of him with... absolutely nothing to fill them with.
So he gets a bit drunk. It's not a good idea, but coming here wasn't either, so. It'll do. And at least the vodka is nice. Before he knows it, he's scrolling through his messages with Shane. Trying to come up with something to say. He doesn't even know what time it is back in Ottawa.
Eventually, he settles on a simple 'Hope you have a fun summer', and tries to ignore the way his heart jumps when Shane replies almost immediately.
'You too', Shane writes. 'How's Russia?'
'Not great. Nothing exciting,' he types back. He thinks about typing 'but it's home', but that's never felt so wrong.
The three dots appear and disappear a few times, and Ilya doesn't know what Shane's going to say, but he just needs him to say something. Needs to keep this conversation going so he's not so alone. Needs a physical reminder that someone, somewhere, actually wants to spend some kind of time with him.
'It's not too late to have an exciting summer here' comes Shane's reply.
For a moment, all Ilya can do is stare at the message, everything falling silent around him. And then his heart is thumping in his chest. Suddenly, the idea of being here for even one more minute is suffocating.
His phone keeps buzzing.
'Sorry'
'I know that's not what you want'
'I shouldn't have sent that, ignore me'
But he's already moving. Throwing everything he cares about back in the suitcase he'd barely unpacked, and booking the next flight to Ottawa. By the time he's at the airport, he's booked himself a rental car to get him to Shane's cottage.
The journey passes in a blur. All his head says is Shane, Shane, Shane, and it's not until he's crunching down a secluded drive that he fully realises what he's doing.
Putting the car in park, he sits, letting the engine idle as he stares at the cottage in front of him. Trying to work up the courage to knock. To see the look on Shane's face. To see if his dreams match up with reality.
Before he can, though, the door opens, and Shane steps out, squinting a little at the car. In that moment, everything else falls away. All the anxiety, the rumble of the car, the exhaustion and excitement. It all narrows down to Shane.
He sees the moment that Shane recognises him. For the briefest second, there's a crinkle of confusion on his face that Ilya's brain tells him is disapproval, and his heart drops. But then Shane's grinning, striding towards him, and looking ready to engulf him in a hug.
He all but runs to him, feeling his own grin split his face in two. Feeling tears gather in his eyes.
Door of the car still wide open, keys still in the ignition, he's swept into Shane's arms and clings on for dear life.
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I'm watching a big band performance on youtube with a man singing, and there's no captions *at all* until the man started scatting, and suddenly this huge block of text shows up on screen all:
There are zero captions in the rest of the video ahahaha
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