and even before that he’s constantly checking if his baby is okay and he’s sitting in that stairwell cuddling ilya’s jacket and he’s so desperate to hold ilya’s hand when he’s off his head on painkillers. he’s rereading old texts. he’s got his phone in his hand and he’s texting ilya when he’s literally just got off the ice after winning the cup again and that’s years before they’re even together. he’s inviting ilya to the cottage because he gets two weeks off a year and he wants to spend them both with his favourite person

it's well made, well shot, well directed, the music is interesting, the costumes are both thoughtful and subtly period accurate, the sex scenes are intentional and, again, accurate to what hooking up when you're like 18 actually feels like...the actors are of course attractive but they look like real people. the characters are varied and well fleshed out, the acting is really, really strong

so many shows and films shoot and then slot in whatever music kind of fits or could be licenced in the budget after time, but you can tell that the scenes in hr were shot with that specific music in mind. and the same intentional approach runs through the whole thing

not because he's a baby a la classic man cold

but because he will AGGRESSIVELY try to pretend he is not sick

he is trying to gaslight others but ALSO himself

he has a gold medal immune system thank you he did NOT get taken down by ill pikeling spreading Elementary School Plague to him

not happening

as an itty bitty he lied so he wouldn't have to skip hockey, and that has NOT changed as an adult

his true toxic trait is that he WILL be typhoid mary in that locker room if it means he doesn't have to stay home and miss playing

like. no one else on the team understands Hollander Illness Behavior yet, so they're teasing ilya about being overprotective because shane is SO underplaying it and meanwhile ilya is just, "no, i am so fucking serious. get a medic and then call an ambulance."

and shane who is barely on this realm of existence and about 0.2 seconds from having Involuntary Floor Time is just, "don't worry :) i'll just take an advil or something :)"

I got the idea from cowcatchers old locomotives used to have.

Anyways, yesterday I uploaded the model to Thingiverse, and just hours after uploading it, the Community Relationship Manager of the whole website left a comment suggesting I enter the model into a competition that's currently being held on the site.

So I did... and now it's in third place not even a day later. First place is $500, but the competition still has a month to go.

Then the Community Manager contacted me again, telling me they want to feature my model in an upcoming design promotion.

Just, what is happening? I mostly made this thing for myself in, like, an hour, and now it's suddenly super popular? This is all a little bit overwhelming 😵‍💫

Other models I worked on for weeks didn't get nearly as popular. I swear, it's impossible to predict what people will like.

Anyways, if you want to print the wheel guards yourself, you can get the model here or here.

I also made a quiet version you can stick furniture felt pads on.

Ilya does love seeing old photos of Shane. Fat Baby Shane™ in all his forms, toddler Shane in his little hockey gear, Shane in elementary school with a big missing-teeth smile, Shane blowing out the candles on his 10th birthday, Shane holding up his brand new driver's license at 16. The list goes on.

One day Yuna finds an old disposable camera. The expiration date on it says 2009. She tells Shane about it; it might have some old photos from his graduation on it or something. She'd gotten a digital camera around that time so she can't remember what she used this one for. Shane is pretty indifferent about it.

Yuna sends the camera off to some company that still develops old camera film. It's about 15 years old at this point, though, so whatever is on it might not even develop correctly.

A few weeks later Shane and Ilya are over for dinner. Yuna tells them she got the photos back and they actually turned out ok. She hands over the stack of 10 photos. Shane rolls his eyes, but Ilya grabs the photos and starts flipping through them. The first two look like they are from some school event; there's Shane surrounded by similarly aged kids in an auditorium. There's one of the three of them on Thanksgiving that year and another of the three of them with Yuna's parents at the same dinner. Two of David asleep on the couch with the family dog clearly taken on different days. One of a Christmas tree in the Hollander's living room. The next two are Shane on the ice in a rink that Ilya recognizes as the one in Regina. The one from their first World Juniors Tournament.

And Ilya freezes. The last photo in the stack is a close-up of Shane. He's in a white hoodie with a black coat over it. He has on a dark green beanie and he's standing next to the door to the rink. He's smiling for the camera and his freckles are crinkled near his eyes. It's the Shane that so awkwardly and so confidently introduced himself to Ilya the first time they met. The Shane that had tried so hard to talk to Ilya then. The Shane that Ilya could admit to himself now that he'd had a bit of a crush on already. His Shane.

I nod, setting down my chalk and spellbook. “It does sound like there might have been a bit of a misunderstanding.”

“She took against me, that's what happened,” the dead girl says with a scowl. She looks about fourteen, round faced and spotty, with whisps of brown hair peaking out from under her mob-cap. Her face and her crossed arms have a tell-tale bluish tinge to them. A cholera death.

“I been here for don't know how long and never gave any trouble. Nobody ever complained about me 'till her.”

…well, that's not strictly true.

Number 12, Barclay Street has been attracting rumours of haunting since the mid nineteenth century.

Sounds of faint singing and crying in the corridors at night. Cold spots. Doors that open and close by themselves. Animals acting strangely. Harmless, mid to low-level stuff, typical for a bored teenage poltergeist.

Still, pointing that out isn't likely to achieve much, and certainly the most recent complaints of blood running down the walls, screams in the dark and paralysing night terrors seem distinctly out of character.

The ghost toes the chalk again, more tentatively this time. It stays resolutely unbroken.

She could get out if she wanted to. I'm not one of those assholes who brings out their full arsenal of wards and sigils for a first meeting with a level 2 spectre. The summoning circle will keep her in one place for as long as I need her to talk, but it wouldn't hold for a moment if she really fought against it.

I take it as a good sign that she's still here. Pouting or not, she's clearly willing to work with me.

“None of the others could do this,” she says. “None of 'em even saw me.” She looks up. “Are you here to exise me?”

“Exorcise,” I say instinctively, and curse myself when she flinches. “Sorry, no, no! I don't exorcise people from their homes without good reason, not if they're happy where they are.”

“I was happy. Till she started calling in all them ghost hunters.”

Mrs Delaney had been quite persistent in her attempts to 'fix' her haunted house. Most of the people she found were charlatans, of course, but I'd still arranged an appointment as fast as I could once word reached me. It wouldn't have been long before she happened upon somebody with Talent, and unfortunately not everybody in this field knows how to behave like a professional.

“I think we might be able to help each other,” I say, careful to keep my voice calm and level.

“Don't see how. Not unless you can exorcise Her.”

“Not quite what I had in mind.” I pull out my phone and scroll through my photos. “You say that you're not the cause of the most recent incidents of paranormal activity?”

A pause. The ghost gnaws on her lip. I wait, patiently, keeping my body language open and nonthreatening. “I… I knocked her coffee cup over,” she admits at last. “She was being mean and talking on her telephone, saying I done all these things when I never did! So I decided to show her what I could do if I wanted.”

“Hmm.” The ghost eyes me nervously, as if expecting me to pull out a book, bell and candle and banish her on the spot.

“I only tipped it,” she adds. “I didn't break it or nothing!”

“You shouldn't have touched it at all,” I say sternly. “But… I can appreciate that you were frustrated, so let's say no more about it.”

The ghost looks relieved.

“My point is,” I continue, “if you weren't the one making blood rain from the ceiling or tormenting people in their sleep, then what was? There's no other ghosts on the property.” I find the picture I was looking for. “You can get anywhere around the house, right? Including behind the furniture and in the backs of cupboards?”

“Yes'm.”

I hold the phone up so that she can see the picture on the screen. “I'm going to let you go free in a moment, and I need you to see if you can find anything that looks like this.”

The ghost wrinkles her forehead. “What's that when it's at home?”