#andrei the tiny

[trbotunnel]

he's 4'11,, but 5' around the ladies (he gets on his tippy toes) he wields a 10' pole btw

[madphantom]

This trenchcoat has been in such a massive amount of films by now

[pyotrkochetkov]

JORDAN STAAL & ANDREI SVECHNIKOV January 29, 2023 | © Josh Lavallee

[scarletwitch1918]

Commentators calling Andrey short is one of my favorite things that happens at every single tournament

[presdestigatto]

normalise blaming a certain someone for everything

[tvintedspvrkmoving]

@razorfst // @wolfskrieger

[vicsy]

gently holds

[drewsbuzzcut]

Thinking about Andrei being a girl dad. It would literally be the cutest thing!!

[calliovera]

c r u s t

[stars-and-the-sky]

THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL !!!

pierre's curls and his silly little blushing !! his glasses 💜💜💜

Not too fond of gay people

[romanoffsbish]

Carved With Love

Natasha Romanoff x Wife!R

Yelena Belova x Fem!R (The true love story 🥹)

Yelena’s in town for the holiday season, and who would she be if not wreaking havoc? | WC: 1,986

Warnings: Mentions of Neglectful Past | Siblings

Yelena was a menace; you knew that from the insight your wife gave you before she introduced you to her.

“Y/N, she literally blew herself up and said it was fun,” your wife had reiterated her stance, that being: Yelena was a complete and total maniac. “Sounds like she’d fit right in with you and your band of superheroes,” was all you’d said back while adding pasta to your cart.

The two of you had been together for nearly a decade when they found each other again, and though the blonde was wary of a meeting she quickly agreed after hearing that the two of you were married with kids.

——

You couldn't really blame her for wanting to meet them more, especially your daughter, the eldest, who shared a name with her. They clicked instantly. Then there were your sons that you carried back to back, Andrei and Aleksander, who were bonded like twins. It was like they gained a triplet with their aunt. Then there’s the latest, Flora, who was just turning six months old and who was absolutely in love with the blonde.

The group were nothing but trouble, you adored that.

When you met her, your heart had doubled in size as you realized she was just trying to forget, to be a kid. Something you knew she never got to be, so just like with your own children, you let her get away with it all.

Natasha didn't much appreciate that, well, truthfully she adored just how much you already loved her sister. But, she was a bit jealous that you were so lenient with her, even if she knew you weren’t with her because she needed the structure and redirection you provided her.

As of right now, she thought you were also insane, "Detka, I don't think you thought this through..." Natasha mumbled against your temple from behind, where she stood with you securely in her arms, and you shook your head and softly chuckled. "It's fine baby."

Natasha currently feared for everyone's safety as her sister held one of those little orange carving knives.

"Oh my gosh, Y/N Romanoff, look!" Yelena shrieked, and your wife sighed when she felt your body relax. There was no hope left, you were at her sister's mercy. Yelena held up a stencil and you smiled. "It's cute."

"No, it is badass!" Yelena corrected, only to be met with a glare from her sister. "Watch your language."

"Natasha," you scolded instantaneously, "Lighten up."

"But she —," Natasha went to defend her decisions but quickly cut herself off when you turned with a glare.

Everyone got away with murder, except Natasha. (Well, in this symbolic context that is…)

Yelena smiled smugly at her sister, she even stuck her tongue out to mock her as you weren't looking. The redhead flipped her off, and your daughter gasped. "Mama! That's the bad finger!" Your eyes widened. "Natasha! What are you now? Some sort of hypocrite?"

"Predateli'," Natasha grumbled, making your daughter laugh alongside her aunt who was taping the ghost cat on a zombie dog's head stencil to her large pumpkin.

(Traitors)

"You all behave," you scolded the entire room before leaving to the kitchen to collect the cookies. Natasha tried to follow you, like a hurt puppy, but you made her stay behind to make sure nobody had a carving crisis. 

Which was in vain because when you came back in the room you found Yelena had upgraded to your sharp carving knife, and you nearly dropped your plate.

"Yelena honey, that's too dangerous," you practically shrieked, but not really to avoid her hand slipping. Not that you didn't have faith in her trained hands, but you knew accidents could happen regardless of skillsets. The blonde pouted up at you, and Natasha watched you once again melt into her little sister's charm.

"I can't use the little orange one," she pleaded for your understanding, "It is too tiny and ineffective."

"Okay," you folded instantly and your wife's eyes widened with flashes of shock and betrayal. The one time Natasha had done the same thing years back, before your kids, you'd given her a safety lesson.

“This isn’t fair,” she grumbled to herself, but she also let it go when she saw you sitting with her sister, eyes focused in on the way she carved the pumpkin and mouth at the ready to give her advice or a light scold.

Natasha let her festering resentments go, and shortly after joined you all at the table so that the youngest member of the house could play with the guts. It was a perfect moment of domesticated bliss, and the redhead couldn’t help but to feel at peace in current company.

Then the following morning came, and you learned a few things. Yelena had a new favorite holiday, and in turn a hobby, carving, which piggybacked right off of her other, bugging her older sister as if it was her job.

"Natasha," you tried to calm her, your hands on her tense shoulder as you kept her from lunging at the blonde. "You need to calm down my love, I can..."

"No!" Natasha cut you off, "She will do it, not you."

"She's our guest," you reminder her, but she merely rolled her eyes—something she never did towards you. "More like a pest, Y/N/N, make her leave before I do."

Your eyes narrowed fast, and your wife cowered at the sheer intensity. "Apologize to her, right now Natalia."

The redhead held back a scoff. Yelena had carved a face only a mother could love into her favorite fall leather jacket, yet she was the one who had to apologize here.

"I'm sorry, parshivets," she begrudgingly spat at the grinning blonde across the room. "I accept, cyka."

(Brat / Bitch)

You sighed, and regretfully turned to face the smug blonde. This was partially your fault too for having let the girl get away with murder up until this point.

"Yelena, now it's your turn." Yelena frowned, but then she nodded and relaxed her features. "Sorry sestra," her tone was genuine, "I will buy you another one."

"No, you don't have to," you let the girl off the hook. "Yes she does." Natasha rebuked your words in a flash, then she intelligently rephrased, "No you don't."

You smirked and rewarded her with a kiss that she tried to melt into, but once again Yelena interrupted with a rumbling stomach. "Can we make pancakes?"

Natasha's hands harshly gripped your hips, and you smiled at her in understanding, she missed you. "How about you go get the kids up while we make breakfast?"

The redhead reluctantly let you go with a nod, but before she got too far you pulled her in for another kiss. "I'll be all yours soon, just have some patience."

Yelena was leaving after the holiday's event, and the kids were going to Wanda's for a spooky sleepover. You'd planned accordingly, and your wife smirked at the reminder, chastely pecked your lips then ran up the stairs with a reinvigorated pep in her once glum step.

"Get the chocolate chips," you instructed your sous chef, and she did so with a smile. Yelena was learning to cook from you, you never outright said it, but you worried about her eating habits. All she could make was mac and cheese and that was artery clogging if not met with a balance of other things besides takeout.

Yelena appreciated your concern, it was clear to her that you were the perfect match for Natasha, because you were an even better platonic match for her. The way you let her just be who she was, who she was discovering herself to be with her newfound freedom, meant the absolute world to her. You were a light that she found comfort in, and would never let go of.

Once you showed Yelena how to make the batter you let her ladle it onto the griddle. "Don't flip it yet," you instructed, your back was turned but you were aware of her piqued curiosity and she was enamored by your spy like skills. "You're like a super mom or something."

"It's nice to see my skillset is appreciated," you teased the younger girl as you returned to her side and gently bumped her hip. "I appreciate all of you, sestra."

It took you a second to reel in your emotions, you'd only been hoping that she wouldn't hate you, but it turned out that she actually liked you, and you didn't want to cry and make her reevaluate that judgement.

Instead you settled on hugging her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake as you showed her the indicators for flipping before finally letting her flip the pancake.

Just as you settled a pancake on the plate you heard an obnoxious scraping on the glass. "What the—." There before you was a focused blonde, the tip of her tongue rested on her lower lip as she carved your perfectly round pancake into a ghost cat. You shook your head with a fond smile, "You really love knives, don't you?" Yelena mirrored your expression and nodded as she now carved an eye into a pumpkin. "They are so cool."

"Natasha loves her guns the same." Yelena flinched, "Guns are too rigid, and loud. Knives are fun, you can do flip tricks with them and they're just as lethal."

You noted her clear discomfort with firearms, and filed it away in your mind as a later topic of discussion, and fortunately the kids came barreling into the kitchen. Yelena dropped the knife and, just like every morning, she greeted the little boys with the tickle monster.

Then came your daughter’s greeting, “Yelena Belova!"

Yelena then followed her lead, “Yelena Romanoff!"

You shook your head at their antics, then you returned to your task at hand, and began to set the table. You placed the blondes masterpieces in their designated spots, a pumpkin for each boy, the cat for her parrot, and the torn to bits pieces went to the toothless baby.

You were gifted two perfectly sized hearts, topped with fruit and whipped cream. Natasha got zero change to the shape, but instead, she was gifted icing words.

“I’m not eating that,” Natasha growled, and you bit back a laugh as you saw the script. “What’s it say?”

Natasha shook her head at you, and glared in her sister’s direction as you attempted to read the Russian out loud, “Tvoya zhena lyubit menya bol'she.”

(Your wife loves me more)

“Damn right,” Yelena teased as she sat in front of her own pancake, “Don’t worry sestra, she loves you too.”

“You two, knock it off and eat your breakfast,” your mom voice came out, and everyone was suddenly sat. You nibbled on your food while making sure your baby didn’t choke on hers as she gobbled it down like a cat (Liho and Bob) being fed at the normal time everyday.

Once breakfast was finished you sent the kids to the living room with their aunt to watch cartoons while you and your wife cleaned up the mess left behind.

As you were packing up the fruit you felt two arms snake around your waist, and a kiss placed on your neck that you instantly melted into. You felt her smirk but ignored her smugness as you lazily cleaned up.

"You're spoiling her," Natasha groaned, you shrugged and turned around to face her with a genuine smile. "I'm just giving her the same chances I did you."

Natasha frowned, "I hope it's not exactly the same."

"That’s disgusting!" Yelena groaned from the couch and you giggled into your wife's shoulder. Avoiding the question in your kids eyes, and leaving Natasha to answer it. The redhead smirked, throwing her sister a wink before she completely pulled you out of the room.

Two could play at this game…

—

[drei-mrssvechii]

cookie time! | andrei svechnikov

join my taglist!

pairing: dad!andrei svechnikov x reader

warnings: mentions of andrei's injury, the canes doing not so well, kids.

word count: 690 words

a/n: ok so i wrote this around last year when svech got injured for playoffs and i'm just posting it now lololol. but anyway! i felt like this was such a cute concept and needed to write it, so here it is! hope you enjoy it, i'm always open to feedback, requests, etc, etc.

“how much time till you can return to skating, dada?” your little girl, sofiya, asked as andrei tucked her into bed.

“that’s quite a long time, sunshine,” he replied. she pouted; there was nothing she loved more than going to games and supporting her daddy in her little svech jersey.

though andrei’s injury kept him off the ice, there wasn’t much anyone could do to stop him from visiting the rink, and sofiya would gladly follow him everywhere—she was such a daddy’s girl, after all.

so you’d still attend some games, but ever since svech was out, losing had become a constant, and frustration was clearly building within the team. especially for andrei, who couldn’t help but feel guilty for not being able to play.

the mood wasn’t the best, but when it came to sofiya, he would always put on a smile. it wasn’t often that they got to spend so much time together, so she loved having him home to attend her tea parties, tuck her into bed, and take her to school. as much as she adored it, though, she knew her dad missed being on the ice, and sofiya didn’t like seeing him hurt and sad. so one morning, just as she heard andrei leaving for therapy, she went downstairs with what she thought was the perfect plan to cheer him up.

you were in the kitchen, tidying up from breakfast. it was still early, so you planned to get a bit more sleep, assuming your little girl wouldn’t be up until later—or so you thought, until you heard her quick footsteps on the stairs.

“morning, love. what are you doing up so early?” you asked, watching as she entered the kitchen and grabbed a stool to stand next to you.

“can we make chocolate chip cookies?” she asked, leaving a kiss on your cheek.

“cookies? it’s too early for those, baby,” you said, though knowing chocolate chip cookies were her all-time favorite.

“i know, mom, but cookies make me happy. i bet they’ll make dada happy, too!” she said, explaining her plan with such conviction that you couldn’t help but smile.

it was so sweet how she was thinking of ways to cheer up her dad. so, you quickly gave in, gathered all the ingredients, and handed her a small apron.

she started by cracking the eggs (with a tiny bit of shell making it into the bowl), then you helped her measure the flour, and sofiya poured in what seemed like way too many chocolate chips. the kitchen turned into a delightful mess: flour dusted the counters, little chocolate fingerprints decorated the cabinets, and sofiya sneaked a few chocolate chips every chance she got.

“daddy’s gonna love this!” she said, her eyes shining with excitement.

but just as the first batch of cookies went into the oven, you heard the door open earlier than expected, and sofiya’s face fell.

“oh no, mom! he’s here too soon. it’s all ruined,” she muttered, disappointed.

andrei stepped into the kitchen, chuckling as he took in the scene—flour everywhere, cookie dough on the counters, and sofiya’s pouty face.

“sunshine, what’s all this?” he asked, his eyes softening as he looked at her.

“i wanted to surprise you,” she murmured. “make you happy like you make me happy.”

his face brightened, and he pulled her into a warm hug. “well, you sure did, kiddo. this is the best surprise i could ask for.”

sofiya smiled brightly, inviting him to join her. together, the three of you continued baking. as andrei helped sofiya clean up the counters, you caught his eye, sharing a warm smile. moments like these were rare but so precious.

as the cookies finished baking, andrei had an idea. “hey, sweetheart, how about we take these cookies to practice and share them with the team?”

sofiya’s eyes lit up in excitement. “yes! they’ll be so happy. i miss uncle jarvy,” she said with a little pout.

“he sure misses you too, baby.”

and with a plate of freshly baked cookies in hand, the three of you headed to the rink, just as morning skate wrapped up.

-

taglist: @sydnikov @cammie1634 @honeygarfield @svechnikov3737 @this-is-ally-and-im-confused @barzyandhughesbaby @tinyhockey @boeswhore @owenpowerstapejob @kailyn-writes @stars-canucks @ssebastianaho @beauvertime @barzyblogbabe @hockey-racing-fubol @1-800-iluvhockey | join here!

[uluvjay]

Christmas tree farm- A. Svechnikov

Andrei Svechnikov x fem! Reader

In which you and svech go to pick a tree but he has a little something more planned..

Warnings?; none really, pure fluff, crying, kisses, a bit rushed sorry

Day 8 of my ficmas celebration!

For as long as you could remember coming to the Christmas tree farm with your family had always been your favorite part of the year, and now you get to do it with your boyfriend Andrei.

For the past four years you two have came to the same farm you went to growing up to pick a tree, you’d find the perfect one and Andrei would chop it down for you.

This year you were picking a tree for your first home together rather than the tiny apartment you two had been living In for the past four years.

“How tall are the ceilings again?” You questioned, turning to Andrei

“Nine feet.” He smiled.

“So we can get a bigger one this year?” You beamed

“Yes, you can get a bigger one.” He laughed as you clapped your hands happily and took off towards the taller trees.

Andrei smiled as he watched your frame get further and further from him, his hand tightly clenching around the velvet box in his pocket.

He eventually found you by the eight footers, hand on your chin as you inspected each one.

“See one you like yet?” He questioned, one of his hands coming to wrap around your waist and pull you into him.

“The one on the far left so far, it’s fluffy and the perfect height I think.” You smiled, leaning into his body.

He inspected the tree that you had mentioned, his eyes examining how it had the same fluff as all your trees previous but was just taller.

“I like it.” He smiled.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, think it’s the one.” He confirmed watching your face as you looked over them all again.

“I think so too.” You smiled.

After chopping the tree down the two of you made your way to the front, netting the tree and putting it on top of his suv before heading back in to get some hot chocolate and walk around the rest of the farm.

“Hey come this way.” Andrei called, his hand wrapping around yours as he lead you to the trees they had lit up for pictures.

“Are you gonna take our picture?” You laughed.

“No I heard they had a photographer here today” he spoke looking around.

“Really? They’ve never had one before.” You spoke a bit confused.

“Maybe it’s new” he smiled and soon a woman approached you two asking if you wanted your pictures done.

“That would be great, thank you.” Andrei spoke as he pulled you into his side and you both began to smile at the camera.

However after the third shot Andrei had pulled away and when you looked over you watched him drop to a knee and pull something from his pocket.

“Wh-what is happening?” You spoke as you felt the tears beginning To fill your waterline.

“Y/n these last five years with you have been absolutely amazing, every year we come here and pick a tree and I want to do that with you forever. I want to walk this farm every year to find you a perfect tree, I want every Christmas with you, and eventually a family of our own. I want you forever, will you marry me?.”

“Yes! God yes” you cried, tackling him into a hug before he could even stand on two feet.

His strong arms wrapped around you tightly, holding on so tight as if you were going to slip away.

“I love you so much.” You spoke as he finally pulled away to slip the beautiful diamond on your left hand.

“I love you more.” He smiled pulling you into a soft kiss.

Cheers from behind you pulled you out of your bubble of bliss, turning around you found your friends and family gathered together. Your parents crying while friends and teammates yelled out congratulations.

Even the ‘photographer’ was behind her camera crying, a big smile on her face as she watched you two.

“You hired a photographer to?” You smiled.

“Had to make it perfect.” He laughed pulling you into another kiss.

“Everything you do is perfect Mr. Svechnikov.” You laughed.

“You’re perfect Mrs. Svechnikov.” He smirked down at you.

-

[murdersuicidematinee]

Space Jam: A New Legacy

Welcome to the world of Tiny Don Cheadle, where only scoring a million points in super-basketball can facilitate his master plan to put LeBron James in Game of Thrones. Or Something. We watched Space Jam: A New Legacy and came away knowing less about the plot than before we went in. It's a lot like The Emoji Movie, but infinitely more embarrassing on pretty much every level. 

Featuring: the Star Wars memory hole, Andrei Tarkovski's CATS, cami's casketball, live subtitles for American listeners, podcast therapy, and LeBron's special move that kills Bugs Bunny.

Movie: Space Jam: A New Legacy (2021) Director: Malcolm D. Lee Rating: ah shit lads, just remembered I don't care at all

Follow our Patreon for show updates, episode notes, stills and more!

intro and outro music: "Everyone in Town Wants You Dead" by Singing Sadie

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Opinions on Carnotaurus, they've always been one of my favorite dinosaurs and its very funny seeing people deny feathers on dinosaurs from the perspect of having the one dinosaur where most evidence (as far as i know, might need to catch up on some reading) points to no feathers. Its a real spiders georg situation

like carnotaurus has amazing skin impressions and no signs of feathers, which is fine! We know lots of dinosaurs probably lost their feathers at big sizes! but we still don't really know that a scaley fossil indicates no feathers. We need more taphonomic data on that, and such studies are hard to come by.

Anyways, feathers, no feathers, whatever. The most interesting thing about Carnotaurus is that its a sosig (sausage).

(by Andrey Atuchin, CC BY SA 4.0)

Abelisaurs were cursorial acrobats. They could turn on a dime and their long, ovular bodies helped with that, as well as their muscular legs and tail. Their heads were attached to strong necks, so they could just attack prey with their mouths while moving fast.

This was important, because most Abelisaurs in the late cretaceous were the top predators of their ecosystems, and what lived in their ecosystems?

Giant fucking titanosaurs

So being able to turn and move quickly gave these guys a leg up on the slower-moving giant bird giraffe-elephants around them

they didn't need their arms for hunting or movement anymore, so that's why they're so small - muscles in the neck region of dinosaurs tend to occupy a similar space as the muscles in the arm region, so more of one leads to a loss in the other. Strong neck for strong bites = weaker arms.

That said, what's weird is that they have a fully 360 degree rotational arms, which is not actually common, so it doesn't seem like something arms that aren't being used would have. Perhaps these tiny little nubbins were used for display - with bright colors or the like - and rotated around in the socket. Dinosaurs are very much Display oriented animals, as we see in living birds and the variety of display structures in extinct forms. this may just be the weirdest take on that theme!

Plus, the horns are Spiffy

[d1s1ntegrated]

basilica

tomura shigaraki

cw: religious trauma, religious motifs/themes/imagery, catholicism, defiling of the church, angst, hurt, slightly ooc

a/n: just a short angry religious trauma post drabble bc i'm feeling a type of way rn and it kinda sucks lol. sorry for projecting this onto u tomura i love u

try reading with the song! it adds a layer to the writing i feel honestly is kind of important

Tomura wanted to cry. Wanted to scream in anguish, beg and plead for a miracle or a sign from a God, any God. But the pews of the rotted church served little to sanctify him as he crumbled each one with an angry fist. Shaking fingertips dug into the deep grooves in the mahogany and crumbled them into forgotten prayers. Scattered pages of proverbs and psalms littered the marbled tiles, and the sun rays twinkled in through the ornate stained glass, reminding him just how small he was against the hands of God. There was no God here- only Him, and He alone could stand the tides of change with a battering ram for a heartbeat. It hurt, it hurt so badly, to be forgotten and known all at the same time. Who was he? Tenko Shimura, the sweetened cherub boy, with scraped kneecaps and bruised elbows? No, never. It was a dream, a softened hymn that only time knew the words to. Now he stood, an adult in the eyes of society- though his body never felt quite big enough to be- Tomura Shigaraki. A man, a disciple of the Feared One, a machine created to destroy. And destroy he would. Starting here.

He didn't believe in God. He didn't follow the practice of any one religion, especially not the Catholic Church. Hell, the fact that there was even a church to find out here was a one in a million shot- they weren't exactly few and far between in the cities, but the Catholic population in Japan was a small decimal compared to Shintoism or Secularism. But for this moment, he felt it was best to be in here. A lot of western media he had consumed over the years painted church and Christianity as some all-consuming Light, like this is where miracle happened. Well, the only miracle here was that Tomura even set foot inside.

Every step pressed another layer of dust into the deep red runner up to the sanctuary. The altar remained pristine as he caught his breath, his throat tight and dry. The sound of his thumping heart swelled in his ears and head, the pressure reminiscent to being underwater. Looking up, the height of the cathedral shrank him down to atoms. It felt like a mockery. Like even God was reminding him he was small.

Small. Tiny. Pitiful.

Each word of arrogance against him made his blood turn darker, thinner, rushing through his veins as he grasped at the elegant pillars, dragging himself to the ground with a gasping cry, so that he fell to his knees at the altar rails, his tired bloody eyes locking with the adorned chancel, and the poignant, giant statue of the Son, hung plainly in front as if to scream "I'm here, too".

He felt more alone at this revelation, that human faithlessness was so overlooked because of sin, that people like him weren't meant to be here not because of their trouble finding faith, but for their lack of it. That he too would be damned because he chose not to find light in God, and instead found his own way of safety through destruction and chaos and everything Sensei had taught him. His own scripture, signed in viscera, torn at the edges. It wasn't his fault no one taught him to believe, but it was damn sure his fault he didn't seek it for himself- and he felt it, now, as Mother Mary's half-lidded gaze held above his wakened frame as if he were a pestilence on this world that God created.

Was he in the wrong for keeping his head low? Should he hang it high, be grateful for the hands that supposedly formed him and molded him? This, Tomura knew, was the entire reason behind his aversion to faith. Because he needed someone to listen, and not a single ear fell for him. Not even Sensei cared enough to listen to his alleged son, his pride and joy as some called it. He felt neither prideful or joyous when face to face with him, instead it was a sinking, sorrowful feeling, that could best be described as grief. Grief for his old life, or for the new one he failed to perfect for himself, his Sensei, his friends- try as he might, he was just so small here, and could do only so much.

Church was a last-ditch effort to feel something. Anything. His time was low, and the unfortunate arms of fate were every turning and chiming, reminding him that his goal was only so far. It was seconds away, he felt as he could reach out and grasp it- but he was too well trained, he knew better than to reach out to the things he really wanted, in fear he would destroy it all in the blink of an eye. Not even Gods hands could hold him now, though, as he pretended to pray for one last chance.

His hands pressed into the cold tile and he felt the ground beneath him rumble, his body quaking and splintering in wretchedness, the power lifting him entirely. The pure white turned a murky grey as they shattered and cracked under him, the giant spires atop the roof even quivered at the desolation. And as he screamed, as his throat burned in anger, poor Mother Mary fell to the ground from her pedestal, an ironic display. The caricature of fallen angel, in the house of God, airing his grievances to no one but marble and blood wine, he stood. Destroying it all.

Not in the name of God, but the name of Tomura Shigaraki. Because there was no God that could ever come close to being this angry.