when i was getting trained as a welder the guys started playing sneaky grabass with each other and with me. i almost hit a few people while holding dangerous tools in my hand because they wouldn’t stop grabbing me from behind, then laughing that i ‘almost’ hit them, so i finally had to go to the instructor and say, look, i’ve had years and years of self defense training due the fact i’m a very small weirdo who is in legitimate danger of getting hatecrimed and at some point one of these guys is going to goose me again and im going to bury a wrench in his eye. get them to stop grabbing me, because i don’t want to get kicked out for hitting people.
the next day i ended up punching someone in the face with a doughnut in my fist because she thought i was being a big fucking buzzkill who tattled to teacher about a harmless game, and, guess what, grabbed my butt. i got icing all over her hair. she complained to teacher...who let everyone know that this was why they weren’t supposed to be playing grabass in the fucking shop.
anyway don’t fucking sneak up on twitchy little queers with hypervigilance, it fucking sucks and you’re lucky if you get a doughnut to a face instead of a hammer.
this scene is part of a much larger, longer fic I’m working on, in my trans!Shane universe, where Ilya finds time to visit during holiday break. This is technically my 2nd draft, so know that going in ;)
Shane slipped into the kitchen, head tucked and face turned. She busied herself with a mug and the pot of tea Yuna had left standing on the counter. Keeping her back to them, Ilya realized; purposefully, studiously hiding.
He hesitated for a long moment. Yuna and David seemed to notice as well, but weren’t leaping from their chairs. They had a quiet watchfulness about them, not the kind of people to ever be alarmist or prone to overreaction unless pushed. Once more, Ilya understood Shane’s tendencies a little more clearly. After a few more seconds, he chose his gut reaction over perception. He stood from his chair at the table and moved behind Shane, laying a hand in the center of her back as a fair warning.
He tucked his chin to her shoulder. “Are you alright?”
Shane set her hands at the edge of the countertop. Her eyes stayed down. A watery sigh escaped her. “Not really.”
“What is it?” Ilya slid his hand over her shoulders as he turned his own body outwards. He leaned back against the counters, the edge making itself known just above the waistline of his trousers. He crossed his legs at the ankle, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited as Shane deliberated.
Eventually, her gaze slid up. Her makeup was done — simple but precise, making her mouth look softer, her freckles more apparent, her eyes moth like — but not enough to disguise the red at her lashes or the pink at the tip of her nose.
Upset, Ilya thought. Defeated.
Two words that should not be in the same geographic area as Shane Hollander.
A twinge of annoyance rose in the center of his chest, the newfound defensiveness he had for her making itself known. Whatever it was that had bothered her so badly, Ilya’s instincts wanted to beat it away with a stick. He, in turn, held that feeling in check; he’d only pounce at her mark.
“Nothing fits,” she mumbled, miserably. Her eyes slid down again. “The stuff I like I mean. The stuff that’s, y’know, nice enough.”
If her parents heard any of her words, they didn’t react. Ilya almost wanted them to, but he wouldn’t say anything. That would be a gross overstep, and he wasn’t so ingratiated to the Hollanders. Not yet. Not for a bit longer, he imagined.
“Nothing?” Ilya whispered back. “Are you sure?”
Shane nodded, sighed again. “Everything’s tight, or won’t button, or something else. I just—.” Her lips pursed and her nose curled as she fought off a bigger reaction. “I didn’t think it was that bad. I thought, maybe…”
She trailed off with a fresh sigh, shaking her head as she lifted her mug to her lips. Ilya sucked in a breath and nodded.
“It’s stupid.”
Ilya shrugged. “Not really.” Shane shot him a burning sort of look but there was no real heart in it. Ilya lifted his brows. “You say this like you are the only one ever.”
Shane rolled her eyes. “I know I’m not.”
“Okay.”
“I just don’t, you know. Like it.” Shane swallowed tightly. “I don’t like feeling. Like this. It’s so frustrating.”
Ilya hummed a single note. “Like what? Like you are thinking too much, too sensitive, too—.”
“Out of control,” Shane said. Her voice was stronger then, and it seemed to startle her. Her cheeks pinked and she dropped her voice. “Everything has been one way for so long. And now it’s out the window. And I hate it, Ilya, I fucking hate it.”
“Tell me.” He pressed. He uncrossed his legs to nudge her in the ankle. “Tell me, lyubimaya.”
Shane straightened up, staring at him with distaste all over her face. “My body has looked one way for twenty eight years, and now that’s shot to hell. I can’t even fucking skate anymore because apparently all that shiftiness throws your center of gravity. My face looks different, my day is different, everything is off kilter and I picked it. I chose it, and it sucks, and I wish it was over.”
Her breathing had turned ragged. Her voice was cracked down the center, slipping back and forth between forceful and quivery. The cadence had attracted her parents’ attention, finally, but Ilya didn’t take his eyes off of her. There wasn’t an easy answer, but he knew the right next step. He reached for her, placed a hand on her arm, and guided Shane into a hug. She went willingly, he noted; turned slack against him the moment her arms were around him, palms pressed to his back.
Ilya tucked his cheek against her head, smoothed a hand down the curve of her spine. “I am sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” Shane said, muffled against his shirt collar. “Not your fault.”
“No, not like that.” Another drag of fingers down her back and she pressed in closer. Ilya closed his eyes. “I am sorry it is so much for you. I am sorry it makes your head do this to you. I am sorry I cannot fix it.”
“Ilya, you can’t—.”
“I know. I know.”
“I mean, only way out is through, but fuck.” Shane exhaled hard against his skin. “It sucks so fucking much.”
“I know.” Ilya pulled up then tipped his head to try catching her eye. “What would make it suck less? Right now?”
“Being fifteen pounds lighter.”
“Shane.”
“Ilya.” She huffed and straightened back up again. Her eyes didn’t meet his, but Ilya had long since learned that wasn’t anything to take offense by. It didn’t mean anything to her, so he learned not to let it mean anything to him. “Clothes.”
Ilya nodded. “You want help?”
“Yeah. I just.” Shane’s shoulders dropped. “Just, help me pick something that isn’t workout gear?”
Ilya indulged in a small smile. He lifted a hand and dragged his thumb over the smattering of freckles, made paler by winter. “We can do that.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Ilya cupped her cheek. “If you would like, you can open a present early? Maybe it would help?”
Shane looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“You want the whole answer or the hiding answer?”
A smile flitted across her features. “The whole answer.”
Ilya nodded. “Svetlana, my friend, she bought you more clothes.”
“Ah.”
“She thought you would like it because it is all like a sweater. Soft, stretchy—.”
“Knit?”
“Mhmm. Knit. It is a set, she said,” Ilya continued. “A skirt, a top, together. Wear both, wear one, does not matter.”
Shane pursed her lips. “Can I see it?”
“It is in bedroom, I can show you.”
“Please. If anything it’ll be a good distraction.” Shane took his hand, leading him out of the kitchen towards her room. The tea stayed behind, completely forgotten. Ilya didn’t say anything, only followed, keeping a half step behind her the whole way.
More here
He pressed his back to the wall, smile unfurling as he watched her preen in the mirror. “Nenaglyadnaya,” he breathed, more than a little awestruck.
Shane glanced back at him, a brow arched. “You keep saying that.”
“Only because it is true.”
“What does it mean?” Shane asked. “You can’t keep calling me something if I don’t know what it means.”
Ilya pushed off the wall and strode towards her. “It means beautiful. Most beautiful.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “You, Shane. Moya nenglyadnaya, my most beautiful.”
“Oh.” She tipped her head, pressing them temple to temple. “You can’t just say shit like that Ilya, it’s not fair.”
“No, it is very fair. I have to behave, be a good boy and keep hands off of you all night because we will be with your family, but it is so hard, Shane.” He caught her in another kiss. Warm, and deep, and promising. “You tease me like this all night, all I can do is tell you how much I love it. Fair trade, Hollander.”
“Fine,” she laughed under her breath. “Fair trade, Rozanov.”
She pushed him away, making enough room for her to turn around in front of the dresser, to face the mirror again. She sucked in a deep breath, considering herself. When Ilya crowded up behind her again, wrapped her arms around her stomach, she didn’t push away. She didn’t make a face. She leaned back against him, giving him some of her weight. He tucked his face to her neck and kissed her there, right over the steady beat of her pulse.
“Not bad, right?” Shane said to no one in particular. A faint smile curled her lips. “I didn’t think the color would look good on me.”
Ilya gave her a bland look. “Sveta has a good eye for these things. She said it would look good with your skin.”
“Yeah.”
“Mhmm, something about warm colors.” Ilya kissed her neck again. “You can ask her sometime.”
Shane smirked. “I just might.”
“So. You like it?”
Shane nodded. “Yeah. I like it.” She smoothed her hands over the front again, nodded again. “It’s, you know, a little more form-fitting than I’m used to, but it’s comfortable. I can move.”
Ilya grinned and squeezed. “Good.” She laughed as he rocked them. “Ready to go, zavarnoy krem?”
Shane squinted at him, exasperated . “What on earth, Roz?”
Ilya dropped a smacking kiss on her cheek. “Cream. Dessert cream.”
“Jesus Christ.” She rolled her eyes hard enough, Ilya could practically hear them. “You did not just call me a fucking cream puff.”
“It’s good.”
“It’s fuckin’ sappy.”
“No, it’s perfect. You are so sweet, and the color—.” Ilya squeezed and kissed her again, even though she whacked him on the arm. Not much of a fight, and Shane’s laughter said she really hadn’t been trying to. “Zhenya s’kremom, yes? Shane, with cream.”
She couldn’t help laughing at him. “I can’t believe I love you.”
“But you do,” Ilya sing-singed. “You love me so much.”
“I hate your guts.”
“You miss me so much.”
“I can’t believe we share basic genetic material.” She ruffled his hair, then patted his cheek and squeezed. “You’re the worst, Rozanov.”
“And you will kill me, Hollander,” he replied with a serious nod. “But it will be the best way to go.”
Quick small tag list of folks I know like my girl Shane (no pressure obvs but I figured it wouldn’t be totally reprehensible): @bezzia1403 @piratefalls @chunkyshane @lovemedifferentmp3 @eusuntgratie @saguaroblossom
I’ve also now learned how to use the small text feature and will be a menace because of it 😈
Forever thinking about “Boston is nice too?” and wanting to throw up about it. Just sitting on the floor of a gym across from the stranger who would be the Shane of his existence like.
I am so far away from home. I am so afraid but I cannot show it. I’m going to be all on my own out there and people are not kind to me. I’ve always been alone, but never this kind of alone before. I don’t really know you, but you seemed kind. And earnest. You would not lie to me. Is it safe? Will I be happy there and safe? Boston is nice too?
Ougghhhhgg. My brave little bug I’mgping to be sick
The idea of two people having sex and it creating another, smaller person who has a combination of their traits sounds like it was made up for fan fiction but alas I've heard tale that it's really happened
Crucially #myshane plays to his twentieth season which is just long enough to have the experience of meeting Ottawa's new draft prospect, also named Shane, and to smile and jokingly say, "Hey nice name," and for the rookie to gulp and say, "Thank you sir I am named after you" and that makes Shane sit in his stall and stare at the floor between his skates for. Significantly too long to be healthy.
daylight - @jeggyverses-jegulus-microfic - word count: 264
It’s when James saw daylight peeking in through the windows of the corridors he was creeping through that he knew he was well and truly fucked. That there was no way in hell his friends hadn't noticed he was gone.
It’s just…the hours passed by like minutes. Sitting there with Regulus, staring at the stars, laughing as the younger boy snarked about every joke he tried to tell….it’d been more magical than any lesson he’d experienced in his seven years here. How on earth could he have possibly kept track of the time?
And yes, at first, he’d been worried that he was bothering the Slytherin. But by the end…Reg genuinely looked sad to part. Like he almost wanted to ask to do something again.
Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.
But it didn’t really matter anyway because James was probably a dead man when he got back. His only hope was convincing Sirius that he was with anyone other than Regulus Black.
He crept through the portrait hole, practicing a story in his mind. He was so focused on this task that he didn’t see the figure waiting for him in the common room until–
“James.”
He jumped about a mile. Sirius was sitting there by the fire, looking expectant.
“Ah! Uh, Pads!” He said, voice full of false cheer. “I was, um….out with…” His mind raced, trying to figure out what to say.
It was then that Sirius held up the Marauders Map, a single eyebrow raised as he gave James a knowing look.
homeland - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 437 - click here to see my microfic archive!
It is not unusual to get a Rookie on the team who speaks another language. Shane’s used to playing with guys from all different countries, and has found many ways to communicate, even if he’s working with someone who doesn’t speak much English. Hockey is always a common language between every player, and that’s enough.
But when, in the second year he’s on the Centaurs, he and Ilya find out their newest Rookie is from Russia, it delights both of them.
Ilya, of course, is thrilled to have someone else from his homeland. They can discuss the places they’ve both been to, their experiences playing hockey in both countries. And Shane is happy that he is able to put some of his now-decently-proficient Russian to good use by making the new guy feel welcome.
But he doesn’t anticipate a big problem.
It happens the first time they’re all introduced.
Melnikov walks into the locker room with a smile on his young face, but obvious anticipation in his eyes. He speaks nervously, like he’s questioning every syllable. “Hi. I am…new player.”
So Ilya, eager and ever the talker, approaches him with a giant grin. “Добро пожаловать! Мы очень рады видеть вас здесь!”
And the Rookie’s eyes light up in recognition before he answers back in kind, his speech in Russian easy and comfortable.
But Shane feels a bit of warmth in his lower stomach as he listens to his husband’s confident, deep voice. A bubbling of something heady as his whole body reacts to the Russian flowing out of him.
It’s not a fluke.
As Ilya and Melnikov become fast friends, Russian becomes common in the locker room. And Shane becomes…easily worked up.
Ilya addresses it after a few days.
“You are…mad?” he asks Shane one night after practice, sidling up to him with a small frown in his face. “You walk away every time I speak Russian with Melnikov.”
And they’ve promised honesty. It’s something they’ve agreed on after years of avoiding emotions and arguing over situations that could have easily been avoided. So Shane, grumbling and embarrassed, has to look his husband in the eye and say, “...no.”
“Then what?” Ilya pushes, clearly confused. “I don’t understand, Shane. You seem…” but then he obviously catches the mortification on Shane’s face. Because his face lights up with glee. “Ohhh,” he says, beaming.
And Shane wants to melt into the floor. “Shut up.”
Ily leans close, crooning into his ear. “Is sexy, hm? Reminds you of times I whisper in your ear while I–”
“Fuck you,” Shane mutters, walking off, his cheeks bright red.
love - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 188 - slightly NSFW - click here to see my microfic archive!
“He’s like, definitely in love,” Hammersmith whispers to Marleau, smirking and shaking his head as they both watch Ilya grin and blush at his phone a few feet away in obvious delight. “Man can’t go two minutes without checking his messages. I swear, something happened over the summer, because he’s not even hiding how down bad he is anymore.”
“Right? I think I heard him say her name in his sleep the other day,” Marleau replies, chuckling. He makes his deep voice high-pitched and longing. “Ooooo, Jaaane.”
“Nah, man, but imagine? How fuckin’ crazy-hot d’you have to be to lock down Roz? Like, she must have four tits or something!”
“Definitely a model.”
“An absolute freak in bed.”
“Bet she was, like, a stripper in the past.”
“Maybe lets him have threesomes.”
“Yeah, brother, bet she gets into it, too.”
“Think she lets him hit it from the back?”
“Definitely.”
They’re both so wrapped up in their conversation, neither of them notice that a picture of Shane Hollander, fully clothed but wearing glasses, has popped up on Ilya’s phone.
Thankfully, they don’t notice how hard Ilya gets, either.
summer outfits - @shanesummerfest - word count: 291 - click here to see my microfic archive!
The best and worst day of Ilya’s life was when Shane Hollander hired a stylist.
The best, because it means Rose fucking Landry is not the one who picked out Shane’s outfits this weekend. By extension, it means that Shane is single, and terrifyingly available again. Not compatible, which according to the internet is a very good thing.
The worst, because the stylist obviously knows how to pick out clothing. Before, Shane’s wardrobe consisted of about five different types of pants and three shirts, which he’d bought all different colors of so as to have enough clothing to last him a respectable amount of time. Ilya knows enough about Shane to understand that this is both because he doesn’t care for and understand the societal norms of fashion and also because he has very specific preferences of fabric. But this stylist seems to know their stuff, because Shane both seems to be comfortable in his clothes and looks amazing.
Which is exactly the problem.
Because the stylist has picked out shorts for Shane.
Not just any shorts. Not the normal shorts that Shane sometimes wears pre- or post-hookup or at the gym. No.
These shorts are obscenely short. Their 3-inch inseam and tight fit look downright slutty on Shane’s body and they leave so much of the man’s thighs bare that Ilya has to turn away and take several deep breaths.
It is the best day of his life. It is the worst day of his life.
“Hey, Rozanov,” Shane mutters to him as he passes him on the way to the pool, sending him a smirk that suggests he knows what Ilya is thinking.
And Ilya fucking chokes on his own spit trying to answer.
I'm already thinking about the timeline reveal in the CCM Shallergies 'verse, like-
Yuna: "So, when?"
Shane: "... the whole time, basically."
Yuna: "The whole time?? Since you were, what, seventeen?"
Shane & Ilya: "No no no-"
Shane: "Since the CCM shoot, when I ended up in the hospital and we exchanged numbers."
Yuna: "When you-" (pauses to remember) "... you weren't really watching a rerun of an old hockey game in July, were you?"
Ilya: "No, water bottle was a lie."
Shane, warningly: "Ilya."
Ilya: "What actually happened-"
Shane: "ILYA."
Ilya: "-is we kissed very chastely like Disney characters and then held hands for several minutes until Shane started dying-"
Shane, defeated: "Ilya."
Ilya, encouraged: "-and that is actually all we have ever done! Only a few kisses. Maybe ten in the whole time we've known each other. It has mostly been hand-holding. Nothing else ever."
Shane: "Ilya, I swear to god."
David: "I'm pretty sure I saw an ass grab earlier, kiddo."
Ilya: "No, no, that must have been distortion through the glass, like when pencils break in water but not really. That has never happened, David."
Shane, even more defeated: "Ilya..."
Ilya, even more encouraged: "Shane and I are actually waiting for marriage."
Yuna: "There was also that TMZ article that blew up about you and your Reddit sexts thread last summer, Ilya."
Ilya: "Yuna the internet was lying :("
ilya, has not willingly step foot in a church since he was like. seven.: "i am very strict russian orthodox. i do not believe even in holding hands before marriage."
"ilya, you do not-"
"are you the russian orthodox person here, hollander? no. ✋ do not explain my beliefs to me."
i knooooow ilya was the sweetest gentlest shyest little boy who was scared of the dark and listened to his teachers and coaches and loved sprinkles and his stuffed bear and singing in church and was very very good
and then i also know shane did NOT grasp "no hitting when you're mad" until at least age 9 and threw crazy flailing tantrums and was a biter and had to be on a leash for a long while because he would run and then hide in the fucking walls and yuna would be in the department store after closing at 10pm being like shane for the love of god for the love of GOD
shane thinking that ilya having a lot of casual sex means he's better at feeling casual about THEIR sex (shane, lol. lmao even.) and them being friends in hit or miss verse does offer the EXTREMELY funny scenario of shane trying to recruit ilya as his wingman to pick someone out one night
and ilya as he has been drafted into this is just 🙂 what if i buy a gun 🙂
