She/her | 26 | French, queer and anxious | translator-waitress hybrid | fanfiction writer | I have one(1) white hair on my head which means I'm wiser than you
I wish I could find the original post but many years ago I was crashing at a high school friends house and he had me sleeping on some couch cushions that unfolded into a “bed,” except the cushions kept shifting and separating as you slept on them. So I had this elaborate dream that everyone on the planet had at some point been forced to sleep at my friends house, and the situation with the cushions separating was a single common experience that every living human had. And world peace was achieved through a movement called “push them together,” accompanied by a motion like pressing your open hands together as if to pray. Rock stars were doing it on stage, politicians were signing historic peace accords and doing the “push them together” motion, it saved the whole world
I’m jumping onto the Boston!Shane with antics and dare I say some goofs
Ok, so Boston, in an effort to spread chaos boost pr and raise money for charity start a fun little game loving called Kidnap the Cap. For an hours after a home game the team is playing a modified game of capture the flag across the city where the flag is the opposing team’s captain
Basic rules: both teams have to be completely off the ice before the clock starts but after that you better watch out. The locker room, press conference, parking lot, all fair game. You must stay in publicly accessible places and no cars allowed. A capture happens when one/ multiple Boston players gets their arms fully around the captain
This is also a public game! Fans are encouraged to snitch on the opposing team and rat out their location
It’s the opposing teams job to protect their captain otherwise they’re subjected to the horrific losers punishment (gotta wear a Boston jersey and go to diner with the team — the jersey is signed after and auctioned off). Winners get 10k donated to their charity of choice on behalf of Boston
A few teams just take the L and the captain gives up straight away because they’re fucking tired and simply NOT doing all that, but some of the teams are coordinated with borderline lethal accuracy to make sure they win
Enter Montreal, Bostons biggest rival on the ice and now in the streets, who’s never lost once despite Shane low key wanting to throw every time so he can have dinner with his boyfriend and has elaborate escape and evasion plans with preplanned routes and numerous hiding spots
Once Shane’s in the thick of it though he’s giving it his all, needing to start dodging Ilya almost immediately as they both get changed in record time and begin the chase. Shane is faster but Ilya knows how to cut him off so it’s always an endeavor to even leave the building. Both teams struggle to keep up because even though the game has rules and stakes, it’s all in good fun, but Shane runs like his life is on the line and Ilya chases like a starved beast.
There was one time Ilya did actually catch Shane in a dead end alley but they immediately fucked about it so they had to pretend that never happened
Eventually Boston does get the upper hand due to a particular brutal on ice game and Shane is cornered by the entire team who basically dog piles him (no one notices how Ilya cradles his head from the mountain of hockey players) and you’d think they just won the cup with how damn excited everyone is. Hayden fake cries as his friend is dragged practically carried away by a cheering Boston team who treats him to a ridiculously expensive dinner and sits him right next to his biggest rival to really rub in his defeat
Shane can’t even hide his smile it’s the happiest he’s been in years as they buy him way too much food and fancy drinks and take a million pictures of him in the Boston jersey with every person on the team in increasing ridiculous poses and ruffle his hair every time he pouts. Ilya takes the opportunity to treat Shane like the ultimate prize, always touching him and giving him dramatic wet kisses on his cheek and even making him sit in his lap at one point. Everything he always wanted to do with Shane in public and now he can, even if it’s under the guise of being a cocky asshole
The Boston Shane jersey auctions off for well over 50k and maybe the next time Shane gets caught he pretends it’s all for charity
Shane had been four Modelos in up at the lake when he told Ilya he would consent to a matching tattoo for Ilya's birthday if he could beat Shane around the trail. The loop is just shy of six ks and every single morning without fail Shane laps it in about twenty-two minutes, Ilya hot on his heels. When Ilya pushed past him the following morning to get a foot over by the trailhead marker he let out an ear-splitting yawp that Shane found very unnecessary.
Yes, he should have factored in the Modelos. Yes, he suspects sabotage. Yes, he is shitting himself.
Now they have back-to-back appointments with an artist in Hintonburg who Bood likes, because Ilya's preferred guy returned to Denver after some visa trouble. Evidently paperwork was not his forte.
Meanwhile, Ilya keeps airdropping Shane screenshots from the studio's Instagram - arrow-pierced hearts that read MOM and ugly sprawling scorpions and busty pinups in black and white. Cliché bullshit.
"This style is called American traditional, very classic," Ilya says, "but I don't know, maybe we like fine line better?"
"Stop fucking sending me these," Shane snaps. "You can literally just pass me your phone."
Shane obviously has no problem with pain. That part actually - well, he had Ilya jab a fingernail into his forearm with his best approximation of force, and it was a non-issue.
"But it really doesn't feel like that at all," Ilya told Shane when he said this.
"Then do it the way it feels," Shane had said.
Ilya shrugged. "Don't think I can. It's like. Buzzing. Moves around, but it stays with you."
"Yeah?" said Shane, shifting on the couch.
"Like if sunburn is made of bunches of needles, and they're all pressing down into you."
"Yeah," said Shane again, suddenly unable to feel his feet. "Can you, um. Can you do that nail thing again."
Anyway.
When they pull into the parlour ("Do not call it that, it's not 1949.") parking lot, Shane realises that the concept of "chattering teeth" isn't, as he had always thought, a wimp's hyperbole. Ilya's hand's stayed glued to his thigh the duration of the drive. He's kept the final designs under close wraps. Shane thinks he might puke. He's never felt this pathetic in his life. He didn't tell Yuna they were doing this - she's never much liked Ilya's tattoos, and it's possible this is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Forget gay son. Forget gay son gay marrying gay rival. Forget gay married gay son leaving Montreal. It's going to be the sight of her only child sporting a tarantula with Megan Fox's face on his elbow that does it. Or knuckle tattoos that say SOFT CORE. Or --
Ilya taps him: time to get out. Not once has he said anything to the effect of "You know, you don't actually have to do this." And why would he. Or should he. It is a beautiful June day in Ottawa and Shane is letting Ilya choose a permanent infection to shove under his skin.
When he thinks of it this way he is able to glide into the shop as though carried by travelator.
It's quieter in here than he expected. Shane's chaperoned many a plastered Metro into places like these trying and failing to appeal to their better angels or at least common sense and they were clubbier in feel, blasting bad alt playlists and echoing with laughter and an off-brand kind of locker room banter. There's none of that telltale buzzing machine noise, either. Shane looks at Ilya.
"What, Hollander? You were the one who wouldn't let me bring Andrew to the house."
"I just think it's probably more sterilised here," mutters Shane. "You booked the shop out?"
"Well I wasn't going to let anyone else see you like this," says Ilya.
Shane swallows. Andrew emerges, says hello. He's a bald guy in his thirties with gold wire aviator glasses. This relaxes Shane ever so slightly. Neither of their type.
"Come on down," says Andrew. "Pick a table, any table."
Ilya chooses the middle right. Not that it matters. He sits down on it. Shane hovers. Ilya glances to his side. Shane hops up next to him so they're sitting shoulder to shoulder. He's wearing a loose tank but he's sweating into it in ways he's never sweat before.
It's the permanence.
"So, this is quite the honour," says Andrew. Tattoo artists must be contracted to speak like this, thinks Shane. Somewhere between carney and a person who writes poetry on a typewriter. "I understand this is your first piece, Shane?"
"It is," says Shane, voice compressed and run through an anonymiser. To his ears. He concentrates on Ilya's breath.
"I'll go first, Andrew," says Ilya. Shane glares at him. What the fuck? He wanted to go first. Now he's going to have to--
"You can wait, малыш," says Ilya, in Russian. He rolls down his shorts. "I want it here, on my hip," he says to Andrew.
Shane's mouth falls open. They hadn't discussed location. Hipbone is. It's pretty hot.
"Sure," says Andrew. "Let me just get...." he wheels himself over to a desk, grabs a sheet of transfer paper.
On it, reversed, in stark black gothic looking figures: the number 24.
Shane barks out a laugh.
"You like it?" grins Ilya. "I love even numbers," he tells Andrew, who laughs a bit.
"Oh my god," Shane says. But then--
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Shanya," says Ilya. "Watch."
Shane barely breaks eye contact as Ilya gets his jersey number tattooed onto his body. Looks at Ilya's face as he lies down, and Andrew shaves him. Transfers the stencil. Turns on the gun. Ilya smirks at him when the whining starts up.
In Russian he says to Shane: "Sounds like you."
Shane isn't sure how he gets through the next half hour. He starts getting hard about half a dozen times, and it's only by picturing his parents dead in a car crash à la Bruce Wayne that he kills it every time.
Andrew seems to be quite thorough. He bandages Ilya up. 24 marked up 2.4 inches high. It's.
"Now you," says Ilya, smirking. Shane levitates.
Andrew grabs another piece of paper. Same font. Shane's nothing but gamma waves. Mirror image 81, like he thought. But. It's--
"A temporary tattoo?" Shane all but yells.
Ilya is laughing to himself in the way that Shane really fucking hates. Like that dog from Wacky Races. Shane hits his chest hard.
"No," he says.
"No?" says Ilya, a cherub lifted from church. He's giving Shane an easy way out. Which makes it so much worse.
"No! I didn't-- no." Shane turns to Andrew. "I want it for real. As big as his."
Ilya raises his eyebrows.
"Okay," says Andrew, uncertain. Shane doesn't know how Ilya coached him, but he probably didn't think he was getting in the middle of a marital spat today.
Wait, wait wait. No. This is ridiculous. He cannot get a tattoo out of spite. Ilya's not saying anything, just looking at him with curiosity and amusement. Shane thinks hard.
"Sorry. Actually, I know this is kind of-- could we maybe make it fit on one knuckle? Like on my ring finger. Would that be too small?"
"What," says Ilya, quietly.
"That's good, right?" Shane asks him. "I've always been pissed I can't wear your band."
Ilya answers by kissing him. It's chaste by their standards. Shane smiles big and stupid.
"Give me just a sec," says Andrew, who's elected not to see any of this. Shane likes him, he's decided.
It really doesn't take long, in the end. When the gun makes contact with his left hand Ilya's gripping the right one even tighter.
one of ilya's regrets is how he never got to take enough photos of shane and anya together.
so, one summer, ilya buys a professional camera and brings it to the cottage.
all the brands collaborating with shane are so happy to see the high-quality photos that ilya posts each day (yuna has taught ilya, a long time ago, the importance of tagging everything that shane wears and uses.)
pet brands start to reach out, and ilya jokes that he should retire and focus on anya's fame on the internet. yuna happily takes on the role of managing anya's brand deals, too.
Alright guys, bear with me because this one has done Actual NHL Lore, but I think it’s cute.
Ilya has been wearing number 81 since he was 13. It’s his lucky number. He gets to Boston, and a veteran already has 81. Management suggests that he use number 18, and he goes with that, but secretly it makes him just a little sad.
At the first All Stars game, he wears 81 on his All Stars jersey and Shane mentions it off-hand after their hook up. “Oh hey, you wore 81 again. That’s nice, you were always 81 in Russia.”
Ilya is so surprised that Shane followed his pre-professional career closely enough to notice that he says something unexpectedly vulnerable. “Is for my mama. Her birthday. 8th of January.” He shrugs. “Is okay, 18. Still her birthday. North American way. Still works.”
Shane looks at Ilya with those big brown eyes and just says quietly, “Did you ask for your number when you got to Boston?”
And Ilya just blinks at him. “Ah, no. Office said unavailable, gave me 18. What do you mean, ask?” Shane gets out his phone and sends off a quick email. “Hollander?” Shane puts up his pointer finger: one second.
“Okay. I emailed Rolex. They’ll deliver a watch to McKay next week. That’s the traditional gift when you ask for a number. I asked them to include a card saying you’d like to wear 81. I didn’t explain why, but you can tell him that when he gets the watch if you want. I bet he’ll say yes.”
Ilya blinks again. “Hollander, you don’t have to do this. 18 is fine.”
“You like 81. This is a normal thing, Rozanov. Happens all the time. Not your fault no one told you the protocol.”
“What is protocol?”
“Like, the way things are normally done. It’s standard. Like, unspoken rules.”
“Figures that Golden Boy Hollander would even know the rules that aren’t written down.”
“Fuck off.”
….
….
….
“Thank you. I will pay for watch.”
“Don’t worry about it. I get a couple free ones every year.”
McKay says yes, Ilya starts wearing 81 again, and years later when Ilya tells Shane his mother is dead - and then later when he tells him how she died - Shane understands even better why 81 mattered. It shouldn’t surprise anyone that Shane’s first tattoo is a small 81 right over his heart.
And this is one of the moments that Ilya will look back on years later and realize that he really fell in love so early, and maybe Shane loved him way back then too.
obviously we have the montage of shane getting ready so we know yuna wasn't in his room with him before the first hookup, but i am laughing about the idea of shane stressed as FUCK trying to get his mom out of the room after she stopped by to go over a new brand deal with him.
watching the clock and SWEATING because he doesn't have rozanov's number atp obviously so he can't text "HEY MY MOM IS HERE. CANCEL IT. CANCEL IT ALL. DO NOT COME UP HERE.", but yuna can read that Something is up with shane, so she's even less likely to want to leave him, so she's actually stretching this out LONGER trying to figure out if shane is just really nervous about this new brand or something and honey, did someone say something today? do i need to kill someone?
and shane is pulling out EVERY ounce of deception he has never consciously had to use on his mom before to just get her OUT. he doesn't even have time to fuck around with his outfit because he needs her to GO. in a moment of ABSOLUTE fucking desperation he says he feels sick and retreats to the bathroom and pours some water in the toilet so it sounds like he's puking, but he WAY overshot this one because now no WAY is she leaving.
which means ilya still knocks on the door.
and it's YUNA who answers.
ilya's whole body takes a screenshot.
and shane in the bathroom atp heard the door open, so he almost hits himself in the face with the bathroom door trying to get out and do...
what, exactly?
so they're now in this WILD three way standoff, and yuna is being polite about it but is clearly 'what the FUCK are you doing here?' and shane genuinely for a moment thinks his mom is about to find out that he was not only about to have sex, but he was about to have GAY SEX.
nope.
"sorry, i forgot i asked if he wanted to come up later and watch the game"
"what game is on tonight?"
*shane aol dial-up noises*
ilya jumping in because oops guess this is a group project now, taking a WILD swing in the dark based on something that was on a tv in a bar he snuck into a couple of weeks ago: "uh, cars. car racing."
"you two are going to watch...nascar?"
ilya, has never heard the word nascar in his life: "yes. sounds very interesting. i love...nascars."
yuna ends up leaving the room so they can...watch?? nascar???....but also shane has never been less turned on in his fucking LIFE.
they actually do end up talking because now shane is paranoid his mom is going to be in the hall watching and waiting to catch him in a lie, and the more nervous he gets about it, the more lowkey ilya is worrying about it, too, so they do actually end up spending a chunk of time together.
and it actually?? ends with them talking to each other?? and finding out they actually LIKE talking to each other???
GOD yuna doing a little bit of research on nascar because she wants to support shane's interests and bond with him (even if she's??? a little thrown???? by this?? but okay?? he's trying out adulthood and getting to explore things beyond being a teenager at home. okay.)
but now shane is trapped in pretending to like nascar because his mom asked how watching it with rozanov was, and he's like, "...really fun! yeah, it was exciting. they, um, they go really fast."
now shane who doesn't give a FUCK about cars beyond Thing That Takes Me Places is stuck in summer watching fucking nascar with his mom. and david clocks that shane isn't into it, but he figures that maybe yuna? has found an interest in it after the topic came up? so shane is bonding with her over that? aw, how sweet.
yuna teasing him about danica patrick being too old for him so don't get any ideas, and shane is just How Did This Happen To Me.
poor guy just wanted to explore gay sex and now he's doing a photo op in jimmie johnson's car???
the idea of shane being SO fucking annoyed that he has to go to this shit only to get there and learn that instead of a swedish princess, he gets to hang out with very strong men who move heavy car parts around for a living who are EXTREMELY competent and good at what they do
Everyone sees a post-retirement Shane meltdown coming a mile away unless they find something to fill the hockey shaped hole in his brain, and someone casually throws out Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and Shane figures well why not, can’t hurt to go to one class and see how it feels
He goes in and immediately, day one, gets his ass absolutely handed to him. Slammed to the ground, choked out, beat to shit, no rest no mercy the entire time and he LOVES it. Getting pushed and tested, needing to figure out strategy, fully working his muscles and getting thrown around. He comes home bruised and sore and can’t wait to go back
Ilya isn’t super sure at first about his husband getting recreationally beat up, especially after going to a practice early on and getting nauseous from watching people choking Shane and purposely putting him in so much pain he’s forced to tap out. The spouse of another person at the gym says to wait a few months before trying to watch again
But after a while he starts regularly hearing Shane laughing and Anya happy barking from other parts of the house, and walking in to find the two playfully wrestling around. Or when they watch the Pike kids they all want turns to get flipped around and wrestled by uncle Shane
And then of course one day Shane texts Ilya saying he wants Ilya to help him learn a triangle submission, and he adds a winky face and Ilya is just ??? Ok? I guess? But then he looks one up and well. That sure. Uh. That sure would be his husbands big strong sweaty thighs locked around his head and you know maybe he shouldn’t be too hasty to judge this hobby
Very soon Ilya is looking up moves for them to “practice” and he starts to see the appeal of his big strong husband being able to manhandle him and also anyone else. When he finally goes to watch another practice he sees Shane taking down guys six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier with ease and no actually so sorry they can’t go out to eat with everyone afterwards he needs to get his hot sweaty husband home immediately
The hockey world struggles to hide how pissed they are the first time Shane wins a tournament because of course he can’t retire normally and had to go and become the best at something else, specifically something that means he could beat the shit out of any of them if he wanted
[Cliff Marleau voice] Yeah I mean none of us were really surprised that Rozy is bisexual. He takes off his shirt the girl way. Kind of hot, to be honest. Wait this is off the record right.
my low stakes hollanov headcanon is that when they have a son, and he grows up to where his hair is getting long to the point of strangers being unsure of his gender at first glance, for a few weeks there there’s a bit of a debate between them as to whether he should get it cut or no
ilya’s approach is just like:
‘do you want a haircut baby?’
‘no’
‘ok so we don’t cut it’
whereas shane:
1) doesn’t think he’s old enough to even know what that question means
2) is worried it’s getting in his eyes and impractical for him
3) believes he’s going to get made fun of at school or called gay or told he looks like a girl or whatever and that while HE can’t possibly anticipate that, him and ilya do and so it’s their responsibility to prevent it which definitely doesn’t stem from his own life experiences in any sense
ultimately though it probably takes like 1 actual conversation with ilya for shane to drop it because deep down he knows that this reasoning has its issues so he’s not actually going to pick a fight about it
but maybe when babyboy comes home from his first days back at school, shane asks whether the other kids were nice to him a few too many times
Modern AU fic idea titled “I Want Your Video” where Eddie Munson deals with bullies who harass him, his friends, or his sheepies by seducing them, taking videos of the sex, and blackmailing them into fucking off. So far it has a hundred percent success rate.
Enter Steve Harrington. He’s the most popular guy in school. Girls love him, teachers love him. Eddie doesn’t think about him much at all beyond selling at the parties he throws in his big house (no parents). But Steve has been watching Eddie, curious and eventually knowing once Tommy starts suddenly leaving the freaks and nerds of Hawkins High alone. When it comes to Steve, Tommy has no poker face; they’ve known each other for too long, and vice versa.
“Don’t,” Tommy warns when he catches Steve eyeing Eddie in the hallway. “He’ll only—It’s not worth it, man.”
But Tommy’s worst fear is being outed, and Steve isn’t sure he cares. Not now that he’s noticed Eddie’s dimpled grin, or the way he talks faster and faster and with his hands when he’s excited about something. Do you know how long it’s been since Steve’s been around someone who let themselves get properly excited about anything beyond who’s dating who or what happened on the court? Which, fine, he gets into that stuff too, but that’s not all he wants to feel engaged in.
He starts getting Eddie’s attention with mild jabs in the hallway—the verbal equivalent of pulling the guy’s pigtails. Nothing particularly cutting, but Eddie’s made his way through most of the popular guys at this point so he zeros in on it like a shark tasting blood in the water. (Maybe he’s bored. Maybe he wants a challenge—Steve likes to think of himself as a challenge. All the girls vying for his attention seem to have the same idea too, judging by how they stop returning his calls after a couple of dates.)
Eddie does his thing: drive-by flirting in the halls, taunting with just enough innuendo to titillate while still retaining plausible deniability. He’s fishing, seeing if Steve will take the bait. And Steve, feeling the thrill of the game in a way he hasn’t in a long time, takes it.
They hook up, and (because Steve knows what to look for) Eddie isn’t even that slick about setting his phone up to record it. He sucks Steve’s soul out through his dick, then looks comically shocked when Steve sits up, says “I’ve never done this before, so feel free to call out any pointers you might have,” and inexpertly but enthusiastically returns the favor.
The next time Steve taunts Eddie in the hallway, Eddie tugs him into the bathroom despite the ring of the tardy bell and lays out his usual terms: cut it out, or the video goes all over social media. But Steve interrupts his spiel to ask, “Did you watch it?”
Eddie’s cheeks start to color. “Well. I mean. To make sure it was obviously you, yeah.”
Steve hums in faux sympathy. “So sometimes you have to do this more than once for it to work? If they’re not recognizable in the video.” Eddie’s jaw drops, and Steve laughs. “Hey man, don’t worry about it. It’s pretty funny, actually. And I had a really good time. Actually, could you send it to me? Or come over again sometime, whatever you’re comfortable with. My parents really aren’t around much, as long as the front porch light is off the coast is clear.”
“… You’re bluffing,” Eddie tries, flustered. Trying for but not really achieving his usual bad boy bravado.
Steve responds by locking the bathroom door, snagging Eddie’s phone from his jacket pocket (the obligatory “I already backed up the file” goes duly ignored), and setting it up to record before putting it back in Eddie’s hand. Then he gets on his knees with a wink and a cheeky “Be sure to get my good side,” before making surprisingly quick work of Eddie’s complicated belt and going gloriously to town.
By lunchtime, Eddie plops down in his usual spot in the cafeteria still feeling shaken to his very core. After blowing him, Steve had persuaded him to unlock his phone so the dude could send himself both videos, and saved his own contact info as “Steve 🍆😜.” In the middle of second period, Steve had texted him an “Eddplant” joke. After third, it had been, “Hey, do you want to hang out sometime? Maybe a movie. Let me know what you like.”
Eddie can’t tell if the game has been turned around on him or if Steve is for real. He doesn’t know if Steve is asking about his preference in movies, associated snacks, or sex. Part of him hopes it’s sex, because Steve is a real quick study. Maybe he should start carrying condoms and lube around, just in case—no, that’s just his horny brain talking.
Or is it?
(It’s not, and Steve thinks it was a genius idea when it pays off later in the week.)
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i’m spending today thinking about how saber toothed cats ALSO probably had a potato form. how they also had a stage where they were fat little babies with very triangle tails and tiny squeaky voices. how they also probably play wrestled and failed badly at calculating jumps.
i’m going to fistfight god for killing them off before i could personally see fat potato saber kittens
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