The8 Skyfall

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[eightlightstar]

Vittoria. She/Her. 24. Leo. ARMYCARAT.

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[lavenderprose]

There's never been a fandom ghost like Cliff Marleau. He's a vampire. He's an ally. He's a latent bisexual. He a little confused but he got the spirit. He's imprinted on Ilya like a duckling. He has three sisters, all of them lesbians. He is 42. He is 28. He's French Canadian. He's from Florida. He is being psychosexually tormented by his best friend's thot husband. He is Hollanov's platonic third. He has a beautiful, terrifying wife. He's made out with Ilya but they were in Paris it's chill. Of course he's slept with men he's a fucking hockey player. He is Ilya's ex-husband.

[itsbatkingcazzle]

Heated Rivalry fic idea. After Shane starts playing for the Centaurs, the Boston Bears/Raiders' social media team decides to be unhinged and starts subtweeting/shading the Voyageurs/Metros online. During the season, the Voyageurs are playing so poorly, a stark difference from their last season when they were fighting for a back-to-back championship, and the players and team are constantly bad-talking Shane. So they Bears social media team decides to get in on the drama but from the angle of an ex that hasn't moved on.

If the Bears win against the Voyageurs, when they post the results on tiktok, the caption will be something like, "we did it for our Rozy!" They'll post videos from a game against the Centaurs, and will say say, "if you're looking for one, we can be your third!" They post a picture of Roz with some of the Bears and the caption goes, "you never forget your first <3." Once they posted a video of Roz on Bears ice with the audio, "Daddy's home, home for me, and I know you've been waiting for this loving all day."

They'll also comment on both the Centaurs and the Voyageurs's posts. Loving, almost embarrassing comments on the former and straight nasty shit for the latter. They once commented "maman et papa" on a picture the Centaurs posted of Shane and Ilya. The Vayageurs post anything and the Bears response is always something like, "👀", "couldn't be us," "nurse he's up again." Their library of stickers is large just for responding to their tiktoks.

Ilya plays into it too. The Bears and his former teammate have actually been nice and supportive after his relationship got revealed. So he'll actually like or respond some of their comments/posts. Shane is not on board at first, but at some point he's so over the Voyageurs' bullshit that he also plays along.

[transthatmasc]

They had talked about telling close friends. Shane was thinking about telling Hayden, and Ilya had tossed out Cliff’s name to have someone to consider, but he hadn’t actually been planning to tell anyone. It felt like too much to admit and, as much as he tried to hide it, Ilya was scared of the reaction. He only had the rest of this year left in Boston, why could he not just finish strong with the same lies he’d started with?

Marlow was in Ilya’s hotel room after an away game. They had practice the next morning before their flight, so most of the older players had headed to the hotel instead of out on the town. Ilya had the tv turned to a movie channel, paying only vague attention to the Star Wars movie that flickered by as he waited for Shane’s text that he was back at home from his game that evening. At the commercial break, Ilya turned the tv to mute and let his head loll back against the head board, analyzing the aches left over from the game.

Marlow’s voice was low like a confession in the quiet room but it still surprised Ilya, “What if I’m not cut out for a real relationship?”

Ilya’s head turned to see Marlow’s expression, ready to laugh, but he found a look of true concern on his friend’s face and recalibrated. “What do you mean, Marley? Have you tried?”

Marlow sighed, sounding more defeated than Ilya had ever heard. “I mean— yeah? I think so? But I don’t even know, man. This is the third girl I’ve tried to get serious with in the last six months. And it’s only been a couple weeks but I can feel it slipping away again. I just don’t know how to fix it. We’re always on the road and I guess I’m a shit texter but even if I wasn’t— who wants to deal with a schedule this fucked?? But I’m 30 and I keep going to clubs like my dream girl will stumble drunk into my arms and surprise me with a happy ever after. I just don’t think it works that way.”

Ilya wasn’t sure what to say, or even if he was meant to say anything at all. Clearly this had been eating at Cliff for a while, and Ilya wasn’t even sure this was something he was qualified to discuss.

“Being 30 is not the end of the world, Marley. Your dick has not fallen off, and your face has not gotten any stupider.” Marlow huffed a little, but he had a smile on his lips. “There are lots of nice girls who would love to date a hockey player. Even St. Vic has had a girlfriend for several years! Clearly there is someone for everyone.” This actually drew a laugh, but Ilya was not done. “But maybe you should ask one of the guys who is married about how they got there? I’m not sure I’m the person to ask in this department.”

“I just thought…” Cliff started, but then paused, seeming to parse through a decision. “Well, you have been seeing that Montreal girl for all these years—“ Ilya tensed and started to defend himself, but Cliff waved him off. “I know, I know. But it seems serious with you two now, right? You aren’t taking girls home any more, and you’re always smiling when you check your phone. And I know I’m not supposed to know about her, but I just thought that if you had finally made it out of the hook up stage you might have some tips for me. I always figured you met her at a club or something, but you were always different about her than other girls.”

And suddenly, Ilya is torn. He had gotten permission from Shane to tell Marlow about them. Marlow clearly thinks that Ilya is in a committed, if secret and long distance, relationship and wants to know how he’s made it work. He tries to come up with a lie. A convincing one, not just a cheeky deflection, because his friend is being vulnerable and he doesn’t want to reject that show of trust. But then he lets himself imagine for a moment telling the truth. The relief of lying to one less person.

Before he has even really decided the words are out of his mouth, quiet but sure. “He is different from the girls I met in clubs.”

Ilya stops then, letting the words hang in the air as he can almost hear the gears turning in Cliff’s brain. He will start small, though it feels ridiculous to call coming out to an NHL player small. But Cliff had just explained how he saw Ilya’s joy about Shane. They were friends. Best friends, maybe. Could he really not accept that Ilya was happy with a man?

“How did you meet him?”

So it was that simple. There was a timid lilt to his tone that Ilya could recognize as unsteadiness. But he had acknowledged and continued. So here was the harder part.

“We met through the league.”

Cliff’s eyebrows scrunched as though trying to do complex arithmetic. When he didn’t add anything, Ilya pushed further.

“Did you ever notice that my Montreal girl was always in town when we played against Montreal?”

This was an admission, spoken with the hushed fear of a man on his deathbed. This was how the pieces clicked into place. All the smiles at his phone and the staring from the bench and the excuses to leave the hotel whenever they were in Montreal.

Cliff huffed in disbelief, “You’re in love with a staff member for the Voyageurs? Is he a trainer or something? A coach?”

Oh. Ilya hadn’t even considered a different conclusion, but it was true, there were actually lots of people who traveled with the team every game. Coaching staff, medical staff, media managers… and players.

“Something like that… He gets the schedule thing. Though I will admit, the only thing worse than one NHL schedule is two. I would not recommend this if you’re as bad at texting as you say. But when you find the right person, you figure out eventually that you have to make it work because not having them is worse than any compromise.”

Ilya can see that Cliff is looking at him now, really looking, as though seeing him for the first time.

“Do you think maybe he could come work for Boston instead? Cutting the scheduling down to half would at least help, and if he travels with the team in Montreal, he should be able to do so here too.”

Ilya smiled wryly, relaxing at Cliff’s obvious support. “I don’t know that he’d like Boston. Besides, there’s no way the pay cap would let us both pl—“

Cliff stiffened beside him and Ilya froze. He had not really planned on explaining further, but he had been so ready to joke about it that it had just slipped out. He wasn’t going to deny it though, so he just sat and waited.

Quietly, as though trying not to spook a bear, Cliff breathed “I thought you had a huge crush on Rose Landry. I was just sure that you two had secretly dated or something. I wouldn’t have ever thought…” he paused for a moment of consideration before continuing, “wait, was he fucking cheating on you???” There was a sudden measure of outrage in his voice as he spun to face Ilya.

The tension fell from Ilya’s shoulders for a final time and he started to laugh. It built and built until he was doubled over, laughing so hard he could hardly breathe. He only stopped when he saw Cliff’s face slide into hurt.

“Are you punking me, Rozy? I thought you were being serious about being with Hollander!” Marlow was upset for seemingly the first time in this crazy conversation and Ilya couldn’t allow that.

“No, no. I am not punking you. And he did not cheat on me. I was going to ask him out and he freaked out, ran off, and then started dating Rose Landry. I was furious and hurt, but it was not cheating. Not like that at least.” The hurt had slid back off his face, but Marley still seemed confused. “I just appreciate you being willing to defend my honor, though I think you did enough when you laid him out last year.”

He went chalk white, “Oh fuck, Roz. I could have killed your boyfriend! I wouldn’t have ever known!!! Holy fuck you would have killed me in my sleep!! I’m so fucking sorry holy shit please forgive me it was supposed to be a clean hit, we were just playing like normal!!”

Ilya laid a hand on his arm, “It’s okay, Marley. Shane’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was shit luck. It happens. It’s not like I don’t check him during games too, and he seems to like me just fine.”

Cliff seemed to relax a little, though he still looked stricken with guilt. Ilya was distracted as his phone buzzed with a text.

Jane <3 : Home! Shower then snack then bed. Can you call in like twenty?

He smiled as he read it. When he looks up, Cliff has a peculiar look on his face. “I’m glad you’re happy, Roz.” Sincerity. Ilya doesn’t see that from Cliff often, but that’s clearly what it is.

Ilya’s smile stays on his face. “Thank you, Cliff.” He pauses for a moment, deciding there’s been enough seriousness for the night. “Now get out of my room I have hot NHL super star to talk to about very sexy hot NHL super star things you wouldn’t know about.”

Marlow chuckles as Ilya starts to shove him off the bed. As he grabs his phone and his shoes he tosses back, “Should have known it wasn’t a trainer. You always shoot for as hot as they come, and no one is as hot as Hollander.”

“No!! I am! I am hottest NHL star! He is second hottest, so I must aim below my level because no one is above me. Do not forget!! And do not tell anyone. This is secret only for friends and you will keep it so that one day I can set you up with third hottest NHL star!” Ilya gestures wildly at Cliff as he follows him.

“Isn’t Scott Hunter already taken?” Cliff asks, grinning as he opens the door.

Ilya makes a sound of disgust, ready to fling another comment, but Cliff is already slipping down the hallway, leaving him alone with a smile on his face and a weight off his shoulders.

[oshell-on-ice]

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov wedding announcement on socials and the ftop comment under it is "Hollzy up and done it. He married hockey. Truly the most dedicated player."

[penandinkprincess]

cackling about old school ilya fans finding out about his relationship and launching a "get ilya rozanov OUT of there" campaign on twitter because they insist shane is boring and ilya can do better

which ilya responds to by launching his OWN campaign on twitter called "keep ilya rozanov where he is because he likes it there"

[hardlyhinged]

Shane Hollander walks Ilya Rozanov like a dog - ✅ true, factual, accurate 👍

Shane Hollander knows he walks Ilya Rozanov like a dog - ❌ false, incorrect, wrong 👎

[lavenderprose]

So maybe Cliff Marleau calls in sick that game against Montreal. Or maybe Shane looks where he's going and doesn't get hit. Or maybe the hit just isn't even that bad. And Shane goes home that night and waits for Ilya in his apartment and when Ilya shows up, he's been psyching himself up for the last two hours to end this thing but then he just...can't. Shane is so softly pleased that Ilya is back, open in a way that he's never been before their phone conversations while Ilya was in Moscow, and the hit of having him again after all of that is like nothing Ilya has ever experienced. So they let it ride. And Shane does ask WillYouComeToMyCottage but crucially he is two orgasms deep and Ilya is still inside him and it has about the same effect as the morphine would have. So Ilya hits that "Maybe. Maybe." and Shane hmm's and reaches back to palm Ilya's hip, press him in closer, and they let it ride.

So it becomes real but not at the same time. So they call each other in the evenings, a few times a week, not too much. Ilya sends texts that say You looked good in Buffalo tonight, great game and Does your hole feel empty without me and, worst of all, he texts things like Did your sink ever get fixed I know the dripping was driving you crazy. And he forces himself not to think about what any of it means. And he doesn't stop. Doesn't even really think about stopping, anymore.

He lets his teammates think that things are getting serious with Montreal Girl, because it's a good excuse for why he's not pulling and the guys have formed a narrative that makes sense. Of course Rozanov is settling down now. He just buried his father. Those kinds of things put life into perspective. Time to get serious, time to be a man. He's gonna get a wife and have a couple of kids and slap the Rozanov name on all of them and make dearly departed Papa so very very proud.

Some of it is not untrue, if one considers that Shane IS Montreal Girl, and things are getting serious. Serious in a hot, messy way that neither of them completely knows what to do with. As a younger man, as the kid he really no longer is, Ilya always assumed that this kind of thing would feel like a fucking prison--and it does, but in almost the exact opposite way of what he'd supposed. The bars aren't to keep him in, but to keep Shane out, and it's feeling more and more like Shane is bending the bars, pushing them out of the way and sneaking into the cell with him, and fuck if it's the only thing Ilya wants, to live in this prison with Shane. And maybe they can leave it together someday. But he never says any of it.

The Metros make the playoffs, number three seed against the Admirals' number two. And the first major upset of the playoff season occurs when the Metros knock the Admirals out in game seven of the series after some particularly nasty hockey is played on both sides. Scott Hunter was playing like he had something to prove and Shane Hollander was playing like a man who had nothing to lose--because a two-time Stanley Cup winning captain going for his third actually, really does have nothing to lose.

The Metros go home in the Conference finals. Boston sends them home. They do not even make it to the fucking couch that night. Ilya fucks Shane on the goddamn floor in the entryway of his house, in front of the windows, presses bruises on top of bruises. Shane is feral, biting and snarling and only submitting when Ilya puts a hand against the back of his neck and says, “Who do you fucking belong to?” and Shane says, “You, fuck, it’s always been you,” like it’s being drawn from him with a knife.

Ilya Rozanov wins his second Stanley Cup on a June night in Nashville. He still hasn't slept when his back hits the sheets of a hotel suite he doesn't remember walking into, six o'clock in the morning with dawn behind the curtains. Shane is up for his morning jog. He says he's taking it along the lake. He says he watched the game with his parents the night before. He goes quiet on the other end of the line and Ilya drunkenly hums a tune he heard at some point during the night.

Shane says, "I'm so fucking proud of you, baby," and that, too, sounds like it's being ripped from his unwilling body. There is so much love and jealousy and affection and spite wrapped up in it that Ilya can only laugh. It has never felt more strange, that they are the only two people in the entire world who know about this. This beautiful, awful, insane thing they do. The fact that they cannot talk about it, even to each other.

Ilya goes to Russia.

Ostensibly, he is tying up loose ends. He is visiting his mother's grave. He is giving his niece presents while she stares at him like she doesn't remember him putting her on his shoulders when she was little. Because she probably doesn't. And God knows what her father has said about him, now that she is old enough to understand. It's supposed to be a one-month trip. When the summer spits them out onto training camps, Ilya has only been back in the States for 72 hours.

He has spent the entire summer calling Shane as the moon rises in Moscow, to the point where Shane had eventually confessed to him that his dick had started having a Pavlovian reaction to the clock in his living room announcing that it's gone two o'clock.

Ilya has gone so long without having any thought about fucking someone who isn't Shane, in fact, that he doesn't even think to vocalize any of it. It's just a part of his being now. This brain that sometimes thinks awful things, and these hands that were built to play hockey and throw punches and touch freckles. This dick that only gets hard for Shane Hollander. Ruined for everyone else.

(One time, over the summer in Russia, a girl approached with that familiar look on her face and he'd leaned over and shook his head and said, "I'm married," just to feel the words in his mouth. It hadn't felt like a lie.)

So too much has been said. Or not enough. Or the right things, but to the wrong people. Sveta knows about Jane. She probably has her suspicions on who he is. Ilya is sure that Shane has not said fucking word to anyone, save perhaps Rose Landry. There have been a few implications. But nothing has been said.

So he opens the door to Shane after the first Boston-Montreal matchup of the season and it's perhaps only the third or fourth time they've been together since Tampa. And so much is left unsaid. And so much has been said. And Ilya's body craves Shane's like a fucking addict. It's not his fault that they, again, don't make it to the bed. The couch is close enough.

Shane thinks it's funny--he's in fine form, body moving atop Ilya's with only the absolutely necessary clothes removed. Joggers, underwear. The socks and the crewneck sweatshirt (Metros logo, tiny 24 over the breast almost like a kid with his name sewn into the collar) and the fucking baseball cap he'd worn for anonymity in the cab all stay on. He's panting by the end, overheated in his layers, laughing and running his fingers over Ilya's jaw and telling him that the beard burn on his thighs from playoffs took an entire week to heal. Ilya tells him You loved it and Shane blushes and arches and says, "Yeah, I did," and he's glorious.

Then Ilya lifts him off and slaps his ass and sends him marching into the bathroom with a command to make himself decent again, which Shane scoffs at even as he walks away, awkward swing to his step, wet trail down the back of his thigh.

He is not so glorious when he returns.

He wears a pair of Ilya's sweatpants and he smells like Ilya's soap but he's frowning and he puts himself a whole cushion away from Ilya. When Ilya scooches to him, showing off his shoulders just a bit, Shane watches him come but pulls his face away when Ilya tries to kiss him.

"Baby," Ilya pouts against his shoulder. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Shane mutters. And the thing is, Ilya knows that Shane is lying. He also knows that if something spooked him this bad a year ago, he would have been ten minutes gone already. Ilya knows that he is trying.

"What scared you?" Ilya murmurs. "Hm? I bet if you tell me, I can explain."

Shane twists his head to the side again, but this time it's more like he doesn't want to be seen. Ilya sees his jaw tense, untense.

"I just don't think it's very fair," Shane says after moment.

"What is not fair, lyubimyy?"

"You..." Shane scoffs, draws a hand through his hair. "You'll fuck her in your bed, but when I show up you--fuck me on the couch or the floor--"

"Shane," Ilya says. "What did you see?"

"Her fucking--" Shane sighs, and says the word bra under his breath like some people say fucking, but Shane Hollander does everything backwards, it sometimes seems, "is on top of your laundry bag, and your bed's a mess. How recently was she here?"

"Shane," Ilya says.

"I get it, you know. I--maybe I don't love it, honestly, but I do get it. We don't see each other much, and even if we did, it's--" Shane sighs, squeezes his eyes shut. "It's not like I can expect anything. I get that. But could you just...I don't know, is it too much to ask that you change your sheets after you've been with her? Before I get here?"

"Hollander."

"Is that too much to ask?" Shane sounds like he's genuinely asking. Like he actually thinks he's toeing over some invisible line between them.

"The bed is a mess because I am bad sleeper," Ilya tells him, not ungently. He doesn't say, You would know this if you had ever once stayed. Doesn't say it because they've beat that particular horse dead. They've both made their apologies. Several months of cross-continental Skype calls leaves a lot of time to talk things out, once the jerking off is over.

Shane scoffs. "Whatever."

"No, is true." Ilya smacks a kiss onto his shoulder, and then onto his neck. "I kick like donkey. And I took a nap before you came, because I wanted to stay up all night and fuck you very nicely right until you have to leave in the morning."

Shane shudders and gapes and says, "We'd have to sleep at some point."

"You could. I wouldn't mind."

Ilya sees the shudder that runs through him, and the dilation of his pupils, and the very deliberate way that he visibly shelves that train of thought to take back down later.

"The bra?" Shane mumbles.

"Has probably been here for years. When I find it, I send it to laundry with everything else. I do not know where it always hides."

"That's..." Shane screws up his face. "Sort of too stupid not to be true."

"Is truth. Would you like to hear another truth?" Ilya waits patiently for Shane to give his little furrow-browed nod. "You are only person I have ever fucked on the floor. Only person who ever wanted it that bad. Only person slutty enough to let me."

Shane's inhale is deep, shuddery. His whole chest expands with it and he swings his face away from Ilya like his breath on his face is too overwhelming. Ilya grins.

"Ask me," Ilya whispers. "Ask me how many people I've fucked this year."

Shane clears his throat. "How many?"

"One."

Another gasp.

"Now ask me the other thing," Ilya whispers. "Ask me for what you want, Hollander."

Shane's lips part to admit his tongue between them, pink and wet. Ilya watches his lips curl over his teeth, his eyes dilate, and he knows that he is absolutely fucked.

"Fuck me," Shane whispers. "Just me. Please. Make me yours. Be mine."

Ilya stands up, pulls Shane along with him. In a move that's becoming quite practiced, he gets his hands under Shane's thighs and lifts him, and all 200 pounds, six feet of hockey player are in his arms easily.

"Where are we going?" Shane asks, though he clearly knows the answer.

"Bed," Ilya says. "I'm taking you to bed."

[my-castles-crumbling]

bright - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 321 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3

“Mom?” Shane called, flustered as he opened the cabinet to the right of his parents’ refrigerator only to find it without the glass cups he usually preferred. It had been a while since he visited, yes, but they rarely made changes to where things were kept. 

Ilya, who had been relaxing on the couch with both David and Yuna, watching Ottawa’s game from the night before where he had managed to score a hat trick, walked into the kitchen. “What is wrong, malysh?”

“Can’t find the water glasses,” Shane mumbled, annoyed. “I think my parents moved–”

“Ah, yes, they are here,” Ilya answered easily, opening the cabinet that housed the mugs and wine glasses to show Shane what he was looking for. “Yuna reorganized last weekend. Said she wanted all breakable things together. I helped her get things from top shelves.”

Shane blinked, a bit caught off-guard by the fact that Ilya knew more about where things were in his parents’ house than he did. But then he began to smile, the realization sitting warm and bright in his chest. “You…come here a lot, don’t you?” he asked, grinning. 

Ilya just shrugged, face unreadable. “I tell you when I visit.”

“Yeah, but I just…I just kind of realized. You’re part of the family,” he beamed, unable to hold back his joy.

The taller man didn’t seem to know what to do with that declaration so he smirked a little, winking. “I have replaced you for favorite son, I think.”

And now Shane narrowed his eyes, quickly distracted by that false statement. “Keep dreaming, Rozanov,” he said with a teasing smile. “It’s not like you’ve been told all the family recipes yet, or–”

But Ilya just beamed, eyes flashing mischievously. “Oh, you mean how secret ingredient to Yuna’s famous soup is bit of honey? Yes, I know that too.”

Shane gaped. “Mom!” he called, stalking into the other room. “What the fuck?”

[kdkdnfuiahuag]

during his first year in ottawa, ilya casually mentions he’s going to get coffee with david after practice and the team is like “who tf is david?????” meanwhile luca haas, hollanov shipper supreme, starts losing his fucking mind

[shanesloverboy]

Shane, 5 seconds after touching sweaty Ilya's hand for the first time at the tender age of 18: I must break up with my girlfriend immediately

[trashcanniballecter]

Ilya: Troy is my Work Husband

Shane: I'm your Actual Husband and we work together, shouldn't I be your Work Husband?

Ilya: Actual Husband can't be Work Husband. Is against the rules

Shane: fine. Who should be my Work Husband then?

Ilya: I hear Harris is Work Single

[trashcanniballecter]

Random hockey player: Shane Hollander loves hockey so much that he'd probably marry it if he could!

Shane: *marries generational hockey player and living legend Ilya Rozanov*

Random hockey player: well I'll be damned! The crazy son of a bitch did it!

[penandinkprincess]

laughing about the idea of shane and ilya getting so used to sleeping curled up together that they wake up if they drift apart

mainly because if it's ilya who wakes up first, he shifts over in bed to snuggle close to wherever shane has wriggled off to, curling back up around him and drifting off again, content

whereas if it's shane who wakes up, it's more *bleary, confused searching* *target sighted* *YANK across the mattress to slide ilya back into place next to him* *settles back down while sighing happily like an angel while ilya is still ?!?! about getting AGGRESSIVELY relocated*

[escapepodding]

Boring facts (in my head) about parent David Hollander:

New people at work when introduced to him go "oh, like Shane Hollander" and he BEAMS at that and says "Yep!"

Has a picture of Shane on his desk and the same new people think its a joke until an old timer who probably met Shane at a bring your kid to work day clued them in

Would not let Yuna touch the college fund they set up for Shane until he was out of his rookie contract. What if Shane changed his mind about hockey? What if he got injured and needed a good education? Only conceeded when his son was a multi-millionaire

Only time he has ever gone to HR was when someone stole the baby Shane picture off his desk after he got famous. That's his baby!!! Give it back!!! There were so many memos and all staff emails that it did get returned one night, but a picture of it circulated online so now David only has PR photos at work

His lawyer is an old college friend who he catches up with at least once a year and who reviews the Hollander's will and life insurance policy each year with specific instructions to look after Shane. This annual tradition continues to this day. The lawyer buddy is going to be there for that grown celebrity professional sportsman no matter what

Was so excited when Shane started The Cottage project, and helped him with everything, including liaising with the builders etc. Was delighted to have the first a joint project with his son since school (he helped with art/science/show and tell)

Is really bad with technology but the nice young people at the office help (is not fully cognizant of the fact half the office is in love with him but does correctly suspect the other half want to marry his son)

Always knew he wanted to be a dad, and was devastated when it seemed like that wasn't going to happen, but didn't want to put that on Yuna who was already struggling with it

Sent congratulation cards and presents to all his buddies when they had kids anf was genuinely happy for then but it also killed him a bit. Unfortunately the conversation around men struggling because they wanted kids was not happening in the 80s/early 90s so he kept quiet (and passed that trait on to Shane)

Thought Shane was perfect from the moment he was born, and still thinks that. Can't concieve of why Shane thought he could let them down, he's literally always been Yuna and David's perfect baby

Gets out the good vodka again when he tells Ilya this one day and Ilya starts crying

[mapetitefeedeslilas]

Shane who, before him and Ilya get outed, keeps hearing people, fellow players, his own friends, talk shit about the man he loves and it pains him, so one night he googles "Ilya Rozanov nice person" and ends up in a subreddit where people share stories of celebrities that are surprisingly nice people and the page dedicated if Ilya is full of wholesome stories

hospital personnel from where he used or still visited the paediatric department with the team, parents of patients, even former patients themselves seeing how great, attentive, funny and light-hearted he was

puck bunnies or women he had one night stands with during the years playing for Boston saying he was a phenomenal lover and a consent king, or women that approached him whilst inebriated and whom he gently turned down, bought a bottle of water for and paid for their cabs to get back home safely

neighbours saying he was very polite, people he was nice or helpful to through the years, a mom with a screaming child whose first class seat on a flight to Moscow he gave up so she could have more room for her herself and the baby, a classmate he defended in school, a former teacher saying how smart and talented he was in spite of not having much time to study because he was training a lot, Russian-speakers saying his interviews in his mother tongue are a thing of beauty and incredibly well-spoken, waiters and shop assistants stressing how polite his interactions were

Shane devours these stories with tears in his eyes and a heart about to explode, the tab perpetually open in his phone, incognito mode.

And when someone talks shit about Ilya or when, after their outing, hate starts to be thrown at him even more viciously from the media, he goes back to the tab, just to see that there actually many that agree with him: Ilya, the love of his life, is the most wonderful person

[wannabetonthat]

I was half asleep daydreaming and I came up with the most cracky idea

Shane has been in face offs against Ilya for years, even if they didn't have their thing of the ice, he knows his face by memory. Which is why he notices when a mole in the underside of his jaw gets bigger.

It's the 2015-2016 season, middle of the hookup era, and he is trying to get this motherfucker to see a dermatologist, but nothing he says works. Ilya either distracts him or dismisses him with some stupid denial like russians don't get melanoma.

But the mole keeps changing and now its not even the same consistent color and Shane has googled the signs so he says fuck it, I'm gonna make him.

Shane uses his barely active public account to tweet a list of Boston based dermatologist and tags Ilya in each one.

This of course goes crazy with the fans because what the hell? Shane Hollander? Tweeting at Ilya Rozanov? Doctors? This is a very advanced very strange chirp? Is he calling his moles ugly?

The next time the Boston Raiders have a game the media scrum doesn't even try to pretend they came for another thing, they want to know about the Dermatologist Thread.

Ilya, at this point frustrated because his moles are fine, they're perfect, why is this a problem, so he answers.

"Hollander should mind his own businesses, he wants me to visit stupid skin doctor because he sees mole. I have lots of moles, always had, there's no problem here, it's normal mole!"

And Shane is getting out of his own game a few hours later, prepares himself to answer about the fumble in the second period when the media comes, and it's surprised when, instead, he gets shown a clip of Ilya's earlier interview. Now, this fucking reckless motherfucker, Shane explodes.

"You fucking asshole! You want to die by driving a Porsche into a wall be my guest! But you're gonna die of the most stupid thing in existence! A MOLE! A mole you decided not to check even if it changed size and color and it's in your fucking face where we can all see it every fucking face off with arena lights shining right into it! Why? Because you're stupid and you don't want to go to the doctor and you don't respect the sun. You're gonna die from a perfectly preventable thing and then what am I gonna do? I'm gonna be the best hockey player in mi generation with 10 cups and Harts and Conn Smythes and no competition because you're gonna be in the history books as that one promising dude who died from a mole. A mole! Go to the fucking doctor and use your fucking sunscreen."

That one goes viral. That one breaches containment and goes internacional meme viral.

Shane Hollander Skin Cancer Awareness King.

There's "Go to the fucking doctor and use your fucking sunscreen" T-Shirts.

Shane Hollander angry sneering face with the text "RESPECT THE SUN" under it.

Ilya Rozanov gets bullied relentlessly about it, everyone asking if he has gone to the doctor yet. He doesn't answer. Eventually, he appears with a new scar in his jaw where a wonky mole used to be.

A new meme begins, Shane Hollander has saved Ilya Rozanov's life. From a malignant mole.