Meditations on Magic

OG HP fan (way over 18) | Wolfstar and Rarepairs | More favs: Star Wars, Heated Rivalry, Wicked, The Empyrean | She/Her

[sliebman10]

Home

“Are you ok?” Ilya asked, as the flight attendants checked to make sure everyone was belted in.

“Yeah,” came the answer, though Shane’s voice was strained and Ilya could tell his husband was obviously not ok. 

“Come here,” Ilya instructed, pushing the armrest between them up. Shane scooted over and Ilya wrapped his arms around him. He could feel Shane’s heart beating quickly, his skin clammy. He pressed his lips to Shane’s forehead. “What’s wrong?”

“I..” Shane huffed in annoyance. “The fucking game, that reporter trying to get under my skin…I’m sorry, I should be-”

“Shhh…” Ilya hummed against his ear. Ilya understood Shane’s agitation. The game that night in Dallas had not gone their way, and their opponent had been only too happy to rub it in their faces. Then when they did press after the game, the reporters had been particularly invasive about his and Shane’s relationship until Coach pulled them before the end of the interview to catch the plane. Ilya rubbed his back but he didn’t relax. “Let me get something,” he murmured. 

He rummaged in Shane’s backpack for a moment before pulling out the weighted blanket he used for traveling sometimes. He opened it for Shane and he leaned into Ilya, letting him wrap the blanket around him. “I just want to go home,” Shane said into Ilya’s shoulder. 

“We’re on our way there, sweetheart.” Ilya said. He felt Shane relax in increments until he was pliant against Ilya. 

“Thank you,” he said faintly. Ilya ran his fingers through Shane’s hair as he fell asleep on Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya shifted, trying to get more comfortable in the seat. He pulled out his headphones, and pressed play on his tablet, letting the movie lull him to sleep.

Word Count: 292

@hollanovmicrofic

[3lectracuted]

mechanic sirius, hair tied up loosely with a pencil shoved through, overalls tied at the waist, filthy white tank top, cig hanging from the side of his mouth, motor oil stained fingers, strong as hell, another cig tucked behind his ear for later, black eyeliner, ac/dc filtering out of the radio clipped on his hip

remus who just needed an oil change but has now gone weak at the knees and lightheaded

remus now needs a whole lot more than just an oil change

[lalunavinoalafragua]

Protective godfather in his canine form

[azaablue]

the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be a part of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.

[weewoo911]

Loads of Hollanov fics have them getting walked in on while making out etc which is great

But I’d love a fic where one or both of Shane’s parents drop by the cottage for phone charger/laundry pod reasons and find Shane snuggled on the couch fast asleep on Ilya’s chest and that’s how they find out

They’re dressed in soft casual clothes, sleeping like the dead and wrapped around each other like vines and Ilya’s hand is in Shane’s hair and Shane looks so so comfortable and relaxed

Meanwhile his parents are staring slack-jawed at the sight of their son using his archenemy the Russian Rage Machine as a teddybear/pillow

[sliebman10]

Tuesday Snippet

(I wasn't supposed to write this yet but that's fine. I usually write Hollanov post canon and happily married so this is a bit different.)

He’d almost started to relax about an hour into their trip to the bar.

Almost.

Then the door opened and a tall, muscular, too familiar figure walked in, clad in a shirt made of silky material and black pants. Shane almost choked on his drink. JJ and Hayden had gone over to a table full of women who were celebrating a bachelorette party. He’d stayed behind to finish his drink, but also because he didn’t feel like making awkward conversation with strangers. He’d been starting to get tired and was thinking about leaving before he’d seen Rozanov arrive with a tall, curly haired woman in tow.

He wasn’t there with his teammates, Shane noted as he looked around, worried about other Boston players seeing him and his friends. He hadn’t seen Rozanov in a while, off the ice, he realized. Before the game tonight, it had been almost two months. Shane wished he didn’t know how long it was, but he did. It was burned into his memory.

[lexicanons]

Ilya asks Shane to take him on a road trip, during the off season, to see the beauty of Canada because this is home now and he wants to see more. Shane gets all excited planning the trip and creating the itinerary. He’s going over the route from Ottawa to Halifax, the stops they’ll make, the things they can do and Ilya just nods. He is also making plans to fuck Shane in the back of his sensible car at every stop.

[sliebman10]

Codename: Wolfstar, Chapter 6

In which the team helps Sirius and Fleur prepare for and attend the gala in hopes of apprehending Riddle.

Snippet:

An eight piece band replaced the string quartet in the front of the room as dinner wound down and began playing a jaunty tune.

When they were finished eating, Sirius held out his hand. “Would you care to dance?” When she hesitated, Sirius said, “I’ll even let you lead if that’s what you like.”

“Don’t step on my toes,” she said with a smirk. She took his hand.

“I’ll do my best,” Sirius said, swinging her around. She hummed in approval as Sirius expertly led her around the dance floor. “Surprised?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Not many agents know how to dance,” she murmured.

“Well, we all have different talents,” he said as one song melted into another.

“Someone just came out of that room,” she whispered a few minutes later. “Twelve o’clock.” Sirius made a show of kissing her hand so he could lean over and look forward. Yes, there was one of Riddle’s underlings talking to a waiter. The underling went back into the room, locking the door as he went. 

“After this song,” Agent Delacour said. Sirius nodded. The music stopped and everyone applauded. Sirius and Agent Delacour strolled off the dancefloor in the direction of the backroom. 

“We’re going in,” Sirius murmured into his watch.

Read more here.

Read from the beginning.

[sobadbad]

[outromoonyy]

Remus pulling Sirius into the shower after a long night, water cascading down both of them, and washing his hair with careful, massaging fingers. Sirius’s eyes flutter shut, knees weak, because no one’s ever touched him like he’s something precious and filthy at the same time.

[moonyfest]

Title: TBA Prompt: 240 - "Remus is a middle-aged saxophone player at a local pub. Sirius is the bartender. (He doesn’t know Remus once was a famous musician, but retired and withdrawed to a quiet life due to an accident, a tragedy or a heartbreak. He is just drawn by this mysterious man with a melancholy look on his face and wishes to help him feel better.)" Guidebook / Prompt List / Sign Up Want to submit a snippet but missed the email blast, drop us a DM or log a ticket in the server <3

Lupin came on with an alto sax strapped to his front and waved to the crowd. They cheered. 

Sirius’s eyes widened. 

It was the man who’d ordered the Scotch earlier. He stood with his shoulders hunched but straightened up when he acknowledged the crowd with a wave and a smile. He sat down on the chair, folding his too tall frame while making room for his alto saxophone. Lupin adjusted the height on the mic, some of his messy dark gold curls flopping over his forehead. 

“Thank you Dorcas, for that introduction and to the Magic Hat for having me,” he said. 

Then he started to play. 

Sirius didn’t know that much about jazz. What he did know, however, was from the first note he played, Lupin was exceptionally talented. The sounds the sax made were smooth, luxurious and haunting in equal measure. With lesser musicians, Sirius had noticed, you were always aware of the physical effort they were exerting. But Lupin made it look effortless. 

Sirius only really started listening to jazz when he took over The Magic Hat. He often found himself zoning out during the performances but now, he was riveted. He couldn’t look away. 

Lupin played with his eyes closed, like he was having a one on one conversation between himself and his sax. His fingers that had looked gnarled and bent up close moved deftly over the keys as he played. When the song was over, he opened his eyes and almost looked surprised to see that there were other people there, watching. He smiled, inclining his head in thanks as he reached for one of the bottles of water.

“Thank you,” Lupin said in that low raspy voice. “Next one is an homage to Charlie Parker.”

[martianmads]

he’s funny that way.

[darlingofdots]

a selection of photos taken by other people from their first year of marriage:

towards the end of their wedding reception, sun setting, looking rumpled and tired, Ilya kissing Shane's palm while Shane is very seriously talking to Scott Hunter

the two of them with a fan, taken at the dog park, Ilya holding Anya and Shane with one arm around his husband's shoulder and the other trying to prevent Anya from licking the fan's face

Shane Hollander sitting on the Centaurs bench with blood on his face, mouth wide open, Ilya Rozanov gripping his chin and glaring at the gap where Shane's bottom canine used to be

Ilya Rozanov with his fist in the air after a goal, a smear of red in the corner of his mouth

sitting next to each other at team tape review, heads bent together, Ilya's hand on Shane's thigh, Shane's hands sketching out a play in the air

Ilya Rozanov leaning against his car in the airport arrivals line, a coffee in one hand and a forest-green smoothie in the other

Shane Hollander giving his husband the middle finger after losing the shot accuracy competition at ASG by half a second

piggyback racing across the yard with a Pike twin each clinging to their necks

Ilya Rozanov, outraged, with a face full of snow, as his husband doubles over with laughter

wearing identical blank expressions the seventeenth time a journalist asks about their "off-ice chemistry"

Shane Hollander throwing his head back and cackling in a booth at a random dive bar in a random city, Ilya Rozanov grinning into his drink

asleep on the team bus after game 5 of the conference finals, Ilya curled into Shane's shoulder

[2wolf2star]

The Archive of a Full-Time Grocery Stocker by @verminworship

“Please, I was just trying to—” Remus starts again. “—and I just got custody of him not that long ago and we’re fucking trying, alright? Also, he’s deaf, for Christ’s sake. That’s why he’s—” The sound of the world drops away, and Remus is extending both of his hands. On the top of each palm is a hearing aid. The other man’s mouth moves for a few more words, but Remus isn’t sure what he’s saying—he’s never been all that great at lipreading. When his pale-colored eyes stumble over his outstretched hands, his face grows flushed. Finally, mercifully, he shuts up. Or: Grocery store stocker Remus Lupin teaches Sirius Black, a newly-appointed guardian to his deaf godson, how to use American Sign Language. [Explicit | WIP | No Archive Warnings Apply]

Happy Spotlight Saturday! This is where we showcase works from members of the 2Wolf2Star discord server, and this week we're bringing you a fic from VerminWorship! If you enjoy this fic, please leave a kudos and comment, and make sure to check out some of the author's other absolutely incredible fics!

[mxplecxkess]

Thinking about Troy as a dad and he’s so scared he’s going to mess things up and end up being like his dad. Except he hangs his kids art on the walls and on the fridge, and whatever doesn’t fit is kept in an album safe for them to see anytime. He’s there for all of his daughter’s and son’s hockey games. He always fights for his daughter in the face of misogyny and paints his nails with his son. He doesn’t shame his son when he wants to switch sports and is always there when his daughter expresses her fears and anxieties. It’s only years later when Harris gifts him a book filled with pictures of all these memories for Father’s Day that he bursts into tears and realizes he’s giving his kids the childhood he wished he had, and that he is in fact, nothing like Curtis.

[shaneposting]

anyway good morning a crucial tenet of hollanov’s relationship is that they’re equals and they’re the only people in the world who could ever be each other’s equal. they were supposed to stand alone at the top but they’re there together. shane does not view ilya as a lazy useless inconvenience. ilya does not view shane as a nagging killjoy. they are equals and they both think the other is the best thing since sliced bread and they love each other but more importantly they LIKE each other. stop making them not like each other!

[shaneposting]

like ilya spends his entire life being told (by people objectively shittier than he is) that he’s not good enough, he’s lazy, he’s undisciplined, he lets people down. and then he meets the one person who would actually be in a position to assess whether ilya is any of those things, and shane just earnestly looks into his fucking soul and says no, they were wrong. ‘you’re an awesome player to watch’ ‘i don’t know that side of you at all’ ‘this isn’t what this is. me and you’

and it’s such a fucking tragedy that people are trying to push MyIlya back into a setting where he’s constantly being lectured about his inadequacies by the very person that canonically reminds him all the time that those inadequacies were figments of his dad’s imagination

[sliebman10]

Workout

( @hollanovscuckchair, I credit you for this little scene that popped into my head this morning.)

“How many more?” Ilya asked breathlessly, as he finished his set. Shane knew. He knew Shane knew; he hadn’t kept his own rep count since Shane moved in with him.

“That was the last one,” Shane said, helping him ease the weights back onto the rack. He was technically spotting Ilya, but he was really taking the opportunity to ogle his husband in his tight shorts and tank. Ilya looked so good; his skin sunkissed, his sweaty curls wild, the muscles in his arms flexed.

“Good,” Ilya said, getting up from the bench. “Your turn.” He wiped down the bench and Shane took his spot. Ilya could see a few different men watching them. Some covertly, some not so covertly. He knew they were in a place where they weren’t as well known. That was the benefit of vacations, sometimes. Shane never caught the stares, never picked up on the desire aimed at him. It only made Shane hotter, in his opinion, that the only eyes on him that he cared about were Ilya’s.

Shane fiddled with the machine, kicking up the weight with an arched eyebrow at Ilya. “Always trying to beat me, Hollander,” he murmured. “You’ll pay for it later.”

“Oh?” Shane replied, with a smirk. “We’ll see about that.” Ilya could feel even more stares aimed their way, but he ignored them, only focusing on Shane. Shane, who was drenched in sweat so the outline of his pecs showed through his t-shirt. The t-shirt that he refused to take off because he didn’t like his skin sticking to the bench. Those tiny shorts that barely contained him.

He completed his perfectly executed reps. As Ilya was helping him put the weights back, he whispered in Shane’s ear, “Let’s get out of here.”

Shane nodded and they left the gym together to head upstairs to their hotel room. As soon as the door closed, Shane found himself pressed against the wall. Ilya was kissing him fiercely, insistently, filthily. Shane kissed back with equal enthusiasm, his fingers pulling at Ilya’s damp curls. He felt Ilya’s hands slide down until they were below his ass. He knew what Ilya was doing; he instinctively jumped a little so he was pinned between Ilya’s body and the wall. He wrapped his legs around his husband’s middle, drawing a deep groan from Ilya’s chest. “All those other men were looking at you down there,” Ilya murmured between kisses. “But you’re mine.” He punctuated mine with a nip to Shane’s bottom lip.

Shane moaned a little. “Yes, yours. Only yours,” he gasped. Ilya moved away from the wall, carrying Shane to their ridiculously large bed in the middle of their hotel room.

The windows were open, letting in the ocean breeze. Ilya did not care. If anyone was listening, they’d hear their moans of pleasure but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the man beneath him, his liquid brown eyes wide and hazy with lust, in those tiny gym shorts that drove Ilya crazy. “When is our dinner reservation?” he asked, sucking a bruise into Shane’s neck.

“Fuck it,” Shane managed, hooking his ankle around Ilya’s, pushing him closer.

“I think you will be upset if we miss dinner,” Ilya said with a crooked smile. He moved his thigh between Shane’s, giving him some of the pressure he was seeking.

“You want to have a conversation right now?” Shane bit out.

“My needy slut,” Ilya said, his eyes going soft. “You will be upset if we do not keep our reservation.” Shane huffed with impatience, claiming his lips again. They both promptly forgot about dinner.