E

[hollanoveau]

okay but an occult horror angle for ottawa could be so fucking cunt. it starts slow, bc ilya is too focused on the fact that he and shane live closer now and they can see each other more often, and every time the team meets up out at bood’s place he skips town or stays home with shane. but one night shanes halfway across the continent on a roadie, and he doesn’t want ilya to alienate himself from his new team, so he goes.

and it’s normal, at first. it’s a dinner party. bood’s grilling. the rookies are gaming. music is playing. harris has brought a cask of his sisters’ cider. everyone’s having a good time. ilya gets a drink and settles in around the fire pit. he fixes himself a plate.

and his ears gradually start to ring.

(I GOT CARRIED AWAY LMFAO CW FOR GORE UNDER THE CUT)

he thinks it’s nothing, at first. but then he starts seeing things out of the corner of his eye. shadow figures. horns behind his teammates heads. the distant sound of hooves clicking on wood.

and then dykstra shows up in a bloody gillie suit, face painted with camo and gore, a ten-point buck slung onto his back that he drags bleeding through the snow. and everyone is cheering and rushing out to help him, and ilya definitely isn’t seeing things when he watches them tear it apart bare-handed. the snow turns black under the moonless sky. steam rises and dies in the frozen night.

there’s something in the cider. there’s something in the meat.

there’s something in the water in ottawa.

and then he’s attending every barbecue. shane is getting concerned, because they barely see each other anymore. they argue. they fight. when he shoves ilya, he doesn’t budge. when ilya shoves back, he nearly puts shane through a wall. his eyes, shane swears, go solid black for an instant. he doesn’t recognize him anymore.

the next time ottawa plays montreal, something terrible happens on the ice. hockey is a violent sport, after all. everyone flying around with knives strapped to their feet. it’s only a matter of time before someone gets hurt. before something gets sliced off.

shane won’t ever get the image of all the blood soaking the ice in the neutral zone out of his head. nor the way ilya stared at it and smiled.

there’s something in the water in ottawa.

[hollanoveau]

@commanderbabyboy EXACTLY. YOU SEE IT. YOU GET IT.

and is that thing in the water really so evil if it sheds light on how quickly shanes team turned their backs on him? is it really so terrifying when it shows him what he could have instead of their lukewarm-at-best tolerance?

shane signs with ottawa. he looks good in black and bloodred.

he gets his revenge on those who wanted him smaller. on those who rode to greatness on his shoulders and them cast him aside. when their blood spatters his face, it’s warm, like a lovers embrace. and his lover is there, holding the knife, welcoming him home.

there’s something in the water in ottawa, and shane has finally accepted his fate and drowns.

[stupidestasshole]

THE TRUTH: art is inherently manipulative and artists are wicked evildoers who like to power trip off of controlling other people's emotions

[spuddlymuffin]

pretty sure both our boys thought they had unrequited crushes for a loooooong time before Real Words were exchanged

Like, every sports car was making Shane wince.

Ginger ale everywhere was causing Ilya to do a deep inhale.

Anything Russian and Shane would say ‘Fuck’ under his breath.

Every time someone said something was boring Ilya would smile.

Every time there were lilies, any weird diet at all, Coca Cola, frogs, moles, maple leaves, et cetera, et cetera.

Not to mention their various ads.

And our boys were not subtle AT ALL

[hollanovelist]

Connie refuses to call him Big Hud. He’s only been working there a few weeks when he notices that she rolls her eyes whenever anyone calls him that. He even overhears her once in the break room saying to someone, maybe François, “That is not a name for a grown man,” and maybe it hurts his feelings a little because, like, she obviously doesn’t take him seriously. And he gets it, she has her shit together and she runs such a tight ship and, OK, it is kind of a dumb nickname. But he can’t help that everyone calls him that. He doesn't mind, exactly, being Big Hud, but he does find it sort of embarrassing that he’s heard more than one coworker whispering about whether he’s really that big. He doesn’t want to seem like a killjoy about it, so it’s cool, he’s cool. He just wishes it didn’t make him seem like such a joke to Connie.

But as time goes on, he starts to feel like maybe she's not actually annoyed at him, but on his behalf? It’s probably just his crush on her that's making him see things that aren’t there, but it feels pointed, her refusal to treat him like a stupid frat bro like everybody else does. “Whaddup, Big Huddy Dubs!” one of the other sales guys shouts across the room, interrupting Connie while she’s explaining something to him about open enrollment. “Hudson,” she says briskly, and, oh, god, he's blushing, he can feel it all the way down to his chest, “maybe we should continue this conversation in my office.” So maybe he has kind of a thing for the way she says his name. It's just that her voice has this little edge to it, exasperated, maybe, but also a little bit fond, he thinks. He hopes. Like maybe he deserves to be seen as more than Big Hud.

After they start dating he can’t get enough of it—Connie gasping his name when his hand slips down between her legs, Connie sighing his name in fond irritation at his taste in music, Connie calling to him from the kitchen to ask if he wants more ice cream while she's up. Sometimes he keeps a count of how many times she says it before he makes her come. It's never enough. He can't get over how his name sounds in her mouth--teasing, shy, desperate, he wants it any way he can get it. He really, definitely, has a thing about it. Eventually, he has to beg her not to say his name like that at work because it gets him so hot and someone is going to notice one of these days, but she just looks at him with those big, beautiful eyes of hers and says, "Like what, Hudson?"

[spuddlymuffin]

Do you think Ilya ever advocated for lovers? Like, after they got back to the cottage after the whole meeting-the-parents situation, Ilya was basking in the glow of his new family and trying to get Shane in on the joy.

"Hollander, what is wrong with lovers?"

"What, Rozanov?"

"The word. Lovers. Is good word, no?" He stroked Shane's ear, and Shane shivered.

"I mean, it's not really about the word, Ilya." Shane started to lose the thread as he leaned into Ilya's hand.

"You are not proud to be my lover? You do not love me?" Ilya roughly grabbed the hairs on the back of his head. "You do not want me to fuck you?"

Shane gasped at the touch as he closed his eyes. "What? No."

"Mmmm. I do not know if I believe you." Ilya's touch turned sweet as he gently swirled his fingers through Shane's hair and reached his other hand up to cradle Shane's head. Shane's mouth dropped open a little as he got lost in the sensation. "Focus, Hollander."

Shane blinked his eyes open, tears forming. "I..."

"What, you do not want to be my lover?" Ilya dragged his teeth along Shane's jaw.

"Ilya, I can't focus with you doing that."

Ilya leaned back, grinning like a loon.

"It's... We can be..." Shane swallowed thickly. "We're lovers, okay? We are. It's just..."

Ilya trailed his hands from Shane's head and down his arms to grasp his hands. "Just what, Shane?"

"I don't feel like my parents should have that. Like, it's not their word, you know?" Shane huffed, his face genuine. "Th-that's just for us, k?"

Ilya's heart did a little flippy flop in his chest. "Okay, Hollander. Just for us."

[spuddlymuffin]

Okay, can we think about Connie from Admin, but on her weekend shit?

It was the first full weekend they spent together. Friday night and Saturday were spent marathon fucking and resting and ordering food and playing games and fucking again. At some point on Saturday, BigHud confessed his love, despite how early on it was in their relationship. His voice was throaty, thick with emotion he could barely contain. And Connie, with tears in her eyes, held his face and whispered to him that she loved him back.

They woke up in each others arms on Sunday. After they ate each other out, she confessed that Sundays were her chore days and he could go home if he wanted to. Sunday was pretty boring for Connie.

And no, no, he doesn’t mind staying. He doesn’t mind at all. He’d be more than happy to help. Or stay out of her way. Whatever she wants. He just wants to spend more time with her. Secretly, but not so secretly, he’s stoked on the domesticity of it all.

So, she puts on her Sunday chores clothes.

Like, I’m talking little shorty shorts with the pockets visible beneath the ragged cut hem, the bottom of her ass cheeks visible. Cut up, bleach-stained Shania Twain tee, abdomen visible, big juicy arms out and veins popping.

So, they made breakfast together while she meal prepped. And Big Hud snuck little kissies and trailed his hands all over her body. He spoke to her in a soft voice as he asked her where she kept her cleaning supplies and where he should start.

And, after finishing the inside chores, she was in the garden, curls wild and unkempt, harvesting sage and pulling weeds. She grinned in the sunshine and closed her eyes as she soaked in the warmth.

And Bighud was sitting on the porch, eyes half lidded like please, baby, let me worship you. Lemme taste the sun on your skin. I can’t bear it anymore. I’m on my hands and knees for you. I want to live in your skin. What I wouldn’t do for you.

He’d been keeping a semi at bay since she let him mop the kitchen.

And she just laughed, blue eyes sparkling, and asked him sweetly to go get the mulch from the shed, please. She watched him eagerly jump up as she knelt in front of the rosemary and realized she hadn’t thought about work or their age difference all weekend. He had never once made her feel uncomfortable in her body. She hadn’t thought about her ex or any of the things that sometimes kept her up at night. She had just thoroughly enjoyed her time with this sweet boy she’d had the fortune to meet.

When he returned with two big bags of mulch over his shoulder, she thanked him. And she told him all the things she liked about him, including all the beautiful ways he made her feel. And his eyes filled with tears and he sat on the mulch, holding her face in his hands, swiping away the dirt on her chin.

Hudson, she said, and she saved up the times when she said his full name because he liked it so much. Hudson, I love that you are always willing to play with me, and I love your sweetness, and your beautiful brain, and I love the way you love me.

And then she started singing Shania Twain and he tackled her into the meadow, raining kisses and praises and love confessions over her.

Finally, in the late afternoon, they gathered some noshes and laid a blankie out by the big oak at the back of the garden for a picnic. They cheersed beers and BigHud watched her with wet, brown orbs from underneath his long lashies as she popped a grape in her mouth and surveyed the garden she’d worked so hard on, buzzing with life.

Can I kiss you? he blurted, unable to contain himself.

She smiled big and laughed over the sound of the windchimes. Of course you can kiss me, baby. Come here.

And he kissed her mouth and then kissed the sweat from her skin. And he checked to make sure none of the neighbors could see and then he fucked into her slow and missionary. He whispered, Oh, Connie, while she whispered his full name, Hudson. He tried to kiss her, but he could barely keep his body up, he was so fuck drunk. And so he hovered just above her mouth as they breathed into one another, each feeling downright zooted to the moon.

BigHud slapped himself against her as she ground herself up to him, chasing the sensation.

He looked down at her, his face shocked and almost unbelieving, unable to look away. And she looked back up at him, her brows knitted together with emotion, starry blue eyes shining. Soft breaths punched out of her with every thrust.

They came together, breathing sweet, soft moans into each other. BigHud collapsed onto her and he knew she could take his weight. They kissed each other hungrily, breathlessly. And they lay napping under the oak tree, not worried about time, or mess, or anything other than their hands on each other, until the sun was low in the sky.

Can I stay? he asked later, as they made the bed together. We can carpool tomorrow?

Please, Connie nodded. I would love that.

And that’s how Big Hud ends up moving in with Connie from admin.

[spuddlymuffin]

Connie from admin was crying sweet 90’s rom-com tears over a glass of wine post-divorce. She clutched her blankie tighter as she sat on her front porch and wished on a shooting star for a big, kind, sensitive man who just wanted her for her. She let herself conjure up an image in her mind, dreaming of big, open eyes that crinkled with laughter. Playful, deep wells.

Little did she know she practical magicked herself her perfect man.

On bighud’s first day, she was negotiating with the copy machine when he got the intro tour. Boss Tierney introduced them and they grasped hands. Tierney was talking about something, but neither one of them could hear a thing. Their hands were still clasped when Tierney was like “Ooookay, I guess we can move on.”

And they both blushed as their arms dropped.

“Welcome to Big Business, Inc.” Connie called softly as they moved on with the tour, ignoring the urge to go after him.

But she couldn’t get him out of her head. It was like someone built the dream man from her wish.

Bighud’s first week included too many chance encounters to be coincidental. The age difference nagged at Connie, though, and she worked to avoid anything more than idle flirtation.

Still, she indulged every silly request and dutifully troubleshot the finicky copy machine for him every time.

And, soon, they were having lunch together every day, swapping gym advice and more idle flirtation.

Bighud had started to find ways to make physical contact. Just a brush of fingers here and there, or the occasional foot nudge. Every time, Connie’s breath could catch in her throat and Bighud’s eyes would darken.

In the copy room on Friday, Connie was standing at the counter stapling when Bighud sauntered in. This time, he leaned against the counter, his hip pressed lightly against hers.

She knew she should pull away and put distance between them. But the livelaughlove in her, the part that yearned for the boy she’d dreamed up, chose to ignore sense and lean in.

She angled her body toward him and pressed her hip into his. She raised her eyes to his as he licked his plump lips, eyes shining.

“You’re looking beautiful as always, Connie.” Bighud said, his voice low.

She didn’t trust herself to speak, but released a little involuntary breath.

“What are you doing after work?” Big Hud’s voice was nervous, but his warm thigh pressed into hers.

Connie cleared her throat. “The girls sometimes get drinks downstairs.”

Bighud’s eyebrows furrowed as he glanced down to Connie’s lips.

“But.” Connie breathed and Bighud’s eyes snapped back to hers. Connie smiled her sweetest smile. “I’m sure the girls wouldn’t mind the company of a nice, young stud like you.”

Bighud grinned, his eyes dancing. “It’s a date, then.”

And, suddenly, the bar was closing. Connie and Bighud had talked the night away, not noticing when the girls had left or that the bartenders were cleaning up around them.

He walked her to her car and asked her to dinner tomorrow night. She captured his mouth in a kiss, which he enthusiastically returned, pressing her firmly into the door. His hands cradled her head as he slipped his tongue between her lips and she gasped, trailing her fingers up his arms. They broke panting before they whispered goodnight.

Bighud waited for her to pull away, waving. Both of them were still shaking despite the warm night.

Later that night, Connie sat on her front porch with a cup of tea and thanked her lucky stars.

[spuddlymuffin]

can you imagine the years of fucking beautiful, freckled shane every once in a blue moon? the yearning? and in between their sexcapades, every time ilya closes his eyes, it’s shane’s little wetties blinking up at him??? wet little cow eyes haunting? freckles underneath?????

[lavenderprose]

In my mind, Shane's username is ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer because there is another Shane Hollander who is a forensic anthropologist out of UC Berkeley who got the username ShaneHollander first. Shane's username was originally just ShaneHollander24 but that didn't differentiate between them enough and Shane was waking up once or twice a month to DMs like "Hey Shane my name is CSI Sanders with the Las Vegas crime lab we wanted to get your opinion on this scene in Henderson NV, hope you don't mind got your info from your office out in SF they said this was the best way to contact you" and several dozen images of what is clearly a violently murdered skeleton.

Shane Hollander the anthropologist has a standing invitation to any of the Metros games against the Mission and donates generously to the Irina Foundation every year. Also, he had to deactivate his professional accounts for a few days in 2021. Shane and Ilya sent him an edible arrangement. Ilya wrote "Sorry bone man :(" on the card when Shane wasn't looking.

[spuddlymuffin]

ilya fully talks to inanimate objects.

at first, shane doesn’t clock it cuz its all in russian. but as he starts to learn, he’s just like

“??????

did you just thank the toaster?” shane’s voice cracks a bit

and ilya does a little blushy blush, but passes it off all, “yes, hollander. mr. toaster works very hard for us. is the least i can do.”

and shane finds him doing it all over the place.

“Mr. Medicine, I am going to take you again, but I don’t know if you are working hard enough. I am going to tell the nice psychiatrist all about you. Better watch out. She might replace you.”

“Mmmmmmm, Shane will like you very much.” To the new plug he just unboxed.

But Shane does sometimes have to intervene. “Please don’t conspire with the blender. I really need the blender to work for me, Rozanov.”

“No, Hollander. Ms. Blender says you are working her too hard and that you should eat the eggs I made you.”

[byoldervine]

Fanfic is a great way to practice self-indulgence while writing. It doesn’t even have to be good, it just exists purely for your pleasure, be a little freak about it. Worry about quality and what other people think when it comes to works you intend to publish in a formal setting