I do think that Shane gets a Russian language tutor. He sees that Ilya is always having to think, speak, and translate in his second language. And he knows that Ilya is fluent by this point, but if he's serious about forever with Ilya (which he is) he wants Ilya to be able to communicate with his boyfriend in his native language. He also saw how much his grandparents struggled with learning English as adults and how much more expressive and talkative they were when they spoke Japanese at home together.
So he gets a tutor. He meticulously researches her (she's from Moscow, so he'll learn from someone with Ilya's same accent). She's signed to more NDAs than he can count. She has 10 years of experience, she's certified to teach English and Russian, and she has 4.8 stars on MyTutor.
Shane pays her a frankly concerning amount of money to make house calls. Twice weekly, unless he's on the road, she arrives at his apartment to teach him foundational Russian. She gives him workbooks, Russia cartoon recommendation, podcasts for beginners, etc. He tells her he's learning because his boyfriend is Russian and she outlines a course that focuses on domestic language first (as opposed to travel or business). She even teaches him what she calls a 'culture course' with lessons on Russian music, food, and various traditions.
She's only a few years older than Shane and he actually finds himself looking forward to her visits. At this point, she's the only person other than his parents that knows he has a boyfriend.
About 4 months in, Shane finally feels comfortable enough to ask about what he'd been very excited about learning.
"You want me to teach you how to talk dirty to your boyfriend?" Ekaterina raised an eyebrow.
"Um," Shane blushed. Was this a little too far? Was this inappropriate to ask of a tutor? "Yes? If - If that's okay, I mean."
A slow smirk spread over her face. "This will be fun. Fun for me, now. Fun for you, later."
"I made a list," Shane admitted. He wasn't going to back out now, he put a lot of thought into his list. He turned to it in his Russian notebook and handed it to her.
She scanned over it indifferently. "You will use all this in one night?"
"Yeah, probably. Is it too much?"
"It is good you have a Russian man," Ekaterina said. "They have good stamina. Mostly, anyway."
And while it was a little embarrassing for Ekaterina to correct his pronunciation of please let me suck your cock, it helped that she seemed just as comfortable with that as there is tea on the stove.
Though, maybe he shouldn't have learned those phrases at the same time, because Ilya will never, for as long as they live, allow him to forget asking, while down on his knees and with excellent pronunciation, please let me suck your tea.
so yesterday i saw a post that @ragehangover wrote about shane dissociating in the aftermath of tlg and it ripped my heart out and these were my morning pages this morning
There's a pipe bomb in his chest. Everything's fine.
It's ticking quietly. Each second gets closer to something. Everything is fine.
He said this would happen and it did. They hated him, they ostracized him, they pushed him out. He was a faggot, a queer, a fairy, a backstabbing whore. He was no longer their brother, friend, captain. Had he ever been those things? It doesnt matter though, everything is fine.
There was an expose. His career was picked apart and investigated. Each game one by one. He'd tripped. He wears blades to sprint on the world's most famously slippery surface. He slipped. Now everyone questions his integrity. It was an accident, but the stain will linger like blood on a white shirt. Bleach will get it out. It's fine. Who cares about the memory.
Who cares that one mistake has him shipped off to a team that just two seasons ago was considered as bad as getting shipped down to the farm team. He sent Ilya here. This is karma. They're good now. They've beat the Metros. Everything is fine.
He was stubborn. He was scared. He ignored his fiancé. He was right. He is nothing now. Not captain, not the A, not the star, not first line. What does it matter? Everything is fine.
Shane smiles as the bomb in his chest ticks and ticks and ticks. He didn't set it. Does anyone know when it will go off? He smiles, he eats, he dances. Who cares? Another piece, more pasta, more carbs, more fat, more sweets. The world is out of control, he hasn't been able to grab it in too long. Who cares if he's fat, out of shape, whatever. He's just some guy now. Second pick center on a line with some rookies, he's 30 and retirement whispers have started.
He deserves this, the bomb ticks.
Hockey was all he wanted. Now he has everything. Isn't it great? What did it cost, really? What is everything he worked for, bled for, sacrificed for, really? No, really, what is it?
Maybe Shane Hollander was always nothing, was always a league joke, and he just didn't know. The Metros token minority, grabbed second, good enough. He was always good enough. A shiny thing they could point to when the allegations started to take flight. They needed diversity. They needed a shield. He could be good enough, something they could make work. He was no Gretzky, no Crosby, no Rozanov, but he was fine. Fine enough to make captain when the last one retired, leaving his going away party with a crack about traveling to Taiwan to see the ladyboys. A joke that had leaked to the press. It had been a dig at him anyway. But what did it matter when he got the C.
He gets paid to play hockey, so he plays hockey. He plays with his husband. How lucky is he, to get everything anyone could ever want? He was perfect, so fucking perfect, at every presser and game and lockerroom speech. He gave interviews and shook hands and smiled at galas. He didn't start fights with slurs, called them out when he heard them. He played good, clean, perfect hockey. And now he gets to sit and watch his husband lead. Isn't it wonderful?
Isn't it great to be on this island of misfit fucking toys. All shepherded here together for one reason or another. Isn't it great to have his cubby between Ilya and his husband's new best friend. A man who laughed when Dallas Kent called him a DEI hire who sucked his way onto the first line, sits beside him every day as Shane laces his skates. That man smiles with his husband and talks about double dates.
Someone spit on Shane last week. He gets DM's of people burning his jersey, sometimes his face is attached to them. He packed up his place in Montréal and his dishes arrived to Ottawa broken.
Everything is fine, they're millionaires. Ilya can buy new plates. They don't need new plates. Accidents happen. Shane tripped on the ice and now he makes 3 million less than he did last year. Can you put a price on happiness?
He lines up for the face off. Some twenty year old asks if he's so used to being Rozanov's bottom bitch he can't stay on his feet. He snaps. The puck is away, he snaps the puck away to Luca. But it doesn’t matter when he snaps and his gloves are on the ice. The bomb in his chest ticks and ticks and ticks. Chouinard has to drag him off of the ground, off the kid. He sits in the box as the time ticks away. Everything is fine.
His penalty minutes go up. His goals and assists go down. The pipe bomb in his chest ticks and ticks and ticks. The boom will come, he thinks, but not yet.
Shane? Ilya checks in, he's always been so good at that. Shane left him to drown in his misery in Ottawa but Ilya always checks. He downs his second shot and smiles at his husband, everything is fine.
Shane? His mother blinks as he signs his name, blindly, on a dotted line she clearly hadn't expected him to. It's fine. The guys used to accuse him of whoring himself out for these shoots all the time. Now everyone thinks he's some slut so why shouldn't he try to make up the money he's lost. He found this deal, everything is fine.
Shane? His father hesitates over a box of zucchini pasta. He doesn't need that. He'll eat what everyone else is eating, it's fine. He can stop being so fussy. The team dietician is fine with it with Ilya. They're on the same team. Just make the pasta.
The muscles in his cheeks have drawn taut and achy. He smiles like a corpse, but he smiles. The world around his is blurry and unfocused when he stares out at it. He drifts, each day floating by just like the last one. Unrecognizable from the one before or the one to come. That's normal, that's fine, that's routine, that's life.
“Why did the bright queen believe essek so easily how did he get away with so much shit before he was caught?” Buddy you would not believe what you can get away with if you’re Quiet and Get Good Grades
Me meeting a stranger at a party: yeah and that 14 year-old girl has to do neurosurgery on her alien friend because otherwise he's dead, it's not even the only thing they deal with at that moment either
for as much as ilya says he doesn't get homesick, the first time he comes home from playing chess in the park with the group of older russian men he found on facebook, he does have to lie with his head in shane's lap for over an hour before calling his brother for the first time in 3 years.
he doesn't expect alexei to answer, but he does and the line crackles with his silence. it grows until it prickles under ilya's skin and he blurts, "do you remember the smell of the larches at sokolniki park in the summer?"
three years and a random question instead of a greeting. instead of an apology. instead of anything.
more silence and ilya supposes he deserves it. or, alexei thinks he does at least, and he's not sure why he bothered to pick up the phone in the first place.
"i remember deda dima telling us not to climb them in case we got sap on our clothes," alexei says eventually, and his voice is still heavy with exhaustion.
"i didn't know if it was real or . . . or if it was something i made up."
okay I can’t keep it in anymore. Shane may be autistic, but he simply Would Not have a problem with things being too bright or loud. This boy plays HOCKEY, he is a SENSORY SEEKER, there is NO SUCH THING AS TOO BRIGHT AND LOUD. In my HEART OF HEARTS I know that this man used to stand in the middle of arcades as a child and soak in all of the different sounds and lights and flashy bits and finally feel like he’s getting enough sensation to settle into his own skin. He sleeps under 2 weighted blankets and preferably also another giant 250lb hockey player. He’s not having a problem with too much noise and stimulation. He plays recorded crowd noises from other sports games to focus on stuff. He’s fine sitting in wet clothes for an hour if that’s how long it takes to finish sexting before he gets changed. He’s a SENSORY SEEKER. LET HIM SEEK.
It is key to my personal #myshane that he does not have an autism diagnosis. As a kid he was maybe brought to a specialist, and they looked at him and diagnosed him with Rambunctious Little Boy, because it was the 90s and he wasn't experiencing any significant delays! He was just throwing himself in puddles constantly, and he never stopped wiggling, and his favorite game was Toddler Rave Chamber, in which he shut himself in the bathroom and flickered the lights off and on for as long as it took for his parents to find and stop him.
Wrapping small child Shane in heavy, sweaty hockey gear was an unexpected lifeline in the ongoing battle he's been waging against his body. Gear is heavy. It pressed him into himself. Any sweaty feeling was a bonus, because wet fabric against skin is A Distinct Feeling and that feeling also helped him get the minimum sensory input needed to function effectively. Underarmor would also be a favorite.
(For context: my brother is an autistic sensory seeker. Aside from the ongoing sensory stuff he has very low support needs at this point in his life. I am pulling from Life Experience living with him, I am not spouting autism stereotypes out my ass)
I don't know if monkey bars were a playground staple for Canadian kids in the 90s, but the proprioceptive input from them is GREAT for baby Shane. He's too socially aware to do any visible repetitive motion stims, but sports and playground equipment that involve flinging himself around in space are the best. If there's a convenient puddle on that playground, you'd better believe be is sticking his feet in it. Wet shoes are heavy and heavy things on his body Feel Nice.
The one other sensory thing that I believe in my heart he is doing (and he is NOT growing out of) is chewing. The hoodie-string-sexting shot is foundational for me. He's bitten through a dozen pens. He's chewing off his fingernails. If he had long enough hair, you'd better believe it would be in his mouth. He's chomping on his mouthguard like it's a chew toy. Somewhere in the depths of his juniors teammate's myspace page is a pic of him straight up biting a beer can in half. It's played off as a joke, but if something looks like a nice texture it WILL go in his mouth. It's a matter of when, not if. He’s a biter because Oral Sensoru Input Very Good, and he will never be stopped.
Shane getting criticized for not using pride tape and he’s caught on a mic later that week saying I didn’t realize it wasn’t the sucking dick that made me gay but the rainbow . Which is how he comes out.
I know I've talked about Ilya being frustrated he can't brag about pulling Shane but you know who else would be frustrated about not being able to brag? Yuna Hollander would be so frustrated that she basically has the two best hockey players in the world in her family and she can't even bring up that now she has TWO sons in the mlh and oh what is your son up to Sharon? Hmm that sounds rough that you have to send him money every month. She's in meetings, maybe there are other players agents and managers and they try to bond by putting down Rozanov and she wants to go "your client couldn't even touch Ilya's points per game. Don't fucking talk about one of my boys." and she's so pissed off by the interaction she gets that player removed from the brand deal.
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