Fae

Ilya is always calling Shane My_____. My Shane. My love. My tomato. My *insert random vocabulary word here*

Ilya is constantly expressing subtle ownership over Shane.

And with the translation game, he's randomly and regularly putting Shane in situations where Shane completes a task for him and receives praise (correct translation) or gentle degradation (You should study more, not trying very hard) <--- That might be a fanfic thing I lowkey cant remember.

Their very Language is subtle tpe!!!!!!

And sure lots of people use those terms of endearment and maybe everyone doesnt mean them that way.

But, MyShane and MyIlya? 100,000,000% they mean them that way.

Shane is Ilya's. (Ilya's to do what he wishes to. Ilya's to control)

This is the post that sticks with me, when I think about how drug campaigns should be run. This is the post that I remember, that haunted me, because it was honest, it was raw in a way “DARE” and other such things never managed. 

Telling a Kid ‘dont do drugs’ is all well and good, and sometimes it may work, done a certain way….but this. 

This is the post I remember, even years later, the one that makes me stop and shudder.  Ifuxdalion was right. This was more haunting to read then any anti drug campaign I’ve ever been subjected to in school as a kid. 

Ilya opened his eyes, blinking in confusion. He and Shane must have fallen asleep while they were watching…something. It was still snowing heavily outside; they were lucky they made it back early that morning before all of the flights were cancelled. With the season in full swing, it had been a string of road trips recently. They were grateful for this short respite. He didn’t move, he was so warm and comfortable lying there against his sleeping Shane. Shane, who was so snugly in his sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and his plaid pajama pants. His long lashes skimmed his cheeks, his full lips were parted. His freckles were lighter now in the winter but they were still there, spread like constellations over his cheeks.  

Unable to help himself, Ilya pressed a soft kiss to his jaw and then another and another. There were never enough kisses. He could spend his life kissing Shane. Shane sighed a little, turning his head back as if looking for Ilya. Ilya moved to his lips, kissing him until he kissed back, his hand coming up to thread through Ilya’s curls. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you, lyubimiy,” Ilya said, running his fingers over Shane’s cheek. 

He smiled softly, still sleepy. “It’s ok,” he said, nudging Ilya closer, kissing him again, slow and sweet. 

Shane reached for the throw blanket on the back of the couch. They stopped kissing long enough to tuck themselves in, cocooned in each others’ warmth under the blanket. Their lips found each other, never able to stay apart. 

Word count: 260

at the bar where shane meets rose, and he tries to order a ginger ale, and the bartender is surprised

not even judgmental! just surprised. he even says they do have it, and i think goes to grab some for shane.

but his little moment of surprise makes shane remember that you're not supposed to order ginger ale at a bar, that that's weird, and he doesn't really understand why that is

he knows that being weird is not allowed, though. so he asks for a beer, whatever beer, because he knows that's the normalest thing he could possibly do, that's what Men Like To Drink.

it's just such a small detail. and we see it happen more than once to shane. it happens also with the waiter at the restaurant when he's having lunch with his parents who's visibly surprised and a little snobby when he asks for a ginger ale and offers sparkling water instead. and again shane just says it's fine.

everywhere shane goes, he gets these little signals that the things that he wants aren't allowed because they're not normal. and it's obvious that he doesn't understand why, which makes sense because there's no fucking logic to why it's okay to order a coke but not a ginger ale. but he's learned to deal with it by just accepting that he must have missed something, he must have done something wrong, and he should just ignore what he wants, maybe decide he doesn't want it at all, so that no one knows that he's breaking the rule of normal even though the rule of normal is arbitrary and stupid and often applies to things that matter as little as what kind of drink you want to order at a bar. even when the signal is just a little bit of surprise from some guy behind a bar. even when it's about a fucking ginger ale.

“It’s never stopped me from contributing to this team.”

Contributing. Those deadweight fucks. Those vicious, pig-headed, sluggish morons were contributing — Shane was carrying.

He'd carried the Montreal Metros out of mediocrity and single-handedly gotten them three fucking Stanleys. He’d borne that team like a goddamn cross on his back for twelve fucking years, without him they would be a ragtag group of ‘nobody-gives-a-fucks’, and this was the thanks he got? 

OR