a dumbass with stupid issues but you're here anyway | i'm lo or blank | i use it/he/she pls don't use they | op is a dream stan but it's okay i support my boy in his hobbies | my gender is none of my business actually
TAGS: art is #my art, writing is #my snippets, #my aus, #my writing, and occasionally #my wips. personal tag (as well as most og posts) is #lo's stuff. Disco Inquisition / the eye sees not itself (my disco elysium style dragon age fic) is tagged as #disco inquisition. i post/reblog a log of fic recs (mostly heated rivalry) under #fic recs, because i love fic and i think everyone should read the things i like. i'm an unbiased source, you see.
i'm on ao3! go check it out if you like some of my writing! i have. insanities.
i have another blog, @tljsnarutoblog, where i mainly just post as tianlang-jun from my svsss sci-fi fic re: write. there's a sequel with him in mind so keep an eye on that if you want! however it's... mostly naruto. and occassional Vibes.
i'm in so many fandoms that at this point it's easier to assume i'm on it. don't worry about it. also, the queue button is alive and well, i'm just really bad at tagging queue posts, so best of luck figuring out when i'm online.
if you come onto my post to tell me i've gotten a detail from a novel or whatever wrong i am entitled to both financial compensation and a pound of flesh from you. you'd think this would be obvious but some people insist on continually aggravating me. be warned. i'll rip that chunk out myself with my teeth.
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lot of terfs have been reblogging this so I may as well publicly state that the woman on the right is modeled with permission after my transfemme friend. if you relate to it as strongly as many of you claim in the tags I urge you to reflect upon that with empathy and compassion about the depth of experiences you truly do share with trans women.
otherwise fuck off I guess. my art is not fuel for your hatred.
summary: shane decides to use his fairy magic to become human sized, with mixed results.
words: 3,593
rating: explicit
NOTE: so this STARTED as a shanepussy saturday ficlet/stream of consciousness thing and instead turned into something else entirely. there's probably not enough shanepussy, and there's certainly not very much smut, my apologies. it's definitely more of a fluffy (and a lil bit angsty) kinda thing but i still really like how it turned out and had fun exploring this au a little more. if you like fairy!shane i think you'll enjoy it regardless!! it's also the first Real fic i'm posting on ao3 in this fandom 🫠 which is a little intimidating but fuck it we ball!
i REFUSE to believe that during the secret relationship era shane and ilya didn’t take photos together…digital cameras exist and they are millionaires!!!! and i knowwww ilya loves a dirty polaroid…i just know!!
No I agreeeeeeee I think the only way Shane would have been okay with it is if they were Polaroids that he could look away safely, know where they are and keep them safe under lock and key. They each have their own fancy lock boxes that Shane bought them, keys safely stored away. They have a handful of Polaroid that are just for them. It is a bit over the top- Shane knows but this is the most precious thing to him he can’t risk it.
The photos include:
Shane on his knees, face planted into Ilya’s crotch, Ilya’s hand cradling the back of his head
Shane laid on the bed, eyes closed, face blissed out with his face covered in Ilya’s cum, Ilya’s thumb playing with his lips
Shane on his knees, Ilya’s hand gripping his waist
Ilya naked and flexing with a big stupid grin
Ilya between Shane’s legs, Shane’s thighs over his shoulders, only his curls visible
Shanes ass, Ilya’s big hand gripping one cheek, able to see a hint of his hole, dripping out cum and puffy
Ilyas chest, covered in cum
Shane’s chest, covered in cum
Blurry photo of Shane sat across Ilya’s lap, mid riding him, cock hard and dripping against his tummy
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Ilya is so lucky that Shane proposed. Ilya would have been a nervous fucking wreck for the entire day beforehand. Wake up in the morning. Look in the mirror. Today's the day. Sob. Breathe. Okay I'm good! Turn around and Shane's hair is all in his face, still asleep on Ilya's pillow. I am NOT good. Cold shower. Breakfast that Ilya does not eat. Morning jog wherein Ilya runs like someone is chasing him. Lunch that Ilya does not eat. Drive out to the cottage. Make Shane pull over because Ilya needs to dry heave on the side of the road. "Baby we don't have to drive out today if you're not feeling well." "NO WE HAVE TO." Get to the cottage. Immediately send Shane on some kind of extended fool's errand. Shane wants to stay because Ilya is SHAKING and he is so worried. "No my love I'm fine it's just the breeze off the lake haha." It's thirty fuckig degrees Celsius. Shane finally gtfo's. Yuna, David, Rose FUCKING Landry all descend to help Ilya set up. Well. Ilya is supposed to be helping but he is standing on the deck fully dissociating. Yuna brings him tea. "Are you going to throw up the tea?" "Yes probably." Yuna takes away the tea. 800 electronic tea lights on the deck. In a parallel Ilya has no way of understanding, he both puts on and takes off a suit. Yuna fixes his curls into the hockey boy quasi-mullet that magnetizes Shane's fingers to Ilya's hair and says, "Oh, you're so handsome!" Ilya cries big fat tears. David tells a story about how his proposal to Yuna almost didn't happen because David went to the hospital for heart palpitations that morning. Thank You David That Does Not Help Even Remotely. Ilya slav squats on the lawn for twenty minutes. Shane's car pulls up in the driveway and everyone hides while Ilya vibrates in the entryway. Shane has no less than thirty grocery bags hanging from his arms, still complaining about why the grocery service cancelled their delivery last minute. Ilya leads Shane and all thirty of his grocery bags onto the deck. Shane is doing his favorite thing (bitching) and his second favorite thing (Follow Ilya) so he doesn't notice his own mother tiptoing behind him collecting the grocery bags he drops like breadcrumbs. There is an Oscar-winning actress hiding under his sofa and Shane does not notice because Ilya takes him on the deck and drops to his knees and Shane is like, "Haha, right now?" and then he sees that Ilya has a look on his face like he's just been told the sun is never coming up again and he has his hands on Shane's knees and he is saying, "Shane. Please?" and Shane puts his hands on his head and says "Oh my God baby what's happening to you" as Ilya melts and melts and then from the depths of the cottage someone who sounds a lot like Shane's very own father is whispering "The ring the ring" and when he looks back down Ilya is fumbling a ring box out of his pocket. The first picture of their proposal is Shane glaring into the middle distance with a hand cradling Ilya's curls like a baby while Ilya ugly sobs into his knee.
Imagine you're some little closeted rookie and they're billeting you with your new team captain and his husband and you're worried that there's something obvious about you cause why else would they stick you with the gay ones. But then you get there and realize you have another problem because arguably two of the best and hottest hockey players are just always shirtless and always kissing each other and always having loud sex and I forgot where I was going with this post but essentially its some poor little closeted rookie's sexual chernobyl.
Heartrate challenge on love island and shane’s is him just walking in boxers and ilya’s heart rate makes the producers send over the medical crew and ilya is brushing them off like DON’T INTERRUPT SHANE…
also its important to me that shane Knew he was gay the whole time, it was this Thing itches in the back of his brain, something he couldn't look at head on or really think about. bc admitting it was like giving up. but its not that he didn't Know. shane hollander didn't have to have rose tell him hes gay for him to be like "oh huh really i hadn't noticed" bc he Knew. and you can see it so clearly on his face in that scene how he knew. how thinking about it scares him, how Really looking at this part of himself feels impossible. but again shanes not just completely unselfaware, he knows this about himself he just Hopes he can make it work. that it doesnt really matter. he likes rose Enough, he likes girls Enough, it can be Enough
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not everything in a story has to or should be "realistic" but in my opinion there's a level of illusion that should be maintained, and I think that's the actual problem that many people try to pinpoint with the "unrealistic" criticism. Dialogue shouldn't be written like an actual transcript of human speech, but should contribute to the illusion of a real person speaking. A character is a tool of the story, not a narrative, but we're trying to maintain the illusion that they are a person. Worldbuilding should exist to serve the story, not to be a perfect simulacrum of how every aspect of nature/society etc. would actually play out for real. But there should be the illusion that it could be real, that organizations and systems would operate in such a way, that people might behave in such a way.
in conclusion: "Is this realistic?" <<wrong question. "Does this serve the illusion or disrupt it?" <<now we're talking
send me a word/phrase to practice my smut writing lmao - this turned into sugar au as predicted im so sorry anon…..
“Have you ever been?” Shane asks, the faux-nonchalance that Ilya is becoming so familiar with. “Vegas, I mean?”
Something clicks, when he says it; the pieces of the puzzle that make up Shane Hollander finally coming together. He’s been acting strange all morning, stranger than usual, and Ilya was just on the verge of worried. But it makes sense, now. Ilya looks up from his laptop, narrowing his eyes at him.
“Yes, is very easy to go from Canada to US for a vacation. On a Russian student visa. To gamble the zero money I have.”
Shane nods, considering. His hair is longer than Ilya has ever seen it, long enough to pull into a small bun at the nape of his neck. It looks good. He looks good, fresh off the playoffs and all hard muscle and mottled, purple bruises. His grey sweatpants sit low on his hips, showing off his overly-defined abs and the huge bloom of purple covering his ribs. Ilya licks his lips, the movement almost subconscious; Shane fucking Hollander.
The semester is almost over; finals are done. McGill didn’t get far in the University Cup this year, something Ilya has been stewing over since they were knocked out in the first bracket. He tears his gaze away from the stupid, attractive hockey legend in front of him and focuses back on the post-season reports on his screen.
“I could probably figure it out,” Shane muses, almost to himself. “If you wanted to.”
“Hollander, we both know what the issue is,” Ilya doesn’t bother looking up from his laptop screen, “Goalie is shit, defence is a mess. I do not need you to captain my team, thank you.”
“What? Oh, no, not that. I mean, I can help with your post-season, if you want, but. No. I meant for Vegas.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Vegas?” Ilya complains, finally taking the bait. He slams his laptop shut, letting it slip from his lap and onto Shane’s stupid green couch. He looks way too happy to have finally captured Ilya’s attention, his plump lips turned out into a smirk. Ilya watches his push his glasses a little further up his nose with suspicion.
“The NHL awards.” Shane shrugs, and there’s that faux-nonchalance again. There’s more confidence there now, though, and with Ilya’s lap finally free of his computer, Shane takes the initiative to replace it. He crosses the room in a few quick, purposeful strides, and suddenly his huge frame is pressing down against Ilya’s thighs. He’s always liked this about Shane, the weight of him, a wall of muscle. He brackets him with his thighs, knees pressing into Ilya’s hips, and weaves a hand into his curls.
“The Oscars. See, I can name award shows, too.”
“Mm, you’re funny,” Shane pans, and kisses his jaw. “No, I mean, I have the NHL awards in two weeks. And you finished all your finals, and the U-Cup is over.”
Ilya bites back a moan when Shane pauses, sucks on the spot just beneath his pulse point. It’s getting harder and harder to keep up the unbothered, no-strings-attached mask he’s been wearing since last Christmas. Especially when he can feel Shane getting harder, his cock swelling in his sweatpants and pressing against Ilya’s stomach.
“You’ve been working so hard,” Shane mutters between kisses, rocking his hips gently against Ilya’s growing erection. “I think you’ve earned a vacation. Vegas, just for a week, and then anywhere you want. Literally anywhere, I can make it happen.”
Ilya can feel Shane’s glasses nudging against his jaw as he kisses his neck, can feel the throbbing of his own cock and the pounding of his heart. It’s fucking ridiculous, because Shane is so hot, and so talented; a hockey legend. He’s kind, and weird, and funny, and a bit of a bitch in a way that makes Ilya so fucking fond. His money is the least interesting thing about him. And it’s getting harder for Ilya to pretend it’s the only reason he’s here.
Instead of saying any of that, and scaring the gorgeous man in his lap away, Ilya pivots to another truth: the fact that he’s so fucking hot for him it’s embarrassing. He winds a hand into Shane’s hair, carefully working the hair-tie and letting the long strands free. Once he has a decent grip he pulls just hard enough to bring Shane’s head away, tilt his chin up.
“You want to take me on vacation?”
“I want to fuck you after I win MVP,” Shane corrects, eyes dark with lust, that stupid smirk still twisting his lips, “And then I want to take you on vacation.”
The words go straight to Ilya’s cock, his hips bucking up against Shane’s, chasing the friction. Just the thought of fucking Shane after he wins MVP is enough to bring Ilya dangerously close to coming in his pants like a fucking teenager. And then jetting off somewhere, together. Europe, maybe, somewhere that isn’t hockey-obsessed, somewhere they won’t know who Shane is, where maybe they can—
Ilya tugs harder on Shane’s hair, grinding up against him. “You fucking feel that? How hard you make me?”
“Fuck, Ilya. Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yeah, I feel it,” Shane sighs, and that beautiful flush is back, swallowing his freckles. Ilya smiles despite himself; that’s what it takes to be MVP, he supposes. Willing to do as he’s told. And Shane Hollander is, in Ilya’s experience, very, very willing.
“Feel what?” Ilya prompts, bringing his other hand down to Shane’s hip when his rhythm stutters. He squeezes gently, urging him to keep going, grinds up against him in encouragement. “No, no, I didn’t say stop.”
Just when he isn’t sure if he could come with the heavy fabrics of their sweatpants between them, Shane moans, and Ilya’s cock twitches. There’s a first time for everything, and Ilya likes a challenge.
“Feel what, Hollander?” He prompts, again, pulling his hips down with more force, more friction. It’s borderline painful, the dry drag of his cock against his Nike sweats, but it’s so hot that he can’t bring himself to stop. A cursory glance down confirms what he’d assumed, the small wet patch forming on the front of Shane’s sweats, his cock leaking precome; he’s always so fucking wet.
“Your cock, fuck, I feel— Feel your cock. How hard you are. Please, Ilya.”
“I think you can come like this,” Ilya says, squeezing his hip again, pressing his thumb into the bruise he knows is sitting just below the waistband, “And then we will— Fuck — Then we will talk about vacation.”
It’s an illusion of power. Or maybe it isn’t; the line is blurring, has been blurring for a long time. Ilya is sure that Shane would give him anything he wants— Money, vacations, connections. He’d leave him alone for the rest of his life if he asked, delete his number, pretend they never met. If Ilya asked it, he would. And he knows he should break it off, he knows that, but he just—
Well. Ilya is selfish. Right now, what he wants is to ruin his fucking sweatpants and fuck Shane Hollander in Las Vegas. He wants to stop fucking thinking.
Ilya tightens the hand he has in Shane’s hair and pulls him down for a bruising kiss, their lips meeting with such force that he can feel the vibration in his teeth. He licks into Shane’s mouth, the wet heat of it, runs his tongue along the neat row of his bottom teeth. Ilya’s hips rock against Shane’s in earnest, falling into an urgent rhythm, the dry drag sending shivers up his spine.
“I want—“ Shane gasps against Ilya’s mouth, “Fuck, Ilya, I just want to fucking spoil you. You’ve earned it, you— Fuck, I’m gonna come—“
“So come,” Ilya recognises a plea for permission when he hears one, and he’s not far behind. Shane’s words echo in his head, coil tight in his stomach; I just want to fucking spoil you. “Come in your pants like a fucking slut, Hollander.”
Shane moans into Ilya’s mouth, leaning down to kiss him again, and Ilya can feel the moment his orgasm rips through him; the stutter of his hips, first, and then the sticky wetness. Ilya follows him over the edge, biting down on Shane’s plump lower lip as he comes and holding his hips down with an iron grip, grinding up and riding him through the aftershocks.
“Fuck,” Shane pants, when Ilya’s hips finally still, “Fuck you, I liked these.”
“Dry clean them.”
And then, because the universe hates him, Shane laughs, and drops his head onto Ilya’s shoulder. He’s so warm against him, boneless and sated and sticky with sweat; Ilya would give up his career, his scholarship, and any amount of vacations to just stay here forever. On Shane Hollander’s stupid green couch, chest pressed against his, hand in his hair.
Ilya runs the pads of his fingertips over Shane’s scalp, soothing where he’d been pulling. “I would like that. Vegas, vacation. If you can figure out the visa.”
“Yeah?” He can hear the smile in Shane’s voice. “Where do you wanna go? Anywhere you want. Greece, Monaco. France. Fucking, I don’t know, Alaska. Anywhere.”
Ilya hums, continues to scratch his fingers against Shane’s scalp, and lets the promise of the word anywhere float through the haze of his mind. Anywhere, with Shane. Just the two of them. Anywhere.
The sun is setting outside, painting the walls of Shane’s penthouse orange. It’s a beautiful fucking view, the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over uptown Montreal. All Ilya can really see from his spot on the couch is the top of Shane’s head and the curve of his ass against Ilya’s knees; he’ll take this over stupid Montreal any day.
This is why I get meal kits. Do I need them? No. Can I easily make them myself? For way cheaper? Yes. WILL I??? No.
Other tips: if you are going to buy things that aren’t pre-taxed, you need to make a habit of always doing the prep AS SOON AS YOU GET HOME. it will NEVER HAPPEN if you don’t.
Get the bulk pack of steaks! But you are never gonna eat them before they go bad. If you freeze them in individual ziplocks as soon as you unpack you probably will?
Get the celery, but you need to cut it ALL UP and store it in the fridge in water or it will rot.
And don’t do all tgese at once, get like, one or two prep things a trip. You aren’t gonna get it started if it’s a huge task.
Don’t pass by these tips because you don’t have ADHD!
These are valid points for the busy parent, the overstressed college student, and the person working the “wrong” shift.
Real story - I have thrown away SO MUCH meat and produce in my time. Frozen veggies can even be better than fresh, since they are picked when ripe and frozen rather than picked early and expected to ripen in shipping. My local grocer will sometimes pre-chop less-than-desirable veggies and sell them in the discount cooler - a chopped onion is more useful than a whole one! Meat in bulk packs is WAY cheaper, but you have to make breaking up that huge pack part of putting away the groceries. Also, having a place to put the groceries away helps make the process easier. It’s taken me more than one decade of life to figure these things out.
It’s not lazy if it is efficient. Professionals call it “time management.”
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really among the most compelling elements of shallergies for me is the "you can't have what other people get without consequences, and the easiest path to processing that is just telling yourself you don't want it, and control is not only important: it's ESSENTIAL for you to be okay" of it all when it comes to shane
there is obviously angst in it, too, but shane putting mangoes and gay sex in the same mental category of "bad for me, but i want it" is SO goddamn funny to me
