the hush of holiness

I am so far away from home. I am so afraid but I cannot show it. I’m going to be all on my own out there and people are not kind to me. I’ve always been alone, but never this kind of alone before. I don’t really know you, but you seemed kind. And earnest. You would not lie to me. Is it safe? Will I be happy there and safe? Boston is nice too?

Ilya Rozanov week: Day three (and four) Favorite quote(s) and favorite trait(s): Ilya and his heart eyes [insp.]

Shane's own heart started going a little crazy. "You should see a doctor about that." ― Rachel Reid, The Long Game, Chapter Ten

“You’re kidding,” Troy says, stunned, as the entire team stares at Coach Weibe, who is wincing and looking like he wants to crawl into a hole.

“‘Fraid not, boys. Mandatory sensitivity training, Monday morning. The league is really cracking down on their new rules,” Weibe says, grimacing.

“We are the reason these rules exist!” Ilya roars, throwing his hands in the air. “Crowell makes them because he is–what is word, Hollander?”

“Biased.”

“Da, biased, to us! What did we do to need punishment?”

A couple murmurs indicate that the whole team agrees.

“Apparently…”Weibe clears his throat uncomfortably. “Apparently a referee at the last game heard a few of you calling each other ‘homophobic.’ He reported it to the league out of concern, and–”

“Oh my god, we say this all the time!” Ilya yelled again, looking around at all the guys, who were nodding. “Bood does not pass to me? Homophobic. Dykstra checks Barrett? Homophobic. Hollander calls me asshole? Homophobic and husband abuse.” It’s obvious that Weibe is trying to keep a straight face as he shakes his head. “Well, that stuff isn’t a joke, guys. Maybe the training will do you some good. Like I said, Monday at 8am. No arguments.”

But as they all stand and start to get ready to go, a soft, clear voice can be heard above the grumbling.

“Seems pretty homophobic, not gonna lie,” Shane Hollander mutters under his breath, the ghost of a smile on his face.

Ilya at the cottage.

Ilya wanted to tell Shane that it had been one of the best days of his life. It had been awkward, sure, but Ilya felt that, if he hadn’t quite been already, he would be welcomed into Shane’s family, and that was no small thing. In fact, to Ilya, who had barely been welcome in his own family, it was huge.

He wanted to tell Shane that the closest he felt to home was when he was with him. It didn’t matter if it was in a hotel room, or Ilya’s apartment, or at that weird hideout building Shane bought in Montreal, or here at Shane’s cottage; he was himself when he was with Shane. He’d left Russia, he was uneasy in America, and he’d spent his entire adult life drifting between continents and between lovers.

But now he had been reeled in by this annoying Canadian, and all that he knew was that he wanted to stay. He wanted to anchor himself to Shane and just...stay.

but fails to consider that ice is. so slippery.

Read the post and loved it exactly for the potential of what's in the tags: uh oh now David made it funnnn and Shane, quick little bean that he is, riiiight as he's getting to the edge of the rink, about to be picked up and passed to mom, gets up and skates away to the middle of the rink and PLOMP lays down on his back, giggling and kicking his little skates. "Again, Dad (Shane does not call David daddy in front of his friends, he's not a baby!), again!!"

coupled with the idea of shane's conversation with rose when he talks about how hockey got less fun because it got more intense and so so did he: the idea of ilya dramatically flopping on his back on the ice one day at camp when they're done running drills with the kids

and he is teasingly refusing to get up because he is dead now, hollander, can you not see this, and shane hesitates for just a second, grabs his hand, plants one of his skates, and just sends him sliding off towards the side of the rink, thinking about how his dad used to do it to him after every single practice