#fablealyn

it had been a rollercoaster of a day. he'd brought chiron in again, partly for actual job purposes (pictures of ilya with a puppy always did great on social media), and because his time with the puppy was probably the closest he'd seen the newest centaur to a smile. troy was confusing. up close, he didn't seem like a bad guy, but harris was familiar with his reputation. so, it had started as a decent day. and then he'd glanced down at his arm. he couldn't stop staring at the black letters. two letters. HI. he'd been staring at it for an hour. he was sitting in the stands, the centaurs practicing below, and finally he pulled a pen out of his bag, and beneath the two letters in still familiar handwriting, writes what the fuck.

"I'm up, I'm up... okay, I'm not up." (from Narfi)

For the insignificant years between them, it is a wonder how energetic Hel could be when she was having a good day (rare as those had become). The room fills with giggling laughter as she rests her cheek on the couch cushion beside her big brother's head, blinking at him with disturbingly large eyes.

"If you're not up," she teases in a playful song, "Then you're not here to watch me!~"

INCORRECT QUOTES // HELLA ACCEPTING // @fablealyn

i can't choose so here's another one xoxo

' hey, you're kip, right? ' he'd seen the man from across the room, had seen scott kiss his cheek and felt a wild spike of jealousy. not because it was scott, but because it was so casual. because ilya was on the other end of the room and shane couldn't do the same. but, maybe without even thinking it, shane had been floating closer throughout the night. he held out his hand, because it was the polite thing to do when meeting someone for the first time. ' i'm shane. sorry i punched your boyfriend. ' and that last part? that was because shane was a mess of a human being.

ottawa was not playing over the weekend. montreal was playing at home. ilya had just completed the two hour drive from the house in ottawa to the house in montreal. his limbs were stiff, paper coffee cup in one hand while he used the other to place the key in the lock and open the door. he had no weekend bag because they both had plenty of belongings in both houses, nothing to throw on the kitchen counter but his own car keys. now, where was-- ' ебать. ' he hissed. fuck. that wasn't shane on the couch. that was blonde hair. rose? too late to duck around the corner and pretend he wasn't here. ' uh. hello. '

the season was about to start, and she was between shoots. which meant it was the perfect, and only time for a few months, that they would get to hang out. they were at his house in montreal, his house that now had a permenant second toothbrush, towel, and several articles of clothes meant for a man taller and broader than shane. the downstairs, though, where they were hanging out, looked the same as ever with the exception of some non-shane diet items in the fridge and pantry. ' rose, ' he started, flopping down onto the couch with her, ' can i tell you about my boyfriend? '

@fablealyn said: ❝ Those refs are absolutely blind. ❞ (for Svetlana from Rose 😉)