antifascist lesbian

One practice, Ilya spends more time in the penalty box and bench than on the ice, and the car ride home, Irina can tell he is fuming. She pulls over, turning to him in the back seat.

"Why do you keep starting fights?"

"You're supposed to!" he whines.

"I'm not asking why you're fighting, I'm asking why you're starting them. It's holding you back from playing the game."

"Volkov keeps calling me names," Ilya pouted.

Irina nods and thinks a moment.

"Ilyusha, from now on, every car ride to and from practice, you and I are going to practice talking shit in the rink."

Ilya's eyes light up at his mother's naughty language. He had never heard her curse, he didn't even think she was capable.

"And you will be allowed one - I mean it - one curse word per practice. If you instead reply with your words and they reply with their fists, you'll stop getting penalties."

Ilya agrees excitedly. "Mama, I already know bastard and asshole, can I use those next practice?"

Irina holds back her laughter hearing her cherub-faced son proudly swear. "Pick your favorite, Ilyusha."

She pulls the car back onto the road and takes them home. Before getting out, Ilya plants a liss on his mama's cheek. She looks at him seriously.

"No swearing in the house. Especially not to your father."

Ilya nods and hauls his gear back up to his bedroom, his mood improved. Irina watches his mop of golden curls disappear up the stairs.

The problem, Ilya has noticed, is that afterwards he always feels guilty about straying from his perfectly constructed diet plan, and he gets all quiet and in his head for the rest of the day.

But that's when Ilya sees them: sugar free gummy bears. His heart is racing as he adds a bulk box of them to his cart. He even buys a cute jar to keep all the packets in and a gift box and everything. He hits 'buy' thinking that he's about to get such a good grade in boyfriend.

And he does! When Ilya arrives at Shane's house ahead of the Montreal/Boston game later that day, he looks delighted as he opens the gift box to see the jar full of gummy bears. And when Ilya explains that they're sugar free, Shane's eyes get all sparkly along the waterline in that way that tells Ilya he's gotten something so right.

Unfortunately, those of you who know what happens when you eat sugar free gummy bears will know that Shane has been handed a ticking time bomb. But as Ilya's kissed against the refrigerator so hard that half of Shane's magnets clatter to the floor, as he's dragged off to Shane's room, Ilya thinks he's absolutely aced it.

He's warming up before the game later and can't help but notice that Shane is nowhere to be found. He's normally the first on the ice. Did something happen to him? Ilya's whole body suddenly goes cold and he feels that awful pre-throwup feeling, but he tries not to panic. He skates over to Pike who's taking the team through their stretches.

"Where's Hollander?" he asks.

"Why do you care?" asks Pike snippily and Ilya doesn't have time for this right now. He just needs to know that Shane's okay. Or, he realises with a sickening new thought, that Yuna and David are okay.

Pls. do not re-post/reupload or use outside of tumblr without my permission.

“He’s like, definitely in love,” Hammersmith whispers to Marleau, smirking and shaking his head as they both watch Ilya grin and blush at his phone a few feet away in obvious delight. “Man can’t go two minutes without checking his messages. I swear, something happened over the summer, because he’s not even hiding how down bad he is anymore.”

“Right? I think I heard him say her name in his sleep the other day,” Marleau replies, chuckling. He makes his deep voice high-pitched and longing. “Ooooo, Jaaane.”

“Nah, man, but imagine? How fuckin’ crazy-hot d’you have to be to lock down Roz? Like, she must have four tits or something!”

“Definitely a model.”

“An absolute freak in bed.”

“Bet she was, like, a stripper in the past.”

“Maybe lets him have threesomes.”

“Yeah, brother, bet she gets into it, too.”

“Think she lets him hit it from the back?”

“Definitely.”

They’re both so wrapped up in their conversation, neither of them notice that a picture of Shane Hollander, fully clothed but wearing glasses, has popped up on Ilya’s phone.

The best and worst day of Ilya’s life was when Shane Hollander hired a stylist. 

The best, because it means Rose fucking Landry is not the one who picked out Shane’s outfits this weekend. By extension, it means that Shane is single, and terrifyingly available again. Not compatible, which according to the internet is a very good thing.

The worst, because the stylist obviously knows how to pick out clothing. Before, Shane’s wardrobe consisted of about five different types of pants and three shirts, which he’d bought all different colors of so as to have enough clothing to last him a respectable amount of time. Ilya knows enough about Shane to understand that this is both because he doesn’t care for and understand the societal norms of fashion and also because he has very specific preferences of fabric. But this stylist seems to know their stuff, because Shane both seems to be comfortable in his clothes and looks amazing.

Which is exactly the problem.

Because the stylist has picked out shorts for Shane.

Not just any shorts. Not the normal shorts that Shane sometimes wears pre- or post-hookup or at the gym. No.

These shorts are obscenely short. Their 3-inch inseam and tight fit look downright slutty on Shane’s body and they leave so much of the man’s thighs bare that Ilya has to turn away and take several deep breaths.

It is the best day of his life. It is the worst day of his life.

“Hey, Rozanov,” Shane mutters to him as he passes him on the way to the pool, sending him a smirk that suggests he knows what Ilya is thinking.

And Ilya fucking chokes on his own spit trying to answer.

Yeah.