Sabitlenmiş Tweet
²⁴ ˚ 𖨂 𝐒HANE
39 posts
²⁴ ˚ 𖨂 𝐒HANE
@ICEDHOLLANDER
holy shit — i love you too .
21 + 🏒 mdni Katılım Haziran 2022
72 Takip Edilen83 Takipçiler
²⁴ ˚ 𖨂 𝐒HANE retweetledi
𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 ̵𝐏̵𝐋̵𝐀̵𝐂̵𝐄̵ ̵
𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 ( ̵𝙰̵͟𝙻̵͟𝙾̵͟𝙽̵͟𝙴̵ )*;
𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 ̵𝐏̵𝐋̵𝐀̵𝐂̵𝐄̵
𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝖺𝗍 ( ̵𝐇̵͟𝐎̵͟𝐌̵͟𝐄̵ ) *•.
Português
/ sorry for being MIA for a few days !! was really sick with covid in the big 26 💔 i’ll get to replies in ~3 hours
English
Just before the Boston/Montreal game, a snowstorm strands both teams at O'Hare. He’s settled in a corner with headphones and pop music. He was stuck here for 6 more hours. Wow. And then—@EsteemedPlayer dropped into the seat across from him. Of course. “…Roz. What do you want?”
English
+ locker, not looking at Atlas, giving the rookie space to breathe. He grabbed his personal kit: compression wrap, topical gel, ice packs. Things he’d learned to hoard.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the bench against the far wall. “It won’t take long. I promise.”
English
His fingers stilled on the tape, and he studied Atlas through the low light. “Team medics,” he repeated, the words soft. “They’re good. But they’re also paid to get you back on the ice.” He scoffed, a derisive sound. “They didn’t do shit. Look at you.”
He stood, moving to his +
ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠᅠ 𝖆𝖙𝖑𝖆𝖘ᅠ ✩@gcldnbcy
just got through with the team medics. ” a small lie. they only checked to make sure he didn’t have a concussion and advised him to go see the team doctor tomorrow for his elbow.
English
+ Just then, through the haze of worry, he felt the sting. A burning line of fire across his thumb. He glanced down. Blood trickled down the pad where his hand had caught the metal corner of a vent. Not deep. Just a paper cut. “Shit—um… Do you have bandaids? Anything?”
English
His body reacted before he fully registered the impact. He caught himself with one hand against the wall, the other instinctively rising to steady the person he’d hit. “Oh no—I’m fine,” he said, the words spilling out in a panicked heap. “You? Are you okay? It was my fault, I—” +
(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Harris Drover ♥ 🏳️🌈@Savant_SMM
[Shane Hollander, he knew exactly who he was.] "I'm Harris, it's nice to meet you. Are you ok?" [States in a soft, yet friendly manner. Glancing over toward him in concern.]
English
+ He tried again, forcing authority into his tone that he really didn’t feel. "Stay on your side. You don’t need to—" What? Test me? Push me? Make me want things I can't have? "—to crowd."
He swallowed hard, trying to regain control. "What are you trying to prove, Rozanov?"
English
Bullshit.
The lie was obvious. Shane’s fingers balled into fists at his sides. He could feel his pulse in his throat, in places he absolutely should not be feeling blood rush right now. He was sure the tent in his pants was obscene by now.
"Just—I—fuck…" He started, stopped. +
ᅠᅠᅠᅠ ᅠᅠᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ⊹ ࣪ᅠᅠᅠᅠ⁸¹ .ᐟ ᅠᅠᅠᅠ@centrepucks
++ ( predatory ). “Is not like I’m going to try anything. . .” A feign tone, because he was lying — and he’d test the waters to see however long it’d take for Montreal’s ‘perfect boy’ to ( break ).
English
²⁴ ˚ 𖨂 𝐒HANE retweetledi
/ guys i am SO sorry for the late starters and stuff im gonna be honest ive just been playing fortnite all day
English
The locker room had been emptied hours ago. Shane sat on a stool, taping his stick after the game.
The door creaked.
When he lifted his gaze, @gcldnbcy stood frozen in the doorway, visor cracked, elbow guarded.
“Hurt?” He gave a soft smile. “What happened? I have first aid.”
English
The Montreal Voyageurs PR team arranged a mandatory photoshoot. Bright lights buzzed in the backroom, overwhelming Shane as he stood sore from a 3–2 loss to Boston. “Mr. Hollander, this is @JUSTYOURBRAT, your stylist,” He nodded, and extended his hand, palms clammy. “Uh, hi…”
English
²⁴ ˚ 𖨂 𝐒HANE retweetledi
——⭐✨🏆——
𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦. 𝐂𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭.
English
Tonight’s loss to Ottawa had been a one-goal nightmare. His jaw ticked as he climbed the stairs to the press box. When he rounded the corner, he collided with someone backing out of the media lounge.
“Shit, sorry! Are you—” He stalled, registering the lanyard’s name: @Savant_SMM
English
+ thud against his ribs that betrayed the calm he was trying to show. His hand instinctively rose to tug down the hem of his shirt. It was embarrassing. It was intoxicating.
“I'm not angry. It’s just hot in here. And your cologne isn’t helping.” His voice trembled pathetically.
English
The amber light turned Ilya's hair the color of gold, and Shane hated that he noticed. Hated the way his eyes seemed to glow in the low light with an intensity that made his throat close up.
It was making his tailored trousers feel uncomfortably tight.
His heart raced, a +
ᅠᅠᅠᅠ ᅠᅠᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ⊹ ࣪ᅠᅠᅠᅠ⁸¹ .ᐟ ᅠᅠᅠᅠ@centrepucks
++ “I did nothing but stand here. Unless there is law saying I can’t speak, then I speak.” He was curious why it bothered Shane to his core. Tempted to start walking to him.
English
+ voice crackled through the speakers. “Technicians en route. Estimated time: 45 to 60 minutes.”
His eyes closed for one second. 60 minutes in a metal box with Ilya Rozanov. The sponsorship meeting started in 20. Fuck.
He reluctantly turned. “Shut up. Don’t even talk.”
English
His fingers found the emergency panel before Ilya finished speaking. He pressed the call button, and waited. Sweat traced down his temple, and he didn’t know if it was the climbing temperature or the fact he was trapped in here alone with Ilya Rozanov.
Finally, a staticky +
ᅠᅠᅠᅠ ᅠᅠᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ⊹ ࣪ᅠᅠᅠᅠ⁸¹ .ᐟ ᅠᅠᅠᅠ@centrepucks
@ICEDHOLLANDER ++ gutter. His gaze flickered around them, widening a little at the elevator’s sudden malfunction. Shit. They were going to be late. “Is okay,” Ilya assured, staying his distance for the time being. “Maybe we call for help.”
English