sovvannight



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  1. Rec *

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    “Ilya,” Hollander breathes, which—Ilya isn’t sure Hollander has ever called him by his first name. Surely he has sometime in seven years of acquaintance? But the sound of it is novel, unfamiliar. 

    And far from unpleasant. 

    Then Hollander says, “Baby,” and Ilya knows for certain that he’s never called Ilya that, because it takes the air right out of Ilya’s lungs and makes his guts twist and fuck, he would have remembered if Hollander had ever called him that. Especially in that reverent tone. 

    It’s nice. 

    Ilya doesn't remember being married to Shane Hollander. Probably, he should tell someone.

    He decides not to.

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    03 Jul 2026

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  2. Rec *

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    "We are so excited you guys are here!" she chirps. "You athletes have such erratic schedules, it's hard to get one much less two of you in the room, so thank you for making the time to join us today. It'll be super fun, I promise—everyone has a blast reacting to thirst tweets."

    Shane stops in his tracks and looks up. "Sorry, what?"

    The crew member meets his gaze, blinking. "Oh, did you not know that's what we're doing today? It was on the calendar invite…"

    "Hollander," Ilya says, also turning to Shane. "What is 'thirst tweet'?"

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    01 Jul 2026

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  3. Rec *

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    Ilya goes on a roadie while Shane is still on LTIR.

    LISA: Whatever rocks your socks

    NICOLE: Whatever tickles your fancy

    CASSIE: Whatever flips your pancake

    SELENA: Whatever turns your crank

    CAITLIN: Whatever fondles your goose

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    01 Jul 2026

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  4. Rec *

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    “Uh, hello,” Ilya says when the cat rises up on its legs and stretches, back bending and paws curling down. Its ears flick and it gives him a dour sort of mwor in return. Witches have familiars, Ilya knows that. And this is a perfect spot for a familiar to be, on the stoop of the witch's house. Logic follows that the cat must be the witch's familiar.

    So he says, very politely, “Shane is expecting us,” even though he has no idea if that’s true or not.

    The cat yawns, tiny sharp teeth flashing at Ilya. Its ears flick again and then it curls up into a ball of fur, right there on the brick wall despite the fact that they’re hurtling towards the end of November and it’s fucking freezing outside.

    “Is that good or bad, do you think,” Ilya asks Seryozha in Russian, gesturing at the cat when the familiar doesn’t move again except to curl its tail over the tip of its pink nose.

    Seryozha’s phone screen flashes white in the darkness. That is a cat, he types, and Ilya scowls. It’s a fucking magical cat.

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    01 Jul 2026

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  5. Rec *

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    “Wha’ happened?” Shane mumbles.

    Ilya presses the call button for the nurse. “You took a bad hit during the game. We are at hospital.”

    Shane frowns. “What game?” he asks, and then, “Who are you?”

    Ilya blinks back the panic rising in his throat. “Shane, what the fuck? Is me. Ilya.”

    Shane is still frowning. “Rozanov?” he asks, and suddenly, like he’s had a premonition, Ilya knows what Shane is going to say next. Knows from the furrow between his brows and the hunch in his shoulders and the hands that are very conspicuously not reaching for him.

    “Rozanov,” Shane says again. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

    So this is what it feels like for your heart to break.

    --

    Or: In 2023, Shane takes a bad hit during a game and wakes up with no memory of the last twelve years of his life.

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    27 Jun 2026

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