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    Shane knows it’s not a good time to have this conversation. He should wait until they’re not both tired from a stretch of tough games, until he’s not exhausted from having all the Centaurs over for the day. He should wait until he can’t feel anger simmering inside him and his shoulders aren’t tense. That’s probably why he doesn’t wait.

    “Stop trying to make me be friends with Troy Barrett.”

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    15 Jul 2026

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    Cardiac tamponade: pressure on that heart that prevents it from filling and beating adequately.

    Shane thought he knew two things: his move to Ottawa would cause chaos, and that the Ottawa Centaurs were nice.

    As it turned out, he only knew one of those things.

    (Or: the Cens are still a team of professional hockey players. They're going to fuck up.)

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    03 Jul 2026

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    “No, it -just reminded me of your sword, that’s all. The flaming one. You know, you pinning me against the wall with it like that - ” he gestured airily to the shelf, “and, uh, I don’t know, smiting me with holy love or something.”

    He directed an unmistakable onceover at Aziraphale’s physical form, perhaps justifiably doubtful that his message would get across without it.

    But to their mutual surprise, Aziraphale had understood him perfectly.

    “Oh I see,” he said.

    Crowley opened his mouth, then closed it again. The unexpected success of communication had left them both at a bit of a loss for words.

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    10 Jun 2026

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    “Why are you out here alone?” Ilya asks. “Who left you here?”

    Hesitantly, Shane’s eyes cast up at the apartment building. Ilya follows his gaze, confused.

    “I’m sorry,” Shane says softly, “I went home with someone.”

    Ilya’s head snaps in his direction. “What?”

     

    -an episode 4 au where shane goes home with the bartender instead of rose, and it goes very, very poorly-

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    12 Jan 2026

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    “We usually fuck after games!" Ilya defends. "We are off schedule. My body knows this. It is confused.”

    “Yeah, well, we’re not getting any closer to fucking—at home—unless you get the damn ointment on me. Fucking—shit, Ilya.”

    His entire face scrunches up when Ilya, now kneeling on the floor in front of him, slightly readjusts his leg for a better angle.

    Every inch of him is flushed with the control, blood running hot just underneath the surface, trying to circulate the pain meds. Shane looks tender like this, the familiar planes of his body watercolored with bruises and scrapes, the pain not so much one central thing as it is a pulsing, throbbing presence in the room with them. Ilya wants to play with it, a little. Wants to take it gently between his teeth and tongue at it until he’s worked out all the tears and pleasure and messy insides.

    So he is definitely horny, yes.

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    23 Jun 2026

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