grison

A small black and white weasel with an open mouth grinning upwards at the camera.



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    They’re getting into a rhythm now, though, and Shane can see it. He can see this team winning the Cup this year. He tries not to get ahead of himself, tries to stay focused and go game by game, reminds himself that building up a team takes time and several seasons, but god. He wants this legacy: for himself, for Ottawa, for Ilya. For both of them and everyone else.

    Which is why, goddamnit, now is not the time to crash out over fantasies of Ilya working his whole hand down to the wrist into Shane’s ass and fucking him on his fist. And yet. Shane should know by now that timing and “good ideas” are rarely factors in whether or not he gets obsessed with something.

    OR:

    It starts, as a surprising number of things actually do, with a text from Rose.

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    12 Feb 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Sometimes life came at you with a clenched fist and Ilya had never figured out how to duck.

    So here he was, twenty-eight years old, single, dealing with the fallout from injuries given to him by the game he loved, and the second youngest assistant coach in the league to one of the worst teams. Stability was hard to come by, but he was managing.

    Then along came Shane Hollander to knock him on his ass, one more time.

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    11 Feb 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    “Pretend we don't know each other?” Shane repeats, a little confused in all honesty. Wasn't therapy about talking?

    “Yes. You are meeting for the first time in this room. Introduce yourselves.”

    Shane shifts in his seat, slowly turning to Ilya. It's not all that different from the first time they'd actually met; the awkward vibes radiating off Shane are almost identical. They're just missing a snowy forecast and a cigarette.

    He decides to go a step further, standing up. It feels the right thing to do under the circumstances. Who meets for the first time sitting down? He takes a step forward, holding his hand out to Ilya. Or not Ilya. This random man he’s about to meet, who happens to look a lot like Ilya. Ilya takes the cue, standing from his own chair with a shake of his head. He takes Shane’s hand, shaking firmly.

    “I’m Shane, uh, Shane Hollander.”

    Ilya nods. “Ilya Rozanov.”

    ——————
    Or: Shane and Ilya get sent to reconciliation therapy, and of course, handle it super well.

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    10 Feb 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    In 2008, anyone who was vaguely aware of professional hockey made sure to keep an eye on the results of the IIHF World Junior Championships. It was slated to be the first competitive meeting between Canada's Shane Hollander and Russia's Ilya Rozanov, who were already making headlines since they were expected to soon become the highest overall omega draft picks in NHL history.

    or: the omega/omega hollanov au literally no one asked for

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    08 Feb 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Shane made a decision a long time ago: he wants hockey, needs it, and he wants it for as long as he can get it. He's going to play till he can’t anymore, and he’s going to do all the right things so no one can ever argue otherwise.

    But also: he knows his body well, and he’s worried about an emerging pattern.

     

    Or: the Shane abortion fic

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    31 Jan 2026