AdAstra09



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    “I do not want to make you uncomfortable. With how I talk about us. To others. Like . . . reporters. Or how I treat you in front of others, like the guys on the team.”

    Something like understanding settled on Shane’s face now, and it immediately made Ilya’s heart stop racing. “You think I don’t like PDA.”

    “First time I held your hand in public I thought you were going to have a panic attack,” Ilya admitted.

    --

    Or: Shane's first season on the Ottawa Centaurs, as told through five times Ilya initiated PDA (and one time Shane did).

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    06 Mar 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    “I know how we beat them,” was all he said. Straight forward and unflinching.

    “We beat them because we are better, and sexier, and have best hockey player in the world – me,” Ilya said back. Mostly because this was just the type of thing he always said back.

    Shane rolled his eyes, but it was fond. “Look, I’ve been watching them play and they’re not as disciplined this season. Not as organized. They don’t look bad but they rise to the occasion more. They fight more.” He looked at Ilya, now. “You’ve gotta piss them off.”

    Ilya touched a hand to heart and fluttered his eyelashes. “Me? Hollander, I would never be so mean to my good friends on the Montreal Metros.”

  2. Public Bookmark 36

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    It's the last game of the 2018 season for Boston and the last game for their captain, Ilya Rozanov. With Shane in the audience, watching and cheering on his boyfriend. What started as a celebration soon turned into pain, chaos and blood on the ice.

    See warnings, NO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!

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    21 Jun 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    The medic considered that. Then nodded. “Fair.” his eyes flicked down to their joined hands. “And other than holding his hand, what exactly are you contributing here, Mr Hollander?”

     

    The question hung in the air. Shane opened his mouth. Then stopped. Because suddenly, he became aware of everything. The cameras, the crowd, the players, the reporters.

     

    The fact that he was kneeling on NHL ice in street clothes holding Ilya Rozanov’s hand like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. Shane looked down at Ilya. At the pale face. The frightened eyes. The blood still staining the ice beneath him.

     

    And realised he didn't care. Not ever a little. He looked back at the medic. “He’s my boyfriend.”

     

    Silence crashed over the arena. Shane barely noticed. “I’m here for moral support.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Give me something useful to do, and I’ll do it.” Then he tightened his grip on Ilya’s hand. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    On a Thursday, a video of Canadian star hockey player Shane Hollander goes viral on the internet. The video was taken on the previous Sunday, and it’s not what anybody expects. It’s not a sex tape, or a drunken fight in a bar, or any of the other videos that have been captured of others in the league, but instead, it seems to be a sneakily filmed video of Hollander confronting his former teammates.

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    23 Jun 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    The camera is positioned perfectly for Hollander’s face to be seen. He smiles dryly.

    God, he says. You fucking wish you could pull some shit about how fags can’t play hockey, don’t you? But you know you can’t.

    More quiet.

    You know, Hollander says slowly, gesturing toward Drapeau and then around the room. You all fucking know, that I’m better than fucking any of you. Don’t you?

    He looks intently, unblinking, at Drapeau.

    You know I fucking carried this team for years, and you know that I carried all of your sorry asses to the playoffs every time we made it. You know that I won those cups, and that I made this team what it fucking is.

    I didn’t know you could be such an asshole.

    This appears to catch Hollander off-guard. His eyes scan Drapeau’s face, and he exhales in a way that’s audibly unsteady, even through the audio of the phone.

    That’s because you never knew me, he says. His voice shakes. I have spent… my entire fucking life pretending to be some fucking person that could be accepted by people like you, and I have spent my life acting like it’s fine that everything about me is wrong, and I have spent my life trying to be fucking palatable for you. And I—

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Lily: i am alive

    Lily: hurt

    Lily: but they gave me drugs it’s nice

    Lily: i want you

    Lily: my hands miss yours

    or; ilya gets injured on the ice. shane can't handle it.

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    19 Apr 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    What is your problem?” Rozanov says, mumbling into the cup. His accent is thicker when he’s inebriated.

    “Fucking Hollander is outside,” Cliff snaps, gesturing vaguely toward the door. “Like he can just waltz in here—“

    “Hollander?” Rozanov says brightly, fumbling with his cup, splashing water on himself. “Here?”

    “Yeah, he’s got a damn visitor pass—“

    “Why he isn’t here?” Rozanov says, gesturing. “Where is he?”

    Cliff blinks.

    “I told him to fuck off,” he says. “Obviously.”

    “No,” Rozanov says sharply, his expression shifting to rage. “You go get him,” he demands. “Bring him here.”

    “What the— Why?”

    “Because I want him,” Rozanov says like it’s obvious, like fucking duh. “Go.”

    “I’m not letting him in here,” Cliff says.

    “Marleau,” Rozanov says in the way he always pronounces it. “I will get him, I will get out of this bed right now—“

    “You’re not fucking moving, don’t even think about it—“

    “I’ll do it,” Rozanov says, already turning to put the cup on the side table, moving to swing his legs over the side of the bed. “I go.”

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Instead of Shane, it is Ilya who suffers a concussion during the Boston-Montreal game in April 2017. Dazed and agitated, Ilya briefly starts speaking and responding only in Russian and the medics can’t calm him down. Luckily, Shane started studying Russian after Ilya spoke to him in Russian on the phone from Moscow. For no particular reason. Certainly not because he’s fallen in love with Ilya Rozanov.

    In Montreal with lingering concussion symptoms, Ilya is advised not to fly home for a few days, and the hospital won’t release him without assurances that he has someone to stay with him until his symptoms improve. Luckily, Shane conveniently has a condo in Montreal no one knows about and a few days before he has to travel again.

    But Ilya’s symptoms don’t resolve after a few days. Which is okay; Shane can handle it. He can take care of Ilya, study Russian, lead his team into the playoffs, and keep Ilya’s continued presence in Montreal a secret. He can do everything, no problem. He is Shane Hollander after all.

    or

    A whump fanfiction that is secretly a fix-it.

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    09 Feb 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    I do not like pills,” he said, and Shane had noticed that already. “My mother took pills.”

    Shane continued rubbing Ilya’s back, glad that Ilya wasn’t looking at him, couldn’t see the way his face crumpled at Ilya’s admission. Shane had no concept of this, of how awful and painful a family could be, and the more he heard about Ilya’s, the sadder it made him. He knew Ilya’s mother was dead, and his brain painted a horrible picture of what it must have been like for Ilya. He searched his brain for what to say, and he spent so long searching that Ilya continued talking before he had found an appropriate response.

    “She took a whole bottle of pills. So having pills around feels...dangerous.”

    Shane’s hand stilled without any conscious signal from his brain. He felt hot, and cold, and hot again as he realized what Ilya was saying. His mind lingered on the word dangerous. Maybe that hadn’t been what Ilya had really meant, though. Maybe the word had come to him in Russian and he’d searched his brain and come up with an imperfect English equivalent for what he’d truly wanted to say. And yet.

    “Ilya...do you ever think about...?” Shane couldn’t finish the question, couldn’t force the words past the sudden tightness in his throat. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.

    “No,” Ilya said quickly, and then, “Yes. Maybe. Sometimes. I don’t know.”