I don’t love that every time a famous artist turns out to be a fucking disgusting piece of trash loser evil shitstain that everyone always scrambles to say WELL THEIR ART WAS ALWAYS MID AND BAD ANYWAY. like dude just reckon with the fact you can’t judge someone’s moral fiber based on the art they make or the clothes they wear or the way they speak or fucking anything anything at all
Venezuela has been in a dictatorship as long as I have been alive. Since 1998. My parents are happy about a coup and hope Maduro dies or gets arrested, which yes. Fuck Maduro, fuck Chavismo. But I’ve read way too much about the history of US dipping their hands into South America, installing puppet states, fucking everything up and this is not a win. Even if Maduro dies or gets arrested, the US just wants the country’s resources, they are not magically going to fix everything, there is a corrupt reason for this to be happening that is yet to unfold and I’m so tired. Fuck Trump.
I wish I could find better words to explain this to non-venezuelans, or Venezuelans of an older generation who are just tired of failed “socialism” and beelined straight to far right borderline extremism as if that was better. For now my family back home is safe and I wish every person in Caracas the same.
Here’s my first fic rec post for Heated Rivalry/Hollanov fics! This post includes a little bit of everything; my future rec posts will be more specifically themed.
Each recommendation below includes:
title/link
rating
word count
chapter count
2-4 relevant tags
ao3 summary (may be shortened for formatting purposes)
If the author’s tumblr username is in the fic notes, it’s included next to the title. I’m happy to add any username tags - just reach out!
Shane’s immediate reaction is to say that he doesn’t know when it started. He doesn’t know who his soulmate is. This is what he’s been telling himself for years, because if he stops for more than a second to think about how long he’s been collecting little pieces of Ilya Rozanov, he thinks he’ll spiral out of control.
He’ll hit the deck like a firecracker dropped unceremoniously onto the sidewalk, burning wildly and spiralling haphazardly, until he’s fizzled out with nothing left to show for himself but smoke, ashes, and the knowledge that his soul is bound to Rozanov’s.
or:
shane spends twenty-five years not thinking about his soulmate. the drawer in his apartment filled with cigarettes, toothpaste, and awful t-shirts says elsewise.
His team knows better than to try to get Shane to come out after playing Boston, win or lose. They throw exhausted goodbyes his way as he leaves, but Shane barely hears them—all he can think about is getting behind a closed door with Rozanov.
Or: an extension of the smash cut slam-fuck scene in episode four’s opening montage
Adopt/Adapt| G | 2.8k | 1/1 | Ilya character study, Yuna Hollander
Yuna has questions. Ilya doesn’t have answers.
Or
Ilya needs a mother. Luckily, Yuna is mother.
let’s go to…| T | 1.5k | 1/1 | domestic Hollanov, fluff and crack
“This all you can eat pasta. I want to know more.” Ilya leans down and presses a kiss into Shane’s shin, fingers caressing the skin where his sweatpants are bunching up. “Tell me about this Garden,” he murmurs, looking up at Shane through blond lashes. “Please. Sounds magical.”
–
or, ilya discovers all you can eat pasta at olive garden (& other fast-casual chains)
Four Minutes| T | 33.8k | 3/3 | hurt/comfort, panic attacks, angst with a happy ending
Ilya had loved him through his worst moments. Ilya had helped him find a therapist when he’d collapsed on the floor of their hotel bathroom after losing a particularly brutal game, scratching at his chest. Ilya had held him, even when Shane yelled at him because there was panic crawling under his skin and he felt as though it might claw its way out. Ilya had told him it was okay; that it didn’t make him a bad player to resent the spotlight sometimes, that it didn’t make him a bad teammate to hate the team when they were too loud and too drunk and too physical, that it didn’t make him a bad person to need space to breathe. Ilya saved him.
And look what you give him in return. You’re a shitty husband, Shane Hollander.
You don’t deserve his last name.
too sweet for me | E | 11k | 1/1 | dom/sub, semi-public sex, aftercare
“Listen to me, Hollander,” Ilya’s voice is commanding, intense. That same tone that he uses to make Shane turn liquid in his arms. “You are going to do exactly as I say—”
Shane nods furiously, now desperate to get behind the privacy screen of the limousine.
“We are going to get in the car together, you are going to put your filthy mouth to work, and I am going to use your throat to keep my cock hard until we get back to the hotel.” Shane makes the only echoing sound in the hallway: a pitchy whine that has Ilya’s cock throbbing. “When we arrive, we are going straight to my room. Understood?”
Shane nods, but Ilya wants to test his teammate to see just how much he can push tonight.
Ilya swallows. “Answer me, Hollander.”
“Y—yes,” Shane rasps, quiet but determined as he looks at Ilya like he could break Shane in half and he would thank him. “Yes, Ilya.”
Ilya Rozanov isn’t complicated. He likes hockey, nice clothes, fast cars, and women (and the occasional man). He’s intent on enjoying his new life in North America as a high profile hockey star, but his family and a certain dark haired, freckled rival player, seem to have other plans…
when shane gets the injury that would come to end his career, in the moment he’s just thankful he didn’t break his jaw.
or: shane knew, in the abstract, that one day he would play his last professional nhl game. it never occurred to him that hockey would choose that day for him.
Dogby @agoodsoldier | E | 3.4k | 1/1 | pet play, dom Shane Hollander, sub top Ilya Rozanov
“Should call you the Ottawa Puppies,” says the Toronto centre, Svensson. As an insult it makes no sense, so Ilya ignores it, until he continues, “Hear Hollander keeps you on a short leash.”
Ilya is the captain, so if anything, he should be holding the leash. In English, you can be singular or plural, but he knows what Svensson is trying to say. He is saying Ilya Rozanov, you are Hollander’s bitch.
“Only sometimes,” Ilya replies, grinning. He wins the face off.
OR: Ilya trains himself to be a very, very good guard dog for Shane.
Don’t Poke The Bear | G | 13k | 1/1 | homophobia, team as family, angst with a happy ending
After Shane and Ilya are outed in the events of The Long Game, Montréal and Ottawa play seven games against each other in the Eastern Conference.
The Centaurs still love their captain, of course. The Voyageurs, however, are not so united.
A.K.A - Five times Shane’s team was an asshole to him, the one time Ilya got to do something about it, and the obvious humiliation ritual that is the Centaurs playing a game against a post-Hollander era Voyageurs.
Purple-Pink Skies | E | 15.1k | 3/3 | AU - canon divergence, explicit sexual content
Over the course of his NHL career, Shane Hollander had come face-to-face with Ilya Rozanov hundreds of times. But in all of that time, Shane had never seen him like this.
“Hollander,” Rozanov said, accent even thicker than usual.
Ah. He was drunk.
[Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov have been NHL rivals for over a decade. One strange chance meeting leads to more.]
supercut of us | T | 2.2k | 1/1 | fluff, domestic bliss, anxious Shane Hollander
Shane is sure he has what Ilya refers to as his “determined kitten face” showing right now. “It was a perfect day today. We’ve had so many of these over the years, and I never posted it. I want to remember this.”
(Or: Yuna takes a cute picture of Shane and Ilya and Shane decides to be a brave.)
Their waitress is kind enough to let Shane practice his clumsy Spanish with her. He pointedly does not look at Ilya after ordering, but he’s known him long enough to know when he’s laughing at Shane’s expense.
“I hate you,” he says.
“No,” Ilya says. He looks unfairly handsome in a linen beach shirt and his flamingo-patterned board shorts Shane bought him last summer. “You do not.”
“You’re supposed to smoke over there.” Someone said from behind Ilya.
Ilya almost dropped his cigarette. His English was shitty, but he had studied that sentence enough times over the years to understand it immediately. He didn’t even think about his words much anymore, but it was impossible to avoid them.
He turned instinctively, and was face to face with Shane fucking Hollander.
Out of almost seven billion people, of course Ilya’s soulmate had to be his fated rival. It was almost poetic. Still, Ilya had enough sense to realize just how bad this was.
or, Shane says Ilya’s soulmate words. Ilya vows to never speak a word to him to keep him from finding out. They fall in love anyway.
Clear as day his typed out desperation has an eight letter word underneath its bubble that pops a lead balloon into his stomach.
“we never even kissed.” sits as delivered to one four letter contact that Shane swears should be defined as its own form of curse word in the dictionary.
Or, Shane sends that “we never even kissed.” text after all
Ilya picks up on the third ring, breathing heavily into the phone. Shane hears a door slam shut through the device. “Do not yell at me.”
Shane stares at the half-empty bottle of vodka on the coffee table. “You suck.”
“I suck? I scored hat-trick! In your stupid body! I have not eaten in six hours, Hollander. I have not pissed. I have not laid down. I want to go home.”
“Rozanov–”
“Your mother has called twenty times. Your manager has called thirty times. Your father text me picture of crossword puzzle and ask for help. Clue is about American President from the 1980s. I cannot help!”
“Shane Hollander,” Ilya gasped, faux-aghast. “You are wet. Wet like pussy.”
Shane flushed and tried to squirm out of Rozanov’s grasp, to no avail. “S’just sweat,” he murmured. “It’s just fucking… hot in here.”
Ilya’s strong grip tightened, vice-like, around Shane’s hip. His grin curled into something cruel, something bright and sparkling. “Is not hot. You are bad liar. Take it off.”
Shane is a college student in sudden and urgent need of money. Ilya has cash to burn. They meet on an app that facilitates the exchange of certain services for funds.
Or: Shane ‘Least Likely To Become A Sex Worker’ Hollander becomes a sex worker. Ilya Rozanov indulges.
… Alternatively: an admiral and an raider walk into a bar. Their third topic of conversation will shock you.
That’s all for now. I hope y'all enjoy these fics as much as I did. I’ll be making more rec posts throughout the new year!
what if orpheus looked back at eurydice and then orpheus got fucking decked to the ground because they were playing a hockey game and you have to look where you’re going
If it sounds good to you maybe it’s because it’s good :-)
shane knew, in the abstract, that one day he would play his last professional nhl game. it never occurred to him that hockey would choose that day for him.
“Hey,” Luca skids to a halt next to him, “you okay Hollzy?”
Shane’s tongue feels like lead in his mouth. He shakes his head because he doesn’t trust himself to make any sense if he speaks and skates to the bench. Once he starts shaking his head it’s like he can’t stop, like that will somehow clear the ringing noise.
Ilya is already going over the boards to take over on the ice for him, brow pinched in concern. He’s absolutely going to get sent down the tunnel, and Shane can’t leave Ilya looking so worried.
“M’okay,” he promises, forcing his mouth to make words despite the resistance.
Shane’s already being shepherded off the ice through the gate, but he can see the way some of the tension in Ilya’s body fades. He’ll be fine. The whole team will be. It helps that it’s the bottom of the third and the Centaurs are up by one.
shane knew, in the abstract, that one day he would play his last professional nhl game. it never occurred to him that hockey would choose that day for him.
“Hey,” Luca skids to a halt next to him, “you okay Hollzy?”
Shane’s tongue feels like lead in his mouth. He shakes his head because he doesn’t trust himself to make any sense if he speaks and skates to the bench. Once he starts shaking his head it’s like he can’t stop, like that will somehow clear the ringing noise.
Ilya is already going over the boards to take over on the ice for him, brow pinched in concern. He’s absolutely going to get sent down the tunnel, and Shane can’t leave Ilya looking so worried.
“M’okay,” he promises, forcing his mouth to make words despite the resistance.
Shane’s already being shepherded off the ice through the gate, but he can see the way some of the tension in Ilya’s body fades. He’ll be fine. The whole team will be. It helps that it’s the bottom of the third and the Centaurs are up by one.
trope i really like is self-loathing characters desperate for the catharsis of punishment for frankly rather selfish reasons who r also obsessed with repeatedly pressing others into hating them and hurting them as essentially a method of self harm. yes baby continue making it worse for urself and everybody around u instead of doing an actually productive and effective journey of improvement and redemption
I am shocked at how many people don’t have an actively hostile relationship with advertising
I am skipping your ads as fast as I can. I’m skipping past your sponsor read. I’m muting the tv. I’m muting the tab. If they get too annoying I will simply stop trying to watch.
If advertisers can use every manipulative trick in the book to get me to buy their product, I am fully within my rights to do everything I can on my end to make their job impossible
