ivara



Recent works

Recent bookmarks

  1. Rec *

    Tags
    Summary

    This is the real world, isn't it?

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    5,460
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Collections:
    1
    Comments:
    26
    Kudos:
    363
    Bookmarks:
    109
    Hits:
    4,646

    13 Apr 2026

  2. Rec *

    Tags
    Summary

    Shane and Ilya had mutually agreed to keep their whatever-they’re-doing out of Sochi. It was an easy decision to make: this was bigger than any MLH rivalry and definitely bigger than a few hotel hook-ups. There was no room for distractions, not with Olympic gold on the line.

    So it’d be really fucking great if their daemons could get on the same page and stop trying to cause an international fucking incident.

    Series
    Language:
    English
    Words:
    36,309
    Chapters:
    4/4
    Collections:
    1
    Comments:
    1,992
    Kudos:
    10,962
    Bookmarks:
    2,900
    Hits:
    141,668

    26 Mar 2026

    Bookmarker's Tags:
    Bookmarker's Notes

    He strikes out in a random direction, fingers clenching around nothing in the pockets of his fleece. He can feel his phone in his pocket like it’s a dead weight. Rozanov’s not going to text him back. Shane’s never going to text him again. It’s just—embarrassing, is what it is.

    “God, I’m such an idiot,” he whispers, reaching up and raking a hand through his hair. Ren bumps against the back of his legs with a small, rusty-souding purr. “You know what, I wish you could have dropped my phone in the ocean. Still might do that.”

    Even though that wouldn’t help anything. Even though it wouldn’t take away the sinking feeling in his chest, like he’s lost something he’s been too afraid to name.

    “Fuck,” he mutters with feeling as he turns a random corner. He barely avoids clipping shoulders with a group of German skiers walking the other way. “Shit, sorry,” he says, automatic. One of them waves him off with a smile, taking a polite step to the side to allow Ren to follow in Shane’s steps without brushing against her.

    Except it’s not Evren on his heels when Shane’s eyes fall to her instinctively.

    It’s a snow leopard daemon, yeah, sure, but it’s not his.

  3. Rec *

    Tags
    Summary

    ESPN ✅ @espn

    With a new #24, the Montreal Voyageurs are finally ready to forget Shane Hollander

    Series
    Language:
    English
    Words:
    3,389
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Comments:
    541
    Kudos:
    21,643
    Bookmarks:
    1,467
    Hits:
    132,605

    20 Mar 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    NHL clown patrol @leagueofbozos
    Replying to @leagueofbozos @guardiansaremycurse
    the new montreal first round draft pick apparently thinks he’s god’s gift to hockey and has chosen to play under #24

    toronto sufferer @guardiansaremycurse
    Replying to @leagueofbozos
    ur kidding

    NHL clown patrol @leagueofbozos
    Replying to @leagueofbozos @guardiansaremycurse
    girl i wish i was https://www.espn.com/nhl/story/_/id/4734…

  4. Rec *

    Tags
    Summary

    “Just got the word from the officials, Metros are shutting Miitka down for the night," LeClaire says almost dispassionately. “Third period we’re up against,” LeClaire consults his clipboard, “Shane Hollander. Drafted 2009, current starter for the Laval Maples, posts a .905 save percentage.”

    Ilya stays where he is, rolling the name around in his head once, without much interest.

    Hollander.

    Doesn’t ring a bell.


    Inspired by that one twitter post, what if Shane was a goalie?

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    96,955
    Chapters:
    12/?
    Comments:
    2,735
    Kudos:
    7,462
    Bookmarks:
    2,171
    Hits:
    124,061

    19 Mar 2026

    Bookmarker's Tags:
    Bookmarker's Notes

    There’s nothing loud about his game. Nothing showy, no scrambles unless he has to. The only thing that looks like an actual preference for Hollander is his glove-side, snatching pucks clean out of the air like he knew exactly where they’d be. It's irritating in a way Ilya can't quite articulate: there's no overcommitment to punish, no extra foot out of position, no tell to read. No panic. Even when the puck moves east–west he doesn’t bite early.

    There's one clip in particular though—that two-on-one against Winnipeg, the pass hasn’t even left the blade and Hollander’s already leaning in the right direction. Ilya watches it at half speed. Watches it again. Rewinds to the moment just before Hollander commits.

    Ilya rewinds it a third time.

    Not because it's pretty. Because there's something in the timing he can't quite place yet, a decision happening earlier than it should, and it's sitting wrong in the back of his head like a word he can't remember.

    His phone buzzes on the cushion beside him and for a half-second his heart stops. It’s just the team group chat though: the veterans went out together and someone has posted a golf score, Feller’s apparently, and the responses are immediate and merciless. Ilya watches the notifications stack up without touching his phone.

    Below all of the team chats, unopened: You have (7) missed calls from Alexei.

    Ilya turns back to his laptop. Watches the two-on-one clip one more time. At normal speed, it’s a half-impossible correction. No extra rotation. No wasted slide. Perfect.

    The apartment settles around him in the dark, and Ilya lies back and stares at the ceiling and lets whatever is sitting in his chest just. Sit there. It's not nerves—Ilya’s never had nerves for hockey, not for years. No, this is something with more edge to it than nerves, something that wants the puck on his stick, eighteen thousand people screaming, and Hollander square in his crease at the other end of the ice, watching him. Waiting for him to make a move.

    Two days till the first game of the second round.

    Ilya closes his eyes.

    ...

    Cat with a feather—who the hell comes up with this sort of thing? Shane’s next breath comes out sounding like a laugh without Shane fully meaning it to, but it’s kind of worth it for the way the corners of Rozanov’s eyes go all crinkly as he smiles.

    It’s a 1-0 game for Montreal right now. Is this really what Rozanov thinks about mid-game? Shane has to know.

    “I’m surprised you can even see what my face is doing under here,” he says, squinting exaggeratedly through the cage of his mask, tapping the bars lightly with his blocker, “probably not what you should be looking at. Is that why you haven’t scored anything on me yet, Rozanov?”

    Rozanov grumbles something under his breath, spinning his stick in a way that communicates displeasure clearly across language barriers, and Shane feels a pulse of satisfaction.

    "Here's a tip," Shane adds, because he wants to be helpful. No other reason. "You're supposed to be aiming in here." He gestures into the net with his blocker. "Not directly at my glove hand."

    “Oh, Hollander,” Rozanov says, drawing the name out as he looks around the rink with an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Are you sure? I thought we were playing catch.”

    Shane snorts. Rozanov’s a funny guy. "Yeah well. Keep doing that. Easy saves for me."

    Rozanov’s grin goes bigger. “Are you saying you don’t like to work hard? Because I thought you—”

    “Hey– Roz!” A Boston player’s voice (Marleau, #7, big hitter) cuts through Rozanov’s chatter so unexpectedly both he and Shane flinch slightly. Shane glances up and (oh, whoops) both Gilly and Feller are being escorted to the box and the rest of the players are moving back to the center dot. From the looks of it the refs apparently decided to make it offsetting majors, despite Shane being almost certain Comeau instigated.

    Shit, did we seriously not notice the ref making the penalty announcement?

  5. Rec 2

    Tags
    Summary

    Juri's last year at Ohtori.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    357
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Comments:
    3
    Kudos:
    20
    Bookmarks:
    2
    Hits:
    331

    17 Mar 2026