oofnaw



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Harris, who was sitting next to Shane, nudged him with his foot. “Yeah, I mean, it’s not kinky kinky unless Shane went out and bought, like, a full-on sex swing or something crazy like–”

    Harris stopped talking because Shane had frozen. Completely frozen. His glass halted halfway to his lips. His eyes went wide and fixed on a point on the far wall. The blush that had been a soft pink bloomed into a scarlet tide that crept from his neckline to the roots of his hair.

    Ilya, watching him, threw his head back and burst out laughing.

    (or, 5 times Ottawa Centaurs found out their sweet Canadian cinnamonroll is a freak and 1 time they realized that Hollanov's freaks are matched)

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    09 Mar 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Lily

    Kissed someone. Told her to leave.

    Still thinking of you.

    Oh, you looked at me.

    Fuck, look at you, sweetheart.

    My pretty boy.

    Get your hands off of her waist.

    I know you can feel your phone vibrating.

    I know you feel me looking at you.

    Tell her you have to go. NOW.

    Hollander, I will not ask again.

    or
    heated rivalry, as told though text messages and tweets.


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    09 Mar 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    @ottawacentaurs
    Shane Hollander ranks hockey players; number five will surprise you!

    “Who’s the third?” Shane asked with seemingly genuine confusion.
    “What?”
    “The third player.” Shane clarified, “In the big three of active players? I mean it’s me and Ilya, right?”
    Amelia nodded mutely whilst Luca Haas, who had been asked the question, stared at Shane with wide eyes.
    “So, who’s the third?” Shane’s face took on a contemplative look.
    “Scott Hunter?” Amelia said with confusion.
    “Hunter?” Shane looked surprised. “Why?”
    Across the room Roz let out a bark of laughter.

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    09 Mar 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Shane wears Ilya's jersey.

    Ilya's brain short-circuits.

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    09 Mar 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    “Which one is yours?”

    Shane scans the ice for his daughter’s jersey number. Ilya had been really smug about it when they brought it home. She has your last name, Hollander, he’d said, let her have my number if she wants. Is better, anyway.

    “That one,” he says, pointing at the clump of white jerseys. “Number 81. Mila.”

    “Oh you’re Mila’s dad!” The woman looks delighted. “I’m Maddie’s mom. Jane.”

    She holds her hand out, and Shane has to bite back a grin. He takes her hand.

    “Shane,” he says, shaking it. “Nice to meet you.”

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    08 Mar 2026