ALTC



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    No serious hockey fan or sports commentator worth their salt would have considered record-breaking Boston superstar Ilya Rozanov to be Shane Hollander’s rival exactly, but sleeping with a man who had a specific offense-related vendetta against him and a wrist shot like a jet engine to back it up was probably ill-advised just the same.

    Or, Shane is a goalie. Ilya can’t score.

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    15 May 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    “You are planning to rob me or what?” He hears Rozanov call, and he can’t help but smile slightly even as he rolls his eyes, closing the door to the linen closet and feeling strangely lighter than when he opened it, reassured that he’s just trying to read into a blank page, that today doesn’t mean anything more than Rozanov doesn’t mind him being around, which is strangely flattering.

    “I don’t know,” he calls back. “Don’t Russians like diamonds and fur and stuff? Where should I start looking if I want to know what my options are?”

    He hears Rozanov laugh, and it makes him smile.

    When he joins him in the living room once more, Rozanov tugs him down to lean against him again. Shane goes easier this time, settling into it, knowing it doesn’t mean anything other than the fact that he just happens to be the closest warm body, the person on Rozanov’s roster who filled today’s slot.

    (the tuna meltdown doesn't happen) (this does not mean they get ANY better at communication)

    (or: how shane didn't realize he had a boyfriend for several months)

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    14 May 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    He can’t tell Ilya though. He can’t tell Ilya that his team might not be right for Shane. That this perfect solution is making Shane a worse hockey player, a bad teammate.

    That maybe Shane Hollander of the Voyagers really was his full name. That Shane Hollander of the Centaurs might not exist.

    He can’t say that. He can’t ruin everything. He can’t dim the shine in Ilya’s eyes, the bounce in his step, the color in his cheeks he didn’t have the last few years.

    Ilya sacrificed hockey for their relationship for two years, played on a crappy team and watched Shane win. It’s Shane’s turn to sacrifice, to figure out how to make this work and let Ilya lead this time.

    Or:

    Transitions are hard for Shane. Joining his husband's team turns out not to be an exception to that rule.

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    02 May 2026

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    Cardiac tamponade: pressure on that heart that prevents it from filling and beating adequately.

    Shane thought he knew two things: his move to Ottawa would cause chaos, and that the Ottawa Centaurs were nice.

    As it turned out, he only knew one of those things.

    (Or: the Cens are still a team of professional hockey players. They're going to fuck up.)

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    02 May 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    The Boston Bears group chat had sixty-three new messages in the span of three minutes.

    His coffee forgotten, Ilya swiped open the chat, scrolling quickly to find the source of the commotion. A link to The Athletic, posted by Jensen, their captain, followed by a string of exclamation points. Ilya tapped it, the headline materializing on his screen like a blow to the chest:

    BREAKING: MONTREAL VOYAGEURS’ SECOND DRAFT SHANE HOLLANDER ANNOUNCES RETIREMENT

    Ilya's pulse jumped, hard and sudden in his throat. The mug slipped from his hand, not falling but landing too heavily on the counter, coffee slopping over the rim. He set it down properly, his movements mechanical, and forced himself to read the rest of the headline:

    20-YEAR-OLD ROOKIE OF THE YEAR STEPPING AWAY TO PURSUE HARVARD BUSINESS DEGREE

    Or

    Shane Hollander has spent his entire life living and breathing hockey. At twenty, at the height of his career, he makes an unthinkable choice: he walks away to discover who he is beyond the ice.

    But some things don’t stay behind.

    What happens when the rivalry between him and Rozanov ends, but the pull doesn’t?

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    01 May 2026