#ott.meta

[vegas2014]

shane hollander nervous uptalk i love you. “this year i bought another one. right next door.” has the EXACT same cadence/lilt as “i have my own well. you can see it.” nervous bc ilya is coming over for the first time. TWICE. SIX YEARS APART. whatever i dont care

[vegas2014]

thinking about the rooftop scene at the end of episode 1 and how shane views competition/winning/losing re: his relationship with control (hockey) and desire (ilya). when he finds ilya on the roof, ilya’s clearly upset and shane assumes it’s because he won rookie of the year over ilya. he’s a little drunk and very pissed when he says "all you ever do is beat me", which we know isn't true. shane's actually won the last few competitions we've seen between them (their first face-off, that game, the shot accuracy competition, rookie of the year), but that’s not the point. the point is that shane historically doesn't lose. he’s finally met his competitive match, and he’s winning professionally, but his control over his desires keeps slipping. and that’s infuriating.

so imagine you're shane hollander, and you grew up being the undisputed best on every team you've ever played on. best on your youth teams, best on your high school team, captain of the canadian world juniors' team, who you lead to the championships. and then you lose your first juniors' championship in your home country. which sucks. and then, the stupid cocky, stupid hot captain of the team that beat you is the first draft pick your rookie season. you're second, which is huge, but you're not first. you were supposed to be first. you're drafted onto your mom's favorite team. it's almost everything you dreamed of—almost. this asshole shows up in the gym in the hotel in the middle of the night and silently challenges you to a race and you tie (in the book, shane loses). you don't win. you can't win. and then he's sitting across from you and he's sweaty and panting and making small talk and making you drink from his water bottle and you don't want to take it because that would be an admission of defeat too, but he insists, so you take it. he tells you to drink more and you do. why the fuck are you listening to him? he says you'll be seeing a lot of each other. you want to climb into his lap and kiss him. you feel your carefully honed self-control start to slip. you want to hit him. the next time you see him, it's your last world junior's championship, in your hometown, and you won't lose this time. you don't lose this time. good, you're climbing back up. you're evening the score.

six months later, you're shooting a commercial with the guy and of course it was his idea for you do it together. fine. you shower afterward and you're trying to be out of there before he shows up but you lose that race too. he's gorgeous and you can't stop yourself from stealing glaces at every inch of him when you think he's not looking. but he sees you. and he sees that you're getting hard just from the sight of him. another goddamn thing for him to hold over you. you want to hate him. you want to swallow him whole. another loss. he asks for your room number and you give it to him, easily. another loss. you hook up and its terrifying and hopeless and really fucking good but you don't fully believe him when he says he won't tell anybody. you're losing control. you never lose control.

you finally start playing against him and it's become your mission to beat him, to regain the control he’s been taking from you. so you do beat him. you win your first face-off against him, you score a goal right after and win the game. you're ahead of him in goals scored this season. you break the shot accuracy record he just set. it's either you or him for rookie of the year. there's another guy too, but everyone knows it's really down to hollander and rozanov. it's always down to hollander and rozanov. you win rookie of the year. you're getting your control back. the older players want to do shots with you, and despite yourself, you're looking for rozanov. you find him sulking on the roof, smoking a cigarette. he congratulates you, and you politely deflect it, but he doubles down and gives you a side eye, and that pisses you off. why can't he let you have this one stupid fucking thing? why can't this one thing belong to you when everything else that was yours (your game, your body, your heart) belongs to him? and now you're all but yelling at him, and he shoots back "not everything is about you, hollander" and—god damn it—your eyes well with tears. because for you, everything is about him. no matter how hard you try, it's always about him. you're shane hollander and you're 19 and all you want is to beat ilya rozanov for good so you can get your life back where you planned for it to be. but he won't let you.

[vegas2014]

something soooo chewy about shane’s center ice fantasy like the performance aspect the heat of sweat and the cold ice the desperation the reclamation of self in the arena of his sport

[vegas2014]

i think i’ve posted about this before but god. fucking. the way ilya keeps his hand outstretched for like two beats after shane leaves. “hollander” like maybe if i stay frozen you’ll come back. maybe if i stay here i can pretend i didn’t cross that line. the hand that could mean “it’s nothing” or “i’m here” depending on how shane interprets it. the way ilya doesn’t care how he interprets it as long as he stays. and then he leaves anyway

[vegas2014]

something about how shane feels like he can’t come out to his parents without also telling them about ilya. something about how those two truths are inextricable to him

[vegas2014]

“we aren’t anything.” to “we can’t be something.” little changes little shifts but they mean so much