Penname: Noorah
34/Ace/She/Her
Literally just a side for my OMGCP and real life hockey fangirling needs. Always here for Samwell Hockey. I follow players, not teams, so you'll see a full spectrum of the NHL on here. This blog loves all OMGCP characters and is KVP positive. Oh, and welcome to rarepair hell!
Icon by the wonderful itsybittle!
I saw a tweet that asked “has there even been a baby who sat in the Stanley cup, then proceeded to join the nhl/win a Stanley cup?” and my dumb ass confindently went “JACK ZIMMERMANN”
Apparently NHL potentials are being philosophically tortured by management as part of an extended interview/training/assessment process that all prospects go through
Check, Please community rise, let’s start some fanon beef over how many golf balls Jack can stack, I fully think he gets to 6+ by entering into a flow state
I could SO imagine an au where Ilya thinks Shane is playing like some 4D level mind fuck game with him when he comes over to shake his hand (twice) and compliment his playing, so instead of doing his cocky asshole schtick he earnestly takes the compliment and returns it in kind. And then Ilya goes in for the kill, expecting to call Shane's nice guy bluff by asking for his number. Ha. Bet you weren't expecting THAT, Hollander.
But then Hollander seems,,, weirdly pleased?? And,,, actually complies?? Before practically skipping off, like he got what he wanted?? What??
And then they're texting back and forth and Ilya still partly thinks this is some kind of long con, but then it's been weeks and then it's been longer and suddenly they're at the draft and Shane is looking around the room and when he spots Ilya his entire face lights up and he's making a beeline for Ilya and he's still smiling as he says "Ilya!" like he's happy to see him,,, because he IS happy to see him. Because they've been messaging basically constantly for months now and oh fuck oh shit Ilya is so so deeply screwed.
And so, instead of their canon rivals-with-benefits arrangement, we get the ten year slow burn best friends to lovers narrative.
post retirement hollanov but with the jenna marbles n julien solomita vibe where shane completely disappears from the public eye and ilya becomes a twitch streamer and every 5-7 years he shows one (1) picture of shane and tells occasional stories about him between games of rocket league and pubg
One time when the Cens are on a string of away games Ilya looks out the plane window and, out of nowhere asks, “what do you think clouds taste like?” Shane had been deep in strategy mode so he hmms a little before answering, “I mean they’re just water, except it’s like condensed and they would be way too cold to consume.” Ilya nods sagely before saying, “so, like slushy.”
One time, after that, they're at the cottage, sitting at the lake, watching the sunset paint the sky a brilliant crimson. Shane's head is resting on Ilya's shoulder and he's thinking of everything they've been through and how lucky he is that it all led them here. How grateful he is that he gets to share his life with Ilya. He looks up at his husband who looks similarly pensive and asks him what he's thinking, feeling tender and so deeply in love, and Ilya says "these clouds are cherry flavour."
Everyone has their corny fic trope they will never not love, and for me it’s mafia/organized crime AUs. So, consider.Â
A summer night in Manitoba. Shane fighting sleep from the driver’s seat of his patrol car, four hours left on his shift.Â
Nights like this are dangerous because they allow his mind to wander back to a time when he wasn’t always a small-town cop, writing parking tickets and getting the short end of the stick with his patrol times. In another lifetime he was one of the youngest members of the RCMP, back before the lifetime blacklist and demotion down to the lowest possible rung of police work with no hope of ever rising up again.Â
A car zips by, the first in hours. Barely anyone drives on this back-end, one-way road this late, not even teenagers looking for trouble. Shane ignores half the cars that pass through, but this one has a trifecta of infractions: no plates, double the speed limit, dead right tail light.Â
Shane sighs and turns on the flashing lights, pulling away from his patrol spot on the shoulder. The car pulls over immediately, obediently. Shane is relieved; the last thing he wants to do at 3 in the morning is start a pursuit.Â
He gets out of his car, flashlight in one hand, wanders over to the driver’s side door prepared to see a stoned teenager or a night shift construction worker woozy from lack of sleep.Â
Instead, Shane freezes, his fingers going so limp he nearly drops his flashlight.Â
The man sitting in the driver’s seat should not be here. He should be miles away, at his home base in Montreal, not driving a piece of shit beater in the middle of nowhere.Â
And Shane should not be here with him, because as far as Ilya Rozanov knows, Shane Hollander’s body burned up in a car fire four years ago.
Ilya blinks at Shane, narrowing his eyes. It’s dark, even with the flashing light spilling behind them and the tiny light in Shane’s hand. If he gets through this quickly, maybe Ilya won’t even get a good look at his face.
“Can I help you, Officer?” Ilya asks, tapping the steering wheel once, twice, with his pointer finger. Hearing his voice sends twin lines of heat and ice down Shane’s spine.Â
“Sorry, ah,” Shane clears his throat. “You have…you were going a little fast.”Â
“I am not from around here.”
“Right, well, just don’t do it again,” Shane says. “Um, and get that tail light fixed. Have a good night.”Â
He turns on his heel, forcing his legs to move fast despite the fact they feel wobbly. He just needs to get to his car and it’ll be fine.Â
He hears the door of the other car open behind him, heavy boots settling on the ground. Â
“Officer,” Ilya calls behind him.Â
He keeps walking, but the feet behind him are walking, too, faster.Â
Shane makes it to the squad car, grabs the door handle like a lifeline, but before he can get it open, a heavy body is pinning him down.
“Too slow,” Ilya says behind him, pulling his hand away from the door handle so he could hold Shane’s arms behind his back.
“Sir,” Shane whispers. Tears prick at his eyes, the animal fear rising in his body. “Please just…go back to your car.”
“But I wanted to tell you something, Officer,” Ilya says. “It’s very funny. Do you want to hear it?”Â
Shane hears Ilya unclip something from his belt, feels cool metal press into his side. Ilya leans in so close he can feel his breath along the shell of his ear.Â
 “You look just like my dead husband.”Â
Shane’s body goes limp, the memories rushing back to him at once.Â
He used to be very, very good at his job. So good he was once entrusted to lead an undercover sting of one of the country’s most deeply rooted bratva families. He was meant to find all he could on the family’s young and newly minted pakhan, find a weakness in the newly shaken power structure. He had succeeded more than anyone could imagine, including himself.Â
But he was not meant to get attached. And in that aspect he had failed horribly.
Ilya’s lips press to his neck, over his jumping pulse point.Â
“Did you think I would not find you, Зайчик?”Â
Shane has not heard that name in four years, and it undoes him.Â
“Ilya,” he whispers, the less scrap of self preservation leaving his body. “Please.”Â
He doesn’t know what he’s even asking for. To not die? To die quickly and painlessly?Â
Ilya tugs on his arm. It’s pathetic, really, the way Shane peels away easily from the car and collapses into Ilya’s waiting body. The barrel of the gun is still stuck between his ribs, but he knows he would move even without it.
“Come on,” Ilya says, nodding towards the beater. Shane can see now how obvious this whole thing was, a series of petty traffic infractions laid out of him like he’s a rat in a trap. A bunny hopping blindly to the wolves.Â
“At least tell me where you’re taking me,” Shane says. He doesn’t know where he finds the strength to say it, to make any request at all. Ilya looks at him like Shane has asked the color of the sky.Â
“You do not know?” he asks. “I am taking you home.”
In the heated rivalry universe Shane Hollander has heard about Check Please! because he reads hockey books and he is gay and it comes up in his algorithm. But he can't make himself read it until after he goes to Ottawa because he's really afraid that it would blow up his brain chemistry irrevocably and he would have an actual screaming breakdown. But since he didn't even (get to) have a breakdown at fanmailgate. He reads check please!. And he feels hollow in the pit of his soul for three weeks after.
Bitty sends this to Jack and Jack tells him thick ice is slower and NHL ice is only 1.9 cm. And then he sends a follow up text that says, “I love you too, Bits. I’ll play on your thick figure skating ice for you.”
The guy who played Ilia in heated rivarly could totally be Kent Parson in a live action check please adaption. Make that man the face of gay hockey forever
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