yet another Check Please! fandom sideblog!

For OMGCheckPlease stories, art, and plot bunnies i may want to write. Home blog is labelleizzy.tumblr.com, LJ and AO3 are LaBelleIzzy as well.

[pecanplease]

A Softer Samwell

(586) Fuck this table and fuck you! (817) I have a right to be here… (795) Well, I don’t like any of those things, but I like you. (767) Hand out your chuckles while you can. (776) … (941) I’m gonna spend it with you.

@omgcpanniversaryweek Day 1: Characters

[pixelated-homunculus]

That feeling when you read a fanfic that’s SO GOOD and actually perfect and you desperately wish it had a fandom because it DESSERVES ONE

[daisyfairy1]

Ok, so I now want to read fics in all the fandoms based on this.

(Found on twitter https://twitter.com/WholesomeMeme/status/1632788134856474624?s=19)

[deehellcat]

omg, yes please. this would translate so well into so many fandoms :D

[makeshittyknightproud]

Bitty is the little drunken dancer and either Jack, ransom/holster, or Dex were the bouncers

[meteortrails]

it’s kind of hysterical to me that the omgcp fandom has made a meal out of every offhand line and tertiary character and yet. nary a peep on dex’s abundance of uncles. deeply underappreciated gag that dex is basically an expert at just about every form of manual labor under the sun specifically bc he had an uncle to teach him every single one. whatever you need, my man’s got an uncle for that. he’s swimming in uncles that wanna show you what they’re working on out in the garage. every time a fic has dex go home and there’s not at minimum two uncles i am casting judgement! does he have an embarrassment of highly specialized uncles? just a few incredibly handy uncles?? canonically nobody knows how many he has - does DEX even know???? like there is a whole sandbox here we’re not playing in.

[djtwist]

Traveling Exhibition

Prompt: shitty grappling with his feelings for jack after he gets injured

Prompt fill, 2k, rated T!

tags (from ao3): codependency, ambiguous relationships, ambiguous/open ending, girl you are not donna tartt stop talking about artwork, is what i would say if i were meaner to myself

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I wrote this quick little 2k thing for the 2026 Check, Please! winter fic challenge! It's about Jack and Shitty their sophomore year. And there's a traveling exhibition at the art gallery. And they play hockey. Agh I'm bad at summaries. Just read it please. And then maybe check out my other stuff on ao3!! First time posting fic on here omg so scary

[parsablenonsense]

sometimes you go to a concert and you start to catch up on a fic after seven years and you make a strange comic set to music

[ivecarvedawoodenheart]

Shitty Knight getting drafted is as likely as the Cubs winning the Series. He knows this, has joked about it enough, said it enough, he knows this, and yet—

The Cubs win the Series. Shitty Knight gets drafted.

[ivecarvedawoodenheart]

“—and we’re getting Zimmermann in the trades,” George says, snapping her briefcase shut.

She smiles a little. Shitty stares.

“You do know that’s the asshole who punched me in the face last season,” he says, slow. As if there’s any way she forgot. George is many things, but she’s nothing less than purposeful.

Geother shrugs. “You got some good hits in that game too.“ Now she smiles fully. “And we talked to him. Let him know there’s no tolerance for that on my team.“

”But—”

”Listen,” she says. “We don’t need Jack Zimmermann. You do. He’s gonna make you a better player, and you’re gonna make him a better person. Trust me, okay?”

[ivecarvedawoodenheart]

Everything they’ve ever written about Jack Zimmermann is true.

All of it, all of it; he’s a hard-ass, he’s the reason the Aces won the Cup last year, the reason they dominated on power plays, on overtime wins. Jack Zimmermann skates around like he owns the place — and, well. Some of the guys think his daddy might’ve sweetened the trade a little. Georgia doesn’t take bribes, but Shitty thinks the owners might’ve taken a new concession stand and a couple more box seats.

Shitty doesn’t say much, just watches, perfectly happy to ignore the reason he missed the end of last season . And then he realizes everything they’ve ever written about Jack Zimmermann is a lie, too. Hard-ass? Yeah, sure — but that’s a shitty way to say determined. Game winner? Absolutely — when he knows who his teammates are, when he knows who’s got his back. His passes connect, his shots go in, but Jack Zimmermann is a fish out of water in Providence. Usually he makes it look effortless. Shitty leaves week three of preseason crushingly aware that Jack Zimmermann is trying.

“Here,” Shitty says. He holds the door wide so Jack can step through.

“Thanks,” he mutters. Then: what blue eyes. Pinched expression. “And euh … sorry about, you know.“

“Ending my season?”

The door swings shut behind them. The air’s crisp and possible, and Shitty breathes in deep.

“…yeah,” Jack says. “I came onto your team and … I never said—”

Shitty glances at him. “S’okay, man. Happens.” He pauses, thinking. This feels unbearably delicate. “Probably for the best that you didn’t say anything right away.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Here goes— “I probably would’ve hit you back.”

Jack nods slowly. “And now?”

Shitty shrugs. “Wanna play MarioKart?”

[ivecarvedawoodenheart]

what if you played defense on a D1 hockey team … and what if I played defense on a D1 hockey team … and what if we had matching nicknames and best friend sundaes and shared a room … what if it was heavily implied we kissed and had threesomes together foo. what then.

[loveliesttime]

Wingman // Amen by Amber Run

[ivecarvedawoodenheart]

Divots

Ransom’s singing in the shower. 

He doesn’t have the voice Bitty does, not sweet and Southern, nor the voice Jack has, rich and low and slightly amused the way he is every time someone convinces him to sing. It’s usually Shitty who gets Jack going. Sometimes Lardo, eyebrows strategic and stare daring. Lardo can get anyone to sing but won’t do it herself. 

His voice carries to the attic. Holster spins aimlessly in his chair, listening. They’ve shared enough locker room showers for him to know what’s going on. The key changes — hard to say if it was on purpose  — and now Rans is crooning to a bottle of conditioner. The ancient Haus plumbing creaks, heralding the end of the show, the cold water straining through the pipes. Ransom’s voice hitches like always when the temperature changes, and Holster shakes his head. Three years and it’s still baffling that Rans likes to end with a cold shower. Voice crack aside, Holster knows it would’ve been a good performance. Justin Oluransi knows how to work a room. 

The wheels on Holster’s chair catch divots in the attic floor the way they always do, the way Holster’s thoughts do now. It doesn’t really matter if Rans is a good singer or not. He always sings in the shower when he gets laid. 

It was funny at first. Their first year they lived in the dorms and Holster made the trek to Ransom’s after every kegster, chirping for deets from the bathroom sink as Ransom made his way through the songs he knew by heart. They laughed at the joke like they’d both had sex. Sometimes it felt like it, debriefing like that. 

And then sophomore year Holster had a lengthy dry spell and suddenly it wasn’t funny his best friend sang in the shower after sex, not even a little bit, so un-funny that envy bled into jealousy and he went on runs to cool off every time Rans had someone over. It would’ve worked better if Rans wasn’t so good at wheeling. It was the worst time to share a room. 

And now—

The fan shuts off in the downstairs bathroom. Holster stops spinning and yanks open an Econ textbook, heart pounding like he’d taken that run the way he should’ve when he saw how Rans came back from his date. He skims the page and does it again and by the time the door opens, he still doesn’t know what it says. 

“Hey,” Rans says. He closes the door gently, two fingers on the wood. Holster doesn’t need to see it to know. 

Just like he doesn’t need to turn to know Rans has the towel knotted at his hips, or there’ll be some water sliding down his chest, or that he’s puffed up and pleased with himself. Holster stares at his textbook.

“Good night?” he asks, voice light, and Rans laughs. 

“Yeah, man. Really, really good.”

“That’s great, dude,” he says. He almost means it. “Happy for you.”

[ivecarvedawoodenheart]

@wikipediathefreeencyclopedia Ellie idk where your 55 & Holsom ask went, but here it is (fair warning for smut) 🌸

55. Chelsea Dagger — The Fratellis

I seen you and little Steven and Joanna ‘Round the back of my hotel, oh yeah Someone said you was asking after me But I know you best as a blagger I said, “Tell me your name, is it sweet?” She said, “My boy, it's Dagger,” oh yeah

Laughing up the attic steps, hands tugging wrists pulling shirts off on the way, Solo cups dropping to the wooden floor, lamplight caught in the spills, no hesitation before unbuttoning jeans and zipping off skirts and unhooking bras, one eye on March as Holster makes out with April, no further pretense needed. 

It barely counts as wheeling. Ransom, Holster, March, and April have hooked up during so many kegsters that Rans would’ve lost count if it weren’t for the Excel sheet. It’s one of those “it’d be shitty to keep a doc of all the women he and Holster have slept with” things mixed up with “they’d be total assholes if they forgot someone or forgot how many times,” and besides, this way there’s stats to study. Can’t get better if you don’t review game data. 

But this, with March and April. Ransom likes this. March walks backwards to the bottom bunk and tugs him after her and Rans is already grinning, looking up at her from his knees. March is bossy. He parts her knees and lets her boss him around. 

Having sex while his best friend’s having sex is like — it’s a d-man bond, that’s what it’s like. He can hear Holster and April, can practically feel them moving next to him, and he anticipates Holster’s fuck before he says it. Rans watches March’s face as April gasps and wonders if it’s the same for the two of them.

Rans and Holster don’t fuck each other. It’s almost — this is gonna sound bad, but sleeping with two best friends is almost like fucking Holster by proxy. This is the closest they’ll get. Sometimes the girls make out and Rans holds Holster’s shoulder and his eyes and syncs his thrusts to match and sometimes, at least twice, they kiss while March eggs them on. Holster kisses all needy when he’s fucking someone else. Maybe it’s the only time he can give into it, this simmering desire between them. 

Shitty would have a ton to say about this arrangement. Probably something about homosocial bonding; bro took a Shakespeare class one time and came back an expert on homoerotic subtext. But it’s not subtext when Holster and March are both guiding Ransom’s dick into April, just like it’s not when Ransom and April are both pinning Holster to the bed for March to blow him. He’s mouthy when he’s getting head. 

March tastes really fucking good. Sometimes, if they’re careful and feeling brave, they’ll start without a condom so March and April can taste each other on Ransom and Holster. It’s one of the hottest things Rans has ever seen, March sucking him off after he’s been in April, staring at April the whole time. He came really fucking fast. Holster didn’t have a leg to stand on because that was the day they all found out how much he likes being manhandled. 

“Oh, fuck,” Holster breathes, and Rans really wants to know what’s got him sounding like that. When he glances, Holster’s eyes are wild. “Yeah, lick her like that, March is loving that.”

“Fingers, Rans,” says April now. “Do the — curl thing you do, she really — right there, Holtzy, god — she likes it when you do that.”

One finger, two, and he feels March squeeze him. He taps teasingly. She swears. 

Rans looks over at Holster again, but he’s not watching this time. Now he’s got his head buried just under April’s jaw, her hands tangled in his hair. Her eyes are closed. 

A heady exhale. He knows what this means, knows what March wants now. He fingers her as he tears open the condom with his teeth. She says something like finally when he slides inside her. 

Holster’s breath hitches. This is another thing he’s learnt sharing a room and now sharing foursomes together; Holster’s breath hitches when he comes. April laughs. March says keep going, fuck you, don’t stop, unless it’s April getting her off, at which point she goes you’re perfect, you’re perfect.

March knows she says it. He’d asked once and she’d shrugged like it was a stupid thing to bring up, like of course she’d think April is perfect. And maybe she would. But it’s the comparison of the four of them is all. Maybe Shitty has a point about homosocial bonding. 

Ransom kisses March as he fucks her. March runs her nails up his back, and the pressure roots him here with her instead of drifting across the room with Holster. She’d asked him about that too once and he’d had no good answer for her. He doesn’t think about Holster finishing a couple feet from him. He thinks about the way March says keep going, fuck you, don’t stop. He doesn’t ask if she’s thinking about April. He doesn’t stop. 

______

He and Holster shower together, after. After the girls have gotten into their Uber and after they’ve opened the window to let the sex smell out and after they’ve knotted their condoms and thrown them away, Ransom and Holster tiptoe to their bathroom and squeeze into the shower together. It’s not sexual. Really it’s a little too tired to be anything at all, let alone hot. 

But this is what concerns Rans the most; after the hottest foursome he’s ever had, he’s getting into a platonic shower with the probable love of his life. Both of them were balls deep in two women who are in love with each other and unaware of it and now they’re all four getting ready for bed with the same exact person they didn’t fuck, but sort of did, because the lack of fucking is even more pressing than the act of it. It’s a deliberate non-action, not fucking someone in a foursome. 

And now they’re showering together. They’ve shared thousands of showers, Rans said the first time it happened. What’s one more?

It turns out one more shower turns into a habit, grows into Holster sudsing his back without being asked. Blink and Rans smooths facial cleanser over Holster’s cheeks. Blink again, and Rans massages conditioner through Holster’s hair, and Holster counts hickeys on their bodies. 

Some of the hickeys show up in the same spot. Their jaws, their shoulders, once even their biceps. “They made us a matching set,” Holster says now, touching a mark blooming on Rans’s neck. 

“Think they planned it?” Rans asks. He thinks so. He knows Holster told April about these showers. 

Holster blinks against the water. “Yeah, they might’ve.”

“I kinda like it,” Rans says. 

“You do?”

Brief glance up, and Holster’s eyes big and blue and careful, like skating onto uncertain ice. His hand is warm at Ransom’s neck. 

“Yeah.” Rans thumbs the same spot on Holster’s skin, and Holster shivers despite the hot water. This feels like new ground. He wants to set words to it. “I do.”

They stand there, Rans’s thumb over their matching splotch, until the water runs cold and there’s no more excuses left for lingering. 

[ivecarvedawoodenheart]

the aftermath of us

If there was anyone to ever get through this life With their heart still intact, they didn't do it right (x)

Heart beating slow, quiet, and Rans’s pulse tangles messily where his wrist presses against Holster’s over his head, where his thighs embrace Holster’s hips, where Holster’s mouth meets his neck. It’s not a kiss anymore, not really — this aching, heavy silence here between them, this painful, suspended moment here between them, this is — the aftermath. The inhale that’s held before a lover leaves for the last time. 

“Do you remember that one time,” Holster says, soft. His breath is warm and too familiar for what they’re turning into. “Toga kegster, junior year? Those stupid shutter shades we got?”

And he hates this, Rans — hates this, this autopsy, has to hold Holster closer one more time in order to let him go again, has to absently play with Holster’s hair to stop from crying. Fuck, he’s glad Holster can’t see him right now. Fuck, he’s glad Holster’s still holding his thigh too tight. Pressed back into himself for the last time. He’d float away if Holster wasn’t pinning him down. 

He clears his throat. “Yeah, I remember.”

And Holster sighs and says, “That was it for me. If you ever wanted — I dunno Ransy, but you should know that’s when it happened. Stupid shutter shades and sweat sticky down our backs and all.”

It’s kissing around the edges of an I’ve loved you. They’ve just done what they’ve done and ended what they’ve ended and it’s—

“That’s not fair, you know that’s not fair, why would you — you said,” Rans says, forcing himself to breathe. “You said ‘we didn’t get it right, but we did our best.’ You said that.”

Holster inches off of him and Rans feels like he’ll shatter if they stop touching, feels like he’ll explode if they stay entwined like this. And it’s I’m sorry, I needed you to know and it’s you’re still moving. You’re still leaving and it’s a six figure NHL contract all the way across the country and a shiny med school admissions letter on Rans’s desk and god, it’s I really wanted us to fit and it’s a sob and a fuck, Holster, I’ve been in love with you too. 

They’re over, but in this moment with Holster on top of him, they haven’t ended, not yet. When he gets up it’ll be real. When Holster looks away from him it’ll be real. When he — Rans cradles his face and Holster turns to kiss his palm, and whispers can I? so Rans kisses him, and when they’re done kissing it’ll be real. 

He doesn’t wanna let go yet. If he closes his eyes maybe he can freeze this moment before it finishes and pretend, just for this smallest of infinities between kissing and breathing and I’m sorry, I’m sorry. They did their best. Rans kisses Holster until he believes it and kisses Holster until he knows it and kisses Holster until it’s time to let him go. 

[ivecarvedawoodenheart]

bob/alicia and 65?

65. Unknown/Nth — Hozier

Do you know, I could break beneath the weight Of the goodness, love, I still carry for you? That I'd walk so far just to take The injury of finally knowing you

(Alicia's POV of the Kiss Cam scene from Limelight)

In the space between Kissed and Unkissed, he’s just Bobby. It’s hard to remember what’s so scary about this whole thing when she's straightening his lapel and he’s threading his fingers through her hair, gentle despite the break in his nose and the cut on his lip, despite the distance she’s tried to hide inside. Maybe because of it. 

He touches her like they’re in private. It’s at odds with the way she’s playing it, very amped up for the crowd and the Kiss Cam. She exaggerates it now, smiling the way she does when she’s flirting in a movie, and she sees the moment it clicks for him. Bobby’s mouth turns playful. He glances at the crowd, sending them a heartbreaker’s smile. When he looks back at her his eyes have gone all serious again. He’s following her lead, but he meant what he’d said earlier. He still wants this with her. 

Alicia has pushed him away and pushed away and he’s let her, and now she’s batting her eyelashes and pulling him closer for the audience, off balance herself, but his hands on her waist are steady. 

It’s terrifying, this trust he has in her. Whatever this unshakable belief is, that she’s made the right call by coming back for him and that he’ll prove it to her. She wonders what it’d be like to be that sure of someone else. 

His lips are soft at her earlobe. A thrill zings through her as he whispers, “Are you sure?”

His closeness. His cologne. Alicia is already halfway wrapped up in him. 

“No tongue,” she whispers back. He’s already leaning down when she kisses him. 

Bobby Zimmermann is a good kisser. This is a kiss she could get lost inside, one that’d swallow her up if she let it. It’s in the way he teases at first, asking her to chase him. It’s in the way he cradles her face, asking her to realize it’s him, to see that this isn’t a costar or club hookup she’s kissing. She tastes a promise on his tongue. This kiss could mean something, he’s telling her. He wants it to. 

They’re having a baby. Her baby’s father wants this with her. The whole arena is watching him kiss her. 

Her heart’s beating really fast. Everything is a little too — real. 

She pulls him closer on instinct and he follows and he smashes his nose against her cheek and doubles over so quickly she just blinks, startled. Bobby Zimmermann prods his nose gingerly, swearing up a storm. He looks at her apologetically. 

Alicia recovers first. There’s a crowd to woo and she’s always been good at that, always quick to push her feelings aside and be what they want to see. Right now they want to see a supermodel and the hunky NHL star she just kissed, broken nose and all, so she gives it to them. It’s not hard pretending it was a hot kiss. It’s easy to laugh a little about Bobby’s nose, a slapstick sequence the crowd’s eating up. 

“You okay?” she asks. A camera swoops in, and she laughs and blows a kiss at the lens. 

“Yeah,” Bobby says. The look on his face takes her breath, an obvious expression caught in his brown eyes. “Just got carried away.”

Alicia pulls her actress persona around her stitch by stitch. “I’m sorry about your nose.”

She means it as a way to create distance. That kiss left her feeling a little tumbled, a little raw, too accessible. It’s safe tucked away behind Alicia Fenway, Actress. 

Bobby’s still just Bobby though, like an exposed nerve. His feelings linger on the surface. They always do. But this time, instead of making her nervous, curiosity blooms in her chest. For the second time tonight she wonders if Bobby really means what he says. 

“It’s alright,” he says, and now he’s smiling a little. “It was worth it, to kiss you again.”

She blushes. She finds she doesn’t mind if he sees. 

“Alicia,” he says a beat later, after the whistle blows and the game resumes. “You’ve got a little…”

He gestures at her mouth, her chin, and it must’ve been a bigger kiss than she thought if her lipstick smudged that much. She wipes at her face and he shakes his head and she does it again but it’s not better, not better says Bobby’s shaking head. 

“Can you,” she starts, raising his hand to her face before she can overthink it. 

Bobby straightens. That obvious expression lights up in his eyes again, and as he smooths the lipstick from her chin, she wonders if he knows. Bobby Zimmermann’s in love with her. 

“There you go,” he says finally. His thumb slips off her chin slowly, like he doesn’t want to stop touching her. 

She’ll play it safe for both their sake. He’d walk a thousand miles for her, she can see it now; she’ll keep herself slightly apart so he’ll never have to. She’d told him before the kiss that she doesn’t know what she wants. She’ll keep herself standing, not leaning, so he won’t have to carry the pain of knowing her. This can work. 

For a moment Alicia thinks about what it’d be like to be loved by him the way he wants to love her. But it’d be too much, too all-encompassing, so she ducks behind her facade and hopes it won’t break his heart too much the day he finally wakes up.

[omgpoindexter]

fellas is it weird to build a stroppy basement dwelling and then never use it

[atlasthemayor]

EYYYYYYYYYYY How's it going??

I did this little doodle to celebrate my birthday (december 4th) I'm posting it ahead of time to remind you once more that DECEMBER 4TH is Frog Day, so I better see y'all posting about them Make my happy birthday even happier by posting fics, fanart, WIPs, anything and everything and whatever you got (it doesn't even have to be about just them, it could be a good opportunity to explore the dynamics each frog has with other omgcp characters) (maybe some dynamics we haven't even seen in the comics??)

If you don't make it in time, no worries tho, just post it whenever, I'm sure me and the other 5 active frogs fans on this hellhole will appreciate it a bunch anyways <3

[milominderbindered]

celebrating gay hockey renaissance by rereading all of check please 🫶

[atlasthemayor]

hiya 👀👀 would you draw the frogs being silly together? pretty please, with strawberry on top? thank you

Okay, your request wasn't very specific so I just picked a pose from instagram and kinda went absolutely fucking ham with it I MISSED DRAWING THEM A LOT (feat. Cait and also WTF cause I needed a background character and it felt wrong just adding one of them)