1 – 20 of 20 Works in Spoilers for The Long Game

  • Spoilers for The Long Game ×
  1. Hayden Pike has a 4.9-star rating on FanMail and one rule: never watch it back. Brad from Cornwall gets a very nice video about his truck. Then a lot of people have to clean up after it.

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  2. “Well…” Ilya grinned mischievously, “I know you were upset about not getting a nice WAG basket. I am not sure if I did this right, though.” He stood up and grabbed the first and smallest basket and handed it to Shane who was still sitting on the couch. Nowadays most women just sent everything in a cardboard box. Ilya’s basket looked like one of the ones at the grocery store near Easter time, but tiny. It was woven and clumsily wrapped in cellophane. “The woman at the store said I needed a bag to put the basket in. I do not see the point of this, but for you I wanted the best, so I bought the bags.”

    or

    Long distance relationships are hard. Long distance relationships when no one knows you’re in one are the hardest. Shane and Ilya find creative ways to stay connected using the tradition of WAG baskets given to Voyageurs' players before playoffs.

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  3. The plane carrying the Voyageurs home from Houston crashes just after take-off.

    Shane is on board.

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  4. “I told you. Hollander and I, we are in love. He is my hockey player.” Ilya wiggled his eyebrows at the joke, but couldn’t keep himself from watching Scott Hunter.
    “Sure, Roz. You and Hollander are in love, want to get married, spend the rest of your lives playing hockey together.” When Ilya didn’t immediately reply to that very accurate statement, Hunter continued: “If you two are in love, I’m straight. That’s how likely that is.” He had laughed and skated away, though Ilya really hadn’t understood what was supposed to be funny about that.
    Standing alone on the ice, the crowd slowly filing out of the rink, Ilya was faced with a startling realization: telling people may be harder than he thought.
    or
    What if Shane gave Ilya permission to soft launch their relationship. Ilya is, of course, thrilled and immediately starts telling everyone around him. Problem is, no one believes him!

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  5. Stuck in an alt-world where he and Shane never hooked up as teenagers, Ilya is determined to get Shane back. To do that, Ilya has to figure out a way to get Shane to see him as anyone other than the Russian asshole who has spent a decade pissing him off. It can't be that hard to make your husband fall in love with you... right?

    Basically: Shane Hollander makes a wish with good intentions. Ilya Rozanov wakes up confused, single, closeted, and miserable in Boston.

    +Bonus Chapter where AltWorld!Ilya wakes up confused, married, out, and carefree in Ottawa

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  6. “Wow, this is absolutely stunning.” “I bet you say that to all the houses.” Ilya teased, shifting past him and moving back to his target: coffee. Stevie’s laugh was bright, “Sometimes, yes. But that is also one of the perks of the job. Getting to see so many beautiful houses. You had this designed, yes?” Ilya pushed the button for a flat white before he turned. “Yes. With my partner. He is much more into the whole real estate thing than I.” At those words, as if summoned, Shane appeared at the top of the stairs, a vibrating Anya at his side. Or Ilya gets invited to film a Youtube Video for Architectural Digest for his house in Ottawa and he decides not to hide the fact that someone else also lives here in the off season. He could have warned the camera team beforehand, but that would have taken all the fun out of the reveal.

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  7. Rose Landry is shooting yet another X-Squad sequel in Montreal this month, and they planned her visit to Shane and Ilya's place in Ottawa ages ago; it's just a weird coincidence that Shane is out for a few games with a shoulder strain, and able to hang out with Rose tonight while Ilya's busy playing a home game against Dallas. In which Rose and Shane drink a little too much wine on their girls' night, and Shane winds up with a face full of makeup. It would be a shame if Ilya came home unexpectedly and caught him looking like this! ~~ Or: Rose is an ally, makes Shane pretty, and Ilya rails him about it.

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  8. Five times Shane Hollander worn Ilya Rozanov's Jersey.

    And one time he wore 'their' jersey.

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  9. “Holy shit,” Shane says. He straightens and turns around with something cradled in his arms. “What is it?” Shane laughs, his smile bright. “Oh my god, he’s so cute.” “Shane, what did you pick up?” Ilya asks as he finally stands. He starts walking over, and Shane meets him halfway. “Look.” Shane’s voice has gone soft, his tone full of wonder. Ilya looks down to see a scruffy orange kitten curled up in Shane’s arms. He’s dirty and seems exhausted, not even fighting Shane as he looks up at them. OR The cat distribution system finds Shane and Ilya.

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  10. There hadn’t been a whole lot of tape, back then, not on a bunch of kids who were likely to get chewed up and spit out by the KHL, but Rozanov was a special case – his agent had clearly known his aim was for North American leagues, and there’d been a few tapes leaked here and there of the fourteen, fifteen, sixteen year old phenom who had more trick plays up his sleeve than Yuna, personally, thought was true hockey. The video of his spin on the Michigan had made the rounds in David’s McGill email chain, and Yuna had tipped her chin up and sworn up and down he’d be a one-trick pony who’d be flat on his ass the first time he tried that shit in the pros.

    Shane had downloaded the video to his desktop and studied the tape like he did old games of Scott Hunter.

     

    ---

    Yuna Hollander works through years of memories in attempt to discover when she should have known her son didn't trust her with all of himself.

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  11. A collection of snippets about Ilya's life with the Ottawa Centaurs, who'd know he was happily domesticated by Shane Hollander if they didn't firmly believe Ilya was straight.

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  12. > "Genetic. Huh, when'd you learn that word?" 5 words Ilya has learned in English over the years, and 1 word he relearns.

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  13. Shane remembers Ilya telling him once that hell is the suffering of being unable to love anymore, and Shane hadn’t understood that then. He couldn’t imagine being unable to love, because they were freshly married and blindingly happy and there was no force in the world that could take it away. But Shane thinks he gets it now, as he thinks about that grey December afternoon and beautiful blond boy in a toque with no one to love and no one to love him. That’s hell, he thinks. That’s hell, and he can barely speak around the swell of emotion in his throat, around the grief he feels at having held Ilya’s young hand for only a moment, for how he can never go back and hold him like he deserves to be held. They’re out - they’ve been out - and Shane can hardly stand it sometimes, how fucking good it feels to see Ilya enter a crowded room and meet his eyes and not feel that cold shock of terror zip down his spine. How plainly he can show love on his face after a decade of closed doors and frantic, not-enough stolen moments and being too terrified to let even his phone know he loves Ilya Rozanov. How he can reach out and tangle fingers with the love of his life and this new world they live in doesn’t try to cave in, or make them leave it, or make them leave each other. It drives him out of his mind daily, thinking about the life they lived together - apart, too fucking apart - for nearly ten years. Sometimes he looks at the slope of Ilya’s shoulders peeking out of a dark cotton tank top on their couch or the point of his toes tapping Shane’s across the space between their chairs or the soft swirl of golden curls darkened in the shower they designed together. Sometimes he looks at those things and his chest wells so full of love he feels like he might burst. Sometimes he looks at those things and feels like he might burst, yeah, but it’s not what drives him crazy. What drives him crazy is the memory of baby-rounded cheeks outside a rink in the prairies in 2008, in the dead of a bitterly cold winter, his first look at the face that would wallpaper his twenties, his whole life. Pinked by the wind, softened by youth, eyes sharp with interest but not familiarity, not yet. Eyes so icy grey they could have been carved from the pavement beneath their feet. A cigarette dangling from lips Shane hasn’t felt yet, but thinks about for months after. It’s the cheeks, though, when he really considers it. Ilya’s eyes are the same, still that same ice-cold grey, but softened around the edges by love and warmth and being loved. His lips are the same too, still full and pink, and they still stick in Shane’s mind like a very lovely thorn, all these years later. The cheeks, though. Soft and round, like a child on the brink of manhood, pink from the wind and maybe a blush - although Shane knows, he’s heard it a thousand times, Russians do not blush, even though Shane’s seen it happen a hundred different ways. They’re different now, sharper and angled in a way that makes air stick in Shane’s chest every time the light catches Ilya’s perfect cheekbones just so. Shane knows the world looks at Ilya Rozanov, a study in curls and cheekbones and mouthwatering iliac furrows, and sees someone dangerous and hot. Shane looks and sees a mouth softened with warmth, a divot between pecs that holds the dangling gold remnants of the only other soul who ever loved Ilya more than Shane does now. He sees a scar low on a golden stomach where doctors took Ilya’s appendix three years ago while Shane waited alone and terrified in Ilya’s Boston penthouse, feeling like a bird in a cage he built for himself. He sees calloused feet, scarred and blistered and worth millions of dollars. And he sees those cheeks. Shane’s life is a montage, or a flipbook of all his greatest hits, all still life images of Ilya Rozanov’s beautiful face growing thinner and stronger and sharper with age right before Shane’s eyes. It drives him crazy. Sometimes he thinks he’s at peace with it all, the years that passed them by and the youth and time and fear they wasted. He doesn’t feel old, really. They’re both thirty-one, they both have many years of hockey and their life together ahead of them. But he thinks about those soft cheeks on Ilya’s seventeen year old face and he knows he will never forgive himself for the years he spent looking at Ilya as anything but the other half of his soul. What he wouldn’t give to go back, to stretch his hand out to the beautiful, pink-faced boy lighting a cigarette against the chill of a Saskatchewan wind in December and tell him he loves him. Too many years passed between that moment and their tearful, overdue profession of love at the cottage. Too many years where it was true and unsaid and only thought about with panic, or denial, or the desire for it to stop. Years ago, a gentle soul stood in the cold with no one to love him, and Shane didn’t fix it for far too long. It drives him crazy. It keeps him up at night, often, just like it does tonight. The house is dark, and Ilya is asleep beside him in their bed, one they’ve shared every single night for a year now - thank god, thank anyone, thank everyone - and Shane watches him like he still can’t believe it. He can’t, not in moments like this when Ilya is still and peaceful and relaxed in a way that makes Shane’s chest ache with love. It feels like a cosmic joke that Shane has ended up here, loved and in love, with someone who eases every ache that’s ever settled itself in his mind, heart, and body. He doesn’t feel special enough for a gift like this - he’s already been given

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  14. "Shane heart reacts to the message. Ilya imagines him taking an uneasy bite from the toast, but still enjoying it. He waits until he’s done getting ready for practice before texting again. Lily: you have eaten it all? The reply is instant. Jane: [image attachment] Jane: I’m still shaking The plate and cup are both empty. Ilya’s heart clenches. Shane is…he’s so perfect." Or: A series of moments centered around Shane's recovery process.

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  15. “Is she sleeping?” “Yeah, she’s out like a light.” He places a kiss to the back of Ilya’s neck. “She’s a good baby.” A contented hum leaves Ilya, then he turns around, scooping Shane into his arms. “And you’re a good dad.” “I still can’t believe that’s real.” Shane brushes his fingers over Ilya’s cheek, as if grounding himself to reality. “I can’t believe she’s ours.” Though it’s dark, he can see Ilya’s smile. “Lily Rozanov-Hollander.” He presses a kiss to Shane’s nose. “Has nice ring to it.” Five years after their marriage, Ilya and Shane decide to expand their family.

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  16. The Ottawa Centaurs are wrapping up their first road trip of the season in Montreal. The big story is how Shane will fare facing his former team. Ilya and the rest of the team have his back.

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  17. Shane Hollander retires after one last game in Montreal. What follows is a night of empty locker rooms, long highways, and the slow realization that letting go of hockey doesn’t mean letting go of himself…especially when Ilya Rozanov is there to remind him of everything they’ve already won. Update: I added an epilogue of sorts from Ilya’s POV (which caused the rating change). I hope you enjoy!

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  18. “He’s got amnesia!” “Oh. You doctor now?” Ilya asks, looking at him, then looking at the doctor, and Shane can read the 'can you believe this guy?' expression on his face. “What makes you think that Mr Hollander?” “He doesn’t remember that I’m his husband. And he thinks he’s here because of a hit on the ice. It’s summer!”

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  19. The Centaurs organize a second Halloween party, Shane and Ilya dress up as Achilles and Patroclus That's basically the whole plot lol

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  20. Ilya's used to long winters. He longs for the sun. He finds it. (Featuring: an Ilya-centric introspection of his depression, husbands-in-therapy, and a LOT of trite metaphors) -- Ilya’s life consisted in a series of more: first, from his father, who had wanted more success; then Alexei, who had wanted more money. More sucked him, it drained him dry, it left Ilya a walking carcass of flesh and bone and feet fit enough only to skate hockey, and only because it is the only tool with which he could be filled so he could supply more. Ilya’s been empty long ago. Life consisted of moments threaded by the need for survival. Food. Water. Hockey for money. Sex. Vodka. He’s pawed at the hole within him, deep in his chest, and wonders if there is still a soul there. Perhaps he’d given it all, just as they’d asked. Perhaps the little he had left was a mercy. There is no enough as far as Ilya was concerned; it was only the greedy chants of more. Ilya often wonders if his mother wasted away because she had given all of herself. He wonders if he’s taken from her, too.

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