hollanov au with figure skater!shane + hockey player!ilya
shane is so expressive on the ice, so gifted. nails the technicality and precision of the sport, but also wears his heart on his sleeve during the performances.
and then off the ice, during press or fan interactions or anything else, he’s pretty reserved. quiet. the shane we know and love. the walls he surrounds himself with only come down when he’s skating.
he and ilya meet during the winter olympics. ilya wins gold. shane has a rough run and doesn’t place.
four years later, they’re both back for the games. shane is back for a chance at redemption. ilya is there as his husband, seated between yuna and david in the crowd, watching quietly as the rest of the arena cheers.
yuna claps and shouts for each successful skill. david has his elbows on his knees and his hands over his mouth and nose, anxious til the very end.
ilya just watches with a soft, warm smile. the live broadcast shows a split-screen of shane performing while Ilya watches, spinning the wedding band on his finger and focusing on no one but him. ilya follows shane’s movements, staying seated even when shane’s parents jump to cheer with everyone else as shane finishes.
shane wins the gold. that is the moment ilya jumps up from his seat, shouts ‘davai!’ with every bit of pride he feels, and turns to hug both yuna and david. when he looks down to the ice again, shane is staring right up at them.
ilya lifts both arms over his head as he claps, eyes glassy. shane shakes his head a little in disbelief, unable to stop smiling. his skin is flushed, earrings and shirt glittering under the lights, and his fingers keep twisting the silicone band on his left hand.
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thinking about a jack abbot who’s always hated the holidays, working them on purpose because he’s resistant as fuck to the expectation of being happy to spend time with family.
(his wife says she understands and doesn’t force him to take time off. at her funeral, jack blocks out the priest’s impersonal message by counting the number of holidays he spent without his wife by choice. his worst-ever panic attack is in the bathroom at the church, thinking about the number of holidays he’ll have to suffer through without her.)
thinking about a jack abbot who spends the first thanksgiving after his wife’s death in his home alone, one hand around the neck of a bottle of whiskey and the other pouring out a lethal dose of his benzos while the macy’s parade plays on the television screen.
(robby finds him. his first meal after getting his stomach pumped is mashed potatoes and gravy from the hospital cafeteria. robby insists the cranberry sauce isn’t bad. jack learns he’s a terrible fucking liar.)
thinking about a jack abbot who is back at work by christmas, walking into the breakroom to an assortment of secret santa gifts on the tables. there’s a bag with his name on it, he realizes. he takes it and puts it in his locker, but doesn’t open it til he’s home.
(it’s a soft, dark grey sweater with a gift receipt from tj maxx and a note in dana’s familiar handwriting. ‘merry christmas, you piece of shit. glad you’re still here. i’ll strangle you with the sleeves of this thing if you try that again.’)
thinking about a jack abbot who spends new year’s eve on the roof, counting down to midnight as snow falls and blankets the world around him. the chill in the air sinks right into the core of him with every inhale, but he doesn’t stop breathing.
(despite dana’s threat, he does try it again. and again. nearly succeeds the third time, but calls emery in a panic to help him. gradually, the days get easier to sleep through. the nights stay busy and keep him focused. he makes it to valentine’s day and gets a card from samira with a picture of a scalpel and ‘you’re pretty sharp’ typed underneath. he watches the rest of the staff as they show off their pun-laden cards, his chest feeling warm for the first time in months as they laugh and talk together. maybe he hasn’t actually spent the holidays alone at all.)
happy late night mohabbot monday
late night bench conversations featuring ace!samira, perhaps?? 💜🤍🖤🩶
give me a park bench conversation late at night; cold but not snowing, a gentle breeze against the back of samira's neck before her curls are let down out of her bun. just the two of them, seated close together for warmth and sharing a drink after jack's worked twelve hours and samira's worked twenty-four.
jack's sipping at his beer and samira's trying to pace herself with the mini bottle of wine he'd pulled out of his lunchbox --
("you brought me wine?"
"you make a face whenever princess tosses you a beer can."
".... well. cheap beer tastes terrible."
"god, mohan, you really didn't have any fun in college, did you?"
"maybe i just have a refined palate."
"is that what they're calling it?")
-- for her. it feels like her heart rate is finally slowing after such a steady shift. she feels her fingers tingling from the cold and her chest warming through from the wine.
jack's thigh is against hers, warm and strong and she's never actually wanted to feel someone else's touch before.
but now.
"by most people's standards, you'd be right. i didn't have fun in college," she says, watching him turn to face her in her peripheral vision. "i wasn't out partying. i wasn't hooking up. i was just focusing on school. focusing on where i wanted to be. but it wasn't -- it didn't upset me. i didn't feel like i was missing out. i never wanted to be anywhere other than where i was."
jack hums softly, lifting an arm to rest over the back of the bench. "i was just teasing."
"I know," samira replies, glancing over at him. she shrugs a little, eyes soft. "but -- that's always how i've been. i've never been a partier. i like being alone. i'm good at it. and i never even considered hooking up. i didn't understand it."
"didn't understand - the casual sex thing? 'cause i'm with you, there. my wife was, uh. she was pretty much it for me for a long time."
samira leans back a little so his arm is against the back of her neck. it's warm. it's nice.
"i didn't understand the sex thing at all. the wanting sex thing," she clarifies, spurred on by the wine to explain it in a way she so rarely does. "i never really get those feelings for people."
jack lifts a brow. "So you've never...?"
Samira shakes her head.
Jack's other brow rises. "And you've never -- wanted to? Even just a little bit?"
"I'm curious, sure. But not in the way that I think most people are. I just - usually don't feel anything like that for anyone."
Jack thumbs at the lip of his beer can. "Usually," he repeats, voice softer. "Meaning...?"
"Meaning - I like this. I like talking with you. I like letting you in, and I think you like letting me in, too. I like being close to you. I think that what I feel for you is new and scary, but. Worth it.
But -- I'm worried that there are things you'd want that I won't feel comfortable with, and..."
"Samira," Jack says, lifting his good leg onto the bench and turning toward her fully. "I would never ask you to do anything you aren't comfortable with."
Samira's mouth quirks at one side. "Two words, Abbot. Pigtail catheter."
Jack smirks. Rolls his eyes. "I will never ask you to do anything you aren't comfortable with outside of the hospital. How's that?"
"Better. Jury's still out. We'll have to see."
Jack finishes his beer, thumb wiping away the last drop clinging to his bottom lip. "What're you tellin' me all this for, Samira?"
"Because I think -- I think you're the first person I've ever wondered about. And I trust you. And I think if I asked you to take me out to dinner next weekend, you'd say yes."
Jack grins, small and private, eyes flicking over to her and then back to the beer can in his hands. "Yeah. I'd say yes."
Samira downs the rest of her little wine bottle, buzzed all the way through, eyes sparkling. "Good. Then it's a date."
One of those days when it starts raining pretty steadily, but no one’s really concerned about the storm. It’s a typical summer washout, one that grows quickly and dies just as fast. They’re all busy, all focused on the work, stepping carefully around small puddles near the ambulance entrance of the ED.
Jack goes out to help unload a patient, breathes in the scent of rain on the air, rolls his neck, and then —
c r a c k.
The clap of thunder is so sudden, so fucking loud, that the earth feels like it’s shaking. It startles all of them, pulls a gasp from the EMT next to him, and Jack —
— the ground is shaking and his ears are ringing and the air no longer smells like rain, it smells like the exhaust of a diesel engine and the copper tang of blood, and his chest is tightening and he can’t fucking breathe and he can’t be buried here, he won’t stay stuck down here, he needs to get to the surface so he can breathe, he just needs to breathe —
he runs toward the stairwell, wet shoes squeaking against the floor the entire way.
//
(Jack’s always insisted that noise isn’t much of a trigger for him. He can handle it — perks of being an emergency medicine doctor, perhaps. Accustomed to the unknown, able to explain away sudden sound or unexpected shouts.
Maybe it’s just been a long day. Hell, maybe it’s just an off day.
The thunder rolls and leaves in seconds, but Jack keeps playing it on a loop in his head.
It starts to sound like the detonation of a bomb.
It starts to feel like being buried under rubble.)
//
Robby tries.
“Jack, c’mon. Let’s get you back inside. I’ve got dry scrubs, man. We’ll go slow.”
Dana tries.
“You’re gonna get yourself sick, Abbot! Come in outta the rain, yeah?”
Trinity even tries.
“Dude, you’re standing on the edge of a rooftop in the rain. Staring out over the city. It’s giving Batman in the worst way. I’m gonna send Ellis pictures if you don’t come back in.”
Samira’s the last to try.
She walks out onto the roof with him. Stands next to him. Pushes her flyaway hairs behind her ears, slicking them there easily with the rainwater.
“You’re safe,” she says quietly, looking up at him.
His jaw finally unlocks. He’s still staring straight ahead, but it’s more movement than anyone else has managed to get out of him.
“You’re safe here,” she says again. “I’m standing next to you, Jack. We’re on the roof at work. It’s raining.”
His voice is thick. “I know.”
“I know you know,” she replies. “But you need to hear it. You need to say it.”
Jack lets out a ragged breath. “Go back inside, Mohan. Robby has dry scrubs.”
“Where are you, Jack?”
“You’re gonna get sick — ”
“Where are we standing?”
“Did Santos call me Batman?”
Samira turns toward him. Looks up, blinking against the rain. “Look at me.”
He keeps staring straight ahead. Breathes out a maniacal laugh. “They want me to go downstairs and I can’t go downstairs, Samira. I can’t, I just…”
Samira’s hand curling over his wrist is gentle, but her voice is decidedly not. It’s the tone she takes with difficult patients, with patients who dismiss her, who refuse to listen to her.
“Look at me right now, Jack, and tell me where we are.”
He will never be the type of patient that dismisses someone like Dr. Samira Mohan.
“The roof,” he whispers, glancing over at her. “We’re on — we’re on the roof. At work. There was — there was. Fuck. There was thunder and it’s raining and — fuck, you’re getting soaked, please, just — ”
“You’re safe,” Samira says again, her thumb brushing over the inside of his wrist. She rests her other hand over his arm, soft skin sliding against his. “It’s raining, and we’re on the roof, and we’re not going to go downstairs.”
“We’re not?”
“No. We’re going to sit underneath the doorway and get out of the rain, but you’ll still be able to see the sky. We’ll stay there as long as you need.”
Jack lets out a soft noise, something that’s a mix of anger and relief. His shoulders visibly relax. His hands start to tremble as the adrenaline dumps. “Jesus fucking Christ, Samira. How do you do that?”
Samira dips her head until he finally looks over and meets her eyes. “How do I do what?”
Jack shakes his head, turning his wrist in her grasp so he can tangle their fingers together instead. “How do you manage to always figure me out?”
One side of her mouth tips up; a little wry, a little proud. “It’s a gift,” she says. “Or maybe you’re just not entirely as mysterious as you’d like to be. Come sit with me.”
His steps are slow, but he makes it back to the doorway with her. Watches as Samira props it open so they can sit inside the entrance, huddled together on the floor to watch the clouds rolling above them in the sky.
“You’re safe here,” she says again, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek. There’s a towel being wrapped over his shoulders. “We’ll stay up here as long as you want.”
“You have patients,” he says, but leans his head on her towel-covered shoulder.
She kisses his wet curls. “So do you.”
“I just need a few minutes,” he insists.
Samira threads their fingers together. “I know, Jack. I know.”
but what about a samira that wants to say all the horrible things she thinks — wants to bite back at robby, wants to berate her worst patients
knows it wouldn’t solve anything, but she wants to be allowed to be angry. wants to be allowed to take something from the people that hurt her instead of giving them pieces of herself.
and what about an abbot that tells her there’s nothing she could say that would hurt him worse than the shit he tells himself — tells her to try to hurt him, just try, and he lets her treat him as her personal punching bag.
lets her say all the horrible things she’d never say aloud to the people that need to hear them most. lets her use him whenever she needs. however she needs.
takes that darkness from her and tucks it away behind his own.
idk like do you ever think about how good they can be together but also how terrible they could be for each other and are you also feral about it like me tysm
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hangman/rooster - not!fic + anxiety + intimacy + ace!bradley if you squint (and I am squinting)
thinking about a rooster who leaves active duty. settles into civilian life and finally starts getting treatment for the anxiety he’s been riddled with since he was a kid. holds his hands together on his lap in the psychiatrist’s waiting room to hide the way they’re trembling.
thinking about how he decides that the therapy is fine, sure — they aren’t making connections for him that he hasn’t already made himself, though.
(it’s never been about a lack of knowledge, but more a lack of drive spurred by anything other than rage and spite. he knows, logically, why his mind operates the way that it does. he also knows, logically, why it doesn’t matter when he’s self-righteous and managing just fine on his own.)
thinking about how the meds are what really help. he’s been on the receiving end of short term anxiolytics before. the miracle mission was hardly his first close call with death. but this is long-term. this is a daily dose, a rewriring of his exhausted mind, and holy fuck.
(people live like this? people aren’t constantly planning for the next awful thing? there can be peace? why didn’t anyone tell him sooner?)
thinking about how his shoulders no longer feel like they’re constantly level with his ears. how he starts to recognize that the catastrophizing isn’t his first instinct anymore.
thinking about rooster finally making a move and kissing hangman the way he’s wanted to since the day they met, only slowing down when they’re falling into bed together to explain that sometimes the meds have side effects.
thinking about how for their first time, hangman takes it as a personal challenge. pulls all his best moves in an attempt to help rooster come. tries to apologize for coming multiple times himself when he couldn’t even get rooster there once. how rooster laughs and says, “you’ve never apologized to me in your life, seresin. don’t you fuckin’ start now.”
thinking about how there’s a line deepening between jake’s brows as he replays the entire evening in his mind. trying to figure out why he didn’t manage it, what move he has that he didn’t try. how rooster smooths away the wrinkle with his thumb and pulls jake into a kiss.
(“stop, jake. sex is a way to be close, yeah? we can be close without having to come. I wanna be with you. I actually like being with you, god help us all.” “mm, well. according to my parents, he stopped helping guys like us a long time ago.” “oof. don’t let my god-fearing momma hear you say that.” “… Isn’t your mom dead?”)
thinking about rooster settling down with hangman when they finally agree to make a real go of it. buying a place together. holding a drunken funeral ceremony for the box of condoms gathering dust in the bedside table. rooster playing the role of dutiful boyfriend/underpaid lyft driver at the airport after hangman’s latest deployment. waiting in the arrivals terminal with a sign that reads ‘america’s next golden bachelor’ because hangman hasn’t stopped talking about the patch of gray hair on his own head that he’s bravely decided to stop coloring.
thinking about rooster staring up at jake as they move together in their bed, in their home, sweat-slicked and so fucking quiet. jake taking all the time in the world just to help bradley feel good for as long as he wants. not pushing them toward that rush of endorphins anymore — just a steady, constant thrum of pleasure. staying close. drawing it out.
thinking about jake leaning down to kiss him and slowing the roll of his hips until he stops, their bodies pressed together from head to toe.
thinking about jake brushing their noses together. nudging his cock the slightest bit deeper into bradley’s body. breathless and lazy as he rasps, “this close enough for you, rooster?”
thinking about bradley coming so hard he trembles.
la chimera! i went to go see it with my brother. it's a film that has grown on me more and more the longer i have had time to sit with it (although i did actively enjoy it in the cinema too!).
16. favorite book to film adaptation?
so there is a lot of films that i have seen in which i have not read the original book series... for example trainspotting is one of my favourite films of all time, however, i never read the books so i'm not sure it counts. or the hunger games, which i enjoyed the book (albeit i only read the first one), but i have never seen the films.
to be honest, the only thing i can think of in which i have both read the book and watched the film is the book thief! i did actually really like that film, it always gets me super emotional. although i watched it a couple of times in my mid teens during a hard time and i think that's why i like it, rather than its actual credentials as a book adaptation. but it does star a baby sophie nélisse of yellowjackets fame as liesel, which is very fun!
30. are you looking forward to any upcoming releases?
i'm gonna be honest .... no 😭 however, i am usually only excited for films the more i go to the cinema and see trailers beyond marvel 3 and fast and furious 28 — SO if you could allow me to cheat as its already released, i was last excited to see kinds of kindness and hopefully will get to see it at some point ❤️
