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yeah sorry I think it's so icky and pervy and wonderful to refer to cum as "love." robby fucking into dennis and murmuring daddy's gonna put all his love inside you, okay? shh, just take it... robby petting over den's stomach and cooing does that feel nice, baby? all of daddy's love stuffed inside your pretty little tummy. mm, is it warm? yeahh, I know. so full of daddy's love.
mmm okay well now I'm thinking about baran fucking trinity in a headlock. trinity fuzzy-headed and whining, neck in the crook of baran's arm, who's squeezing with just enough pressure to make her so deliciously dizzy, cunt pulsing around baran's thick strap.
baran laughing low, driving her hips up, free arm locked around trinity's waist. ohh, good girl. that's my girl, taking me so well. do you like that, sweetheart? yeah, you do? I know, I know it... just take it, just take it...
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The three alphas- Robby, Pope and Jack- had been settled in their cabin for a good 20 years.
The thing that stalked their cabin has been settled there for much longer.
They don’t know when they first noticed him; the lines between thinking it’s animals, then wishing it’s animals, then knowing it wasn’t have run over the years.
Their routine usually goes as follows; Jack, up the earliest before dawn starts coloring the sky. He carries his lantern and a satchel of salt and dutifully pours it in a circle surrounding their cabin and the tiny farm behind it. And- dutifully, every morning- it walks alongside him on the other side.
Human if you didn’t look hard enough. Blue eyes a touch too big and sandy curls the color of a dried mud bank. Skin as pale as a corpse’s, fingers too thin to be hand-waved as dainty. Always barefoot, always dressed in a dirty beige shirt and blue jeans. When he talked it was like there was mud in his throat, the words coming out garbled and wet.
“Do you like being a doctor? How did you lose your leg? You look very strong, a very capable alpha, is Robby your mate? Do you have an omega? Well what kind of home doesn't have one?”
They both politely ignore the salt line that sits between them both. Jack stays silent as Dennis babbles, broken up by soft, warbly cooes and cackles that make Jack think of the crows that circle the house. Sometimes he doesn’t talk in anything but borrowed words, garbled and throaty, sometimes a woman’s panicked call for her husband and sometimes a boy explaining how to get through the passage near their house. Sometimes a man, sleazy and growly asking why a pretty little thing was out here at night.
He doesn’t talk to Pope, but Jack thinks it’s because Pope takes his axe with him when he goes out to chop wood. It suits them- Dennis stares, wide blue eyes taking in every detail while Pope stares right back as he dutifully splits the logs.
Robby’s last to wake, as the sky starts to lighten, when the smells of cooking meat and coffee waft out the open window. Robby always throws the bones out into the woods, and Dennis always comes to retrieve them like they’re something precious. On quiet mornings, Robby could hear the scrape of teeth on bone, and the cracks of an animal breaking them open.
Once the morning light broke through the canopy, Dennis would retreat into whatever den he’s made for himself by their home. Only then is it safe for the Rural doctors to make their house calls.
Their hours are very strict- do not come before the sun is up. Do not leave after the sun went down.
.
.
.
.
.
idk Rural Appalacian horror!Dennis trying to court the pretty alphas in the salt line enclosure brought to you by @crazyamoeba
Dennis has just spent the last of his money at some run down motel in the middle of nowhere. he doesn't know where he is, his phone is almost dead and now he's got no money to travel to the closest city. coming to terms with the fact that hitchhiking may be his only option, he sets off on foot in hopes a kind stranger will give him a lift.
he walks for what feels like hours but when be checks his phone, it's only be an hour. he can feel his skin starting to burn and his eyes are sore from the dry air. tears burn his eyelids as he feels the weight of frustration at the situation he's landed himself in.
suddenly, a vehicle approaches in the distance and Dennis feels a glimmer of hope. the vehicle becomes clearer as it comes closer to Dennis; a standard SUV, nothing crazy. this might be his rescue. he waves the car down and his heart races when the cars blinker comes on followed by it pulling over. Dennis can see two men in the front seats, both quite handsome if he had to be honest.
he walks up the drivers side as the window rolls down. the man introduces himself as Jack and that he's with his partner, Michael. Jack happily lets Dennis hitch a ride when he explains his situation, "a pretty little thing like you shouldn't be out here all alone." Dennis isn't sure he hears that right but smiles nonetheless. he's certain these kind strangers will get him to the closest town.
Jack asks Dennis more questions and makes small talk to pass the time, Michael joining in the conversation every now and then. they told Dennis they were on a little roadtrip as they had a couple days off work. when dennis hears that they're doctors, he mentions he has a headache in hopes they have some pain relief. of course they have some on them at all times and Dennis is ever so greatful when they give him some water as well.
the seat Dennis is sitting in feels so comfortable and he's feeling so relaxed. he's so glad these lovely strangers picked him up. whoever told him that hitchhiking was dangerous is wrong. he's just met two men who are doctors for god sake, they are harmless.
time passes as Dennis leans his head on the window, feeling floaty as he watches the world go by. his mouth is a little dry but he doesn't think much of it. one of the men say something to him but it sounds distant; muffled. his goes to sit up straight but he feels dizzy and a little nauseas. ah, maybe he was just car sick.
he feels like he's sinking further into the seat, his eyesight becoming blurry. what's happening? his heart races as he tries to come back to earth but the feeling is getting worse. he looks up and can just make out one of the men, Michael, looking back at him with a soft smile on his face.
"do you think he's feeling it? he looks dazed and confused... it must be kicking in."
very normal looks to give your intern. very normal. the look up-down and lick your lips combo? standard. the sparkly-eyed impossibly fond grin? regular protocol.
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So! This is a perfect case study in situations where you should be wary of misinformation.
Take a moment and ask yourself, a project like this requires a lot of time, money and dedication of resources, why would scientists dedicate that time to something that could just be done by a tree?
The answer is they wouldn't. So that means this claim requires further investigation!
This project is called LIQUID 3, and it's not meant for cities with wide open spaces, it's meant for cities like Belgrade in Serbia. These cities are densely populated and heavily polluted, to the point where pollution actually chokes out current trees and makes creating green spaces difficult.
Liquid 3 was a PhD scientists answer to these problems. The microalgae tank is intended for spaces where you either:
Don't have enough space to plant full trees, or
Don't have enough time to plant trees and wait for them to grow up.
The tank is extremely efficient when you consider the amount of space needed compared to the amount of CO2 turned into oxygen. The tank can operate throughout the winter. And most importantly, it can be quickly set up in areas that desperately need relief from air pollution NOW not in 10 years when trees are done growing. Children currently suffocating on polluted air can't wait for trees to grow, they need to be taken care of now, and Liquid 3 is one of the ways to take care of them. Depending on the species of microalgea used, a number have shown a pretty amazing capacity to pull heavy metals out of the air which is something trees can get choked up by.
The tanks aren't just tanks either! Liquid 3 have solar panels placed on top, they have lighting and mobile phone charging, and they work as public benches. The designers of it want to encourage green spaces where there's room, but where there isn't room or time, Liquid 3 can step in. Realistically, this isn't a replacement for trees. It's replacing boring metal city benches with new, cooler benches that also clean the air (and have at least some heating during the winter).
Not only that, but the microalgea that grows is native to Serbia and all that microalgea has a ton of great uses! It makes for great fertilizer, compost, wastewater treatment, cleaner biofuels and even for helping create new tanks for further air purification. They only require a quick algae divide once a month, and the produced algae can be carted off to where ever it's needed. This makes them effective solutions for areas that can't sustain complex installations.
So yeah, there's actually quite a lot of places that would like these. Lots of people currently breathing in terrible quality air would much rather have their boring city benches replaced with really fucking cool algae tanks that clean the air and can be used to help create + sustain future green spaces in cities. I dunno about you, but I'd take that over a dumb metal bench any day. Put these at every bus stop and I'd be delighted.
Serbian here living in Belgrade! This is all true and I've actually seen some of these around the city a few times. They're amazing at what they do and really cool to watch up close because you can see pretty swirling inside them. It's not only functional but aesthetically pretty nice as well!
For Robby, a hug from Jack is almost too overwhelming to really feel good. There is the proximity, the warmth, the strength, the others' smell, the touch, the care that is so evident through it all.
For Robby, each hug stays with him for much longer than he knows it should. They touch something deep within him that he tries to bury day in, day out.
For Robby, each hug is like a reminder to himself that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he fights, he is still broken. Beyond repair.
To Jack, they're everything.
To Jack, they serve as a way to connect with the one person he couldn't bear to lose anymore.
To Jack, they're a reminder, a fucking neon sign screaming: This one. It's been this one for so long!!!
To Jack, they feel like the one time Robby doesn't actively try to slip through his fingers. Stops performing. Stops being Chief Attending Robby and truly becomes Michael Robinavitch.
Something that Jack has learned to treasure more than most other things.
To Jack, every hug is practice for the one he's terrified he won't get to give anymore. The one that would be too late.
Then there are the ones that mean something different to each of them. Those long ones, where neither of them really wants to let go first, yet fears to hold on for too long after all.
To Jack, those are an answer. The message of 'Still here. Still mine to hold on to.'
For Robby, they're a question he doesn't know how to stop asking himself. 'Why does this feel so much like home, when it's nothing I deserve to have...'
The ones that happen after a bad shift. Jack's hand on the back of Robby's neck, pulling him in without asking.
For Jack, it's nothing but natural behavior that almost happens on its own, whereas to Robby that's the most comforting and terrifying gesture at once.
After all, Michael is more than aware of the fact that somewhere, underneath all that careful burying of his emotions, he knows that Jack's arms are the only place he doesn't feel scared.
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The following little ficlet I wrote has been fully inspired by one of @roobydoos beautiful pieces of art.
All of which I want to eat btw because they're so gorgeous and scribbly. Thank you for all the work you do.
Please take a look at the wonderful art (here)
and also look at all the other bits if you haven't come across their blog yet! Positively scrumptious all around!!!
Now, I've been wanting to make Jack suffer for a good minute, so be wary of robby-typical active suicidal ideation as you venture forth!
rabbot | 2.4k | heavy-ish angst | eventual comfort | Jack finally gets to break down | but only after suffering from almost losing Robby
His last text had been about nothing at all.
Now that was half-normal. Robby texted about nothing all the time. Little observations, complaints about charting, the occasional photo of something he'd passed on the way home that he thought to be funny.
Nothing texts were Robby's entire thing and Jack had gotten more than accustomed to reading them the same way he'd read a chart at work.
Not for what they said, but for everything laying underneath.
Last Tuesday it had been a photo of a pigeon for example. It'd been sitting on a fire hydrant outside the hospital, looking profoundly disappointed in everything and was sent around 11pm on Jack's day off with no caption whatsoever.
No caption was needed for him to understand what Robby meant to say: 'Going home now, probably taking the long way home. In need of some air. But I'm okay.'
So as a response, he sent a singular question mark and got three laughing emojis back.
More than enough.
The week before that, a blurry photo of the river taken from his bike. No caption on that one either but… it meant something very different. It had been Robby's day off, sent to Jack just before the night shift attendings bed time was coming up.
'I needed to see something that wasn't the hospital' was the message here.
This time he'd sent back
nice view 10:56am
and got the reply of
not bad 11:01am
End of conversation, which translated to 'I'm alright, don't worry' in whatever language they'd crafted between them over the years.
And Jack had only half-worried, which, with Robby, was about as good as it ever got.
Today though, was the bad day following two worse ones.
Jack had been late to handover, held back by traffic that he would certainly see again in form of the people responsible for it on a gurney when he finally arrived.
Being late to handover though, meant not seeing Robby.
It meant not being able to gauge how he was holding up. How he was doing. What he wasn't showing.
So Jack texted,
Take it easy tonight. Take a bath or sumthin. Eat. 7:36pm
got a reply
haha. yeah okay 8:17pm
And then? Nothing.
Jack had noticed around 6, when he'd sent something back and watched it sit there, unread. He told himself that Robby was most likely either showering, preparing something to eat to have a chill night or asleep; entirely deserved as the man ran himself into the ground during his day shifts and then usually acted surprised every time his body decided to stage a revolt.
Jack told himself that at 11 too, when his call to ease his unsettled mind went right to voicemail. And then again at 1.
By 4am he'd stopped telling himself things and started just… watching his phone whenever he had the time to in between patients.
Waiting for a reply left him restless and very much lacking the concentration he needed for his work. His brain was busy running a million differentials he didn't even want to name.
The kind that made him reach for his phone every twenty minutes just to be disappointed that there was nothing coming back.
Robby. 6:58am
He'd sent that at the end of his shift, as if it would do something.
It didn't.
Come afternoon, Jack had a very controlled, very reasonable handle on the situation. Which was exactly why he had not gotten a single second of sleep and was now standing outside Robby's building with his key already in his hand. His jaw was tense and he could barely remember the drive over if he was being honest.
But he was fine. He was being fully rational.
He certainly hadn't spent close to twenty hours waiting for a reply from someone who was usually chronically texting him random shit most waking non-working hours. And Jack Abbot who had spent the better part of his adult life learning to decipher those messages and trust his gut with them, start to ignore that now.
That was all this was. Pattern Recognition. Clinical instinct.
He was fine.
The apartment was dark when he stepped inside after opening the door as calmly as he could. No light was turned on and the only audio came from the shitty radio in Robby's living room, whose sound Jack had grown oddly accustomed to by now.
The most telling sign were the closed blinds though. Jack clocked them immediately and felt that information settle somewhere right behind his sternum, pressing onto his lungs. Having learned it the same way he learned to read another person's baseline; incrementally and without either of them acknowledging the knowledge was happening.
Blinds down meant Robby had pulled inward so much that even the light felt too much.
Blinds down was not good, but it wasn't the worst either.
Jack moved through the apartment quietly. Out of pure habit. The kind of quietness he had learned in places where waking someone up wrong could lead to things worse than just a solid yelling.
Expecting him in the bedroom, sleeping away all the bad in the world, Jack was almost shocked to find him laying on the couch. On the top of several thinner blankets, still dressed in what looked like yesterday's clothes and… not hurt.
The thing that unraveled something in him so fast his hand shot out to the doorframe without him deciding to do it. Just- Needing to hold onto something for a second.
Okay.
Robby was okay.
He was still here, with him. Sleeping what seemed like peaceful-
The side table.
Jack crossed the room in a heartbeat, couldn't have stopped himself if he had dared to try. A glass of water was sitting on the little wooden side table sticking out over the arm of the couch, which… was fine, normal even. But there was also a pill bottle laying on its side, label facing away, and Jack's brain war already running the math before his hands had even picked it up and turned it over.
Robby's name. A prescription date.
He turned it over, tried to count the remaining pills and- he couldn't tell, couldn't tell how many—
His brain lurched toward it, that clinical instinct that hadn't once failed him in all those years of trauma work and here he was and just. Couldn't. He couldn't make the goddamn numbers of sleeping pills mean anything because his hands were shaking in a way they hadn't ever since-
A long time.
That thought was buried hard and fast before it could even finish forming and begin pulling him somewhere far away from this room, the couch and the specific problem laying right before him.
He had learned that trick a long time ago too. You stayed where your feet were. Or your foot. You deal with what's in front of you. No matter what.
What was in front of him was Robby, not moving. Blinds down. Pill bottle laying on its side, barely carrying any pills.
Robby.
Once again, Jack moved before he made the conscious decision to, a knee on either side of him, one hand going to steady himself, fingers stretched around a thin pen light, while the other grabbed the others jaw instinctively.
"Hey." It came out much rougher than intended. "Hey. Open your eyes, come on. Look at me-"
Robby made a sound. A sound that was indistinct and undefinable but alive.
"Robby." Jack's thumb pressed into the hinge of his jaw, tilting his face up so that he could click on the pen light, checking his best friends pupils. Equal. Reactive. Okay. That's okay.
Unfortunately, the relief didn't land quite the way it should have because he still didn't know, still couldn't tell what had happened and not knowing was currently eating him alive.
"What did you take."
Not a question, because Jack wasn't asking him. He was demanding. Demanding an answer that would make him understand why those beautiful brown eyes that opened so slowly were looking glossy. Why they were barely focusing on him even though he'd turned the pen light away to be kind to Robby's retina.
His chest started to tighten like a tripwire pulled taught. Harsh and unwelcome.
"Jack?"
"What did you take."
"Nothing-" Weak hands came up, pushing at his arms, trying to get his wrists away, but their strength was laughable. Laughable enough to force Jack to swallow the bile rising in his throat.
"Nothing- Jackie- I just- I took my meds and slept-"
Jackie.
Jack knew exactly when Robby used that word and why. That specific register of it too, shaky and full of pressed air that only surfaced when he was scared. When he was trying to stop Jack from doing something. When he knew how bad he'd fucked up and needed time to process how to come clean.
Time Jack was not willing to give him, staring down at him with a mixture of fear and frustration. As if the other would slip right through his fingers if he didn't hold on tightly.
Then he forced himself back, settling back into Robby's lap and pulled his hands back. Shaking hands that didn't seem to still even when he clenched them into fists; so he spread them out on his thighs instead, ignoring how the edge of his prosthesis uncomfortably buried into his liner.
With his fingertips pressing into his flesh to keep them busy, he took a deep breath, breathing out through his nose. Slow and deliberate to ease his body from the fear and providing what the other needed. A strong, calm front to come clean to.
Robby looked at him for a long moment; something moving behind those tired and still slightly glassy brown eyes that could easily be read as guilt. Guilt and a common version of shame that was found within his gaze too often for comfort.
"I didn't take anything," he finally said, just to continue with a quieter tone. "Just- thought about it."
Although he'd been still before, Jack froze into a statue, calmly looking at the way Robby's lower lip was quivering and he kept looking further and further to the side. Away from Jack. Away from it all.
"I had them in my hand." Robby's jaw was tight, the words a lot more pressed than usual. "And then I just- I put them back. I don't know why I didn't- I was so tired. So tired of it all-" For a moment, Jack thought it would happen but Robby stopped and stuttered out a semi-controlled exhale.
"I put them back."
For a good moment, the room was quiet again, meaning that the only thing audible was Robby's shallow, quickening breaths and Jack's heartbeat hammering in his ears. It was only through that specific observation, that Jack became aware of the fact that he'd been holding his breath through Robby's search for words.
He let it go and turned his head to look at the bottle he'd thrown onto the side table and then back at Robby who still wasn't looking at him. Who was doing that thing he always did when he had said something so true that he felt in need of bracing for the response. Almost as if he was waiting to find out what it cost him this time.
Jack lifted one hand and put it over the back of one of Robby's, searching for that physical connection, trying to calm the other down. Provide the strength he needed.
Something that had been wound very, very tight for the past twenty hours suddenly just… gave.
He folded forward. Neither graceful nor controlled; nothing like the way he usually moved through the world, with his heart in his throat but his hands steady because they had to be.
Right now, he just folded, forehead dropping to Robby's shoulder, his arms wrapping around the man as best as they could, pulling himself in hard enough that Robby made a small surprised sound against his ear.
Alive. Warm. Breathing.
Here.
"You fucking asshole-" Jack cursed into his shoulder, his voice a wrecked mess that he hadn't heard from himself in a long time and yet couldn't bring himself to care about. "Twenty hours, Robby. Twenty hours of not-" Stopping mid-sentence, he swallowed hard, his hands fisting the back of Robby's shirt. "You couldn't answer the phone. Couldn't send me a single-"
Even if it had taken a moment, Robby's arms had finally come up around him. Slow and careful, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to do it. Like he was still waiting to find out what the move would cost him long term.
"I know," Robby muttered back, shame and guilt ever-present. "I know, I'm-"
"Don't." The word came out muffled but Jack didn't move. Couldn't quite yet. Even just thinking about moving made him only want to hold on tighter. "Don't fucking apologize. I just-"
His throat tightened.
Jack'd had plans for these types of conversation. Several actually, mulling them over again and again, whenever one of these moments appeared. Calm and Practical. How he needed to talk about what happened and what would come next.
After all Jack was supposed to be the steady one, the way he had always been the rock Robby needed him to be.
But none of those plans had accounted for the reality of those pills and Robby. None of those plan had accounted for Jack.
"I love you," he said." You hear me, brother? I love you and I need you to be here and you can't- You can't just go quiet on me like that and leave me not knowing if-"
Again he stopped, because he didn't trust himself to continue. If he continued, he would say more things he hadn't anticipated to say.
Luckily, that wasn't necessary as Robby's arms grew tighter around him.
For a long moment, neither of them said a word. Jack kept his face buried in Robby's shoulder, ignoring the way his eyes were stinging as he let himself breathe the other in. Alive. Present. Here. And slowly… incrementally, that thing in his chest started to loosen its grip.
"I've got you," Jack finally broke the silence. Quieter now. More like himself again. "Okay? Whatever it is you need. I've got you, brother."
Robby only pressed his face into Jack's hair, instead of an answer.
For now… there wasn't the need for one.
For now, Jack was okay just holding him tight and never letting him go again.
