18 Works by shadeofthetrees
Listing Works
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Robby doesn't recognize the man until the third song, and by then the pressure in his Carharts is obscene. Jesse Van Horn is transformed under the dim neon of the bar. A twist of gray curls bounce against his forehead while his sticks skip over the lid of the snare. Smokey black eyeliner accentuates the slate of his stare, and Robby can't rip his eyes from him. He wants to know what those hands would be capable of against his skin.
Near the middle of the set, the band settles into a drifting, melodic song. Jesse keeps time almost casually, backing the vocalist with curling harmonies until the end, when the stage goes silent for the lead to finish the song a cappella. Jesse leans over to snag a water bottle and Robby is forced to watch as the line of his throat swallows over and over.
Robby becomes a groupie.
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“Like I said, I'm a confident man." Jack pushed his thumb into Robby's mouth. He opened obediently and sucked, eyes fluttering.
“You got an itch, baby?” Jack smiled sweet and dark. “It’s the curls, I knew it. Us silver foxes, we gotta stick together." He withdrew and traced the spit-damp finger down Robby's throat. Robby squirmed beneath him. "Should I pierce my nose, Robby? Is that what gets you hot?"
Robby makes a new friend.
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Robby salutes Langdon and the newest R1 as they fumble outside, then glances down the bar. It's just him and Jesse left.
For the prompt: robby and jesse are "it happened once after post shift beers"
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“I brought the oranges, coach.” Robby is wearing his mirror sunglasses that make him look cool, dangerous, and like he is trying a little too hard for a guy his age. Jack loves it.
He pats Jack on the shoulder and steps around to set up his lawn chair. He likes to sit a little off the sideline to have a good view of the whole field. He also likes to have a good view of his husband’s ass as he strides up and down the pitch. The weather is warming as Pittsburgh thaws into spring, and Jack unearthed athletic shorts from the back of the closet. It’s Robby’s favorite time of year.
Jack coaches his niece's peewee soccer team, the Jackalopes.
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Jack sighs. “No, man. I’m not your jailor. That’s not- Look, I will put you on my fucking back and carry you to the finish line. Your feet will never touch the ground.” He tips his head back and closes his eyes. “This is the part you have to do yourself. You have to walk over the line in your own shoes. But I’ll be at your side, okay? I won’t leave you behind.”
This is a recovery story
Series
- Part 2 of linear
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“All of this excess weight puts you at increased risk for heart disease, stroke, type two diabetes, and other metabolic syndromes. It’s past time to take action, Michael.” Dr. Fawcett sits on a wheeled stool beside him. Part of what Robby likes about her is that she doesn’t treat him like a doctor. It gives him permission to misunderstand or ignore the symptoms he should have clocked in his own body much earlier. Symptoms he would have noticed in patients immediately.
“Your BMI is pushing you into a danger zone. We need to talk about diet, exercise, and addressing the level of stress in your life. Too much cortisol and you’ll just be canceling out any lifestyle changes.” Her hands are cool and professional as she palpates his abdomen. Robby considers the ceiling while she finishes his physical exam. When was the last time he used BMI in his treatment of a patient?
Message received: he has to lose weight. Doctor’s orders.
Series
- Part 1 of linear
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Around six in the morning, Ellis expertly places a chest tube in a thirty-seven-year-old stabbing victim, and when Jack leans over to inspect it, he is staring straight into the jagged, bloody hole in Private Milton's ribcage. The lights in T2 flicker and Jack can hear the whip of heavy canvas walls as a brutal storm rips across the desert. Milton is the one Jack had no chance of putting back together but he still tried. Fifty-five minutes of rapid infusion and internal cardiac massage and then he had called it, Milton's flat, empty heart in his hand.
Jack doesn't flinch while looking into the abyss of flesh and bone but he does lie to Ellis. "Looks good. Monitor the output, grab me after CT or if he goes south."
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"Well. As far as cries for help go, it's a bit rough." Jack is staring at the old, dusty motorcycle in front of him. He’s not sure if he would feel more charitable about the thing if he’d known it would be here when he got home. "And for a mid-life crisis sports car, it's missing two wheels. Hope they sold it to you for half the price.”
Two ER physicians allow a donorcycle into their home? Sure, Jan.
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It feels like Robby waits until Jack is settled on the couch, leg off, lotion scar kit out, and the Pens game on to stride into the room and drop the Langdon bomb on him. Jack sucks in a breath and watches until the Pens predictably fail to take advantage of their power play before he flips the tv off and tosses the remote onto the coffee table.
“The fuck, Robby?”
— Or:
Three days after Pittfest, Robby and Jack are both a little haunted.
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Jack wants breakfast, Robby cares too much, and now they're mixed up in an armed robbery.
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the road to nowhere by shadeofthetrees
Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
21 Mar 2022
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Geralt leaves the keep a few hours before sundown, while the rest of the boys are still eating dinner. He’s fifteen - most likely.
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Sam sitting next to pukey!Dean in the bathroom aaaall night long, because he's an awesome little brother.
That just about says everything about it.
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As A Rule by shadeofthetrees
Fandoms: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek
30 Aug 2014
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As a rule, when Jim came bursting into his office without bothering to knock or announce himself before entering, McCoy would refuse to acknowledge the Captain’s presence. On principle, dammit.
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For the prompt: the boys are on a hunt and end up separated - not by distance, but by access (say a wall or a cave in or whatever). Dean is hurt bad, and Sam can hear him, but he can't get to him & he's unable to call for help. I want the angst & the hurt factor as Dean gets worse and worse (goes into seizures, breathing lessens, pain increases - whatever) & all he wants is for Sam to get him the hell out of there!
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Written for the prompt: Nov 2nd fic, please!? Sam and Dean circa season 1 or 2 because I MISS IT.
Dean doesn't get out of bed on November 2nd. Sam brings him pie and beer and then they watch bad horror movies and Dean doesn't talk about Mary and Sam cries and Dean doesn't and lots of heartbreak please!
So...I tried to do that, but this is what happened instead. I'm sorry, Anonymous, for deviating as much as I did!
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The blood is still seeping through his fingers, through the slash in his shirt and the balled up material that Sam pulled out of nowhere. There’s a burn and throb, the flames licking through his muscles and up through tender flesh.
“Stop squirming,” Sam mumbles, his own hands shaking as he fingers the clasp on the first aid box and tugs it open. “Be a man, Dean.”
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Dean is feverish and belligerent and circumstances (of the author's choosing) dictate that Sam does not have time for this shit--he just needs Dean to sit down, take the damn meds, and not make things worse. Sam can handle this. Literally.
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Dean is functionally illiterate, Sam is holding things together, and something is abducting children in Washington state.