hello the pitt enjoyers, 4th year med student who just finished interviewing emergency medicine (EM) here to offer up some real-life scenarios for ur viewing and shipping pleasure, feel free to insert whoever:
sometimes when you do compressions, your lanyard is bouncing all over the place and someone will come behind you and drag it around your neck so it isn't in the way #intimate
similarly, if you are doing a sterile procedure and scrubbed in and your phone goes off, sometimes you'll have someone else reach into your back pocket to check your phone. first of all, a little butt grab never hurt anybody, and second of all, this is ripe with juicy material for seeing texts (for example finding out your attending had a sexy hookup the night before OOP who said that that def not a real scenario that happened)
i cannot emphasize ENOUGH how much of a party specialty EM is lmao. all the residents know exactly which restaurants serve alcohol at 8 am bc they need cocktails post night-shift. some residents have a literal frat house that they all hang out at on the random days of the week they get off and there's a basement where sometimes you'll find a random resident sleeping bc they were too drunk to go home and had a 7 am shift the next morning (whitaker-coded)
also: energy drinks all day everyday, especially celsius. trinity santos would absolutely be shotgunning these pre-shift
speaking of partying: emergency medicine regularly has resident retreats which get WILD and messy (as in i have overheard residents talking about doing lsd together, hooking up with each other, going into labor??)
and more partying: attendings will pretty regularly host sleepovers, journal clubs, dinners, parties etc at their homes bc they are rich lmao. not something i see dr. robby doing but perhaps some night shift people
residents really are that close which is sweet. i've had residents ask for my feedback on hinge profiles and scroll through their messages with matches with me (looking at u santos and whitaker)
so many tattoos and piercings on everyone
intern tuesdays! most EM residencies have dedicated educational conferences every week on wednesday mornings (i think - perhaps this is revealing about where in the coutnry i am lmao) so everyone gets the night before off and goes to like happy hours or sleeps over at people's apartment and stays out late
oh and speaking of wednesday conferences - sometimes they do fun little excursions like to the zoo to learn about snake bites lmao or to the beach where everyone's in swimsuits and they'll do a water rescue and drag a body out of the water and forget to warn all the beachgoers that this was a simulation lmfao, ripe with material for a comedy of errors type pitt situation
also perhaps revealing a bit about where i am again but a) EM is an incrediblyyyyy gay specialty i was SHOOK once i started talking to residents and faculty there is not a straight bone in that department b) in my experience on the interview trail lots of rural queer people are lowkey trying to come to this more urban location to train and be around gay people (coughWHITAKERcough)
residents frequently let med students (or honestly even newbie interns) practice IVs on them. plenty of time for yearning touches
when a resident offers to wipe down your computer station and keyboard with a sterile wipe and has to reach over your body to do so 🥵
residents will take drugs from the over-the-counter cart and self-medicate such as one resident i knew who (incorrectly) took antibiotics for some illness and gave herself c. diff (@ whitaker)
post night shift brunch! found family!
EMTs are consistently so hot. im sorry i said it. i dont think we know any EMTs yet in the pitt but i am Waiting
oh more yearning physical intimacy: when u have a trauma patient, you have to "log roll" the patient to inspect every inch and make sure you haven't missed anything. that entails crossing your arms over a fellow nurse/attending/resident whoever while you roll the patient and leaves plenty of room for some arm rubbing hehe
anyway this is just a start, feel free to adapt and go ham <3
You and Jimmy had gotten along great from day one.
You started working at The Daily Planet around the same time, two fresh faces in a newsroom already packed with egos and legends. During orientation, you'd caught each other’s eye during Perry White’s long-winded speech about journalistic integrity. He'd grinned, you'd smirked, and that was that. An unspoken understanding that you were going to be close. Kindred spirits. Partners in crime, at least in the breakroom.
Your beat wasn’t glamorous. There were no Pulitzer-worthy exposés or exclusive interviews with Metropolis’s most elusive hero. You were out in the thick of it, usually reporting on traffic pileups and commuter chaos, calling in voice notes from your phone while dodging cabs. But it was honest work, and it kept you moving. Jimmy, for all his antics and charm, respected that. While he was out snapping photos and chasing stories with Lois, he'd always find time to check in, often meeting you halfway between assignments with coffee or something greasy wrapped in paper.
You knew Jimmy’s reputation. Everyone did. There were pictures on his desk that rotated like the headlines. There were blondes, brunettes, girls with short hair, and girls with curls. And more than enough half-whispered stories were floating around the bullpen to piece together a very clear pattern. Jimmy Olsen was a heartbreaker. But he was different with you.
He didn’t push. He didn’t press. He played the field, sure, but always circled back, orbiting close like he was just waiting for the right signal. Like he was waiting at a red light that never turned green, but he never dared to run it.
Tonight had been good. Better than good. The newsroom had cleared out hours ago, but you stayed behind, not quite ready to head home to your silent apartment and half-eaten leftover takeout. You were hunched over your desk, trying to look busy, when you felt a tap on your shoulder.
“You hungry?” Jimmy asked, holding out a familiar grease-stained paper bag from the burger joint a few blocks down. The one you both liked, conveniently located between your buildings.
You didn’t ask how he knew you hadn’t eaten. You just took the bag, sat down across from him in the conference room, and started splitting fries like it was the most natural thing in the world. He’d gotten your order just right. No tomato, extra grilled onions, even remembered the dipping sauce you liked. That tiny detail caught you off guard more than you wanted to admit.
It was easy, effortless, until you caught him watching you a little too closely.
You arched a brow as you finished your burger, balling up the wrapper. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”
Jimmy’s face contorted in confusion, his jaw slack as he searched for words.
“Exactly.” You hummed lightly, grabbing your purse and keys from the floor beside you. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have fun with… what’s her name this week?”
He smiled sheepishly. “Eve.”
“Eve,” you repeated, nodding. “Cute name. Don’t break her heart.”
You gave him a playful wink before turning on your heel, leaving him alone under the flickering buzz of the breakroom light with a bag of fries half-eaten, and a look on his face like maybe you’d just scooped the air out of his lungs with your words.
+++
The next day is like normal. Jimmy flirts with you, grinning like the night before never ended, and you flirt back, but only just. He lingers a little closer than usual when he hands off a slip of paper with a story lead, fingers brushing yours, eyes catching and holding.
“Got something for you,” he murmurs, voice low like it’s just between you two.
You glance at the paper, then at him. “You always bring me the juicy ones?”
“Only the best,” he says, mouth curving. “Figured you’d want first crack.”
His fingers don’t move, still touching yours. You raise a brow, then pat his arm lightly. “Careful, Jimmy. You’re starting to sound sweet.”
He leans in, just a breath. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
You step back with a small, amused smile, heels clicking as you walk away. “I say that like you’ve got a girlfriend.”
Behind you, the hum of the newsroom swallows whatever response he doesn’t say.
You ignore the stares from the girls in the mailroom. You’ve seen them watching, whispering behind glossy nails and plastic name tags. They don’t like you much. Not since Jimmy started saving the last of the donuts for you and always seemed to know where you were, even when you didn’t check in.
Clark’s the only one who says anything out loud. He’s standing by the coat rack, sipping from his thermos, when you wrestle your arms into your raincoat and secure the hood over your head.
“Ten-car pileup on the bridge,” you say, lifting your press badge and pinning it inside of the waterproof pocket. “Should be back before five, unless someone spontaneously combusts.”
Clark smiles, tilting his head like he’s debating saying more, and then he does. “You should stop playing with him.”
You blink. “Excuse me?” You bend over to shove your foot into your rainboot.
“Jimmy,” he clarifies, almost sheepish. “He actually means it.”
You laugh, dry and low. “Clark, he meant it last week. He’ll mean it again next week. It’ll happen when it’s meant to.” You give a casual shrug, turning toward the elevator. “Besides, he’s got Eve.”
Clark just hums, unconvinced. You don’t look back.
You hear whispers about him and Eve all week. She calls him constantly, hours at a time, and he answers with that tired voice you recognize full of heavy sighs and half-hearted chuckles. You catch glimpses of him in passing, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He doesn’t bring her up to you, not once.
Wednesday, you see him out front of the building during your lunch break, standing stiff under the awning without an umbrella. He’s staring at his phone as if it had personally offended him. You pass without a word.
By Friday, the office is buzzing.
You’d been circling the city all morning, dodging potholes and honking horns, chasing down some minor lead about a tow truck scandal. You’re soaked to the knees, half-listening to your voicemail in the stairwell when the elevator doors open to chatter from the mailroom girls.
“She came in here,” someone whispers as you pass. “Like into the meeting room.”
“I heard she threw her drink at him.”
“No, not just threw. Launched. A venti caramel latte with three extra espresso shots."
"Angela read the label?"
"She said he broke her heart. Loud enough to stop a meeting next door.”
You glance across the bullpen and spot Jimmy wiping his face with a handful of napkins, coffee stains blooming across his button-down. His sweater vest is gone, sleeves rolled, and for the first time all week, he looks like the wind’s been knocked out of him.
He glances up, catches your eye.
You don’t stop walking, but you do toss him the extra towel from your bag as you pass, hitting him square in the chest without a word.
Another thing you’d heard about Jimmy Olsen, besides his appetite for danger and inability to keep a houseplant alive, was Tuesdays.
Tuesdays were his nights. Date night. Every week, without fail. Like clockwork. Always a different girl, always somewhere with mood lighting and overpriced cocktails, the kind of places you only went to when you wanted to forget the newsroom and pretend you were someone else for a few hours.
You’d overheard the girls in the mailroom talking about it again that morning, giggling behind their clipboards.
“He wears cologne,” one of them whispered. “You can tell the second he walks in on Tuesdays. Full spray, not the little spritz he does for interviews. It's so hot."
“He’s got a reservation at that rooftop place tonight,” the other replied. “The one that needs a waitlist and a blood sacrifice.”
But you knew better. There was no reservation tonight.
Eve had made sure of that when she chucked a latte at his face and called him every name under the sun in front of half the floor. Jimmy hadn’t left his desk since. He hadn’t flirted once all weekend, hadn’t even smiled for real. His camera stayed slung over the back of his chair, untouched, like it was sulking with him.
He was bent over a printout now, red pen in hand, the tip hovering over the paper but not moving. He hadn’t turned a page in fifteen minutes.
You approached quietly, leaning one elbow on his desk and waiting until he noticed you.
“Where are we going tonight?” you asked.
Jimmy looked up, blinking like you’d pulled him out of a trance. “What?”
You nodded toward the stack of papers and then the clock. “It’s Tuesday. You usually go on a date. So…” You folded your arms, keeping your tone light. “Where are we going?”
His brows furrowed, lips parting like he couldn’t quite find the joke you were making. “Are you messing with me right now?”
“Nope.” You smiled, just a little. “I’m asking what time you’re picking me up.”
He stared for a long second, trying to read your face like it was a lead he hadn’t cracked yet. You laughed, no longer able to hold it back. His eyes flickered with something unspoken. Surprise, maybe. Hope. Maybe even a little fear.
“I’ve got rain boots in my car and a dry change of clothes in my locker,” you replied, tapping his desk lightly. “Pick something. Nothing with reservations. Nothing with candles. And if you try to pay, I’m ordering the lobster.”
He grinned. “I hate lobster.”
“Perfect,” you said. “More for me.”
He leaned back in his chair and looked at you like you’d just flipped the whole board on a game he thought he’d been winning.
You pushed away from his desk, already reaching for your coat. “Six-thirty, my place. And don’t wear that cologne. Smells like a gas station cashier’s dream.”
He pressed a hand to his chest, mock wounded. “You wound me.”
“You’ll survive,” you said, already walking away. "Don't be late!"
Jason Todd almost exclusively listens to pop music.
The criminals of gotham would never be able to guess that under the mask hes lipsyncing to Carly Rae Jepson. The vigilante whos name alone strikes fear in a persons eyes is listening to... Taylor Swift?
He is so embarrassed by it too, feeling like he needs to keep up his "Bad Boy" persona. His family just assumes he listens to death metal and screamo, music as scary as he is.
Tim caught him humming a Selena Gomez song once and was at a loss for words.
Dick stalked his spotify and found a playlist dedicated to 2010s house bangers. He was too scared to mention it, but finds himself occasionally throwing it on shuffle.
Jason Todd whos mind never shuts off, who hasnt gotten a good nights sleep a day in his life, who cant close his eyes without seeing ungodly horrors. He wouldnt be caught dead listening to metal, it would send him in a spiral. No the only thing that boy can listen to is a mindless beat with some sweet lyrics.
