gods favorite little meow meow

not even a catboy - they/them 

[catboy-steve]

[pittofdespair]

Santos Javadi friendship is so precious to me because Javadi does not know they're friends and Santos thinks they're like, besties.

Because both of them have weird people skills.

Javadi does not seem to understand what having friends is like re: teasing and making fun (she's a 20 year old M4, it's understandable) and Santos's style of trying to forge connection is so stunted and aggressive and abrasive. Santos is clearly very fond of Javadi and Javadi is like, playing back in a way that matches her snarky energy but in her head, she hasn't translated that to them joking around as friends.

But the little curtsy and clap exchange when Javadi tells her the square root is everything to me.

[little-doggy-boy-kisserstraight]

crashtos kiss season 3 trust

[emizzzso]

chaos trio doodles

[nowhere-angel]

[thepittmemes]

[crowshaped]

what’s a little kissing between kind of friends

[alhashimis]

also i did not expect i would be thinking about this but victoria making videos about "dealing with difficult co-workers" and they're almost always about trinity but it's becoming increasingly clear that trinity has a crush and victoria's followers start the impossible journey of making her realize that, "hey, maybe that woman is just trying to get you into bed"

[calliopeprelude]

can’t stop thinking about this

[thestarlotus]

oh hello pittlings and why are you in the emergency department even !

[emmaharwoods]

What's the square root of 841? I'm not a human calculator.

THE PITT 2.02 — "8:00 A.M."

[814519]

dr. santos debuting on dr.J's tiktok page (ft joy and ogilvie's comments)

[samirasystole]

my favourite crashtos dynamic is still trinity being yearnatron 3000 and being teasing and joking and going hahahahhaha ur soooo weird crash. meanwhile victoria is just like ??? uhm okay?? lol?? and then trinity will a crashout because victoria wore her hair in two braids or something and she's dying to compliment it but all that comes out is 'who did your hair today, wednesday adams?' and victoria ignores her and smiles a little. like you have to understand trinity santos is the yearner in the situation but is the biggest loser ever. she can not say anything normal ever. i could snort that shit

[autumn-eve]

whitsantos where dennis’s appendix abruptly ruptures and he needs an emergency appendectomy and trinity is by his side through everything whether he likes it or not

:P

Dennis notices something is wrong but he ignores it because it’s the middle of the night and he doesn’t want to bother Trinity when she has a shift in a couple of hours. It’s his day off tomorrow so he’ll go to the ED if it gets too bad.

Well it does get too bad, and he falls out of bed when he tries to get up to go to the bathroom

Trinity hears a loud thud from Dennis’s room and bolts up out of bed. she rushes out of her room and goes across the hall to his door. She knocks a few times “Huckleberry?? you good?”

When she only gets a pained grunt in response, she warns him that she’s coming in and opens his door. Her stomach drops as her eyes land on dennis crumpled on the floor clutching his abdomen.

“Jesus, what the hell Huckleberry?!” she quickly runs to kneel by his side, going into doctor mode as she moves his hands and replaces them with her own. When she presses in one spot, his vision whites out, and he lets out a gasp as he shoots up to push her away out of reflex.

“I’m fine, I promise” he manages to get out. “Go back to bed. You have work in a few hours”

Trinity gives him a look. “Yeah, you look really fine, Huck, practically glowing” she deadpans.

She raises up and grabs his bicep. “C’mon, we’re going to the Pitt. You’re not allowed to die on my watch, I don’t know how to fix half the shit in this apartment”

Dennis lets out a dry chuckle and slowly sits up. He winces and tries to argue.

“Trin, it’s fine. Seriously. It’s probably just a stomach bug.” He looks up at her with his pitiful blue eyes, “I’ve had worse”

Trinity sighs and continues to pull him up, trying her best not to focus on how shaky he is as he winces again and groans in pain. There’s sweat beginning to bead around his hairline and the back of his neck.

“I don’t care, Huckleberry, we’re going. Get your shoes on.”

She manages to drag him up to a standing position where he’s leaning his weight against his nightstand. He looks up at her through his lashes and grimaces as he takes in her expression. She’s glaring at him with her hands on her hips, lips pressed into a thin line. Despite the look, Dennis can tell she’s worried. There’s a small furrow of her brow that he’s come to recognize despite her best efforts to hide any sort of worry. He understands how difficult it is for Trinity to openly express any sort of concern or vulnerability. Guilt is tugging at him. He looks back down and lets out a weak sigh before raising his head again.

“Okay…okay” he acquiesces quietly, “Fine. If it’ll make you feel better, we’ll go.”

He plops down on the edge of his bed and bends to reach for his shoes. Pain shoots through his abdomen and he lets out a muffled grunt.

“Shit” he huffs.

Trinity sighs and walks over to his dresser and opens several drawers before letting out a triumphant hum. She grabs a pair of socks and walks back to stand in front of him before squatting down.

“Jesus, Trin, you don’t have to do that.” His face flushes with embarrassment as he shifts his feet away from her.

“Ugh, c’mon, Huck. If I let you try to put your shoes on, we’re going to be here forever. You can barely sit up right.”

Dennis mumbles and looks away as he slowly relaxes his feet. Trinity suppresses a smile as she rolls one sock on and then the other. She grabs his shoes, making a face.

“How long have you had these?” she chuckles, “These are like, the first shoes ever. How can you even stand to walk in these?”

He glares down at her, “Quit making fun of my shoes and just put them on.”

She rolls her eyes and unties the laces before slipping his right foot into the shoe. As she’s grabbing his left foot, he lets out a sigh.

“I…I don’t really have the extra funds to be getting new shoes right now” he adds quietly.

She looks up at him and pats his ankle.

“Hey…” She waits until he looks at her before continuing.

“It’s okay, seriously. I know I pick at you a lot, but it’s fine. Okay?”

He blinks a few times before softly saying, “…Okay…Thanks”

“Whatever. Don’t mention it. Now get up so we can get going.”

She stands up and holds her arms out to steady him as he pushes up from the bed. He stumbles slightly, pain shooting up as he tries to straighten. He bats her hands away when she reaches to grab him.

“I’m fine, just give me a sec”

“Okay, whatever you say, Huck” she huffs and rolls her eyes.

Dennis can still see concern twisting her face slightly, but he chooses not to mention it. He straightens up and slowly hobbles out the door, trailing after Trinity. He does accept help down the stairs after they leave their apartment. She holds him by the elbow and angles them so they can walk down the stairs slowly. Dennis is still embarrassed, trying to tune out the voice of his father telling him to go back to bed and sleep it off, but he’s happy that Trinity is there with him. He’d never tell it to her face, but he truly cherishes her. She’s the person he never knew he needed in his life. Despite her rough exterior, she really does care about him. Of course, getting her to admit that is like pulling teeth, so Dennis is content in observing the little ways she shows that she cares, like forcing him to go to the ER over a stomach ache. He huffs a small smile, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Trinity.

“What are you so happy about? You better not be seeing the light at the end of the tunnel or some shit”

“It’s nothing” His smile lessens but doesn’t go away just yet.

“Whatever” her eyes roll again, but he can see her sporting a smile of her own out the corner of his eye.

They finally make it to the ground floor and into the parking lot where Trinity’s old Toyota Corolla sits. She unlocks it and maneuvers him into the passenger seat. He slaps her hand when she tries to buckle him. She just huffs and raises her hands in surrender before going around to the driver’s seat. Once she’s situated and buckled, she cranks up the car and backs out.

It’s a quiet drive to the Pitt. Trinity had tried putting on music, but Dennis quickly reached over and turned the volume down with a quiet grumble about his head hurting. He leans his head against the window, trying to ignore the pain which has gotten worse in the last ten minutes.

“How ya holding up over there?” Trinity glances over at him before looking back at the road.

“Fine” Dennis answers curtly.

“Fine?”

“Yeah, fine. I’m fine.”

“Oh, of course. Obviously you’re fine. That’s why I found you curled up in pain on the floor of your room. Because you’re fine.”

“It’s nothing, seriously.” Trinity opens her mouth to respond but he keeps going. “I probably just ate something bad. I don’t want people fussing over me and wasting resources when all I have to do is–” he cuts himself off with a gag and slaps his hand over his mouth.

“Huck?” Trinity turns her head in alarm.

“Pull over” he mumbles through the hand covering his mouth.

“What?”

“Pull. Over.” He grunts before gagging again. “Ugh, fuck”

“Oh Jesus, um, okay. Okay, yeah. Pulling over now. Jesus, Huck, you better not puke in my car.”

“I’m trying my best” He leans his head back against the seat and squeezes his eyes shut.

Trinity keeps glancing over at him, concern rising. He’s been sick before with a stomach bug, but it’s never been this visibly bad before. He’s tough. She knows he grew up on a farm—probably ate dirt as a kid or something. He’s got a strong immune system. For him to be outwardly displaying this much pain, something must be seriously wrong. She chews on her bottom lip as she finds a somewhat empty parking lot to pull into. As soon as the car stops, Dennis unbuckles and pushes the door open. He leans out and begins to expel everything he ate in the last twenty-four hours.

“Jeez, man. It’s okay. Let it out.” Trinity awkwardly rubs his back as he continues to puke. He’s shaking slightly and she can hear him coughing, trying to get rid of the burn in his throat. Dennis stays in the cycle of throwing up, breathing, gagging, and throwing up again for a few minutes before he finally sits up slightly, leaving into Trinity’s hand.

“I’m okay, I’m okay. I’m good now” He grunts out roughly, voice slightly raw. She feels something pull in her chest but she ignores it in favor of rubbing at his back some more.

“You sure? I mean, I don’t want to state the obvious here but you just threw up like everything you’ve ever eaten” She grimaces.

He lets out a dry laugh, “Okay…maybe…ugh” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “Maybe I’m not doing too good”

“Really” Trinity deadpans. He turns around to give her a look and she chuckles before removing her hand.

“Alright. Now that we’ve finally agreed that you are decidedly Not Good, do you think you can manage until we get to the Pitt? It’s like five minutes, you can do it.”

Dennis lets out a weak sigh before saying, “Yeah, yeah I can make it.” He leans his head against the window again, hoping to absorb some of the coolness from the glass. Trinity nods once and pulls out of the lot. The rest of the drive resumes. She spares a few glances at Dennis, taking in his appearance. His face is pinched in discomfort. The sweat around his hairline has started to trickle down his temple, and the hair at the base of his neck is curling up. He’s slumped in the seat with his arms crossed over his lower abdomen. When she looks closer at his face, she can see a slight flush and his nostrils flaring as he breathes heavily. She’s started to piece together his symptoms, ready to present to Ellis or whomever they run into when they get there. She can never fully get out of Doctor Mode.

A few minutes later, she pulls up to the ER, parking near the ambulance bay but far enough that she wouldn’t be blocking any ambulances. She nudges Dennis’s shoulder.

“Hey”

He furrows his brows and lets out a low grunt.

“Hm.”

“Hey” She nudges him again, this time lightly knocking her fist against his head. He’s warm. Low grade fever if she had to guess. That coupled with the nausea and stomach pain…poor Huckleberry.

“You ready to lose your appendix?”

This time his eyes open and he looks over at her.

“What? He mumbled weakly, drowsy from his increasing fever. “What are you talking about?”

“C’mon dude. You’re literally a doctor. Put the pieces together. You definitely have appendicitis. It probably ruptured too with how rough you look” She couldn’t help throwing in a jab.

He drops his head back against the seat and lets out a heavy groan.

“Ugh, you gotta be kidding me. I had my suspicions but I didn’t want to confirm it. I can’t afford surgery.”

At his admission, Trinity feels that same tightening of her chest from earlier. She also feels something else. Anger.

“Seriously?” She asks sharply.

At her sudden shift in tone, Dennis snaps his head up and looks over at her. His brows furrow in confusion.

“Wha-?” He tries to ask but she cuts him off.

“So you knew? You were gonna just, what? Lay there and hope it went away on its own? Are you stupid? You could get an infection! You could go septic!” Her voice was raising now.

“I know!” He shot back. “Like you said, I’m a doctor! I’m also broke, if you haven’t noticed. I knew the risks, it felt like it would be fine.”

“It ‘felt like it would be fine’? Are you hearing yourself? Whatever. I’m not arguing with you right now. Get out of the car, c’mon.”

She shifted to turn the car off and unbuckle herself. She knew she was being harsh and that the outburst came out of nowhere. She couldn’t help it. Her thoughts began to spiral as she got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side.

How could he be so casual about it? How could he not care that he’s in pain? Doesn’t he realize he can ask for help? Ask me for help? I’m his roommate for Christ’s sake! I’m his friend! He’s-he’s my friend. Oh God, he’s my friend. He’s my friend; I can’t lose him. I can’t lose someone else. I can’t-

“Hey” Dennis’s voice cut through. “Are you okay? You’ve been standing there staring at me. I get it, I’m moving slow”

She blinks and lets out a shaky breath. “Oh, uh yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, yeah. I’m good. Now come on. Let’s go inside”

He looks up at her with an unconvinced expression, but he doesn’t say anything. He just crawls out of the car and stands up next to her. They look at each other for a moment before Trinity sharply turns and begins to walk towards the bay entrance. Dennis smiles softly, shaking his head as he goes to follow her. As soon as he steps, pain shoots through his lower abdomen and he lets out a gasp. Trinity freezes and takes a breath before turning back around and walking up towards him.

“You can’t do anything, can you?” She huffs but she grabs his arm and wraps it around her shoulder as they walk into the Pitt together.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Hey! Thanks for reading this :) It started out as just a quick one shot but then I kept writing more dialogue and this is the result lol! I want to continue it into Dennis and Trinity going into the ED and getting checked out by Abbot, Dennis having to get an appendectomy, and the recovery process with Trinity begrudgingly (not really) taking care of him.

Let me know if you guys would like to see more! The story can totally end like this no biggie, just wanted to hear what you guys think! This is the first and longest fic I’ve ever written and it’s more fun than I thought it’d be :)

Okay i’ve rambled enough lol byeee

[thanks--for--listening]

whitsantos fanfic sneak peak:

cruel of me to post anything knowing this is nowhere near ready to post in spite of having literally 30,000 words written. I am however in need of a distraction and someone on Twitter called it whitsantos week so here’s a teeny tiny peek at the beginning. Picks up right after season 1. Platonic only those are the siblings of all time!!

—

“Have you eaten anything?”

“Huh?”

“Food, Huckleberry,” she says as she drops her keys into a ceramic dish that has a decent sized chip in it. His eyes are still scanning the apartment. Couch in front of a TV to his left, adorned with mismatched coffee and side tables. Kitchen peeking out through a half wall behind it. Two closed doors in front of him that he assumes are bedrooms.

“Uh, yeah, I had a sandwich earlier.”

“Earlier when?”

“Maybe…one?”

His head turns as she walks past him, her shoes left lopsided by the door. He quickly takes his off, placing them as neatly and out of the way as he can manage. “I’ve got leftover stir fry in the fridge,” she says as she opens one of the doors. “Save me a bowl and the rest is yours, if you want it.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, I couldn’t—“

She sighs loudly, heavily, her whole body turning around in the doorway like it’s being dragged against its will. “Listen. I know this is weird. You know this is weird. We’ve established that. But it’s only going to get worse if you tiptoe around all the time. I have food. I won’t eat it all. Have some. It’s not that big of a deal.”

It is a big deal. There aren’t enough words in any language to express how big of a deal it is, to be offered the stuff of life so freely, but instead of saying any of that, or doing something equally as embarrassing like cry, he just nods. “Alright. Thanks.”

“Your room is the door to the left. Sheets on the bed are clean, and there should be space in the closet for your stuff. Washer and dryer are in one of the closets in the kitchen.”

“Got it. Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

Santos sighs again, softer this time, before turning and walking into her room. “I’m gonna shower. Try anything and I’ll gut you like a fish.”

The door closes behind her, just loud enough to make him jump. After a minute, the water starts running, and after another minute, he thinks he probably shouldn’t be found standing outside her door like a lost puppy when she comes back.

It isn’t much, but he grabs his stuff — shoved into a backpack that has seen him through nearly every grade, and a duffel he stole from his dorm’s lost and found on the last day of undergrad — and makes his way to the second bedroom. She warned him on the way over that it isn’t anything fancy, just a bed and a dresser and a little nightstand, with beige walls and a tiny bathroom that should work.

Considering he’s gone from sharing a room with his older brother, to shitty college dorms, to an unsavory apartment with more roommates than was technically legal, to a hospital bed in an abandoned inpatient wing, a bedroom to himself in a building that isn’t also his place of employment is a considerable upgrade.

Within a pitifully low number of minutes, everything he owns is put in its rightful spot. Venturing back into the kitchen, he goes straight to the fridge and finds the leftovers amidst nearly empty shelves. Opening cabinets at random makes him feel like an intruder, but by some miracle, the bowls are in the third one he checks.

He fills one up for her, and then one for himself, doing his best to make sure he isn’t taking any more than he’s giving. Already he can feel his stomach straining, desperate in a way he’s grown used to. Patience is a virtue, though, and it’s one he’s always had in spades, so he takes the bowl and throws it in the microwave, staring at it for every second it spends spinning behind the glass.

While he waits, he thinks about her name. He can’t help it. Old habits are easy to cling to when there’s nothing else to hold.

Saint Trinity. Grandma would be beside herself.

The beeping startles him, knocks him out of his head and back into reality. Grabbing the bowl, he cheats right at the end, abandoning his self-proclaimed virtue for a scolding bite of rice, beef, and vegetables he can barely even taste.

By the time she walks into the room, wet hair leaving damp spots on her hoodie, he’s on his last mouthful. Her eyes go wide, and he braces for the comment, but she says nothing, just walks up and grabs the other bowl. A minute later, she’s suffering the same consequences as him, letting her tongue bear the brunt of the heat in a worthy sacrifice for hunger’s sake.

There’s a kitchen table further down, but neither of them make a move to sit. They both stand on opposite ends of the counter, nearly empty tupperware and a thousand unspoken questions filling the space between them.

“I’m going grocery shopping tomorrow.” He looks up at her, but she’s staring down, studying her food like it has something to say. “If you’re off, you can come with, otherwise just text me a list of what you want.”

“I don’t need anything, I can manage with whatever you don’t—“

“Whitaker.” Her eyes pin him in place, cut his words off with efficient brutality, but there’s something delicate in them. Something careful. “I can afford this. I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t.”

It’s something he knows he’ll never ask, but he wonders how it’s possible, the same way he’s spent years wondering how anyone his age on his track survives when there’s no pay and no time for anything that would.

Rich family, maybe. That seems to be the answer for everyone else.

“Okay,” he relents. “I’ll go with you.”

“Now, was that so hard?” She teases, before grabbing her bowl and tossing it unceremoniously into the sink. “I’m gonna go put on the stupidest show I can find. I’ve used too many brain cells today. I’ll keep it quiet if you’re gonna call it a night.” She’s on the other side of the half wall when she adds, “Or, I guess you can watch, if you really want.”

Does he want to call it a night? Two hours ago he was exhausted and ready to collapse, but now the thought of turning the lights off and lying down with nothing but his mind to keep him company is unexpectedly daunting.

“Sure, I’ll watch.”

She puts on Keeping Up With The Kardashians. He’s proud that he does, in fact, know who they are, but his knowledge starts and ends with general name recognition.

It fascinates him, mostly from an anthropological standpoint. They are unlike anyone he has ever seen, perhaps anyone who has ever existed. It can’t all be real, he’s not that naive, but enough of the behaviors feels too genuinely ridiculous to be fake. He tries to sit and observe in silence, hardly moving a muscle to avoid shifting too far into the gap on the couch, but curiosity gets the better of him, the way it has his entire life.

“Wait, why is this guy so important? Is he another celebrity?”

“He’s a basketball player. Or, was.”

“Oh. And they’re dating?”

“At this point, but this is an old—you really never heard about them?”

“Never been a pop culture guy, I guess. Or a reality TV guy. We didn’t get a ton of channels back home. Why, was it news or something?”

Santos grins at him, and the sight makes his palms sweat. “Oh, Huckleberry, you have no idea.”

—

The next morning, they go grocery shopping, and after pointed glares and a threat to simply guess what he might eat, he makes his necessary selections: off-brand cereal and milk, sandwich bread and deli meat, frozen nuggets, a box of pasta, granola bars, and a bag of potato chips.

She tells him she doesn’t know how to cook for one, but if he doesn’t like whatever she’s having, he can make something else. He’s not a great cook and he’s not picky (beggars and choosers and whatnot), but he’s decent at baking, so he offers to make up for the meals with sweets, which is how flour, eggs, sugar, and butter get added to the cart.

“Last thing,” she says as they walk into the frozen aisle. An overwhelming selection of pints stare back at them. “You’ll need your own. I don’t believe in eating ice cream any way except directly out of the carton.”

“Whatever flavor you like is fine.”

“Huckleberry,” she groans. “Aren’t we past this?”

“Fine,” he says quickly, reaching in and grabbing one from the top shelf.

Santos leans over his shoulder to see. “Mint Chip? Are you deranged?”

“What’s wrong with Mint Chip? It’s a classic!”

“It’s toothpaste! You’re eating toothpaste for dessert.”

“It is not! It’s delicate!”

“It’s disgusting.”

“Mint and chocolate are complimentary,” he protests as she reaches in and grabs one from the bottom. He peeks at it, then scoffs. “Rocky Road? Really?”

She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “What’s wrong with that?”

“That’s kid stuff!”

“What are you talking about? Rocky Road is the fucking best.”

“It’s, like, seven toppings slammed into one! You’re shaming Mint Chip when you eat the whole kitchen sink covered in chocolate. At least mine’s a real flavor.”

His eyes go wide at his own words three seconds after they’ve left his body. She’s buying him groceries he can’t afford, to take back to her apartment that he’s living in for free, to make something she’ll allow him to eat at no cost, all while asking for essentially nothing in return, and he’s bickering with her?

It’s impossible. He’s polite. He’s respectful. He doesn’t shoot gift horses in the mouth by insulting their taste in ice cream. How could he turn so quickly into the version of himself that only used to exist with three very specific people, all hellbent on riling him up?

An apology is halfway out into the world when her laughter cuts him off. “Damn, dude,” she says, “if I knew that’s what it took to break your little soft and sweet act, we would have stopped here first.”

She grabs the cart and starts moving, not looking back to see if he’ll follow.

(He will. Of course he will.)

[vieapples]

new drawing dropped ig

[sapphicctigress]

it’s okay dennis i also do this