service pup in training

a place to ramble about whatever i want

[satanicfranic]

trans Jack riding Robby’s face, soaking his beard, his hair, his top, the bed, he worries about suffocating Robby who just thinks that’d be a hell of a way to go

[service-pup-whitaker]

I've seen a lot of people talk about the religious symbolism of the sun behind Robby's head while he's holding baby Jane Doe, and while I think that's a neat interpretation, I had a different initial reaction.

He's talking about the things that happened to him, how he was abandoned, how he got through it and how BJD will get through it too. And I don't know if this is just a common saying where I'm from, but when shit happens you can say "the sun will still rise tomorrow" or something similar. Kind of saying 'better things will happen' because the world can't stay dark forever. It can also be a sort of insult in the sense that even if you die, the sun will still rise tomorrow. The world will keep turning. [Though that can also be reassuring to some in the sense that no matter how bad you fuck it up, tomorrow will come no matter what.]

The whole season has Robby trying to find a reason for him to stay in the Pitt, that even with how shitty he feels right now.. he will see the sun tomorrow. Things will get better because they have to.

At the same time, he's looking for a reason to leave, that the sun will still rise even if he's not there. And, without realizing what they're technically saying, everyone is assuring him that it will. That the pitt will still function, that he isn't needed.

[avocado-berries]

hi fellow rabbots, i'm begging for primal jack and robby pls. young or old i don't care just let them chase each other, wrestle on the ground until one of them pins the other and mounts them in the middle of nowhere. pretty please.

[julitypes]

// rabbot, talk of suicidal ideation, loss, grief

i cannot even imagine the way jack felt, having lost his wife, then watching robby tell him he was leaving for three months in such a horrible state mentally.

he'd know that the whole point of robby's sabbatical would be to get some distance. to have quiet, to reconnect on his own with everything he had been neglecting due to his career. he'd know all of this, but truly wouldn't be able to keep himself from worrying.

with great restraint, he'd keep himself to just a text every couple hours. asking something mundane, just to be sure robby would respond. jack would change his ringtone for him to something obnoxious, so he wouldn't miss it even if he was asleep.

once he didn't respond for a long while, jack would find himself picking at his thumbs. asking whitaker if he'd heard anything, even if he knew the kid didn't talk to him too much besides updates on the house. he'd start thinking every little sound was his phone, his heart sinking a bit when it wasn't. jack might even get sloppy in the field, making little mistakes or late calls in the trauma room.

concern gnawing at his gut and frustrations at himself harbored heavily in his head, he'd cave. dismiss himself long enough to go up to the roof. take deep breaths of the higher air, sitting down against the guardrail and calling him. listening to the ringing drone on for one cycle, then two. his jaw tight, his mind returned to memories of the funeral he had attended years earlier. watching a casket lowered into the ground. all of the death he had seen, robby at his side.

his eyes would be burning, knuckles white as he held his phone in a crushing grip by his ear. calling again when the last dial timed out and he got voicemail. calling again after that. body trembling, his breaths terribly short. regretting everything he had done. not begging robby to stay better, not telling him how loved he was more often. he couldn't lose someone again.

jack's breaths are shuddering out of his chest by the time the call clicks, and he hears robby's voice on the other end. just hearing the rumbling "hello?" over the line cracks deep down his chest with relief so extremely heavy that a sob leaves his lips. his head bows between his knees, his exhales only heaves.

he barely registers robby's concern on the other side of the phone, his focus on trying to remain upright and not let the reassurance that robby was alive bring him to the ground completely.

michael, who had been struggling as much as suspected, measuring the strength he truly had left to keep going, would feel harrowing levels of realization in that moment. this was narrowly-evaded grief he was hearing. jack trying to pull the tendrils of himself back together, thinking he had lost one of the only people he had left.

robby would come back that night.

meet jack at his home, who was thrown too off-kilter to be useful the last couple hours of his shift. the sun would barely be cresting as he stumbled back slightly on the porch with the strength of abbot's embrace.

the way his body was still shaking, one hand moving to press hard over robby's chest between them to feel his heart beating under his palm. his breaths so incredibly deep, face pressed into his jacket.

robby's hands would find jack too, arms around his middle, feeling a resolve he had never asked for settle in his chest. he would keep fighting. it wasn't just for him anymore. he wouldn't let abbot mourn again. he couldn't bear knowing the anguish he'd feel at his own absence. he could stay here. he could live.

[doubleabatteriez]

I love some med school and/or 30s-40s rabbot love stories. but I think I'm mostly enamored with present rabbot. because even after jack getting married once and losing his love and losing his leg and going through whatever else he went through in the army and whatever he's going through now. that even after robby with COVID, and adamson, and his commitment issues and abandonment issues, and his multiple failed relationships, and his ever increasing struggle with his own mind. they found love. they found each other and it worked.

not before it, but despite of

[alexisneverokay]

the lack of basic literacy skills and research when it comes to people wanting to talk about the production of the pitt is astounding.

"it's clear she got fired because noah obviously hates her and clearly he's a racist-"

Scott gemill is the showrunner, not wyle. Scott gemill makes the final decisions on all storylines and narratives within the show and which characters will feature. even if all the other writers agree on something, if gemill doesn't like it, he says no. there's nothing the other writers, wyle included, can do. please do one online search to find this information. it would take 15 seconds.

"robby is an evil misogynist and this is definitely because wyle is a misogynist and he's written him accidentally this way because of that and-"

wyle is one of twelve (possibly thirteen) writers. he is not in charge of robby's storyline any more than any of the other eleven he sits among. around half of the writers are women, and the majority of those women are women of colour. robby is written by all these people to be a realistic middle aged man, and they have deliberately chosen to write an underlying bias into that. many of the episodes used by people to call robby an "evil misogynist" are ones written by women. not wyle (in fact, I believe he only wrote two episodes in season two).

I could go on and on here with the ridiculous things people say that they pull from their asses. the point is, sure, discuss the pitts production. discuss its writing, it's themes, it's nuance. have productive discussion. DON'T immediately invalidate any point you want to make by relaying blatantly false information and blatant lies about cast members. DON'T pick someone who had nothing to do with a decision you dont like to be your scapegoat.

the show is not obliged to make you happy in every choice it makes. similarly, you are free to not like it. but it's no use to ANYONE to lie about cast and crew arrangements and decisions for cheap engagement or to jump on a smear campaign rooted in next to nothing. come ON.

[siriaeve]

For @ghostalservice

"Well, maybe consider this as something to try out before our next session," his therapist said.

"This?" Robby said, shifting in his seat.

"Buying something, one thing, between now and next week, just because you like it, not because it's necessary or practical. Treat yourself." Robby opened his mouth, but before he could say anything his therapist continued, "And no, Michael, a fancy to-go coffee doesn't count."

Robby had spent far too long in formal education for him to feel comfortable at the thought of blowing off an assignment, even a bullshit one. But he could, he supposed. See if he could goad his therapist into giving him the first D of his academic career. Michael needs to apply himself more. Or walk away from the whole damn thing. Nothing stopping him. He was a grown man; there were no legal obligations on him to climb the steps to his therapist's office once a week. But then he thought about the expression on Jack's face—on Dana's, Duke's, Caleb's—if they found out that he'd walked away from therapist number three, and how they'd look sad, or worse, proven right, and he thought well, fuck it. He'd keep going. Spite had gotten him through worse before.

But the thing was, Robby thought, once he was back in his quiet apartment, making himself a sandwich, the thing was that he didn't have the first clue how to do this. He'd bought a new pair of hiking boots just last month, and he wore those to work anyway. Jack had given him a year's membership to the Frick for his birthday, and had gone with him, long-suffering, to an exhibition of photos of working life in early twentieth century Pittsburgh. Robby couldn't think of anything else he might want and didn't have. He had a roof over his head and enough to eat; he was a three-block walk from a public library branch; he had more TV channels than he ever watched. He was luckier than a hell of a lot of people. He was doing fine.

And then the next morning at the farmer's market, Robby stumbled across a new vendor. He'd gone there for vegetables and cheese, but found himself stopping in front of a stall selling handmade blankets and throws. Robby nodded along to what the weaver had to say about wool and cashmere and double-weave construction, but it was the softness of one of the throws beneath his hand that had him handing over his credit card.

"Lambswool," the weaver said with a smile as they wrapped up the throw in layers of tissue paper. "So durable. It'll last you for years."

"Good to know," Robby said, and didn't say that he hadn't picked this one because of its durability, but instead because of its spectrum of colours: like rich ochre earth that had been carved away to show veins of burnished copper and old gold. He'd picked it simply because he wanted it.

He carried home the vegetables, and the cheese, and the throw, and part of him was appalled at his audacity in spending three hundred dollars on a blanket, but mostly he was glad that he had it. He draped it over the back of his sofa, and admired the picture that it made—the bright wool against the dark leather—but by the time Jack let himself in some hours later, Robby was lying on the sofa with it wrapped tightly around him.

"Going for the burrito look today?" Jack asked as he set a six-pack and a pizza box down on the coffee table.

"Fuck off," Robby said, and the one down side of being swathed in the blanket was how much more difficult it was to flip Jack off like this.

"One thing I always appreciate about you is your commitment to hospitality, brother," Jack said. "Now move over."

Robby sighed as if he was the one being put on; as if he hadn't been the one to suggest, diffident, that maybe Jack could come over to watch the game. He heaved himself upright, slouched against one corner of the sectional, and worked his arms out of the blanket so that he could accept the beer and the slice of pizza that Jack handed to him. If Jack noticed that the blanket was new, he didn't mention it. He turned on the TV and ate his own food and told Robby a meandering story about the cousin of a buddy of his who'd gone to Pymatuning State Park last weekend and… well, Robby lost the thread of the story. It was easier to just drink his beer and listen to the rise and fall of Jack's voice and be swathed in warmth and not let himself think about much of anything.

It was easier. It was nice.

At Robby's next session, his therapist asked him how the exercise had gone.

"I bought a blanket," Robby said, which was an answer but also didn't feel like much of a one, so he picked at a fingernail and added, "I shared it with someone," and he hated it when he said something that had his therapist scribbling in their notebook. He could already anticipate the next question—and how is that unnecessary or impractical?—and so he went on, "And it was just because I liked it."

"Buying the blanket, or sharing it?"

Robby hated questions.

The next weekend it rained and Jack brought over Thai food, but he found Robby in the same spot on the couch, swathed once again in the blanket. "This is getting to be a habit, huh," Jack said.

"Does twice make a habit?" Robby groused.

"Well, let's see," Jack said, and slid in between Robby and the back of the sofa. Last time, Robby had shaken out some of the extra folds of the blanket over a dozing Jack; this time, Jack slid an arm around Robby's waist; and either way, it seemed, Robby felt warmer than he had any right to.

After a moment, Robby said, muffled, "Am I going to need a bigger couch?"

Jack shifted against him and said, "You mean, is this going to be a thing?"

Wrapped in the blanket, Robby shrugged. "Maybe?"

"It's something I'd look into, yeah," Jack said, and his lips brushed against the nape of Robby's neck, just above the blanket's edge.

Robby shivered. He thought about finding softness where he'd never thought to look, about letting himself carry home an armful of earth-rich colour. About how Jack had shown up ever time Robby had asked him to, and just as often when he hadn't. "Okay then," he said, and what lay between them wouldn't something practical, or something that could be bought, but necessary—yes. Yes.

[billciphermpreg]

and for my favorite character: failed suicide attempt and erectile dysfunction

[comingaback]

i need more jack abbot sucking on either robby or dennis’s cock. he needs to give them the sloppiest, wettest, best deep throating of their lives…. that’s all.

[service-pup-whitaker]

Rabbot and washing each other

Jack who doesn't even want his wife to see him naked when he's just gotten home from the hospital after his amputation, it looks weird and gnarled and she doesn't need to see any part of him like that. He hasn't even gotten used to the sight himself and he's seen worse on other people, there's no way she could stomach it. Not that she hasn't been offering -begging- to help in any way she can. He's just a little.. timid. Insecure. So he calls Robby because he knows the man has also seen worse. He lets Robby undress him, ease him down to the floor of the tub they'll need to alter, and clean him up. Is it awkward? At first, yes. Though any awkwardness fades into the simple process of going through the motions. Washing, dressing the wound, then dressing the man.

Robby who lets some things slip through the cracks when he starts to spin out. The whole 'unwashed hair will have you feeling unlovable' is both accurate and unfortunate, as his hair is one of the first things to be scratched off the list of 'things to do' when life starts to smother him. It only takes a few days and he'll be spiraling downwards in a self fulfilling prophecy. If he has the chance, Jack will come over to Robby's house to help him straighten up. A familiar bathroom with familiar soaps and privacy. If he can't? He brings a pair of crocs and some travel size soaps in his bag, and drags Robby to the showers and helps the man scrub up after another dragging shift. It's not an ideal situation, but it's putting a bandaid on it. At least his hair will be somewhat cleaner and sometimes the gross aura of those showers will give him the drive to wash up at home.

[k9effect]

Twitter user @/boywondqr inspired me like crazy <3

Bonus: inspiration post linked HERE and an alt version of post op dennis cus i got carried away and wanted to do both

[theunfortunate-author]

my daily affirmation as an author

[obsidian-echoes]

Robby can't stop thinking about his best friend.

He thinks about him in the shower; thinks about him in bed; thinks about him right after a trauma that looks just a little bit too much like him and also thinks about him, when he is walking right up to his face.

Robby thinks about the way Jack's eyes never leave his face for longer than necessary. Think about the beautiful hazel that he cannot look into for longer than a few moments without his heart fluttering in his chest and his skin flushing a soft pink.

Robby thinks about how Jack smells and how he feels under his palms and closes his eyes upon the impact of their daily hug.

Jack thinks about what noises Robby would make when he got the man under him. He thinks about how far down that blush goes. He thinks about how sweet his lips, his skin or even his release would taste like.

Robby thinks about how it would feel like if he let himself fall for his best friend, while Jack thinks about how he can get the man to finally see what's been right in front of his face all this time.

Jack knows he will have to take the first step, but he needs to think about when the right time for it would be.

Robby knows Jack would never dare consider him the way Robby considered Jack. He thinks he is so far below the others' standards that there was no way forward for them at all.

They keep thinking until Robby lets out one self-deprecating phrase too many and Jack snaps. Not only does he tell his best friend to stop being mean to the only person who Jack cares about more than anything else; he also uses the stunned expression to finally do what he's been thinking about all that time.

The kiss they share unlocks countless new insecurities alongside infinite possibilities.

And maybe... from now on they're going to think about all those things together.

[service-pup-whitaker]

might write more smut cus i kinda liked doing it even tho it was bad. i am a pervert 🙂‍↕️

[kcrlfs]

robby’s suicidal ideation is so much scarier this season than last. last season we were inside his head. this season we’re experiencing him like the people around him are—temperamental & selfish & basically given up. he’s pushed the audience away as much as he has anyone else.

i feel like the visual storytelling is really supporting that in a few ways; we're not accompanying robby into private, quiet moments anymore, we don't see his flashbacks and the way they affect how he treats the people around him in their aftermath, we're not seeing him try to stay calm & collected for other people's behalf.

and as robby's behavior likely becomes more erratic and angrier as the day goes on, as he pushes the people that love him further and further away... it's going to be interesting to see if the show frames that kind of breakdown. because it's just as much of a mental health crisis, but it's a significantly less easy one for the audience to sympathize with when the show is keeping us at arm's length.

i think that that's an immensely interesting storytelling decision and i am really, really excited (and terrified) to see how it unfolds.

[service-pup-whitaker]

"Remember my friend Sandra from a few weeks ago?" Noelle asked somewhat out of the blue. Robby was stood at the counter, pouring two moderate glasses of wine. Noelle was standing a few feet behind him, reclined on the kitchen island with an awkward air to her. Robby paused.

"Sandra..? You two got coffee the other week, right?"

"Yeah, her."

"Did something happen?" Robby asked as he slid the glass towards her. Noelle looked very awkward as she reached for the glass, even more as she set it beside her. Like she had something stuck on the tip of her tongue. She managed to cover it though, smoothly swallowing whatever it was and shaking her head.

"No, no, she's fine." Noelle cleared her throat, "Her cousin came out recently."

"To Pittsburgh?" Robby cocked his head, trying his damndest to figure out where this conversation was going. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"No- Mikey, he came out. He's gay." Noelle clarified, a response that honestly clarified very little and left Robby with even more questions. She seemed to recognize that too as Robby's blank stare turned even blanker.

"Oh." He pursed his lips briefly, mulling over his response, "That's... yeah, that's great.. assuming everything went well?"

"it went fine. He's got a good family." She sighed, running a hand through her dark hair. "I don't think I'm going about this the right way."

Robby raised a brow and waited for her to elaborate, the question going unsaid. Is she about to break it off with him? What did he do? What didn't he do? He should've ended things last week. He should've never let it get this far.

"I really like you, Mike." She paused, folding her hands in her lap, "And I'm a grown woman, I know when... I know when things aren't going well."

"I like you too." Robby responded as he leaned against the opposite counter. While her position read as casual confidence, his read as being cornered. In truth, he felt it too. Cornered by something he couldn't yet identify.

"I'm sure you do. I just... I get this feeling that maybe I'm not doing it for you?" She was going about this as democratically as she could. Using her 'I' statements, expressing herself clearly, ensuring things were direct. No more beating around the bush. She watched as Robby's brow pinched slightly, the wrinkles between them and the bridge of his nose deepening. He didn't look mad, but confused.

"I'd say you are." Robby said with a small chuckle, his eyes darting away from her calculating gaze, "Can I ask what's making you doubt that?"

"You've been less interested, for one." She said calmly, the undercurrent of her tone illegible, "Things have slowed down." When Robby didn't say anything, she continued. "And you've been... I've noticed you've been struggling a little. With getting hard, with getting there."

"Okay -wow- that is-" he sputtered, cut short by the lack of malice in Noelle's face as his eyes flicked back. He dragged a hand over his features, pinching the worry between his brows to soothe it, "Sorry."

"Don't apologize. I know it isn't me, I'm not taking it personal." There was a slight air of humor to her words but her tone quickly cooled back down, "I just have a feeling --and maybe I'm way off base-- but I want to pitch it to you... and we'll see how it lands. Sound okay?"

Robby slid his hand to the back of his neck, nodding with a sigh. "Sure. Let's hear it."

Noelle took her time. Or, rather, she gave Robby some time to get his head back on straight. He could feel his heart in his throat, in the pit of his stomach. Something was going on here and he wasn't in on it. A terrifying concept in any reality, but especially when you've been backed into a corner. He took a few slowed breaths, steeling his nerves for whatever bombshell Noelle was about to drop. And then she said it.

"I feel like we might not fit... and maybe the reason we don't fit is that you're... not interested in people like me." She settled, wringing her hands just a little as she finally got the words out.

"People like you?" Robby asked without lowering his hand.

"Women." Her voice was lower, her words softer. She was walking on eggshells worried that Robby would break, not that he would break something else.

Robby looked away from her again, words digging jaggers into the soft tissue of his throat. There are a million different things he wants to say. 'No, what? That's insane. At my grown age? Wouldn't I know? Wouldn't I know myself better than this? I know what I like. I like you. I like women.' Nothing came out. Every thought was smothered in a syrupy haze of what felt like... calm. Comfort. To say he thought of Jack would be a misnomer. There was no consciousness to it. Images and feelings simply came to the front of his mind. Soft lips that covered crooked teeth, pale freckles that became pronounced in sunny seasons, hands that saved countless lives, a brain that has tried to save countless more. His gaze softened at the thoughts.

It wasn't that he didn't love his partners. He did, he really truly did. With as much of his heart as he could offer, as much of his soul as he was willing to share. Saying it was apples to oranges would be reductive, at least both of those are fruits. This was like comparing a peach to a steak dinner. They're both enjoyable, but one won't fill you up. Nor will it ever.

She was watching him as he struggled for words but she wasn't reveling in it. She wasn't upset. Somehow. Maybe she was just better at hiding it than Robby was.

"It's okay if you're not."

"it isn't." Robby muttered as he scrubbed his face.

"It is. If it isn't there, it isn't there. And that's... I mean, it sucks, yeah, but it's not like I'm going to change you."

There was another air of humor to those words but Robby couldn't bring himself to feel it. He felt a lurking nausea inside himself. A feeling that wasn't born from disgust or guilt, just overwhelm. He felt it beneath his ribs, in his throat, burning behind his eyes. He didn't know what was threatening to spill out.

"I'm gonna say that maybe my shot in the dark hit a little close to home..?" She offered softly. Robby didn't trust his stomach to stay down if he opened his mouth, he nodded. Noelle sucked her bottom lip for a moment and nodded as well. "Okay."

"I do really like you, Mike." She reassured, sounding unsure of what else to say given her position, "I'm sure he'll like you too. Whoever you've got an eye for."

He couldn't do much but nod once again, small and quiet. Noelle took a sip of her wine before straightening up and crossing the kitchen. She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and pressed her lips to his forehead before replacing them with her own forehead.

"You're gonna be just fine."

[julitypes]

there is something so, so comforting about rabbot to me.

they both hold high-stress positions in their careers but have such a specific focus on each other's wellbeing while working. the way they know the other so well and have held a bond for so long, they know every specific tic and mannerism that's a warning sign.

i just think they are so extremely special. they've experienced so many hardships separately but somehow find a way to one another each time. it just makes my chest ache. they are so full of love.