Robby says “kid” at the end of sentences like other boyfriends say “babe”. It gets so naturalized for Dennis, he starts calling Robby “kid” too.
One day, Dennis is with a patient doing business as usual and Robby comes by and talks with the patient, saying “You’re in great hands with Dr Whitaker. He’s the best at [idk some medical something].”
Dennis responds, “Aw, thanks, kid.”
The patient is looking between them wondering why the little one talks to his supervisor like that, but the big one is blushing beet red… Oh well, they don’t care as long as everyone agrees the little one can get them out of the ED in one piece.
"So, what? You tell him to go fuck himself because he expressed concern for you? Again with this shit, mija. How many times are you going to run the moment you start feeling comfortable, huh? Vik is a good guy-"
"When did I say he wasn't?"
"You treat him like la mierda, V! And you know it, thats what's extra fucked about it. Any other night a scrap with some gonk trying to mug you, you woulda fried their asses in seconds. Instead, tonight - you let them get a few good hits in, huh? Cos you feel guilty-"
"Oh fuck off. They caught me off guard. I was pissed off, fuckers jumped me and got in one good hit. And you're over here psychoanalyzing me for an average night in Heywood. I didn't tell Vik to go fuck himself, but I am about to tell you-"
"Then what'd you tell him this time, huh? No eres tú, soy yo? Or you got a new excuse this time?"
"You really wanna fucking push this with me? Really? I told you- I didn't tell him shit. He told me that he couldn't keep watching me self destruct or some other sanctimonious bullshit like the crap you're saying right now. So, as I've said from the moment you called me tonight: I don't want to fucking talk about it. So can we go upstairs and square away Pepe's debt with the sleazeball or should I have let those gonks give me a concussion instead of just a broken nose?"
"...mija-"
"I'm fine, Jack. I'm fine. I'm always fine, and I've got you. S'all I need. Everything else is just... set dressing. I'm fine. It's whatever! Alright? Fuck..."
"Yeah, you say you're fine. I know better though... But alright- alright, mija. Not off the hook entirely, but I'll stop. For now anyway. Ain't done with this discussion, but don't need you crying all over Kirk's table. Prefer it if you use that angry voice of yours to freak him out, yeah?"
proof of concept: TELL THEM (TO FREE THE BEAUTIFUL)
AUTHOR: aserenitatum / @theron (prev. monae/kate-siegel)
FANDOM: Pitch Perfect (movies)
PAIRING: Stacie Conrad/Aubrey Posen - Staubrey
STATUS: draft
WORDS: currently 8721
TAGS: set during Pitch Perfect 2, based on that behind the scenes gif of Stacie pulling Aubrey into the mudpit
NOTES: Happy Birthday Kim! Thank you for being literally the loveliest person in this fandom and for always supporting and encouraging my fics (and even supporting me through all my other fandom hopping lmao). Writing is made so much better and fun by knowing that you’ll be reading and I’m so grateful we as a fandom and me personally get to know you <3 I’ve been working on this but it’s become such a long project that I didn’t manage to finish it today in time but I’m sharing just a lil sneak preview so that you know that your gift is on its way!! I hope you are having the best day and that we may be blessed with many more years of you!
--
Stacie Conrad, 3:48 PM
Hey Aubrey!
I’m assuming I can put you down as a definitely for Worlds?
The phone buzzes at the chime of an incoming text and slides off Stacie’s middle and her reflexes are quick enough that she manages to grab it before it slides off the couch as well, fingers unlocking the screen as she checks her messages and frowns with a Cheeto halfway to her mouth.
Aubrey Posen, 6:02 PM
Who is this?
Stacie pops the snack in her mouth and licks her fingers clean, ignoring her show on the large television to navigate to her camera app to take a selfie. Her front-facing camera opens and she winces at the sight of herself, hair that had been previously pulled into a neat French braid now wild and askew and framing her face not in a good way, there’s Cheeto dust on her chin from where she’d been trying to toss them into her mouth, and her mascara is smudged making her look like a raccoon.
She looks awful.
Stacie immediately sits up, which already makes her look marginally better. She reaches behind her and tugs the elastic from the end of her braid, dropping her phone for the time being so she can use both hands to finger comb her hair loose and even though the braid Chloe had put in for her wasn’t super tight, her scalp still feels lighter with her locks flowing freely.
Fingers under her eyes to wipe her smudged makeup away and to brush off the remaining orange dust, and when she lifts her phone again to look at herself, she looks much, much more presentable.
She snaps a quick picture of herself smiling and shoots it off, ready to toss her phone to the side until she sees the bubbles with three dots pop up that tell her Aubrey’s typing.
Stacie Conrad, 6:11 PM
wait do you not have my phone number saved?! 😭😭😭
I thought we were friends 🥺😭😩
Aubrey Posen, 6:12 PM
You’re ridiculous.
And no, I don’t but I’m saving it now with that picture as your contact card
Stacie Conrad, 6:13 PM
why not 😟
ur breaking my heart 💔
that’s fine bc it’s a cute picture!!
Aubrey Posen, 6:14 PM
It is.
I had to get a new phone because SOMEBODY pulled me into the mudpit
Stacie Conrad, 6:15 PM
😮 what a terrible person
but you really shouldn’t have your phone with you when working near such dangerous sites
who knows what could happen?
Aubrey Posen, 6:16 PM
A rogue Bella with a plan?
Stacie Conrad, 6:17 PM
but you looked so good covered in mud 😍
Aubrey Posen, 6:18 PM
so you’ll forgive me if the first person in my new phone isn’t the same person who got me all muddy 😠
Stacie Conrad, 6:19 PM
😘 so, you in for Copenhagen?
Chloe said you’d be
Aubrey Posen, 6:20 PM
Yes
Stacie Conrad, 6:21 PM
Awes!
You know…
now that you have a picture of me, I feel like the nice thing to do would be to send me a picture of you
Aubrey Posen, 6:22 PM
I just got out of the shower
Stacie Conrad, 6:22 PM
wow you skipped right past the pictures and buildup and went straight to sexting?
woman after my heart
does this mean you’re in a towel right now?
Aubrey Posen, 6:23 PM
No, it means that I’m not sending you a picture. Good night.
Stacie Conrad, 6:24 PM
good night???
it’s like 6pm
Aubrey Posen, 6:24 PM
I have plans
Stacie Conrad, 6:25 PM
with someone or something? 😈😈
Aubrey Posen, 6:25 PM
I’m not going to tell you
Stacie Conrad, 6:26 PM
I’ll just start imagining things
Aubrey Posen, 6:27 PM
I know; that’s why.
Stacie Conrad, 6:27 PM
oh Aubrey you don’t know what you’ve just started
Aubrey Posen, 6:27 PM
I think I do 😉
Stacie Conrad, 6:28 PM
a WINKY emoji huh? wow okay
well you enjoy your night.
think of me when you light a candle for the mood.
first rehearsal is next thursday at 6 in the auditorium. pls bring running shoes because beca wants to punish you with cardio
Aubrey Posen, 6:29 PM
I don’t consider any type of exercise a punishment
Stacie Conrad, 6:29 PM
so many responses, so little time
Aubrey Posen, 6:29 PM
And now you’ve wasted your comeback. Goodnight Stacie.
Stacie Conrad, 6:29 PM
byeee
Stacie groans at the sound of her phone chiming with an incoming message, rolling over and burying her face in her pillow while cursing herself for leaving her ringer on instead of silencing it like she she does every day before bed, and she’s about to fall back asleep when another message comes in.
She cracks open an eye to glance around the small room, whining softly when she notices that it’s not entirely light outside yet and cursing whomever is up at the early hour and sending her messages.
She desperately wants to ignore her phone and go back to sleep but there’s a small, niggling part in her that can’t leave it be, and the knowledge that there’s somebody texting piques her curiosity and won’t allow her to [rest] so she rolls back and flails for the phone somewhere on her night stand.
She flinches when she screen lights up, squinting at the sender of messages and both eyes widening when she reads who the texts are from.
Aubrey Posen, 6:57 AM
Good morning!
{img attachment}
Stacie sobers up at the sight of Aubrey’s smiling face, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail and wearing minimal make up, clearly wide awake and standing outside because Stacie can see the lake behind her and the glint of the rising sun reflected on the surface of the water.
She slides back down into bed, curling up as she types out a quick response, her own smile never budging as she hits send.
Stacie Conrad, 7:01 AM
VERY cute!
but waaaay too early so goodbye
charlotte is a very lonely vampire lesbian who often spends her time wandering around forests alone contemplating mortality. cascade is a very lonely water witch, but is okay with being alone.. basically the sun and moon trope (cas is the sun, char is the moon). charlotte watches cascade from afar at school and her job at the coffeeshop (cascade orders a london fog with soy at 8am every day like clockwork) eventually asking her name in a very awkward, desperate conversation in order to placate her best friends, kennedy and oliver, and their mission to make char a little less lonely and broody, one night, charlotte comes across a lake and a tiny cottage in the forest she thought she knew so well. little does she know, it belongs to cascade. she keeps coming back to this spot as the calm and magic she feels is unlike anything she’s ever experienced. one day, she goes to the lake and sees cas- and cas is using her magic to make waterfalls. also unbeknownst to charlotte, cascade knows she’s there, knows she’s been coming all along, and calls out to charlotte after awhile. gayness ensues.
hello! this is a brief synopsis of charlotte and cascade’s initial introduction, or whatever. they are the two main characters of my WIP “behind the waterfall” !! this is also my nanowrimo 2019 novel by the way, stay updated with daily word counts and excerpts with my tag #behindthewaterfall :)))) anyways yeah! ps i’m always down to talk about WIPs or do fact swaps!! send me me an ask !! okay its 1am i need to sleep goodbye
i like to think that marinette and chat noir’s relationship could develop into a friendship, deep and true. both of them are comfortable in confiding in the other, and ladybug is fond of chat — just as adrien is of marinette — in the beautiful way that friends are.
here’s a little marichat interaction for you - set during their second balcony meeting, a couple nights after the first. chat noir takes marinette to the eiffel tower where they keep each other company and watch the stars.
it’s a sad one, though :’
——
“She came in the end, you know.” His words parted the silence.
Marinette glanced at him.
They were perched on a wide beam that stretched across the Eiffel Tower, the sleeping city of Paris sprawled at their feet. From this high up, it was an enchanting sight to behold.
Chat Noir’s eyes were distant, clouded by memory. “Ladybug,” he exhaled.
Her heart missed a beat.
He was referring to the night they fought Glaciator, the night Adrien never came, and Ladybug almost stood Chat Noir up.
That night was the first time Chat Noir had sought her out on her balcony, looking for someone to keep the loneliness at bay.
Oblivious to her reaction, Chat Noir continued softly. “She told me she couldn’t love me because she...because there’s someone else.”
His voice, thick with pain, and envy, and longing, grated on her heartstrings. Every word was a sharp blade to the gut.
So this was how he really felt. Her rejection hadn’t just slid off his shoulders the way it appeared to. She couldn’t love him so he’d be happy to settle for her friendship? Bullshit. It was all an act, and she had believed it.
For all his jokes and attempts at playing it off, the truth was this: Chat Noir truly loved Ladybug. And her rejection had shattered him.
The realisation hit like a bullet train. Tears pricked at her eyes, throat closing around her words.
“I’m sorry,” Marinette whispered. It did nothing to ease the guilt.
Finally, he turned to face her. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Chat Noir smiled sadly. He tilted his face to the moon. “It’s not your fault.”
Defeat was written in the curve of his spine. His tail hung limp and lifeless, and anguish brimmed in his bright emerald eyes.
Here he was, confiding in someone he considered a friend, seeking solace in the girl who had caused him this pain.
Marinette’s fingers tightened around the beam beneath her until her knuckles flushed white. So this was what being wrenched apart felt like.
Gone was the Chat Noir with a bulletproof ego and a devil-may-care smile. Sitting beside her was a boy with a broken heart.
Hey I saw your analysis on why John might have been closeted even with loving queer friends and I think your reasoning is the only thing I've seen that actually makes sense!! Everyone else seems to rely on "john obviously has internalized homophobia due to his upbringing or surroundings" but obvs that's not the case... have you thought at all about how meeting and interacting with dad Crocker might affect john?
started out meta then I gave up and ficced it. I hope you get what I’m spinning here. This hasn’t really been proofread, it was a quickie because I just wanted to get the feelings in cyber-ink.
John disappeared shortly after the cake was cut. Jane and Roxy flew their new mutual wife to the top of a ten-foot tiered cake to slice the inaugural piece and he was standing next to me, then as press and party-goers surged forward in a mad rush for sugar he slipped away. I felt the tail end of a cold breeze flit from the crowd and I only barely caught the direction it flew in as it disappeared. John wasn’t a subtle guy, I could tell something was off at the beginning of the ceremony. The biggest surprise was that it took him this long to escape.
This left me with a dilemma. Go chase my date into the hall, or stay out here until he was ready to rejoin the party. I wondered for a half-second if maybe he didn’t want to be followed, but that line of thought was quickly discarded. John was a straightforward guy about everything but his feelings, he wasn’t the type to play passive aggressive games. Or, he was, but not this particular type of passive aggressive game.
I turned in the direction I’d felt the wisp of air fly and I closed my eyes to concentrate. This was a ridiculously huge wedding. I guess 3 creators getting married was kind of a big deal, there were guests of every race, species and blood color in every direction, all churning in a big mosh pit around the cake. The derspitians in particular were getting antsy as they were starting on sugar highs, and most everyone else was half drunk on free wedding booze. It was cacophonous to a ridiculous extent, and I thought I sniffed a whiff of the glittery death-lollipop of Calliope’s. I suppressed a shiver and tried harder to focus. Around me in the peripheral mind of my eye, I could see the souls of the people around me pop up.
Each one flickered like a flame, but held a solid shape that was only mobile at the edges. Each of the few hundred people in this room had one, but they all sort of melded into a pile of nondescript souls I didn’t care about. I reached out further. There was Jane, Roxy, Calliope, all the happy brides, each with a bright, robust flame. I smiled a little, then pushed my radius a little further, past the ballroom. I caught the feeling of John’s soul wandering the south hallway. It was a little dim compared to the firework display of emotion going on in here. I frowned at that, and opened my eyes.
I skirted the edges of the room to find an exit into the hallway. The ballroom was in the very middle of the venue with a long hallway that encircled it and lead to other rooms on the edges of the building. Cool air rushed over me as I stepped into the dark hallway. The AC was cranked to combat the sheer number of bodies in the ballroom, making the hallway freezing. It was welcome, much better than the hot, heavy atmosphere in the other room. Maybe that was why John had left? I rounded a corner and saw him leaning against a wall, picking at a piece of cake on a plate. His expression was melancholy as he pushed the cake around the plate.
It hit me, his dad. That had been his whole fatherly schtick, baking cakes and things like that. Here was Jane getting married, maybe John was just missing his dad? Regretting the experiences they’d never have together? I really didn’t have a lot of my own experience to cross-reference here. I stepped forward, deliberately stepping hard so John heard me coming and looked up.
“Oh, Dirk, hey.” His eyes weren’t wet. His expression was actually just more thoughtful than sad, now that he was looking at me. I walked over and joined him on the wall.
“Sup?”
“Nothing much. Cake.” He gestured to the pile of mush on his plate. He scooped a forkful of mostly frosting and stuck it in his mouth casually. “It’s pretty good.”
“Glad you got a piece. You split pretty fast after the girls cut it.” He shrugged.
“It was just getting hot in there. I figured Jane wouldn’t miss me for the moment if I stepped out.” I nodded, he nodded.
Neither of us said anymore, and we both just stood for a few minutes in silence. I grappled with the idea of asking something, I didn’t wanna pry. It’s not like John and I were much more than fuck buddies currently. The moniker was there, relation statuses set to [OCCUPIED] on various facets of social media, but conversations between us always lapsed into this same silence lately. Somewhere between comfortable and awkward, where we both simultaneously wanted to talk and say nothing at all. Right then, however, I wanted to talk. I mean, fuck, that’s what boyfriends did, wasn’t it? I cleared my throat. John looked at me expectantly.
“Is it your dad?” I forced my eyes at his chin, that was close to eye contact right?
“What?” I couldn’t read from his tone whether he was mad or not. But I was already dedicated to this trainwreck I was gonna see it through.
“I just thought, the cake, Jane gettin’ married, maybe it was stirrin’ up…” I struggled for a word and John cut me off.
“Have you tried the cake?”
“What?” Now it was my turn for confusion. John twisted the fork to spear another chunk of cake and held it to me.
“Try it.” I was a grown-ass man and for some reason that made cheeks go hot for a quick second. I hesitated briefly, then leaned forward and took the bite from his fork. It was oddly intimate for something as simple as a bite. The cake honestly was delicious. It was moist and hearty and the frosty was light and creamy.
“It’s really good.” I said honestly. John nodded in agreement.
“Jane’s dad made it. You know, he helped plan like, ninety percent of the wedding? Jane told me she wanted to hire a team of professional wedding planners with ten years experience each in arranging flowers and hanging drapes, but her dad insisted on taking charge.” I whistled low, John looked about as impressed as I felt.
“That’s a shit ton to do, there’s basically half the planet here.”
“Right? He’s so excited and so supportive of her, it’s almost stupid.” He chuckled and shook his head. “It’s weird. He’s my dad, but absolutely not my dad, yanno?” I didn’t, but I nodded anyway. John went on, “The similarities are just uncanny, and so many times I have to remind myself that he’s not the man I grew up with. But he basically is, he’s just got different horrible jokes and likes a different brand of shaving cream.” He looked down at the cake. “And he’s put hours and hours and days of effort into making sure his daughter can marry her wives, and he’s just tickled to death about it.”
It clicked, suddenly. I’d been close, but I’d been missing a piece.
“In what universe would your dad, voted thrice to be “Dad of the year” by Gentlemen’s Biweekly, not be tickled pink to make a cake for your gay wedding?” I nudged his ribs and elicited a small smile.
“I think I always knew that, that’s what everyone told me, assured me. But it’s not like I could ever be sure. I was 13 when he died, I had no clue, and it’s not like it ever came up around the house. We watched Will and Grace together, that was the extent of gay media I had growing up.” His jaw shifted. “I couldn’t ever be sure. I’ve spent, god,” he reached behind his glasses to wipe his eyes with the palm of his hand, “ever since we got out of the game I’ve been trying to emulate that standard of what being a man meant, trying to keep his memory alive in me, live how he would have wanted me to. And It never quite fit, and it took me so long to figure out that I was never going to have the two and a half kids and a dog that I thought he wanted me to have. I was so sure I was letting him down.” He wiped his eyes again and laughed, a raw half-laugh half-sob of relief.
I took the cake from his other hand and set it on the ground. As I straightened my hands hovered around his shoulders, unsure of what to do. Thankfully that’s all John needed to know the invitation was open, and he grasped me in a hug, holding me tightly as if to anchor himself. He was taller than me so I had to reach up to wrap my arms around his neck, but we fit together, if a little awkwardly. He wasn’t sobbing but I could feel him cry onto my shoulder and I held him even harder. There in that hall, without words, we connected in an intangible way that only two men like us could.
“He woulda made so many cakes for any weddin’ you had.” I whispered against his neck.
After a long pregnant pause John collected himself and we pulled away from each other. Caught up in the moment I pulled my glasses off my nose and slipped them into my breast pocket, realizing a half second too late how corny that was. John met my eyes and smiled. Maybe corny wasn’t too bad.
“We can stay out here, if you want.” I offered. “I think Callie whipped out the sucker, and somehow it just continues to prove a disappointing experience each and every time I try it. I just don’t think I have that knack.” John bent down and took the plate of cake I’d left at our feet.
“I at least want to finish this before we head back in there. Wanna help?” He offered me another bite.
“Sure.” I took the fork from him this time and put it into my own mouth, chewing as I scooped another bite and offered it to John. John took the bite without taking the fork, and he really seemed to enjoy this bite. He smiled as he swallowed.
“I think that’s exactly how my dad would have wanted his cake’s to be enjoyed.”
He just heard Robby's voice; he must be nearby. Whitaker and McKay scan the ED for Dr. Robby to present their most recent case. They start heading over to central for a better vantage point. As they pass the staff room, Robby comes barreling out the door with a shitty cup of breakroom coffee.
The first thought to flit through Whitaker's mind is grateful that McKay was holding the tablet instead of him. That's also probably the last thought Dennis Whitaker will ever have.
Robby's fresh, hot coffee is running down his neck and soaking his scrubs. The coffee really ought to burn, but all Dennis can feel is Robby's broad hands pawing at him to wipe off the unruly liquid. Both hands pat at his chest and then sneak closer to his waist. Dennis squeaks. He, honest to God, just squeaked. (Hopefully, Trinity is not in earshot of that.)
Is he talking to me?
Robby is definitely saying something. Dennis looks up to his face to try to figure out what he's saying, but gets incredibly distracted by the flush of his attending's face and his tongue wetting his lips.
With a firm squeeze of both his shoulders, Robby turns back into the staff room and returns with paper towels.
"You okay, kid?" McKay laughs out.
Whitaker was going to respond; he fully intends to speak words. But, Robby foils those intentions as he ignores Dennis' outstretched hand and opts to rub the paper towels up and down Dennis' body himself.
As if through water, Whitaker hears someone ask, "Did it burn you?"
Yes, Robby's hands are setting me on fire, Dennis thinks.
He replies, "Uh... No, I don't-- I think I'm fine. Dr. Robby, you can uh, you can let me go now."
Robby flings himself backwards as if he hadn't realized he'd kept his hands all over Whitaker despite the futility of the paper towels. He scratches the back of his neck.
"Sorry, I'm sorry, kid. You sure you're alright?"
I'll never be the same again, Dennis thinks.
Somehow, he pushes down the embarrassment (and the arousal) and manages to nod. "Mhmm, yep."
McKay gives Whitaker a thorough once over, definitely noting the flush on Whitaker's and Robby's faces. She purses her lips and rocks on her heels awkwardly.
"So... let's present the case and then you can change your scrubs," McKay offers.
"Yeah, right-- "
Whitaker hears himself describing the symptoms of their patient. McKay interjects here and there. Robby approves of their plans and suggests a tox screening on top of it. When they finish, Dennis can feel the thoughts moving through his head sluggishly, but at least they're moving again. McKay throws an arm around his shoulder to steer him to the scrub exchange.
"With everything that spills on you, I thought you'd be used to it by now," she laughs. "Guess not, huh?"
Dennis hunches over a little and gives her a small smile and head shake.
McKay leans in to whisper, "You should get a better poker face, bloodhound. That or everyone's gonna join in on Santos' bet about you two."
" go ahead. i will let you run today. that is my gift. you are a corpo are you not? ask for a transfer, take the demotion that your bosses will give you in order to grant that request - instead of the promotion you thought you were a shoo-in for. scramble, pack your shit haphazardly, think to yourself "it's only for a little bit. she'll forget. and i can come back." only you know that is a lie. you know i will not forget. but you will convince yourself otherwise. and the moment you breathe in night city's air again, you will have only so many breathes of life left. "
" your last one will be pathetic, choking on your own blood, looking at me, just as you are now. and your final thought will be that you wished you had never run in the first place. that my gift had strings attached to it just like you devils and your deals have. and you were going to pay that debt sooner or later. And by golly - if you had paid it sooner, perhaps I would have made your death a little more pleasant. "
