#pittfic

[coldcomfortflowers]

my beloved pittfic authors,

i regret to inform you that in the state of pennsylvania you cannot buy a six pack at the gas station. You cannot buy wine at the grocery store.

pa has weird liquor laws and i won't get into why in this post but just know that buying alcohol is annoying.

if you want to buy beer in pa, you go to a "beer distributor" which is not a store technically, it requires a special license to operate and it's more like a warehouse or wholesale situation. always run by a weird guy. sometimes you can drive into the warehouse to load up your car with beer.

it will look something like this. even in the city. you can probably get a keg and also cigars there.

this is also where you can buy hard seltzers or canned cocktails.

IN SOME PLACES: you can buy a six pack at the grocery store. but! you have to check out in a different lane from the rest of your groceries.

for wine and liquor you need to go to the State Store. Fine Wine and Good Spirits is run by the state. They have a mediocre selection usually and can in theory order anything but they are very bad at it in my experience (as a person who really likes a specific brand of weird french gin). you can usually also get standard mixers here, tonic, margarita mix etc.

State Stores are not open on sundays, and usually close around 9pm, hence the need for premeditated alcohol purchasing.

in philly we often drive to jersey to get cheaper booze and a better selection. i assume pittsburgh folks also cross the border or ohio or wv but it's further than it is for us.

okay here we go. now you know. please i do not want to see another character by a six pack at the gas station on the way home sorry.

[cicaklah]

new pitt fic?!?!? because of you I went to naming

Think of this as nailing my thesis about Robby's name to the door of the fandom. Its Rabbot, its got a preview of maybe another fic I'm working on, and its full of all your favourite cicak nonsense!!! and by that I mean its got a lot of filthy sex, oh yes. you know you can count on me for the good stuff.

you can read it here!!!!

[charmtion]

GLIMMERS // BY CHARMTION

[popeabbot]

I’m just a girl, on my knees, asking for Dr. Robby x OC fic. I will be happy with anything but I would be even happier if you found a way to sneak the soulmate trope in there…👀

Please. Thank you. And I love you.

Hi angel!!! You sent this months ago and here I am with a (albiet short) Robby fic!! I am working on a soulmate trope that is taking longer than expected but I hope this lives up to your liking!!!

~HANDLE WITH CARE~ Micheal Robinavich

pairing: Dr. Robbyxnext door neighbor!fem!reader

wc:1.8k

tags: fluff, sickness, just you and robby beimg cute tbh

summary: When your next door neighbor has been sick of the last couple days you get concerned and come over to take care of him....only to end up staying

You’d be the first to admit you didn’t know much about Micheal. The two of you were acquaintances at best. You always smiled and waved when you’d catch him in the hallways, and he’d help you carry your groceries to your floor if you had a particularly large order. Micheal or “Robby” always carried a smile, even on the days he was tired. He worked at a local trauma center as an ER doctor which was a very grueling job.

The sneezing started two days ago.Micheal looked like death that day as you caught a glimpse of him climbing the stairs. 

‘It’s just allergies I promise, but thank you for checking on me.’ Was his response to you knocking on his door with cold medicine in hand. It was not allergies. For two days you listened to Robby sneezing and now, coughing through the walls of your complex. 

And while you wanted to check on him sooner, work and school had taken up the forefront of any free time in your schedule. You finally had enough when you could hear him hacking up a lung, almost gagging from the force. Gathering cold medicine and the supplies for your mothers “cold remedy” soup, you knocked on his door.

After a few minutes of groaning and shuffling, the door cracked open slightly. Robby was wrapped in a blanket and visibly sweating out whatever sickness had taken hold of him. The darkness under his eyes had noticeably darkened since you saw him last. 

“Micheal.” You smiled softly. “You’re sick.”

“It’s just a cold.” Robby sniffled, offering a tired smile. You had half the mind to wipe that smile off his face, and you’d NEVER admit how it tugged at your heart ever so slightly. 

“I came to make you soup, and give you medicine since you won’t do it yourself.”

Robby opened his mouth to protest, but you took it as an invitation to walk in. You kicked off your shoes and took in the room. His apartment looked like yours did when you’d first moved in. Sky blue walls and light grey furniture filled the living room, the only difference was your apartment had been meticulously decorated while he mostly kept pictures on the walls and a record player in the corner with a bookshelf.

 An oak coffee table was littered in cough and allergy medicine and a thermometer. You placed the groceries on the kitchen island before grabbing the thermometer and walking to Micheal who was still standing by his open door.

“When was the last time you took this?” He stared at the thermometer as he shut the door to his apartment. He looked tired, shoulders slumped in a way that told you he hadn’t slept much since the coughing started. You clicked the button and watched as Micheal dipped his head to meet the thermometer in your hand, his mouth open slightly. 

He was sick. And your neighbor you barely knew. So why did the sight make you…excited? You pulled your hand back as the thermometer beeped. 103°. 

“You should be wearing PPE, a mask and gloves at least so you don’t get a cold!” Micheal fussed, unmoving in the doorway.

“You’re burning up! You need a bath and some soup.” 

“You don’t have to-“ Robby started, but you quickly lifted a finger to his lips. He dumped the blanket around him onto the couch, trying to show he could take care of himself as he made a move for the cold medicine you’d brought. You shook your head, he needed to take a bath and eat first because the medicine was guaranteed to make him tired. 

Taking his hand you walked to the bathroom and began to look through his cabinets. Being here felt like being home in a strange sense, you were meant to be here taking care of him. Robby  just silently watched as you sat on the edge of the tub, hair pulled back, as you ran the water trying to get a lukewarm bath going.

Robby wouldn’t admit he’s had a bit of a crush on you since the day he caught you just before tumbling down the stairs. Your hands were full of art supplies and you’d missed a step. He could still feel the way you fit in his arms perfectly. In his own fever daydream state he hadn’t caught the concerned look you were giving with him not responding to your question.

“Micheal? Do you need me to help wash you?” You repeated warily. “I really don’t mind, I've done it before, and you look like a ghost.” You reached out, gently placing a hand around his wrist, the action alone had him burning.

Robby shook his head, slowly peeling the shirt from his sweat slicked skin. Your eyes slightly widened at the sight of his bare chest, glistening in the light of the bathroom. He chucked his sweatpants off before remembering you were still seated at the edge of the tub. His boxers just tight enough to showcase himself. Robby’s cheeks reddened as he looked up at you with wide eyes.

“Oh my god…I’m- I forgot you were-“

“It’s okay,” you smiled, cheeks equally burning. “I added some lavender to the bath to calm your muscles. You look like you’re about to break from the tension. Don't fall asleep, I’m going to make some soup then we’ll fill you up with some good cold medicine.” Robby nodded. You quickly left the bathroom, but stopped dead in your tracks hearing the groan that left his body as he dipped into the much needed bath. 

He’s just your neighbor. You don’t even know him. Calm down.

You stood in his kitchen, boiled the vegetables in chicken broth and blended the mixture, remembering how your mom always served it over pastini. Robby emerged from the other side of the house in a fresh tee shirt and sweatpants. His skin tone had come back from its clammy shade and he looked refreshed. 

“Sit. I have food!” Robby sat and devoured 3 bowls of the soup, thanking you profoundly after each one. “Now that you're full it’s time for cough medicine and bed.” You declared, Robby had quickly learned to not argue much. You poured out his needed dose and watched him shoot it back with minimal pestering. 

“Ugh this tastes like shit!” He coughed, this time from the taste.

“Thats how you know it works.” You nodded, leading him to the couch. You put on some trash TV show to have as background noise. Robby tried and failed to stifle the cough that reared its ugly head from deep in his chest. It was the first cough you’d heard since you came, meaning Robby had probably been holding them back. Jumping up from the couch you grabbed a glass of water, lifting it to his lips as you sat by him.

“Easy there doctor, I thought you knew better than to keep an infection brewing in your chest,” You shot him an annoyed look as he smiled sheepishly. “I won’t be impressed if you die before the first date.”

That got him. Robby choked on the water he had swallowed, staring at you with wide eyes. You couldn’t hold back the belly laugh that escaped you, Robby's shocked expression shifted into a soft smile as he laid back against the couch.

“Oh Micheal you should’ve seen your face!” You grinned, wiping a tear from your eyes. “I thought you were going to keel over right there!” Taking Micheal in you noticed how the tension in his body was gone, he was still sick but he seemed more comfortable. “I meant it though, I want a date after this.” You grabbed the blanket Robby had discarded at the edge of the couch and draped it over him. 

“Of course,” Robby nodded, “I have to show my appreciation for you being so sweet and taking care of me somehow.”

His earnest tone had the heat rising in your cheeks, you had simply come over to keep your friendly neighbor from dying and now you were laying next to him. On his couch. In his apartment. Sure you should’ve been worried about getting sick but Micheal was a doctor, he could care for you once he was better. You reached for the thermometer to take Robby's temperature again, and just as before he leaned down to meet your hand, his heated breath sending electricity up your skin. The tylenol in the cold medicine had broken Robby’s fever down to a lower grade. Robby yawned and found himself laying against you, you shifted to the end of the couch so you could pull his head down. Your hands found a home in his hair, scratching his scalp lightly as you watched The British Bake Off. A small groan of pleasure escaped Robby as his weight dropped onto you fully. You gave soft commentary about how someone should’ve poured their mousse earlier so it could set, or how another contender's ganache was too runny and you would never bake a souffle the way that one girl did! In all of your baking related ramble you hadn’t realized you’d lulled Robby to sleep. His soft snores still rumbled against your legs, you smiled softly at the sight.

This could become your day to day, being here with Robby, laying on the couch watching dumb TV while you did homework and planned out the week's adventures. You thought about how Robby would have to get sick more often so you could find purchase in his heart and his home. Despite his fever breaking it spiked again, the two of you spent the next four days parked on that very couch as his sickness started to fall over you. Those four days consisted of your left over homemade soup, store bought chicken noodle soup and takeout. Robby fussed over you to take a break from talking as your throat became more inflamed, but your TGBB commentary was unmatched.  

He would draw a bath for you every day, with lavender oil, massaging the tension out of your shoulders once you were dressed. While the couch was good for naps, you had a hard time getting decent sleep. So of course Robby, being the caring doctor that he was, let you sleep in his bed. You were in a war between sweating and shivers at the head of your cold. Robby would hold you placing small kisses around your temples to ‘absorb the sickness so it leaves you alone.’ Even knowing Robby was getting better he still stayed glued to your side unless he had to leave when they absolutely needed an attending. You’d stumbled into the kitchen one afternoon for a glass of water when you spotted a sticky note by the coffee machine. 

First date: Buy supplies to have a bake off?

On the off chance of knocking on your sick neighbors door, you’d come to find the person you wanted to love.

UGH this was such a fun little shorty, I'M WORKING ON A LONGER ROBBY FIC your girl has just been busy and facing a bit of burnout but I love yall I hope yall enjoy!!!!

Taglist: @ebodebo @sceletaflores @kchronicallyonline @glamorizethechaos @punkgeekcryptid @birdofcauthon14 @sajirah

[polyabathtub]

Watched the season finale of The Pitt this morning and already churning on a post-season fic. Will someone take away my queer card if I use Langon finding out about Mel hooking up with Santos to launch Kingdon?

Draft opening snippet:

Pittsburgh in August is hot, the air so sticky that Frank's T-shirt under his scrubs feels plastered to his body just from the walk across the parking lot into the Pitt. He takes his piss test as ordered, stashing his bag in his locker before he heads over to the main desk. Whittaker sways on his stool like he's been up all night, the bags under his eyes even darker than usual.

Frank frowns. "You working a double?"

"Huh?" Whittaker's posture snaps back into his new standard rigidity. Frank's still not totally used to this confident, bulked-up version of him, but he's adapting. God knows Whittaker's probably still getting used to the sober version of Frank.

"You look a little…" Frank gestures to the bags under his own eyes. He put concealer on them before he came in, a tube he'd stolen out of one of Abby's drawers in the bathroom while he was throwing everything of his into a suitcase eight weeks ago, the day after he found out he'd been cleared to start back up at work, pretty much the first second that she knew he wouldn't end up homeless if she kicked him out. "Tired," Frank finishes, since Whittaker still looks confused. "Like you've been here all night."

"Oh! Oh. No." Whittaker looks to the side, checking for someone, then leans in. "Mel was over again last night," he says, his voice dropped low like it was a secret.

"And?" Frank squints. He's pretty sure he's been back long enough at this point that if Whittaker and Mel were sleeping together he'd have heard about it. Wasn't Whittaker with that farm girl? Frank glances down; Whittaker's phone is face up on the desk, the same chintzy photo of a cow at sunrise that he mentioned that he'd taken while there earlier in the spring. That whole thing was definitely still happening.

Whittaker plants his elbows on the desk, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. "She's so loud."

In Frank's experience of the ED, every time Mel walks into a room, the volume lowers by at least ten decibels, the constant beeping suddenly resistable, like she's got a zone of control around her where everything just a little bit less terrible than it is when she's not around. "Don't you live with Santos?"

"Yes," Whittaker groans. He sounds regretful.

Frank can understand that. Santos, unlike Mel, is very loud. Frank very deeply doesn't understand how she and Whittaker get along so well. Maybe Whittaker just likes everyone. Aside from Mel, apparently, because he thinks she's too loud—which makes no sense. Mel walks in the doors, then, smiling at Perlah, chipper even though it's 7 A.M. and it's only been 10.5 hours since she left last night—Frank knows, because it's been ten hours exactly for him, and he watched her and Santos leave while he was talking Shen through handoff on his last case. He can't hear what she says to Perlah as they vanish around the corner to the lockers. "Mel's a hell of a lot quieter than she is."

Whittaker snorts. "Situationally dependent." He looks down at his coffee then shakes himself like he's cutting off a train of thought, or maybe just now realizing what he's saying. "Never mind."

Frank unlocks the work station, pulls up a chart—42 year old woman complaining of—wait, no, Whittaker definitely means in bed, this is absolutely the sort of gossip that McKay would shank both of them for, but Frank hasn't seen her yet. He blinks, eyes still scanning over the chart but the words not registering. He hadn't realized that he and Whittaker had reached a level of friendship where he'd spill to Frank about cheating on his girlfriend. "You're sleeping with Mel?"

"What? No!" Whittaker looks offended that Frank would even suggest it.

"She's sleeping with Santos." Vivi's been next to them the whole time, pretending to ignore them while doing something on a workstation. Frank hadn't really noticed that she was there.

Whittaker puts his hands up. "I didn't say it."

"Mel's gay?" Something twists in Langdon's chest.

"Sorry, what was that?" Mel appears at Langdon's shoulder, like she's been summoned by Frank saying her name.

Frank winces. "Nothing."

"Dr. Langdon wants to know if you're gay," Whittaker says.

Frank revises his previous assumptions about his workplace friendship with Whittaker.

Vivi coughs loudly, pretending not to look at them.

"Oh. No. Well—how old are you?" Mel asks. She tugs at her stethoscope with both hands.

"What?"

"I just mean—I wouldn't normally use the term gay, but there's been a semantic shift in the term among Gen Z so if you're under age 29 then yes, you'd say I'm gay, but otherwise you probably wouldn't."

"I'm 32." Frank says, flummoxed.

"So no, then." Mel grins at him, looking pleased with herself.

"Gen Z gay means queer," Whittaker clarifies. He closes something on his station, standing up.

Frank can tell he's making the pre-sneeze face he always does when he gets confused.

"Oh, thanks," Mel says, swinging down into Whittaker's vacated seat. "Gender's just not important to my conception of attraction," she adds as she swipes her badge to unlock it. She's barely looking at Frank, delivering this bit of information with the same level of import she'd use for describing a case. Maybe less, actually, like she thinks this doesn't matter. "You'd call me pansexual, probably? Or bisexual, I guess. But Gen Z, which I technically am, says gay. Isn't that great?"

"Oh. Yeah, uh. Really great." Frank reminds himself that learning new things at work is an important part of the residency process.

Mel reads for a few more seconds, then hops back up, striding off towards South 12 without saying anything to end the conversation. Whittaker's already gone, Vivi checking something on the board and then adjusting her chart.

Frank feels a little winded. Mel and Santos, then. That's—good for them, he figures. He was married already when he started residency, but he's seen plenty of doctors get together in his time here. Mel and Santos don't seem like a particularly good fit to him—Mel is so sweet, and Santos is so not, and surely her abrasiveness would end up wearing Mel down. Mel's been through so much already, between Becca and her parents. She doesn't need things to be harder.

He scrolls two pages down, processing none of it, then realizes he hasn't been taking anything in and scrolls back to the top. 42 years old, abdominal pain, physical exam on arrival included—

Hold on. Whittaker didn’t just say Mel’s sleeping with Santos, he said that she’s loud in bed. Little, quiet Mel, with her smooth, shiny hair, with her big sad eyes, the pink bottom lip she chews on when she's nervous—that Mel is loud enough in bed that it's interfering with Whittaker's sleep.

That loud, while she was hooking up with a girl. Santos couldn't even fuck her. Or, well—Frank didn't know what they did. It would be much, much better for his sanity, productivity, and overall well-being if he could keep himself from wondering.

[hosseinis]

Teleportation's a pretty good asset for an ER nurse, and Jesse uses his talent well.

(Jesse centered, The Pitt, rated M)

Jesse mentions it offhandedly during his job interview at PTMC. Oh, yeah, he has magic. It’s not very strong, but it’s passable. He can teleport as long as he knows the layout of wherever he is— so no, he can’t decide to go to Paris for the day, but if he locks his keys in his car he can pop back into the driver’s seat and get them. Yes, it’s well-controlled. Yes, if he sneezes hard enough sometimes he might shift a few feet to the side. Yes, it’s pretty funny. The thing is, it’s a great asset for nursing, and he’d realized that quickly enough back during his clinical rotations. When he hears a code blue, he can be there as soon as he knows which room it is. He can start an IV line in North 3 and then work with a triage over in Central 7. If a small child needs to be entertained while they’re getting stitches, he can juggle and tell jokes and make them laugh and then be in the next room over to tap in for compressions. It helps, and he knows it helps. But… it’s exhausting sometimes, too, even when it’s worth it.

read here on ao3!

[curator-on-ao3]

Mr. Rogers taught Jack and Robby to look for the helpers.

Chapters: 1/1 (1,152 words) Fandom: The Pitt (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jack Abbot/Michael "Robby" Robinavitch Characters: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch, Jack Abbot (The Pitt) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Post-Episode: s01e15 9:00 P.M. (The Pitt), Michael "Robby" Robinavitch Needs a Hug, cw: mentions of what happened on the roof, Love, Hope, the Shema, Emotional Healing Summary: “You get me?”

“Yeah, I get you.”

Jack and Robby and the comfort of togetherness.

[theaawrites]

Give them ice for their fevers

Mel/Frank, ~24k, M

It’s Mel King, who looks absolutely identical to the other times—count them, three—he’s seen her: honey-colored braid, no-nonsense thick-framed glasses, a slightly uncertain expression playing across her face, which Frank already knows hides the strength of her convictions.

Tags: slow burn, developing relationship, getting together, recovery, frank pov

ao3 link