I mean yes I'm writing incesty fanfic about the danforths, but it could be worse. I could be harassing a company into moving a pipeline for a fictional elf invented by a transphobe.
OK but imagine if Dennis is gay and is estranged from his homophobic family, so he replaces them with Amy and tries to restabilise, only for her to transfer her feelings for her husband on to him and when he tries to let her down easy by coming out, she's so upset she tells him she never wants to see him again and that he's a freak for ever leading her on.
I can't articulate how badass it is to have gone through an amputation, survived a suicide attempt, hobbled onto the main deck on one leg while the ship is in the middle of a category 5 hurricane to shoot your boss to prevent him from killing the entire crew in a self destructive suicidal spiral.
Especially considering that said spiral is partially your fault. That's peak✨ c h a r a c t e r g r o w t h.✨
Quarterback Jack who is so in denial that he gets Robby to wear the female cheerleader outfit so he can pretend he's a girl while they do it.
Cheerleader Robby who does it every time because it's the best lay he's ever had. Even though Jack says all sorts of slurs and shit to him every day at practice, and if anything it gets worse while they're actively screwing.
Adding my 2cents as a trad published author, self-published author AND fanfiction writer.
This post is 100% on the money.
My trad work sometimes feels like I'm a line cook at a fast-food restaurant - I have actually used this metaphor before. Don't get me wrong, it is a privilege and a dream to be published, but it is also a job, and your boss is the publisher, so you write to a certain extent, what they want. And what they want is generally more of what already sells. I'm on my 10th book overall and have only managed to get one queer main character into my work, as a queer author. Because I am too niche, or that idea is too different, or what-have-you. The pay is good compared to my former entry level office jobs, and that's great, but it also requires more of me, and I'm churning out 'product' to make a living at the rate of 3-4 books a year.
Self-publishing is better but you're basically running a small independent restaurant where you do still have to care about the market and the quality of your product (and it is still very much a product) and you get criticism and at the end of the day the mark of 'success' is becoming a franchise and turning into the same mass-produced stuff as trad work. The pay is pretty bad and you now how overheads but, still, it's a little more fulfilling.
Fanfiction is like a birthday cake you make for a friend. It's accepted with joy no matter how wonky it is or how weird and niche the concept. You can make a liquorice and red-bean flavoured cake in the shape of spongebob as rasputin purely for the love of the game. And it's never going to be a viral recipe or a huge success or the next big thing, but it is EXACTLY how you wanted to make it, and that is why I am writing tens of thousands of words of fanfiction even though writing is my job - because it fulfils a creative need that a creative JOB doesn't necessarily provide me with. For FREE because the 'payment' is my own enjoyment and some comments that let me know I made someone happy.
(In which Dennis starts collecting clips of Robby's voice to use as audio porn)
'Hey good job kiddo - that was incredible.'
Dennis didn't MEAN to record it.
He was making a voice memo to himself, because he kept losing his grocery lists when he wrote them on paper. And it just so happened to that he'd just finished a trauma case and done his first solo trache, which was amazing.
And apparently Doctor Robby thought so too, because he grabbed his shoulders in passing while Dennis was debating if he actually needed fabric softener this month, and said...that.
Which sort of accidently got recorded. And saved.
He didn't really mean to listen to it back. But...not many people had ever told him he was doing a good job. Especially not at something he cared about as much as medicine. So it meant a lot.
And it didn't hurt that Robby sounded kind of breathless and gravelly from helping with compressions and calling out stats for the long, long time they'd worked on the patient together.
He kept playing it to himself, just when he was tired or had a bad day.
When he was in bed, last thing at night.
OK so that part was pretty fucked up.
(nsfw below)
But it just...made him feel so good, hearing Robby practically panting into his ear while he frantically jerked off - collapsing against the mattress in a sweaty mess and hearing 'Hey good job kiddo - that was incredible.'
Sure, he should probably erase the clip and...stop.
Or...he could just...record a few more.
Just for...morale reasons.
Robby yelling 'Fuck!' so loud it made Dennis jump even though he'd seen it coming and quickly hit record.
Come here, Whitaker - you're with me.
Nice work today Kid.
See, that's why you're my favourite.
Good catch, Dennis.
And finally - the one he listened to so often that he could swear he starts to hear it in his sleep - Robby getting a little sarcastic with him when it took him a little too long to notice he was calling him.
Yep, come on over here....good boy, now pay attention.
He didn't mean to basically Pavlov himself into getting a little hard every time his boss compliments him, but there wasn't really a way to undo that now. Other than stop which...he doesn't think he can. He's started to...need it. To get off. He tries a few times, without the little clips on his phone and he just gets frustrated and can't quite finish.
So the day he can't find his phone at work is...a little concerning.
After tearing around for an hour hunting for it between cases and working up a cold sweat, Dennis heads to the breakroom to catch his breath. He's even used Trinity's phone to call his but the goddamn thing is on silent and there's no sound of it vibrating anywhere.
He pushed open the door and his stomach clenches tight because of course Robby is the only person in there, sitting at the table, glasses on and scrolling his phone.
No...not Robby's phone.
"This yours?" Robby holds it up. "I guessed from the pictures. There's no passcode on it...might want to change that."
"Yeah...I will. I absolutely, will," Dennis stammers.
"Good...rounds in ten."
He got away with it. Dennis promises himself that he's going to erase all the recordings and stop whatever this thing is.
But when he gets home and checks the folder where he keeps them, innocently named 'Work Notes' he finds that instead of seven files...there are eight.
Is he gonna listen to it in the break room? Absolutely not. He has no idea what's in the message but it's not for public consumption. As far as Dennis knows, it's Robby telling him he's fired. Though why he'd do that in a voice message in THAT folder is beyond him.
Dennis rushes to the bathroom, shuts himself in a cubicle and puts the speaker on his phone against his ear.
So....I'm not sure why you have all these saved but...I'm guessing it's because you like hearing that you're doing a good job, hmm?
The words 'good job' settle into his belly all warm and weighty and Dennis tries to ignore how they make him feel even now that Robby knows how much of a freak he's been.
Which you are, Dennis...you're always impressing me. Honestly I'm...proud of you. Really proud.
He can hear Robby breathing, too loud with the phone against his ear.
He doesn't mean to close his eyes, but he does, the better to listen to each shallow breath. Robby was proud of him?
His dick twitched and Dennis' face went hot. Not now. Here. Damn it. He pressed a hand down on himself.
For the record, I like having you here, under me...I'd have you any day of the week. Because you are so...good...
A shiver runs down his spine and he can feel himself getting hard, helplessly, at the low voice in his ear.
Such a good doctor...and so eager and...obedient...
Dennis can't hold back a whine as he squeezes himself through his scrubs.
Does that make you feel good, Dennis? Robby's voice murmurs in his ear, husky and slightly strained in a way that Dennis can't quite pinpoint but which makes his whole body tighten.
He nods. To no one.
I'd like if it did. In fact, what I'd really like...is if I could make you feel so good, that you wanted to touch yourself...right here at work.
Dennis's eyes fly open and he looks up but no one is watching him over the cubicle walls. It just felt for a second as if someone was...as if Robby was looking down on him, unblinking, seeing everything.
Would you do that for me? Hmm? It'd make me very proud...if you made yourself come, right now...for me. You want to make me proud, right?
He nodded again, more desperately.
Touch yourself.
His hand was in his scrubs, pulling himself out of his underwear without him pausing to think. A little dry but he squeezed his eyes shut and imagine it was Robby touching him, taking any chance he could, lube be damned.
See, I know you'll do it - because you're my good boy, aren't you kiddo?
Dennis pressed his lips together and tried to contain a whine. His hand was moving fast, in tight, punishing jerks. He was so desperate. Felt so gross and needy and turned on and dumb - sitting in the bathroom jerking off and trying to stay quiet, while Robby - Robby's voice, just his voice - purred in his ear.
Do you like it when I call you that? Kiddo. Kid...boy...
The three words made his heart skip.
I wonder if you'd like to call me something...I mean, I am so very proud of you...maybe that kinda makes me like your dad...which fits, because...you're daddy's favourite boy.
Oh God he was disgusting, he was awful...he was completely incapable of stopping. It felt too good. The best. Dennis whimpered and bucked his hips up helplessly, pathetically, fucking his hand, imagining that he was sitting on Robby's lap and not a cold toilet lid, legs held open on his thighs.
And you wanna be daddy's favourite, don't you Dennis? Want to make me so, so proud of you - want to show me exactly how good and obedient you are.
Dennis sobbed softly, nodded again, he was so close. So fucking close.
I want you...to come in your underwear - and leave them in my locker. So I can see you followed my instructions perfectly, like I know you can.
Oh shit. Oh Jesus...Dennis stuffed himself back into his underwear just in time to soak them in his come, shaking and shuddering as his body clenched tight. Leaving him embarrassingly breathless and flushed, his scrubs slipping down to his ankles. He tipped his head back and it hit the wall with a dull thump.
Fuck. Oh Fuck...
And if you do that for me - I'll have to find a way, to reward you. My combination is 7561. I hope you don't let me down.
Dennis's legs were still shaking and his face was on fire as he rushed to the locker room and opened Robby's locker, stuffing his wadded up underwear inside and closing the door before anyone could see.
His heart was thundering. What the fuck had he done? What was he going to do?
He caught Robby's eye as he crossed the hub and immediately felt dizzy.
"You OK, Kid?" Robby asked, peering over his glasses.
"..yeah," Dennis squeaked, so very aware that Dana was also looking his way. "Just...need some water."
"Here." He held out his own water bottle and Dennis almost tripped over his own feet going over to take it. As Robby let go his eyes found his and didn't let go until he'd finished drinking and handed the bottle back.
"You want any more?" Robby asked.
His chest felt tight, body simmering with heat. "Maybe...later."
"Later works," Robby said softly. "Back to work now - there's a good boy."
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