Making myself actually laugh out loud because Langdon gives off the vibes of someone who is annoyingly good at stuff he tries and it pisses everyone off to no end. Gloria does a mandated Mental Health Outing for her doctors and oh yeah, fucking of course he can do basket weaving, yeah that’s a totally normal thing to just suddenly pick up and do well. Fuck you.

Mmmm Langdon talking to Whitaker months down the line. Robby’s back, and he’s getting his first proper view on how the two of them interact with each other. He sees how Whitaker leans closer like he used to, sees Robby put a hand on the guy’s shoulder or smile and remembers when it was directed towards him. Remembers the damn implication of those touches, those exchanges, how easy it was to bask in the glow.

Langdon who’s careful about bringing it up. Asks it quietly, slowly. Hey, you and Robby seem to be pretty close. Yeah, it feels nice to be the favorite. Don’t deny it, that only makes things worse. Makes it seem like you’re covering too much. It’s nice when that attention’s on you, isn’t it? Robby’s uh, he does a good job balancing it, doesn’t he?

There’s not a good way to say I know you’re sleeping with your boss, and I know you are because I was. And there’s even less decent ways to grab the R1 by the shoulders and tell him to run as far as he fucking can because Robby will drop you the moment you’re not perfect, the second you disappoint him.

WHUMPUARY DAY SEVENTEEN - blood trail | "is this real?" | storm

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"There you are, Doctor Langdon." David pat him on the cheek, smiling softly. "I'll see you soon, just rest for a little while. You've had a looong day today!"

Frank felt like someone had loosened the screws in his neck, not even bothering to try and watch David disappear. Blankly, there was the worry that if he did, his entire skull might roll off and into the basement.

His entire body hurt, which wasn't a new sensation, but it didn't get easier. He was a doctor, not a CIA agent trained to resist torture. Having a knife dragged along your stomach, pushed in just enough to draw a smile of blood on you? Horrible didn't even cover it. Nothing did.

At this point in time, he thought David only kept him around as a thing to play with. Like a toy, stuffed and ripping at the seams, having his arms torn off just to be sewed back on.

Ha. Like Frankenstein.

Blood has soaked through his shirt, his sweats, crusting uncomfortably against his skin. It was still pumping lazily out of him. He was clotting already, thank God, and with as much strength as he could muster, he shifted so his torso was more straightened out.

He didn't want to run the risk of tearing scabs later on. Frank was 90% sure the brand was infected by now.

Devastatingly, he hoped he got sepsis and just simply died in this basement.

The sharpness from moving let him blink through a slideshow, eyes skipping over the basement through his unfocus.

He could see the chair he had been tied to, not that long ago. Could see the splatter of red underneath when he was undone and folded over, like a puppet cut loose, crashing unceremoniously to the floor.

Following that like a hiking guide, Frank let his gaze trek tiredly over it. Follow the wind of red drying tacky on the ground. It would be sticky for anyone to walk across.

He'd know.

The river found a source soon enough, disappearing under his feet. It was carved through concrete, a path made just from his own dye. From the way he spilled on to the ground, enough substance taken from him that there was a goddamn blood trail.

He was the mouth of the cave. The source of the fall, the mountain where snow melted. Just a faucet drying up, slowly but surely.

Frank wondered if David would ever clean down here, try to scrub the remains of a man that felt less and less grounded every day.

Or if he'd keep it, a souvenir from their time together, after his wrecked body was dumped in the Allegheny.

He wondered if he'd sink, considering how much he'd been drained already. Maybe he'd just be a husk and float until someone grabbed him.

At least then he'd be identifiable through forensics.

VERY ANGST Hucklerabbot

TW: Death.

Jack and Robby always thought they'd be the first to go: whether from old age or their own demons, they'd leave this earth one day soon, and the thought of leaving Dennis alone terrified them a little.

And then, one Friday afternoon like any other at the hospital, a patient is in pain and very angry, too angry, so much so that his first instinct is to punch the first person he comes across.

And Dennis, who was walking calmly and chatting with Victoria, doesn't see the punch coming, barely feels the blow directly to his jaw as he's propelled forward by the force of the blow, slipping on his own feet and crashing into the edge of one of the hospital desks.

He doesn't notice the warm, dark and thick blood, pouring like a river from the wound on the back of his head. His vision is poor, only shadows, his ears are ringing but he can almost hear Victoria's crying and Trinity's desperate cry for help, trying to staunch his wound with her own shirt until someone brings her some bandages.

He thinks of Jack, of the fact that the man was probably sleeping in their bed right now, blissful and unaware of what was happening at the hospital. 

He thinks of Robby and blames himself a little, because, damn it, Robby was probably out saving lives and now Dennis would have bothered him just because of a small cut on his head.

He thinks of Trinity, his first and best friend. He thinks of Victoria, Mel, Samira and Mateo, and he thinks of his bad luck, because that night they had planned to go bowling but now his head hurts and he doesn't think he'll be able to play.

He thinks of his mother and brothers, and strangely, the thought of his father doesn't even cross his mind.

And then, as the ringing in his ears gets louder and louder and the light above him grows whiter, the tingling in his body intensifies and his mind returns to Jack and Robby.

He was getting his first paycheck that week and he had promised to himself to treat the two to dinner!

By the time Michael "Robby" Robinavitch arrives, running with his heart already aching in that wing of the hospital, Dennis Whitaker has already been dead for two minutes.

Robby begs, screams and digs his nails into his arms as he curls up in the staff bathroom, weeping desperately, making no effort to hide his sobs.

Jack arrives an hour later, shaking and with bloodshot eyes. He screams and screams and demands to see Dennis, to see his boyfriend's body, because he can't believe he's gone. Not like this, it should have been him, he thinks, while Dana, with tears in her eyes, tries to reason with him.

Robby and Jack don't speak to each other for two weeks after Dennis's death, their mutual silence broken only when Robby finds Dennis's crucifix hidden in a book in one of their drawers, hugging Jack so tightly it hurts and crying harder than he's ever cried before.

The funeral is held a week later, attended by all the hospital's doctors, and a shiny, silver plaque reading "Dr. Dennis Whitaker" is hung opposite Dr. Adamson's.

Trinity leaves, choosing a faraway hospital, as far away from Pittsburgh as possible. When someone asks her if she has a best friend, she waits a few seconds before replying that she used to have one.

Victoria gives in to her mother's pressure; Dennis's death is what pushes her to switch to surgery. From then on, she never makes friends with any of her colleagues again.

And in time, years after Robby, Jack, Dana, Cassie and many others have retired, none of the new doctors will know who Dennis Whitaker was, a country boy, a friend, a doctor and a boyfriend.

But the plaque remains, perhaps a little dusty over time, but Dennis is there, with his scrubs and his smile, as he would have wanted to be remembered.

I need Robby feeling so guilty for carnally and deeply desiring that cute student decades younger than him that his body physically aches and his hands tremble during inappropriate moments, and the flesh between his nails burns and throbs. He's a doctor, he can't tremble. I need this desperate man crying over desiring not only Dennis Whitaker, but also his best friend. The traumatized veteran who understands him in a way no one else ever has and who looks at him so openly that Robby can't help it. He wants to kiss Jack, hold his body, and be allowed to simply be his. And it hurts so deeply to be in love with two people and not be able to have either of them. I need his guilt and his religious problems surfacing whenever he imagines himself not with Dennis and not with Jack, but both at the same time, not just sex and not just touch. Emotionally and in such a latent way that there is no turning back for him but to suffer and, silently, desire. So he touches Dennis whenever he can, manipulating him through the corridors of Pitt and becoming hungry for the grams of sensations of his body heat against his and his always so sad eyes. And he lets Jack get too close, embracing, touching, and devouring the gleam in his eyes whenever they see each other. The guilt of taking advantage of this to satisfy his own perversions is almost as great as the pulse of his aching heart.

And if only he talks to them.

And then there's Jack. Therapy did him enough good to keep him from jumping off that roof, but nothing would have prepared him for this, and he'll never admit it aloud, but he wants this strange boy who talks too much and squirms under attention, and he wants this old fool who avoids feelings like the plague. He wants it so badly it hurts physically, like the phantom itch he feels in his nonexistent leg on bad days. And he lets himself think about it while he touches himself, while he makes breakfast, and when he sees them at the hospital. And then he thinks about the army and how none of them deserve someone as broken as Jack is, literally missing pieces. And don't ask, don't tell. And the trembling in Dennis when he touches his shoulders or waist to move him while they walk, or Robby breathing too deeply whenever Jack smiles at him. He feels his hands trembling, but Jack is a soldier; he remembers the weight of a gun in his hand and how he's not allowed to tremble or to have any of these men.

And if only he talks to them.

And Dennis, poor Dennis. He's just an ordinary guy trying to survive in the big city while drowning in student loan debt and intense feelings for his bosses. Being tossed around by Robby and having his touch warming his body so much that at night he curls up in Trinity's apartment bed and trembles, trying to recapture that feeling of comfort and warmth and forget the guilt rising in his throat until he vomits. Or Jack and the firm support he offers Dennis with his words, filling him with confidence when all he wants to do in the ER is curl up and cry for failing again and again, and he receives comfort instead. And at night, curled up and thinking about them, separately and then all three of them together, he can't stop begging God, the one he doesn't even know if he believes in, for forgiveness, and he can't, much less, avoid falling in love. His hands tremble, but Dennis is so used to holding a rosary between them and asking forgiveness for existing that he can't stop his muscles from aching to stop the trembling from happening.

And if only they're more brave.

y'know what fuck angst and fuck freaky shit I'm thinking about Robby giving in and going to therapy and working out all his issues and Dennis unlearning all his religious trauma and Jack having both of his boys there to comfort him whenever he has nightmares or episodes. I just need them soft and healthy actually. each of them a safe place for the others to rest for a while. slotting into each other's lives so perfectly. skin to skin cuddles every night. never dealing with anything alone ever again because they don't have to.

forgot to podt this here

Angst, Angst, Angst, Hucklerabbot.

One day, Dennis is having a bad day, one of those days where he can't stand the overlapping noises in the hospital and his scrubs itch.

This leads him to behave rudely toward his colleagues, and once home, Robby and Jack scold him.

Dennis starts to argue and starts an argument with Robby (because, really, it seems more likely he's arguing with him than with Jack), and after they've both shouted some nasty things at each other, Jack tries to calm things down by intervening, but when Dennis insults Robby one last time, Jack grabs his wrist, squeezes it, and hisses:

"No one talks to my husband like that."

And then, idk, dead silence at what Jack just said, Dennis realizing he'll always be the extra in the couple and the two husbands trying to make amends.

snaf_uyu

“This recipe is perfect for weeknights—it only takes 30 minutes!” and and the first ingredient is an entire butternut squash cut into 1-inch cubes

Dennis "I've never been the attractive one and I'll never be in a relationship where I'm the desired one" Whitaker × Jack "If I don't fuck that boy in the next 24 hours I might die" Abbot × Michael "If I don't watch my husband fuck that boy in the next 24 hours I might die" Robby Robinavitch.

I have terrible news

I keep trying to post a picture of fig. A really bad one. But tumblr keeps giving me an error message. Maybe the world isnt ready

Im going to split it into 4ths and see if that works

FUCK YEAAAAAHHH

pardon me sire, it is time for your meoiwsturising regimen

my favorite fucked up animal is the false killer whale it looks like a rejected kaiju design… like a void with teeth…. look at this fucking baby

also these guys have been documented in gay pairbonds with fuckin BOTTLENOSES which isn’t even their species! fuck it up dude!

When you're driving home at night and you meet a Ford F-150 on the road