#this does drive me crazy though

[kazumahashimoto]

tetsuki day for the love of christ

[bucketsofmonsters]

Oliver

cw: under-negotiated kink, allusions to historical homophobia, blood drinking, biting, anal sex, handjobs, unprotected sex 

male vampire x male human

Word count: 6k

a/n: This is technically a prequel to Vows but can absolutely be read on its own as a oneshot, it’s the story of how Oliver came to stay with Rook

Vows Masterlist

Six hours. 

Six hours he’d been sitting outside this god-forsaken gate causing as much of a ruckus as he was humanly capable of causing. 

And for six hours he’d been ignored. 

He’d arrived at the sprawling mansion in the evening, a reasonable hour, set on talking to the man inside. 

He’d heard so many things about him. Good things, at least to Oliver. The people who’d said it hadn’t been quite as well-intentioned, 

They also told tales of blood-drinking and murder but he knew exactly how bad rumors could get about people with his inclination. He was willing to forgive a lot if it gave him a kindred soul. 

However, he was unsure if he could forgive six hours. 

He collapsed to the ground, drawing his knees up to his chest and clasping his hands under his thighs. 

He’d be fine. That’s what he always told himself. It didn’t feel particularly true right now but it didn’t matter. He would tell himself that anyway. 

He’d come with fairly high hopes, artificial or not. The gate had been locked with no way to signal to anyone inside that he was out here but he was a resourceful fellow. 

It only took a few minutes of waiting before his patience crumbled. 

It was fine. He’d just hop the fence. 

As he tried to wrap his hands around the metal bars of the gate, his hand had crumpled, unable to fit in the wide gap between the bars. 

He tried again on the next gap and once more, his hand was unable to pass through what looked like nothing but air. 

Maybe the rumors of dark forces residing in this home weren’t so unfounded. 

He refused to be deterred, grabbing a stick off the ground and jamming it through the gate. Still nothing, no way to get it through and try to pry it open. 

Fine then. He took about twenty steps back, giving himself a good start, and then ran full force at the gate. 

He slammed right into it, the gate not budging an inch. Oliver fared less well than the looming gate. His shoulder was sure to bruise. He just hoped that maybe it would bruise inside these walls. 

He did the only thing he could think of to do. He started to shout. The yelling began with pleas to be let inside and requests for help but after the first hour of yelling, as his throat began to hoarsen, his words became a bit more vulgar. 

The sun had long since set but he refused to go home, not after all this

Maybe he could annoy the people inside enough that someone would come out here and yell at him.

He could handle being rejected, but he should at least be able to plead his case first. 

And maybe dart inside while they were doing so. 

He just kept trying for as long as he could. 

For. 

Six.

Hours.

Surely even the strongest of wills would collapse in the cold night after no one had responded for so long, he couldn’t be blamed for this. 

He fell to the ground, despair overtaking him. Even drawn into himself, conserving his heat as best he could, he felt so much colder than before. 

He fell to his side, his cheek meeting wet dirt, leaves sticking to his face. 

This was his last hope, his only real chance. He’d been delusional, thinking there was somewhere that would be safe that didn’t require him smothering himself. 

He sniffled, not bothering to wipe at his nose as he wallowed on the ground. 

No. He wouldn’t let it end like this. Getting up seemed like a monumental task but shouting didn’t. Shouting he could do. It was like his baseline now. 

At this point, it was just vague cursing at the bastards inside more than a plea for help but shout he did. 

And then the gate swung open, right into his side. 

The man standing in the entryway looked sheepish, pulling the heavy gate back and away from Oliver. He looked like every cruel thing they’d said about him, with sharp, cold features, suspiciously perfectly tousled dark hair speckled with gray, and sickly pale skin. A pair of sharp fangs were revealed as he winced at the sight of Oliver being smacked with the gate.

Oliver sat up as quickly as he could, wiping at his face, trying to remove all the grime and dirt that had accumulated on his skin. He’d meant to look more appealing than this, or at least look more sane. But here he was, a grimy boy sitting in the mud after screaming his voice hoarse for six hours. 

“Didn’t mean to hit you,” he said with a grimace.

“I hate you,” Oliver chimed back, his voice cracking as he spoke. 

The man got even paler, if that was possible. “This may have been ill-advised.”

“You’re telling me.”

The man sighed, seeming upset over something, before kneeling down by Oliver’s side. 

“Not you,” he said quietly. “You’re fine, you haven’t done anything wrong. Come on, let's get you inside.”

He sat up with a huff, in absolutely no mood to go anywhere with this man. 

“You couldn’t have stopped a little sooner, could you?” His tone was light in a poorly practiced way, trying and failing to lift the mood of the conversation. 

“Why, was I annoying you?” he asked, still sitting in the mud. He was sure he had leaves and dirt in his hair but trying to pick them out felt less dignified than just leaving them be. 

“No, you just made me lose a bet.”

Oliver scrunched up his nose. The idea that this asshole had just been sitting inside betting on how long he’d wait out here angered him beyond belief. 

“Sorry I wasn’t weak-willed enough for you, I’ll only scream at you for a couple of hours next time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He held out his hand to help Oliver up. “I’m Rook.”

He stood on his own, giving Rook a suspicious look. “I don’t think I’m supposed to tell strange men my name. You’ll steal my soul or something.”

“If I wanted your soul so badly, I wouldn’t have taken six hours.”

Rook had apparently decided that they’d moved past the incident enough to joke about it. Oliver disagreed. 

Oliver stood across from him, arms crossed, unimpressed. All this time he’d been waiting to be let inside and now he wasn’t so sure he wanted to go.

Well, he did want to. He just didn’t want to give this man the satisfaction.

“Come on in, it’s cold out here,” Rook said, not privy to Oliver’s internal struggle. He had a grand sort of voice, one that screamed he thought he was better than everyone. 

Oliver wanted to attack him. 

His eyebrows furrowed with a huff. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Come on, I’ll apologize inside. I can’t start groveling until I’ve rectified my mistake by letting you in.”

That sounded more like it.

“Alright, but if there’s no groveling I just might start screaming again.”

“Good, I think I might deserve it,” he said, quiet enough that Oliver was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to hear it. But he was good at hearing things, great at it even. He always thought he’d make a good spy if only he could keep his mouth shut for long enough. 

Oliver followed him inside, silently cursing the gates as he walked through them. 

The castle grew no less imposing as he got closer to it. The front doors were massive, looming things and Oliver decided he might honestly prefer the gates. At least with them he could see what was on the other side. 

The doors swung open, despite the fact that Oliver could see no one who’d opened them. He considered congratulating Rook on the cheap magic trick but was worried he might think he was being genuine. 

“I told you he’d wait,” a man's voice called as he stepped inside the doors, them swinging shut once more behind him. 

Rook went to take his jacket and Oliver made sure to get as much mud on him in the process as he possibly could. He winced but allowed it to happen as mud smeared down his perfectly fitted clothes. 

“How’d you know?” Rook responded, hanging the tattered, dirty jacket up with his arm fully extended, like he was half convinced it had fleas. 

“I would’ve,” the man responded. 

“Would’ve?” Oliver asked, turning to see an older man who looked decidedly less harsh and cold than Rook did. “So you didn’t make him wait outside for six hours.”

“He wasn’t trying to break in and cursing me out on my front lawn.”

“I only did that because you made me wait!”

“You tried to scale that fence after ten minutes.”

Okay, so maybe he should’ve waited longer before getting quite so antagonistic. Not that he’d ever admit it. 

Rook ushered Oliver into a nearby room, trying to send the older man away with a hushed, “You don’t need to be here, Petyr, I can handle this.”

“No, please,” Oliver called back. “Let him stay.”

As they both shuffled in and sat, Rook in the biggest chair sitting behind the desk and Petyr in one of the smaller chairs near Oliver, he scanned the room for weapons, just in case. He took note of a nearby letter opener, angling himself so he’d be ready to reach for it if he needed to. 

“So, may I have your name now?” Rook asked from behind the desk, handing some papers over to Petyr as he spoke. 

Oliver tried to read the papers as they passed but couldn’t quite manage it. “You may not.”

“Alright, that’s fine. There will be time for that. Well then, why are you here?”

“I don’t know, maybe I got curious. They say lots of things about you, you know. They say people come in and they don’t come out,” Oliver lowered his voice conspiratorily as he spoke. 

“And yet here you are.”

“Maybe I just don’t value my life,” he said with a shrug.

“Do you?”

“That’s none of your business,” he snapped. 

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Rook said, looking amused yet almost a little frightened of Oliver. 

Good. 

“I had a whole speech prepared you know,” he said, still scowling. 

Rook leaned back in his chair. “I’m listening.”

Oliver shifted back and forth, feeling inspected under Rook’s gaze. “Doesn’t really feel like the right time for a heartfelt speech.”

That got half a smile out of Rook, amusement shining in his eyes. “No, it doesn’t, does it? You can just pick a room, they’re mostly bedrooms and they’re almost all empty.”

“What?”

“That is what you wanted, isn’t it? To stay here?”

“But… you’re just going to let me? Don’t I have to grovel or something?”

“I think you’ll remember I’m the one who was supposed to be groveling here.”

“I do. And yet there you are, no groveling to be seen.”

Rook laughed and Oliver had half a mind to inform him that he was, in fact, not joking, but he was a little worried he might be pushing his luck. 

Rook stood and paced out of the room, looking behind him towards Oliver. “You coming?”

Oliver’s eyes darted between Petyr and Rook before deciding that he was willing to risk being alone with him and running to catch up with Rook. 

“Alright, pick a room.”

“Any room?”

He nodded. “Whichever you’d like. Now, I have to go speak with someone, have fun choosing one.”

There were seemingly endless doors, a whole castle's worth of rooms to choose from. But he was uninterested in them. Instead, he went in the direction Rook had gone, ears straining to try and figure out where he’d left to. 

When he approached the office from before, he heard muffled voices and decided quickly to sit on the ground and push his ear against the old wood. 

Rook’s voice echoed through the door clearly enough, having already started a conversation. 

“...a bit unpleasant. Bad attitude and absolutely no manners at all. And he’s not as cute as he thinks he is

Oliver scoffed quietly at the words, having half a mind to storm in there and show him just how bad his attitude could really be. He wasn’t even sure why he cared what this guy thought. In the short time he'd known him, all he’d been was rude, abrasive, and worst of all, he was apologetic about it. One second he was being an asshole and the next second he had that awful sorry look on his face that only served to make Oliver want to smack him. 

Despite all of this, he leaned against the door, fuming as he eavesdropped. “Worst of all,” Rook said, “he’s nosy.” As the words left his mouth, the steady wood Oliver had been leaning on fell out from under him, leaving him exposed and tumbling to the ground. 

Neither of the men seemed surprised by his sudden appearance and he couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was them putting on a show for him. He decided to believe it was most of it, for his own sanity. 

“Clearly I couldn’t pick any room,” he said from his less than dignified spot on the floor. 

Rook looked around at the small study. “I mean, if you want it that badly, you can sleep in here. The desk might be a bit uncomfortable but to each their own. 

“I don’t want it anymore. Not after you slandered me in here.”

“Are you really trying for the moral high ground? In your position?” Rook said, looking down at him still sprawled across the floor. 

Oliver jumped to his feet, brushing off his already filthy clothes. 

He stormed off, set on finding somewhere to clean himself where he could get away from these assholes. 

Picking a room was not nearly as exciting as Oliver had hoped. Almost every room in this place looked identical, similar layout and beds and sheets. All beautiful and expensive, but none interesting. 

He found some unfortunately empty baths but with no idea how to fill them, other than asking for help, he opted instead to dump a pitcher of water over his head, hoping it got most of his grime off. 

As he wandered, sopping wet and bored, he wasn’t checking the rooms anymore. Not really. Because the house had quieted down as the sun rose and Oliver had a more interesting target in mind. 

He threw open door after door, revealing boring room after boring room until behind one door, he found his less-than-gracious host. 

Rook looked up from where he was lying in his bed, decidedly more surprised at his sudden appearance this time, and Oliver felt himself puff up a little with pride.

“What are you doing here,” he asked as he evaluated Oliver in his doorway. 

“I mean, you did say any room.”

“Have you been entering every room in this house until you found mine so you could bother me?”

Oliver averted his gaze. “No.”

“Right. Just browsing then?”

“Exactly.”

Rook chuckled and Oliver could see his fangs poking out, a reminder of how dangerous this could be. “What do you think of this one?”

He was playing mind games, that much was obvious. And Oliver would not let him win. 

“I really like it. I think I’ll choose this one.”

It was a dangerous play, he knew that. Trying to aggravate him like this. 

He’d keep doing it anyway. 

“Right. Well, I guess I’ll have to go find another one,” Rook said, standing up from his comfortable spot on his lavish bed. 

Oliver reeled back. “What?”

Rook shuffled out of bed and past him in the doorway. “Goodnight, enjoy your room.”

And then, without so much as another word, he was gone and Oliver was left stupified.

He’d taken his room, did that mean he won? It didn’t feel like he’d won. In fact, it felt very much like he’d lost that particular interaction. 

He looked at the now empty room, signs of life scattered haphazardly around. The clothes he’d seen him in a few hours ago were folded neatly in a basket in the corner. 

Only then did he think about what Rook had been wearing. A loose-fitting silk shirt draped across his chest, the smooth fabric laying perfectly against his skin. It looked soft. Oliver pushed the unbidden thought violently from his mind. He shouldn’t be thinking like that. That was how you lost. 

The blankets were a mess, a dip in the mattress where Rook had been moments before

Oliver climbed in, set on sleeping in here. Anything else would be a sign of weakness, he was certain of that much. 

A woody smell overtook him at first, with notes of something sweet following behind. It was a pleasant combination and as he chased the smell, he found a mug with a mahogany liquid inside. 

As he got closer, taking a better sniff of the steam floating up from the mug, he noticed a sharp coppery smell undercutting the sweet, chocolatey scent. 

He grabbed the warm drink, taking a sip to confirm it to himself. He winced a little as the taste of blood and chocolate filled his mouth. 

He set it back down, filing the information away for later as he settled into the massive, lonely bed, feigning sleep for at least a few hours. 

When he was tired of pretending he would get any rest that night, he got up once more, set on finding something to do with himself. 

He settled upon what he was planning on doing the second he saw Rook, sitting peacefully at a table all alone. 

His peace was swiftly broken as Oliver barrelled in, saying, “Strange drink you had in your room last night.”

Rook paled to an impossibly lighter shade than he already was and Oliver took it as a sign to keep pushing. “I’m not one for pairing blood and chocolate but maybe it’s an acquired taste.”

“I forgot that was in there,” he said quietly and Oliver almost felt bad. Almost. 

“So you do drink blood?”

Rook looked at him like he was an idiot. “Did you not know? I assumed…”

“I mean, they said you killed and ate people but they said a lot of stuff. About you and me. I know better than to believe everything they say about someone. The mug of blood was pretty damning though. Regardless, you haven’t eaten me yet so things could’ve gone worse.”

“No, I don’t kill people. Eat people?” He tilted his head as he considered it. “I suppose you could call it that. You could call me a monster for it if you wanted to, but they don’t tend to mind.”

He said it with a crooked smile, head resting on his hand like he was trying to look casual, but it was too stilted. There was a tension throughout him, a sense of worry behind the dangerous flirtation he was attempting. 

“Are you coming onto me?” he asked incredulously and Rook’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his chest. 

And then his head dropped to the table in front of him, a look of despair passing over him. 

“I swear I’m good at this,” he said as he lifted his head, his hair shifting from an intentionally fluffed mess to a true disaster, pieces sticking straight up awkwardly, held in place by whatever product he put in it. “I can flirt with most people, or at least figure out when they’re not interested, but god, you’re impossible.”

“I am not.”

“You are!” he said with a laugh. “I haven’t been able to have one decent interaction with you. Every time I try you ruin it.”

“I ruin it?” Oliver gasped, outraged. “Excuse you, I have done nothing wrong. You left me out in the cold, you insulted me, you keep playing these weird games.”

Rook looked at him sheepishly. “I swear I meant it in a fun way. Always in a fun way.”

“Well, I’m not having fun.”

Rook cocked his head to the side, looking Oliver up and down. “Aren’t you? One second I agree and I decide to stop but you keep pushing me right back into them. You’re furious when I play and indignant when I stop. What’s left for me to do?”

“Well, maybe you’re not playing right.”

“And how do you want to play,” Rook asked, his voice low as he leaned towards Oliver. 

No. Not that. It was too real when he did that. 

He turned heel and ran. Through the hallways, feet moving faster than his racing mind. 

He didn’t know if he was running to get away or to be chased. He doubted Rook did either. 

He went back to his room. Rook’s room. Someone’s room. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. 

Unfortunately, once he reached Rook’s room, he was alone with his thoughts, his least favorite place to be. 

Dozens of feelings washed over him in the silence, almost all of them unwanted. The anger he was fine with, the doubt acceptable. His want he could take or leave. The fondness that washed over him, the anxiety, those were unacceptable. 

A knock at the door pulled him from his mind and if it weren’t for the familiar voice that followed, he might have appreciated the distraction. 

“Can I come in?” Rook called. 

“I mean, it’s your room. Or… hold on, is that a vampire thing? I’ve heard that’s a vampire thing. If it’s a vampire thing then no, you’re forbidden from ever entering.”

Rook seemed lost. “It’s not a vampire thing. So I can come in?”

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“Right.” He stepped cautiously through the door. “I’m here to apologize.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes. It was a trap. It had to be. “No, you’re not.”

Rook held his hands up in surrender. “I am. I think I have handled this poorly. So, I’m sorry, and I’m here to say it’s in your hands now.”

“What?”

“I won’t push any longer. If you want anything to happen, to start anything, you must do it yourself. I’m done.”

Oliver felt his face fall and Rook watched him in quiet amusement. “Come now,” he said, moving to rest his hand on Oliver’s back and then seemly remembering what he’d just said and pulling away. “Is this not what you wanted?”

Oliver narrowed his eyes again. It was another game. Declaring that he’d play no more games with him was in itself a game. It was untenable. It was indefensible. It was a shocking relief. 

“Right,” Oliver said, scoffing. “I’m sure.”

“I mean it. I’m afraid I prioritized my fun over you feeling safe here. It’s in your hands now.”

Oliver stared, baffled, as Rook gave him a patient smile, stood up, and walked towards the door. His own bedroom door, one he’d given up to Oliver on a whim. 

“Wait,” he called, and Rook stopped, his hand inches away from the door handle. 

“Yes?”

“You drink blood.”

The confused look he’d gotten the last time he’d discussed this was nothing compared to the look of befuddlement and concern that crossed his face this time. 

“We had this conversation not moments ago, surely you can’t have forgotten already.”

Oliver scowled at him and Rook at least had the good sense to try and hide the smile the look pulled from him. “Who’s blood?”

“Petyr and Beatris’s mostly. You’ll meet her soon. Animals when I need some extra.”

“Do you want to drink mine?” Oliver asked, trying his best to look disinterested. 

“What are you asking?”

“I said,” he responded, raising his voice before Rook raised a hand to stop him. 

“No, what are you really asking.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Not everyone speaks in riddles.”

A huff of laughter escaped Rook. “No, they most certainly don’t. You do, though.”

He decided to ignore that comment. “Does it hurt?”

“That’s not what you want to ask.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I want to ask, just answer the question.”

“I don’t think I will. Do you want it to hurt?”

Oliver smiled. “Just a little.”

Rook paced over towards the bed, leaning down over him. 

“I can do that,” he said, his voice low. 

It would take a lot more than that to shut Oliver up. 

“How often do you need to drink?”

“Couple times a week. Do you always ask this many questions?”

“No. How often do you take from them?”

“As often as they’d like me to. Within reason. Sometimes you humans get greedy. Someone has to look out for you. 

Rook pushed forward again, moving to crawl over him before Oliver pulled back, hissing out a quiet, “Wait.”

He stopped immediately, concern overwriting everything else. “What? Are you alright?”

Oliver spoke softly, a horrible twinge of vulnerability present in his voice. “Is this really okay? Because the flirting is all well and good but sometimes… You’re just not going to freak out after, right? They always freak out after.”

Rook reached out, cupping his face in his hands and it took everything he had not to pull away, like the affection burned him. “You know you’re not the first man I’ve slept with, right?”

Oliver scoffed, his bravado falling back into place. “Right, of course. Silly of me to ask.” 

“Stop that, listen to me. You came here for a reason. They were right about me, I am a monster, but I take care of my own. No matter what. Besides, who would I be to judge you?”

Oliver laughed a sad little laugh. “Yeah, you’re right, you’re a real freak. Unlike me.”

“Be careful not to insult me too hard, what would that say about you?” Rook gave his hand a gentle squeeze but his words were still playful. Oliver appreciated it. Too much affection and he was afraid he might make a run for it again. 

“I’d rather have bad taste in men than whatever you’ve got going on.”

Rook rolled his eyes. “Are you trying to make me angry?”

“Yes.”

It came out much breathier than Oliver had meant it to but it certainly got Rook’s attention. 

“Which first?” The words were tense and Oliver could feel his ego inflate at how he was clearly affecting the man. 

Oliver tilted his head, at first in consideration and then to expose his neck. “Come on, show me just how much of a freak you are.”

Rook took his time, his hands rising to thread through Oliver’s hair and pull his head back as he moved beside him. 

Impatience began to well up in Oliver’s chest as Rook pressed a gentle kiss into his pulse point before burying his nose into his neck, still no sign of those fangs that Oliver couldn’t help but eye when he spoke. 

An impatient whine got him nothing other than a quick laugh, squirming as it pushed a puff of cold air against his neck. 

Rook held him in place as he shifted, not letting him move from the position he’d put Oliver in. 

And then, with no warning, he felt the sharp pain of two fangs piercing his skin. 

They were gone almost as soon as they had come, leaving two seeping holes in his neck. He relaxed as Rook lapped at them, the teasing long gone. All of Rook’s attention was now firmly directed on the warm liquid flowing out of him. 

It left him almost pleasantly numb, the feeling of his warmth leaving him and flooding into the other man almost calming. 

More than the pain, he began to feel cold. A numbness spread to the tips of his fingers as Rook pulled away from his neck. He flexed his fingers as they suddenly became fascinating to him, feeling cold and foreign to his woozy mind. 

He hadn’t even realized Rook had left until a bandage was being attached to his neck. 

Immediately his attention shifted to the other man. He was wearing altogether too many clothes, Oliver decided. They both were. 

He moved up to pull at Rook’s shirt, unbuttoning the first few buttons and beginning to impatiently tug it down his shoulders. 

Rook watched him, amusement shining in his eyes. He made no move to help Oliver’s attempt to undress them. 

“You did so well. You know, my favorite part,” Rook said, in that low voice that irritated Oliver endlessly, “is always the trust.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Can you just shut up,” he said as he crashed their lips together, promptly silencing Rook. 

He finished tugging off Rook’s shirt as they kissed, a familiar hint of copper invading his mouth as they did. 

He had to pry Rook’s arms away from his face in order to do so. They rose right back up moments after, his hands threaded into Oliver’s hair, holding him close. Even as the kiss ended he kept their faces pressed together, noses touching, a hint of a smile on his face. 

He pressed a kiss onto the tip of his nose and Oliver fought the urge to roll his eyes and the urge to smile simultaneously. 

And then Rook pulled away from him and instead of whining, like he so desperately wanted to, he took the opportunity to undress, making quick work of his clothes. 

When he turned back, Rook had a bottle of some sort of oil in his hands and Oliver snorted. “Someone came prepared.”

“It was my room,” he said as he tugged Oliver closer. “Now, any preferences?”

He looked up at Oliver expectantly and he quickly answered, “If you don’t fuck me soon, I’m going to bite you.”

Rook laughed as he coated his fingers in the oil. “I think we should leave the biting to me.”

As if. 

He pushed Oliver onto his back, looming over him as he sunk one finger inside of him. 

Oliver sighed. He needed more but he loved it, the feeling of being filled for the first time after being empty. 

That contentedness did not last. Barely a minute passed before Oliver was whining for a second finger, one Rook gave him easily, slowly pushing inside him. 

He smiled down at Oliver, a sickeningly sweet look on his face. “You’re so eager,” he said, and if Oliver wasn’t certain it would slow down this already devastatingly slow process, he would’ve said something rude. 

Instead, he opted to ask, “Can you hurry up?”

“I’m not done,” he said.

Oliver pouted. “Come on. It’s no fun if it doesn’t hurt a little.”

Rook rolled his eyes but gave in, lining up with Oliver’s hole and slowly, torturously slowly, began to push in. 

He was slick with oil and thick and just too slow. It was going to drive Oliver crazy. 

So he took matters into his own hands. His legs wrapped around Rook’s hips, locking around them and pulling them flush with him, sighing as he was filled completely. 

Rook's hand rose to his jaw, forcing him to look him in the eye. “You are an impatient little thing, aren’t you,” he said as he rocked slowly back and forth. 

He was too careful with him. Oliver didn’t want careful. 

So instead he pulled him close, Rook’s cold chest lowering to rest against Oliver’s. 

And then, with this newfound closeness, Oliver bit him, his teeth digging into his shoulder. 

Rook hissed and snapped his hip again, twice as hard as before. “You little bastard.”

He pulled out and before Oliver had the chance to whine and complain and make him regret leaving, he was being spun around and pushed face-first into the mattress, Rook’s cock sliding inside him once again. 

He began to calm as Rook's pace got harsher. He was much more docile when he was getting what he wanted. 

Part of him worried he might be drooling, his dick getting just a little friction against the sheets with every sharp thrust. 

Rook’s hands were gripping his hips, almost hard enough to bruise. He could feel the man’s lost control and couldn’t help but grin, letting out soft moans at every punishing thrust. 

Rook groaned out, “Fuck, I’m gonna…” He was too far gone to finish his sentence and Oliver basked in it. 

Oliver lifted his hips up to meet his thrusts as best he could and while it may not have been the best effort he’d ever put forth, the sight alone seemed to be enough to push Rook over the edge, burying himself deep inside Oliver as he came. 

He winced a little as he pulled out, clearly sensitive, and Oliver laughed. 

“You’re so bad at this,” he drawled, his brain still left fuzzy. “I didn’t even come. Selfish man.”

Rook chuckled as he sat back against the headboard, pulling Oliver’s back flush with his chest, arms wrapping around him. He pressed a kiss to his neck, right on top of the bandage, and lazily wrapped his hand around Oliver’s dick. 

His hand, still slick from before, felt incredible against Oliver. He couldn’t help but wish he was still being filled, the cum slowly dripping onto him onto the now ruined sheets a reminder of how empty he felt. 

But Rook was in no rush and his steady, sure movements brought Oliver closer and closer. 

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been this gentle with him. He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever been. It brought this horrible, queasy feeling to his stomach. 

As Rook pushed on, pumping Oliver with one hand while rubbing reassuring circles into his chest with the other, it all became too much. He bucked his hips up into Rook’s hand, letting out a whine that sounded pathetic, even to him. He threw his head back, cum spilling out of him and dripping down, over Rook’s hand and onto his sheets. Someone’s sheets. He still wasn’t sure. 

“Who’s room even is this?” he slurred out and he snuggled back into Rook’s embrace, uncaring as to the mess they found themselves in. 

He laughed. “Maybe we can share it.”

Oliver huffed as Rook’s clean hand rose to play with his hair, his mind beginning to drift off at the gentle touch. “I’m sure we can come up with some sort of arrangement.”

[ducktracy]

are you anti "sour-puss" daffy? that characterization of him is the primary one in my head. like duck amuck is epitome of daffy in my mind.

CRACKS KNUCKLES SO LOUDLY THEY EXPLODE. i’m giving my “HEADS UP THIS WILL LIKELY BE EXHAUSTIVE” warning now because i love love love love love love love love any chance to talk and analyze and pontificate about the duck. TLDR: YES AND NO

SO. i don’t consider myself “anti sour-puss” so much as i would consider my stance “if Daffy has to be more egocentric and miserly than he usually is then i prefer a very specific set of circumstances for this to be the case”. i have warmed up to the Jones and Freleng duck of the ‘50s onward CONSIDERABLY in recent years—there was a point where i just refused to touch any Daffy short made after a certain point because i knew it would make me frustrated and sad and mad and that’s, respectfully, ridiculous!

it took me watching the Speedy and Daffy cartoons to realize that Daffy in THOSE shorts is what i thought Daffy was in the Jones and Freleng shorts. it dwindles a bit over time (compare how he behaves in The Hunting Trilogy to something like Ali-Baba Bunny, which is a short i still have yet to come around to for that reason—i don’t like the “MINE MINE MINE GO GO GO DOWN DOWN DOWN” duck very much and my issue was that i thought he behaved that way in every single cartoon after a certain point which is thankfully incorrect!), but there’s still some nuance. by the time we’re getting to shorts where Daffy is saying “HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU NOT TO STARVE ON MY PROPERTY” is when i fully throw in the towel lol

another thing that’s helped me warm up is the realization that Daffy’s personality change is not nearly as objective as it’s made out to be. he has always had an ego, he’s always been reckless, impulsive, and yes, this absolutely includes the ‘30s shorts! Chuck’s Duck is Chuck’s Duck from day one with the line “not bad for a guy that never took a lesson in his life!”.

Scalp Trouble has Daffy on an ego trip fancying himself as an army general (and there is a legitimate, honest to god small dick metaphor joke in that short because he has this huge giant sword sheath that is indiscreetly phallic in design, only to reveal a tiny little dagger), ordering people around and essentially LARPing in this role we immediately know is way too big for him. and when it comes time to battle, what does he do but spend the majority of his time cowering in a corner.

he’s always had these traits! maybe they’re a bit more primitive earlier on, some other traits are a greater priority. but Drip-Along Daffy is one of my favorite Chuck Jones shorts because it’s basically a sequel to The Great Piggy Bank Robbery. and you could argue the same with Duck Dodgers! all shorts have him fantasizing about a hero role that is clearly too big for him to fill, and he is absolutely getting the biggest kick out of assuming this role. Drip-Along is still early enough to also have this sort of innocence and unflappability (that may more accurately be described as delusion or ignorance): when Daffy gets no reception whatsoever in the bar, instead of screaming at everyone to look at him, he just marches to the next order of business and indulges in his next part of his fantasy. this NEVER would have happened had the short come out 5-10 years after when it did.

likewise, the Daffy of the ‘50s and ‘60s is still insane, it’s just a different manifestation of how that’s the case. earlier on, he’s a bit more visibly unhinged. his HOOHOOHOOing fits are a catharsis that you can just FEEL crawling up his throat and dying to get out, and in the really early shorts you can see this sort of half and half battle between cognizance and succumbing to insanity (The Daffy Doc and Porky’s Last Stand especially come to mind). it’s an insanity that relieves itself through sheer manic catharsis. as time goes on, he matures a bit, he knows how to keep better wraps on it; the manners in which he gratifies his impulses just shifts.

and also, Daffy can still very much be a sourpuss early on! Bob McKimson’s Daffy, whose interpretation is very integral in my sort of mental default of who Daffy is, can be very bitter and cynical in particular! or, again, early shorts like The Daffy Doc or Scalp Trouble where he’s more argumentative and his ego is clearly much more tender.

the seeds of what Daffy would become have all been planted, and so that’s allowed me to bristle a bit less and lower my haunches. and i am making more progress in coming around to the later shorts! i’ve been on a Chuck Jones kick recently and been watching lots of Chuck Jones Daffy shorts and enjoying them. i love Drip-Along, Duck Dodgers, Duck Amuck, Deduce You Say, Robin Hood Daffy—i’ve even come around to Rabbit Seasoning which is kind of NUTS to me because there was awhile where i was acting like Bugs and Daffy shorts killed my firstborn. “pronoun trouble” is an inside joke with my friend and dear lord i laugh every time at Daffy’s reactions to Elmer falling for Bugs’ drag act, and the ENDING!!!! omg. i love it. i’ve come around to Beanstalk Bunny as well! it’s a great short!! in getting to know the duck better and understanding how nuanced his development is, i’ve gone a bit softer which is good.

i was just chatting about this recently—i think most of the thorns in my side come from the Daffy and Bugs pair-ups. what i like best and get most out of each character, i get none of when they’re together. i’d rather see Bugs behaving and doing something else, and the same for Daffy. i’m not opposed to a sourpuss Daffy so much as i really don’t like seeing him suffer. i feel like the Bugs and Daffy shorts “punch down” a bit more on him, and i still haven’t found a way to really properly articulate this… i’ll just copy and paste what i was saying the other day here:

Daffy earlier on has all the traits above we talked about, but the difference is that he isn’t really shamed for them outright? of course we’re meant to laugh at his cowardice as he says “go… back… in again….” to the giant towering rat gangster he screamed at to confront him, we’re of course supposed to laugh at the asininity and selfishness of him dodging the draft and taking the Little Man From the Draft Board down with him by locking him in a safe and suffocating him. Daffy isn’t exactly meant to be a role model (but that still doesn’t stop me from finding his bombasm and exuberance and zest for life extremely empowering!), but there’s less narrative pushback against it. seeing Daffy be Daffy and have every action be interrupted by another character rolling their eyes going “oh brother” is where i have a problem, it just sucks the air out of the room for me. especially when Daffy is made to feel ashamed or beaten down for this as well. that’s why i enjoy shorts like Beanstalk Bunny or Drip-Along so much, ending with stuff like “it’s a living!” or being contented in his new position that is often very degrading and a direct consequence of his impulsiveness. a huge part of Daffy’s charm for me is his resilience (even if that equates to ignorance at times), if he wants something he will go to absolutely asinine lengths to get it! and i love that! his drive is so admirable! and i just feel like after awhile that resilience is lost. the issue isn’t that Daffy is a loser, as he’s lost quite a bit before that—moreso, he doesn’t have that good humor about being a loser anymore

I’M ALMOST DONE I PROMISE. but my tags in that video post, as i said in them, i watched The Million Hare the other day which is a short i very much dislike. and it’s not really out of anger or “UUUURGH NOT MY DAFFY”, but moreso it just makes me SO. DAMN. DEPRESSED.

this is the most soul sucking image i’ve ever seen. i get genuinely sad that the cartoons have devolved to starting with “characters watching TV because they’re too bored to do anything, and Bugs just joins him”. no part of this is the resilient, impulsive, manic, pleasure seeking duck that carried us through the past few decades. and this certainly doesn’t represent the wily, impish, inciting rabbit of the past few decades either! Bugs has a greater excuse since i know there’s the pattern of his domestication and Jones’ rule of Bugs minding his own business before being provoked, etc. but man. this image just represents all of my problems with the later shorts and dynamics. the characters are hollow and so are the stories and the directors are checked out or moving onto greater things, and i think all of that just coagulates and manifests in the characters.

I HAVE SO MUCH MORE I CAN SAY but i’m finally realizing i’ve gone on way way way too long and don’t even know if i answered the question all that well LOL. don’t even get me started on “modern”interpretations of Daffy… [starts ranting about how TLTS killed my family for the 80th time as i’m gently lured into the nursing home].

BUT! to answer your question! i’m not really opposed to a more cynical and conceited duck because those traits have always been there, just in varying degrees of intensity. my ideal duck is definitely one locked in the ‘40s—Frank Tashlin and Bob Clampett’s Daffy have always been my favorite, but i’ve sort of adopted a coagulation of Art Davis, Bob McKimson, Norm McCabe and Friz Freleng’s duck as my mental default. i am extremely protective and loving and fanatical of Daffy, i love him more than any cartoon character and i resonate with him more than any cartoon character! i bet he too would also spend an hour typing up a diatribe on his character evolution and how he’s been sorely misrepresented. maybe. Daffy is one of the most varied characters of all time, and it’s really hard to pin him down for this reason. i like a duck that best has a bit of a balance between his traits, and i get more chafed when he’s made more narrow and transparent and just “flanderized” (for lack of a better word) to one or two tropes that then speak louder than his character. i prefer shorts that are more sympathetic and celebratory of Daffy rather than admiring how funny he is as a loser. which, he is funny! but IUNNO. i like a more upbeat and resilient and charming duck, and he can be all of these things later on, but it unfortunately does get fleeting

[beeduoo]

originnssssss who remembers origins i Loved origins

[menstits]

Turns out maybe ripping out my facial hair on a daily basis and picking at my face to the point of causing lesions is not normal

[callixton]

look martha has been my fave companion of the past almost ten years so obv having my little hyperfixation reignited is going to bring back my love for her too but it’s exacerbated by so many people being so wrong about her and her season. i would love to venture into the wider fandom instead of the five people i trust w her but every time i do that i am disappointed :(

[peppermintack]

show tempe gang crossover with the morris islanders would actually have been the best episode of bones ever. btw

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[kirbyddd]

[ratatatastic]

absolutely cackling at the idiot4idiot of them and poor benny having to deal with this catholic school omega bless his heart!! bobby’s “captain’s nice but not that nice” killed me because like. that’s so correct thank u can’t wait to see him be “not that nice”. in this au, i do also wanna consider lundy with a massive massive heart eyes crush on maffhew bc that’s adorable. and would be hilarious if maffhew catches onto that faster than he catches on to sasha’s end of things. every euro’s eye twitches in judgement

the more that gets added to this au the funnier it fucking gets truly like lets make it sooooooooooo much messier yeah babes lets really ramp it up i love the energy we're creating in the room right now

you spend your heat with your captain ONCE and you know all his secrets is all im saying... something about a terribly sweet man who makes sure not to be overbearing with his status/size/etc who will throw his weight around liberally if he's gone enough... bobby knows a little too well of how not nice cappy can be... or so the tale goes...

i was hoping someone was finally gonna ask about lundy so i can talk about baby alpha lundy in relation to the sashamatthew because oh BOY when i say everyone is fucking everyone i meant it oh god i meant it

lundy's really whipped for the tall bratty omega that pushes him around (luosty) but also have you considered that as a baby alpha new to the league, you've been confronted with the longstanding idea that alphas cannot be in the same pack unless there's bitching involved (which there are other ways to assert dominance that does not involve knotting an alpha like holding them down and biting their neck until they stop fighting would do the trick for most alphas who aren't super territorial but you know hockey league and everything I'm sure its a "this is the quickest and simplest solution lets nip it in the bud before it becomes a problem (insert the many amount of incidents that caused such a consensus to be made)" so it becomes embroiled in tradition but it does have the adverse effect of being a lot of As inadvertent awakenings as hockey is wont to do

anyways walk with me, youre a baby alpha and trying not to psych yourself out about whats about to happen, its your first knot and the only one youll have to take in your life (or so it goes) and then youre home-free. Sasha treats you sweetly because hes been in your position before he doesnt want this to be a terrible experience but somehow that makes it 10 times worse because hes treating you something like a lover when you're literally bent over a table in a random staff room in the bowels of the stadium with your gym shorts by your knees and none of this is supposed to be in anyway tender or sexy its supposed to be practical and methodical, a "lets get it over with and never think about it ever again" but sasha keeps checking in, soothing and gentling you when he notices you tense up as he preps you, warns you when his knot is starting to form and tells you to just breathe through it and when you inevitably start crying at the sheer size of it, of how overwhelming it is—which is already embarrassing enough in the presence of your pack leader—he just starts pressing against you more and you feel the rumble more than you hear it because hes purring and chat is it normal to pop a knot because your captain is fucking his own knot into you and also purring to calm you down like your one one of his omegas. no lundys never living this down. no sasha is also never letting him live it down when he finally realises whats happened because despite his knot finally going down lundy is still a little too eerily still on the table. this is the part where he limps off and nurses his own ego and sasha nudges at him till he finally turns over and well. thats new. and unexpected. and definitely something to nurse your ego over (he likes to bring it up when lundy's being mouthy like he isnt still just a pup because it shuts him up pretty effectively and sasha's favourite activity is bullying lundy yeah)

so you take your first knot, kinda really liked it and also guess what youre living in your pack leaders house (to be mentored, also because fellow countryman) as a double whammy so you can imagine what lundys first week after the knot-ining™ is like... very much a puppy tucking their tail between their legs…

The thing they don’t tell you after being knotted as an Alpha is the after. The after is so much worse than the before and definitely a lot better than the during—but resolutely a pretty resounding worse.

The before is pacing around the sterile staff room, sweat breaking out of every pore of your skin, trying to wrestle down the nervous yipping that’s desperately forming in his chest—Anton’s not a puppy anymore—and listening for the footsteps that are sure to come soon enough down that hall.

The during is when the only thing you have to focus on is the large foreign intrusion that has your hackles rising but your Captain gave you a choice; either you stay still on your own volition or he has to help you out stay still. He said it without a single ounce of judgement, a peace offering if you will—like he’s done it so many times before, holding down big Alphas by the neck while he feeds them his cock, knots them until they become passive again. It’s already enough that Anton was on his stomach because he didn't think he could bear looking Sasha in the eye while he—you know... but it does mean his brain is making all sorts of connections he shouldn't be making at a time like this, and they don’t because before long every single thought just becomes big, big, so big. Anton doesn't have the time or space to even remotely think about the implications that come with it, just that it’s happening. 

The after… 

Not much has changed in the after, there's no new hints to Sasha's scent that Anton can parse out (like so many Omegas have gushed to him about before), there’s no throbbing at his neck because Sasha hasn’t marked him (this wasn’t a romantic throe of passion, it was a simple means to an end, of course Sasha didn’t bite him), and there’s no… bond…

Perhaps that’s the part that has him particularly… off.

He walks through Sasha’s house like he’s haunting it. He’s surrounded by his scent, the cardamom that was overwhelming the first night he came home with Sasha after the… event that has him limping along a lot more than usual… it smells unobtrusive. He knows he should feel skittish being so deep in Sasha’s territory for lack of a better word, but, well, taking a knot does that to a guy. It’s not soothing, not yet at least, but it could be. It’s going to be—because this is his pack leader.

When his pack leader joins him in the kitchen, where Anton has been staring holes into the cabinets for the better part of minutes letting every single thought pass through him in waves, he doesn’t so much as bristle when Sasha brushes past him. When he bumps his shoulder, Anton feels a need to lean into the touch, and he does.

The surprised huff of laughter Sasha makes isn't mean spirited, it’s filled with so much delight it has Anton going practically boneless next to him, trying to get closer to the source of it.

“Move. You’re in the way,” Sasha shoves at him, breathy giggles pouring out of him when Anton doesn’t do that. “I need tea, move.”

Anton decidedly does not grumble but it’s a close thing that he doesn’t when he has to peel off enough Sasha so he can access the tins of tea he has in his cupboard. He’s sure he’s not supposed to be acting like this; the Alpha in him is quiet, still, breathless and waiting. Doesn’t know whether to roll over, wiggling playfully as he shows off his soft underbelly or puff up, snapping his jaws that he’s being herded around, that another Alpha is pushing him around.

It’s a good thing he doesn’t have to think about it though, because Sasha is here—he’s pack leader, he’ll decide whether this’ll become a problem or not. Whether Anton should be acting like this or not.

anyways i need to establish that background because it makes everything else really funny i promise. so congrats your mooning over your captain because he took your knot virginity, and also hes just a great individual you really admire and want to be like, hes taken you under his wing and treats you something like a little brother which is—which makes trying to not think of the knot-ining™ and distancing yourself away from it easier, and you do for the most part and you think you have it under control i mean its been years its fine its very easy to willfully ignore attraction for admiration 

and entering from stage left is the fun flirty omega who clearly has thing for sasha too whos also your stall-mate and whether its because lundy is easily susceptible to gaining huge admiration crushes on anything that breathes (yes obviously) or because maffhew really is just that charming (also yes) he does imprint on him in the same way when you havent realised youre bi yet and you have a crush on this girl and then you find she has boyfriend and then you see her with the boyfriend and realise oh god hes hot too and you end up crushing on them as a couple instead 

And maffhew being maffhew when it doesnt involve his own feelings does notice that the alpha next to him as been giving him looks, stares at his neck when he thinks he can get away with it, turns away quickly in a nervous fluster when matthew gives him a coy smile that says I caught you. Like what you see? 

maffhew love messing with lundy a little too much, likes cooing at him after a good game, likes ruffling his hair messing it up in ways lundy protests about but can’t do much when it’s maffhew doing it. And lundy’s cute of course he is, it’s endearing to have an alpha this obvious in their interest (cue sighing from everyone involved in this clown show) and well maybe matthew doesn’t do anything to stop it either, maybe makes it worse actually. leaves his equipment strewn about so it spills over to lundys stall because he's messy of course theres a nuclear spill of cinnamon on lundy's side and suspiciously not on bennys, maybe he's more obnoxious when he leads warmup stretches in practise, makes sure he's not facing lundy so he can get a good look of the view of him on his knees—it certainly does help lundy is always next to sasha so if they both get a nice look well maffhew considers it killing two birds with one stone, its just efficient.

the euros of course see this and stare at lundy like "you. you are the problem" except when luosty says it hes cackling with delight, losing his absolutely shit at the mess lundy has managed to get himself involved with

and im not saying two giggling omegas is a cause for concern but lundy does start sweating profusely when he sees matthew and luosty getting a little too buddy buddy after practise because luosty knows him a little too well and nothing but trouble can come from that.

And if youre wondering what sasha is feeling about matthew getting cozy with lundy like oh hes feeling jealous—no, its a “I’m so glad matthew has TWO alphas on this team he can turn to if he needs to it makes me happy hes integrating himself so well into our pack even if it means he doesnt turn to me for dynamic reasons because it is not my place to encroach on a omega’s free will to choose how they spend their heats because that’s a dangerous line of thought and as pack leader i respect all members of my pack as long as their decisions dont pose a risk to our pack as a whole :)” 

“Why isn’t he jumping my bones by now!?” Matthew whines out for the millionth time this week it seems.

Sam remains quiet for a bit, watching as Matthew makes a mess of his couch rolling about it like he is, before he opens his mouth, “I feel like you would benefit so much from a college level Introduction to Dynamics Studies class.”

“Yeah, what makes you say that?”

“No reason. Just that there’s a community college downtown that I drove by this morning. They’re offering classes, you know.”

“Hey, man, I appreciate the shout, I do. But can we, like, stay on topic?”

“No, yeah, of course, I get it. Let’s go back to Sasha not being attracted to your very fertile and breedable pheromones you’ve been sending out like a billboard in the middle of the desert that it’s honestly a miracle you haven’t been pupped up by now.”

“Thank you.” Matthew says gratefully before he pauses, eyes narrowing, “I have a feeling you’re being a little bitchy about this.”

“I’m always bitchy.” Sam snorts.

“Correction. More bitchy than usual.” Matthew stares at Sam for a bit before his lips quirk up, the startings of that shit-eating grin he always has on his face making an appearance, “What? Don’t tell me you’re jealous? Aww, Benny! Babe, you’re always my first choice in As. I didn’t think I needed to say it but maybe I should more often if you’re—”

“Matthew. Shut up.”

“No, no, maybe my very fertile and breedable pheromones will soothe your bruised Alpha ego.”

The “Fuck off,” levels at Matthew doesn’t have the effect it should because he’s laughing, the words chased by giggles. It doesn’t help that Matthew’s already trying to wriggle onto his lap while Sam halfheartedly tries to shove him off.

“Let me soothe you, Alpha!” Matthew’s moaning it in the same way those cheesy 80s VHS pornos think is remotely sexy and not just a boner killer. He’s making his voice reedy and saccharine sweet to really sell the image all while he’s grabbing at the back of Sam’s head to push it into his neck.

“You’re such a dick.” It’s mumbled as shoved into his neck as Sam is.

“Yeah, well, you are too.” Matthew chirps like it's a complement. And to him—to both of them it is.

…

“You know I love you, right?”

Sam sighs, “Yeah. Love you too.”

[la0hu]

masha broke a bowl by accident in the kitchen and when i brought her the broom and dustpan and asked her if she was okay, she looked at me, straight-faced, and said, "no, i'm not okay." and then i realized she meant that she still feels emotionally abused by the house somehow, and i felt a flash of anger because i am so sick of her shit, and i rephrased, "are you physically injured?" and she gave me another look and said "i'm physically okay." and then when connie asked from her room "what's going on?" masha replied "nothing new." like fuck off ohhhhhhhh my god

[northwestofinsanity]

Band Incorrect Quote/Scenario -“I Love My Job…” (Hospital AU)

Well, with an incorrect-quote-worthy event at work, here’s another cursed extended band incorrect scenario in the cursed veterinary hospital AU with Styx and Squeeze… This time, rather than the mixed bunch in “Frencho Fryo Time”, or Squeeze by themselves as with the Daylight Savings time, this one features Styx by themselves, and the situation brings out their dramatic dynamic!

-It’s 10:00 AM, and a drug label has come back from reception to the pharmacy lab for the assistant team to refill a patient’s script of liquid furosemide*-

[*This is a diuretic medication, often used to prevent or remove fluid buildup around the heart and lungs (effusion), most commonly for patients in later stage heart disease]

Tommy Shaw: *Sees the label* “Is this a compound? There’s no recipe label printed.”

JY: “No, if you go in the cabinet above Dr. R’s desk, that one is pre-made in a solution, because it’s really unstable if we compound it in-house. All you have to do is just get a syringe and pull out however many cc’s the label says it’s for.”

Tommy Shaw: *Goes and looks in the cabinet* “JY, I can’t find it!”

JY: *Comes in, and finds the two boxes of it, unopened, but on the top shelf, and turned around so the labels face the back of the cabinet, unfortunately positioned in a way that set Tommy up for failure finding it* “There it is.” *Pulls one box down, and flips the other around.*

Tommy Shaw: “Really? Up there, turned around?”

JY: “I don’t know who put it away like that. It’s not supposed to be put away like that. Anyway, do you still want to fill it, or do you want me to fill it?”

Tommy Shaw: “I’ve never filled that one, but it seems easy enough, so I probably should.”

JY: “Okay. It’s not really any different than if you were doing the Cisapride solution.”

Tommy Shaw: *Perks up* “Oh, okay! Yeah, I can do that!”

JY: *Has an odd feeling that something is going to go wrong, despite the fact that Tommy has filled quite a few scripts before and that he usually has faith in Tommy to do things right, so he stays in the pharmacy hall in hopes he can be there to prevent whatever is about to go wrong*

-Less than two minutes later- Tommy Shaw: *Has gotten the compounding bottle and syringe adapter tops at the ready, and is in the process of pulling the correct amount out of the stock bottle. As he is, he’s to get the syringe plunger to pull back due to the viscous nature of the furosemide solution.  On autopilot, he disconnects the syringe and pulls some air into it, then puts it into the adapter top to create some extra air in the bottle to keep the plastic walls from getting sucked inward as the solution is pulled out, but forgets in his auto-pilot mode that he has a rather large, 25cc syringe, rather than a tiny 3 or 1cc syringe, thus, having the plunger pulled nearly halfway back with air is a lot more than usual.  He starts to push the air into the bottle*

JY: *Does a double take, realizing after 5 cc’s what Tommy is unknowingly doing, and can see the sides of the bottle starting to bow outward* “Oh, don’t do that-!”

-Instantly, before anyone can even respond to JY’s warning, the air pressure in the bottle pushes the syringe adapter top out of the bottle neck and causes the solution to spray out of the bottle, across Tommy’s chest and arms, in his face, and all over the countertop and everything on it.  It’s on the wall between the counter and the overhead cabinets, on the cabinet doors, and all over the lab sample tubes in the basket on the counter, as well as in the open box of microscope slides, and soaked into the towel that various bottles of cleaner and lab solvents sit on to protect the counter top from any leaks-

Dennis, John, and Chuck: *All gasp super loud*

Tommy Shaw: *Freezes with a look on his face of being a hundred percent done with everything as he sets the bottle down, which now only has about a quarter of the medication volume left in it, and wipes the droplets that are dangerously close to his eyes*

Dennis DeYoung: *Looks like he’s about to say something, or rather, shout something at Tommy*

JY: *Puts his hands up and very sternly shakes his head at Dennis, then turns and gives John and Chuck a similar warning look* “Don’t say anything...”

Tommy Shaw: *Inhales deeply with a wheeze and lets out a groaning sigh*

John Panozzo: *Walks out of the pharmacy hallway, because he’s trying hard not to laugh and knows he’s going to lose the battle*

Tommy Shaw: “I… don’t even know what I expected would happen when I did that… I don’t know why I did that… or what I was even thinking.” *Sighs again, setting the syringe and bottle down on the counter, and puts his hands down at his sides in defeat*

JY: *Grabbing some hand towels and rags out of the closet in the hallway* “Okay… it’s alright… we’ve got the other bottle.  We’ll just clean all this up, use what we’ve got left in this one before opening the other, and we’ll let Alan Gratzer know that one of the bottles spilled and we’re on our last one.  He doesn’t even have to know how it happened.”

Dennis DeYoung: *Eyes wide* “What do you mean he doesn’t-!?”

JY: *Trying so hard not to sigh in a way that sounds annoyed as he is* “Tommy, if you don’t have a spare shirt in your car, there’s that whole bin of spares in the bathroom.  Please go wash that off and get changed, and we can make sure that goes in the next load of laundry.”

Tommy Shaw: *Looks alarmed* “Is this one of those drugs that are bad if you touch it?”

JY: “No, it doesn’t have effects on skin contact -and even if it did, it would only be an issue if you have blood pressure trouble.  But you don’t need to be walking around covered in it.”  *Waits until Tommy goes off before turning to Dennis* “I just said, it is NOT that big a deal, and Alan has WAY too much to do with tracking inventory -as long as nobody is stealing or consuming the drugs, he DOES NOT CARE how it happened.  He just needs to know that we made a mistake, some was lost, and we need to order more.  End of story!”

Chuck Panozzo: *Looks between both of them* “BYE.”  *Walks off, and with the power of suggestion, goes back to the laundry room to see where the cycle is at and if he can make sure Tommy’s scrub top gets in the next load*

Dennis DeYoung: “Fine, then.”  *Walks away toward treatment*

JY: *Groans to self as he sprays and wipes off the main part of the counter, then goes to get the other bottle of that particular medication solution so that he can fill the script and have that part over with before dealing with the more details areas that got splashed, deciding in his head that he’ll leave most of it for Tommy to clean when he gets back, but will deal with the tedious process of washing all the microscope slides and drying them so they don’t have water stains or streaks* “Ohh, I love my job, I love my job, I love my job… I do love my job. And my coworkers…”

[lesbianpegbar]

also they’ve loooooooved saying how much lu guang is mentally mature and beyond his years and acts like an old man this season what’s that about huh 🤨

[running-in-the-dark]

alright, I'm going to bed - well I'm already in bed, but I've been drawing. buuut Freddie keeps jumping on the desk and chewing on things, so I have to get up every minute or so and it's happened at least 10 times and I'm just annoyed as hell so I'm giving up and going to sleep.

annnnd of course now that I'm lying down the cats are fighting. on my feet. ouch.

[fingertipsmp3]

Just remembered another fucked up paint story (will put in tags because idk I like talking in tags more than actually in the post)

[akilair]

anytime i see anything ship related my evil evil gay brain goes “could be us could be us could be us”. literally CALM DOWN