#what a whimsical name for a medication

[measureformeasure]

i'll be perfect once they up my lyrica

[marlynnofmany]

Names Chosen Carefully

I swung into the spaceship’s kitchen with plans to grab a snack before unpacking the bags from our latest supply run, but I paused. Coals was there showing Eggskin a screen of color swatches, and it didn’t look like a menu. Could have been something medical, since Eggskin handled both the feeding and the healing of the crew, though the conversation I’d walked in on said no.

“Vehicles are an option, but I don’t know what kind are popular there,” Coals said. He acknowledged me with a nod. “And an unfavorable skimmer model would be almost as bad as an activity that’s culturally iffy.”

Eggskin was nodding thoughtfully, tapping a claw against their lizardy chin. “The activities are probably easier to research. But I do think that either a generalized space theme or something referring to home would be the way to go.”

“Yeah, but which?” Coals asked with a sigh, staring at the handscreen. “Space might be too common, or trying too hard, and home stuff might not make sense to anyone there, including the kids.”

I must have looked like a confused dog, standing there with my head cocked. Coals took pity on me. “My cousin wants advice on what to name his clutch when it hatches,” he said, holding out the handscreen. Up close, I could see that each color swatch was scales. “This is their best guess about the likely colors.”

“Ohh,” I said. “Got it.”

Eggskin asked Coals, “Are they familiar with nearly-hatched eggs, and color distortion? Many new parents guess wrong.”

I reflected that Eggskin, whose full name was “Skin of the Egg that is Translucent and Ready to Hatch,” had probably thought about the concept pretty often. Their own scale color looked more like boogers than any egg I’d ever seen, but I’d never been privy to a Heatseeker hatching. I assume other colors would show through.

Coals nodded his brick-red snout. “They live near family. Plenty of chances to observe. And he’s been there for brainstorming names on the ol’ home planet, and his mate has too, but that’s not very helpful now.” He glanced up at me. “They just moved to a space station.”

“Are there not many Heatseekers there?” I asked.

“A few, but it’s a very intercultural place. That’s why they wanted my opinion, since I travel around so much. Thought I might have some valuable insights.”

I leaned against a counter, trying not to loom. “What have you got so far?”

Coals sighed deeply. “A lot of doubts. References to home could be great, but they might just be confusing to everyone. What kind of names would you expect to hear with these?” He showed me the screen again.

I was about to object that I was hardly an expert on Heatseeker names, then the palest one caught my eye and I laughed. “Humans would nickname that one Popcorn,” I said, pointing at the white-and-yellow image.

“Popcorn?” Coals looked at it. “What is—”

“It’s food,” I said. “A popular snack from Earth. I wouldn’t expect that to be anybody’s real name though; it’s much too whimsical and silly. Well. At least with my cultural background.”

Coals and Eggskin both looked at the colors without saying anything for a long moment. Then Coals turned the screen to me again. “Would humans of your background have food associations for the others too?”

“Well,” I said, wondering whether I was just hungry. “That one looks exactly like mint chip ice cream. Oh, and that one’s cookie & cream.” They really were; it was uncanny. “I didn’t know you guys had scale patterns with that many speckles.”

“You should see my cousin,” Coals said. “He looks like a starfield. His mate is a simple dark maroon, though. Between the two of them, the genetics are all over the place. What about these other three?”

I looked at the brown-with-red, the yellow-speckled-brown, and the deep purple. “Red velvet cake, dijon mustard, and plum. Or maybe grape. But that doesn’t make as good of a nickname. You aren’t actually going to suggest these, are you? Naming the kids after another planet’s food seems like everyone might expect them all to be familiar with that planet. Pretty sure a couple of those foods might actually be poisonous to you, too.” I flicked a glance at Eggskin, who was thankfully nodding in agreement.

“Naming a child after a toxic foreign food would do them no favors,” Eggskin said. “An adult might wear such a name proudly, but I would fully expect a youth to be pressured into eating their namesake at some point, especially if they lived somewhere it was readily found.”

I nodded too, looking to Coals.

“But,” Coals said. “It doesn’t have to be foreign food.”

I started to ask what he meant, then suddenly remembered a bit of cultural trivia. “It’s good luck to name spaceships after food, right? Does that go for people too?”

Eggskin chuckled while Coals stared intently at the colors. “It can,” Eggskin said. “It’s rather bold, though. An audacious claim that a set of parents can confer enough luck on all their offspring for them to always have food available. Very daring.” They looked at Coals with an amused expression, which Coals didn’t look up to see.

“That fits my cousin surprisingly well,” he said instead.

I smiled. “Are there Heatseeker foods that would fit these colors?”

“I can think of several.” Coals changed the screen to a text field and began typing. “This is perfect. Thank you so much.”

“Happy to help!” I said.

Eggskin suggested, “Be sure to remind them they should research any food they’re considering, and find out what associations their new neighbors are likely to have. Some things translate terribly.”

“No kidding!” I laughed, standing up and moving toward the snack cabinet. “I still remember the spaceships Worm Jerky and Raw Flesh.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[dustedmagazine]

Hectorine — Arrow of Love (Take a Turn)

Photo by Emily Dulla

“These Hills,” the third song on Arrow Of Love, is a lament and a hymn. Sarah Gagnon’s articulate vocal has a mourning glow, lending a tight, timeless theatricality to lyrics like “as I wander ‘neath the redwood trees, the birds still sing your song.” Her mellotron flute and co-producer Geoff Saba’s lucid 12-string guitar picking provide a shimmering plain to explore. The song, like the album, is ornate without being baroque and whimsical without affectation. This is precise and dramatic, yet conjured and dreamy music, delivered with devotion.

The katabasis of Inanna, a Mesopotamian goddess of love and war is the album’s conceptual, though not textually explicit, structure. Fittingly, Arrow of Love begins deep in purgatorial heartbreak with “Is Love an Illusion.” It isn’t styled as a question, but contains several: “is it my fault I loved you with closed eyes?...were you laughing at my tears as I laid down and cried?” The track is appropriately probing, with sleek rays of synthesizer, a riffling, plinking marimba and eddying guitar. “Heart Of Stone” digs up more questions, this time for the narrator (“I don’t wanna keep on walking down this road alone/but what else can I do?”), and unsatisfactory medical opinions (“they told me that if I just wait a while my heart would calcify.”) The song is another that pulses with marimba and has one of the record’s quicker tempos on muted, efficient drumming, forceful bass and spurring horns. A fresh, starry guitar solo from Max Shanley provides lift, even as the narrator wrestles down the weight of her possibly petrified vascular system. It’s a showcase for Gagnon’s vocal dexterity — note the way she glides on “goes down” and “stone” and warbles the end of “what else can I do?”

Heavy bass tones and a sighing organ infuse Gagnon’s warm but melancholy performance on “No Hallelujah.” The relation to Leonard Cohen is less in the title and more in her resonant pronunciation, the way she draws great strands of melody from nearly spoken lines like “I had to prove my holiness/as no man ever had.” The storytelling, the pacing of the doomed hero’s journey — embodied Joan of Arc, in this case — is reminiscent of Jana Horn’s “Jordan.” In both songs, the steady, repeating instrumentation gives the narrative an inescapable forward motion.

“No Hallelujah” is one of two songs that hint at the inciting deity’s violent side, where armor is donned and swords are hoisted in the name of love (or against it). The other is the title track, where Jon Wujcik’s drum kit kicks and clicks with the sense of a slow-developing dancefloor, or, if you like, trots like the horse on which the narrator is saddled, “steel from head to toe.” When the unexpected projectile slams through “the…iron rings around [her] heart” it’s not a source of joy but confusion: “pierced by the arrow of love/and now I don’t know what to do…I don’t know if your heart will be true.” Wasn’t that supposed to be impenetrable? Still, it’s something new, perhaps a light back to the surface. And as Saba’s saxophone winds through a brief blister of lead guitar, there’s a measure of hope in the rolling bassline and the tone of Gagnon’s voice.

The splashy 12-string strokes and empathic drum fills of  “Take a Chance with Me” suggest that hope, expressed, might be rewarded. Early on, the electric piano line shadows the melody of “I’ll Be Your Mirror” and “Take a Chance with Me” is also a proposal: a little optimistic, necessarily a little grandiose and desperate too. Here, Gagnon sounds uninhibited, going full-force towards a future she sees in “eyes…like the sea after a storm.” If “Take a Chance with Me” sounds like a triumphant reemergence from the underworld, then “Slip Through My Fingers” sounds like the cautious and always dangerous looking back. It’s a stately conclusion thanks to Saba’s silver harpsichord and Wujcik’s deliberate, unshowy beat, with lyrics grounded in determined acceptance. “Which way the tide will turn, we’ll never know” is a far cry from the “for the record” annunciation of lovelessness on “Everybody Says.” But armed this time with the knowledge of what she can and cannot control, contra “Everybody Says,” it seems our hero may love again, after all.

Alex Johnson

[sunny-reacts-to-stuff]

tma 28 "skintight"

body horror, medical, darkness, ghosts, abandoned buildings, breaking and entering, skinning, physical violence, people being uncanny, smoking

more skinning

FUCK NEW SPEAKER I CANT READ THE TRANSCRIPT

okay here we go

okay girlies i hate to defend jon here but you guys have to stop being so mean about his tape recorder. god forbid a guy is feeling analog

paranormal institution beef, okay

research and investigation are synonyms, jon, hope this helps (i know its not exactly the same)

"you take any ridiculous story, from any drugged-up, dreaming, traumatised idiot off the street." don't remind him, he is so over it

GET HER ASS JONATHAN

"CHANCES ARE VERY STRONG I WON'T BELIEVE YOU EITHER" i will allow it this time jon YOU GO

2 weeks since sasha

i wonder how he ended up with this job if he so clearly doesn't believe paranormal stuff that much

to be fair, jon, breaking in into an abandoned building is the least illegal thing of all the illegal things you've heard recently

thanks jon for asking for full names

can you say antonia's name more confidently

i am SO SURE sarah is on the list

ABDUCTED BY ANGLERFISH 2006 BUT THIS HAPPENED IN 2015 OH MY FUCKING GODS I AM SO HAPPY I MADE THIS LIST (if this is a coincidence i'll kms)

i am so sure resurrection is a thing in this universe. also that and like entities parasiting bodies/body swapping and stuff. like i won't be surprised if suddenly sarah is anglerfish-coded now

sarah you are so suspicious looking

SHE SMOKES ITS GOTTA BE ANGLERFISH SARAH

“silk will not stitch the butcher’s meat” ehhhhhh mind immediately goes to toby and mary but i cant make any better relation

NOOO SARA YOU WERE WEIRD BUT THATS A HEAVY BLOW

she did what with her what

SHE STAPLED IT BACK ON???

"your field" MY BROTHER THAT'S YOUR FIELD AS WELL

jon my brother may i suggest that you or any of your beautiful and way more whimsical than you assistants start A FUCKING DATABASE

[smilepilled]

hello. here you'll be seeing some serious warnings about this account; please see this as something adjancent, but separate / different from a DNI-BYI list. i will use this post to personally keep track of things i am supportive of and against.

IN FAVOR OF

authentic self identification — goodfaith; clashing labels, contradictory labels, xenogenders, neopronouns, titles, using labels that confuse people, microlabels, mashup labels like sleepy lesbian/grouchy bisexual/whimsical gay etc, neopronouns/xenopronouns, and the like

humane paraphile recovery for those with dangerous paralhilias. i dont think killing people will help

contact for safe paras (innanimate objects for example); or other contact that involves CONSENT & SAFETY for the people involved (fiction, roleplay, etc.).

being part of multiple different subcultures (gyaru, goth, mandrake, punk, etc)

the re-estructurization of the medical field through infiltration > filtration > perfection, instead of demolishing and destroying it. some people depend on it

giving black people their autonomy and respecting them for creating so much of the culture in the world. respecting aspects of black culture without co-opting it (AAVE is a common example, but many others are out there)

telling cops and feds to suck on it crazy style

intersex people being de-pathologized and the inclusive definition of intersex; perisex people having to shut up and listen

the FULL de-association of sex and gender— or at the very least, people coming to a understanding that sex is not the only thing that affects gender-based treatment and experiences.

riots and violent protests (with focus on unionizing and fellowship. dont post it online, dont answer questions, stay safe)

coping with fiction in private without exposing it to potential triggerees or minors / creating online spaces for such without advertising it for minors to be included in it. MINORS DON'T BELONG WITH NSFW

nuance & working with what one realistically has in order to achieve peace within one's own life & circumstances

AGAINST THE FOLLOWING

policing identities — e.g.: safequeers/ "anti goodfaith", a hefty amount of queer exclusivity discourse [save for cultural exclusivities and such], gender-sex association/trans-centric bioessentialism, etc.

the (mis)use of AFAB & AMAB as "female" and "male" in any sense at all, because these terms are rooted in intersex genital mutilation and bioessentialism from doctors — please use these terms instead: ONE (link), TWO (link).

radicalized "liberalism" — e.g.: radicalized feminism, trans exclusionist "queer liberation", intersexist "trans liberation", sex-gender villification ("all men are evil", "boys will be boys", "women are all fake", etc.), idolatry of "leftist" political figures, etc.)

syscourse & fakeclaiming — anti endo rethoric namely; i am against the blind usage of the DSM to bind people's health issues or other similar experiences due to how the psych sector is still MAJORLY tainted by eugenics and sexism. forcing people to remember trauma is dangerous and you should care less about this. i have OSDD{1A} and it does not concern me if someone uses this or that term for what they have going on. endogenic is a community label, not a medical term!

the idea that feminism inherently excludes masculine people, men, people with male/masculine genders, wolffipathian individuals or anyone who isn't an "adult human female". feminism is inherently intersectional, feminism is for everyone.

any sort of bioessentialism; eugenics, ableism/sanism, intersexism, "all males are evil" rad BS, and the like.

the separation of the queer community & intra communities (the "LGB" without the T groups, lesbian separatism/gold star lesbianism/similar lesbexclus movements, intersex de-queering, trans sex-essentialism, and many more similar cases)

praising politicians and treating them as saviours — none of these crusty elderly folk will ever give a decent damn about us. they use us for political gain and power

the focus on attacking perpetrators/abusers instead of shoeing support and care for a victim. i don't trust anyone who immediately reacts to a person being a victim by wanting to hurt their abuser INSTEAD OF SUPPORTING THE VICTIM.

the public and untagged/unfiltered posting of taboo/"dead dove" fiction that may very well cause harm to folks nearby — e.g.: consensual abuse or taboo roleplay posts with no filterable tags or warnings, being a public 100% open account while posting such things, not being responsible about the content you consume/reshare/create, etc.

the glorification & normalization of contact/acting on paraphilias that involve non-consenting parties (animals, children, corpses, etc.); exclusively where harm is done to real beings, alive or not, intelligent or not, human or not.

most of any ship related discourse. i dont care about your headcanon about any character or pairing, keep ot to yourself. i dont care if you ship those characters. some of you lack in common sense and literacy

puritism culture — e.g.: "sexuality is bad", anti-kink rethoric in queer spaces, demonizing taboo fantasies, prioritizing fictional characters' comforts over real life people, etc.

anti-recovery ideals — radiqueer/xenosatanist ideLs, pro-c for harmful or dangerous paras, the promotion of any self harm, encouraging delusions AND/OR forcefully reality checking delusions, ed/sh online spaces, "one size fits all" 'recovery'... and the like.

the idea that people's brains are different with basis on their sex, gender, race, religion, culture or the like — these ideas are rooted in inhumane sciences/eugenics, [inter]sexism, mysogyny, racism, and a lot more putrid things that are similar.

communists that overly focus on theology and philosophy instead of immediate action for the sake of community and union (+ USSR bootlickers/communist party ball-fondlers. these are politicians. they did not love or care about ANY minority)

flag discourse — toothpaste flag, aroace "pisspool" flag, and similar; this does not apply to genuine criticism against flags such as the misogynistic racist's stolen lipstick flag OR the racist person's bigender flag

thank you for reading. i only really care about topics that truly cause harm, so please dont worry about anything else unlisted — but if you do worry outaide of your control, feel free to send me a DM or an ask about it, and i'll answer you privately if possible. good day to you ♥︎

[viola-verse]

Get to know Viola

*Songs and albums names are made up and not actual songs. Everything here is fictional.

Main Masterlist | Kprofile | Background | More Facts - coming soon

Viola Kwon ❨ Kwon Ha-Neul; born Dec 26th 1993 ❩, is a Korean-New Zealand former singer and dancer. Born in Wellington New Zealand, she lived there until she was 9 when she moved to her father’s hometown in South Korea. She was a member of the k-pop girl group Le Fleurs that disbanded three years after they debuted in 2014. After much convincing from Hybe/Big Hit and a lot of encouragement from her friends and family, she debuted as a solo artist in 2023. 

BASICS:

Birth Name: Viola Ha-Neul Kwon 

Korean Name: 권하늘 (Kwon Ha-Neul) 

Stage Name: Viola 

Birthdate: Dec 26th, 1993 

Birthplace: Wellington, New Zealand 

Nationality: Korean-New Zealand 

Zodiac Sign: Capricorn 

MBTI: INFJ 

Hobbies: photography, crocheting, painting, writing, gaming, looking up useless facts, going to the beach

APPEARANCE:

Height: 164cm ❨ 5’3" ❩ 

Weight: 45kg ❨ 101lbs ❩ 

Hair Color: Brunette (natural), does occasionally dye her hair.

Eye Color: Brown 

Piercings: She only has her ears pierced. She doesn’t wear earrings often. 

Tattoos: She has a 7 in roman numerals on her wrist, because it's her favourite number and what she thinks is her lucky number.

Unique Features: She has a light scattering of freckles across her nose which are easily seen when she’s not wearing makeup. Fox-like eyes, heart shaped lips and small ears.  

Medical Conditions: Migraines, she broke her ankle three years after debuting, social anxiety

FAMILY: 

Parents: Kwon Myung-Dae & Jessica Nelsen (Divorced - 1998), step-mother Kim Na-eun (married Myung-dae in 2001), step-father Brad Smith, married Jessica in 2012)

Siblings: a younger brother and a younger half-sister. Seong-Yu (2003) and Georgia (2016). 

Other Relatives: Kwon Soonyoung (Hoshi) from SEVENTEEN is her cousin. Their dads are brothers. They are super close and act more like siblings and best friends than cousins. They’re often seen together and are pretty much everyone’s favorite cousin duo.

LIKES & DISLIKES:

Likes:

Colours: Black & Green are her favourite colours but she also likes blue, purple, peacock, teal.

Food: Pasta, beef, pavlova, strawberries, sweet and sour wontons, lemon chicken, fish & chips, mochi ice cream, spicy ramen, salads, korean fried chicken, hot chips (fries), soup, anything Yoongi cooks.

Drinks: Soju, Jack Daniels, Bacardi, peach iced tea, green tea, herbal teas, water, Dr. Pepper.

Music/Bands/Singers: BTS and their solo music, The Rose, Seventeen, Stray Kids, Ateez, TXT, Le Sserafim, Twice, Jessi, Hwasa, Blackpink and their solo music and many more. She's also a big fan of heavy rock music and listens to it every time she works out or needs physical motivation. She has Halestorm, Nightwish, Pantera, Metallica, and others on her playlist. Some of her favourite groups and singers of all time are Fleetwood Mac, Queen, The Eagles & Stevie Ray Vaughn. She also loves the older music and was raised on it.

Seasons: Summer & Spring. In New Zealand she's a summer baby.

TV Shows: She watches mostly K-Dramas. She loves the psychological crime thrillers the most. Mouse, Mr. Plankton, Squid Games, Missing: The Other Side, The Uncanny Counter, Hi Bye, Mama, Bulgasal Immortal Souls, Bloodhounds, Move to Heaven, Taxi Driver. She'll watch anything with Lee Je-Hoon in it.

Dislikes:

Colours: Orange

Food: bags of mixed veges, corn, peas, pumpkin, potato in the form of anything but fries, sweet potato. She's very much a texture eater. She doesn't look mushy foods.

Drinks: Coffee, hot chocolate

Seasons: Winter, she hates feeling cold.

Will add more when I think of them.

IDOL CAREER: 

Group Debut:

Group Name: Le Fleurs  

Fandom Name: Bouquets  

Company: Big Hit/Hybe 

Debut Date: 16th Jan 2014 

Disband Date: 09th Sept 2017

Number Of Members: 5 

Concept: Fantasy - fairy-like, sweet, innocent, whimsical 

Debut Album Name: Flower Garden - 2 versions - Flora & Fauna 

Debut Song: Flowers. 

The Most Popular Song: I'll be her. 

Members:   

Lee Jun-Ha/Aster (1992 - leader/rapper)  

Lee Su-Jo/Daisy (1992 - rapper/songwriter),  

Kwon Ha-Neul/Viola (1993 - main dancer/songwriter/vocal),  

Seo Na-Mi/Poppy (1995 - main vocalist/visual),  

Kim Eun-Sa/Lily (1996 - maknae/dance line) 

Solo Debut: 

Stage Name: Viola 

Fandom Name: Violettes 

Company: Big Hit/Hybe 

Debut Date: 3rd Feb 2023

Concept: Changes every comeback

Debut Album Name: Self-titled - Viola

Debut Song: Welcome Home

The Most Popular Song: It's My Turn

©️2025 @viola-verse & @dancinglikebutterflywings - Do not copy. modify and/or repost anywhere.

[northernyogurt]

Oh my gosh! I'd love to hear more of your thoughts on Finn/Jake/Piers please!

Btw I did a quick look and it looks like there's a fic for that throuple ship on AO3, so other people seem to enjoy it too! I really wish there were a lot more content for them though. 😭

They're such a good ship!

WHEN I TELL YOU. I RUSHED TO READ THAT FIC. I GOT SO SO EXCITED I'VE BEEN STARVING FOR FOOD FOR JAKINNIERS FOR LIKE TWO YEARS AND IT'S FINALLY HAPPENED!!!!! i seriousluy feel like im going to have a meltdown im so excited i've written several things of my own on these three i just never really finish things or get them to a point where i feel good enough to publish them? i have tons of things hidden away but one day maybe they'll be finished one i was working on was some sort of fun and whimsical lawyer-esque au? where the BSAA was actually a law firm located in raccoon city and were in the middle of a long lawsuit on albert wesker/tricell for medical malpractice/unethical practices or something akin to that. and chris had taken a few people from his team on a vacation in LA to keep spirits up and have some fun, and there finn and piers (being pretty close in the firm, at that point) would get lost and meet jake, a (currently) LA 'resident' thug who knew the streets pretty well and helped them get around. i still like the concept and i've been thinking of returning but jojo brainworms are overtaking me so it's been rough to do anything resident evil related (but i may return for a short while just to get some jakinniers shit out cuz i miss them) actual rambling under the cut v

but like as for in actuality, aka the string of events ive actually procured; in of course an everyone-lives au, i imagine finn to be the one to get jake and piers to set their differences aside and bring the three of them together, in a sense. piers and finn weren't super close before the ambush in edonia, though piers still cared for finn marginally as he would any other soldier. it wasn't until they were both in recovery in a BSAA-owned lab for rehabilitating bioweapons that they actually became close with one another. they're both in there until about 2014, thanks to jake's blood being the key to manufacturing some kind of "cure", or at least something to satiate or cut off the effects of the c-virus. finn has a lot longer to go than piers - seeing as he was hit with a more crude, destructive version of the virus - but they're both stable, and that's what matters. they attend the 2014 rewards ceremony for their bravery in edonia. finn doesn't see jake there-- sherry says he didn't want to go, didn't want to make the trip, which is.. fair enough. he's still upset for a reason piers cannot understand. but in 2015, chris holds a christmas party, which is something he likes to do often. by now, piers and finn are in some sort of weird situationship that finn wants to put a name to, but piers won't budge, unwilling to admit his fear of commitment to something like a relationship. regardless they attend this party together and, lo and behold, that ginger fuck shows up. piers is greatly upset, wondering how the hell he'd be allowed when he literally shot the host of the party in 2012, but chris actually seems okay with it, so he can push aside his anger for now and let it go, just wanting to get this social event over with, aaand great finn is going to literally talk to him. amazing finn actually just wants to thank jake for what he's done, and jake is like, reasonably a bit awkward and confused, having had his cute little character arc where he's like not a bad person now, but somehow the conversation turns and they hit it off. hooray! that's how that happens. now within a few weeks finn is juggling two odd situationships at once and loves both of them but can't exactly just admit that because that would mean "choosing", or at least that's how he sees it this is getting a bit long so im going to try and speed-explain: jake pops into finn's place at some point to give him something, piers is there. cue awkwardness and tension. something snaps, piers goes off, is very upset to see jake is hanging around piers's boyfriend-not-boyfriend-technical-situationship-thingy, they talk things out after an almost-argument and discover they actually aren't too different. relationships between the three of them develop over a few months, but nothing official because nobody is really sure how to go about this, then on a semi-drunken night jake is like "what if we were just all together at once i hate monogamy" and?? they just slowly start calling each other their boyfriend. of course they don't come out to anyone for a while (but everyone has known lmao) happily ever after huzzah! that's such a quick explanation of something that in my mind is so intricate i don't really know how else to squash that down while still keeping key points. there's so much to it and i imagine it'd be a VERY slow burn that all of them get frustrated about at points (especially finn, being the most eager to actually jump into an official title of their weird relationship, but the other two being a lot more on the fence about it) you just have to trust me might go into this more and if you have any specific questions i would LOVE TO ANSWER. i love talking about them very much and all the different aus/ideas i have in my head

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time Two: Electric Boogaloo

Day 6: After Party (Hate Sex)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Medic x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Mann Co. is disbanded, you seek work among wealthy gala attendees, only to run into an all too familiar face.

Tags: Takes place after the mercs are fired/before Pauling finds them (comic timeline), riding, tension, teasing, rivals

Word Count: 4.3k

The Masterlist

The party was more immaculate than anything you had ever attended before, taking place in a massive venue adorned with expensive decor and buffet tables long enough to feed a small country. It reminded you of a ballroom straight out of a fairytale. Waiters wandered about in pristine uniforms, passing out hors d'oeuvres as if the buffet wasn’t enough. As for the guests, well, each one was more glamorous than the next, making it seem as if they were all trying to outperform each other, even as they made polite conversation among themselves.

In other words, you literally could not fathom anywhere you would fit in less.

You wore the nicest thing you owned, but even that seemed like rags next to the least opulent guests, at least in your opinion. You prayed that it wasn’t too obvious that you had forged your invitation to get into this place. The truth was, you were desperately in need of money ever since Mann Co. disbanded, and unfortunately murder was not considered a special skill on most job applications. In fact most employers seemed to consider it a felony. Who would’ve thought?

However, if there was one thing you learned in your years as a mercenary, it was this- the richest of society were often the most likely to want someone dead, and they most certainly had wealth to spare to hire someone to do their dirty work for them. Hence why you found yourself here, wearing a black knee length dress that you were almost certain you had only ever worn to funerals before, trying to figure out which of these pompous fools would be most likely to be in need of your particular brand of expertise.

As you scanned the crowd, searching for the most likely employers, your eyes were repeatedly drawn to the same person. You couldn’t say why- they didn’t exactly stand out, with their simple black suit and slacks- but something about them seemed familiar, his build, or perhaps the way he carried himself. It’s only when he turns around and you lock eyes that you finally put a name to the person. You’ve seen that face enough times to know it anywhere, especially since the sight usually preceded a scalpel being slashed across your throat.

The flicker of recognition in Medic’s eyes indicated that he had noticed you as well. Your initial panic began to fade slightly when you realized that causing a scene would likely get the two of you thrown out. God knows Medic most likely didn’t manage to get a valid invite to this party either. You would both need to act somewhat civil with each other, at least for now, lest you draw too much attention to yourselves. The wisest decision would be to stay as far away from each other as possible… which was why you were immensely frustrated when Medic proceeded to walk right up to you within moments of spotting you.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you whispered harshly once he was within earshot.

Medic actually looked taken aback by your hostility. “I assume I’m here for the same reason as you, fraulein. Hunting for higher pay, are we?”

More like hunting for any pay at all, but you weren’t about to admit that.

“You know, I could put in a good word for you,” Medic said. “I know how good you are at your job, given that I’ve been on the receiving end of your blades and bullets multiple times.” He laughed whimsically, as if he was recalling pleasant memories rather than recounting all the times you had brutally murdered on a daily basis. Respawn certainly was a blessing, one that you all took for granted.

“I don’t need your help, Medic,” you hissed. “Did you come over here just to taunt me?”

Medic sighed, as if he was talking to a petulant child. “Actually, I was hoping we could put the past behind us, but I’m guessing from your hostile attitude that this would be out of the question,” he said, now not even looking at you as he glanced over the sea of people. Well, if he wasn’t even going to look you in the eye then you weren’t going to humor him with a response. You walked off, deciding that trying to find some work would be a more effective use of your time than trading insults with Medic all night.

You planned to make the most of however many hours you spent here, and that meant getting comfortable with as many of these stuck up partygoers as you could, praying that at least one of them was homicidal enough to hire you. Medic went on his way as well, presumably doing the same. You tried your best not to let your eyes wander to him, but it was surprisingly difficult. Now that you actually recognized him he stuck out from the crowd. Shaking your head, you made your way to the opposite end of the ballroom, as far from him as you could get. You had employers to charm, and you weren’t about to let his presence alone get in the way of that.

—

You weren’t sure how you managed to find the small parlor that you eventually wandered into, but you were grateful for it. How long had you been at this damn party? Three hours? Four? You couldn’t even remember at this point. You collapsed onto a small couch with a sigh, placing your face in your hands. Whether or not you were even allowed in this room wasn’t important to you.

You had talked to guest after guest, but trying to gauge someone’s interest in putting a hit out on someone was surprisingly hard. As it turned out, most people don’t tend to flaunt their murderous intent. It wasn’t long before faces began to blur, conversations became repetitive, and you began to feel that if you couldn’t find a place to get away you would go mad. You just needed time away from the din of the crowd. The silence was a welcome respite.

“Not having much luck, fraulein?”

“God fucking damn it,” you muttered, not even bothering to lift your head to look at him. Of course Medic would just happen to wander into the same room as you.

He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Don’t you have some big shot employers to talk to?” you asked. “Or are you just here to boast?”

“Nein, there is nothing to boast about,” Medic admitted with surprising honesty. “Despite my attempts to convince them, these people are surprisingly uninterested in doctor assisted homicide.”

“So, we’re both shit out of luck then,” you said, sounding woefully unamused. Honestly, you just wanted to be left alone. The events of tonight were inevitably going to lead to you walking back to the crappy motel you were staying in with some stolen food from the buffet stuffed in your pockets. Of course, then you realized that your dress didn’t have pockets, and you sure as hell didn’t have a fancy purse you could use.

Medic laughed, seeming completely oblivious of your rapidly souring mood. “I suppose that is one way of putting it. I am happy to have found you, though.” You finally looked up at him, eyebrows raised in confusion. Medic sighed, leaning against the far wall. “Talking business is so tedious. I prefer company that is more on my level, so to speak.”

“And I’m on your level? ” you scoffed. “That isn’t exactly the compliment you think it is, doc.”

“There’s no need to be so confrontational, my dear. We aren’t on opposite teams anymore,” Medic said, putting his hands up as if to show that he meant no harm.

“We fought against each other for years. All that doesn’t exactly go away just because we got fired.”

“Hm, I suppose you're right. Besides, I do quite enjoy our little rivalry, whether it’s on or off the battlefield.” Medic smirked at you, and you despised the way that look made your knees go weak. You weren’t even sure when you had stood up from the couch.

Your fists were clenched at your sides as you glared at him. He was so calm despite having found no success with employment. He seemed so perfectly confident while you were silently fretting over how you were going to cover your next rent. And even with all those reasons to hate his guts, a part of you couldn’t help but notice how damn attractive he looked in a suit- no, more like how damn attractive he looked in general. It was that last part that pissed you off the most of all.

“It was hardly a rivalry,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You aren’t exactly much of a battle medic.”

“Oh no, not at all,” he admitted with a laugh. “But I can't help but recall you having quite a few run-ins with the blade of my Ubersaw.”

“And I can't help but recall more than a few instances where you were staring down the barrel of my gun,” you said, quick with a retort. “Funny how you never seemed to learn that your place is hiding behind your teammates, not charging headlong at me.”

You seemed to have struck a nerve. Medic’s smirk faltered slightly. “You would be wise to watch your mouth, dear.” He was close now. Incredibly close. When had he gotten so near? How had you not noticed? But you’d be damned if you backed down now. In fact, you took a step further towards him, the two of you now thoroughly in each other’s personal space.

“Oh? And what will you do to me? You don’t exactly have any weapons with you,” you said. “Besides, I’m just stating facts. You’re at your best when you’re behind your team's Heavy, practically using him as a human shield.

“I certainly hope you are not calling me a coward, fraulein.” Medic responded so calmly. It was uncharacteristic of him, which put you on edge, but your blood was already boiling too hot for you to keep your mouth shut.

“Maybe I am, unless you’re willing to prove me wrong.”

You didn’t expect him to do anything. You expected this to end just like every other confrontation you’ve ever had with him- although maybe with slightly less blood than usual. Honestly you thought he would simply saunter off, leaving you fuming in that parlor all by yourself.

But then he did prove you wrong. And he did so by pressing his lips to yours. Just like that, something snapped. Something that simmered beneath every insult you flung at each other came boiling to the surface, and you kissed him back. Medic pulled you flush against him, his arms wrapped around your waist. The action made you gasp, giving him access to your mouth. He gave a gentle, questioning flick of his tongue that you quickly reciprocated. Your hands ran down his sides then up again. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest every time you parted for breath.

Medic grew more forceful, almost sloppy, but it felt so good, fueled by years of pent up tension finally getting a taste of release. After a bombardment of lip bruising kisses and wandering hands you finally parted, panting heavily. Medic leaned in until you felt his breath tickle your ear.

“I could be inside you right now.” His voice was so low, a far cry from the shouts of victory or pain you heard from him on the battlefield. It was smooth and quiet enough to ensure no one would overhear, even though you were the only two in the room. “You want that, don’t you?”

You were undeniably flustered. Never would you have thought you would be so flushed over hearing your enemy say such filthy things. “I don’t think the other guests would appreciate that,” you finally managed to respond, miraculously without letting your voice shake even once.

“Then perhaps we should take our leave, fraulein.” That little pet name he had for you was usually an endless source of annoyance, but this was exceptionally different. For once it wasn’t spoken with hatred or spite. No, it was spoken with unfettered lust, and you found that you quite liked hearing it like that.

—

You didn’t expect gentleness from Medic. In fact, you didn’t even want gentleness, and you made that clear the moment the two of you stumbled past the door to his hotel room, a surprisingly nice hotel room at that. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy, especially since all you had to go back to was a dubious motel that smelled of cigarette smoke and dust. How the hell did he afford this while being unemployed? You decided it didn’t matter. There was no time to dwell on that.

You grabbed Medic roughly by the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him into a kiss that was more teeth than tongue or lips. It was aggressive, almost animalistic in its intensity. You felt him groan into the kiss, shucking off his suit jacket the moment you released your grip on it. The moment it was off you got to work on the buttons of his undershirt. You had half a mind to simply tear it off of him, scattering the buttons to the far corners of the room. You just barely managed to restrain yourself from doing so.

When the shirt was finally unbuttoned you paused to run your hands up his torso, sliding over his chest and up to his shoulders. He was very muscular, something that you had never really noticed beneath his work uniform. It made sense. He had to carry around the Medigun, and it wasn’t exactly lightweight. You were briefly aware that all the supplies and weaponry Medic had to lug around with him on the battlefield probably weighed more than you did. That thought was confirmed a moment later, almost as if he had read your mind, when he leaned down and lifted you with ease, his arms hooking around your thighs for support. You wrapped your legs around him for some stability, but even so, you nearly lost your balance when his palm came down hard on your ass, a harsh smack being followed by your yelp of both pain and surprise.

“What the hell was that for?” you asked, not bothering to hide your annoyance. Your face was bright red at this point, which probably made your glare seem more cute than menacing.

“Is your threshold for pain really so low, liebchen?” Medic asked, grinning as he reached up to grab a fistful of your hair. You knew what was coming before he even began to pull. He was truly showing off his strength now, holding you with just one arm and the support of your legs around his waist. “Given all that we’ve been through, I would have thought such a little sting wouldn’t be a bother.”

His grip on your hair released after only a few moments and he made his way to the bed, still holding you. You knew Medic could have easily chosen to throw you roughly onto the mattress if he wanted to, but instead you found yourself being gently lowered onto the bed. A shiver ran down your spine as your bare back made contact with the cool sheets, and you realized that at some point he had undone the zipper at the back of your dress. This allowed him to remove it with ease once you were comfortable. You felt relieved to finally be out of the dress, no longer needing to wear what amounted to a cheap disguise meant to blend in with a bunch of rich assholes.

You reached back to unclip your bra, throwing it to the side with little ceremony. Medic busied himself with your underwear, taking the exact opposite approach. He removed them ever so slowly, inching over your thighs as if the garment was made of tissue paper and he was trying not to tear it. It was beginning to annoy you.

“Hey!” you said, getting Medic’s attention. You sat up, grabbing his hair and pulling him forward. The soft groan you got in response was very rewarding, but you couldn’t get distracted by that right now. You kicked off your underwear yourself and glared at the doctor. “You’re taking forever. Are we fucking or not?”

You tugged on his hair, hard, and he winced before quickly composing himself. “So bold, meine liebe. I like this side of you,” he said. You only let go of him when he began to unfasten his belt, and you tried your best not to stare or look impressed when you noticed the sizable tent in his slacks. You shifted back so that you were sitting in the center of the bed. It gave you a rather nice view of Medic when he finally removed the last of his clothes, but you barely got a chance to admire the sight before he was on top of you.

He paused there, seated between your legs, simply looking at you with an expression full of lust. You could feel how hard he was against your thigh, and a pang of need almost made you beg, but you caught yourself before you did. If he wanted you to beg, he’d have to work much harder for it. “What are you waiting for?” you asked, trying to sound as annoyed as possible, but the slight shake in your voice was evident.

“I’m just admiring the sight of you…” Medic began, leaning down to kiss your neck. “ Beneath me, right where you belong.” Those kisses turned into bites, making you gasp and arch against him. You heard his breath shudder as your body pressed against his.

That was when he finally thrusted into you . You were embarrassed by the moan that managed to tear its way from your throat, being caught off guard by the sudden motion and the jolt of pleasure that shot through your body like a live wire. It felt so amazing to finally be filled, to satisfy that empty ache between your legs that had been becoming more intense ever since you left the party. Still, you weren’t about to give Medic too big of an ego boost, at least, not until he truly earned it.

“Harder!” you gasped, dragging your nails over his back, leaving stinging, raised red lines in your wake. “Come on, don’t you dare be gentle with me now.”

Medic chuckled wickedly, barely reacting to your scratching. “Oh, I don’t plan on being gentle with you, liebe.” Suddenly, your arms were pinned to the bed, his hands wrapped firmly around your wrists. His grip was rough and likely to leave bruises, and he soon set a merciless pace.

You struggled to contain your sounds as he slammed into you, trying to roll your hips to meet his strokes, but it was as if he was purposefully trying to make that difficult for you. His rhythm changed every time you began to get used to it. You growled in annoyance, but that only got a sly grin from Medic, proving that he was indeed doing this on purpose. Still, you tried to grind against him, at least until he released your wrists only to hold your hips still, preventing you from bucking or squirming. Your clit ached, desperate for either his touch or your own, a sensation that would have you seeing stars within moments.

“Fuck, I’m close!” you moaned, writhing futilely in his grasp, hands gripping the bed sheets to keep from just giving in and touching yourself. You wanted to get him to do it, you wanted that small victory.

“Beg for it,” Medic whispered, pressing his lips to your ear. There it was. You knew it was coming, but if he thought it would be that easy, he was a fool.

“Fuck you,” you said, glaring defiantly at him while he simply chuckled, seeming to find your defiance more as a form of amusement than a true challenge to overcome.

“Oh, you are, liebchen. However, that’s not the answer I’m looking for.” Medic stopped moving completely and you wanted to whine, but resisted the urge. You never let him dominate you without a fight on the battlefield, and the bedroom was no exception. It seemed that whether the driving emotions were that of hate or lust, it was always going to be war between you.

With a scoff, you decided to finally take advantage of the fact that he was no longer pinning your arms. You latched onto his hair again, pulling hard, which caught him off guard. He was thrown off balance just long enough for you to switch your positions, now finding yourself seated atop him while he looked up at you. He seemed bewildered, as if he was trying to figure out what just happened, and you found it adorable.

“See what happens when you get overconfident?” you said before beginning to mercilessly ride him, not wasting any time. Medic gasped, giving you a look of what could almost be considered respect before sitting back and enjoying the ride. It was actually quite attractive to see you bouncing on his cock.

You weren’t as close as you were before. The pause in the action had caused you to lose sight of your climax, but now that you were in control, it was quickly beginning to build again. However, by far the most appealing thing about being on top was the view you had of Medic’s reactions. You saw how his gaze lingered on the steady bounce of your chest as you rode him, the way he bit his lip to stifle moans whenever you did something especially good with your hips. But the best part was how you could feel his body beneath you, the way he shuddered and tensed up in response to whatever you did to him.

Your hands were planted on his lower stomach to steady yourself, and you could feel the way the muscles began to tighten. It was a sure sign that he was getting close as well. Medic wasn’t quite as intimidating like this, and it only served to make you bolder.

“I wonder what your team would think if they could see you right now, letting me use you like this,” you taunted, grinding against him to emphasize your point.

“I could say the same about you, fraulein. How would your team react if they knew I was about to make you come on my cock?” Medic’s hands latched onto your hips with enough force to throw you off your rhythm. You gasped as he lifted you slightly upwards before slamming you back down. You almost screamed as he managed to brush against an especially sensitive spot. “Ja, that’s what I want to hear. Scream for me!”

With him essentially moving you up and down on his cock, you knew you didn’t stand a chance. You surrendered, allowing him to maneuver you. If anything, it was a welcome break for your thighs. Even so, you weren’t about to become completely passive. You continued to rake your nails down the front of his body, over those tense muscles that were beginning to tremble beneath your touch. You knew he was close to coming undone, and the thought filled you with a sense of pride, because you were doing this to him. Even though he was gripping your hips with enough force to bruise, it would still be you that would eventually make him come.

“You’re close aren’t you?” you asked between moans. Medic shuddered, stammering, as if he hadn’t expected the question, and the reaction made you laugh. “Oh, you definitely are. You’re so tense.” You ran your hands over his chest and down to his stomach before leaning in to whisper into his ear, delivering the finishing blow. “I want you to come for me. I want you to come inside me.”

“Gott, liebchen!” Medic moaned, bucking up into you even as he slammed your hips against his, filling the room with the lewd sounds of skin on skin. You leaned back, one of your hands sliding down your body until you could rub circles around your clit. You threw your head back, crying out as your orgasm washed over you. Medic followed almost immediately after, the feeling of you tightening around him finally driving him over the edge, letting out a low moan as he spilled into you with a few final, frantic thrusts.

When the initial euphoria subsided, you practically collapsed on top of him, completely unwilling to move. Your head came to rest on his chest and you could hear his pulse racing, along with the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Medic threw an arm over you, gently rubbing up and down your back. It wasn’t a gesture you expected, but it certainly wasn’t unwelcome either.

“God, I fucking hate you.” You said it out of pure habit at this point, but there was no real bite behind the words, not even a hint of malice. Medic actually seemed to take it as a compliment, reciprocating with a smirk.

“Likewise, liebchen.”

The irony of the situation was not lost on either of you, so casually declaring your hatred for one another while simultaneously cuddling up after a rough fucking. You weren’t sure which of you began laughing first, but soon you were both nearly in tears, the reality of how strange this scene was finally beginning to dawn upon you. But honestly, with all the other weird shit you had to deal with during your career as a mercenary, this might as well happen. Speaking of work…

“I hope you know that this doesn’t change anything,” you said, turning to look at Medic with a challenging smirk. “I’ll still fuck you up if we ever meet in battle again.”

You felt the vibrations of Medic’s laughter in his chest. “Of course.” He flashed a wide smile. It had just a touch of insanity to it. It was a look you had seen several times before, usually right before he plunged his weapon of choice between your ribs. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, fraulein.”

[sometimesraven]

@febuwhump Day 4 - Hivemind

Fandom: The Truth Saga (original work)

POV: 3rd Person

Whumpee: OC

Summary: A scientist and his subjects are not unlike father and child. Or God and Angel, perhaps...

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse & Medical Experimentation, Death/Murder, Child Soldiers, just general Creep Behaviour

AO3 Link

((Truth Saga Taglist: @westenra97 ))

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

He revelled in how close they all were.

Brothers in arms; comrades in torment. Tied together with threads of his own power, intertwined just enough that every failure would punish them all. Ignorant enough to remain under his control; aware enough to feel it like a knife to their skull when another of them failed.

Of course, The Controller wasn't immune to this connection himself. His creations, after all, were as much a part of him as the share of power he had granted them. In the early days, when the soldiers were children barely able to string sentences together, it was difficult to see them cry. To feel their fragile bodies break apart to be remade in his image. Perhaps that was why he named them, after all. Such whimsical combinations of natural power, to give them some form of identity despite their function as a unit. In hindsight, that was a mistake, but he was always a sentimental man.

Even now, he felt their pain as if it were his own. He had grown accustomed to the burning under his skin whenever he disciplined them, learned to enjoy the buzzing behind his eyes when they were pushed to their absolute limits. This discomfort was the price of perfection; the trial and error before the final evolution.

While is was unprofessional to have favourites, Silverheart's fate was certainly the worst. Such a delicate creature, her connection to his power so wild and uncontrolled that it consumed her from the inside. It was a mercy to have them kill her, and yet... Her torment was exquisite, pain in every fibre of her being as she was torn in half. He felt her loss as a shooting pain behind his eyes and, perhaps in a moment of weakness, he pitied her.

When he ordered the demon to bring her back from the dead, he wasn't sure what he expected. The sight of his dark ritual was almost sickening; discomfort once again touching his gut at the sight of something so unnatural. But when the breath returned to Silverheart's body, he felt... relief. Her body had healed, stitched together and scarred like a seam through her entire torso; a mark of his care. His mercy.

He couldn't let her go to waste, nor could he let his other subjects believe their punishments were not severe -- Purpose was forged in hardship, after all. So he kept her at his side, gave her special access to his personal suite. Though she was quite useless to him as a soldier, she was a capable personal assistant (if a mite slow). It helped to keep her busy, keep her mind sharp. It was almost quaint, her company. The way she glowered and groaned and yet her face was still so fair: almost pure.

What had the other children called her... Angel. Yes, she was rather angelic -- more so now she had cheated death. The experience had shocked the follicles of her hair a bright white, patchy at first but soon the entire head was that same, beautiful purity. It was fitting, he supposed, for a God to create such a divine messenger.

Sadly, he still had to return her to the table. No body was primed such as hers was to sacrifice itself to the greater cause; to test his prototypes until he perfected them. The next time she died, he did not waver. The demon's ritual became a beautiful rebirth, over and over.

Did he shed a tear, when he learned of her betrayal; made the decision to leave her behind? No. But for a moment, a tinge of regret ghosted his heart. For all her failures, Silverheart had lived up to the name he gave her.

It was a shame the world did not cater to the pure of heart.

Perhaps he did have favourites, after all.

[harryandpedro]

uppercut - nine

summary: Oliver gets sick, making Maisy doubt her caretaker abilities. Pedro's trust in Maisy strengthens. Maisy and Pedro make an arrangement

parings: boxer/dbf/single-dad!pedro x fem oc

warnings: twelve-year age gap, talks of being groomed/corrupted, implied power-inbalance, inexperienced fem oc (don't judge her), kissing and making out (finally!), a hard-on, male masturbation

wc: 4.3k

series masterlist here.

Maisy

The elevator's door slides open with a ding and I'm greeted by the organized chaos that is the pediatrics ward. The waiting area is bright with blues and greens on the walls and paintings of sea animals moving between the colors. It's whimsical, and yet, it is still a hospital.

I wipe my clammy hand on my jeans and walk up to the nurses station, Oliver slung over my hip.

He's been fighting a sickness over the past few days, and his temperature hasn't gone down.

He was fussy and uncomfortable all morning. His throat is swollen and his nose has been running non-stop. I tried everything to alleviate some of his discomfort; shushing him, giving him a lukewarm bath, offering plenty of fluids, using the air humidifier, all to no avail. By midday, I was so worried I called Pedro.

He was panting when he picked up. "Yes?" he spoke into the receiver, his tone curt.

We've both gone three nights without getting a full night of sleep, taking turns taking care of Oliver.

And now I was disrupting his workouts because I couldn't do my job of caring for his son.

"I think I should take Oliver to the doctor's," I said.

We agreed to meet at the hospital and hang up.

Now in the hospital's pediatrics ward, I sign Oliver in, handing the nurse a hardcopy of the authorization form that allows me to be present during Oliver's treatment, which Pedro signed in advance should a case like this arise.

Oliver and I take a seat on one of the teal chairs that faces a television that plays cartoons. I bounce him a little in hopes of soothing him.

I'm trying to comfort him, but from what I've learned over the last few days, the only person he wants when he doesn't feel well is his dad.

"You're okay, Oliver. Shh." I run a hand over his back before lightly pressing his head into my shoulder, hoping it'll force him to rest.

It doesn't. He wails his little lungs, his cry deafening next to my ear.

"Dadda," he sobs, his innocent eyes rimmed in red as he frantically looks around the busy waiting room. "I want Dadda!"

"I know. I know. He'll be here soon."

He doesn't stop, somehow finding the lung capacity to scream even louder.

I can almost feel all the other moms and dads' eyes on me, judging me.

I know how to entertain Oliver, how to figure out what he needs, whether that's food, sleep, or a diaper change. But I have no idea how to help him when he's this sick or upset.

I stand and start pacing with Oliver in my arms. The bouncing doesn't seem to settle him as he wails louder. "I know, Bug. I'm sorry. A doctor will see us soon and you'll be better."

What feels like hours but is probably just minutes, a nurse approaches us. "A doctor will see Oliver now."

I grab Oliver's diaper bag and follow the nurse.

We're rounding a corner when a deep voice calls my name. "Maisy! Wait!"

I turn to see Pedro rushing toward us, wearing his gym clothes. "Hey, hi," he says when he reaches us. "Sorry I took so long. I got here as fast as I could."

Pedro strokes his son's cheek with the back of his fingers. The boy's wail softens to a sniffling cry and he melts into my arms now that his dad is here.

Pedro doesn't take Oliver from me as we're escorted to an exam room, but hovers over the two of us protectively, a warm hand resting on my lower back as I carry his son.

I try not to pay much attention to the fact that I am too much more at ease now that Perdo is near.

Pedro

Thankfully Oliver didn't need to be kept in for overnight observation. After a doctor examined him, he got a round of fluids via an IV drip and was prescribed some medication to help lower his fever.

The whole time, Maisy was fidgeting with her necklace as she looked on. She didn't stray from my son's bedside while he got his treatment, letting him clutch onto her pointer finger.

By the time we get to the front door of my brownstone, the baby Tylenol has finally kicked in and Oliver is contently laying on my shoulder.

We order in, neither Maisy or I in the mood to cook dinner, and we cuddle up on my couch, a sitcom playing in the background.

It's still a bit early for Oliver's bedtime so he hangs out with us, walking lapses of the coffee table but not daring to let go of the edge as he balances himself.

He allows us to scarf down our Indian takeaway in peace before the bedtime fussiness gets the best of him.

I pick him up, cradling his head as I bop around the living room. Maisy offers a sympathetic smile as she stands to gather our empty plates.

Oliver works himself into a burbling mess, and as much as it pains me, I'm not who he wants right now.

My son is making grabby hands at the pretty girl teetering on her feet under the archway leading into the living room.

"What's that, Buddy?"

He points at Maisy again. "Mmm."

"Are you trying to say Maisy?" My chest wells with emotion.

"Mmm."

"Yeah, that's Maisy over there."

My gaze meets with Maisy's and a pout stretches her naturally raspberry-pink lips.

"Want me to try?" she offers softly.

I nod, wordlessly handing over my son.

"Come here." She takes Oliver from me, situating his head on her shoulder. "You're okay," she croons. "You're all right, Bug. I've got you."

I sink with relief watching Maisy comfort my son. She supports Oliver's head and starts to sway around the house as she tries to settle him.

The softest singing voice echoes throughout the space as she sings into Oliver's ear. She soothes him tirelessly, placing soft kisses on his head between lyrics and within a minute or two my boy is fully content, snuggled into the crook of Maisy's neck.

She continues singing lullabies as she carries Oliver up to his nursery. I trail after them, my chest swelling with a foreign tenderness.

I make myself useful and close the blinds and turn on the air humidifier while she rocks my son to sleep.

In a matter of minutes, he dozes off. She tucks him in, gently placing his current favourite plushie by his head.

We stand there for a moment, peering down into my son's crib as his chest rises and falls with even breaths.

She then turns to me with a sweet little smile and leans her head on my shoulder.

I don't find it in me to reject her, to tell her that this—her head on my shoulder—is crossing a line.

I don't want to reject her.

But fuck does she have my whole belief system at war.

I close my eyes, blow the air in my lungs through my nose.

How have I gotten myself into this situation? Falling for an off-limits woman. Because that's exactly what I've done in the last two weeks, I've fallen, hard. I should've been more careful, spent less time with her, pushed away my fantasies. But I couldn't, even as I felt myself tumbling down this rabbit hole, I couldn't stop myself.

And what scares me the most is that I didn't even want to.

I open my eyes and gaze down at my son.

I think today was the day he realized that he has a support system outside of me. I know he did because I did so too.

Oliver loves her. It's evident in the way he looks at her, in the way he reaches for her when she's near. She brings him a sense of comfort he was missing, and she equally brings me the same knowing how well they get along.

Overwhelmed with gratitude for Maisy, I slide my hand into hers and jerk my head in the general direction of downstairs.

Maisy

Pedro leads me downstairs, into the kitchen.

When we get to the kitchen island, he lets go of me, rakes a hand through his lush curls, and leans against the counter.

I eye him curiously. He's slouching, clearly tired both physically and emotionally. The past few days have drained us.

He scratches his stubbled jaw. His movement draws my attention to the heart-shaped patch in his rakish beard. I wonder how ticklish his stubble would feel against my palm, on my stomach or on my inner thigh.

No, not going to go there, I scold myself.

I bite the inside of my cheek to bring myself back to reality.

We're remarkedly quiet, not a single word has been spoken between us since I lulled Oliver to sleep.

Hesitant and sheepish, characteristics that are so unlike him, Pedro moves closer just an inch. I wouldn't notice his subtle approach if I weren't acutely aware of his body heat.

His nearness fills me with warmth and comfort. I want to reach out and touch him to make myself believe he's actually here.

His hand is on the counter right next to me as he leans back on his palms, and tentatively, I cover it with my own.

He doesn't stop me. He uses his thumb to trap my fingers, softly stroking the supple skin between my thumb and pointer finger.

I don't dare to brave eye contact and instead drag my gaze across the dimly lit kitchen.

There are endless dishes in the sink that I remind myself to tackle tomorrow. Piles of laundry he needs to fold. Knowing him, he's going to try to get it all done on his one day off this week, but I'll pick up the slack when he's back in the ring tomorrow, and I'm sure he'll be annoyed that I helped. He's prideful like that, wanting to do it all on his own.

"I just wanted to say thank you." He breaks our silence. "For taking care of Oliver." He pauses, his voice softer. "We're lucky to have you."

A beaming smile slowly lifts the corners of my mouth. "Well, the feeling is mutual."

"I'm beyond grateful that you treat him with uttermost gentleness. I don't think you know just how much happiness you bring to him." He sighs, says above a whisper, "He appreciates you, and I do too. Tremendously. And I'm not sure I can repay you for the love you give to my boy."

My heart cracks at that, opening in a way I don't want it to. He's too good, too sweet, emotionally mature. Too goddamn hot for his own good.

He keeps stroking my hand.

We both follow his languid movement with our eyes, an electric frisson leaping from him to me each time he smoothes the pad of his thumb over my flesh.

My heart thumps, quick and sharp, at the way his dark eyes take me in, the way the corner of his mouth tips up in a private smile.

Our gazes lash together and I get the same drugging rush of excitement when I'm at a concert and the bassist starts to play the buildup to the bridge of the song.

Pedro's intense eyes pinion me to the spot. My blood pulsates in the tops of my ears.

As we stare into each other's eyes, the moment feels like a soap bubble, something that's bound to burst one way or another.

And then it does.

"I'm gonna kiss you," he tells me huskily, perhaps to acknowledge what we're doing or perhaps he's sensed I might need to be forewarned.

His mouth crashes down on mine then and I'm compliant, letting him take what he wants.

He cups my jaw with one warm hand, his other hand pulling me into his body by the gentle hold he has on my waist.

I still don't know what to do with myself when it comes to kissing so I simply grasp onto his impossibly broad shoulders, bracing myself.

He licks into me and I gasp, fisting his shirt.

"Taste so sweet," he groans, turning to kiss me the other way.

I'm disintegrating on the spot. This is all too much yet nowhere near enough. 

For a moment we break apart. To catch our breath, or maybe to end whatever this has turned into. But as soon as I find his bottomless eyes I'm hit with a revelation so earth-shattering, it spins me off my axis.

I don't want to end it. Whatever this is, I want more of it.

He must feel it too because our gaze lasts no longer than a second before our lips connect again and he's devouring me.

"Why am I unable to stop myself with you?" He murmurs the words against my lips, his voice strained. My heart is beating so hard that I get a little dizzy. "You are going to wreck my world, and I'm going to let you."

He closes back in for a hungry kiss, nibbling on my bottom lip before flinching. "What the fuck are we doing?" he asks raggedly, still holding me, his chocolate brown eyes filled with torment.

"I don't know," I say.

A low, frustrated sound dies in the back of his throat, and he stills, his mouth ghosting mine. "This is a bad idea,  Maisy,"  he says hoarsely, but he doesn't step back. "We can't be together."

"I know that," I say, choking on my words.

And I do. So why does hearing it feel like rubbing salt into an open wound?

"Maisy." His voice cracks, and I will not let him say it. I refuse. I will not let him say how we can't do this. How this is wrong. How he's wrong for me.

"Please. I'm okay with this," I whimper, unabashedly desperate, "I want you," I hiccup. "Please, Pedro, I want you so bad."

"We—I—, this is messy," he reasons, his forehead resting against mine. "I don't want Oliver to get hurt because I can't keep my dick in my pants." His eyes are pinched and his brows are knitted, he looks as if in agony.

"It doesn't have to be messy," I say.

He gives a low, scraping laugh, but he stays serious. "It already is," he says, "When you override all rational thought."

I swallow a thorny knot and blurt. "I—I have a proposition. I think I know how we can work."

He opens his mouth to interject but I go on. "We think of it as an arrangement. You teach me about bedroom stuff and I can be you're good time."

He's a man, and as a man, he can teach me a lot about men's pleasure, and we can get my awkward firsts out of the way. He'll be my springboard into dating, I rationalize.

He regards me expressionlessly as he grinds his molars. "So it's purely transactional?"

"Yes, if that's what you want too," I say, not letting my schoolgirl infatuation bleed through.

Now is not the time to tell him I want him to eat my soul. To take down my walls and build me up again.

I can fake it. I can pretend. I can deny my budding feelings for him. This can work.

"I want some rules put in place to make sure we are both clear about what this little arrangement is."

I nod eagerly, ready to agree to any of his terms. I know I'm being naively willing and accommodating but at the same time I want this, he is not forcing himself on me.

"No PDA unless we are hooking up," he begins. "And no sleepovers."

I nod again.

"And most importantly," he says, all serious. "There needs to be constant communication. It's either consensual or I'm not touching you."

"I understand," I say in a heartbeat.

A wry smile graces his plush and moustached lips before he turns solemn once again.

"I need to hear you say something for me. And I need you to be honest now," he says, his eyes boring into me. "Before we agree on any of this, I need you to tell me this is consensual. That you want this too. The last thing I want is for you to get hurt. I don't want you to ever feel like I'm grooming you. Or that I'm corrupting you or anything like that."

"You don't make me feel like that. This arrangement doesn't make me feel like that. I want this. I feel safe with you. I trust you," I divulge truthfully.

"And you're absolutely sure you're not weirded out by our age gap?"

Yes, we have a twelve-year age gap but I'm an adult too. It's not like I'm underaged. I can consent to our arrangement in my right conscience.

"I'm absolutely sure." I cement then say, "One more thing... my dad can never find out about this. It'd be way too awkward."

"Yes, that, no telling your dad."

All the things I told myself, all the reasons this is a bad idea, seem inconsequential. All that seems to matter is him and the bone-deep desire I have for this man. We can work. Sure, he's the dad whose kid I nanny, but only until I leave to go back to work. Yes, he works with my dad, but if we keep this between us, then my father will never have to know.

Pedro's nose moves against mine, causing a shiver to run through me. His hands mount my neck and then cradle my face.

I rest one of my hands on his abdomen, his muscles contracting under my touch, and nudge my nose against his. "Aren't you gonna kiss me now?" I tease but my shaky voice gives away my nerves.

Just because I want him, it doesn't mean I'm not nervous.

"You're endearing," he tells me with a low chuckle, then kisses me square on the mouth, hard, like a stamp, and walks me over to the couch. "First lesson: French kissing."

×××

Heavenly. Pedro's lap is one of the most heavenly places on earth, as it turns out.

He's warm and solid, like a giant teddy bear you can win at funfairs, and he doesn't seem to mind having me draped over him.

I'm straddling his hips on his couch and he's kissing me deliberately.

Our kisses are little more than pecks—his lips pressing against mine and his hand on my waist steady me. It's all sweetheart innocence yet something warm and liquid collects at the bottom of my belly.

The sensation is not unpleasant, but confusing and a bit scary.

"Still with me?" Pedro probes between kisses.

"Hmm," I squeak. If being okay means I've forgotten my name twice in the last few minutes, yeah, I'm perfect.

"Good," he rasps. One of his oversized hands travels the length of my side and settles on my ribcage, his thumb stroking me just under my bra.

The way he is kissing me now is different from the way he was kissing me in my bedroom that first time. He was reluctant, almost unwilling to kiss me, and now he is...insisting.

Maybe I'm being fanciful. What do I know about different types of kisses, anyway?

When his tongue slips between my lips, I go stock-still. His tongue is in my mouth. I can't stop myself from cringing.

It's far too personal and unhygienic.

"This okay?" I must have lingered too long inside my head, because he is looking at me with a concerned frown, his thumb sweeping back and forth on my hip bone. "You're tense." His voice is hoarse.

"It's just—, it's weird?" I mumble.

His eyes soften and he regards me with tenderness as he thinks up some sorcery to make me feel better. "Think of it like a caress," he proposes. "Do you want me to try it again?"

I swallow dryly. My stomach is in knots.

"Don't look so nervous, sweetheart," he chuckles lightly. "We don't have to if you don't want to. Not trying to pressure you into anything."

"I know," I tell him. His reassurance that I'm the one in charge settles me. "Okay. Let's give it a try."

"Alright," he murmurs softly and bends toward my mouth again.

I fist his shirt and brace myself.

Instead of pushing his tongue between my lips, he kisses me like he had before, sponging closed-mouthed kisses onto my mouth.

These I can do.

He's easing me into it, I realize, because he keeps kissing me in an unhurried procession. His tactic is working, some of my stress drains away, and I unclench.

The very tip of his tongue sneaks out and traces my lower lip then. I part my lips for him and he slides in for long enough to touch my own before retracting and kissing me.

Over and over again, he gives me a brief taste of salt and heat, and then retreats. He brushes at my lips with maddening strokes, dips inside for the merest second, before he withdraws.

I'm growing frustrated. The closed-mouth kisses I liked so much in the beginning are no longer enough.

He sucks on my bottom lip and laves the sensitized skin before taking my mouth again. I feel the still foreign wet heat of his tongue slips in, tasting me. I don't know quite what to do so I follow his lead, allowing him to continue his little ministrations while I try to get a small taste of him as well.

His arm moves under my shirt, circling my waist. His other hand keeps cupping my jaw, angling my head.

My hands tour his wide chest. I can make out every tendon of muscle flexing and contracting as he moves against me. I throw my arms around his neck then, and I have the strangest urge to plunge my fingers into his hair.

"You can touch me however you want," he rasps against my kiss-slicked lips, as if reading my mind.

God, I hope he can't.

He closes back in, deepening our kiss, and I glide my hands up into his chestnut brown curls, feeling the smooth strands fall through my fingers.

He twins his tongue with mine and we find a rhythm. His incredibly high stamina surpasses mine, and he has to stop kissing me every now and then to let me catch my breath.

"You need to learn how to breathe through your nose," he says, touching his mouth before returning his hands to my midsection.

"Okay," I croak, awkwardly smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt I've caused.

"God, you're adorable," he croons, his smile widening.

I blush, and feel as if a dose of endorphins has just been injected into my bloodstream.

He tips my chin up then and crushes his lips down on mine.

He guides me through the growing familiarity of the contact. He couples my bottom lip between his two and uses his thumb on the hinge of my jaw to coax it open. My mouth yields to his and as he deepens our kiss, I involuntarily rock into him.

He moans at that and I swallow the sound.

He grants me small breaks to catch my breath before diving back in, and asks for reassurance that I'm doing alright every now and then.

My hands roam with appreciation while his stay stationary.

His palm pressing into my lower back feels like it could singe a handprint onto my skin. He brushes against the base of my spine, setting my heart aflutter.

I feel hot, heavy and there's a bubbly pit in my belly.

Is this what being turned on feels like?

Coming up for air, I say, "Oh my God, you're a great kisser."

For a millisecond, he stares at my mouth like I took something that he wants back. He blinks then, focusing on me.

He sweeps his thumb across my lower lip. "You're a quick learner," he drawls. "Doing so good, sweetheart."

I preen at his compliment. Nestling closer to him, something stiff prods the apex of my thighs, and I draw my head back to look down between our bodies. He has a prominent hard-on.

"Ignore that," he coos, hooking his pointer finger under my chin, the gentle pressure coaxing me to face him. "We'll cover that another time," he says with a boyish grin.

Then we kiss until all our jaw muscles are numb.

Pedro

It's one am. when we declare our first session a success and head upstairs to sleep in our separate beds.

"See you around, coach," Maisy teases after a moment of consideration, fidgeting on her doorstep, before she retreats to her bedroom.

In my room, I slump against the door, burying my face into my hands with a heavy sigh and replay the past few hours.

I shut my eyes and the image of her, on top of me, and those wide brown eyes that are fixed on me, excited and eager to learn, but tinged with a hint of something uncertain, appears in my mind.

My lips are still tingling from the feel of hers. My hair is unruly from her persistent tugging.

And I still have a boner.

She wants to learn and I'm just enjoying myself, that's all that was on the couch and it's all that ever be. A transactional relationship.

But, fuck, I'd be a lying son of a bitch if I said that the thought of being her first, of being the one to teach her didn't turn me on.

I smack myself on the back of the head, locking away my Maisy-infused fantasies.

I push off the door and stride into the en-suite, shedding my clothes and turning on the faucet.

I need to release some tension.

And I one-hundred percent will not do so while thinking about Miasy.

Or so I tell myself. But the moment I step into the shower my throbbing cock is in my fist, and I pump myself long and slow until the tension coiled inside me rips through me like an electric current.

And I picture a brunette beauty with the curves of Aphrodite on her knees for me, those warm brown eyes watching as I milk every last drop on her chest.

[pencilpat]

What’s your opinion on the new name reveals (Herbert Ludwig, Jeremy Willis, Flo Pauling)?

I like the names, for the most part!

RED Medic fits that name to me, which I see a lot of people finding weird, even though he would've been born at a time when that name was common. Herbert is cute! And it's a good reminder of how much of a dork he is. He's silly-and-whimsical-style evil & deserves a delightfully silly name. BLU Medic will always be Fritz to me, though, I bet you can guess why.

Willis was a choice! A lot of sporty people or action movie stars have it history-wise. Other than that, I've got no idea why they chose it. But it's a pretty common surname, so it was a safe and honestly kind of boring choice.

And lastly,

FLO PAULING IS DARLING! It's just the sweetest name ever but also one of the ultimate stereotypical 'secretary' names. It fits her perfectly, even if it goes against my own prior headcanons. I thought the fact that Engie was on a first-name basis with her was interesting, and it gave me a lot of food for thought. I love her forever til the day I die.

[nursewashing]

muse bio below the cut! please read my rules for content warnings associated with this blog.

name: anya nusome gender: cis female (she/her) sexuality: lesbian age: 28 hometown: moscow, russia nationality: russian height: 5'8" occupation: nurse, trained by pony express nursing courses disabilities & conditions: anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, autism spectrum disorder

personality: anya is a passive, soft-spoken woman with a passion for helping others, but painfully low self esteem. she has difficulty standing up for herself as well as speaking up for herself. she tends to have a fawn response to her trauma, being a people-pleaser and trying to keep the peace. when she isn't feeling threatened, she has a silly and whimsical side to her. beyond that, anya has a passion for the medical field. she's a capable nurse in spite of the troubling situations she's endured. she also has a creative side to her and enjoys drawing and doodling in her spare time, as well as playing board games, listening to music, and reading. she blows off steam by going for runs. she also loves fast food and reality television, though these are guilty pleasures she wouldn't easiy admit out loud.

 [physical appearance.]  anya has shoulder-length black hair styled in a wolf or shag cut that tends to be on the somewhat finer side. she has broad shoulders, a curvy figure, and fairly large hands. she has a strong nose and long, prominent eyelashes. there are occasional freckles and moles on her body.

her figure fluctuates based on verse/timeline; pre-tulpar, she's athletic but curvy. after the crash, she rapidly loses weight due to malnutrition from depleting food stores. in post-canon and in non-mouthwashing verses after her abortion, she has a curvy, soft build in her recovery. pregnancy has taken its tole on her even after its termination; she has stretch marks on her torso, among other lasting effects on her body.

style-wise, anya tends to prefer turtlenecks and other similarly modest long-sleeved clothing. she tends to avoid wearing anything particularly revealing.

[biography.]  anya was born in moscow. raised there only in her early childhood, her parents moved around a lot through russia and various parts of europe. her family eventually migrated to the united states, where anya would spend her ensuing pre-teen years and beyond adjusting to her new home. when she was twelve, her parents divorced after a particularly tumultuous marriage. when given the choice between parents, anya chose to live with her mother as opposed to her alcoholic father who was prone to violent outbursts when drinking.

anya always had a passion for the medical field and wanted to pursue a career as a nurse and eventually a doctor. after graduating high school, anya applied to medical school anyway. her application to medical school was rejected - eight times, even. the debt from applying to medical school alone was tremendous and left her desperate to pay back her debt. pony express offered company-exclusive nursing classes, and she took on a job with the company to afford more applications to medical school.

anya spent about several years working with pony express before the horrific incident aboard the tulpar. the last flight she ever took in long haul space freight would be the worst ever. what started as a relatively ordinary trip, save for a new intern joining the crew, ended up being a traumatizing ordeal. amidst the flight, the co-captain jimmy assaulted anya and verbally abused her. when anya discovered she was pregnant as a result of his abuse, she told the ship's captain, curly. curly did not protect her from jimmy, much to anya's devastation. instead, anya told jimmy about the pregnancy. he stormed off, walked away. moments later, the ship crashed.

with captain curly horrifically wounded, anya struggled but succeeded to keep him alive in his mangled state. anya endured this for several months, though gradually her unwanted pregnancy affected her even more, making it easier and easier to get nauseous while taking care of curly. all the while, anya considered taking her own life.

it wasn't until jimmy blew up at her one final time that it pushed her over the edge. the trauma and stress, coupled with a lack of support, was too much for anya to handle. using the medication jimmy obtained from a medical supply cabinet in the hall, anya locked herself in the medical room and made an attempt on her life. the attempt did not succeed.

the memories that followed became a blur for her - swansea taking out revenge on jimmy, a repair of the cryostasis pods, a distress signal sent out into space. eventually, it was all over. anya returned to earth.

following the horrific events of the tulpar, anya sought out mental health care, along with getting the abortion she'd desperately needed on the ship. eventually, she returned to the medical field, albeit in a less dangerous way: she found an elementary school that had been endorsed by pony express at one point or another, accepting her job credentials, and became nurse at that elementary school.

about a year or so after the events of that horrible tulpar incident, anya is finally accepted into nursing school. every little day is a step towards recovery, but she has a long way to go.

[some-pers0n]

hello some person. can you please give me your opinion on any fictional character of your choice whose first name is six characters or less long and starts with a letter between G and M

LUDWIG!! HAH!! Anon I win I get to talk about my favourite character, Ludwig aka The Medic from Team Fortress the Second!

Hmm...what to say that I already haven't implied or outright said before? I really love him a lot. He's my favourite character probably.. ever, tbh. He's really fun to write. He's exceptionally silly and goofy. You can do a lot with him character-wise, between making him a whimsical goober or inflicting him with Angst. Etc and etc. He's really just a Cool Guy to me, which is something probably evident by me writing a longass fic about him

[nursewashing-a]

muse bio below the cut! please read my rules for content warnings associated with this blog.

name: anya nusome gender: cis female (she/her) sexuality: lesbian (closeted / undiscovered for most of her life) age: 28 hometown: moscow, russia nationality: russian height: 5'8" occupation: nurse, trained by pony express nursing courses disabilities & conditions: anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, autism spectrum disorder

personality: anya is a passive, soft-spoken woman with a passion for helping others, but painfully low self esteem. she has difficulty standing up for herself as well as speaking up for herself. she tends to have a fawn response to her trauma, being a people-pleaser and trying to keep the peace. when she isn't feeling threatened, she has a silly and whimsical side to her. beyond that, anya has a passion for the medical field. she's a capable nurse in spite of the troubling situations she's endured. she also has a creative side to her and enjoys drawing and doodling in her spare time, as well as playing board games, listening to music, and reading. she blows off steam by going for runs. she also loves fast food and reality television, though these are guilty pleasures she wouldn't easiy admit out loud.

backstory: anya was born in moscow. raised there only in her early childhood, her parents moved around a lot through russia and various parts of europe. her family eventually migrated to the united states, where anya would spend her ensuing pre-teen years and beyond adjusting to her new home.

when she was twelve, her parents divorced after a particularly tumultuous marriage. when given the choice between parents, anya chose to live with her mother as opposed to her alcoholic father who was prone to violent outbursts when drinking.

anya always had a passion for the medical field and wanted to pursue a career as a nurse and eventually a doctor.

after graduating high school, anya applied to medical school anyway. her application to medical school was rejected - eight times, even. the debt from applying to medical school alone was tremendous and left her desperate to pay back her debt. pony express offered company-exclusive nursing classes, and she took on a job with the company to afford more applications to medical school.

anya spent about several years working with pony express before the horrific incident aboard the tulpar. the last flight she ever took in long haul space freight would be the worst ever. what started as a relatively ordinary trip, save for a new intern joining the crew, ended up being a traumatizing ordeal. amidst the flight, the co-captain jimmy assaulted anya and verbally abused her.

when anya discovered she was pregnant, she told the ship's captain, curly. curly did not protect her from jimmy, much to anya's devastation. instead, anya told jimmy about the pregnancy. he stormed off, walked away.

moments later, the ship crashed.

with captain curly horrifically wounded, anya struggled but succeeded to keep him alive in his mangled state. anya endured this for several months, though gradually her unwanted pregnancy affected her even more, making it easier and easier to get nauseous while taking care of curly. all the while, anya considered taking her own life.

it wasn't until jimmy blew up at her one final time that it pushed her over the edge. the trauma and stress, coupled with a lack of support, was too much for anya to handle. using the medication jimmy obtained from a medical supply cabinet in the hall, anya locked herself in the medical room and made an attempt on her life.

the attempt did not succeed.

the memories that followed became a blur for her - swansea taking out revenge on jimmy, a repair of the cryostasis pods, a distress signal sent out into space. eventually, it was all over.

anya returned to earth.

following the horrific events of the tulpar, anya sought out mental health care, along with getting the abortion she'd desperately needed on the ship. eventually, she returned to the medical field, albeit in a less dangerous way: she found an elementary school that had been endorsed by pony express at one point or another, accepting her job credentials, and became nurse at that elementary school.

about a year or so after the events of that horrible tulpar incident, anya is finally accepted into nursing school.

every little day is a step towards recovery, but she has a long way to go.

[glassedplanets]

hi. zosan tattoo!au. a) no sensible chuckle here I'm fucking cackling b) love the paired sword through the pec tattoos they've got!!! love that detail!! c) does sanji have one of those butcher "heres where the different cuts come from off a pig / cow" guide tattoos or was that too cliche and d) how inked is the rest of the crew or were the brainworms contained to these two

this is a full ensemble cast AU baybee!! everyone's in it!!!!! the art is biased towards zosan because i myself am biased :^) but to give a very brief rundown: luffy's the owner of thousand sunny tattoo & piercing and the IRS would have his head on a pike if nami didn't have her shit together

everything luffy does is completely off the cuff, vibrantly colorful, extremely dynamic, zero guarantee that you'll get what you ask for bc he decides what he wants to do on a whim. his booking list goes like, almost two years out.

zoro's style is predominantly traditional japanese, will sometimes do reproductions of woodblock prints; very seldom goes back to traditional mediums but does so occasionally (this is a backstory to be unlocked)

nami is their piercer! she also has a backstory to be unlocked! she handles their licensing, inspections, and finances. they would all be dead without her.

usopp has a background in illustration (for children's books!) and loves to do both fun, imaginative, whimsical art and technical illustrations of plants

sanji does american traditional with unusual motifs (often food), still takes shifts at the baratie every so often, zeff has his paintings hung up, sanji finds this soooo embarrassing (endearing)

chopper is slowly working his way up to apprenticeship, was going to go into medical illustration And Then He Met Luffy

robin does extremely detailed and highly technical (body) horror

franky does sickass biomechanical type stuff

this is a direct quote from giffy because it's so fucking funny i can't bring myself to summarize it: "brook was a big name in the 80's and then luffy met him at like. a denny's parking lot and was like hey!! want a job. the denny's is run by moria, it's the closest place to undeath i can imagine"

jinbei does really bold, intricate geometric blackwork, guested a couple of times, and then luffy sniped him for permanents from big mom's for-profit college scam

i'll be real with you i am SO BAD at coming up with tattoos for characters but i think sanji would have something to do with different cuts of meat in some way tbh. the minute i posted this blue hit me with "okay please tell me sanji has a mermaid tattoo somewhere" and my jaw dropped bc i didn't think of that myself but it's absolutely correct, he does (either on the side of his ribs or on a thigh, idk). also glad you brought up the Tiddy Tattoos because now i get to make another bullet point explanation!

luffy has given everyone on the crew a tattoo over their heart (or like, as close as possible if they already had something there)

zoro was first, so his is the simplest: an anchor, for steadiness

sanji's is a reflection of where luffy met him: the way the baratie feels like for luffy via synesthesia, lots of colors and waves and love, very abstract yet vivid

zoro and sanji exchanged those right about when they both realized they're in it for the long haul re: luffy and originally it was just an acknowledgment of what each of them means to luffy

the italicized oh moment came later. everyone else continues to find this immeasurably funny.

(robin's is two hands: one reaching out for help, the other reaching out to offer it)

(usopp's is the shape of his kabuto with a bright burst of vivid green in the middle)

(chopper's is a caduceus staff with the wings bursting outwards in a spray of color, the edges fading out to cherry blossoms)

[the-fort-official]

THE CITIZENS:

PRIME APPLES: great and powerful leader of the fort. He may not be fair, or mature, or kind, or just... But honestly who cares he is funny sometimes.

Robo-Prime: he is back from the grasp of the average arcade owner in whatever fucked up sub-multiverse the text doctors live in. And by average I mean only, apparently. Anyways, he is basically prime but with more offense and less defense. Yes, the robot can take less hits than the human. Ironic, I know

Robo apples: head of engineering, and avid hater of fazbear entertainment. His past with them is spotty at best. Also, he doesn't like pizza. Which is weird. Probably trauma...

Control Apples: head of science and with the ability to express himself as well as a cardboard cutout. He does feel emotions, he just cannot show them. At all. Something about one of those therapy beds that was a O.O.P. (Object Of Power). He also likes burning things. Like, more than most Versions.

The tank (formerly known as Fallout apples): bright green power armor, yet blends in better than some people with stealth boys. Want to try to silence a fat man? He's your guy. Also for drugs. He makes all the drugs. ex-soldier of three wars. One for Alaska. One for Vegas. One for Boston. All three for his survival. And maybe fun on that last one.

Felix (fur-merly known as Fursona apples):, Engineer, former leader of the Regrettables (both the faction and the band). He got his time in the limelight. Now he is a actual character! And with the free trauma too. Also he made a lil ring to propose with so... don't tell Will.

Looper: robotic* mercenary for hire. Hope you got the gold! Also there are hundreds of him running around because of time loop shenanigans. Some of them even canonically fuck. Do with that information what you probably won't. (*He isn't a robot, technically. It's a techno-organic virus. He still has all the bits, just robotic. Minus nose, unless it's a snapshot of him with a snout. )

Fog killer: Also known as the apple themed streamer, the apple themed mayor, and the guy with a bigger arcade than @the-arcade-doctor, he is a totally normal and sane botanist trust me bro. Ignore the vines slowly leeching all your blood that's natural. (Now available to talk to on the @evil-group-that-hates-the-fort blog :3. )

Fog survivor: He is an engineer. He solves practical problems. Also works as a medic. He used to be scared of his own shadow. Now nothing phases him. Except getting stabbed because that still hurts.

Clone 007: traumatized asshole with no sense of friendly fire. He will kill anything in his way, no matter if they are helping him or not. Also he has extreme trauma, abandoned issues, and mood swings. The last one isn't related to his past, it's related to his very DNA.

Cashew: A young creature in an old automaton. He is basically a nutcracker from lethal company with some damages. And shorter. Still taller than the average dude, but small for a nutcracker.

Zweifel: What happens when you put a teen so far in the closet he tricked himself into thinking he isnt gay, into a endless colorful hell of wacky whimsical adventures? A hatred of the circus and a fear of vr.

The Angel Of hypocrisy, Nicholai: A homophobic and transphobic douchebag who should eat shit and die. Depending on which version you meet, the name makes more or less sense. Because post time skip, he gets a trans-mask boyfriend who he loves with all his heart. Even ignoring the fact his boyfriend is a serial killer. (If I reference El Carnicero, this is who I'm referring to)

Pixel: Kleptomaniac heister with more kills from just using the environment to his advantage than with his actual weapons.

Stuffie (Formerly known as Monster Apples.): see @plushiemonstervoid I ain't repeating myself.

Satchel: living puppet made from old junk like torn towels and potato sacks. He is tall, lanky, and overall intimidating. He is also a complete pushover who literally can only attack with yarn. Normal yarn. Not exactly lethal.

Demons-Bane: a demon that kills demons. Simple as that.

Warface Apples: currently turned into an anthropomorphic raven for fuckin with... I don't remember, one of @ignisuada 's characters. Generic military dude #171. Nothing special.

Warframe apples: Sneaky, but like stealth in the Deadpool game. He has lore, I just forgot it.

Metal gear apples: god im not even going to bother trying to tie this fucker in with all the bullshit lore this game has. He is a super-soldier. He has a flamethrower. That is all thats important at this point in his non-existent lore.

More to come. Check for edits. Lore is ever-changing after all.