#my body is a dehumidifier

[stinkymudgoblin]

Norepinephrine, souepinephrine, easepinephrine and wesepinephrine

Try them all!

Make your sympathetic nervous system have an omnidirectional nervous breakdown, and finally get back at that bitch for making you hyperventilate in the school bathroom!

Don't dish it out, if you can't take it!

You myelin covered fuck

[shehungers]

LUCID

sleep paralysis demon x reader | 18+ | 3k

you're a chronic insomniac desperately searching for relief. your best friend and neurologist makes a suggestion to participate in a sleep study utilizing a new drug still in the testing phase. without any other options, you agree, and the first night of the study, you awaken in the middle of the night thinking it didn't work....

story warnings; dark content; dubcon; somnophilia, hair pulling, choking, "invisible hands", some culturally sensitive discussion, implications of unethical medical practice, mc is implied to have a messy past, details of insomnia, unsettling + dark imagery, detail heavy, probs inaccurate depictions of a sleep study, roughly proofread. I'm also aware that most "sleep doctors" are pulmonologists—fight me👊🏻

reposted from my deleted blog theoxenfree.

this is a concept piece for a larger project—incubus phenomenon. would appreciate it if you'd leave feedback + reblog!!

Children at your daycare liked to draw you fanciful pictures of the other lives they lived in their dreams during afternoon nap time. You were shown orange tabby cats with green eyes garbed in full-plates of knight’s armor, brandishing a fish sword against a foe to save the world.

Most often, they dreamed of their families and drew bright, brave versions of themselves holding hands with a parent, a sibling, a bipedal family dog with an electric collar. A few of the children never smiled in their self-portraits.

The proportions of everything were always silly: gigantic tree trunks with tiny, green bundles sitting atop of them, three enormous fruits supported by brittle vines and growth in bushes, cats and dogs with ears as tall as their bodies, Mom with purple skin instead of brown, Big Sis looking particularly volatile with a theratrically large snarl. Despite this, the children beamed in pride whenever yesterday's drawings would come down off the wall to be replaced with the new.

For some of these kids, this was their own equivalent of having art hung on a refrigerator; to you, it evoked dull, thready jealousy because they were in possession so simple, so biologically normal to them and everyone else around them that to be incapable of the same thing was, surely, a major defect.

Sleep was already a treasure you were seldom allotted the pleasure of greedily surrendering to, but to dream sounded like a terrifying experience to you altogether. It took work; a stringent routine of warm showers (hot and scalding water was forbidden), with an array of chalky, dissolvable tabs and shower gels and shampoos and moisturizers and essential oil dehumidifiers and soy candles and hot tea and special pillow sleep spray you’d seen in an online ad while thumbing through socials.

It took pajamas that were loose, soft but not silky, it took a satin bonnet and a satin eye covering (the kind with pockets for your eyelashes to move), comforters soused in lavender spray meant to magically work out the tightness in your shoulders and calves without the need of paying for a masseuse’s bony elbow. It took purchasing a battery-operated alarm clock to wake yourself for work so you could shut off your phone and leave it plugged into the wall downstairs.

You'd nearly forgotten—you couldn't have sugar after half past six, you had to stagger your water consumption after that time as well because the urge to piss would keep you awake for hours after the fact. The television needed to be off once you finished putting away dishes after dinner.

If you were lucky, this would work and you'd sleep a total of two or three hours uninterrupted—never fully tipping over the edge of wakefulness into deep sleep, but enough to keep yourself going during the day, grocery shop, wrangle the small children, scrape at a bar, get dicked down into your mattress every now and then, and visit Sujay for your usual appointments.

“How do you feel about trying something different?” he always gestured to one of the modern-looking armchairs upholstered in teal polyester before bringing you a tea of some sort. Today was a floral white tea with a spoonful of honey. “Ah, my friend, I worry for you. We've done so many studies, we've tried so many different things. Does none of it help? At all?”

“Not really.” you admitted after a sip, singing your tongue once and placing aside the cup and saucer pair. “I don't know if I can keep doing this until the day I die, Sujay. What do you recommend next?”

Dr. Sujay Patel was your neurologist, an utterly brilliant man, and a close friend from your early university days. Despite the rest of your friend group falling apart, pulled in separate directions by the strings of fate and temptation of money, you'd managed to stay in contact with Sujay throughout grad school. There'd been an intermission, probably a period of two years, where you'd forgotten he even existed.

You were out making a disaster of your life on sleepless, drunken benders because you hoped enough alcohol would either knock you out or kill you. The normal distractions came with it: your entire family dynamic corroding and combusting, an ex getting too big for their britches, and a roommate suspiciously eager to rally behind that ex.

Sujay came back into the picture following a nasty incident of alcohol poisoning that left you bedridden in the hospital for a week. You had decided then, in that uncomfortable bed with their starchy, crunchy white sheets and the bathroom being too far away to simply get up and walk to, that you'd abstain from alcohol forevermore.

He'd seen you in a state of soul-weary disarray not long after you were discharged and had decided to take you on as a patient.

“Now, you have a choice here, just remember that.” Sujay sat adjacent to you in the exact chair you were in. He wasn't daunted by the heat from his tea and took some time with it, whether to savor the subtle notes of it or to consider his words, you weren't sure. “But, a colleague of mine at a… pharmaceutical company has been working to get an experimental sedative into some studies. Testing periods, I guess you could say.”

You're convinced by his dedication to his tea to pick up yours again. “Does it work?”

“As of now, one-hundred percent of those who have participated have reported high-efficacy, or at least have claimed it to be effective in some manner.” His mustache moved as he sipped. You drank as well. “I think you should submit to the study and if you're accepted into one of the control groups—commit to it. We're running out of options otherwise. I don't want you to start mixing up your own cocktail of things. All it takes is the wrong thing once, y'know?”

The chair groaned while you adjusted your weight in it. You sighed. “Would that once be such a bad thing, though? At least I could sleep.”

“I'm a doctor,” Sujay looked over his square-rimmed glasses at you, forehead wrinkles enormous, whites of his eyes showing more than the hazel of his irises. “Behave yourself.”

“Fine.” Mesmerized by the stray tea leaves that had managed to escape the metal ball steeper, you said, “tell me what I need to do.”

Sujay had sent you away that day with a whole host of follow-up appointments and a glowing review to his colleague in hopes of skipping the line as much as possible. Sometimes, it was beneficial to have friends in high places, especially when that means you get a call two days later for preliminary, formal interviews and an offer to participate in said study once clearances came through and your blood work came back as desired.

A month to the day when Sujay first mentioned the possibility of a magical cure all to your relentless insomnia, you were brought into a minimally furnished room—the standard, bland cookie cutter type that hadn't an ounce of personality—dotted from head-to-toe in stickers for neuromonitoring, heart rhythm, and whatever else they fancied, you supposed.

It was only after you had changed into your soft, but not too soft, pajamas and covered in wires that you were handed a tiny purple pill. The color of it was obviously a dissolvable casing and food coloring, but what amazed you was the fact a drug this small was meant to induce the best sleep of your life.

“Take the pill, drink at least four ounces of water, and lie supine.” The technologists outside your room, speaking into an intercom, elaborated afterward that they wanted you to stay on your back while you slept. You didn't bother to point out that you weren't stupid—just tired. “We understand that not everyone finds this position comfortable, but to receive adequate results and to measure your vitals at all times, we ask that you try your best.”

You weren't going to hassle them about this and did precisely as they instructed. Shoved the pill down the back of your throat, drank the bottled water, and tried to get comfortable on your back.

You closed your eyes.

A part of you wondered why you had assented to Sujay’s suggestion so easily, especially where everything else had failed. He was one hell of a friend, and had always been that way for you, but as a doctor, you wondered if two years of cheating through medical school, so as to not royally piss off his parents and be disowned for failing, was finally catching up with him somewhat.

You recalled being startled when he told you he hadn’t married yet and didn't intend to as some deep-rooted act of spite against his family and the traditions they had held over his head all his life. Traditions that had been weaponized against him, rather than supplement his life as an extension of his history, of the things he loved, of a chance to explore more of himself.

You had listened wordlessly the entire time he spoke about it, still sipping on his tea, the results from your latest brain scan clamped to a clipboard on his lap—

This wasn't working.

This was so stupid.

You opened your eyes and sat up in the stiff bed, carefully maneuvering your fingers around your orbital bone to force away the puffiness and exhaustion still lingering behind them. It was only as you rubbed your eyes that you noticed your face was empty of cold stickers and a thousand wires. You didn't hear distant blips in the machine measuring your heart rate, nor track the voices of anyone outside your door.

The room was still the same—the outdated, bulky dresser with claw feet, a few gray chairs you could buy on display in a window somewhere, a low oval table, a bedside table for your glass of water and a crisp, neatly folded change of clothes for the next day.

It was only unusual that you were bare of the technologist’s monitoring equipment and sitting amid an unfaltering, deep silence that amplified the sounds of your very existence. Your slow breaths with a quickening heartbeat, blood pumping in your ears, and the coarse rustle of bedsheets as you shifted around the mattress to bring some sense to what was going on.

Would the technologists have come into the room and removed everything from your body without waking you? More miraculously, without you rousing and throwing your hands on them for touching you first?

“Maybe the drug worked?” you had to consider the possibility, even though it still felt as far-fetched as the holistic medicine practitioners online telling you that an herbal cleansing juice could regenerate organs entirely. “Did I actually sleep? I don't remember dreaming, though. Aren't I supposed to dream?”

You looked to the one, single-paned window across the bedroom to spy how far along the morning had progressed, but found yourself sucking in and holding in a breath instead.

There, standing in your view of the outside, was the silhouette of a tall man. Everything about him was indistinguishable aside from the depth of darkness that made him up. Within the confines of the dim room, alight by a single lamp with an amber bulb that seemed to weaken by the second, this man stood apart from the shadows as something deeper, blacker, but corporeal.

He was every bit a part of the dark as much as he wasn't. And you couldn't tell if he was fading you or turned to look out the window at the parking lot two stories below.

“Hi—hello. Are—are you one of the techs?” you had finally let out that breath, now focusing on gauging the guy’s level of sociability, and by extension, his friendliness and the likelihood of him lunging at you. “I, uh, just would've really appreciated it if someone had woken me up before taking off the stickers.”

You were able to see out the window from the gaps around his body, taking note that it was still dark. Very dark. Beyond that, nothing else was discernible from where you sat and what he blocked.

The study wouldn't have finished yet.

Those techs would've taken precaution to wake you up if something had happened.

“Am I asleep?” you asked the wordlese man. “Am I dreaming now? Are you a dream? Is that what it's like?

You never imagined that there could be so much lucidity within a dream, a level of consciousness so similar to a state of wakefulness. When you thought about moving, you could perfectly flex your fingers, curl your toes into the high-pile carpet underfoot, touch the airy fabric covering your body and feel it touching you in turn.

How normal was this really, though? No one had ever told you about dreams like this. Theirs were always fragmented and discombobulated, just like the kids in daycare who drew pictures of pig astronauts and flame extinguishing spatulas. You knew of a rare few in the population capable of controlling their dreams, steering the outcome in the direction they pleased, but even those people were overrode by their own brains.

This was something completely different.

You became especially convinced of this when you thought the stifled air suddenly shifted with a light breeze, a soft whoosh in your ear. A chill erupted over you, making your skin burst with goose flesh, your brain chasing a shiver down your spine as if cold fingers stroked you all the way down the length of it. Those same fingers stayed low, hovering across your lower back before pushing into you, arching you down onto the mattress.

That freedom you thought you had only moments ago was gone, stolen by this invisible hand on your body that was rounding to you and reaching for your chest. Until now, you thought this had simply been a part of the dream—something you had believed to be in control in when the reality was much different—but, as the buttons on your sleep shirt unfastened before your eyes, the thin layers opening you to the cold, inky air, you weren't sure what to think, to do.

Another hand joined the first with long, heavy fingers to knead at your body and take your pants off of your hips until you were fully exposed to the darkness and the thing still dwelling within the room. It hadn't moved an inch since you'd noticed it a while ago; it never became any clearer, any more defined in the clothes or wore, and trying to look upon its face only filled you with puzzlement and dread.

The large hands were so cold despite all their movement on your hot skin, all of the work they did to start riling you up and making you moan. One of them groped your chest, felt your throat, squeezed your jaw as though to force your gaze at one point in particular (the ceiling), pushed apart your lips to dip into your mouth and wet its fingers on your tongue.

You did so as it was the only thing you could do freely right now.

Those fingers, covered in your spit, caressed you between your legs, stroking you in motions neither gentle or harsh. The muscles in your thighs flinched, stomach tightening, your throat vibrating to produce a moan smothered by the second hand circling your throat, gripping firmly enough where you could breathe, but just barely.

The thing couldn’t stop your thoughts, as much as it seemed to try, so it took to interrupting them—distracting you but squeezing your neck, yanking your head back into the pillow by your hair, adjusting itself to thrust multiple fingers into your body, burying them to the knuckle.

You tried to win this war of willpower by thinking about Sujay and his mustache and his stupid glasses. They were green, sometimes blue; seldom did he like the tortoiseshell look.

The thing lunged at your neck again, this time taking you underside the jaw and forced your head back into the pillow while it fucked you deeper on three fingers.

You wanted to make a sound; a moan, a scream, a torturous whimper or pleasure for the way your body was rocked on the bed, creaking with the weight of a pair combined and not just how it appeared. Your nostrils flared, heart rate at an uneasy high, breaths stuck in the column of your throat behind the hand holding it.

The pressure continued to stack higher and higher, building to such a point where you knew you were about to lose it, unravel, praying that this thing would grant you the kindness of fucking you out of your orgasm.

Your abdomen was wound tight, your groin ached terribly, and your thighs started to shake. Behind your eyes, the kaleidoscopic wheels of color intermingled with the darkness and it all slowly burned to white.

And then—

“Good morning!” you were being shaken awake by one of the technologists, a middle-aged woman with blue eyeliner. she didn't expect for you to jolt upright, stick straight, and launch the covers off of your body. “Oh—hey, honey, you alright? We’re done until tonight. How do you feel?”

You were slow to respond to her, occupied by the morning light filtering in through the window across the bedroom. She gave you some time to gather your bearings and took her time removing the stickers and wires from your skin, suggesting you spend some time really scrubbing in the shower later to get off all the adhesive.

“How about now, honey?” she pulled the last sticker and wire combination off of your shoulder. “You with us?”

You didn't know how to answer that, especially not with how damp you felt inside your thighs.

[nothorses]

So I'm thinking of going on low dose T, and ofc I'll get more feedback from doctors when I see them, but I know one of the changes is that you run warmer and have lower heat tolerance, and I'm already kind of heat sensitive (sweating is a sensory ick). Do you or your followers have any kind of coping strategies that have helped with that?

I ran warm before, too, and I'm definitely warmer now! I also have Raynaud's which kind of makes the whole experience a clusterfuck, but that's besides the point. lmao.

I live in a pretty cool/temperate area, so it isn't normally an issue except in the (increasingly horrible) summers, but I've found that the hardest time to stay cool has been at night. I share a bed with my partner who runs even warmer, and it's been 2.5 years of struggling to figure out how to be a comfortable temperature together.

The best advice I can give you is to just stay as far away from synthetic fibers as you can; "sweat wicking" and "cooling" and "athletic" stuff included. It's a lie. They're all plastic, and while they might feel cool to the touch at first, plastic doesn't breathe. It'll trap heat and moisture against your skin after enough time, especially in the form of blankets. (Fuck the Rest Evercool. Worst recommendation I've ever gotten.)

Look for 100% linen, or 100% cotton. I've heard wool also works well, but I haven't had luck with that personally. Woven fabrics are going to be cooler and more breathable than sateen, and waffle weave is like, the single most breathable weave afaik (it's more common in blankets, but some clothes are waffle).

Some of these things can be pretty scratchy at first, and I recommend a couple of washes on a high heat & some fabric softener before you start using them. We were able to break in our waffle blanket super quickly this way! (I know some folks recommend against softener for breathability reasons, but it's the only thing that actually worked for us, and it hasn't impacted breathability). After you break them in, though, cotton and linen fabrics are SUPER soft!

I also recommend staying away from leather. It's natural, but trust me: it's not breathable. It's coveted in outdoor rec spaces BECAUSE it's somewhat waterproof.

Outside of that, I'd really encourage you to lean towards multiple light layers that you can change/remove throughout the day to suit your needs (ex: light tee + fleece + wind/rain layer, maybe throw in a flannel somewhere), instead of one or two heavy ones (ex: shirt + big puffy cold weather jacket). It's a strategy common in the PNW that works great for regulating your temperature when you're dealing with humidity and somewhat unpredictable weather, and imo, it also really translates if you're just generally sensitive to heat and sweat.

Outside of that... depending on where you live, I really recommend having an AC/dehumidifier. Don't bother with trying to rig up a swamp cooler if you're sensitive to sweat- the increased humidity will make things worse. The general advice I heard when researching a good AC was that window units will always be more efficient than portable units (and a mini split is better than either), but if you have to go with a portable unit, go with a dual-hose. They'll be more efficient just because they don't create a vacuum that pulls in warm air from outside. This is the model we settled on- it was really highly recommended and cost effective for what it is, and it's been absolutely fantastic this summer.

Idk how you are about pits, but I wash mine with a benzoyl body wash and then use a deodorant with antiperspirant every day, and I virtually never smell or sweat. 🤷‍♂️ ymmv though

I'm sure folks will have things to add, so check the notes on this post- and good luck!

[sourcreammachine]

i need need need need a bodysuit plugsuit zero suit with integrated thermoregulation. i need to protect myself from Temperature. i hate humidity. i need it to keep me 36° and dry, dehumidifying my entire body even if it sweats. and i need it to have mild kinetic power so i can just sort of glide everywhere if i want. and have topical pain relief. and have homeostatic renal augmentation so i never have to piss and i’m kept full of the correct vitamins, neurotransmitters, hormones and electrolytes i need. and i need it to be hella tight to show off my beautiful ass

[pokemonshelterstories]

What sort of treatment would you give a steel type pokemon at the shelter if one was brought in with chronic rusting issues? Purely out of curiosity, don't see too many discussions about steel type care on the blog and I think they're underrated.

great question! we don't see a ton of steel types at the shelter, but i'm currently working towards my steel type handling certification, so i've been reading a lot of recent literature on steel type care haha. the answer is that it really depends on the pokemon and what's causing the rusting issues.

in the vast majority of chronic rusting issues in pokemon with metallic components to their body, the cause lies with husbandry. poor diet is the most common culprit. steel types in the wild eat a much wider variety of metals than initially believed, and in fact- much like a gogoat- many obtain trace metal and mineral content by eating dirt/rocks outside of their main diet! fixing dietary imbalances results in the rusting clearing out over time in most cases.

sometimes chronic rusting can also be caused by failure to provide proper avenues for self-maintenance. for example, aggron are known to "polish" their metal by rolling in sand or coarse-grained dirt and rubbing up against oily plants. in these cases, providing opportunities for those natural maintenance behaviors will typically resolve the problem. some older steel types may need their trainer's assistance with polishing if they've developed mobility issues.

outside of those possibilities, it's a veterinary issue. those are tough to resolve in steel types. if it's because of a mechanical problem (such as a klinklang's gears not turning properly), it can sometimes be fixed, but otherwise the usual response is to treat the symptoms rather than cure the underlying cause. we just don't always have enough knowledge of care for some of the less organic steel types to know how to provide for their medical needs. treatment for chronic rust usually involves regular polishing with medical grade steel wool (which has been properly sanitized) and the application of some type of oil blend to help form a protective coat. custom-made raincoats to help prevent exposure to moisture as well as using a dehumidifier in spaces the pokemon frequents can also lower the risk of new rust forming.

[ladyiristheenchantress]

Magic for the college witch

In honor of finding out I am set to graduate in December with my associates in science I have decided to celebrate with you all by sharing my tips and tricks I used to help pass some of my classes! Each tip will be sorted into circumstances as to where they may be applicable. Please enjoy, and congrats to all my future grads!

Reminder: In dorms and such you wont have access to many tools, but if your living in an apartment things are less strict. every time you see candles and such if you live in a dorm replace it with either electric candles or even colored stones you can rub together or place in a grid!

Registering for classes

Often times we try to register for classes as soon as possible, especially when you are an incoming freshman. When it comes to getting accepted and starting the process congrats your here.

Set up registering appointments on lucky number days, during the new moon, or on Mondays and Thursdays because those times represent readiness and preparation

Manifest getting good classes and teachers by sending off a prayer out to the universe

Do divination when registering opens to see if a teacher is a good fit or not (Also check out rate my professor)

If you are having trouble establishing classes, or just cant seem to get that *one* class you need, light a blue candle and put mint at the base of it to promote an opening

If your facing a situation where you are trying to get into an exclusive class (this also works if your presenting a thesis) put a sugar packet under your tongue to sweeten your words and make you more convincing

Getting to class on time

The commute anywhere can be a really hard thing to do, whether your commuting from a dorm to a classroom or city to campus it can be hard to be on time or find the motivation to show up to class

To motivate yourself to go to class keep a carnelian under your pillow to help you rise in the morning

Keep a consistent schedule, not only is this helpful psychologically but magically consistency helps build up magical energy towards motivation

enchant your walking shoes (or get heelies) to put pep in your step and always be on time when walking. You can optionally put a sigil in your shoe

enchant cars to avoid red lights by charging your keys in full moon light

Light a green candle before important days to make sure your morning commute runs smoothly

Setting up magical space in the dorms

Most dorms don't allow things like candles or flames, heaters, strip lights, etc. With this in mind people assume it must be hard to create a magical space without some of the key items, but we do have solutions!

Instead of regular candles, use electric ones as votives on deity altars

Instead of incense use MILD essential oil diffusers like lava stones in the corners, or a defuser. Bonus points if you use a dehumidifier

Chances are you wont have a lot of space, so opt for small placements on desks via mini figures and small stones

Set up sachets around your space and put them in clothing areas, not only do they smell good and keep moths away, they act as magical protection

Start working on energy based practices like meditation or enchantments with only your body

Navigating relationships

College can be a hard time, your adjusting to life without the friends you grew up with, most people start their dating life, and friends begin to come and go as you go through classes. Don't restrict what you experience

When you brush your teeth, enchant it to represent you 'speaking your truth' and 'biting back' so your protected from people who have bad intentions or are deceptive

When at parties and such put a sigil of protection on your left thigh, this represents protection from people looking to harm you

blow cinnamon at your door, or use a light cinnamon essential oil wash to invite new people and opportunities

Keep amber under your pillow or by photos to maintain friendships and help you let go of ones that no longer serve you

wear silver to repel energy vampires or people who are looking to use you

Studying success

Studying and how effective it is will depend on you and how you like to study, there are hundreds of posts online that look at how to find your study style, this more focuses on magic you can do for memory retention

Chew mint gum during studying AND during your test for memory recall

Draw sigils on your physical flash cards to make the information easier to retain

On the third of each month save that day to brush up on all information from the class, not only does this prep you for the final but this day is Athenas ritual day

Study the most on Wednesdays as they represent wisdom

Use a shungite worry stone during studying and testing to help keep your mind focused and stress free before tests

Test taking

Test taking can be a really hard part of college, I know it was for me. We do a lot of things to help prepare but what can we do during a test?

Create a sigil of good luck on top of your exam

Wear green on exam days

Eat and drink something enchanted (I swear by a snickers and a red bull) before a test for good luck

Create a superstition like a lucky shirt or pair of socks after your first good exam grade

Wear gold accessories to enhance your test taking skills, and speed up your test (Great when you are being timed)

Mental Health

Your mental health in college is very important, it can be hard being separated from your home town or family and just know that it does get better. College is a mix of emotions, from the loneliest point in your life, to the most social. You will be navigating new challenges, new feats, and its important to take care of yourself. Seek out the college mental health resources available to you like counseling as needed. you matter!

Use words of affirmations when you wake up and before you sleep to remind yourself you matter, my favorite is from the help "You is smart, you is kind, you is important"

Carry rose quartz and carnelian on you for self love and energy

Before bed drink lavander tea for rest and revitalization

Pray over your food to nourish your spirit as you go through college

Write down letters and petition to the universe for stability and how you feel.

I hope you all have enjoyed! Again, congrats to all my future grads, and I hope you all can come with me as I journey to getting my bachelors

Tip Jar

[tea-and-secrets]

I find it hilarious that my hair is super easy but super beautiful. Like I just shower using whatever shampoo/conditioner i just grabbed at the store, shower like a normal person and don’t use any fancy products yet my hair looks so great and pretty often time looking even better then the hair of people who use like 10 products and sleep with a bonnet and like use a dehumidifier and all that expensive high effort shit. I roll out of bed, fluff my hair a bit and boom my hair is done. The wonder of curls and my genes. I’m not very confident is many things but damn it I’ll brag about my hair cause it’s one of the few things about my body I don’t hate cause oops dysphoria!

.

[cherrypikkins]

they put a dehumidifier in my apartment to help with the ceiling leaks

i can already feel my body turning into parchment

[vykker]

Oddworld Headcanon 5/?: Vykkers Labs is Hot and Sweaty

I was gathering pictures of vykkers for drawing references when I noticed something. Why are their outfits so threadbare and nasty? And how come some of the vykkers we see in-game are ass naked? Their most valued business partners are, I assume, the Glukkons, and the Glukkons take fashion & clothing extremely seriously.

Pictured: My Favorite Boys in their tattered rags

Well, what do we know about vykkers? From an evolutionary perspective, not much. We know they're descendants of some arboreal prey species, that's about it. If we extrapolated on this, we can assume they're jungle dwellers. Jungle = big tree.

Jungles are [generally] hot and humid. A creature that evolved to live there would probably not need to wear clothes to keep warm. They might even find the sensation of clothes unpleasant if they're unaccustomed to it. If you were used to swinging around naked in the tree tops, you'd probably find clothes to be smothering and itchy.

Thus, I postulate that vykkers keep the Vykkers Lab thermostat at a comfy 80 or 90 degrees, which is about the temperature of the Amazon in spring. Not only is it a comfortable temperature to them, but it allows them to do work without having to wear clothes, which they apparently hate. I mean, look at Headley the Auctioneer and his stupid little haircut. He wants to look refined, he's dressed in his finest attire, and it's still just shirt cuffs and bow tie.

Now, there IS an outlier to this idea, and that is our beloved Doc Vykkers from Stranger's Wrath. He's dressed a little more conservatively. That being said, his outfit is still just a body-wrap type thing with a hat. He's not wearing shoes or gloves, and his legs and forearms are bare. I guess you could say that his body wrap is air-tight and made to conserve moisture in the dry desert climate, but that's basing a speculation off of another speculation to try and make my theory fit, it could be as simple as he just likes wearing clothes. [Or my theory is wrong.]

Speaking of humidity: I believe the vykkers prefer their environments nice and humid. However, I don't think they need to do anything specific to keep humidity where they want it. As we see in the first levels of Munch's Oddysee, a massive area of the ship is dedicated to a hydroponic spooce farm.

This massive flooded system, combined with the vykker's preference for warm places, would practically turn the Labs into a sauna. I imagine a human entering the labs would feel disgusted by the air in the Labs, and if a visitor were wearing glasses, they'd immediately fog up.

Having Vykkers Labs be an unexpectedly hot and muggy environment would increase the discomfort of non-vykker workers and experiments, making the Labs even more unbearable to work in, probably even nauseating. The whole place would also stink. High humidity and temperatures are the preferred breeding grounds of bacteria, mold, and funguses. If you walked through Vykkers Labs, I think you'd alternate between smelling whatever slime is growing in the walls, and the extremely toxic chemical cleaners they use to disinfect the place, trying to keep said slime from taking over. That's not even including the smell of blood and medical waste. Vykkers don't seem to have nostrils, but I think I recall Humphrey complaining about "the smell" after Irwin leaves a fuzzle on the burner. Maybe you just get used to it when you're so dedicated to pursing science.

When wealthy visitors hop over to Vykkers Labs, I imagine they're taken to special quarters of the ship that are dehumidified and nuked with air freshener.

There's more. Vykkers Labs is not exactly air tight. Aside from all the rusty paneling we see in the labs, we're also shown massive bay doors on the outside where people can exit and enter. There's also the Poop Chute, where they dump waste, and in the concept art, the bottom center of the ship seems to be hollow.

I think Vykkers Labs consumes a LOT of water. The hydroponic vats keep dehydrating, and the vykkers aren't exactly about resource conservation. I imagine that Vykkers Labs will periodically lower close to the ground in order to collect water. They probably drop a massive hose from the middle of the ship and suck up entire lakes at a time. Ecosystems have died just from them topping off the tank one Tuesday. Not only that, but on summer mornings, when the sunrise first hits the side of the ship, you'd probably see a massive cloud of steam rise from it, like when the sun hits the pavement after a rainy night. A mudokon on the ground, looking up at the sky, would see a trailing white cloud approach, something massive and dark spinning inside it.

[no-truth-left]

1.027 - Spend the night at Jethro’s house

“That’s not weird. That’d actually be nice.” Not only does Chie want to avoid meeting another Mike, but she needs to save money. A small part of her clings to the hope that getting home is as easy as buying a bus ticket.

Jethro leads the way to his house, talking about safe, mundane things. It’s a rental, but what isn’t these days? Pardon the mess, there’s been a bit of damage recently. Hopefully having leftovers for dinner is okay. The guest bedroom has its own little bathroom, so no worries about taking a long shower. Chie nods and responds when appropriate, failing to keep her mind off how they’re approaching the ocean.

As Jethro unlocks the front door to a broken, little house, her heart sinks. This is where he lives? The porch sags from heavy wood rot, and cracks spider-web over the front windows. The siding has an algae-like mold growing on it, spreading from one part of the house to the other. Despite that, there’s no refuse littering the yard, and a worn welcome mat sits at the front door.

“Welcome to my humble home,” Jethro says, stepping inside and holding the door open for her. The open-floor plan displays dozens of Massachusetts’s renters’ rights violations. Maybe more. A hole in the ceiling, exposed wires from sockets, a door missing its knob, and many other, small things. Chie idly wonders if the water heater works, if there’s asbestos in the walls, or lead in the water.

Her face must have fallen. Jethro thumbs at his nose ring. “Sorry about the mess,” he says, ashamed.

“Why not fix things?” Chie asks, crossing the threshold. She hears a small dehumidifier running in the kitchen. Despite the horrible condition, the living room and dining room are neat. Photographs nestle between books on small shelves, the floor is grit-free, and everything has been fastidiously kept in its place. Noticing a rack near the door, Chie dutifully removes her shoes.

“Most things are the landlord's responsibility,” Jethro says, shrugging as he closes and locks the front door. “I also can't afford it.”

Chie sets her bag down on a coffee table. “And you’ve told him about…?” She lets the sentence hang.

Jethro sighs so heavily his whole body heaves. “Yup. But that’s neither here nor there. I can get dinner together, while you shower, if you want.”

[sweaterkittensahoy]

WE HAVE A FLOOR

OH THANK FUCK

So, for those of you who don't know or don't recall or just love seeing this fucking story again and again because this shit has HAUNTED me for NEARLY TWO YEARS, let's turn back the clock:

2022:

By the end of June 2022, the following things had happened to me in the year 2022:

Six sinus infections, one right after the other. Tested for Covid each and every time. Not Covid. When to the doctor on day 12, got the antibiotics, shit cleared up. And basically the moment the antibiotics cleared my system, new sinus infection.

Had so many in a row, in fact, that my my ashtma wouldn't calm down, and we had to get me on steroids for ten days to basically reset my lungs.

Went to a family wedding, first big trip since lockdown.

Came home from the family wedding and had Covid. I regularly get body pain with my fevers, and this was the worst body pain of my life. I barely remember going to the doctor for the test so I could take time off. It was bad.

Was very close to a major realization that a friendship I thought was going to last my whole life had become utterly toxic and abusive.

And then the end of June hit. And I woke up one morning to Sean cursing, which was alarming. Because I curse like a sailor, but he does not. I get up to see what the problem is.

The problem is a quarter-inch of water through most of our apartment. It was coming through our light fixtures. We are in a renovated basement of a house from the 1920s. I ran outside then up the stairs to see what was going on up there.

The house is two stories. Overnight, the toilet supply line on the second story had begun to leak. This kind of leak is a silent affair. We don't know when it started. But when we woke up, the entire living/kitchen area was flooded. The laundry room/bathroom was flooded. The water had soaked into the bedroom carpet so far that it was sopping wet from the door to about two feet in.

The office had, miraculously, not taken a drop. Still not sure how that worked.

We call the management company. We call insurance. I swear my ass off because Sean has to go to work, which means I'm stuck alone all day with the mess and a dog who does NOT understand why her paws keep getting wet.

Demo guys show up. They are very, very nice. By the time they're done on day one, there are two dehumidifiers and several large fans going in my house.

We don't have A/C by the way. And it's late June, and even in PDX, that's not great.

Three days later, the demo guys show back up to take out everything that can't be fixed. Our place looked like this:

Once they took all the wet out, we had this hole in our ceiling:

And were walking around on this floor:

That's the original cement floor that was put in when the house was built, by the way.

And then, we spent the ENTIRE SUMMER waiting for someone to FIX OUR FUCKING HOUSE. From the end of June until FUCKING SEPTEMBER we were living with an open ceiling and no actual floor.

I'd email the management company. I'd call. They'd say "Oh, we're working on it. The owner is dragging his feet."

Put a pin in that claim. We'll come back to it.

At the end of July, I ended that friendship I mentioned. I am using it as a measurement here so you understand that a month into my house being like this, I was also going through a massive emotionally fucked up situation.

Work was so fucking busy I nearly burned out. On top of trying to get some answers about when I was gonna get a fucking ceiling and floor again.

By August, I snapped and sent a terselye worded email about how it should not take this long to make some fucking decisions. I got back, "Oh, we're trying, but the owner isn't communicating with us."

Put a pin in that claim, too.

Finally. FINALLY. After FOUR contractors came and looked and gave estimates, we got told "Okay, we're gonna fix your place. In September. It'll take three weeks."

So, for three weeks, we moved into a hotel, and it was...it was fine. But it's not home, okay. I just wanted to be in my fucking house with a fucking ceiling and floor.

Finally, three weeks later, we moved back in, and we had a ceiling! And a floor!

And then I got what I thought was food poisoning. 48 hours of some of the worst pain I've ever had, and my endometriosis is severe enough I had a full hysterectomy at 31 or 32 (I honestly don't recall). Okay. I know from pain. Went to the doctor. Got an anti-nausea injection from the biggest needle I have ever seen in my LIFE. The doctor pushed on my gall bladder and asked if it hurt. I'd been continuously sick for 48 hours. Everything hurt. I said, in all honesty, I couldn't tell.

Went home. Rehydrated. Things seemed fine. They guessed it was my gall bladder anyway, and since I had no history of issues, said "Let's try to change your diet before we go through surgery."

Fine. Whatever. Didn't care.

A week later, in the first week of October, I ended up in the ER because I was sick again. So sick, in fact, I could not keep down apple juice. It took TWO DAYS to get a surgical spot. I went through caffeine withdrawal. The Try Guys released their video about firing Ned. All I wanted to do was go home to my finally fixed house and fucking sleep.

Surgery went fine. Had a full-room hallucination that Sean and I were Chucky and Tiffany from the Chucky movies. Kept telling Sean to kill the nurse so we'd get a larger cut of the money. This has never happened before, but I've also never been on Dilaudid for several days in a row to control my pain. Apparently, when that happens, I think I'm a serial killing doll.

Go home. Rest up. Things seem fine.

In November, I walk into the kitchen one day, look down, and see a space between two of the floorboards that should not be there.

I refuse to deal with it and throw a rug over it.

Over the next several months, more boards start bubbling and warping.

The floor, it appears, has some fucking issues.

I ignore it for almost a year. Yes, I know what you're thinking, "Gayle, why?"

Because 2022 was a fucking disaster, and a major part of it was the flood, and sometimes you just gotta avoid that shit, okay?

But, finally, it's bad enough I know I gotta say something. I send the management company a note. They send a guy. He's great. Says I'll hear back in a week.

I don't.

And then I don't.

And then I don't.

And then the owner asks to inspect the property to see how things are looking.

He sees the floor and is shocked. This is not good. Why is it like this? How long has it been like this? When did I put in a maintenance request? And what was the last thing I heard?

This is November.

In December, we are informed via letter from the owner that he would like to be cc'ed on every request we send to the management company because he is not pleased with their performance.

Well, okay.

In January, we get a hard freeze. And then we got a pinhole leak in a pipe. That I discovered when walking into the kitchen and stepping into--you guessed it--a quarter-inch of water on the floor.

It was comin up from under the boards, but the hole was actually in our wall. We had glare ice. No one in PDX knows how to handle glare ice. The owner made the trip from the deep suburbs to us every day he could (he got stuck once) to get the problem fixed as quickly and neatly as possible.

I heard him on the phone with the management company several times explaining what he was doing, how long he thought it would take, and thanking them for communicating with us.

Which.

It took 4 days. I got one email. At 6:30 PM. On a day I heard him call them at 10 AM.

So. Suddenly "the owner isn't responding" and "the owner won't communicate" seem like complete fucking bullshit. Because he sure as hell responded when he found out there was a leak (we cc'ed him on the email as requested), and I fucking HEARD HIM communicate.

And then we found out that the owner had not had final say on the floor, which now had to be replaced not just for bubbling but for being fucking wrecked from NEW water damage.

But for this new floor, we just went through him, and would you look at that. Clear communication. Regular updates. We were on the concrete again for about three weeks because that's just how far out contractors are booking right now. But the work was done when he said it would be, and by god, it's clearly a much higher quality of flooring.

So. It's done. It's fucking done. It looks beautiful. The owner scrubbed our bathroom before he left for some fucking reason and was worried he'd lost the knob off our washing machine (we bought it used; it's never had that knob). When I met him the first time after the big leak, I thought he was a complete asshole, and it turns out he's actually all right. He gave us money for dinner this week and is also gonna get us a few days of rent comped for having to have people in and out. I'm never renting through this management company again, but if that dude's got other properties through someone else, I'd go there in a second.

April 5, 2024. May it be the last reference I ever have to make to a fucking floor repair in this house.

[nightmaredaisy]

the discussion about maintenance of your own body for your mental and physical health is so true and real but boy nobody ever tells you about the fucking slog of maintaining the things that maintain you

remember to take showers for your health and good feeling! yeah but also remember to put up a dehumidifier and scrub the walls with vinegar for mold and unclog your drains and clean the showerhead from limescale and wash your towels and washcloths

drink plenty of water! I do but also I have to remember to clean my cups and my straws and refill the jug and clean it put and change the filter because we have hard water and I have no money to buy bottled water in this economy

like I'll do it!! of course I'll do it because I like living and living well but at least some sort of heads-up would have been nice!!

[the-haunted-office]

I was thinking about how Doomsday got her living body back after her original was killed by the Dampening mist and then (off screen) eaten by the Adventure Line™.

Doom made an arrangement with one of my other muses, Dr. Horrible from Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog, to let him use whatever Dampening energy he harvested from her, so long as he could actually harvest it from her and help her understand how to utilize it better. She really wanted help figuring out what to do with her energy. She was very bored with her existence at that point.

What he did was create a piece of machinery called a Dehumidifier (Get it? Dampening energy, Dehumidifier, har har), that would leech the energy from her ghostly body and deposit it into jars, where the idea was for him to figure out how to harness it into... whatever he wanted to do with it. Dampening energy isn't something that is well-studied, or indeed much known about throughout the universe, much less on Earth. So Horrible of course was horribly interested in studying it.

Things went wrong pretty quickly when Doom climbed into that machine, as things usually do with Horrible's inventions. It ended up leeching too much too quickly, so much that it pulled her own body back out of her by recreating it from her memory of ghostly self. It did something that was supposed to be impossible and pulled her own living body out of herself.

This was extraordinarily painful as you can imagine.

Dampening energy isn't supposed to be able to create living things. It can create things like food and objects that used to be alive, like apples that have been harvested and butchered meat, but it can't create things like living trees or living cows. It also can't create things like planets or universes. So for it to pull Doom's own living body out of her ghostly body is... something it has never done before. There remains the question as to whether or not the body she is walking around in now is actually alive or not. It certainly seems to be, as it looks and feels alive, and acts and reacts the way a living body would.

The trouble is, her soul remains in the same state it was in before she got revived. It is still a "soul soup", so to speak - basically digested soul remains mixed with Dampening energy. If something were to fully kill her body again (which is very difficult to do, because the Dampening energy inside her heals it extremely quickly), she would be right back to the way she was before, as the Reaper Doom we all know and love/hate. Her energy isn't something that can be killed. It is just a property of Dampening energy and the way it works. It's perpetual, and as long as her soul is mixed in with it, so is she.

[dragon-hoard]

riding a Fine Fucking Line with my shitty body lately bc humidity makes me nauseous and makes my skin break out no matter what I do vs having it be Too Dry gives me nosebleeds and makes me more susceptible to sinus/respiratory infections

so yes I have a Personal dehumidifier AND humidifier that I use back and forth depending on the ambient humidity

[hezzabeth]

"I believe in everything," Jay replied firmly.

"Do you believe in everything? Do you even believe that the tundras of Mars are haunted by Vetala possessing the bodies of early Mars pioneers?" Sugafana asked.

"Well, I've never been there, but it's a big universe. Anything is possible," Jay replied as they reached the top of the hill, revealing the city.

MangalRajyapura, the capital city of Mangalrajya, glowed before them. Spiraling towers in the shape of human hands, created using Martian jasper and solid gold, waved towards the sky. Tiny machine-like droids buzzed around the fingertips like drunken butterflies. And below it all lay the paper-card slum towns for the humans who remained.

"I haven't been back since the purge," Jay remarked, and Sugafana briefly glanced at him.

"I thought you grew up in a village?" Sugafana asked.

"I did, a cloud village," Jay remarked, gesturing upwards at the sky.

"Oh," Sugafana replied flatly.

During the second year of the war, the cloud villages unified to block off the sun, cutting off appliances from solar-powered batteries. A legion of dehumidifiers attacked, sucking up all the clouds' vapor. Thousands perished as they rained from the sky. It was known as the Day of Red Rain. The cloud villages were destroyed by a militia of smart dehumidifiers that sucked up the clouds within seconds.

"Is that why you make me do all the ice deliveries?" Sugafana asked as Jay began to run his hand over the baby's head.

"It's hard to appreciate the imperial gardens when you once saw the trees covered in blood," Jay replied.

"Most of the imperial gardens have been converted into kinetic movement pads. The government insisted when it started to look like the volcanic winter would last another decade," Sugafana explained to Jay.

"Do you ever wonder what the world would be like if Mount Olympus had never erupted?" Jay suddenly asked.

"Yes, most likely the sun never would have been blocked, and there would have been enough sunlight for all the plants and power batteries. It would have been a lovely fairytale where nobody is forced to spend hours walking to generate electricity for homicidal hairdryers," Sugafana said.

"Wow, you really did think it through," Jay remarked.

"I taught speculative interdimensional history. There's probably at least a thousand universes where none of this ever happened," Sugafana said as they slowed down, approaching a checkpoint just in front of the city gates.

"That would be depressing. I would miss talking to you every day," Jay replied.

"You wouldn't even know me, you wouldn't miss me at all," Sugafana pointed out as they pulled to a stop.

It was Tuesday, and on Tuesdays, Sugafana always made sure to approach turnstile number four.

"Afternoon, Radiantguard," Sugafana said to a white hard-shell mask glowing a faint red color.

"Good afternoon, human Sugafana! Are you here to make ice deliveries?" Radiantguard chirped, floating towards the pod's windows.

"As far as Sugafana could tell, Radiantguard had been built as an artificially intelligent UV light face cleaning mask. 'Not today; this is my baby, I need to bring her in for a check-up and to get kinetic pads installed in her feet,' Sugafana lied, gesturing towards Jay.

"And is this your family unit partner?" Radiantguard chirped.

"Yes," Sugafana lied swiftly.

"Anything to declare for customs?"

"Nope," Sugafana said, this time telling the truth.

"Very good! Please turn on your kinetic feet implants and enjoy the city," Radiantguard giggled before floating off.

"That was surprisingly easy! I heard the appliances vaporized refugee humans at checkpoints," Jay whispered to Sugafana as they drove through the tunnel heading into the outskirts of the city.

"Oh, they do! But they're so desperate for walkers they'll let anyone in that looks mostly harmless," Sugafana explained as the tunnel vanished, and the vehicle suddenly stopped with a faint groaning sound.

"Is that supposed to happen?" Jay asked.

"Yep, the appliances want everyone to walk everywhere! It's why they burn down the teleportation hub whenever they catch humans using it," Sugafana explained as she opened the pod's door and climbed out.

"Luckdown trash and treasure markets," Jay said, reading a filthy sign hanging from a half-bent streetlight. The road before them was a depressing smidge of crowded cracked grey concrete, surrounded by black, partially destroyed buildings. Next to the rubble, people worked at makeshift market stands, selling small containers of creation sand, bits of old junk, and piles of rags. Around them, shoppers moved in a bustling, drab pattern, talking amongst themselves. No one was standing still; people eating snacks purchased from a vendor were walking around in circles. The ladies gossiping next to an empty fountain were also shuffling their feet in a funny dance. Even the vendors shifted from side to side, their feet pounding on the pavement.

Sugafana walked to the back of the pod, and with a hiss, it opened, revealing four bags of snow cubes.

"I thought we weren't making deliveries," Jay asked, balancing the baby against his chest.

"This is strictly bribery ice. Now let's get walking! We're heading to the end of the market," Sugafana informed Jay as she picked up a bag of snow cubes and slung it over their shoulder.

There was a sudden whistling sound.

"Move your feet," Sugafana hissed at Jay as a flying electric toothbrush suddenly appeared from behind one of the market stalls. One of the vendors had stopped shuffling for a moment, an older man trying to sell bruised kiwi fruit.

"Third movement violation," the toothbrush chimed.

There was no time for protests, no screaming, no shouting. There was a blinding flash, and the vendor was gone.

"Haree Ram!" Jay shrieked.

"I said keep walking," Sugafana merely replied, pushing him forward.

No one protested, no one whispered. It was as if the vendor had never existed at all.

By the time they reached the end of the tiny grim alley, stepping out into a blinding clean plaza, appliances were zooming about a massive fountain in the shape of a hairdresser. The air was filled with the chirping drone of washing machines and music players gossiping to each other in their hidden language of beeps and whistles. Glass-fronted shops opened up into the street, selling inhuman things such as "designer surface decals," "premium color spray paint," and gold wheel rims. Above it all, there was a racing track surrounded by glass, where fit muscular humans in jumpsuits ran around in infinite circles.

"Marathon runners, they move so much the appliances pay them," Sugafana explained.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Spring Awakening (OT4)

The “continuation” winner was eldritch OT4! You can read as a stand alone but the first part is very good.  Mild content warning: the prompt does mean there are references to body horror. There are also references towards breeding, but none actually occurs.

Winter has never been Indrid’s favorite season; it’s cold, the first chunk of it is spent with everyone telling him to give thanks and be cheery, and his van always malfunctions more. 

Now he has a new reason: one of his boyfriends hibernates.

It was just after Thanksgiving that Duck told him and Joseph what would happen. 

“It ain’t a full hibernation; I won’t be dead to the world.” Duck’s in his human form, which he favors for serious discussions. Indrid appreciates this, as it’s easier to read emotion on a round, friendly face than an incomprehensible mass of plant matter and ancient divinity, “but when growing things go to sleep, I go with ‘em. I’m alert enough, even in my sleep, to make sure the house keeps standing and that you two are taken care of. Not to mention this big fella will still be here.” He tips his head towards Barclay, whose resting in his bigfoot form by the fire

Joseph had a number of follow-up questions, but Indrid’s main concern was whether Duck would want them to touch him or take care of him while he slept. Phlox poked out of Duck’s shoulders as he smiled and said he’d appreciate it. 

That’s why Indrid is sitting in a nook of their cabin, stroking approximately at Duck’s shoulder; his human form is all but gone, and his eldritch one seems to be melding with the wall of the cabin. A tingle runs through his fingers, as if he was running them over the tips of fresh grass. 

Barclay is elsewhere gathering his offerings, and Joseph has been on assignment for over a month. Indrid ought to go into town and check the P.O box before it starts snowing again. But he doesn’t want to leave Duck’s side, the warmth radiating from the core of his form. 

“I’m going to run some errands, sweetheart. I won’t be long” He leans down, kissing a dark patch of corn silk. 

As he pulls on his jacket, a voice in the air drawls, faintly, “See you soon, darlin.”

He stops first at the general store, Leo waving to him as he helps himself to the small shelf of arts and crafts supplies. Neither Barclay nor Duck can quite manage to make drawing paper, so every few weeks he buys a new sketchbook for his commissions. 

The post office is full of racks of pink, white, and red, all signs of the impending holiday. Valentines’ Day fascinates Barclay, and has promised Indrid he’ll do something special for the two of them, and Indrid’s fairly certain he spotted him trying to make snowflakes take the form of hearts.

He opens the P.O box, pulling out flyers for the dehumidifier store and the strange waterpark on the edge of town; they only have the box  is because the farmhouse by the field has no known address. And a tendency to move around from side road to side road.

Under the multi-colored fliers is a single postcard. It’s a photo of Lake Mendota, with a little, serpentine monster drawn on in pen. He flips it over with a smile.

Dear Indrid, Barclay, and Duck,

Madison is about how I remember it. I can’t say much about the case, other than so far I’ve been right about everything and the other agents lost a car to the thing we’re investigating. 

Indrid, you should come here with me sometime when I’m not working. Might sister keeps demanding to know when I’m going to introduce you, and there’s a lot of excellent places to get ice cream and baked goods. We could even bring some back for Barclay and Duck if we timed it right. 

I miss you all so much. I can’t wait to come home. 

Love, 

-Joseph. 

There’s a meticulously drawn heart after the name. Indrid tucks it safely in his coat pocket and steps back into the cold. 

—------------------------------------------------------------

The frost makes it much harder to feel the decay of the stray fruits and layers of leaves blanketing the earth. So much so that Barclay spends most of his hunting for offerings in town; the high school has something called “home ec” where students' attempts at cooking sometimes end in a trash can of burnt offerings. From the taste of the cake he just finished, the baker would have produced something stunning had they watched the oven more closely. 

Where his body takes in the decay in the deeper layers of the earth, he feels familiar footfalls and Indrid’s voice on the wind. He concentrates his being on the spot, taking his more mortal form in front of the bundled-up human. 

“Hey, little moth. What do you need?”

“I…” Indrid peers hesitantly up at him, “I was hoping you had some time to spend with me today. It’s been a few since I really saw you, and with Duck asleep and Joseph away-”

“Think I get the drift.” He wraps his arms around the human, resting his chin atop his head, “time is weird for us, so thanks for telling me.”

“May I say something silly?”

“Sure thing.” 

“I miss Duck so much. Which is ridiculous, and greedy, I have you and Joseph and that should be more than enough but it isn’t.”

“If we were interchangeable, you wouldn’t want all three of us. I mean, I miss Joseph when he’s gone for, like, a day, even if I spend that whole time making a pillow burrow with you. Pillow fort?”

“Fort.” Indrid mumbles against him, “I feel so selfish, wishing spring would come just so Duck could hold me, really hold me, again.”

“You’re not selfish, little moth.” He nudges Indrid’s hood back and kisses silver hair, “but I got an idea. What are missing most right now?”

Indrid hums, “The way he sort of...envelops me sometimes. Like he did the night we first met; heavy and comforting on top of me, touching me everywhere, like I, I’m something worth treasuring.”

“He and I sure as fuck agree on that part. And I think I have something that might tide you over until spring. Close your eyes for me.”

The human obeys and Barclay unfurls himself, his fur peeling out and away, his body spinning into its true form, mouths tasting the air, the earth, the leaves on the trees and the mushrooms sleeping beneath them. 

He wraps himself tenderly around Indrid, taking care to keep his head and neck free; according to Duck, humans tend to panic if you confine their heads. Indrid sighs as he registers the pressure of Barclay around him. Of his human lovers, Indrid is the one who enjoys being bound and trapped this much; Joseph adores when Barclay holds him down or cuffs him to a headboard or branch, but anything more than that turns the excitement in those blue eyes to fear. 

His hands find Indrid’s zippers and buttons as his pelt slides beneath his feet, insulating him from the snowy ground. 

“Ohhhhh it’s so warm like this.” Indrid’s muscles relax and Barclay clings tighter to be sure he stays upright. Peeling Indrid’s clothes off layer by layer, more and more of Barclay’s hands emerge, eager to join the fun. Before Indrid, he never gave much thought to the texture of his fur. Now his human presses and twists his body against it, biting his lip as his cock rubs along a patch of it. Barclay smiles and his mouths multiply, kissing up long legs as his hands grope his ass, caress his face, tease his chest in hopes of showing him how much he deserves. 

“That’s, that’s so lovely, I-OH” Indrid laughs, “what was that hand made of? It tickled.”

“Uh, like, mossy reeds? You mean this one right?” He rubs Indrid’s stomach and the human laughs again, much louder this time.

“Indeed.” He squirms as several hands find his cock, one thumbing the tip while another strokes the shaft and a third teases his balls, “I, Barclay please I want, I want…”

“Want what?” He rumbles.

“Cover me up all the way, please. I know why you’re, you’re being cautious but I’m not afraid. I know you’ll let me go if I ask.”

Barclay pushes his form up, cocooning Indrid and discovering instantly that this means he can now kiss his lips and cheeks, run his hands through his hair the way people do in the movies Indrid watches curled up on the couch some nights. 

Pleasure is an odd thing when his body is once formless and concrete, not nearly as straightforward as when Barclay is in his mortal disguise. The most sensitive part of him when he’s like this are his mouths, and so he devours Indrid with kisses, savoring each little memory and feeling they bring to his tongues. 

Indrid’s cries turn wordless when a soft, fork-tongued moth finds his cock and sucks hungrily. Human fingers cling to his fur and Barclay revels in the touch, in the pleasure of bringing Indrid this close, of being able to keep him safe, warm, and happy, all while he writhes in delight and cums with an adorable squeak. 

Barclay twists and turns his body through space, bringing them back to the cabin and depositing Indrid into bed. 

“I love you” Indrid purrs, eyes bleary with joy when Barclay removes the red glasses and sets them on the little stand Duck made for them so they wouldn’t keep getting lost. 

“Love you too, little moth.” As he brings his mortal disguise back, a single, green vine snakes up the bed and slowly tugs a thick, mothman patterned blanket over Indrid’s body. Then it picks up the mothman plush from the corner and tucks it into Indrid’s arms.

“Thank you, my sweet.” Indrid gazes towards Duck. 

The vine caresses his cheek as it retreats and the floor creaks, “rest up, darlin.” 

Barclay plants a final kiss on Indrid’s forehead, then goes to see if he can recreate the home ec cake without the char. 

—----------------------------------------------------------

First, the case took twice as long as anticipated. Then there was the deposition in a Michigan case from last year that finally went to trial. Finally, to top it all off, his flight was delayed for two days. 

All this is to say, the most pressing thought on Joseph’s mind is how fast he can drive without putting the car in a snowbank. 

When the “Welcome to Kepler” sign finally comes into view, he relaxes his grip on the wheel and carefully navigates into the library parking lot. It’s a half hour to closing, and the snow is a half-foot high on the book drop. He knocks his boots against the mat and crosses the pine-tree green carpet to return the stack of books he took on his trip. Since he has a few minutes to spare, he scans the new books shelf and the rows of romance for titles for himself or Indrid. 

As he stacks a copy of Red Hot Ranch on paperback of A History of Mysteries, he spots the new sheriff and gives him a friendly nod. The man gives him a tight smile in return and ducks behind a shelf. 

His initial return to Kepler after being tossed into the field as a sacrifice had been so shocking that the previous sheriff fainted when Joseph stepped into the room to explain why he, and the mayor, were being arrested for kidnapping and wrongful imprisonment. Joseph knows Duck needed the energy from the sacrifices, and that he let all but a few go, but that’s no excuse for non-consensually offering people up to him. 

After the arrests, he mentioned to the interim mayor that he’d be setting up a satellite office in Kepler, since there was a lot of paranormal activity in the area. Then he made damn sure that the tail they put on him followed him all the way back to the abandoned farmhouse and watched as he stepped out of the car and into the cornfield, the stalks parting to show him the way back to the cabin. 

In a way, the people in town are more afraid of him than of Indrid, in spite of them both surviving stints in the cornfield with their memories intact and then taking up residence there. He suspects they think Indrid–with his otherworldly face and aloof demeanor–is a god himself. It’s a fair conclusion, given that every tomato plant, pumpkin vine, and apple tree in town got an unexpected, final wave of fruit when he arrived. Which means they think Joseph is the only human in town able to walk with gods without fear. 

He sets his books in the passenger seat and makes his final stop; Indrid asked him to pick up a few groceries on his way home. He tucks a bottle of hard cider next to the toothpaste, hoping he and Indrid can split it tomorrow while watching horror movies on the bed (he bought them some solar cell packs, as neither Duck nor Barclay have much sway over electricity).

Before the field, his last time having sex while tipsy was back in college and not particularly memorable. The more drinking became a social necessity for his work, where he was already seen as unusual and too buttoned-up, the more he was careful to never let his guard down and enjoy himself, unwilling to give his co-workers fodder to further discredit him. 

The past October, he and Indrid had decided to take a picnic into the field and watch Orionid Meteor Shower, the evening still carrying traces of summer. Duck made them a dome of corn husks and sunflower stalks to eat under, the dirt turning to a carpet of impossibly soft clover as they sat down. They’d drunk something honeyed and definitely alcoholic that Duck made them and traded bites of pear cake Barclay prepared as the sliver of a moon rose. 

Dinner was barely done before they were tangled together on the ground, making out with all the excitement and carelessness of far younger men. Then Indrid was on his back, humming as Joseph sat on his face, laughing because it felt nice and because he could. By the end of it there was slick on Indrid’s chin and cum on Joseph’s thigh, neither of them particularly interested in fucking full-on when there was so much of each other to enjoy. 

Then they’d lain on their backs and the dome opened, revealing an infinity of stars as tendrils of grass stroked their hair and the clover turned to thick, soft fur. 

God help him, if the farmhouse isn’t around this next corner he’s going to offroad to cut his time getting there. Snow be damned. 

He’s saved from this poor decision by the familiar silhouette, and turns towards home. Once parked, he retrieves his bags and steps towards the field. The withered stalks try to bend, but can’t get far. Watching them, he understands the worry in Indrid’s voice the last time they spoke on the phone; knowing Duck is at a low power is one thing, seeing the signs of him weakened is another. 

As he’s wondering if he can get to the cabin from memory, a form materializes from the snow. 

“Hey, blue eyes.” 

“Hi, big guy.” Joseph tips his face up so Barclay can kiss him, a hint of winter bonfire and cardamom on his tongue. 

“Lemme get those.” Several more arms appear on his bigfoot form, taking Joseph’s things with ease. Walking close to him seems to stave off the cold, and furry, warm arm rests on his shoulders as Barclay asks about the trip. 

When they reach the cabin, the god sets the bags on the table and the suitcase on the bed. Joseph kneels down to the mass of glowing fungus and twisted plant life and takes the nearest vine in his hands, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. 

“Just letting you know I’m home.”

“Missed you, sugar.” The reply seems to come from the stalks rattling outside the windows. 

The back door creaks and Indrid steps into the main cabin; Duck built him a little art studio–complete with pencils and paints conjured from plants– so he didn’t have to always go into the one he teaches at in town. 

“Welcome home, pet.” Indrid drapes his arms over Joseph’s shoulders. There’s charcoal on his cheek, and Joseph wipes it away before kissing him. Indrid grins when they part, “I have some business with you, agent.”

“I hoped as much.”

“Barclay, will you be joining us?”

“Not as much as I want to.” The god sighs, “The freeze is deep this year, and on top of that, humans seem to burn themselves out on cooking and canning after the new year. So I need to forage a bit more tonight.” He kisses them both goodbye and then he’s gone.

Joseph unpacks his things in a hurry, knowing he won’t be able to enjoy himself with Indrid if the laundry isn’t in the hamper and the groceries aren’t put away. Indrid makes no comment other than asking what on earth can rip the tire off an SUV. As they talk, the domesticity of it all overwhelms him; a home like this with someone used to be no less out of reach than living in a cabin in a cornfield with two eldritch beings. 

“You know, when I was zig-zagging about the states I–oh” Indrid smiles as Joseph gently backs him against the counter for a kiss, “shall I leave the last bag for later?”

“Please.”

Indrid laughs, allowing Joseph to pull him to the bed. Then his grin turns wicked and Joseph is trapped on his back, his boyfriend calling, “Barclay? A moment of assistance?”

Black, fur-lined cuffs appear on his wrist, leather cord leading from each to the headboard. As Indrid fetches a matching collar from a peg on the wall, Joseph groans, “I haven’t gotten to touch you in weeks and this is what you do to me?”

“As much as I love your attentive touches” Indrid closes the collar around Joseph’s throat, “we both know that when you’ve been overwhelmed with work, what you truly need is to be taken.”

“Yes” He closes his eyes, lifts his hips and shifts his legs to help Indrid undress him. He’s still in a dress shirt, but rather than uncuffing him a moment Indrid opts to leave it unbuttoned and shove the undershirt up to kiss his stomach before retreating to remove his pajamas. 

When his boyfriend finally pushes his cock into him they groan in comic unison. Indrid rests their foreheads together and murmurs, “I missed you so much, pet. So much.”

Hands unable to comfort him, Joseph kisses his chin and jaw, “I’m here now.”

Indrid licks his lips, “So you are.”

His boyfriend takes his time, thrusts slow and steady while languidly kissing Joseph to capture his moans. Eventually his hand slips between them, rubbing Joseph’s dick. The collar no longer feels inanimate; now it’s Barclay’s hand, reaching across acres to close around his throat and remind him to be a good boy. 

When he cums it’s with a pent up moan from over a month without the attention he ached for. Indrid switches to quick thrusts, joining him with a little gasp. Once he pulls out, Indrid rolls over, only managing to wiggle his pajama pants back on before cuddling into Joseph’s arms. He pets his boyfriend’s back, tracing his fingers over his tattoos, and spots a single, glowing eye watching them from Duck’s spot. 

He hopes he enjoyed the show. 

Joseph blows a kiss. The eye winks, playful, and then it’s gone. 

—---------------------------------------------------------

On March 7th, Joseph and Indrid wake up to snowdrops peeking through the floor. Joseph says “that’s a good sign” as Indrid sprints across the cabin to where Duck’s form is looking more human by the moment. 

“Hey, darlin. Hey, city boy.” Duck shifts positions, sitting up for the first time in two months. Skin is always the last thing to form on him, so Joseph feels as if he’s looking at an anatomical drawing where the sinews are swapped for roots and stems. 

“Do you need anything?” Indrid’s hands are flapping as Duck yawns and stretches. 

“Nah, I’m okay for now, sugar. It’ll take me a few days, maybe even a few weeks, to be able to do much more’n sit here and talk. By the by, that tree in the orchard that the storm took out is gonna make for some real nice soil. Good job on the decay, big fella.”

“Thanks, man.” The rug by the fire yawns, pushing up onto many hands as Barclay’s bigfoot form takes shape, “feels like there might be more mushroom this year, I kept running into their mycelium.”

“That’ll be nice, gets folks out and foraging, which I like to see. Uh” his posture turns sheepish, “sorry, shouldn’t talk shop when y’all been missin’ me, but I always wake up with all this info about how spring is gonna go.”

“I do not care what you talk about” Indrid takes an earthy hand, “I’ve missed hearing your full voice too much.”

“And I, sadly, have to be at work in forty-five minutes. Catch me up at dinner?”

“Yes” the three respond as one. 

The stalks still struggle to form a path as he walks out. But when he gets to his car, crocuses bloom in the shape of a heart by the driver-side door. 

When he arrives home that night, Duck has hair and a thin layer of skin and as wrapped in a robe of new leaves, Indrid perched in his lap. Joseph takes up a similar position in Barclay’s lap, breathing in crisp air as his boyfriend nuzzles his throat. They stay up well past midnight, just talking, and Joseph is glad tomorrow is Saturday. 

He’s even more grateful for this when he’s awoken in the early morning by a yelp. Indrid, who was a moment ago on his side, asleep, is now being dragged across the floor to where the swirling mass of Duck’s true form is gathering in the center of the room. Even seeing it dozens of times, Joseph’s brain rebels at defining the shape as anything more general than “big” and “covered in bioluminescent patches to act as eyes.” At least he can tell that Indrid isn’t being dragged as he first thought; a tendril of green has his ankle, but he’s being spirited towards Duck by a carpet of small, purple flowers. 

“I, I thought you said you wouldn’t need this kind of, of intensitEEP” Indrid squirms as his clothes are thrown to the other side of the room, “for a few weeks, when, when spring started in earnest and brought your energy with it.”

“That’s how it’s happened every year for longer than anyone can remember. But this year, you’re here, sugar. You put more energy into me just from cuddlin’ yesterday than I’d normally gather in a month. Which means I’m fuckin’ ravenous and it’s time for my little offering to do his job.”

Indrid moans, body fully off the ground in the vines sprouting from the floor and ceiling. Reality bends and cracks so abruptly that Joseph gets a headache. Then Duck’s human form is standing their, studying Indrid. 

“You ready for this?”

“Yes, yesyes, Duck please”

The god takes Indrid’s face in his hands, and for a moment everything, even the air, is still. Joseph wonders what Duck is looking for, if he sees things in Indrid Joseph’s human eyes will never perceive. 

Even tied up, Indrid manages to lean forward and kiss Duck. When he pulls back, the god’s smile is achingly human in its affection. 

Then Indrid cries out as a tendril pushing into his ass, the noise muffled as another finds his mouth. Some of the plant matter pulls him to his knees, bright red flowers spreading out around him as another vine circles his dick and a fourth begins twining up his body.

To Joseph’s surprise, Duck’s attention shifts to him.

“Now, if I recall correctly, city boy, I ain’t shown you all my dicks just yet.”

“I, I cataloged five so far” His tongue is sticking in his mouth and his sleep pants are already a mess. As Duck prowls towards him, he seems to become more solid, more real, with every step.

“Clothes off. Now.”

Joseph obeys as thin, flexible tree branches extend from the wall to fasten his collar in place. Duck manhandles him into his lap, facing Joseph away from him, vines spinning Indrid to face them at the same time. 

The scene across from makes any porn he’s seen look tamer than a Disney kiss. It’s as if all the plant life emerging from Duck’s renewed energy is reaching for Indrid, leaves forming into hands to pull his head back, vines working his cock, binding his thighs to the ground, and tugging at his nipple piercings, while the main two fuck him so deeply it’s as if they’re trying to touch inside him. Tears are coming down Indrid’s cheeks and he’s thrashing with every thrust. 

“Duck? Is, can you tell if he’s alright?”

Hands the temperature of sun-warmed dirt slip around his waist to caress his chest and stomach, “Yeah, darlin, I can. I’ll feel if he needs to stop before he even has a chance to say it.” A kiss on his cheek, gardenia tickling his nose, “thanks for lookin out for him. You want me to show you somethin’ new?”

“Yes, please.”

The head of the cock slides in so suddenly he doesn’t get a chance to look at it. Staring down, he can only see the base, which resembles a hibiscus flower in shape and color. Rather than pushing into him, the base cups his body, and the “petals” begin undulating, stroking his cock and folds deliciously. The cock inside him feels pretty plain, though now and then it seems to ripple.

“I gonna get to get in on the action?”

Joseph’s head snaps up to find Barclay idly stroking his cock as he watches Indrid. 

The vines holding Indrid shove him forward, offering Barclay a much better view of his ass as Duck says, “you can have as much of Joe as you want. But just for today, ‘Drid is all mine.”

“Got it.” Barclay stands, “not like it’s a bummer to just fuck you, blue eyes.” A short, thick, rounded cock bumps his mouth, “open up baby.”

Joseph takes the cock into his mouth, the tightly packed bumps on it already each moving on their own. It’s a wonderful, novel feeling on his tongue and he sucks happily as little growls come from above him. The pressure on his own dick changes, speeding up and pushing him towards his orgasm. He tries to pull off and say this, but Duck holds his head in place, forcing him to keep the cock in his mouth.

“I know city boy, I can tell you’re close. I’m glad you’re havin’ fun, but you cummin’ ain’t what stops this.”

He whimpers happily and surrenders to his orgasm. He can’t see Indrid anymore, but Duck seems to have stopped fucking this throat, and desperate, ecstatic moans are coming from just out of sight. 

“Mmmm, forgot how good you feel, city boy.”

He finds Duck’s hands and squeezes them, snickering when flowers follow the path of his thumbs. 

“That’s it, fuck, you both feel so fuckin good, I’m, I’m gonna-” There’s a grunt like a tree groaning in the wind and then something bursts from the cock inside him, hundreds of disctint sensations, all buzzing. The portion on the outside of his body doesn’t let up in the slightest, and the shaft inside begins not only expanding but pulsing.

“Feel that?” Duck growls in his ear, “told you I had one that had seeds that’d fill you up and get you off at the same time. But that ain’t all” another pulse and Duck purrs, “y’know what it’s doin?”

Joseph manages to shake his head.

“It’s trying to keep ‘em all in and push ‘em as deep as they can go.” A hand slides to Joseph’s stomach, “heard all kinds of stories about humans gettin’ bred by gods like us.”

Words like that would bother him with anyone else, but Duck’s grasp of human genders is shaky at best, and he knows this doesn’t change how his boyfriend sees him. Also that Duck, would never actually do something like that without seriously checking with him first.

So he surrenders to the fantasy, spreading his legs wider to feel the base of the cock widen to keep everything in. 

 “Fuck, you like that blue eyes?” Barclay groans, “then once Duck is done I oughta have a turn. See if I can make it so all you can do is burrow up with me and let me take care of you.”

“Good thinking. We’ll both try today. Whoever’s takes, the other guy will get to put the next one in him. Not, not like I can’t make this cabin big as we need it to be.”

Barclay cums down Joseph’s throat, and the sensation is so overwhelming combined with the way Duck is fucking him that Joseph cums again, certain he’s squirted as well.

“Fuck yeah” Duck holds him down as the cock pushes deeper, “see, your body wants us to know just how bad you want this.”

“Yes” he gasps, Barclay holding his face up so he can watch him come apart, “yes, god please”

“Your wish is my command, darlin.” Duck moans and another wave of cum pulses into him, then another, and another, the vibrations finding all the right spots inside him and he cums a third time, helplessly crying out as Barclay tells him he was made for this. 

Then Duck pulls out and waves of something faintly blue drip down Joseph’s legs as Barclay cleans him and bundles him up into the bed. Indrid is limp in the vines, cum noticeable on the floor, and Duck scoops him up to carry him over, whispering all the while about how much he loves him, how amazing he is, how he’ll always take care of him. 

As Indrid curls against him, Joseph murmurs, “Was that okay? They didn’t ignore you for my sake?”

His boyfriend smiles weakly, “First, pet, do not underestimate how much I enjoy seeing you ruined. But more importantly, Duck was with me, too. A benefit of his nature, I would say.”

“No kidding.” Joseph kisses him softly as Duck and Barclay cuddle up with them, the whole house moving to prepare them breakfast and clean the floor. And when Joseph steps outside after a long nap, he finds the entire structure covered in spring blooms.