#oxy universe

[voidofthearchive]

mg would wrap them in random paper she found, theirs ominous stains on half of them and they're held together with scotch tape and sheer willpower.

scarf would spend a bunch of time picking out the perfect paper for that specific person and wrapping it up neatly but in a way that easy to open still. the type of paper you carefully unwrap to save for next year.

hunter would use the clingiest santa wrapping paper every to embarrass her family and make florist/emerald happy.

emerald would try and his hearts is very very clearly there but there super super messy and kinda dented.

florist would have the neatest gifts every, and have flowers shoved everywhere as well.

oxy cuts out the paper and tapes it to the side of the boxes. it tried following a wikihow article but couldn't get it.

red dosent wrap his gifts he just gets nice boxes because he dosent have any sort of fine motor control.

eris spends forever drawing all the paper emself and always always puts bows on everything.

cy dosent wrap gifts just shoves that at people, threatens their friends and lively hoods, and runs away. girl is allergic to compliments and will bite.

prince gets the silliest gifts and makes sure that unwrapping them is super fun. like having the box me a hollow pink flamingo.

What do gifts wrapped by your OC look like?

[undertale-writing-times]

"luxury seat"

On the nightmare aus

I had such a hard time with this for some reason...

Nightmare: It would shock him. He has no idea how to react! For once, he would just stare at you, a look of confusion on his face. Why the heck were you sitting on his lap? “Y/n, what are you doing?” he gently moves you off, his cheeks feeling hot under the goop. Good job, you embarrassed him.

Oxi: All of the eyes on Oxi’s tentacles would turn to focus on you. It is… confused? More questioning exactly why you were sitting on its lap. Were you comfortable? It does not think that it would be very comfortable to sit on… ah, no matter, whatever. It doesn’t really mind you sitting on its lap, it would just put its arms around you loosely. It is amused.

Gloom: They tense when you did that, staring at you with a big socket then they click their teeth together, “What are you doing?” they’re panicking. They’re embarrassed. Their tentacles are shifting and curling around faster than normal. You’re going to break them.

Envy: He would make a soft oh sound, before laughing. He moves his arms around your waist, leans back in his chair, and rubs your hips with his thumbs, “Well then, Y/n, how forward of you. Is there something that you need?” He found this pretty nice. He loved it whenever you sat on his lap.

Delusion: He jolts at first, and his eyes widen looking at you, blushing hard, “Y/n, what… what is this for?” His tail was wagging so fast. He’s excited but mostly confused about why you decided to just randomly come and try to sit on his lap. Was this like… for a reason or were you just doing it to do it? Ahhh!

Nightfall: He would have to pause and stare at you for a moment, then he gets a relaxed smile and he moves his arms around your waist, “Did you want a nap?” He wouldn’t mind if you wanted to take a little rest against him… he is silently panicking though and very flustered haha. 

Shade: Honestly, he would most likely be the one to sit on people's laps haha. He's very light and pretty small, so it might be better to do it like that ^^'

Moonlight: It does, for sure, startle him but he just laughs lightly, "Oh good morning, Y/n." He moves his arms around your waist and nuzzles into your neck, letting out a happy hum. He needs to be careful with his eyepatch, not wanting it to move. He seemed very pleased.

[knightnicole]

You go take your starter and this is the prof. Pokémon that welcomes you. What you do?

Rei just can't accept he has a really big crush on Oxy 😔😔

Drawing a friend's Sonic OC into a Pokémon OC 😭 I like how Oxy is turning out ;w;

[ross-hollander]

Hangar feng shui...

...is believed in almost universally. The intersection of soldiers and technology experts breeds a deep atmosphere of superstition. Any luck that can be accrued by hook or crook must be, to offset the unlimited ways that things can go wrong. For instance:

Fire runs on the sun's path, lightning runs on the magnetic poles. On Terra, for instance, that is respectively east-west and north-south. You want neither of these energies trapped in the hangar, so it's best to have either no doors that face either direction- so the hangar has to sit at an angle -or to have two doors facing each other to ensure passage through.

Good-condition 'mechs serve as talismans of abundance or prosperity. You want them in the maintenance niches closest the door. On the other hand, the scrap bin or write-off pile is a fortune sink, and should therefore be neutralized by placing it off-center, preferably in a corner.

Metallic energy strengthens 'mechs and eases the whole of the repair process. Wood saps metal, though, so avoid any wood in the hangar: chairs, crates, anything. The most keen adherents will avoid using paper (it is, after all, an incarnation of wood) in favor of digital tablets for note-taking.

Power tools should be stored disassembled, at risk of losing their will from being ready for use but not at work. They are to be, so to speak, put off-duty when their service for the day is done, and then put back together for use the next.

From the main door, if you're starting with an empty hangar, 'mechs should fill in spots starting from the left side, and only then taking niches on the right. (You solidify the usually weak side first, before you start putting any into port on the right, to achieve a balanced state.)

Fire stations (the emergency hubs with respirators, oxy tanks, hoses and extinguishers) should be spaced along the length of the hangar, right down the center. Vitally, they should be equidistant between the maintenance niches on each side. Fire, after all, is weakening to metal, and since the stations are designed to defeat fire, leaving one 'mech further than another would result in a lopsided defense.

A 'mech must never be bordered on both sides by ones of equal energy, either stellar or nebular. Thus, for instance, a brawler can be bordered on one side by a skirmisher, but should have an ambusher or juggernaut on the other. Failure to regulate this will result in obstructed energy flow, and consequently stubborn or malfuctional 'mechs.

When traversing the hangar, never move straight across from one niche to another, or your path may form an energy barrier. What you want to do is move in a diagonal, like starting from the corner of one slot that's closer to the door, and then ending at the corner of the one across from it that is farther away.

[drfirsnogayny]

Reblogging art with my characters who's still alive

Depression kindergarten

@drfirsnogayny

I have a headache…

[takamiwife]

Got sick and can not stop coughing at all and yhe worst part is my period started the same time rip

Could i request a lil comfort thing for hawks or dabi comforting the reader who is sick and also feels even worse cause she has rlly bad cramps?

AWW I HOPE YOURE FEELING BETTER :(( sorry this is likely out after you’re all better but this still deserves to be written !! if you’ve submitted something to my inbox dw, i have seen it and it’s in my drafts, im just going in order!! 💞 also, there’s some sex and the city spoilers toward the end of it, for season 3, so just watch out for that if you’re watching it/interested in watching it!

well, sick season was back and hit you full force. you woke up, your throat feeling like it had been scratched by a thousand cats and your nose stuffed. you groaned, your voice barely coming out above a whisper. you shuffled out into the kitchen, nearly passing out from reaching up into the cabinet to get some tea.

“baby? are you okay? you’re up early” keigo yawned, following you out into the kitchen

all it took was for you to turn around, looking at keigo; tired, darkened eyes, puffy cheeks, and your body being able to stand.

“jesus, you definitely are not,” he frowned, putting a hand to your forehead. “you don’t feel like you have a fever… here, come on, sit down,” he guides you over to the couch, watching as you slump against the comfortable throw pillows. he hands you the remote and moves back into the kitchen, immediately making you some tea — you never seemed to have an appetite when you were sick, but hopefully you could handle this.

after adorning your tea with honey, he moved back to the couch, placing them in front of you, replacing the throw pillows with his own body as you lay on his lap.

you whimper, holding your stomach; as if everything else wasn’t bad enough, the universe decided to curse you with cramps too.

he stroked your hair, using a few of his feathers to retrieve the pill bottle from the bathroom, not wanting to move from his position. he opened the red-capped bottle, tapping a few pills into his hand. “here, cmon, you can sit up for me right?” he coos, helping you sit up and make sure you toon the pills, hopefully to at least help with the pain. “there we go, that’s my girl” he smiled

“don’t you have work?” you say quietly, moving your head back down to his lap.

“i can be a little late, they can manage without me. don’t worry about it, alright?” he said softly, running his hands along your side.

now, had you woken up with dabi, it would go a little different.

you lay in your shared bed, surrounded by his scent, but your boyfriend was nowhere to be found. he had been out all night doing.. god knows what with the league, and you had woken up with all of the worst symptoms imaginable. you scrolled on your phone, praying he’d be back soon so he could help you.

luckily, something listened, as he cracked the door open, trying his best to be quiet; a surprisingly sweet gesture from him when he was out all night on missions.

“shit, are you okay?” he kneeled in front of you. “you look awful”

“thanks for the reminder,” you say through a stuffed nose. “my throat is on fire, i can barely breathe through my nose, and of course i have to have fucking cramps..”

“well.. hey, at least you aren’t pregnant” he shrugged

you glare at him, a small part of you finding the silver lining a bit amusing

“can you.. help me, please? you know, like a good boyfriend?” you hide your smile

“uhh…” dabi trailed off, playing with a strand of your hair. of course he wanted to help, he just.. didn’t really know how. he didn’t really get sick, and if he did he just popped whatever pill was in his cabinet and said fuck it and continued on. “yea.. what do you want? we’ve probably got a whole stash somewhere - xanax, percocet, oxy, if you want something a little stronger.. uh, a little coke might not hurt, just rub it on your gums”

“are you insane?” you stare at him blankly. “do you just have, like.. tylenol? midol? anything like that? and not.. crushed up and in a line. in pill form”

“yea, yea, let me go check. pussy..” he muttered, shooting you a smirk.

you used your little strength to smack his arm, unable to hide your smile.

after digging around under his sink, he was finally able to find some normal, non-hard drug tylenol.

he returned to you, holding onto your side as you sat up, taking the pills with a swig of water.

“you uh.. really don’t feel good, do you?”

“you couldn’t tell?” you ask through your scratchy voice.

as you lay back down, he looked at you, your eyes closing as you groaned. he tried to remember back when he was a child; there was a short period of time where he got quite sick during the winter, and his mother was nothing short of a saint. cartoons, warm soup, medicinal tea, cool wash clothes on the forehead.. the whole nine yards. it was clear that what you needed right now was him, and he was more than willing to give that to you.

“c’mere..” he shuffled beside you, pulling you onto his chest. “are you.. hungry? do you want anything warm? that’d help your throat, right?”

“not right now.. just wanna sleep right now..” you say into his chest, and he pulls the warm blanket over you, kissing your head as you fall back asleep, finally sound and able.

now, as you fell back asleep on keigo’s lap, he knew he couldn’t ignore his work any longer or they’d have his head on a spike. in an indiana-jones style move, he replaced his lap with a pillow, draping a blanket over your sleeping form. he kneeled in front of you, watching you sleep as he kissed your forehead.

“i’ll be back soon, okay? i’m sorry i have to leave..” he whispered, brushing some hair away from your face.

luckily, with the day being quite boring, within about three hours of working, he was able to convince his side kicks to take over for the day; “you guys can handle this, i have a sick girlfriend i need to take care of. i mean, what horrible things are going to happen, it’s a random tuesday.”

back at home, you stirred back to life, the pain now having subsided a decent amount. you reach for your phone on the coffee table that sat beside your tea, clicking keigo’s contact. he picked up rather quickly, his voice being a comfort on the other line.

“hey my love, finally awake huh?” you could hear his smile through the screen.

“yea, i just woke up”

“ah, well your throat sounds a bit better. how are the cramps?”

“um, a lot better.. sorry to make you late, but i appreciate you staying with me”

keigo chuckled

“they were fine without me, love. actually, i just left them”

“what? but-“

“but nothing. i’m on my way home, want me to get your favorite?”

you sit up, smiling. “…if it isn’t too much trouble”

“i figured you’d say that. i’m already on my way there. i’ll see you soon, okay?”

“okay.. i love you”

“i love you too”

still being held in dabi’s arms, you slept surprisingly soundly despite everything. he slipped out of your grip, making sure you were comfortable before going to the raggedy kitchen downstairs, searching for anything that could make you feel better. but he was doubtful the crumbs in the dirty cupboards would help much. so, with no other choice, he put on his hoodie and a mask, pulling it up over his nose, less likely to be recognized.

so, after walking a few blocks to the nearest convenience store (that also happened to have a deli), he returned home with your favorite soup, a box of tea bags, and an ice cream bar for you to enjoy later if you felt better. after placing the ice cream in the fridge, he made a nice warm cup of tea (thanks to the help of his quirk) and brought that, along with your soup up to the room, setting it on the bedside table.

“hey,” he shook you gently. “i got you something.”

“mmh.. you’re supposed to let sick people sleep.” you whined.

“fine, go on and sleep, but your soup is gonna get cold”

you opened your eyes; okay, you were quite hungry now. you reluctantly sat up, placing your back against the wall.

“there she is,” he grinned slyly. “morning sunshine” he said, handing you the cup of soup with the plastic spoon. “and there’s um.. tea, too.”

“wow, you really went all out, huh?” you smile from over the cup.

“of course i did. it’s for you, after all.” he brushed it off.

“well, thank you honey.” you coo, gently scratching his chin. damn, he loved when you did that.

he sat beside you, occasionally accepting bites of your soup.

“if i get sick from this, you’re so dead” he

“you’d love me taking care of you, don’t lie”

“…fair enough”

within about forty five minutes, keigo had returned home, takeout bags in hand as you paused your show. he placed them down on the coffee table in front of you, unpacking them.

“thank you, kei. i mean it, really. you didn’t have to do all this.” you say, smiling at him as he came back with plates for the two of you.

“what do you mean? of course i did. i love you, and you didn’t feel good, so of course i had to help you feel better.” he said, placing the food onto a plate and handing it to you.

“well, still-“

“still nothing,” he cut you off, leaning toward you. “you take care of me all the time. this was nothing compared to all you do for me.”

your heart swelled as you stared at his determined face.

“now, catch me up. what’s going on with the girls?” he gestured to the tv.

“well, carrie just cheated on aidan with mr. big…”

after a few hours of lazing about and watching your favorite show on dabi’s phone, he returned to the room with his hands behind his back.

“i got something else for you, too… figured since you’re feeling better..” he pulled out the wrapped ice cream bar, holding it out to you.

“oh, baby..”

“i know it’s not the best, but it could help your throat feel better and.. i dunno, you like ice cream, so..”

you sit up on your knees on the bed, pulling him into a hug.

and as you enjoy your treat, he sits beside you.

“so, feeling better?”

“much. thank you, doctor.” you tease.

“well.. good. i don’t like seeing you like this.”

you lean your head on his shoulder, holding your ice cream up to him.

as much as he hated seeing you sick, dabi loved taking care of you for the day. of course he wanted you to feel better, but.. he wouldn’t mind another day of holding you in bed.

[swifty-fox]

“things you said when you were scared” 😈

prompts that turned into a 4k fic.

this will be available on ao3 once beta read and while it takes place in Little Beasts universe it is NOT canon to the actual timeline. This is just a fun what-if scenario

TW's: Attempted suicide, drug overdose, vomit (lots of it)

It starts out as a gut feeling. Creeping dread squeezing his intestines, licking up his lungs like thick black tar, winding around his spine, tapping the bone with crooked claws. There's much to feel off about, really. Nothing has felt or been quite right since Huglin had opened the door to find his star disciple on his knees to taking communion from the town burnout.

Dazed hours sat listening to Gales low rumble, Huglin's raised shrill reprimanding shock, the blank look on the priests face as he stepped out of the office, shaking his head at John's questions.

He doesn't remember how he convinced Gale to come back with him, maybe because it took shockingly little effort, the other man walking as if his strings had been snipped right near the base. But they're here, in John's room. Or at least he is. Gale had excused himself to the bathroom. To shower and, John suspects, to have a private breakdown in his own company.

Twenty minutes is little requirement for concern.

He'd leant Gale the same Star Wars shirt he'd worn last time, a pair of sweatpants that had a fighting chance of staying on Gale's slim hips. He was lying on his bed and smoking, staring at the cracks in the ceiling and wondering if this would be the mistake that finally stopped poor Frannie's heart, if this would be enough to erase his previous reputation.

Yeah, there goes John Egan, he threw away his whole career over some oxy would likely now become here comes John Egan, the kid who fucked our priest.

It would be new, if not necessarily better. For once, he won't be the one coming out of it the worst. At the very least, this sort of behavior was expected of him if not necessarily accepted. Gale had fallen further, lost more, faced a heavier reckoning.

Gale had lost his job, his home, his self-respect most certainly. 

John smokes, pokes around the corners of himself looking for the itching need to waft up just as it did any time things got hard these days. The need for a fix, for a little kick to his system to get out of his body. A heavy woolen blanket over the jagged edges off his feelings. Something to cushion him as he lay atop the fucking wreckage of his life. Yet again. And it’s there, faint and sly and waiting but mostly he’s tired, mostly he’s worried.

Mostly his gut is clenching with some horrible anticipation like the seconds before a thunderclap.

As a rule, John listens to his gut. He’s got pretty good instincts, they’ve never let him down when he’s chosen to listen. It’s the choosing that’s the hard part. 

But rarely, has his gut been wrong.

John stands, gets his feet under him and pushes up. Pauses for a moment to listen for anything from upstairs but it’s late and Frannie has barely said two words to him. In silence he exits into the hallway, taps his knuckles lightly on the closed bathroom door. The wood is bloated and slightly sticky from steam, he can hear the soft rush of the shower on the other side.

“Gale?” he calls. 

The priest – formerly now – wasn’t beyond ignoring John, he held no illusions. He was good at even, he held out for long enough that John had to work for it, had to needle and run his mouth and bite back the excited wag of his proverbial tail when Gale slid furious blue eyes over to him. But his stomach was twisting and the wood is slick and oily with something like warning. 

“Gale,” he says more firmly, reaches down to twist the unmoving knob. It’s slick too, from the steam escaping under the door, from his own hand gone clammy. 

John’s been here before. Once in this house, years ago. Door knob eye level and much bigger between his fingers, wiggling it and calling for his mama to wake up in the tub. He’s telling himself this isn’t then, this is what they might call an emotional flashback, a simple mistake of association in times of stress. Gale didn’t even smoke anymore even though the good lord had no commandments against tobacco. He’s jiggling the knob, calling Gale’s name a third time.

“‘M fuckin’ serious this time Buck you’re worrying me.” 

He almost calls Gale Father, bites back the title at the last second.

“Gale,” he barks. 

There’s nothing. The mocking fall of water against cheap porcelain. Wood, wet and sticky against his forehead as he presses closer to try to hear anything. 

The door frame splits like butter under his shoulder, hot humid air gags him for a second and he flaps a hand out to turn on the overhead fan despite the little difference it would make.

Sink unoccupied, shower empty. Bathroom mirror open and an orange bottle slipping under John’s feet, nearly upending him. A loose-limbed limp body tucked between tub and toilet, head thrown back in a vulnerable white line and beaded with moisture. Perspiration and the spray of the shower both, it darkens Gale’s hair, the fabric of John’s shirt. Keeps the blood flowing from the teeth marks on Gale’s fingers, chunks of vomit caught between their limp splay. Whatever effort had been made to expunge the drugs from Gale’s body had clearly been unsuccessful as more yellow pills stab John’s bare feet.

He’s making a high thin noise, air escaping his pinhole tight throat like the slow deflation of a balloon. Falling to his knees hard enough they crack audibly against the tile. There’s vomit in the toilet, half digested food and the silty remnants of more pills, drifting with the vibrations of John’s large body hitting the floor. 

“Are you serious?” He asks Gale’s unresponsive form, repeating it over in a thin reedy tone, like a petulant child more than a man witnessing something horrific.

“Are you serious, Gale, are you serious, are you serious, are you serious–”

Gale’s skin is just as damp as the wood door, clammy and sticky and John’s telling himself it’s the shower spray. His lips are blue, the delicate split skin around his cuticles, there’s a strange hitch to his chest every few breaths and John’s tapping his face then shaking it, thumb catching the sharp of his chin to shake. 

Drags his knuckles in vicious circles against Gale’s sternum hard enough to bruise them both, breathing as labored as Gale’s own. There’s a ringing in his ears, high pitched and tinny. 

“Buck,” he barks.

He has no narcan, why the fuck would he have narcan on him anymore, he’s scrambling through his pockets for his phone but the slim shape of it is nowhere to be found. With his free hand he’s still patting Gale’s face, peeling one eyelid back to only find milky white. For a second there’s a hint of iris, a bloom of red blood where vessels had burst either from the opioids ripping through his body or the force of his vomiting. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck–”

John knows this drill. He’s done this more times than he’s caring to remember, pulling Gale out onto the bare floor, head lolling and limbs wet and slippery like broken branches. Gets the other man rolled on his side, shaking his shoulder one last time as if leaving the imprint of his knuckles in the center of his chest somehow couldn’t have been enough.

“Just stay right there sweetheart.”

The endearment slips right out, slickened by fear. 

He used to run entire baseball fields. Now dizzy spots dance in front of his eyes from the mere effort to make the handful of steps between the bathroom and his room, snatching his phone from the nightstand. Fingertips catching on the cracked glass he trips his way back to the hallway, is at Gale’s side before the first ring.

“Nine-one-one what’s your emergency?” 

“My friend’s overdosed,” He gasps, thinks he really should be more calm than this. He should be an old hand at this. He should be calm so he can fucking save Gale’s life but he’s drowning under the crushing panic. Under the sheer fucking guilt.

At what point had Gale looked at John today and decided to take a lesson from the crazy he’d been sticking his dick in.

“Alright sir, are you sure it’s an overdose?” 

“Yeah pretty fuckin’ sure.” 

There’s traces of vomit crusted at the corner of Gale’s mouth, John swipes it away with a trembling thumb.

“Have you tried-”

“I called his name and I shook him and I rubbed his fucking chest I know the goddamn drill lady, I need you to send an ambulance.” 

“I’m going to need you to stay calm, sir.”

Fuck you. “Okay.” 

“Do you know what he’s taken?” 

Fingers scramble for the bottle, sending more pills scattering across the floor. Gale’s a deadweight against him, temple resting on John’s thigh in a sickening boneless weight. His breathing is still that strange stop-and-start pattern that spoke of a body desperately trying to keep functioning. 

John’s still breathing whining and desperate in the back of his throat. 

“Dilaudid,” he says, the script oddly blurry for the first few seconds he tries to read, “The-the eight mil ones, I don’t fuckin’ know how many though. He threw up some of them. Jesus fuck, Gale.”

He’s shouting by the last bit and the dispatcher reminds him again to be calm. He isn’t sure what he says in response but when she asks his address he rattles it off quick and precise.

“Is there anything can do?” he asks, voice rattling through his ribcage with the desperate need to fix this. Stupid naive hope that he knows so far better than because he’s got scars in the shape of Curt’s teeth on his own fingers from saving his fucking life. 

“Can you tell me your name, sir?”

“Bucky.”

“Okay, Bucky, you’re doing just fine. Help is on their way.” 

“I’ve got his head tilted back, his breathing ain’t right.”

“Not your first rodeo, Bucky?”

John swipes at his eyes with his free hand, the skin coming away soaked, “No Ma’am.” 

“Just keep doing what you’re doing, they’re almost there.” 

Steams still billowing around them from the shower, dampening his clothes. He sets the phone to speaker, places it on the tile beside him and makes one more attempt with his fingers against Gale’s stuttering chest. Bends down over him to press his lips then his forehead to his temple. Gale’s sweat prickles his lips, clammy and sour. 

“Come on, Father,” he pleads, “Come on don’t do this to me, Gale. Don’t do this sweetheart.”

Gale’s body moves of its own volition, and for a minute John thinks he’s made some miraculous return to wakefulness but a second noise escapes his throat, thick and gargling and wet. The sour smell of bile rises, slipping liquid past his lips and darkening John’s jeans, puddling across the tile floor. John makes his own noise from deep in his throat, panicked and severe. 

“Can you tell me what’s happening, Bucky?”

“He’s vomiting.”

“Okay, that’s alright,” the dispatcher soothes and John bites his tongue hard enough the taste of copper blooms, I fucking know. “Is his airway clear?” 

Cursing to himself, John slips his fingers past the slick vomit, scissoring between Gale’s molars in a sickening mimicry of a hundred times before, hooking his mouth open and this time when he bends over to look down into the cavern of his mouth it’s not to spit or kiss or tease.

“Yeah, yeah he’s good.” 

“Help should be there, can you hear the sirens Bucky?”

John can, can see red and blue lights tracking across the open door to the hallway. His hands shake as he picks up the phone, taking it off speaker. It reeks of bile just like the rest of the room, wet against his fingertips but his mind is going soft and fuzzy, calm acceptance slipping over like a wool cover.

“I hear them,” he says, “The cops will probably already know, but can you please tell them I’m a felon on parole for drug charges. I don’t have any weapons on me and will cooperate fully.”  

He hears the fuzz of the phone connection, the sirens loud and piercing outside, the quiet tapping of a keyboard.

“I’ve let them know.”

John exhales shakily.

“I’m going to hang up now, Bucky.” 

“Thank you Ma’am,” he says, the words caught in his throat. 

There’s a knock at the door and he sets the black screen of the phone facedown somewhere dry and rolls Gale back into recovery. The ringing is back in his ears when he stands but he sprints with surprising calm to the door. He directs the EMT’s down the hall, fights the urge to follow them because there’s already little room in the bathroom. When he sits at the kitchen table, clothes damp and stained with the contents of Gale’s stomach, it’s at an angle where he can see the responders crowding into the bathroom, running back for a stretcher. 

“You got the naloxone on you?” 

“Holy fuck that’s Father Cleven.” 

John presses his hands to his face. 

-*~*-

Johns wrists ache. He’s exhausted and sore and Gales vomit has dried to an uncomfortable crust on his clothes. It was late enough he wouldn’t hear news of bail until morning when the judges’s office opened. Chick had told him as much, shuffling up to the cell window dressed in a pair of loose jeans and a faded football sweatshirt looking exactly like a man who’d been pulled out of bed at two am. 

“Have you heard anything?” John asks, leaning tiredly against the glass.

“What the hell are we doing here, John? You been fucking your priest?”

“He’s not mine,” John says, closing his eyes, “It wasn’t your business.” 

Chicks finger jabs against the glass, voice low and rumbling, “It sure fucking is if your giving him fucking opiates. Did Brady know this?”

John blinks at him, going cold, “I didn’t give him shit Neil. He took Frannie’s stuff I wouldn’t– I’m clean.” 

“Does Brady. Know.”

“Yeah – fuck – he fuckin’ knew. He knew I was messing around with him because that’s all that happened. Neil, I have my two-year chip. I was almost done with this whole thing in six more months why would I fuck that up?” 

Chick just stares at him, and John stares back, feeling every thread holding him up slowly be snipped one by one. It was one thing to have the police assume the worst, and it wasn’t quite like looked anything but really fucking bad. But Chick had been the one to see every step of the fought for progress John has made. He knew, knew the work John had put in. 

“This is why it’s a fucking bad idea to have a sober coach be someone who you’re friends with, I never should have signed off on that, I should have known he wouldn’t be able to be objective–”

“‘M fuckin’ sober!” John shouts, slamming his knuckles against the wall and then closes his eyes with a slow inhale.

“I’m sober,” his voice cracks, “He was staying with me after we got caught and left to take a shower. I got a bad fucking feeling and busted open the door to find him passed out next to the toilet.”

He’s talking slowly as he can, calm as he can manage because he knows rage will get him exactly squat. 

“I saw he’d taken a buncha’ pills and I called the EMT’s.”

“The only person who can corroborate it is in the hospital right now unconcious. My hands are tied until he wakes up.” 

John squeezes his brows together, twists his mouth against the sharp flicker of fear and then looks back up at Chick, “You believe me though, right?”

Chick kisses his teeth, hands settling on his hips. There’s a purpling bite mark above his sweatshirt collar and John wonders who he’d been pulled out of bed with.

“I’ll see about getting those cuffs off you, John.”

“Fuck the cuffs,” he rasps, “Just promise you’ll tell me how Gale is the moment you hear anything.”

He’s never wanted pity, not once in his life and not even in his worst moments. He bares his teeth at the emotion baldly present in Chick’s eyes.

“Depends how the cards fall, kid.”

-*~*-

Sleep eludes John the entire night, even if he had the desire to attempt the cell too uncomfortable, the lights too bright, the image of Gale fighting for every inhale a constant itch under his skin. He sits and he paces and he runs his fingers through his hair until its stuck up wildly all over his head. Chick had indeed managed to get the cuffs off, and faint red marks are fading to bruises under his hoodie. 

The call had come for him somewhere around nine am. Gale had woken up. 

Had, in his own dazed way, corroborated John’s account of events.

“There’s still a chance, if the district attorneys want to be an asshole, they’ll try to come after you for having the pills in residence at all,” Chick says as he drives, “It probably wouldn’t stick, your grandma has the prescriptions and we knew they would be there when we signed off on you going home to her. But,” he trails off with a shrug. 

John works his jaw, staring out the window and fiddling with his phone. Someone had cleaned it off, the screen iridescent with dried cleaner, and there’s a slew of texts from Brady he can’t begin to be bothered to open. He doesn’t know what to say to Chick, still lost in the sting of his distrust. 

“I still gotta test you,” Chick sighs.

“Whatever,” John says dryly.

“It’s coming from above my head, John.”

“I get it.” 

-*~*-

He hates hospitals. Hates them with a creeping crawling sensation borne of visits both personal and for others. Weeks languishing in a hospital bed with pins in his knee, relearning how to walk and trust his body to carry his weight, muscles wasted and surgery scars cross-crossing his kneecap in ugly slashes.

Complaints of pain that became more fictitious as time went on, eyeing the doctor's prescription booklet with subtle hunger.

Visiting his mother, rail-thin and wasted away. Swearing to himself he’d never end up in those shoes.

He doesn’t like hospitals. He especially loathes them now, running on twenty-four hours of no sleep and in clothes he’s borrowed from his parole officer because if he spent one more second covered in vomit he might have really lost it. The smell of cleaner and faint piss makes his head hurt as he follows a quiet nurse down the hallway. Her crocs squeak on the linoleum.

“He’s pretty exhausted but he’s awake,” She says, stopping at room 418. The door is closed, curtain drawn and John twists his phone between his hands, staring as if he might see right through the wood.

“Thank you,” He says hoarsely.

She allows him into the room himself, which feels almost a novel level of trust after the fifteen hours and his hands a clammy as he shuts the door behind him, slipping on the cheap brass knob. Gale looks tiny in the hospital bed, like he’s dropped ten pounds overnight, hollow around the eyes and cheeks. There’s black staining at the corners of his lips.

“Gave you the old charcoal diet, huh?” John asks, settling into the chair against the wall and regarding Gale. 

The priest looks at him with quiet guilt propped up by bone-deep exhaustion. He looks utterly lost, and John resists the urge to reach out to him. There’s still vomit under his nails. His wrists are still bruised from the cuffs. He almost lost his freedom over someone else's stupid decisions again. 

“John–” Gale rasps, his voice a ruin.

“I’m going to talk,” John interrupts, “You’re going to listen.”

Gale’s mouth shuts with a click, his face crumpling into abject misery.

“Do you understand,” he continues slowly, understanding for the first time the depths of his betrayal and anger now that he knows Gale wasn’t about to be relegated to a hole in the ground, “What you risked?” 

He jabs a finger in Gale’s direction, a furious mimicry of Chick’s anger the night before.

“Do you understand if you had fucking died I would have been looking at twenty years? If not more because I am on fucking parole and you decided to pull that shit in my home!” His voice is raised enough he knows it’ll draw attention. He pauses and takes another breath, swipes a trembling hand through his curls.

Gale makes another quiet noise. 

“You put my life at risk,” John turns the finger back on himself, and his voice cracks as he continues, “I worked so hard Gale. ‘M not perfect but I worked too fucking hard to get where I am and you spit in my face. You used me. You betrayed my fucking trust you stole from my grandmother you tried to kill yourself on my bathroom floor.” 

They’re both crying, Gale’s bloodshot eye so red it’s shocking that the tears aren’t tinged the same hue. John’s fighting to keep his breathing under control. 

“I’ve seen my mom and my best friend and so many other people like that and I never thought it would be you, Buck.” 

“It was stupid,” Gale murmurs, “It was selfish. I wasn’t thinkin’ John I swear I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I tried–”

“I know what you tried,” John snap, “I got powdered pills and puke all over my fucking clothes with what you tried.” 

Gale presses a hand to his face, covering one half of it and squeezing the rest of it into a tight expression. The IV in his arm whispers softly against the sheets with the movement. 

“Are you in trouble?”

“We’re waiting to find out. Chick thinks I should be okay though, since you didn’t go and die.” 

John bounces his foot, glances over at the window and then at the TV that was playing MASH on mute. Gale stares at his hands, picking at the cuticles and radiating regret. His shoulders curve forward, birdlike and protective.

“How are you feeling?” John asks quietly.

Gale huffs a laugh, “Like shit.”

Despite himself, Gale cursing was always gave John a flicker of smug delight. A hint of humanity underneath all the pretense. 

“Yeah, I know.”

Gale picks at his fingers, quiet and tired and John cant help himself but wipe at one of the smears of black. He knows it’s in Gale’s teeth, gritty and sour. Coating the back of his throat in a slimy residue. He knows. 

“They’re just waiting on a bed to open up in their inpatient unit,” Gale admits softly, brows drawing together with shame.

John nods, stands and drags the chair until it’s in line with the bed, kicks his feet up on the sheets because it makes Gale smile faintly and lays his palm out flat beside Gale’s hip, fingers curled loosely. 

“They got volume on this piece of ancient technology?” John asks, “This is a good season. Bet we could get through all of it before they come whisk you away.”

Gale watches him for long minutes, face cycling through a myriad of emotions. Disbelief, annoyance, shock, self-loathing. Quiet, desperately sad affection. His fingers, still too chilled and clammy, slide tentatively between John’s own. Not quite gripping but resting there as if, despite the offer, unsure of their welcome. John does the rest for him, twisting them together and fishing the remote from the nightstand.

[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you for the tag @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @whatsintheboxmh @strandnreyes @thisbuildinghasfeelings 🧡💛

Chapter 7: A Boy's Best Friend of Where All This Love Comes From is up on ao3 - so this is some TK and Owen from Chapter 8: Your Heart, As if It Was My Very Own - coming Sunday. Really looking forward to sharing!

“I let you go to Mike’s Superbowl party on one condition,” Owen says, heaving himself out of the chair. “No substances. And you promised.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t.” TK smiles and nudges Owen’s chest. “I’m just tired. I need to go to bed.”

“TK. Look at me.”

“Noooo I’m fine.”

“TK!” Owen grabs TK by his backpack. TK struggles and jerks his arms around until his backpack and coat come away in Owen’s hands. Owen lets both items clatter to the floor – and when the bag smacks the floorboards, there’s a strange buzzing sound.

“What’s that?” Owen asks.

“I don’t know,” TK says quickly, launching for the backpack at the same time as Owen – his blood running cold when he sees the black canvas undulating.

The Oxy has dulled his reaction times. Owen snatches the bag and unzips.

There it all is. A half-eaten Hershey bar. A green tube containing pills (opened). A strip of ribbed condoms (eleven serrated squares out of twelve). And a pink vibrator that is accidentally vibrating and thrusting at its highest setting.

Owen takes the vibrator out of the bag, stares at it moving in his hand like a living thing, and then switches it off with some difficulty.

“I can explain,” TK says once the room falls blessedly quiet but for street noise below.

Owen looks at the vibrator, looks at TK, looks at the vibrator. Looks at TK. “Did you get this the same place you got that?” he nods at the New York University hoodie that TK stole from Mike when Mike wasn’t looking. He put it on over his sweater and under his coat for extra warmth, which he thought was sensible. “Same place you got the pills?”

“And the chocolate bar,” TK admits. “Look–”

“You told me you were going to Mike’s, and you went to fucking New York University and came home with Oxy and a sex toy?”

“Like I said. I can explain,” TK says, even though explaining would mean repeating everything Owen just said. Because that is what happened.

“This is going in the trash. All of it.” Owen stomps away to the kitchen with TK in wobbly pursuit.

“No! I should be allowed to have that,” TK cries, more fussed about the vibrator than the pills at this point, because he had grand plans.

Owen pulls the garbage can out of its hideaway cupboard and dumps the condoms and vibrator into the sack – the vibrator springing to life again among egg shells and scrapped leftovers. Owen stares at TK seriously. Holding eye contact, he shuts the garbage can away while the vibrator carries on singing, slightly muffled. It will keep going until the battery dies.

Open tags and tags below

@lemonlyman-dotcom @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @paperstorm @eclectic-sassycoweyes @liminalmemories21 @heartstringsduet @welcometololaland @fitzherbertssmolder @ladytessa74 @lightningboltreader @bonheur-cafe @chaotictarlos @chicgeekgirl89 @alrightbuckaroo @noxsoulmate @freneticfloetry @herefortarlos @louis-ii-reyes-strand @carlos-tk @redshirt2 @wandering-night19 @inkweedandlizards @inflarescent @jesuisici33 @three-drink-amy @reyesstrand @theghostofashton @rmd-writes @goodways @louis-ii-reyes-strand - if you want to share/haven't already! No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

[laniusbignaturals]

Please more modern Edward!

I’ll assume this is the same person who asked for titplay headcanons, so this will be NSFT. There’s also violence and grotesque toxicity. Be wary of that.

Absolutely disgusting first one but whatever - his nose is huge, and he likes to bare knucklebox, so naturally it’s been dislocated several times. Often he will just snap the bone back into place with his knuckles. This sounds cool on paper, but it doesn’t do anything to alter the ridiculous, nasally, congested tone that develops in his voice every time he sustains this injury, so. Cringe!

Edward doesn’t have as many tattoos in this universe, but he does have a branding on his arm from his time spent in a fraternity in college. He used a frozen brand, because he’s scared of fire. (I know.)

Joshua would love to strangle him but his neck is really thick and Joshua’s hands aren’t that big, so he can never do it as effectively as he would like to. This frustration increases the thrill for both of them, tbh.

Edward likes short bitches because he is a short bitch because he looks bigger standing next to them and they’re often just as pissy, spiteful and tense as he is.

As I’ve referenced in the past, Edward has done coke, but he’s not as big of a speedfreak/accelerant lover as you might assume of a man like him. Edward, constitutionally, is hardly ever calm, content or relaxed. Alcohol might soothe that need for others, but Edward severely dislikes the way heavy drinking debilitates his control over himself, so he doesn’t do it unless he’s desperate. Other depressants, like Xanax, Oxy and Neuroleptics have been known to work well on him. But these trips bring him dangerously close to like, meaningfully doubting himself. So he doesn’t do them often, and always acts like he’s forgotten their contents completely once they’re over.

On that note: Edward forgets a lot of stuff. It’s his superpower. It’s cus he’s a gaslighter, it’s cus he grew up without a sense of objective truth, it’s cus he saw a lot of things that small children can’t comprehend and learned how to stop accepting reality on command to stave off an immediate breakdown. It just sort of comes naturally to him, so much so that he’s confident this is human nature. And he’s sure as shit not gonna let objective fact get in the way of that judgement anytime soon.

Edward worked enough Real Jobs that he could always live comfortably before solidifying a corrupt position of power. By the time he’s in his late 50s/early 60s, they’ve really stacked up. He’s been an editor, a foreman, a bail bondsmen, a landlord, a professor (for court mandated community service hours,) a chef, and pretty much every other profession that’s easier if you’re a complete jackass. The long term affect of this Jack-Of-All-Trades lifestyle is that he doesn’t have shared life experience with most other people. This helps him isolate himself more comfortably.

Joshua once watched Edward slice up someone’s throat with a pair of garden shears. Afterwards, they went out to eat and Edward got him to break some Mormon food rules. It was a cute date.

Joshua’s got a big family, and he was fond of most of them. Edward might have an extended family, but if he does, he is rejecting them like a bad limb transplant. He actively does not want to know if he’s got any living half siblings, aunts, uncles, grandparents, or cousins. He doesn’t even talk to his old high school friends. He will be an only child till the grave.

This is not an original thought, but he’s a beer guy. He’s that beer guy. The one who uses it as a part of his personality the way toxic white girls do iced coffee. Not only that it’s a weird sadomasochistic performance of gender, but also that he uses its purveyance and consumption as an expression of intimacy and camaraderie. Asking if you want a beer is Edward’s idea of affection.

Another thing Edward does for people he thinks he cares about is protect their ego. He will take your side when you’re obviously wrong and buy you a new blouse when you ruin yours and roll up all the windows in the car when you’re having a meltdown in the passenger seat. This behavior exists alongside intense possessiveness and sporadic cruelty because of course it does. Edward is sweet as antifreeze. The state of possession and the loss of autonomy is the only dynamic he believes to be worth maintaining, and even then, it’s more about the attempt than ever being fully successful. To receive his love is sickening.

Joshua has torn the buttons on Edward’s shirt to lick rivulets of wine off his breasts and pistol whipped him before jerking off on his bloody face and ashed cigarettes on him mid-fuck and called him every filthy degrading name in the book and Edward still identifies as the dominant between them. He is clinging to that pitcher’s mound like a ship in a storm.

He doesn’t believe in god, but there is room in his mind for hell. Deep down, he craves it. The grandiosity, the submission, the finality. Joshua likes this about him.

Have you ever broken into a house or apartment while the owner was at home? Edward has. It used to be for the purpose of stealing, but he didn’t give up the practice when he became economically stable. The truth is that he enjoys it. He enjoys busting in doors and breaking windows and hearing wives and daughters scream and making people feel scared & helpless in a place they thought was safe. This is such a brazen maladaptive recreation of his own trauma that he’ll sometimes find himself having uncomfortable emotions while doing it, so it’s an occasional occurrence. But still.

He had the most control over his body in his early and mid twenties, so during that era he had a quiet exhibition fetish. He’d get into bars, gyms, classrooms, bathhouses and libraries after hours with whoever he was fucking that month & get totally naked, savoring the fantasy of being seen and admired by dozens of eyes. His idea of beauty is an empty room. (No this doesn’t indicate anything about him what are you talking about.)

[jpitha]

Just a Little Further 9

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Standing in front of the line of us waiting for the airlock to cycle, I don't think I've ever been this nervous! Even during my graduation, waiting to find out if I was selected for FarReach's mission, nothing was as nerve wracking as this. But, I had to be strong. I was going to represent humanity and K'laxikind here. I took a deep breath, held it for two, and let it out through my nose. Here we go.

The outer lock door cycled and the first thing that I noticed was the smell of the umbilical. It wasn't bad so much as it was unfamiliar. My nose was inundated with smells I've never smelled before. Starbases have a smell about them. They're self contained units where sometimes thousands of sapients will live work and play together, of course they're going to smell. Doesn't matter how fastidious you are about cleaning, something just permeates the walls. This was list that but...different. The smells of thousands of sapients I've never seen before.

The second thing I noticed was how warm it was! It was warm and moist like a hot summer day. We don't normally keep our Starbases this warm or moist. Moisture promotes corrosion and heat is cheap to make, but expensive to dissipate. It was odd.

I walked down the short umbilical until I reached the door to the Starbase. Like ours, it was an iris type door. Maybe that's universal. "FarReach, you're sure the gases on the other side are breathable?" I asked, one last time.

"Sensors indicate that they're pretty close to Earth and K'lax, Melody." FarReach said kindly. "The specific gas mixture is a little different. A touch more xenon than what we use, maybe just a bit less carbon dioxide. Oxy levels are fine though, you can breath it no worries."

"Okay then, here goes..." and I touched the pad by the iris.

With a whoosh, it snapped open. That's way faster than home, I was startled. I looked out, surprised and I saw them.

It was a group of 6 sapients in front, with a small crowd behind them. Three of them had iridescent feathers! They looked almost like gigantic birds! They had wings even! I wonder if they could fly. The other three were more like they were a sea creature long in their past. They had tentacles they stood on, and looked like they had no bones. If you squinted, maybe they looked like Octopuses, but they didn't really look like octopuses. Just the tentacles and the lack of bones and the large, wet eyes, though they weren't dripping or anything. They were standing apart though. With a large space between them. That's odd. I would have figured that they would be all together.

One of the bird looking ones took a step forward and said "Welcome! This is Reach to the Might of Vzzx. I am Starlight on a Moonless Evening, this is The Smell Of The Ocean and there is Rapid River Roaring."

They took a step back and then, one of the octopus people took a step forward. "Welcome from us as well! I am Vivvix, this is Zemmlin and over here is Ottarn."

Then, Vivvix took a step back and waited. This must be some kind of ritual. Mentally, I shrugged and took a step forward. I took a breath and said "Thank you for your warm welcome! My name is Melody Mullen, with me is my Captain Selem Q'ari, our linguist Fer’resi Perinem and one of our engineers, Omar Adel." At each mention of their names, everyone nodded or did something to indicate which person I was talking about. Fer'resi did a little wave even!

After I finished and the ritual seemed complete, I took a step back. Only then, did I notice how they reacted.

Maybe the nano bots programed me with some extra ability to tell facial expressions, but everyone seemed shocked.

Like, if they were humans, they'd be jaws on the floor shocked.

Uh oh. This keeps happening.

One of the bird people, The Smell of the Ocean I think, spoke. "S-So, you can understand us?" They asked haltingly.

I nodded, then realizing they might not know that gesture said "Yes, I can understand you..." Was I not supposed to be able to? "Can you understand me?"

The Smell of The Ocean's feathers ruffled. Maybe they were embarrassed? They were uncomfortable about something. "A bit, yes. But you are..." They stopped. Their head rotated slightly. Their eyes are more forward on their face than Earth birds so they must have binocular vision but for the life of me it looked like they were trying to get a look at me out of both eyes. Maybe an ancient instinct that has turned into body language. They took a deep breath and started again. "I am speaking my people's standard spacefaring tongue. You can understand me?"

"Yes" I said, puzzled.

They did their version of a nod. I wonder how I knew that? They spoke again "Now, I am speaking the language of the Northern Continent of my people's home planet. It hasn't been spoken outside of legal briefings for five thousand cycles. Today, it is more a ceremonial language than anything. Only people like me can understand it, and even then only haltingly. I was a student of it, and so can speak it fluently. There are fewer than one thousand of us." They stopped and stared at me. "Do you understand me?"

My eyes went wide. "Y-Yes, I understand you." I answered quietly.

With an expression that I could only describe as their version of raised eyebrows, Zemmlin looked at them, then at me, and spoke. "I see what they are doing, let me try. I am speaking my people's home planetary language. My... colleague The Smell of the Ocean here does not understand it. Do you?"

Horror dawned. "Y-Yes, I understand it." I whispered.

It was my turn to reply. "When you speak to me, and I reply, am I replying in your language, or the same language every time?"

Starlight on a Moonless Evening replied this time. "Every time you speak, you are replying in the Holy Tongue."

I blinked. The what?

"I'm sorry, the what?"

Starlight made a gesture that I knew was a shrug. I couldn't tell you how I knew though. "The Holy Tongue. The language of the Gods. The words of the Builders."

That last one struck a chord. "Do you mean the builders of the Warp Gates?"

Rapid River Roaring laughed. "Who else would we mean, Holy One?"

Ugh, and I thought being called Lieutenant was bad.

Vivvex came forward now and said "It seems we all have something to learn from each other. We would like to learn how you came to us though the Warp Gates which we thought were long deactivated and are speaking The Holy Words and you... probably have things to ask us too. Do you take food? Come. It's meal time for us. We can eat and speak afterwards."

"L-let me talk to my companions for a moment please."

Vivvex nodded and took a step back. I turned around can faced everyone. "Okay, how much of that did you get?" I asked.

Fer'resi was the first to reply. "Um Melody, how many languages do you know? I noticed they kept taking turns talking to you in clearly different languages and you replied every time."

"I think I know... all of them" I said awkwardly. "I know, it sounds crazy, but they said I'm speaking "The Holy Tongue."

"The what?" Omar asked, incredulous.

"I know, right? I think they mean the language of the builders of the Warp Gate. Oh! They also said they thought the Gate was disabled until we came through it."

"Disabled?" Captain Q'ari said, thinking. "Given what we saw at the previous address, I hope we didn't unlock the door for something to come through here."

I didn't even think of that. "Oh shoot. I hope you're right." I clicked my radio "Hey FarReach, Gene, please keep an extra sharp eye out for anything following us through the Warp Gate. The locals say they thought it was disabled until we came through it."

"You got it Melody." Gene replied. "How's the meet and greet going?"

"I don't know Gene. I think they think I'm a living God."

"In a good way, or a bad way?" Gene asked in that joking but not really tone that humans use sometimes.

"Too soon to tell." I said honestly. "We're about to go to lunch I think,"

"Ooh, tell me if you eat anything good, tell me and I'll try it when I get to go ashore."

"Will do Gene. You take care. FarReach, I admit this is a long shot but how's the language model coming?"

FarReach chuckled. "I was just chatting with Fer'resi. It's tough to build a language model when you can understand everyone but keep replying in one language. We're getting something though. Fer'resi thinks it might be enough to be understood. We're going to be replying in your language though. If they really think it's a Holy Tongue, they might be uncomfortable at that. They must have translators though, let's see if we can buy or borrow one. That'll help."

"Good Idea. They invited us to lunch or something, so I'll ask then."

I turned to Captain Q'ari. "They want to invite us to lunch. Do you want me to say yes?"

Selem's ears twitched in a way that signaled resignation and frustration. Hah. I think I can tell K'laxi expressions better with these nano machines helping too! "We should probably accept, yes." She turns and looks at us. "Did everyone bring their portable mass spectrometers?"

We all have a small mass-spec on our wrists. It can scan food and drink and make sure there aren't any obviously poisonous things or K'laxi allergens in it. It won't tell us if things taste good, but it'll tell us if we can eat them without going into anaphylactic shock or ruining our livers.

Nods of yes all around. "Go ahead and accept the invitation Melody." Huh. She didn't call me Lieutenant Mullen. Interesting.

I turn back around. "After a little deliberation with my team, we would be grateful to accept your invitation to dine together. Please lead the way."

Again, they are taken aback at my speech. I have a hunch that they're just not used to someone speaking to them in the language I'm speaking to them in. It's like a language they have only read or studied in school and here I was talking to them in it like it was normal.

At least they mostly understood me, and I can apparently understand them in any language they speak.

Starlight bowed low and spread their wings and said "Wonderful. Please follow me."

They lead us away from the dock and as we walked I looked around.

The Starbase was different than the Joint K'laxi/Human Starbase I lived on before embarking. It was more...organic? Maybe it was a function of the fact that I think it was built out of an asteroid, but it definitely felt more grown than built in places. There were curves and smooth walls and dark grey and browns. The lighting was more organic feeling than back home too. It was warm and bright and led an airiness to the Starbase that it would be lacking otherwise. We were pretty far from this system's star and we were not in orbit around a planet, so the cheeriness was appreciated.

And the people! All kinds of people. I saw more of the bird people, more of the octopus people and so many others. There were these large bipedal beings in very complicated looking pressure suits. Maybe they're from a world that uses a different breathing mixture than here. There were ones with long legs with knees that were almost parallel with their heads! They had large segmented eyes like an insect and it always felt like they were watching us as we walked by.

Come to think of it, everyone was watching us as we walked by.

They weren't too happy about it.

My newfound ability to know everyone's body language was ringing alarm bells. Everyone hated to see us. Especially the Bird and Octopus people.

We turned a corner and came upon what I figured was the main promenade.

I nearly lost my footing I was so startled. It was gigantic! Far larger and more dense than any city I ever visited on Meíhuā. I've never been to Earth, but I bet this was more crowded than some Earth cities! It was so tall too. More than 200 meters straight up if I had to guess. There were windows and lights and signs all the way up.

While we were walking Fer'resi was trying his best to speak with The Smell of The Ocean. I could understand both of them, so it was a little odd to hear.

"Um, what about this. Hello?"

"Oh, I got that one! Hello!"

"Amazing! Try this: My name is Fer'resi, what's yours?"

Ocean shook his feathers sadly "I didn't get that, friend."

Fer'resi made notes in his pad. This time, his translator spoke "Do you understand this?

Ocean rippled surprise. "I do understand it. But your accent is very thick. How did you do that?"

Fer'resi smiled. "Our Ship, FarReach helped. We're working together to build a language model. If you have a translator we can purchase or borrow, we can refine it further."

Ocean made an expression that I knew was a nod. "We do have them. I'll make sure you get one, yes. You can even keep it to help refine your language model, provided you provide us with an update so we can update our translators as well."

Fer'resi frowned and made more notes. "I got the majority of that, but I missed part of it. Oh well. We'll get more accurate with time."

I had a thought. "Hey Fer'resi. Speak to me in English."

"Um okay." He thought a moment. "Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party."

"Coming to the aid of what party?" I asked, confused.

He chuckled. "It's apparently old filler text that people used to use on mechanical type writing machines. It's nonsense. But, you did understand it?"

"I did. It was easy."

"I have a feeling Melody, that you now can understand every language. I have no idea what those nano machines did, but they clearly edited the language processing part of your brain. I wonder what the limitations of it are. We should experiment later."

"Sure Fer'resi, we can do that."

Vivvix turned back to me "Holy One, why are you armed?" We notice the weapons on your back."

ughhh, I hate that. "Please don't call me Holy One, my name is Melody. I'm armed because we weren't sure what to expect and we wanted to come prepared. I'm the only one armed because I'm the best shot here, and we didn't want to come across as warlike with us all being armed. It was a compromise."

Vivvix's skin subtly changed color, a nod. Neat! "I see, thank you... Melody. Will you be armed in future visits?"

I shrugged. "I don't know yet." I said carefully. If everyone is... not a threat then... I don't see a reason to come armed next time."

Vivvix gave their version of a smile, but I was able to tell it was fake. "That's very nice to hear. Thank you"

Now that sounded menacing. I think I'm going to continue coming to this Starbase armed.

Rapid River Roaring led us towards a large stone looking building near the center of the promenade. It was either very old or meant to look very old. In front were a fountain and a statue of a being in a pressure suit looking out onto the promenade making a grand gesture. The fountain and the statue were carved in the same stone of the Starbase. "Here we are. It's the administration offices for Reach of the Might of Vzzx. There is a cantina here that offers many different kinds of food. I'm sure we can find something pleasing for you to consume here."

As they approached the building Captain Q'ari stopped dead. She was staring at the statue and was clearly frightened, almost shaking. Fer'resi, noticing her, followed her gaze and also immediately was frightened. "M-Melody." Fer'resi said, his voice catching. "Look at the statue."

I turned at looked at it and gasped. Omar noticed us, followed our gaze and softly said "holy shit."

It was a human woman.

Part 10

[artiststarme]

Cherophobia

Well, hopefully this doesn't seem too disjointed. I don't know if I love it but it's really hard to write about fears that you yourself experience without it sounding ranty! I hope you guys like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Cherophobia: the irrational aversion to being happy. Likely occurring when people feel the need to protect themselves, usually resulting from past trauma or conflict. 

Throughout Eddie’s life, he always had the feeling like the other shoe was going to drop. He could never just enjoy a good day in peace. If things were going too smoothly at home or school then he knew it was only a matter of time before something bad happened. And it always did. He couldn’t let himself be happy because he knew something bad, something to make him feel sad or angry, would always follow.

It happened when he was a little kid when he had a good day at school only to go home and find out his mom had died of a drug overdose. He’d been allowed to color his pictures all day before listening to his teacher read a story. His friend had even given him half of her Little Debbie cake at lunch. But when it was time to be picked up from school, his mom wasn’t there. He waited for what seemed like hours before he walked himself home to an empty apartment. His dad told him later that his mom was a stupid bitch that took too much oxy that day and died. Eddie spent the next several months in a depressed stupor, trying to adjust to life without his mom while also trying to survive living with his dad. He’d never felt so alone.  

When he was ten, he made a friend at school. After months of eating lunch alone and being picked on by the other kids, it was nice to talk to someone that didn’t want to hurt him. But when Eddie got home, his dad was in the midst of a drug-fueled manic episode. In his foggy haze, his dad determined that his curls were a little too girly for a man and shaved them all off with a blunt razor. Eddie went back to school the next day only to find that his new friend wanted nothing to do with him. He’d seemingly changed overnight and it wasn’t for the better. 

It happened once more in his childhood at age eleven when Eddie got an A+ on his creative writing paper. He was living on cloud nine for a few hours, high on the feelings of happiness and accomplishment only to be picked up from school by the police who took him to stay with his estranged Uncle Wayne. His dad had been arrested for assault with a deadly weapon and attempted murder after getting in a fight at a bar. Eddie had to leave all he knew to go back to a small unknown town in Indiana with an uncle he hardly knew after finally starting to like it at his school. Things turned out okay with Uncle Wayne, of course, but for a few months, Eddie felt like his world was imploding. Every single time, like clockwork, as soon as Eddie started to let his guard down and let himself feel happy, something bad would immediately happen to force the walls back up. 

It was his own addition to the Munson Doctrine; don’t let yourself get too happy or something bad will happen. He was afraid of feeling anything too happy in case it prompted something bad. He certainly did not want to tempt fate and made a point to avoid having too positive of emotions. But sometimes even Eddie forgot to follow his own rules. 

Really, he should’ve seen this coming. He’d been too happy these past few months, it was inevitable for it all to come crashing down. He never would have thought that he would be blamed for the murders of several of his fellow students that were killed by a flesh monster from an alternate dimension that could murder people through their minds but maybe he should’ve. After all, he’s never had any good luck so it might as well happen to him. 

But after so many good months, it almost seems like a cruel trick performed by the universe. He was finally happy, truly happy. His grades had improved, he brought new freshmen into Hellfire, he’d scored more gigs with Corroded Coffin performing at the Hideout, and he’d even gotten a part-time job at Thatcher Tire. Eddie was finally becoming happy with his life and now it was all being taken away for something he didn’t even do. He thought he’d been becoming more optimistic, more hopeful but instead, he’d been becoming more naive. 

He let his guard down and was now paying the price. Instead of remaining wary, cautious, of the giddy feelings of joy like he always had before, Eddie had welcomed them with open arms. He knew that the fall would be hard but he let himself feel it anyway in the hope that things would be different. But they weren’t. 

As he felt the tiny bat teeth gnashing through his flesh while he laid on the cold ground of the Upside Down, all he could focus on was the fact that he’d never get to experience what true happiness was like without fearing it before he died. He didn’t mind dying a martyr in order to save his friends, didn’t mind dying in general to be honest. He just wished that he could’ve seen what true happiness was before his eyes slipped closed for the last time (or so he thought).

When he opened his eyes again, he was greeted by the sight of a darkened hospital room. His wrist was cuffed to the bed and his other hand was gripped tight in sleep by Steve “The Hair” Harrington. Steve’s head was resting on the bed next to Eddie’s hip and Dustin was sleeping on the cushioned seat of the bay window. Eddie had gone through hell the past week and he had a long way to go but he had hope that he would make it. 

He had friends, nay- family, now that would stay by his side. Maybe with Steve, Dustin, and the rest of the Party behind him, he could let himself be happy without fear and they could catch him when things inevitably started to fall apart. All he had to do was try. 

@doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @carlyv @straight4joekeery @ghosttotheparty

[undertale-writing-times]

Just a quick idea for Passive, Mur, Delusion, Oxi , and Mallow

Their Datemate who’s usually very shut off and guarded with their emotions (maybe because of trauma?) says ‘I love you’ for the first time after a while of being together. How do they react?

Cool! Thank you for the ask :)

Passive: He understands being shut off from people and emotions because of things that happened in your past. Every day he struggles with it. He's trying his best to not be seen as ONLY the negative guy, he doesn't want that. There are positive negative feelings as well as there is toxic positivity! Sometimes you HAVE to have negative feelings. But, honestly, when you tell him that you love him for the first time, he's shocked and unsure how to respond for a few seconds... heck, almost a minute! Finally, he gets knocked out of his thoughts, and he smiles and 'kisses' your cheek, "I love you too..." His tail was wagging like crazy.

Mur: He's one of the few that wouldn't make it a big deal. He looks at you while you were saying it, and smile "Heh... love you too" he takes your hand, giving it a soft squeeze. He is very happy to hear it, of course, but he wouldn't want to make you feel awkward or anything so he's not gonna make it a big deal.

Delusion: He would be shocked when he hears it and would look at you, almost like you had two heads. He just... he wasn't expecting it? He looks down at the ground, then back at you, "Ah..." he clears his throat, blushing hard, "I love you too Y/n, um thank you" He didn't know how else to respond! He leans over, hiding his face into your arm. You got him all flustered.

Oxi: Honestly? They're quite amused by your strange actions. They understand your fear, the way that you're closed off isn't really that hard to guess. So, when you tell them that you love them? They couldn't help but let out a soft laugh, "Oh?" They lean over, giving you a little nuzzle, "I will say that I return these feelings, my dearest"

Mallow: He just straight up cries bro.

[polwigle]

ok so I've been rotating Pikmin 4 in my brain for the last month or so and I think I've figured out something about the post-game! it's essay time :)

(under read-more for both inherent spoilers and length, bc hoooo boy this got out of hand. no spoilers for anything past the early post-game though!)

So the main reason for the post-game happening in the first place is because Oatchi, who for some reason sprouted a leaf on his tail on the way to Hero's Hideaway, gets sick as soon as the Rescue Corps tries to leave the planet. The same thing happened to Moss when Olimar tried to leave earlier. Seems like everyone who got Leafed™ is stuck on PNF-404 unless they can get de-leafed, for reasons unknown to anyone in-universe.

But I think I figured out what's going on, and it's not some nefarious plot to get the Pikmin a permanent leader. (Not the 'can't leave the planet' thing, anyway. I don't claim to know how Oatchi got Leafed™ in the first place.) In this essay I will attempt to prove that plants can't breathe in space.

Let's start by looking at some canon facts:

Lemma 1: Aliens Can't Breathe on Earth

PNF-404 is clearly Earth, at an unspecified point in the future (though I believe it to be relatively recent, as detailed in my last essay[1]).

PNF-404's atmosphere is rich in oxygen. Assuming the planet's atmosphere hasn't changed substantially from the Earth we know, approximately 21% of the air is oxygen[2].

[Data source linked in image: https://nssdc.gsfc.nasa.gov/planetary/factsheet/earthfact.html]

Oxygen is known to be poisonous to Hocotatians, as stated numerous times through the series.

While Koppaites technically can breathe some oxygen, PNF-404 has three times as much oxygen in its atmosphere than Koppai does[3], so Koppaites still need spacesuits to survive on PNF-404.

It is unknown how natives of other planets handle oxygen, but Collin describes it as poisonous, so it appears at least Giyans(?) cannot breathe oxygen. (As Koppaites are also distinguishable by their rounded ears, I suspect oxygen may be poisonous to all pointy-eared castaways.)

Leaflings, regardless of their planet of origin and contrary to the Rescue Corps' expectations, can breathe in PNF-404's oxygenated atmosphere just fine without helmets. (There's a tangent here I could write a separate essay on, but that's for later.)

Oatchi does not wear a helmet, and can apparently breathe just fine on PNF-404 even before his spontaneous leafification. (This could also lead into its own essay, but suffice to say, his species' origins are unknown in-universe. He was born on Giya, but presumably did not evolve there.)

So basically, if you are a small alien in this world, unless you are a plant or perhaps a dog, you do not want to be exposed to oxygen. Especially not the high concentrations of oxygen on PNF-404.

With that established, we now need to consider real-world biology for a second. There's one more thing to note that isn't discussed in-universe:

Lemma 2: Plants Can Breathe on Earth

Plants need oxygen to live! Not to "breathe" per se, that's not an accurate word for something that doesn't have lungs, but for "aerobic respiration", which at a cellular level is at least one reason why things with lungs breathe, so, close enough for this context.

Plants make their own oxygen while they're photosynthesizing. But when they don't have the light they need to photosynthesize (at night or in other darkness), they take in oxygen from around them to respire with[2][4][5].

In the context of Pikmin biology, Blue Pikmin in particular are described as "breathing" multiple times, usually in the context of breathing underwater. One log from the US version of Pikmin 3 even has Brittany say they're "extracting oxygen from the water"[6]. The equivalent European localization just says they're breathing, but they do seem to be specifically taking in oxygen in the process.

In summary, though oxygen is lethal to the core cast of castaways, the plant life on PNF-404, Pikmin included, can't live without it!

Thesis: Plants Can't Breathe in Space

We know oxygen is poisonous to both Olimar and most of the Rescue Corps, with the exception of Oatchi. Therefore, they would not want it inside their spaceships! Meaning the air inside the S.S. Shepherd (and S.S. Dolphin) would contain only trace amounts of oxygen, if any at all, during space flight.

Plant life from PNF-404, including Pikmin and adjacent leafy creatures, need oxygen to breathe. They only make their own while photosynthesizing, which requires plenty of light. But space is dark. Most of the light inside the S.S. Shepherd is from distant stars outside and the glowing antennae of helmets. (The cargo hold Moss was in may have been even darker.) That's probably not enough light to photosynthesize…

The leafy space dogs can't leave the planet because every vehicle that tried to take them away from the planet was devoid of oxygen.

He's suffocating!! ;A;

Counterpoint: Can Aliens Breathe in Space?

Of course, one thing doesn't immediately line up with my conclusion… Even while Oatchi is theoretically suffocating aboard the S.S. Shepherd, everyone else is still wearing helmets, implying there's too much oxygen around them to safely remove them.

There's probably still some oxygen in the ship — not enough for Oatchi to breathe, but too much for anyone else to breathe. Filtering air doesn't happen instantaneously! And given the severe state of disrepair the S.S. Shepherd was in at the start of the game, being completely out of power, the air filtration systems would have also been shut down. So oxygenated air from PNF-404 was in the ship when they took off, and was in the process of being filtered out as they flew off.

Oatchi's 'symptoms stabilizing' when the S.S. Shepherd stopped flying away might seem to suggest there's something more specifically binding him to the planet… Or the air filtration process might have paused while the ship is stalled, to conserve precious Sparklium energy.

TL;DR: Leafy space-sickness isn't some nefarious Pikmin plot. Plants just can't breathe in space. It's not a feature, it's a bug.

References:

[1] Continental Drift vs Pikmin Lore (my first tumblr essay): https://polwigle.tumblr.com/post/657518379437064192/polwigle-polwigle-in-light-of-the-release-and [2] Needs of Plants: https://letstalkscience.ca/educational-resources/backgrounders/needs-plants [3] Koppai (cite note 3): https://www.pikminwiki.com/Koppai#cite_note-3 [4] Oxygen For Plants – Can Plants Live Without Oxygen: https://www.gardeningknowhow.com/garden-how-to/info/can-plants-live-without-oxygen.htm (also source of atmosphere pie chart image) [5] Do Plants Need Oxygen? What Oxygen is Used For & Why: https://flourishingplants.com/do-plants-need-oxygen/ (also source of How Plants Use Oxygen image) [6] Pikmin 3 Voyage Log (Blue Pikmin): https://www.pikminwiki.com/Pikmin_3_voyage_log#Blue_Pikmin

[imperfectercell]

FUME IS SO COOL??? IT FEELS SO DIFFERENT COMPARED TO EVERY OTHER DB THING I LOVE THEM SO MUCH BEST GOD RIGHT THERE

thank u for loving fume!!!! here it is with its angel Oxy... who knows what happened to them after zeno destroyed their universe

[blondiest]

good luck for the wip meme :3

hehehe thank you for the ask!! this one is matthalle in. to no one's fucking surprise. the universe of it's you and me, that's my whole world. because idk when ill finish this one im just gonna post most of what i have lol

Matt knows she's lucky to be alive.

She felt the blood seeping from her body, pooling on the pavement beneath her, felt the tight pain bloom in her chest whenever she tried to breathe, felt herself slipping from consciousness and thought— so this is it.

The doctors and nurses keep reminding her how lucky she is. She doesn't begrudge them that— they've taken good fucking care of her they've and been terribly patient with her piss-poor Japanese, her mediocre skills worsened by fatigue and all the drugs they have her on. Some of those drugs she's pretty sure they're not supposed to have— she wasn't allowed to bring Adderall into the country, so she'd be surprised if oxy was considered totally kosher— but she doesn't mention it. She appreciates not being in immense amounts of pain, and besides, her last comment on the laws here was met with a shower of bullets.

Come on, since when were the Japanese allowed to carry such big guns?

It's Matt's suspicion that she has Near's team to thank for her reduced suffering, and for the fact that she hasn't been dragged off to jail. Another thing she's fucking lucky for— luck, luck, more luck. Except after a few days of sitting alone in a cold, weird-smelling room, discomfort and isolation start to wear on her. Even the good shit only goes so far when it comes to managing pain, and she's got a good five gunshot wounds and a collapsed lung, and she's alone all day except when she has to shower, which is the one time she *wants* to be alone, and fuck, it gets harder and harder to stay grateful and not grouchy.

During the five days she spends in the hospital, Matt's irritability builds to something of a fever pitch. She gets exactly one visitor on day three, and it isn't even Mello or Near; it's one of Near's agents, a beefy blonde man who comes bearing a care package and gives his name as Rester. She jokingly asks if she can bum a cig, and he stiffly tells her he doesn't think smoking with a collapsed lung is wise. All further efforts at sparkling banter are promptly abandoned.

By the time she's finally deemed stable enough to discharge, Matt is itching to leave. The doctors take out her IV, give her instructions on how to proceed with her recovery, stick her in a wheelchair and tell her to wait. Her ride is meant to arrive soon, she's told.

So Matt waits. She waits ten, twenty, forty minutes, getting more and more pissed-off as the time ticks by. When the door to her room finally opens after almost an hour of waiting, she's full-on glowering, but the expression is instantaneously wiped out when she sees the woman in the doorway.

“You’re not the guy from before,” Matt blurts.

The woman smiles thinly, stepping forward and stooping slightly to offer her hand to Matt, who thankfully has the presence of mind to shake said hand instead of pressing her lips to the woman's knuckles like a fucking weirdo.

“Halle,” she says. “Forgive me for being late. Traffic was a mess.”

Matt had frankly already forgiven her the moment she walked through the door, and would forgive her in the span of a few seconds even if Halle reared back and kicked her in the stomach right now.

“Don't worry about it,” Matt manages. “I’m Matt.”

[wowieeitsisa]

Trying to redesign Oxy cuz I don’t want her coat to be open anymore u.u7 + canonizing her to the corrupted arenas universe just for that toxic Yuri /J