OneSaltyErik

HELP ME YEET THE TITTIES! DM me your donation receipt and I will draw you a little dude of your choice! :)

(Guys please, my mom is getting weird about the fact I only reblog this a few times a week instead of every minute of every hour of every day) Sup! I've been trying to convince the public health system that my severe back pain and gender dysphoria is genuinely negatively affecting my life to the point of debating doing garage surgery, and that it would greatly benefit my quality of life and even allow me to get a job if I could get my knockers removed cause it means I don't have lie down flat on my back every fifteen minutes, and it would also mean that when I try to sleep on my back (the only way I can sleep without waking up in pain) that my stupid E cups aren't crushing my lungs! But apparently the public health system thinks that just chucking me some pain killers and a counselor and telling me to work out (yeah, try working out when your lungs are being squished and your spine feels like it's being snapped) is good enough. Anywho, surgery is almost $30,000 if I get it in my country and I don't think even with donations that would be feasible, so I'm fundraising to hopefully get surgery done in one of my neighbouring countries. Hopefully. One can dream. Please if you can't donate, I'm really trying out here and my country is not making it easy for me.

EDIT: $460!!! You guys are awesome!

Summary: Niki recalls her first three months working as the station's newest resident. Techno is worried about the ominous silence in his mind. Someone seems to have gone missing from everyone's memories again….. Also Techno robbed a dentist. Well…..tried to.

"...I think their busses are sick with something, have you ever seen a physically unwell bus before? I didn't even know that was possible!" "Everyone here looks like they hate being alive." "Why does a city need a four lane one way street?"

Do you know what the sensation of a billion, tiny, feathery wingbeats sounds like? What it feels like to be pelted by trillions of tiny, cotton ball sized creatures as they brush past you? It sounds like muffled leaves rustling in the distance, it feels like your body is covered in feather dusters, the air smells warm and faintly like pollen from the dandelions the grew in the cracks of the asphalt you are standing on that day, but also of dirt and something sour, not unpleasant but strong. Insects have a scent you know, butterflies are almost floral. I remember holding so still, my mouth sealed shut, worried one of the little creatures would accidentally fly into it, terrified I was going to crush their minute bodies if I so much as moved wrong as they landed on me in their million mile journey, searching for a brief respite from their migration, sipping for water and salts in my sweat produced by the soft warmth of a desert springtime. When I looked at up at the sky, it was like viewing the shimmering sparks of heaven through a stained glass window in some cathedral, the fractured light rippling through the patterns of orange and black would swirl and undulated in waves as though dancing to some choir only a god could hear.

I have not seen the swarms since the first grade. I have not seen the caked grime of a trillion macerated insects blasted across the windshields of cars on long journeys. It baffles me there are people who think there is nothing wrong with this, that we didn't just destroy something vital to our souls.