Blows a kiss at the sky, this one's for you, Ripley.

For context - Dashiel Cantor (patient) and Dr. Edmund Harvey work at InCube, an intergalactic surrogacy service. They carry all sorts of crazy creatures, and they're such a fun concept. Ripley and I used to be mutuals on tumblr before the pornmageddon, and she was genuinely so awesome :"3 just been thinking about her ocs a LOT.

(I know this isn't eddsworld, but since I'm too lazy to make a new smut book, you're all just gonna have to deal with me)

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Accidents were a part of the job at this point. With a friend like Dash, Harvey had practically sold his soul for buckets of vomit and slugs, sometimes both. At the same time.

Dash's latest work involved a particularly interesting species - he had to ingest a single, small egg, barely bigger than the tip of his tweezers - it couldn't handle the capsule format, as research showed that this species was too delicate for the procedure. The lone egg would swell to the size of a fist, freeloading for a week before dividing into hundreds, packing every inch of available space, and immediately be ready to exit. There were no dietary restrictions, no slurries to drink, Dash was practically on cloud nine for a week. Their only requirement was water, so...easy enough. It was supposed to be an easy birth and an even easier shipment back to their homeworld. For the paycheck, that was great, but for Dash's rapidly filled stomach, esophagus, and lungs? Not so great.

Luckily, Harvey caught them before they suffocated the poor idiot and helped him safely birth them, but the slime they left behind in his lungs had him coughing something fierce. His entire chest was rattling, sore from the effort, and he was filling tissue after tissue with vibrant pink goop. Harvey opted to keep him close and medicate as he saw fit, or at least until Dash left the facility on his own.

"Haaarrvvveeyyyy...." Dash croaked out the most pitiful little whine, his throat raw. The doctor in question perked up from his desk, swiveling back to face his ailing friend. "When can I take the next round of pills?"

"Hm, let's see, bud." Harvey murmured, pulling back his coat to check his watch. "It's been five minutes since you took your last round, so...I'd say..." He hummed, looking up at Dash. "And this is an educated guess, but six hours."

Dash groaned, the noise quickly cut short by another violent, irritated cough. Harvey could hear his lungs whistling from across the room, barely overshadowed by his pulse-ox machine. When the coughing finally subsided, his body went slack, relieved as he took his first rattling breaths. "How 'bout a cough drop then?"

Harvey nodded, digging through his coat pocket as he awkwardly rose to his feet. He had an assortment in there, so he was playing Russian roulette on what flavour Dash would get the honour to complain about next.

"Flavour of the day is..." Harvey paused as he continued to walk, squinting to read the label. "...Mixed berry." Dash sat up on his elbows to accept the offering, failing to notice the slime that began to dribble from his nose. "Dash, tissue."

The smuggler softly apologized, pulling another tissue from his nearly empty box. He blew his nose like a trumpet as Harv stood at his bedside, waiting patiently to fork over the lozenge.

"I don't know how there's still so much in me." Dash murmured, extending his arm past Harvey to drop the tissue in the bin.

"Considering you had forty-five pounds of it, I'd just be thankful that amount isn't left."

"You have a point," Dash laughed dryly, clearing his throat. "I don' think I wanna do these again, though."

"Definitely, they expanded far past what the papers said. I just h-" There wasn't a second for Harvey to prepare, he couldn't even shield his face as Dash practically exploded with a sneeze, showering his friend with an appalling mix of pink mist and bigger, rosy globs. One of which, to Harvey's joy, landed right on his lower lip, with his mouth open. Immediately, Dash was wheezing in pain from the effort, short, rattling breaths punctuated with groans. "Thanks for that." Harvey muttered, taking the handkerchief from his pocket to hurriedly wipe over his face. "Did your mom never teach you to cover your mouth?"

Dash didn't respond, his eyes squinted shut as he rubbed his throat with a careful hand. It almost concerned Harvey that his friend wasn't joking after that, the pain was definitely too much for their usual banter. The doctor opted to peel the wrapper from the cough drop, holding it to Dash's barely parted lips. He accepted it without question, a gurgling hum of thanks rising from his throat.

"Sorry the medicine isn't doing more, I guess it's going to take more than a few expectorants to break this slime up..."

"Ch-...Can't you flush it out?"

"Wish I could," Harvey chuckled, crossing his arms. "But I'd rather not drown you on land, y'know?"

"I dunno," Dash croaked, though he sounded a touch better with the lozenge to soothe. "Maybe it'd be a learnin' experience. You can put it in your résumé."

Within three days, Dash was up and about, as if he never caught pneumonia from fucking alien slime. Sadly, his pay for the assignment was docked - Harvey didn't bother with the eggs that came out of Dash's mouth until after he knew his friend was okay, and the lot of them were already dried to the flooring (physically. Harvey had to scrape them off with a knife). A bit of a disappointment, sure, but Dash didn't let it get him down. After all, there was always more work to do.

Not for Dash, however. Being between assignments, it was Harvey who was stuck continuing to work. Calling his supervisors to see the queue of applicant species, and checking Dash's files obsessively for a compatible donor from their list. Rinse and repeat until he found the perfect match, then he'd have to send for their informational packet for Dashiel. It was draining, yes, but compared to the meat and potatoes of his job? This part was heaven.

The only thing different from his routine was his appetite, oddly enough.

He wasn't a Dash level "eat-three-pizzas-and-a-dessert" kind of guy, but in an average day, he'd have a decent breakfast, light lunch, and hearty, home-cooked dinner. For the past three days, every meal was light. He was practically surviving on coffee, trying not to upset his body more than it likely already was.

It was strangely helpful, however. Now, he could blast through his lunch break without an issue, allowing him to finish the bulk of his work faster. He actually got to clock out early for the first time in months, while it was still light outside.

"Marco, please call Dash for me." Harvey asked his phone as he happily strode to his ship.

"Calling Dash." The AI quickly replied, the dial tone droning until he pulled open his ship's door.

"What's up, man?" Dash loudly asked, trying (and failing) to drown out the commotion around him. It sounded like the rager to end all ragers.

"Jesus, where are you?" Harvey laughed as he tucked his phone between his ear and shoulder. He was fiddling with the control panel, setting course for home.

"Cora's," Dash paused, a crescendo of cheers flooding the receiver. Dash mumbled something about slime shots. "How 'bout yourself?"

"Not to brag, but I got out early."

Dash didn't respond immediately, the music taking over for a moment. "Congrats! Wanna come crash the party?"

Harvey eyed the controls awkwardly, especially with how close he was to home now. Cora's was the complete opposite direction, and Harvey wasn't exactly in a party mood - he wanted to catch up on housework, as ancient as that made him sound.

"No, Dashie, not tonight. Sorry!"

"Damn," He huffed, still clearly giddy. "Hey-...Hey, tell ya what. I'm having one, my place, Saturday. You're invited, 'kay? Gotta go."

Before Harvey could say much else, let alone protest, Dash hung up. Four days, okay...Four days for him to mentally prepare for the rest of Dash's friends.

Those days flew by, and soon Harvey found himself weaving through a sea personal ships with a bottle of pinxt held protectively to his body. He could hear the bass banging on Dash's windows, and breathed a sigh. He'd be fine. As long as he didn't overdo it, as long as he knew his limit, he'd be fine.

Harvey's body was still being dodgy with him, much to his annoyance - he'd thrown up that morning after trying to eat his usual breakfast, and felt on the verge of sickness for hours afterward. He actually almost called Dash for a raincheck, but by the time he made the choice, his body didn't hurt anymore. Marco didn't detect anything off, spare for some bloating, so Harvey decided he had nothing to lose.

"Heya, Harv!" Dash smiled, breaking off from a group of people to greet his friend. Harvey smiled nervously, pushing the bottle into Dash's hands as a greeting.

"I brought your favourite."

Dash happily took the pinxt, gripping the bottle by the neck as he waved it around haphazardly. "I don't think they'll mind if I keep it for myself."

"Dash, I brought it for everybody."

"I won't tell if you don't."

Thankfully, there were plenty of people there that Harvey actually knew - Marshall, Cora, and Liv, for starters, and he found himself mostly hanging around them. Dash would stop by occasionally, but he was mostly in the kitchen where most of the alcohol was being served. He was in heaven; it was his house, so he could get as shitfaced as he wanted. Harvey just prayed that he'd be conscious enough tomorrow for his next species orientation.

"You really had to use a knife?" Cora swirled her drink, cringing as Harvey nodded. They were leaned against the far wall of the room, away from a majority of the party. "You're telling me he basically had intergalactic super glue in there?"

Harvey nodded again, a small laugh escaping. "I'm thankful it never dried like that inside him. It was actually taking concrete up with it when I scraped."

"That's so bad!" Marsh gasped, covering his mouth with a soft hand. He shook his head at the mere thought of it. "Poor Dash..."

"I'll tell you though," Harvey grinned, "He's a real trooper."

The conversation carried on without Harvey's input, a curt breath escaping as he noticed a dull ache in his stomach. He must've been overdoing it, and his body was been giving him the five minute warning before all the alcohol left his body. Maybe it would be better to vomit, the pressure in his stomach was starting to get to him.

"You okay, Harv?" Liv's voice was delicate on his ears, a stark contrast to the rest of Dash's party. Harvey nodded softly, smiling warmly at her. "Y'sure? You're looking a little Dash-y right now."

"Sick, Liv." Cora corrected with a soft hum. "The word you want is sick."

Did he really look that bad? For both of them to notice it, he must've looked seconds from death! He was normally great at hiding his illnesses, but if they could see it...

"I'll be right back." Harvey plastered on his best 'nothing is wrong' smile before disappearing down the hall. Moving didn't seem to help his problem in the slightest, the jostling doing more than enough to upset his stomach.

Fuck, he was bound to throw up now.

Without too much thought, he threw himself into Dash's bathroom and locked the door, looking at himself in the large vanity mirror. He was still trying to catch his breath, his chest weakly heaving as he took in his reflection.

For starters, he knew immediately why Liv had described him as "Dash-y". His skin paled considerably, and there was a thin film of sweat breaking out across his forehead. Nothing horrible - he definitely looked worse than he felt, despite the nausea that was quickly drowning every other thought.

The pressure increased in a sudden spurt, and Harvey could actually feel the stress on his ribs as he groaned weakly. He rested a shivering hand on his gut, the skin tender. An unfamiliar feeling, but not one he hadn't experienced before.

This was fine, okay? This was fine! He contained the situation before whatever this was got out of hand - the rest of the party was going to be okay. As far as Harvey was concerned, as long as it couldn't break down doors, he had the situation under control.

That being said, however, he had no clue what was inside of him, no access to his travel first aid, and no way to tell Dash what was about to go down in his bathroom.

The pressure increased with a watery moan from his gut, the urge to vomit coming back even stronger. He pushed it down, swallowing whatever he could between stringy groans, wringing his free hand on the marble countertop.

"Ugh, fuck..." Harvey whined, hanging his head. He tried his damndest to remember any contaminates in past days, trying to figure out what was steadily filling out his guts.

The heat of it was poaching his brain, throwing all logical thought out the window as the pressure greedily slipped lower, no doubt breaching his intestines. Harvey let out a low groan, feeling each inch of his tract grow warmer, the taught skin gradually pushing out.

The nausea bubbled in his throat, taunting him over his hesitation - if he threw up earlier, he likely wouldn't be in this situation. Harvey refused to give in, terrified to let whatever was in him out - Normally, he'd do it in a heartbeat, but he was in Dash's home, the party stacking the newfound weight of embarrassment onto his shoulders. What if it was venomous? How would he go on if it hurt Dash's friends?

Harvey kept his hand pressed to the lowest point of his belly, watching with pained breaths as his stomach rapidly grew heavier and heavier. It was filling out almost impossibly fast, adding a horrible layer to the pain he was feeling. He didn't have a large capacity, his stomach creaking miserably as the growth shivered to a halt. The buttons of his shirt were strained, the fabric nearly unwrinkled from how tightly it was drawn over Harvey's hastily packed gut. He didn't have any of the drugs Dash took for elasticity, he was running out of room far too quickly.

Harvey had slipped up with incubations before, only enough to count on one hand, but that was more than enough in his eyes. Those were usually living things, creatures that would thrash and bruise and stay for months, but this? This was too much, too quickly, and it was heavy. It felt as if Harvey was about to fall through the floor!

It took his unwanted guests popping his lowest button for him to finally figure it out, and it wasn't a happy eureka moment either. He sagged over the counter with a groan, resting his cheek on the cool marble.

Dash must've had viable eggs in his lungs before the antibiotics killed them off, and that god awful, mannerless sneeze did this to him. He passed on his incubation like a fucking infection, one that Harvey knew could suffocate him. He had to get them out before they could get to his lungs.

Suddenly, a knock at the door that made him flinch.

"Yo Harvey, you've been in there for a hot second, wanna come out? We're doin' Venus Bombs."

Fuck, of course Dash would show up now. Of course.

Harvey cleared his throat, cringing at the taste that met his tongue. He was running out of time.

"I'll be out in a-" He choked off with an awful, stifled retch, clamping a hand over his mouth to stop himself from throwing up. He prayed Dash was too drunk to register it. "I-In a minute!"

"Kay, y'know where to find me."

Another button popped, Harvey's stomach churning in meager warning before a familiar pink slime flooded out from between his fingers and onto the counter. There was no relief when it left, the space immediately filled as the eggs endlessly multiplied.

Water.

These things needed water to survive.

Harvey silently apologized to Dash as he staggered to the jacuzzi tub, yanking the dial to draw a bath. He needed to watch his breathing, not aspirating the little bastards was at the top of his list. As much as his body would hate him for it, the water had to be cold. He silently thanked Dash for shelling out the cash for this tub remodel, just because he was too impatient with how long original bath took to fill.

Trying to shimmy out of his clothes without pushing on his gut felt impossible. Every movement tempted his miserable body to spew everything inside like the galaxy's most fucked up piñata. At least he wouldn't explode... he hoped. Another button popped before he could start unbuttoning his shirt, leaving just the ones over his chest intact. How considerate of them.

The poor doctor eased into the water, the temperature actually bringing some relief to his scalding, slime-packed stomach. There was no space left, his belly a groaning, sweaty mound that poked out of the water like a living island. God, did it hurt. His stomach was almost vibrating from the speed of the eggs multiplying. The pressure had his entire torso screaming, and he could feel the eggs engaging at both ends. Before he could redirect it, Harvey gagged and threw up on himself, mostly that sour slime, but a few eggs escaped, sinking to the bottom of the tub beside his body. He whined, forcing himself onto all-fours so it wouldn't happen again.

The next fifteen minutes were something Harvey prayed he could forget. Something about birthing seemingly endless alien spawn to shitty club music made the whole deal feel like a joke. There wasn't any pain - they were so soft that it was easy, but with each batch he forced out, two times that would swell to fill the space. They'd rise into his throat with an awful squelching whine and he'd have to force himself to stop breathing. The last thing he wanted was to die face down ass up, drowned in a half-egg slime, half-water slurry. Harvey couldn't see the end of it, not until his stomach went quiet. Once the weak, watery gurgles were gone, their numbers slowed, and he could actually see his belly begin to shrink.

By the time all was said and done, the water was displaced into overflowing, the eggs high enough to breach the surface of the water. And good god, this wasn't a small fucking tub. Harvey had easily produced two times his own body weight in pink, fist-sized eggs. The little, Harvey-faced cherub on his shoulder praised his self preservation skills, while the devil on the other told him to dunk Dash's head into the tub for doing this to him. Harvey shakily climbed out of the tub, trailing pinky-slimy water to the towel rack. He covered himself up before drawing the shower curtain to hide his horror show - he'd have to tell Dash about it when he was sober. For now, Harvey would just clean the bathroom and himself, put his clothes back on, and pretend he hadn't just filled the entire bath with alien spawn in less than twenty minutes.

"Whoa, man - what happened to your shirt?" Cora leaned past the others, scanning Harvey's poor, battered torso. Three safety pins replaced the popped buttons, and little flecks of pink goo decorated the cuffs.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

Much to Harvey's delight, his hard work was for nothing. He'd still managed to aspirate the damn slime, and while he was half as sick as Dash was, that didn't mean it was a cakewalk. An awful, crunchy cough followed him down InCube's halls, making patient and doctor alike cringe.

"Incoming call: Dashiel Cantor." Marco droned from his pocket. As much as Harvey wanted to cancel it, something could've been horribly wrong with Dash.

"How are you feeling, Dash?"

"Could ask you the same thing."

Dash was already on his next assignment, an otherworldly batch of slugs with very particular restrictions and a serious thrashing problem. He was stuck on his couch, left to whine to his own AI. As far as Harvey was concerned, they were a deserved karma.

"I'm surprised you care, Casanova."

"Listen I-" Dash cut himself off with a few sharp ow, ow, ow, ows before continuing breathlessly. "I did somethin', I wanted t' tell you."

"Did you eat something they don't agree with?"

"No, I... Y'know the eggs you left?"

"I already said I'd pay for the damages, don-"

"Before I got knocked up with the slugs, I dropped 'em off at the fuckin-...the uh, the planet on their care sheet."

"Dash!" Harvey barked. He curled in on himself the second he realized a few fellow doctors turned to ogle at him. His voice barely reached the receiver. "That goes directly against our policies, they weren't even carried by a trained surrogate! You can't just-"

"Hey, you wanted to work with the smuggler." His smug attitude died off as another bout of pain washed over him. "Point is - they gave you a shit ton for them."

"Me? What?"

"Harv, you fucking brick, I'm giving you the money. I didn't shit 'em out, it's not mine. Come by my place later."

God, Dash was an odd one. If Harvey weren't so proud of his little act of humility, he would've flown straight to his house and strangled him.

"Who are you, and what did you do with Dash?" He jabbed. "Do those slugs have mind control?"

"I mean, they did get me to eat some dirt earlier, so..."

"GOOD FUCKING GOD."

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3682 words

Ripley revive your blog please I need to be fucking stupid with you again