#Eggy Scans

[jessthebaker]

Dieter Does Christmas

For @futuraa-free, Merry Christmas from your Dieter Brainrot Secret Santa with the @dieterbravobrainrotclub!

Many thanks to my lovely betas, @toomanytookas, @bitchwitch1981, @march-flowerr, and to @almostfoxglove for her support with graphics (because I need my hand held when learning new apps). Biggest thank you @sp00kymulderr for setting this all up and being generally wonderful.

Read on AO3

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Dieter x gn!reader, Reader is not described in any way.

a/n: Dieter is taking his Christmas holidays at home with you, his supportive long-time partner. You spend the day together and take in the Christmassy atmosphere. That’s it, that’s the fluff.

Rating: 18+ for brief mentions of sex and being naughty with Christmas decorations, a hint of alcohol (if you squint) and mentions of past drug use. But really just fluff. It’s all fluff. Dieter is his own warning.

Word count: 3.7k

You wake up early on Saturday. Dieter lays next to you, snoring lightly. It's too soon for him to be awake, but for you, it's normal. Your work schedule requires you to get up by 6am, and Dieter is....well, he doesn't wake up a minute sooner than his call time requires. A morning person he is not. Unfortunately for you, you are so used to being awake by dawn that it's practically impossible to sleep later.

It's been too many days since your work schedules allowed you to sleep in together, and you relish the chance to spend the morning waking up at your own pace. His mouth hangs open slightly as he sleeps deeply, his breath coming out in rhythmic puffs on your face. His morning breath is god-awful, thanks to the super-spiked eggnog you had both indulged in last night. At his suggestion. You don't mind the bad breath though if it means you can be here with him this morning. "For better or for worse", wasn't that how the saying goes?

(Not that you were married, of course. You had both experienced too much pain in past relationships to really ever consider taking that step again. But that didn't mean you weren’t just as devoted to each other, rings or no rings.)

You scan the rest of him, for once having the opportunity to look closely at him without his mischievous grin and self-deprecating jokes pushing your attention away. You love his face. His scruffy beard is growing back in now, after being allowed a hiatus from shaving for two weeks. His soft, full mustache flutters a little as he breathes. His wild hair sticks completely up on one side while matted down flat on the other as his head is pressed into the pillow. You always did like his bedhead. His strong nose makes you smile fondly. His eyes zip back and forth behind his closed eyelids as he dreams. His brow furrows briefly with some emotion, then smooths again as he calms. One of his arms is tucked under his head, elbow crooked. The other arm subconsciously reaches out for you.

Your thoughts turn to the day ahead. You’re already expecting a slow start, with at least two coffees required before Dieter can even think about moving on with the day. You have it all planned out: Go to the nearby shopping center and start scoping out the Christmas decorations. Check out the Christmas market that went up the other day. See if that temporary ice-skating rink has been installed yet. Definitely make sure to stop by your favorite cafe on the way home for some Christmassy treats.

You watch Dee slowly wake up, his eyes gradually blinking open and coming to focus on you. You feel a small smile grow as you brush a stray curl out of his eyes and behind his ear. “Morning, love. Sleep well?”

“Mmmf,” he groans as he shifts and stretches in bed. “I was having a good dream...something about radar devices installed in...chickens? And they were laying shiny rainbowy eggs because the radiation made their eggy organs go haywire.” He stretches again and his eyes brighten. “Now I’m craving eggs! Can you make scrambled eggs? You always make them the best!”

You smile. “Sure, I can do that. Come on, let’s get cleaned up first. Your breath smells like sour eggs, speaking of which...”

He grimaces and closes his eyes again. “Fuuuuck, don’t remind me, that ‘nog was amazing. But if we’d had any more of it last night I wouldn’t have been responsible for the way my ass behaves today.”

After a second he re-opens his eyes and wiggles his eyebrows playfully. “Food time. You coming or what?”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re both in the kitchen trying to stay out of each other’s way as Dieter prepares coffee and you make scrambled eggs and toast. We really aren’t used to being together in the mornings anymore, you think to yourself.

You can’t wait until his current project is done filming, because you know he has a couple of months’ downtime before the next one is slated to begin. You’re looking forward to spending some real time together, not just two weeks over the holidays that always fly by too quickly.

Once food and coffee are ready, you sit together to eat. You spread avocado on your toast while Dieter has his with butter and rainbow sprinkles. This is his favorite way to eat toast, after having been introduced to it by an Australian co-star a few years ago. (“Fairy bread, she called it! Guarantee she’s never actually met a fairy in real life. I want to meet a fairy one day. Where do you think we could go to find fairies? Angeles National Forest has lots of good trees, I bet we could find some fairies around there.”)

Somehow, someway, some time later, you manage to get yourselves out of the house and on the way to your favorite shopping center. As you pull into a space in the busy parking lot, you glance over and can’t help but smile at the look of delight on Dieter’s face. There’s a lot happening, even from out here. There’s a coffee van set up off to one side of the front doors and people are standing around it waiting for their caffeine boost. There’s a small pop-up market with half a dozen stalls lined up on the other side of the doors, their tables groaning with wares to tempt holiday shoppers. You aim yourselves over to these on your way into the shopping center.

You know this will probably take some time because Dieter loves checking out everything. He just has to touch things, picking them up to examine the details more closely. He likes to shake ornaments that look like they might be rattly, and sniffs the ones he thinks might smell pretty. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he had been a raccoon in a previous life.

One stall looks devoted to old-fashioned statues of Santa and Mrs Claus that look hand-carved, while the stall next to it is selling miniature village scenes that look like they’re from the North Pole. Next to them is a stall with a man sitting amongst a display of beanies, mittens, gloves, and scarves. He’s knitting while animatedly chatting to the vendor on his other side selling baubles, so you presume all of his wares are handmade as well. On the end furthest from the coffee van is a stall set up with a large pot steaming with the delicious fragrance of mulled cider. Their neighbour is selling hot cinnamon donuts made fresh to order. You and Dieter walk slowly along, looking at everything and admiring the talent of the artisans. You make a mental note to come back tomorrow and indulge in the cider & donuts – you have other plans in mind for today already.

As you walk into the front doors of the centre, you see a large gilded throne set up against a tall red backdrop in the main foyer, fenced off by a short white picket fence adorned with sparkly red and green garlands. You can see a few staff members dressed as elves getting set up for the Santa photos, slated to open soon. You know Dieter will want to get his photo taken with Santa. You hope Santa is up for the challenge of fitting a grown man on his lap. Last year’s Santa photo didn’t go so smoothly, and you’re sure that at least a few elves regretted coming to work that day.

Once past Santa’s throne, your first stop is the department store with what looks like half the store devoted to Christmas decorations. You start in the aisle of Christmas trees; from full-sized to medium to short, with the miniature glass trees displayed separately on a waist-high shelf. You see the glint in his eyes as he notices one in particular and lifts it up and hefts it, as if testing its weight.

“No Dee, you can't put that up your ass," you forestall his suggestion with a mock roll of your eyes.

He whines a little and pouts, "Are you sure? We should probably get one to try out, just to be sure...." but relents and puts it back where he found it. He doesn’t lose the glint in his eye, though.

The next aisle over is brimming with ornaments of all shapes, colours and sizes. Dieter can't stop looking at them, most of all at the round baubles shimmering with glitter. You can see the sparkles reflected in his eyes, and he looks like a child again, going wide-eyed with the wonder of the season. He looks over at you with a soft grin and reaches for your hand. You share a smile as you interlock fingers and take in the dazzling display in front of you.

The sudden screech of a child having a tantrum a few aisles away reaches your ears. It breaks the contemplative mood and so you move on to the next aisle. This one is full of nutcrackers in quite a few different styles.

There are the traditional ones with the bright red soldier’s uniform, tall black hat, and long white beard. You spot one you haven’t seen before, wearing a dark green uniform, a very short dark beard, and a shock of white hair in its dark brown hair. Unusually, it seems to be missing an arm. You wonder what happened there.

Another nutcracker has fluffy hair, a patchy dark beard streaked with silver and is wearing a khaki jacket and a backpack instead of a cape. It’s also sporting a rifle instead of a traditional sword.

One nutcracker catches your eye that is a bit taller and broader than its fellows, with longer hair and a greying, scruffy beard. It is wearing what looks like a Roman soldier’s uniform, white with gold decorative trim and a beautiful white cape.

Dieter’s entire face lights up as he realises what he’s seeing. He marches down the aisle and pulls up the cape or backpack of every nutcracker to open their mouths. Then he stands back with his arms crossed and ponders the scene with a serious look on his face.

"You know, they really should have a bowl of nuts around here somewhere so you can test the jaw strength. Oh! Do you think i could - "

"NO, Dee, you cannot try the nutcrackers out on yourself!" You can’t help but giggle at the look of innocent outrage on his face.

“I wasn’t thinking about MY nuts, just...you know, nuts! What if we get a bag of pecans or something and like, scatter them around the nutcrackers so people can test them out?” He questions with an earnest look.

You do think about this for a moment; it’s not the weirdest idea he’s ever had. “Honestly, I don’t think they would go for it, love. Can you imagine the clean-up? Pecan bits everywhere? The staff would hate it and you’d probably be banned.”

His face falls a little, but he accepts the refusal gracefully. “Yeah, you might be right about that.” He turns and sees something else that catches his eye: a display of angel decorations swinging softly overhead in the breeze from the store fans.

“Babe, look, angels! I had a vision about them while I was high that one time, remember me telling you about it? We were flying through the sky, and swooping, and dropping sparkles on people on the earth below. We were the wish angels! We were making so many people happy! Do you think real angels do that?"

He grabs your hands and spins you around in an excited little dance, causing you to lose your balance and stumble into his broad chest. You laugh and clutch onto the lapels of his coat so you don’t fall to the ground and take him with you.

The last thing you want today is to draw attention to yourselves by creating a disaster in the angel aisle. You want Dieter all to yourself today, without other shoppers finding a reason to pay attention to him as “Dieter Bravo, the nutjob movie star”. You are having the loveliest day together so far in your own little bubble, and you don’t want anything to mar that.

Thankfully you both soon manage to get your giggles under control and hold each other up. There will be no falling or crashing today. You straighten each other’s jackets and, still grinning, continue on your way.

Neither of you are in the mood to make any purchases today; you’re just happy to have the time to hang out together. So you nod politely to the staff member greeting people at the door, and head out to the outdoor pedestrian mall on the other side of the shopping center. Sure enough, the ice-skating rink has been set up. You see a few family groups waiting at the gate with tickets in hand, skates slung over their shoulders by the laces.

You and Dieter look at each other but make no moves toward joining the line. You consider yourself fairly fit, you love running and swimming, but your athleticism has not translated over to skating. Dieter prefers to sit out and observe anyway. One of his favourite activities is coming up with stories about the people he sees, and “making” them follow his narration. You love to witness his imagination working.

You both take a seat on the benches outside the fenced area and get ready to spend some time people-watching. Dieter’s eyes are gleaming and his mouth has that sly smirk, and you know he’s working up some mischievous scenarios for his unwitting puppets across the way.

“Look at those two over there, you see the man with his lady having coffees? They’re planning to go for a cruise this year because they’ve never been before, but he’s just found out he’s inherited a billion dollars from a distant aunt. So he’s gonna buy the whole cruise line company and buy out everyone’s ticket so they can have the whole boat to themselves. Bezos, eat your heart out.”

“These kids skating in a clump are pretty good, but they’re not Olympics-good…except the little one falling behind, see her? She’s been secretly practicing with a coach and she’s just about to whip out a quadruple lux with a double flip-thingy at the end. The big ones won’t even know what hit ‘em.”

“That guy over there walking his dog, look at him! He was thinking about getting another dog for Christmas but he knows the first dog would hate it, so he’s going to get an iguana instead. The dog will be freaked out at first but she’ll learn to love the iguana and let it ride on her back like a little cowboy. Then he’s gonna get a smaller lizard and train it to ride on the iguana’s back, so he can take them all on America’s Got Talent. It’ll be the Three Perros.”

You just listen and laugh along with his stories while enjoying being out and about in the fresh air.

After resting for a little while longer, you realise you’re feeling the chill. It’s not really cold out; Los Angeles doesn’t get that cold even in winter. Even so, the day is brisk and you’ve been sitting long enough to cool down from your earlier walk. You both decide it’s time to reinforce your people-watching with some sustenance so you stroll across the mall to the cafe that you both love. Dieter goes to choose a table while you place your order at the counter.

You don’t have to wait long for the server to bring your drinks over: hot chocolate with a candy cane for you, hot chocolate with extra marshmallows for him.

As they set your drinks down in front of you, you thank them politely and pretend not to notice as Dieter pulls out a hip flask and surreptitiously pours a generous splash of a clear amber liquid to his drink. You can see perfectly well, of course, but you don't rat him out. He's had so few treats lately with the gruelling pace of the movie he's currently filming. The cast only got the bare minimum of two weeks off for the holidays, so he’s determined to make the most of his time relaxing with you. If the man wants a boozy hot chocolate, who are you to argue?

You take a sip of your hot chocolate and twirl your candy cane at Dieter in mock sword-fight. He grabs it and pops it into his mouth to give a long suck, making a loud “pshhlooooo” sucking noise and pulling a wide-eyed lewd face. You can’t help but laugh and roll your eyes as he gives your candy cane back at you, smirking, “what? I didn’t do anything!”

Dieter lets out a contented sigh as he takes a long drink of his own hot chocolate and swallows. He graciously gives you one of his extra marshmallows before it gets too melty. You giggle before reaching over to rub at a bit of the sticky white fluff floating in his mustache. You pop your sugary finger into your own mouth and copy his silly noise as you suck it clean. You don’t miss the quiet groan and slight frown he makes at the sight of your cheeks hollowing with the suck, and your finger exiting your mouth sans marshmallow.

“None of that, Dee, we’re in public. Having a nice, G-rated, Christmassy, G-rated day...in public.”

“Babe, you really know how to tease, you know that? This-” he gestures towards his lap, “is going to cause a scene if I get up and walk around now. You’re gonna have to go up and get us more food or something while this goes away.”

You happily oblige, returning shortly with two plates from the pastry case. “I got us some nutella crepes and a raspberry danish just in case, which one d’you want first?”

He makes grabby hands for the crepes and you laugh and playfully pull them in towards yourself with a grin.

“Aw, if you wanted the crepes yourself, why’d you give me a choice? You know I’ll give you whatever you want,” he pouts slightly. He acts affronted, but you know he’s not upset.

You cut off a piece of rolled-up crepe and stab it with your fork. Leaning over in your seat, you offer him the forkful while giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Because life is much nicer when you have choices, my love.” He chews, swallows, and returns the kiss with chocolatey lips and a warm smile that murmurs, “I love you, so much.”

Soon you’re both full of sweets and hot chocolate, and Dieter is looking slightly pink in the cheeks due to his special secret ingredient. You give him a questioning look and glance downwards, and he nods as if to say “I’m ready, let’s do this”, and you pull your seats out and get ready to leave your table.

“Do you want to go see if they’ll let you sit on Santa’s lap this year? It’s still early, the line might not be too long yet to get a photo with him,” you offer.

His face lights up with glee. “Absolutely, babe, but you have to be in the picture with me this time! You didn’t last year and it ruined the whole vibe!”

“Dee, I witnessed the whole thing! Me not being in the photo was definitely not the thing that killed the vibe.”

You relent though and join the line with Dieter. You both do your best to ignore the other patrons around you, at least one of whom you can see staring in your peripheral vision. It’s a young man with his phone half-held up, as if to ask for a selfie. He retracts his hand when Dieter notices him, smiles politely, and very deliberately turns away to give you a kiss on the cheek. The man looks slightly dejected but he doesn’t push it.

When you reach the front of the line, you clock the main elf giving Dieter a wary look. Santa gives her a reassuring nod, however, so she steps aside and doesn’t object when Dieter eagerly steps forward. This year’s Santa seems younger than last year’s, and he looks more solid too. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief. Maybe this year will be fine.

At Santa’s encouraging smile, Dieter sits down on one of his legs and gets comfortable. Santa cocks his head at you, asking if you’d like to sit on his other leg. You make a face and shake your head no, so he murmurs a direction to the elf to bring a chair over for you to sit next to him.

When you are seated, Santa asks Dieter the classic question, “And what would you like for Christmas this year, young man?”

Dee leans in close to Santa’s ear and whispers something you can’t hear. It makes Santa smile though. Santa motions to you, and you obligingly lean in closer so the camera-elf can snap the photo of the three of you. The flash blazes in your eye-line momentarily, and then it’s over.

Dieter thanks Santa before standing and reaches for your hand to pull you up. Santa gives you a wink and lays a finger on the side of his nose, and wishes you both a, “very Merry Christmas, ho ho ho!”

As you leave Santa’s enclosure, another elf offers Dieter the printed photo and Dee pulls out his wallet to pay. You both wish the elf a Merry Christmas and walk away, hand in hand.

Dieter has a silly smile on his face as you stroll together. You aren’t sure if you want to ask, but you’re dying to know anyway. “So, what did you ask Santa for?”

He glances over at you and squeezes your hand.

“I told him I didn’t want anything this year. That you were all I needed.”

[hidekins]

having finally finished, uploaded, and submitted to dynasty, "Come to Girl Land" has officially been my most entertaining release so far

the sheer amount of discussions and just stuff happening around this eggy trans vibing hentai has been maginificient:

the comments on its initial release over exh/e-h:

me DMing a Dynasty Scans mod to discuss how I'm supposed to tag it or if it's even okay to upload there:

not it getting hit with the "i shall discuss this with the council"

dynasty scans taking a day analyzing my doujin and @fatestayyuri screencapping panels out of context and ratioing my own release post:

also go follow my translation blog @mmag-translations

dynasty scans' server initial reaction to its upload:

the absolute fuckall confusion of the tags given to it, including the funniest possible combination ever conceivable: "not yaoi" "not yuri" "yaoi" "yuri"

the "Not Het" was added because people started asking if it was a straight doujin since it wasn't either "yaoi" or "yuri". it also is the inception of a brand new tag for the website: skinsuit.

over 50 comments in its forum discussion in under a day, including gems such as:

And of course, the existence of a new tag came with its discussion thread:

[nixie-writes]

Sir pentious x Michaela(female white demon with two furry tails and yellow eyes,wear black shirt and blue shorts,is aggressive at first but is really just a softie,bisexual,favorite color is black)

Plot:Michaela been at hazbin hotel before Sir pentious and at first,she didn't trust him at first

But after a while,she start to grow soft for him and while having a sleepover with sir pentious,she start to realize something

"Oh crap,I'm in love with this snake door" she thought

(It's the same ask but with plot added in)

Hey! I felt bad when you said you couldn't afford a commission, so I made this a little longer than usual requests. I hope you enjoy this, I tried to include all of the story into one page.

Michaela’s yellow eyes swiveled across the day room of the hotel. Despite Pentious’ efforts to kill Alastor again, it seemed rather safe. She could get used to this. It was paradise. At least, almost paradise, when Vaggie opened the door and revealed Pentious standing in the doorway, a nervous smile on his face. “Why, hello my dear-ack!” Vaggie punched him in the face and aimed her spear at him. Michaela jumped up, tails bushed, her white fur fluffed out to make herself look more threatening.

After Charlie welcomed Pentious in the hotel, Michaela followed him around, watching his every move. He appeared to be looking at some wristwatch a lot. Was it handmade? She wasn’t sure. But he participated in every exercise for the day and he appeared friendly. She still didn’t trust him. 

But after he was exposed to be working with the Vees she launched herself at him, snarling, claws extended. Charlie grabbed Michaela by her shoulders and pulled the white-furred demoness away from Pentious. “This isn’t how we handle things!” She chastised, helping Pentious stand up. Charlie may have forgiven him but Michaela had not. 

Days passed into weeks with nothing new regarding Pentious. He participated in every exercise, he stopped building weapons in the hotel and even made handy gadgets that helped everyday tasks become easier. It was late in the night when Pentious tugged on her black shirt - a black shirt she was proud of. It featured her favorite band in all of Hell - Midnight Rockers. A little peeved that someone touched her favorite shirt she turned around to see Pentious. 

“Ah yes, how do I start this…?” He hummed to himself as he pulled out some note cards. “Miss Michaela, will you uh…join me in a sleepover with the eggies?” It was flabbergasting how bluntly he asked. Fixing her shirt and adjusting her blue shorts she sighed. “Sure, whatever, we’ll see what happens,” she answered with a touch of crassness in her tone. Pentious looked over the moon. “Oh, thank you miss Michaela, you won’t regret it!” He bowed down, pulling his hat down as well, and slithered away excitedly. Michaela rolled her eyes. 

Finally 8 o’clock struck and Michaela held her promise to visit Pentious’ room for a sleepover. He didn’t have much. Just a lot of pillows and blankets, and a television. He tried scanning for a good movie to watch but Michaela wasn’t much into movies. She preferred music, but she knew her generation of music would kill a Victorian era child. They sat together watching some shitty movie about a skeleton sinner and a Hellhound joining forces to make a drug ring. Pentious was asleep almost immediately. Michaela was petting him gently and a sudden thought crossed her mind. 

“Oh god, I have feelings for this slippery dork.”

[brandwhorestarscream]

Jazz having a clutch of eggs?

He is happy, but also surprised because apparently some did not appear in the ultrasound scans.

(not a big/large litter)

Awww Jazz 🥺 all I can imagine is him putting his eggies into a nest and so, so carefully settling on top of them. Crouched over them and limbs tucked in like a loafing cat. Must keep babies warm!!

[kingmaxstatic]

Wishing Star

A 996 word fanfiction with Starvoltz lore stuff. Takes place during IDW sonic issue #36. Wrote this late at night so it might be a tad disjointed.

Toyhouse Version Link.

"Voltz has silly thoughts about someone he barely knows."

“Everyone remain calm! The chateau was built to withstand this sort of event!”

Was the only thing Voltz could pick up on before he was dragged back to his thoughts again. He couldn’t help it, his world was just shattered. His name wasn’t known to him but his features were etched in the two instances of him. Cream fur, magenta eyes, he glowed? How did he even do that? Platypus, he was a platypus, any good mobian doctor could deduce that. He leaned against the railing as he watched a familiar blue hedgehog along with an unfamiliar black hedgehog pop out from the snow. To the cheers of the small group around them. Some faces are familiar, some unfamiliar. A pit formed in Voltz’ gut for a moment.

Did Sonic even know who he was? The years he spent helping Eggman attempting to kill him? Those hours he spent in meetings within those cold walls discussing that "blasted hegdehog". He never met the famous blue blur formally but… He shook his head, he couldn’t think about that. Not now.

The platypus, right, the platypus. 

Pressing his back against the railing, Voltz forced out an exhale. Emerald eyes scanned the crowd, hoping those magenta ones would stare at him back. That they’d share a glance. His heart fluttered at the thought. Gaia, did that platypus even know what they shared? He rubbed his coat, his thumb gliding across the cheap fabric at the thought of seeing him.

From murmurs around the chateau, he gained that he was an Eggman assistant (or “eggistant” as Eggman insisted they be called). The most important word was… well was. He WAS apart of the empire. He WAS his assistant. He WASN’T anymore. Yet there he was, about to bury an entire chateau’s worth of people, including him. On his own.

He rubbed the railing as he thought about this. Back when he was an eggi- assistant he didn’t have that sort of agency. An accessory, an extension, that’s all he was. But this guy? This platypus? He was his own villain after this. Voltz felt his chest well with some unknown feeling. Brought back to those enclosed metal walls of the prison egg, he didn’t get a choice. He was so small, so tiny. Another name on the wall, another Eggnet file to be updated. Another whisper to be spread amongst future coworkers.

But this platypus changed that. He didn’t have to be that.

His heart fluttered again as his thoughts were brought back to the figure. The hues that shined from his body as he darted and dashed. A collection of colors that made his eyes seek out the same hope in the stars.

One star shined brightly to him, it sparkled and glimmered in the sky. As guests around him spoke about refunds and avalanches, he reached up to the sky. A webbed hand clasped the distant shine, as if he could grab it. As if he could touch a star. As if he deserved to, Voltz was stuck on the ground, after all. Things on the ground could never reach things so otherworldly. Not things like him.

Fear welled up in his chest as he slouched against the railing, needing to steady himself once more. Oh Gaia what if the empire found him before he could? It was a fear Voltz had about himself for so long he had never considered he would feel that for someone else. He had to do something about this. He had to make sure he wouldn’t suffer alone.

He heard all the happy commotion but glanced around at all the guests, all of their chatter was enough of a distraction to allow him to slip back into the building. Voltz felt his breath quicken as he walked through the hallways, adjusting the raggedy coat that covered the Eggman Empire logo on his jumpsuit. Would he reveal it to him once he met the figure? His beacon of hope in this sea of… well currently snow at the moment. There was so much snow in the lobby. Pushing some to the side, he looked around, he didn’t want any of the staff to be weary of him.

Swallowing down the tense air in his throat, he finally pushed out some words “H-Hello? Are you there?” the words struggled. Voltz was not good at first impressions. Moving more snow to the side, he desperately looked for any signs of a bill or webbed hand. Alas there was none in the snow, though through the shattered window he glanced and saw the figure. That coat draped over his shoulders. The moon envied the light of his beacon. Voltz was so caught up in the moment, much like his words in his throat.

If he had just called out…

Then just as he saw the coat, the hues of warm against the cold vanished into the trees. Words found his throat too late. “W-WAIT!” He called out to deaf ears, his hand reaching out, as if he could touch a star. As if he deserved to. Falling onto the pile of snow, his chest felt as damp as his heart. His beacon disappeared into the mountains. Chances of those familiar glows now scattered across the ground.

Voltz curled up, almost by instinct. He could chase him, he could go on a wild goose chase for someone he didn’t even know. Well, he did know him, he knew his story all too well. Another one of Eggman’s assistants, a kindred spirit. Hopelessness covered him like the lazy coat on his back, though it was far heavier. If he could wear it, he'd probably feel hot in this weather.

No, he had to find him, he KNEW he had to. Legs shakily straightened themselves out as he stood. A determination flowed throughout his body, but first… he had to find out where to start.

[thegodshavehorns]

Sleepover on Hellmurder Island: A Cruise (3/6)

Your name is John Egbert, and you are about to meet a friend at the airport. This is a friend who you met online only a few months ago, and in most situations, this would not be a smart move. In this situation, it’s only slightly better.

“Straaaaaanger Danger!” you say to yourself, putting on a Texan accent just for kicks. Your chaperone, a plainclothes policewoman with a sigil of Mind printed on her cap, glances at you a moment, then goes back to looking bored. Maybe she drew the short straw, accompanying you while you take this little vacation. You ask her if that is the case.

Her verdict: “Why don’t you read a book or something, kid?”

She’s no fun.

What is kind of fun is that you’re in Honolulu, Hawaii! Vacation paradise! Land of hula and coconut bras!

…You don’t really know much about Hawaii. You’d buy a guidebook, but you’re not going to be in Honolulu for long. It’s really just a stopover. So instead you rifle through some free travel brochures.

You start pacing back and forth between the two nearest gates. It looks very sunny outside. You can see palm trees out beyond the runways, about the same size, at this distance, as the palm trees on the brochure in your hand.

The brochure also has surf boards and luaus and ladies in bikinis and fancy hotel spas. All sorts of stuff you’re pretty sure are not going to be happening to you on this trip. Unless Rose and Jade decide to wear bikinis. Um.

They don’t mention on the brochures how Kauai was overrun by the Witch’s monsters and abandoned about five years ago. That doesn’t count as “knowledge about Hawaii” — everyone knows about that… but chin up, John! Jade never mentioned monsters on her island. It’s probably fine.

Oh! You hear an announcement over the intercom. The flight from Houston has arrived at the gate! FINALLY.

Your escort holds up the “DAVE STRIDER” sign, and you scan the faces as they pour in, searching for the only one who will be wearing sunglasses inside the airport.

There! White-blond hair, dark shades, too-cool-for-school expression (never mind it was mid-summer!): Dave Strider, the one and only, just like on video chat.

“You’re so short, dude!” you blurt, and laugh. “I thought you’d be taller!”

“The webcam adds ten pounds,” he replies, not missing a beat. “Mine are vertical.”

“No way!” You grin. “I don’t think pounds can be vertical.”

“It’s just science, Eggy-B.” He raises one fist for a bump. “Pound it.”

“Pft.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t leave him hanging. You pound it. “I know this sounds sappy, but it’s good to meet you, man.”

He cracks a small smile. “We already met like six months ago, nerd! Hell, I meet you every day in fucking cyberspace. But I guess coming here and making a home run has got me all sappy too, ‘cause uh… Yeah.”

“Aw!” You beam at him. “I’m glad you think so too!”

———

“Dang.” You run your hands along the interior wood paneling of the yacht that will, over the course of the next three days, take you to Jade’s island home. “Fancy boat.”

“It’s alright,” says Dave, looking around the inner cabin of the yacht. “Don’t see why they couldn’t fly us there. Not like they can’t charter a plane. They have like infinite money. Scrooge McDucking up in this shit.”

You shrug. “Gods work in mysterious ways, who knows?” You grin. “But look at this snack bar, dude! There’s Gushers! You can’t get this on an airplane, come on. And there’s a couch and plush seats and, check it, a widescreen TV!”

“Is there a crew?” Dave wonders. “Or just that Mind-cop following you around?”

“I think she is here cause I uh, tried to run away, that one time,” you mumble. “But hey, I think there’s an Xbox attached here!”

“Mhm,” says Dave. “Hold that thought, I’m gonna go put my shit downstairs.”

Dave goes behind the counter and downstairs, his luggage rattling metallically as he drags it to the berth. You wonder briefly what he’s got in there that rattles so loudly, then go back to exploring the yacht.

This boat is unbelievably fancy. It’s got a minifridge and a bar (stocked with soft drinks, you checked), a DVD library (oh heck yes, they have Con Air and you’re absolutely going to force Dave to watch it). There’s a cupboard full of board games and another full of what looks like snorkeling gear. You’ve gone swimming in pools and once a lake, but never in the ocean before! You’re excited to try it, but also thinking a little bit about sharks. You’re not planning on telling Dave that part.

It’s nice that the yacht has a fair amount of space, so you probably won’t go too stir-crazy. The main indoor cabin has all the amenities, and the bedrooms are on the lower floor. There’s also a front deck and a back deck and an upper deck where there’s like, a captain’s room with lots of fancy looking monitors and buttons and stuff. You poke around the lower deck and find a locked room (maybe where the Mind-Cop is staying?) and also a cargo room, with a bunch of crates. They’re labeled with Jade’s name so you don’t mess with them.

Once you’ve explored to your satisfaction, you go to the upper deck, letting the wind blast in your face for a bit. It feels nice.

You turn to look back towards the boat’s…. You don’t remember what the back is technically called. The starboard? Anyway, you look towards the boat’s ass, and you see that the Honolulu shore is already barely visible in the distance. You’ve never been so far from home before. You swallow dryly.

“Hey,” says Dave from behind you.

You jump, just a little, and he smirks. “Pft, don’t jump off the deck, ectobiologist. They’ll have to stop the boat and waste hours fishing your ass out of the drink. We’ll be like, halfway to New Zealand or whatever and the Mind-cop steering the boat’ll be all: ‘Oops, we lost the less-cool one,’ and instead of kickin’ it with shirley temples and virgin mojitos we’ll have to go all the way the fuck back, only to find you dying of hypothermia in the unforgiving waves, and we’ll be like “I’ll never let go, John!” but we’ll have to let go cause you’ll be totally dead. Who did you think it was, fucking slenderman?”

You blink at him, just a moment, then smile. “It’s Hawaii. The water’s not that cold.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder and leans in like he’s whispering.  “One word, Eggy-B: jellyfish. Invisible, boneless sea-jello with poison that makes your flesh turn green and peel right off.”

You shove him lightly. “Fuck off, I am not gonna get stung by jellyfish.” You’re still grinning like a loon, excited at the prospect of spending nearly three days with no parental (or even any adult??) supervision. Anyway, fuck jellyfish.

“They can smell fear from miles away.”

You snort. “No way, man! You are definitely lying.”

“If the Witch changed ‘em, they could. Anyway, it’s not like you’re a marine biologist.” He pauses. “You’re an ecto-biologist, whatever the fuck that means.”

“It’s ghosts. So like, ectoplasm?”

“Okay, well ghosts are like the jellyfish of the graveyard.”

“Pfffaahahaha!”

This trip is gonna rule.

------

That evening, you wander into the cabin, thinking about food.

“Yo check it,” says Dave, then launches himself off the wall and does a backflip over the dining table. The mind-cop, who is putting out a few platters of reheated pizza for you, frowns at him but says nothing.

That was the sweetest flip you’ve ever seen, and you let out a whoop. “Dude, you should try out for the Olympics.”

“Fuck that, can you see me in one of those leotards? Skin tight with sparkles and shit and a national flag? Doing a triple-spin reacharound with a forward pirouette off the uneven bars? No fucking way.” Dave sits down at the table. “Anyway, I’m out of practice.”

You shake your head in amazement. “Dude. Did the Rogue teach you that?”

“Uh.” You can’t read his expression behind the shades, but Dave’s posture shifts slightly, turning away. “Not really.”

“Oh.” You wait for him to elaborate. “Okay.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“What about you, Bob the Builder?” He nods at the hammer looped around your belt. “You’re always going on about the Seer. You gotta have something to show for it.”

“Oh. Uh.” You frown and rub your arms. Phantom bruises. “I guess. Nothing like that.”

The Seer has told you, in no uncertain terms, to never go anywhere without your hammer within arm’s reach. She even punished you once for not keeping it by your bed at night. These days you barely even notice the handle’s weight against your leg.

Thankfully, Dave drops the subject, inspecting the contents of a little box on the table. Tea bags, apparently. “This tea is shit,” he mutters. “Lipton, seriously?”

You smirk at him. “You’re a tea snob?”

“Jolly right pip pip,” he replies, doing a terrible Dick Van Dyke impression as he picks up his pepperoni slice with his pinky stuck out. “Fancy a cuppa yourself, good chap?”

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes.

“Bollocks. Bloody hell.” He wiggles his pinky in your face.

“Stop it.”

“Arse,” he continues, pronouncing the word with a hard ‘r.’

“What the fuck kind of accent is that? You sound like a pirate. Arrrrrrrrs.”

“Avast,” he concludes. “Shiver me timbers. Booty.”

You lift your foot up and shove your shoe in his face. “Booty yourself!”

You both laugh as the sun sets over the waves.

--------

After two days on the yacht, motoring smoothly through tropical heat, the interior is basically trashed, with dirty dishes and food wrappers everywhere. Your cabins are in a similar state. Why did Dave put a real godsdamn sword in the shower stall? It is a mystery for the ages.

You pass the time with Dave playing Marvel vs. Capcom and chatting about whatever. You manage to convince him to watch Con Air, and his commentary is both hilarious and scandalous. You love it. The Mind-Cop stays in her cabin or sometimes goes to the captain’s cabin, presumably to make sure the ship is still on course. But other than those occasional glimpses, you and Dave have the run of the yacht.

The lack of adults is normal for Dave. He doesn’t have parents. In fact, you’ve been specifically advised by the Seer to not bring up family-related topics with him. Because he’s traumatized or something. You’re not sure about that, though. He doesn’t seem traumatized.

It’s the morning of the third day, and you are scheduled to arrive at Jade’s island that evening. Some combination of your time zones changing and no fatherly supervision has messed up your internal clock something fierce, and when you wake up you have no earthly idea what time it is.

“Blargh,” you say, and stretch, and shuffle out of bed. You glance in the mirror. You look like a mess, and you could maybe use a shower, but there’s a sword in there, oh well. You decide to just pat your hair down. Good enough.

When you manage to slouch upstairs to the main cabin, Dave is already there, writing in his notepad in the sunlight. “Sup, sleeping not-so-beauty,” he says, not looking up from the pad of paper.

“Does that make you prince not-so-charming?” you shoot back. He smiles, just a little. You’ll take that as a win. “What time is it?”

He doesn’t glance up. “Noon or something. I dunno.”

“What are you doing?”

“Sketching some comics.” He waves the notepad around, and you get a glimpse of what looks like a stick figure of Hella Jeff being keelhauled. “No internet out here, it’s fucking barbaric. I feel like a goddamn caveman, making comics with a stick and paper. We’ve moved past this. Fuck. At least it’s ironic. Acoustic S.B.H.J.: ten times shittier and one hundred times slower. Read it and weep, Charles Schulz. Pee these nuts.”

You lean over to peer at the sketches, but other than the keelhauling, you can’t tell much of what is going on. “Is that the yacht? Is this autobiographical?”

“I fuckin’ hope not. I’m not-”

That’s when the Mind-cop rushes in, and there’s something about her body language that makes you both shut up. “Boys,” she commands, and you blink in surprise, not having heard her voice since the first day. “Get down in the cabins, there’s-”

WHUMP. The boat shudders and rocks, nearly throwing you off your feet, reminding you very viscerally of the fact that you are out at sea, hundreds of miles from the nearest shore, with only a thin aluminum-and-fiberglass hull separating you from briny doom.

“The fuck was that?” Dave voices the same question you were thinking, and you both rush to the window.

“Boys!” the cop snaps, but you don’t really care: you can see the water frothing outside.

“What’s-”

That’s when the thing erupts out of the water, immense, like a semi-truck heaving up from the waves, with what must be hundreds of clicking, skinny, chitinous limbs instead of a grille. Seawater glistens on its crusty back, pouring off the dark maroon sides of what looks like a shrimp the size of a whale. It remains there a moment, then lunges at the yacht, heaving itself up onto the deck and lifting pincers like twin excavator buckets.

“Gaugh!” you scream, lurching back from the windows of the cabin as the horrible crustacean bashes them with its claws, making spiderweb cracks. The mind cop unholsters a gun as the second blow shatters the windows entirely.

Dave is retreating down to the berth as the yacht rocks under the creature’s weight, lurching back and forth. Is he going to get his swords? Maybe he’s just running away.

“John! Get down, get a-!” The mind cop fires one shot, a harsh bang ringing in your ears, and then the creature knocks her over with a flailing limb as thick as a tree trunk. It turns, slightly, and then you’re looking directly into a giant eye, big as a soccer ball, black and glittering and sunk into the prow of what passes for the creature’s face.

The mass of writhing limbs on its front are reaching for the fallen cop. Maybe it’s going to eat her.

Your hand finds the handle of your hammer. The hammer finds the creature’s eye.

The problem with fighting a giant monster with a hammer, you quickly realize, is that a hammer’s handle really isn’t that long, so you have to get pretty close up to hit it. So close you’re practically on top of it. So when the creature shudders at your attack and flails its massive limbs, you scream and hold on to its carapace for dear life, hammer hooked into its ruined eye socket. Your feet scramble and slip, trying to steady yourself to lift your hammer and hit it again, but it’s bucking under you like a mechanical bull.

Then Dave makes a reappearance. “Fuck!” he shouts, seeing your predicament as you hang off the side of the monster. With that as his battle-cry, he thrusts at the creature’s side with a katana.

The fancy anime sword breaks right in two against the monster’s shell. Fuck if it even noticed the attack.

Dave, seemingly undeterred, leaps onto the back of the beast just like he had the cabin’s furniture, then grabs your arms and helps pull you fully on top, to a more stable position.

“Augh! Shit!” you scream. “What are we supposed to-”

The creature lifts its heavy front claws and bends them back towards you, like it’s trying to grab you or scrape you off its back.

You lift your hammer and thwack the creature on the top of the head as hard as you can, making a sound like smacking a solid brick.

THWACK! THWACK! CRACK! Are you making a difference? Is any of this doing anything? You don’t know, you just need to hit it and hit it and hit-

The creature lurches backwards, and it’s only when Dave tackles you bodily from behind that you realize it’s retreating, and it’s about to take you both with it, through the window and into the ocean.

You land hard on the floor of the cabin and, nerves still ringing with adrenaline, scramble to your feet. The monster is gone. The surface of the sea outside is placid, with no sign anything had ever been there. 

Splinters of wood and shards of glass are everywhere. The cabin is ruined. But, you’re all alive. The mind cop is getting gingerly to her feet, holding her side and breathing heavily. Dave is standing behind you, gripping your shoulders hard, almost hugging you to him, in the same position as he was when he threw you off the monster’s back. He drops his hands quickly when he sees you glance back at him, and laughs nervously.

You join his giggles, a wash of jitters sweeping your skin as you realize the danger has passed. “Oh fuck, dude.”

“Rode that thing like a bronco.”

“Fuck.”

Dave calls to the cop: “Hey, you okay?”

“I’ll live,” she grunts, then lifts a hand and points at you. “You two, stay belowdecks until we get to the island. Try not to step on the glass.”

You glance down, and see the small shards of broken glass embedded in your forearms, shins, and knees. “Oh, shit.”

Down in the berth, you get to work on picking the shards out, while Dave does the same. “Sorry about your sword,” you offer.

“It was just a shitty katana,” he replies flatly. “Not a big deal.”

“The fuck was that thing? Was it a Witch-monster? I thought the Witch wanted us to come?”

Dave shrugs. “How should I know? Maybe she doesn’t control them that well. It’s not like she had it out for the island of Kauai in particular.”

That’s a distressing thought.

Hopefully, Jade’s island will be welcoming. You pick out a particularly nasty shard and wince. You wish you were there already.

⇒ Be Future Dave

[from-nobody-to-nightmare]

Chapter 3: Amongst the Roses

“Most of the successful people I've known are the ones who do more listening than talking." Bernard Barugh

Flat on my back I felt myself regain consciousness. Pawing at the ground below me gave way to the soft crunch and the earthy scent of grass. I opened my eyes to a red-tinted sky with a precariously glowing pentagram hanging in the sky. “Huh, First time I noticed that,” I whispered. Taking a deep breath I noticed an all too familiar afterscent. It wasn’t as bad as before but it reminded me of well water with its eggy potency. “Ugh… Fart Water.” I muttered as I sat up already exhausted from the misadventure before. Whatever I was trying to think of next grew to a halt as I stared down my legs in disbelief. “I have hooves!?”

I exclaimed my eyes wide in shock as I looked at my new feet for the first time. I patted up and down my deep grey legs to feel if they were actually mine. “I don’t remember being so plush.”, as I patted down my thighs. There was a bit more cushion than I remembered. I peeked under the top of my gown to find a jungle of …. Fuzz? Was it hair? Was it fur?.... What was I covered in? I leaned back only to feel a pinch. “Ow.” I stood up quickly twisting around and grabbing whatever was behind me; I yipped, “Ow!” again followed by an after bleat. It was a tail! It was soft and fluffy and as long as my forearm. I facepalmed “Why did I do that again, and when did this happen!?”  A deep sigh of resignation left me as I dusted myself off. 

Turning around I saw a well-kept stone brick path a few steps away from where I was. Glancing in both directions I weighed my options and decided to go right with my bare hooves clicking against the pavement. Honestly, I don’t know how much it would have mattered; but at least it was a lot nicer than the hellscape I left behind, at least I hope it was. It felt too strange to be real. I grew uneasy at that thought and hugged my arms into my chest as my eyes scanned my surroundings. “Roses…” I whispered; They looked so lovely even under the trees, and the trees. Their branches lightly touched forming a tunneling canopy, it was like out of a fairytale It was a while before I saw a lamp post with direction signs and a bench. I looked at the arrow signs quizzically.

Cannibal Town➡ 

⬅ Doomsday District 

“Hmmm…. Such appealing choices.” I muttered to myself in a voice laced with sarcasm.  I huffed in frustration as I sat on the bench to gather my thoughts on what to do. 

I need new clothes, this hospital gown isn’t cutting it. Then the self-questioning came in cascades; but where would I go? Judging by the signs there must be civilization close by, but how would I pay? Well, I could work it off, but how? My mind went in circles as I became increasingly lost in thought. 

“Pardon me, young miss; thee seemeth to be woefully underdressed; are thou perhaps a mistress of the evening? If’t be true thou hath chosen quite a poor location for thy trade?”, a quizzaciously spooky, and reverberating voice spoke from beside me. My rear hopped a little in my seat as I was taken aback by what looked like a tall thin man with a wry smile; all dressed in black with a glowing spider on their chest and a very tall, patchy hat. Still baffled by our first interaction, and trying really, really hard not to think about the spider I looked up and stated the obvious,“ You have a very tall hat.” That smile became a look of bemusement followed by a rather polite chuckle at that response. “Ha, ha; never in all mine years in the underworld I had not expected an answer quite like so; do you not fear me, child?” In my dazed expression, I uttered, “ I’m sorry?; am I supposed to?” He took out a hand from underneath his cloak and placed a long curled finger onto his chin “A more forceful reception is more oft more commonplace, yes.” A sheepish smile took over my face, “ Apologies then; I’m feeling rather overwhelmed at the moment, I think there may be some delay.”

“Quite alright child; though I usually elicit more screams with mine visage; yet here thou art so placid in expression”, he slyly grinned looking down at me as he leaned down. “Tell me, what has thy mind so engrossed that all becomes an afterthought.” Getting  a better view of his face I blurted out, “Wow, you have a lot of eyes.” Then I immediately facepalmed in embarrassment,” Ahh…Jeez.” His chortling continued.  I hung my head low in my hands muffling mournfully, “Keep laughing if you must, it’s not going to change anything. I felt like my worst fears had already come to pass. I had died, and now I am forever disconnected from all I have ever known; now I’m lost in what seems to be a realm of perpetual nightmares.…. Though this area feels nicer than where I woke up last.” 

He paused to catch his breath, “ It may not have been what I initially expected; but thy pained countenance has certainly brought joy to mine soul, young lady.” I peeked my eyes between my fingers dolefully with my mouth still muffled, “ You’re welcome I suppose; it’s not like I could save face anyways.” He gave a relaxed smile to counter my dejected face, “Regardless of our initial introduction….. Might I enquire as to what brought you here?”, He said leaning towards my ear. 

“What brought me where? The park?” I  quickly shrugged as I looked to and fro and then at him again.

“Hmm… Yes and no; perhaps I lacked clarity. What I meant to enquire is; What hath brought you to the realm of eternal damnation, little lamb?

My face twisted in slight annoyance, “Little lamb?” I quickly shrugged off that comment. I gripped the edge of the bench to steady myself as I leaned back and took a deep breath to gather my thoughts. A forlorn sigh left me, as I opened my eyes to look up at a blood-red sky, “ That’s what I’d like to know too….”

“Hmm?” he looked at me rather puzzled as I continued, “ I mean, I know I died in the operating room. I understand that, but I arrived at Heaven’s Gates only to be denied because my name wasn’t in some book. Then they dropped me like a bag of rocks over a waterfall, and I ended up kissing the ground at what felt like Mach 4. The next thing I knew, I woke up at what was ostensibly a nightmare junkyard with a migraine headache, only to be hunted by a pack of marauders. I was still awake when I got away, and then everything went dark after I heard a truck pass. After I came to I found myself in the grass somewhere around here.” 

“My that was quite the misadventure. I have never been so close to the gates of paradise to see them for mine own; care to tell me more?”, he replied.

I huffed sadly turning away from the sky to stare at my now cloven feet. Trying to concentrate again I pinched the bridge of my nose attempting to recall what I saw. “Ehhhh…. Let’s see…. Lots of clouds, a golden path leading up to a gilded podium, and massively ostentatious golden gates behind that. There was also a winged man who in my opinion felt rife with false sincerity. At least that’s how he felt when he couldn’t find my name. If putting everyone else before me out of love could not get me in; why even send me there in the first place? What do they so callously measure souls by? Ugh... just the thought of it all makes me feel so angry….” I furrowed my brow, “....and betrayed.” It was the first time since I arrived in hell that I got a chance to reflect on everything that transpired. I closed my eyes as they began to water trying to fight back the tears.

______________________________________________________________

**Authors note:

Hello everyone Author here. I don't know if I got this right, and I know that this chapter seems to cut off short, but the cut-off is on purpose because I felt that perspective switches work better in their own chapters. So far most of the story has been in first person i.e. inside looking out. The next chapter is supposed to be outside looking in. Again sorry if it feels weird; I've never tried this before.

[chosetherose]

🎃 Anon very specifically foreshadowed the closing scene of the Karma music video

This is the 9th message from 5/17. Pay special attention to the parts I highlighted in pink.

🎃 Imagine this. You are sitting on a beach, cold and windswept. The sea is dark and angry before you. The sun sets in muted colors. You finish scrawling on the parchment. Your pen dries up as you reach the end of a story in 11 parts. None of it makes sense anyway. You're sick of having to dilute everything so far beyond recognition. But a story told through metaphor is still a story told. Even the great poet Sappho is survived by stilted fragments and mistranslated lyrics. Maybe that is the beautiful curse people like us must all share. Perhaps loving someone the world doesn't approve of forces you to be clever. You scan your writing once over, brow furrowed. All you can do is hope that it is enough. Of course it’s not. It never could be. You know this. And yet you keep trying, trying, trying. Your image is ten times bigger than you are. You have spent your life living in your own shadow. Stealing your own thunder. Trying and failing, relentlessly, to fill your own shoes. You roll the parchment, slipping it into an empty wine bottle. You may have told the story inside out and backwards, and it may well sink to the bottom of the sea or fall on deaf ears. It may wash up on a sunny beach in Florida, or a rocky shore in the northwest. Either way, someone somewhere will know about that recipe card. And the warm safety you cherish within your fence. And the heist that stole more from you than you ever planned on stealing from the museum. And most importantly, they will know about the human heart. The flawed, scarred, angry, grateful, nonsensical heart. The one that hides deep inside glittering ballgowns. The one that questions everything, but mostly it questions if the world it has grimaced through so many smiles for would love it for what it truly is. You drop the message in a bottle into the riptide. You fight every urge to fish it out before it drifts too far. You watch it until the waves have swept it far, far away. And now it is just a matter of time. The dripping of candle wax. The ticking of a clock. 🎃

Pumpkin is equating dripping candle wax and the ticking of a clock as ways to count down the time. This makes sense: candle clocks were used before modern clocks were invented. They had consistently spaced marking that, when burned, indicated the passage of periods of time. They were mainly used when indoors, at night, or on a cloudy day. [More on this below].

Ten days after this message was sent, the Karma video was released. The coffee clock in the closing scene is in the same place on the piano as the candle theory candles were in the Cardigan video. Like, exactly the same place:

In the Karma video, the 12 numeral on the coffee clock is aligned between the rightmost E and F piano keys; the 5th and 6th of 12 keys.

In the Cardigan video, the left candle is at the same placement. Between the rightmost E and F keys.

The pink lines I drew on the picture below aren’t perfect but get the point across:

Now, let’s look at the obviously Easter-eggy nails holding the coffee before it’s placed on the piano.

Run through my thoughts with me:

The blue nail represents 1989 (5th album)

The black nail represents rep (6th album)

We know midnight on the coffee clock is aligned between or at the 5th and 6th piano keys.

At the end of the video, the coffee clock strikes midnight. (Is this a YAIL reference? Coffee at midnight?)

Will some kind of Karma will be served between 1989 and Rep re-releases? Perhaps…between August and February (as the nail placement hints if you think of each clock numeral as months of the year)? Perhaps…in October like 🎃 has hinted toward? [Or I suppose another view is some kind of Karma could be served after 1989 and Rep re-releases are both out? Perhaps after February 2024 when rep would be released? Maybe October 2024? Lord I hope it isn’t October 2025.

I think there is something interesting about how, before clocks, candles were used to tell time inside, at night, on cloudy days. Like in a hidden cabin or in a dark dungeon that is the opening scene of the bejeweled video. Hiding out from the world like so much of Taylor’s lyrics have illustrated. Now there is a whole era based on a clock and in the Karma video, there are no candles in sight but instead a lover at the piano and one ticking countdown.

My main takeaway here is that 🎃 made a very specific connection. Closing their 9th message with dripping candles and a clock while 10 days later a video drops where a clock is in the same exact place as the candles we’ve theorized about used to be. To me, this is significant.

There is so much more we could unpack here and if I hashed this theory out perfectly it would never get posted. There are also other ways to interpret what I’ve put together but I’m leaving it at this for now.

[thebeeshaveknees]

'Lunch' as it turns out, was a very eggy breakfast burrito in his car on the way to the gym.

Hank scanned the burrito - surprisingly healthy for fast food, and watched as Connor took three bites, sighed and wrapped the rest up.

-Cold & Flu medicine

-Lack of hunger

-Elevated body temperature

Conclusion: Connor is sick?

Connor's foot tapped rapidly against the car floor, picking his cuticles, still looking frustrated through the reflection in the window.

Maybe Hank should speak? This is some of the first genuine emotion to come from the Lieutenant, unpleasant as it was. It would be the reliable thing to do, to check on him or cheer him up. Or Hank could ask Connor for an explanation for that snap earlier.

"Does that burrito taste bad?" Hank asked, to lead the conversation. Connor responded positively to Hank asking questions about humans before.

Connor huffed, side-eyed Hank before closing his eyes and sighing deeply. "No, I'm just not hungry."

"It's been nine and a half hours since you ate last." Hank hoped this might prompt further discussion, but Connor's mood only seemed to get worse.

"Yes."

Inconsistent. "Lack of sleep and lack of nutrition leads to fatigue and added stress."

"I'm aware."

"Hm. So why don't you sleep or eat?"

Connor looked up at him. "Hank, what's your processing speed?"

"4.2THz maximum, but outside of pre-constructions I keep it to 1THz." Hank replied.

"Lovely. Do you know how many THz I think in?" Conner asked, giving Hank a thin smile.

Hank furrowed his brows. "Human brains can't be measured on the same scale, they don't receive binary input so they don't--"

"Humor me. Your closest estimation will do."

Hank paused. "800Hz, give-or-take." This conversation wasn't promising, Hank didn't understand why he felt he did something wrong when Connor smiled his thin smile.

"So. If I were to tell you you needed to do everything you are expected to do on a daily basis while a third of your day was dedicated to sleeping and another sixth to eating, commute and bathroom, you needed to type every report at a maximum of 70 words per minute, all while having a processor smaller than that of my dishwasher, would you be able to do any time-sensitive missions?"

That sounded. Horrifying.

[contentment-of-cats]

Pain issues and pannetone

Sunday and Monday were not a treat. I'm better today but still wiped out. Sunday was a seven, yesterday a six on the pain scale. I'm tottery today, but the pain meds are down to every nine hours instead of every four. I had to increase the gabapentin and add a second dose of robaxin. I'm not sure what I did (if I did anything - pain is whimsical), but it felt like someone was pulling my spine out by the tailbone. You can't blasat the pelvis with radiation and then pump the body full of cytotoxins and not have issues afterward. There is no gain (still alive) without a loss (neuropathy, fibrotic tissue, lowered immunity, pain).

I will take 'alive' - whatever comes with it.

I maintain that it's not the painkillers that knock you out, it's the relief of pain. When you're fighting the pain, lying there and breathing, counting down to the 30 minutes it takes to start working, you are physically and mentally fighting to maintain yourself. At a six or seven, there is nothing but the pain - you can't think of anything else. You struggle against it. Then the pain stops, it's gone, and the fight is over. Your exhausted body and mind need rest, and you sleep.

C/A/P CT scan on Sunday. Fun never stops. Remission is not being a basket of kittens this month. Last Saturday, I was going to be Superwoman, on Sunday it was a coin toss for the ER. Monday it was take max pain meds and then lie there and breathe for 45 minutes.

However, small pleasures.

It's pannetone season! It's fruitcake season! (Not you!) It's eggnog season! It's gingerbread season! It's cookie season!

I want to bake like mad, but have to restrain myself. I've made concessions to my mobility and will do most of my kitchen-intensive stuff sitting down. I've actually made a mise en place station where I can prep my ingredients, use my mixer and other tools - but I do it sitting down on a wheeled stool that can tuck under the table.

I love pannetone. When I was little, Gran made the best bread pudding out of it. It makes terrific French toast (eggy bread), or just slather with butter and have with coffee. I usually get my first one of the season right after Thanksgiving. Nothing says holidays like pannetone.

Chissmas is coming and I am excited! I've been assured that some folks will participate, and feel like a kid looking at the wrapped presents under the tree - wondering what's inside.

[dagger-n-ravvi]

Chapter Eleven: A Near Miss

Jade and Floyd's condition is advancing faster than any of them realized, and it's not getting any better. But before the group can slink away, they need to check… were the eggs inside of Jade just fertilized?

Previous | Next Chapter | Fic Index

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46007587?view_full_work=true

Rook bows deeply, then slips out the door. Floyd blinks up at Jade, then fuzzily pokes him in the chest on one of his bright pink, marked-up nipples.

“Ow?” Jade irritably snaps his teeth at his fingers.

“Did I do that to you…?

The door rattles, and then Azul slips in, panting and sweaty. Frantically, he re-locks the door and fixes the pipes with a spell, stemming the flood of water pouring onto the floor. 

“Is Rook still here?! Did you get his phone away from him?” He demands in a semi-panicked whisper. “He took PICTURES of you.”

He turns his own phone around and shakes it lightly. On the screen is a message from ‘RH’ that simply says L’amour c’est passionne. Below it is a picture that shows Jade’s blissful, desperate face as Floyd presses kisses into the front of his neck and pile-drives him into the wall. 

It isn’t explicit…but the next one absolutely is. And the next one. Jade stares at them silently, head ringing as though he’s been slapped in the face. He was only concerned about Rook gossiping, and he…he completely forgot about pictures. The fucking freak.

“… Fuck me…” He rubs his face with both hands. He’s usually so much better than this…

“Don’t care. Need more water…” Floyd groans, dropping to his face onto the floor. His chest is rising and falling in heavy, labored breaths, and his ears have begun to extend into slender, pointed fins.

“Our potions seem to be wearing thin,” Jade sighs down at his hands. His fingertips have turned black, and his nails have curled over into claws. “Curious. I took mine only two days ago. Floyd?”

“Last night,” he grumbles.

"This is getting out of hand," Azul anxiously begins to pace back and forth across the wet floor. "Jade, I thought you said this would pass on its own! This is clearly an escalation, without even beginning to get into what I’ve been hearing today about a fight in Savanaclaw and Kalim being poisoned by chocolate truffles. At this rate, you’re BOTH going to self-destruct by tomorrow-"

“Did you bring that scanner with you, or are you here just to panic at me?” Jade grumbles.

“Here,” Azul hands it off and crosses his arms with a stressed sigh.

“Thank you…” he turns it on and silently starts scanning himself. One problem at a time, and right now the biggest, scariest problem is whether anything inside him has changed…  

A conflicted, and slightly terrifying thought occurs to Floyd as he rubs his cheek against the wet tiles. "Jade? D-did I…? Are your eggs going to hatch now?" 

“I don’t think so…” Jade turns the scanner around and runs it over Floyd’s back. He looks over the results and takes a long, deep sigh of relief. “Oh thank Seven. Definitely not. We’re both egg-bearing, so I suspected we’d be infertile in THAT way…”

“Huh?” Floyd blinks up at him.

“You’re shooting blanks.” He taps the screen a few times. “So am I. Haven’t you been feeling sweaty and too hot? It’s because our core temperature is down to seventy-six degrees farenheit from nintey-eight. Too warm for eel sperm, too cold for human. It’s all inactive. Dead.”

“What about the eggs? Have they been rendered sterile as well?” Azul asks hopefully.

Jade shrugs. “That’s impossible for me to say. My suspicion is that taking the transformation potion is not especially good for them, even without addressing the problems of stress, core temperature, and prenatal care. I’d be worried about developmental defects if we were to seriously entertain the notion of fertilising them.”

Azul winces, and Floyd whimpers softly. He knows that Jade not being PREGNANT pregnant is a good thing, especially if the little eggies are too hurt to grow up healthy. He does! But even so, a part of him is torn up inside at the news. ‘No babies… ’

“There is a different problem though,” Jade admits. “I apologize Azul, but it no longer appears as though our bodies will absorb the e-HHHNGH-”Jade core muscles suddenly cramp and he grimaces, hunching forward. Floyd presses both hands to his shoulders with a concerned noise. 

“Sorry…” he gingerly unfolds and holds out the scanner so Floyd and Azul can see. “Our bodies don’t appear to be absorbing the eggs. Mine are on the left, Floyd’s are on the right.”

There are two, side-by-side scans of their bellies on the screen. They show that their eggs have tripled in size to the diameter of golf balls. Even more striking, a slender tube now extends from the base of each womb, connecting it to the outside of their bodies.

“That is EXTREMELY fast development?! Is this normal…?” Azul gasps.

Jade gives him a look and Azul sighs. Fair enough, none of this is normal. “Is this what you’d expect from a typical pregnancy?” He amends placatingly.

“No. This is alarmingly fast,” Jade admits. “If I was pressed to speculate…? We became gravid several months ago, and the egg development was masked by our transformation potions. Now we’re reaching the end of what would have been a normal gestation, and our bodies are outrunning the potion. It was never intended to be used by pregnant or gravid individuals. Perhaps this is why.”

“Does that mean we gotta go lay them now? We gotta get back to the nesting grounds to spawn and everything?!” Floyd stares at the scan with wide eyes.

“I don’t know. We could try taking another dose of the transformation potion to reverse the changes, but our bodies are clearly fighting it,” Jade sighs. “We won’t know until we try.”

"Indeed." Azul puts the scanner away and tosses a duffel bag onto the floor. “Let’s get back to the dorm before someone else catches you. Can you both walk?” 

“Walk… I’d rather swim.” Jade forces himself up onto his feet with a faint smile. “I need clothes though.”

Floyd growls and remains on the floor where it is nice. “Clothes are stupid.”

"Clothes are necessary to keep the ENTIRE school from knowing you tried to get your brother even more pregnant in a bathroom," Azul retorts, pulling a pair of spare uniforms out of the duffel bag and tossing them over. "Really, you couldn't wait to get somewhere less..." He makes a vague, revolted gesture that could mean many things. Public, dirty, and bathroom-like all probably apply.

“I apologize. I was trying to get to the dorm, but I ah. Found myself indisposed. I rushed in here for some privacy and lost track of time.” Jade explains delicately as he gets dressed. 

“I smelled something REALLY good.” Floyd shrugs. “It was Jade. We fucked. Didn’t notice much else until Seagull killed the mood.” He gets his pants back on, and grimaces as his claws slice a hole through the waistband. “Oops. I’m turning into an abomination again.”

"Tell me something I didn't already know," Azul grumbles, drying the floor of the bathroom and cleaning up the stall where Jade and Floyd’s activities took place. “Can you make it back to the dorm?”

"Eh, prolly.” Floyd shrugs, then leans over and mischievously nips Jade's neck. "I wanna stuff you again."

"We need to get potions first!" Jade pushes him off with a little gasp.

"I knowwwwww. After!” He nuzzles the bite mark on Jade’s neck fondly. “That was really fun before Seagull interrupted. Imma stuff you again!”

"’Stuff me’ he says... how about I repay you in kind?" Jade gives him a wicked grin.

"Only if you can earn it~"

Azul groans loudly and finishes tidying the bathroom, probably leaving it cleaner than when they started. Feeling stressed and overwhelmed, he shoos them both out before they can start making good on all that blatant foreplay and mess it up again.

[bakery-anon]

Omg….last chapter. Eggy I’m so scared. Like I’m shaking with anticipation.

Every single chapter of this story has been amazing. There has not been one chapter that has felt wrong or out of place. I have read and reread sentences and I love them. If you asked me to analyze this work and pick it apart I would want to do bad. I unfortunately am not good at that so I’ll just continue gushing about how good it is.

I love that even without Iwaizumi she’s happy. That her happiness wasn’t dependent on him and that she found Kiyoko. I love that she feels safe with Kiyoko. That there’s no rot when she’s with her, that things are nice that they’re both happy.

“Sometimes the right things hurt the most.” Eggy this is going to live rent free in my head.

Everything going well in your life but missing someone so much that it feels like it’s worse is so real. I relate to that so much omg. She feels like everything should be fine and she like feels guilty for her life going well bcs there’s someone she wanted to share it with??? Eggy did you like do a brain scan of me or something???? /j

Omg her calling her dad when she’s sad. Eggy there’s so many things I could say omg. Deep down she’s still just a child who wants to be held by her dad. Just a kid who wants to be loved. I’m gonna throw up /pos

Her wanting to move on with her life but being stuck is so real. Okay I get the Orpheus and Eurydice now guys. I see it.

I love that she tried to live her life without him. That she tried her best to move away from something that she knew wasn’t good for her but she loves him and it’s hard to give up things you love.

Eggy I love this ending. This ending is so hopeful. I don’t usually read stories like this, mostly because I want a Disney happy ending you know? I know I know I’m limiting myself yada yada but I’m so glad that I read this. All of your stories are so good. I love all the care that you put into them. I love this ending and ily eggy. This is beautifully written and I will be rereading it <3

-love bug <3 🍪

rot: h. iwaizumi

chapter six -> a promise

(masterlist ; written content)

word count: 2.7k

now playing: my hot piss by die spitz

Autumn cools everything down. The feverish sort of pain that made her almost delirious has chilled into a dull, steady ache. Kiyoko rests her head on her shoulder. They sit on the couch together, under a shared blanket, and watch old, cheesy horror movies. Every on-screen death makes Kiyoko flinch and hide her face under the blanket.

It’s odd, to be in her apartment, to have it be her own as well. Where the fridge is free of remnants of rotten food and is properly stocked with essentials. Where the furniture matches and there’s no stuffing spilling out of the cushioning. It’s small, and sometimes she has to fiddle with the pipes under the sink to avoid calling a plumber, but it’s nice. It’s well-kept and Kiyoko always has some kind of candle lit. The walls are white, just white, not stained yellow from years of cigarette smoking. The locks don’t look like they’re about to fall off the door. There’s no mold in the bathroom. No pest infestations. No decay in the hardwood floor.

It makes her feel so out of place.

“My parents helped with the deposit,” Kiyoko had explained to her, almost sheepishly, like this was something she should be ashamed of. “And with the first few months of rent while I built up some savings. It’s how I was able to get it.”

Her brother would’ve liked Kiyoko, she thinks. He would’ve liked her quiet demeanor, and the deliberate sort of way she carries herself. He would’ve liked how spending time with her is never overwhelming. He would’ve liked how her voice is like a small stream that runs down the street after a rainstorm.

They would’ve gotten along.

She has the thought that he would’ve hated Iwaizumi, and then tries to pretend that she didn’t.

Onscreen, a head is removed from a set of shoulders. She tries not to think of Iwaizumi. It makes her sick, even his name. Never once has she felt like she did the right thing. Kiyoko keeps telling her that sometimes, the right things hurt the most. But that doesn’t help. It doesn’t quell the nausea she feels at his memory. It doesn’t fade that dull, aching loneliness. It doesn’t make her feel better about leaving him.

Objectively, her life as improved post-Iwaizumi. She’s held onto the same job for several months in a row without incident (no spitting, cursing, or fighting-though that’s mostly due to Kiyoko). She actually has money in her bank account now, ¥50,901.96, after rent (which, isn’t a lot by any metric, but it’s definitely more than nothing). Her father stopped calling. Her diet is much more balanced. The cable’s better. She doesn’t really get mad anymore.

It's an improvement. A drastic one. Something she probably wouldn’t have been able to achieve on her own.

But it’s worse. It just feels worse.

Blood spews from a headless body, cartoonishly fake. Kiyoko squirms, and she doesn’t flinch.

★⋆. ࿐࿔

The bell on the door to the sports shop dings as the it closes, and a customer leaves with fresh tennis balls. She rests her cheek on the palm of her hand as she leans up against the counter. She’s drawing the earth as it explodes from the inside, splitting into dozens of chunks of land and ocean. “Who the fuck buys tennis balls in November?”

Kiyoko slides behind the counter to stand beside her, peering over her shoulder to watch her draw. “I dunno. Maybe he’s going somewhere warm,” she offers as a solution.

Kiyoko doesn’t hate people the way she does. She can’t ever hate someone just because she wants to; Kiyoko doesn’t ever want to. It makes her feel mean, since the feeling of hatred comes to her so naturally. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Noya thinks you’re cute,” Kiyoko says, suddenly stiffer when she talks. “He asked if you were going to go out with us tomorrow night.”

She doesn’t know who Noya is. She probably should. He’s probably someone that she’s met more than once. But she can’t conjure up the face that’s supposed to go with the name. “Which one’s he?” she asks, well past the point of caring if she seems rude to Kiyoko.

Kiyoko knows she’s rude, at this point.

“The short one,” she answers. “The one with the blond in his hair.”

Her pen digs into the notebook paper, adding shading around a blown-up chunk of earth. “Yeah, he’s cute, I guess.”

Kiyoko makes a noise of acknowledgement. “But you’re not into him.”

It’s not a question, so she doesn’t answer it. Kiyoko sighs, and rocks on her heel. “That’s fair. As long as it’s because you’re actually not into him, and not because you’re not over Iwaizumi.”

Hearing his name spoken so casually makes her flinch. Kiyoko notices and leans her head down on her shoulder. “Well, we’ll get there.”

★⋆. ࿐࿔

At her lowest point, she calls her father.

She dials his number so many times she loses track of it. She stares at the numbers for so long they start to lose meaning. When she closes her eyes, she sees them burned into the inside of her eyelids. She hits ‘call,’ and then hangs up, only to dial him right back up again.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing, and definitely not why. She just sort of acts, moved by impulse and a craving for something unknown.

It rings. It rings three times before he answers. His phone is gruff and worn on the other line. “Hello?”

Her hand slaps over her mouth, and she tries to quiet her breathing, like she’s hiding from him. Her eyes prick and burn. “Hello?” he repeats on the other end, more impatient this time. Her heart pounds like he’s just on the other side of the door. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

“Fucking hell,” is the last thing she hears before the line goes dead. The phone clatters to the floor of her bedroom, and she cries. The first time she’s cried like this in months.

She really doesn’t know what she’s doing.

★⋆. ࿐࿔

Most of her time is spent lying in her bed, doing nothing, thinking about everything. Sometimes she goes along with Kiyoko when she goes out with her friends, and she sits in the corner and tries not to draw too much attention to herself. She hates that. Sometimes she tries to pick up extra shifts at work just to pass the time. She hates that too. Sometimes she goes to this cheap dive bar just two blocks away from her new apartment, just to have a drink or two in a place that’s not her bedroom.

She orders a second drink. It’s bone-chilling cold outside, and the alcohol makes her feel warmer. Just a bit. She thinks it’s sad that this is the most exciting part of her week.

At least the festering rot that tore her up from the inside was interesting. Now her life is boring and depressing.

The call of her name is sudden and jarring. She spins around in the barstool with an elevated heartrate and her fingers reaching for her keys. She doesn’t recognize him, at first. When her eyes first land on him, she continues looking for a second, before it catches up to her. Her heart leaps up to her throat. “Matsukawa?”

Matsukawa chugs, his head tilted back and his Adam’s apple bobbing, downing the pint until there’s nothing left but traces of white foam. Her fingers tap against her own glass, looking at the condensation that leaves a ring around the wooden bar. It reminds her of the plastic cups of coffee Iwa brought her daily. She didn’t drink coffee before that. Now every morning she finds herself crawling out of bed at eight in the goddamn morning, throwing on whatever clothes are on her floor so she can get to the closest coffee shop before it gets too busy.

“Is he over me yet?” she asks, tips of her fingers collecting droplets of condensation.

Matsukawa slams his glass down on the bar. “Nah.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Not even a little. Iwa’ll never get over you.”

Her eyes roll. Matsukawa sees this and narrows his own. “Don’t think I don’t mean it.”

There’s an awkwardness that hangs between them. She takes a sip of her own drink and swishes it over her tongue, trying to distract from it. “He’s got a long time to.”

“Doesn’t matter. I know him. You were it.”

“Then he shouldn’t have left me.”

She says this, she realizes, with familiarity, the kind that no longer exists between her and Matsukawa. She hasn’t seen him since her father’s blood was on her hands. Any closes between them granted by the lifesaving has since evaporated, and now, they’re as good as strangers. At least to her.

Still, Matsukawa leans back in the bar stool. “Yeah, he probably shouldn’t have.”

She shifts in her seat uncomfortably. It would’ve been better if he argued. “Yeah,” is all she can manage, her fire dulled.

“You don’t look like you’re doing that much better than he is,” Matsukawa remarks, and she offers no reaction. It’s not like he’s wrong. “You two are both idiots. You’re perfect for each other.”

Her lip furls up. “You got a lot of fucking opinions on this.”

“Hard not to. Iwa’s heartbreak is everyone’s problem.”

Iwa’s heartbreak. She doesn’t like the implication of it. Like it’s just his. Like it’s nothing something he caused for her. Like it’s not something they share.

“C’mon,” Matsukawa says, hand clapping on her back, like he can see the thoughts brewing in her head, and he wants to cut her off before they can work their way over to him, “let me walk you home.”

He does. He walks her home and he talks about his recovery post-stabbing and he rants about Oikawa and he talks about this girl he’s been talking to that he’s not really that into and he talks about how good Makki’s been looking lately but he doesn’t ask about her and he doesn’t bring up Iwaizumi again.

At least that she’s grateful for.

And when he deposits her at her front door, he grins, and tells her that he’ll see her later.

★⋆. ࿐࿔

It’s snowing. She stands outside of his apartment, box in her hands and something caught in her throat. It’s been a few weeks since she’s seen Matsukawa, and she’s done little but think about him and what he said and fixate on it and let it gnaw away at her.

So she’s outside Iwaizumi’s apartment, snow getting stuck in her hair and fingers going numb.

Her list of problems doesn’t really exist anymore. They’re not as material, harder to pin down. Her anger issues have simmered down into this lethargic mood that has much less daily wear and tear. The split rent and the consistent income have dissipated the money problems. She doesn’t worry about things the way she used to. Things don’t really plague her the way they used to.

It’s really just him. It’s really just Iwaizumi.

She sighs. It was easier in her head. Everything’s always easier in her head.

Now that she’s here, all she can think about is everything that can go wrong. Matsukawa being wrong, and Iwaizumi being over her, so much so that he’s not even moved at the sight of her and there’s already someone else in there warming up her side of the bed. He could be working. He could hate her. It could go as badly as it did last time.

Kiyoko disapproved of the plan. Kiyoko wanted her to move on. She wanted her to find a life outside of Iwaizumi, purpose outside of him, drive outside of him.

But people like Kiyoko don’t get it. People like Kiyoko don’t know what it’s like to be infected with something so consuming and persistent and chronic. Kiyoko doesn’t get it. Iwaizumi gets it.

He gets it.

She inhales slowly, and forces herself to move forward.

Breaking into the front door of her old apartment building is something she’s done more times than she’s proud of. It’s oddly nostalgic to pop that old lock open, and it feels the same as she creeps up the stairs. It was like this when she first moved in. Bitter, winter air floating up the stairs like all the windows were left open. She remembers shaking as she hauled up trash bags of her belongings, and taking breaks to wrap herself up in the first blanket she could unpack.

She feels that way now as she stomps up the stairs, the bottom of her boots heavy against the wood. She wonders if he can hear her coming.

By the time she reaches the top of the stairs, her hands are trembling, and she’s slightly out of breath. She takes a moment to catch it before she’s shifting the box to hold in one hand, and she knocks. She does it before she has the chance to talk herself out of it.

The door swings open sooner than she thought it would, like Iwaizumi was just standing there on the other side, waiting for her. Waiting for her this whole time.

When she sees him, she holds her breath. She holds her breath as she counts the one, two three, four bruises and the one, two, three cuts that decorate his features. He’s paler than he was before. The bags under his eyes are darker.

Still, he looks pretty. She always thinks he looks pretty.

His reaction to her, standing at his doorstep after six months, is the same as his reaction to everything else. His brow slightly furrowed, mouth curled up in something that looks like annoyance. She’s not surprised when he doesn’t say anything.

“Um, hey,” is how she starts out. It makes her flinch. “I’m sorry to just like, pop up out of nowhere but, I just kinda wanted to see you. I, erm, I missed you. A lot.”

Iwaizumi says nothing to this either. She feels oddly like she is shooting herself in the foot, and she loses the ability to look him in the eye.

“I feel really bad about how everything went down,” she confesses, now staring at her shoes. He’s still looking at her, she can feel it. “I’ m not proud of the things I said or how I acted. I don’t-I don’t hate you, not at all.”

She thinks she can see his chest rise and fall with heavy, deliberate breaths. But she’s not sure. Could be imagining it. The corners of her vision are starting to blur. She holds the box up to him.

A CD player. Brand new. The same one he got her.

“I got you this. As a sorry. I felt like shit for breaking the one you got me. I feel like shit for a lot of it, but that gift meant a lot to me. Just like you do. And I break things a lot and I have a lot of issues and I don’t think you-“

She does not get to finish her sentence. Iwaizumi grabs her by the arm and pulls her into her chest. The force knocks the box out of her hands, and CD player slams to the ground between them. Before she can realize what’s happened, her feet are hovering above the floor, and Iwaizumi’s arms are tight around her.

It’s automatic, the way she returns the embrace. Her arms snake around his middle, and she leans her head against his chest. She started crying at one point, without realizing it.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Iwaizumi says, pressing his face into the top of her head, lips kissing her hair between words. “You have no fucking idea how sorry I am.”

She does, because she feels it. It gnaws away at her chest the same way it does to his. She shakes her head. “I get it,” she tells him. “I know it.”

“Please say,” Iwaizumi pleads. “Please. I would do anything for you to stay.”

If she were someone like Kiyoko, she would say no. She would leave. She wouldn’t have ever come back. Because she knows, she knows that Iwaizumi is not going to change. He’s not going to become someone different overnight, or over six months, or a year or a dozen. Iwaizumi is always going to be who he was the day that she met him.

People like your father only care about one thing. And it’s not you, and it’s not me.

She holds onto him tighter, and thinks that that’s okay. She is too. “I’ll stay,” she promises. “I’m not going anywhere.”

an: ok let’s try this again

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[yesteryearsnows]

I changed my name to Angie from my original Korean name when I was 21 bc my dad was like “it’ll help Americans pronounce your name better” and ever since then Starbucks baristas have been calling out drink orders for “Andy” “Candy” and “Angela”

Today the air steward scanning my board pass said “welcome on board Eggy” and honestly I’m delighted. This is the most wrong anyone has gotten that ever.

[brandwhorestarscream]

TFA jettwins in Cybermorphs AU could totally just be SS and Megs getting curious what would happen if they did it the other way around? Like normally SS sires and Megs makes eggs right? So what if Jettwins is just the two of them being like

("Would this even work?" "Idk" "Wanna try it?" "Sure.")

And next thing we know, The Twins. (Extra angst for the whole trines idea.) Normally Seeker eggs are in threes? But because of the wonky cybermorph genes, one eggy doesn't make it. Luckily vosimorphs are less predisposed to needing trines, so the twins only need each other.

Ok so I really, really like this as a concept (like! Stick a pin in this! We can definitely apply this elsewhere), but it doesn't quite fit the TFA jettwins vibes. They are, first and foremost, autobot warriors/weaoons. I don't wanna remove that part of their character, it's so tragic and interesting

So! Hear me out 👀

Since there's no Soundwave during TFA's war (that we know of), that means Megatron has no chosen cybermorph King to be his main commander. In TFP Starscream is a normal born mecha, but I wanna switch it up here. Keep it fresh

Way, waaay back in the day. Megatron's carrier, as a flight capable warframe (hi Galvatron) is an accomplished gladiator while his mate is a humble miner. Maybe he took up pit fighting in an effort to get money for Terminus's treatment after he lost his legs in the famous mining accident, or maybe he was yeeted in there as punishment for some offense or other. Regardless, he's an absolute monster in the ring, and quickly becomes a fan favorite for his sheer brutality and graceful fighting style alike.

Pivot to Vos. One of Winglord Hurricane's mates is planning an offworld excursion. Maybe for scientific study, maybe as a vacation. Hurricane isn't able to accompany them, and isn't comfortable letting them off so far away even with some of the armada as an escort. For extra protection, he opts to hire a gladiator or three. The best of the best: anyone would think twice about going after royalty that's not only attended by a Vosian fleet but also protected by arguably the best warriors on the planet. Galvatron accepts immediately, especially when the Winglord is kind enough to give him 25% down right away. It's more than enough to cover Terminus's surgery and recovery time off work. It's enough to get them their own private apartment in Kaon! He jumps at the chance. This is the kind of thing warframes on the southern side of the planet dream of, a once in a lifetime opportunity to make things better.

And, well, you know what happens next 🤭 whilst exploring or vacationing or whatever, they fall into an abandoned xenomorph nest. Galvatron is first, as the royal embryo that eventually becomes Megatron is dominant even in the ovimorph state: it gets to hatch first and latch onto a host. There's of course lots of screaming and panic: a few seekers go down, the Winglord's mate included, as well as all 3 gladiators. The first generation of cybermorphs begins incubating, and there's probably only about 7 of them to begin with. Shaken, the party immediately begins to head home to Cybertron, as the afflicted seeker Lord desperately wants to go home after that

Because they're not organic incubators, and the cybertronian genetic code is more dominant than the xenomorphs, it probably takes multiple weeks for them to pop. They grow very slowly, compared to when they use human incubators. They're all scanned when they get home but there's no traces of anything malicious or contagious, so they're not subjected to quarantine right away.

From there, stuff basically goes the same for quite awhile: the babies burst and the southern half of the planet is immediately locked down. That's the catalyst for life spiralling out of control and becoming so bad that the war is eventually ignited. Vos, as a flying city that self governs independent of the Senate, refuses to surrender the newspark morphlings. Lord Skysoar, Starscream's carrier, is bonded to him at the spark. They have a parent-child sparkbond and separating them would likely cause both of them to die. The Winglord refuses to rip them apart, and though Starscream isn't technically his, he's still raised as Vos's rightful prince. The first child the Winglord's mate has beared, technically.

Anyway. Starscream and Megatron meet before the war. When the dual bombings happen, they swiftly agree to allyship and fight the Senate together. As the leader of the vosimorph armada, Megatron's second in command, and, likely, the most prominent sire in the hive: he's selected to become the cybermorph King, like Soundwave was in TFP. Shockwave was also a candidate, but politely declined, as his work in espionage and science alike didn't leave him enough time to be an effective commander.

Things likely devolve between them over time: a King can't rule a hive, only a Queen can, but with the way the war ends they don't have a hive anymore. The cybermorphs are pushed to the brink of extinction by the autobots extracting the Allspark and making waves after waves after endless waves of soldiers. They and all warframes by extension are banished from Cybertron and put on a Kill On Sight list. Starscream and Megatron are at each other’s throats constantly, blaming each other for the loss of Absolutely Everything: all of their children are dead and gone, they have no incubators to make more, and now they're doomed to slowly die out. Even if they can manage to get their hands on stray autobots, they barely have enough energon to sustain themselves. There's probably less than 100 cybermorphs left in existence

Now, having said aaaaall of that! We can finally jump into the jettwins!

When Starscream is captured by the Elite Guard, millions of years and several generations have past. Almost no one that remembers the cybermorphs is still around, and there's next to no data on how they work. They try in vain for months to get a baby out of Starscream, but he's not a Queen, so he's completely sterile and infertile. He can't carry a sparkling to term, and he can't get anyone sparked up. He's subjected to this harsh, brutal reality for countless cycles, having to endure their assaults and forcing aphrodisiacs into his body in increasingly desperate attempts to get him to make them some offspring they can use.

Something they're entirely unaware of is that only Cybermorph Queens can reproduce, they're the only ones that can make eggs and the only ones that can sexually impregnate. They assume that Cybermorph Kings must have the ability as well: they don't think it's possible for their entire species to be sterile. They're starting to think that they just got a bad specimen, that Starscream is just an unlucky mecha that can't be a parent.

Now, the thing that makes Kings special is that, aside from being a hive's natural commander, they're the only other type of morph that can reproduce, but not in the typical way. Interfacing doesn't work with them. They're able to actually implant an embryo directly into a host with a special organ on the tip of their tail, grabbing them in magnetic pincers and impaling them with a sharp spine in the center, directly into their fuel tank. Idk what triggers the actual impregnation: maybe they've drugged him with something new, maybe he's finally cracked from all the abuse and flies into a defensive rage after using his own acidic energon to melt through his restraints. But he manges to transform to his full vosimorph form, just long enough to grab someone and impale them in self defense. I'm impartial to Sentinel cuz I really fucking hate that guy and wanna see him get doubly chestburstered, but Perceptor is also an option. He's usually the one I cast as the jettwins' other parent, sooo

Really long story short: Jetfire and Jetstorm are the results of the autobots capturing vosimorph king Starscream. He... probably escapes during this time, I would say, and doesn't reunite with them until they've undergone their first several molts. As they were King implants, not fertilized eggs, they grow very quickly, and are ready to be dispatched into the Elite Guard after only a few months. The autobot government is very happy with their new obedient little cybermorph weapons, right up until they get to earth and the twins run off and/or turn on them in the presence of more morphs, especially a King or Queen

[eggyscans]

Nigemichi ha Kochira - v01 c05 & Announcement

Hi everyone! 

We bring to you a short and sweet chapter 5 :)

We’ve been hard at work on our new projects and are nearly ready to release them! Please expect a new chapter from one of our new projects in the next fortnight.

Our staff have gotten a bit swamped under real life recently, so we’ve slowed down in this period, but hope to push out more releases before our year end break.

We’ll also be taking a short break over Christmas and New Years - and we will continue releasing chapters about mid-February. None of our projects have been abandoned, unless otherwise stated.

Download: Mediafire

Read Online: Moon Bunny Cafe

We are currently looking for translators and letterers - our projects are mainly stalled at these stages. Please only apply if you have some experience, as our team is small and we do not have anyone to spare to provide adequate and high quality training. If you’re interested in faster releases, please consider joining us :) Head on over to our recruitment page if you’re interested!

CowTopia - Eggy Scanlations

[silver-heroes-rp]

Shard investigates the crash site himself, the visor that displays his eyes swapping to a thin red line, before scanning the wreckage with a beam projected from it.

[One Life Form Detected]

A little target appears where Shard picked up the life signal; that being a discarded Wispon a little ways away from crash. It appears to mostly be in tact, and the wisp inside must be hiding from a further attack until it can be rescued.

"Looks like your friend over there is okay, at least," Shard relays to Nicole. "You might want to pick it up yourself, though. Wisps and I don't really get along."

(Sure, it was his replacement that attacked them first, but Shard is still a Metal Sonic)

Shard stands by and waits in the meantime, keeping an eye out for any hostilities. Fifteen minutes isn't all that long, after all.

"If scrambled eggs for brains is gonna keep attacking you and your team, I should stick by and escort you until you reunite, at least. If Eggy makes good on his promise, I should be able to fend off any attacks until we find your crew."

The Lynx felt herself back up to that steel shell of the old badnik. Partially because she could feel Shard's rage, almost like a tangible thing. That sensation washed over her, abandonment, and resentment fueling his anger to a point of overflowing. She'd never felt anything like that before. It was so overwhelming she had to lean against the shell to keep herself standing. She was so confused as to what she felt, and wondered if maybe she hit her head--- what a powerful feeling, and she still had no idea where it came from or why.

It didn't help that a part of her wondered if Eggman wasn't looking for her. She had been in one of his labs, grown in a tube like some kind of organic robot. Her fractured memories a result of what ever was done to her. She still had no idea if she was even a person or just some twisted project of Eggman. She placed her hand on her own cheek to steady herself as that fear was rooted deep in her eyes. A Fear of both Shard's rage, but of the thought Eggman might still want her for some nefarious deed.

The explosion startled her so much that she pulled her ears down with her hands and closed her eyes. She expected pain, agony, death but no--- It was the little monitor bot. She almost felt empathetic for it, as it had no choice but to do what it did. Yet in a moment of rage its life was snuffed out to. Did it even have a life?

" R...r...right... its this way ..."

The Crash site wasn't to far from where they stood now, not even half a mile away. The shuttle had been forced to land when its engine had been taken out, but eve then she managed to set it down mostly in tact. Though a wing was missing, and a fire still burned within the shuttle was dying down. What was left was a hollow shell of the shuttle and blaster marks denoting an intense fire fight. It didn't take much deducing to locate the path her team took, down into the empty city below.

If they were even alive... they would have sought shelter, and maybe a defensible point.

And yet Nicole's eyes were on the burning wreckage as a part of her was feeling guilty. Like maybe somehow this was all her fault. If Eggman had come after her, then he only attacked the shuttle to get to her. She'd been so quiet since that announcement like it had sapped away her will power. That guilt that she might have gotten her team killed was eating away at her.

" This is the crash... i think they went that way... but, it was so hectic i'm not sure..."